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MEMOIR 
 
 OF 
 
 ETH W. CHENEY, 
 
 A E T I S T. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 
 1881. 
 
University Press : 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 To those of his Family who knew and loved him, every 
 remembrance of him is precious. 
 
 To the Young, who knew him not in life, every revelation 
 of his character will be welcome. 
 
 £c Botfj £ USrtrfcate tfjtss fHcmotr, 
 
 Sure that they will forgive its defects, if it brings him nearer 
 to their minds and hearts. 
 
 E. D. CHENEY. 
 
GENEALOGY. 
 
 Rev. John Woodbridge, Stanton, England. 
 
 Rev. John Woodbridge came to New England, 1G34, 
 
 Rev. Benj. Woodbridge went to Connecticut. 
 
 Rev. Samuel Woodbridge. 
 
 Benjamin Cheney. Russell Woodbridge. 
 
 Timothy Cheney. Deodatus Woodbridge. 
 
 George Cheney married Electa Woodbridge. 
 
 ( Emily Pitkin. 
 SETH W. CHENEY married \ 
 
 ( Ednah D. Littleiiale. 
 
 Margaret Swan Cheney. 
 
 Full particulars of the Woodbridge Family may be found in 
 4 New England Historical and Genealogical Register." 
 
I 
 
 * 
 
MEMOIR 
 
 OF 
 
 SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD. 
 
 OETH WELLS CHENEY, born Nov. 26, 1810, was the fifth 
 son of George and Electa Cheney. 
 
 So far as is known, this family is English on both sides, al- 
 though a French, Swiss, or Italian origin of the name Cheney is 
 not improbable, as that name still exists in all these countries. 
 
 The Cheneys can be traced with certainty only to Benjamin 
 Cheney, who is recorded as buying and selling land in Hartford 
 as early as 1723. 
 
 Timothy Cheney, his son, was a well-known clockmaker, who 
 appears as one of the founders of Orford Parish, called before 
 that time Five-Mile Woods, and afterwards East Hartford. 
 
 Burke's Encyclopaedia of Heraldry gives a pleasant tradition 
 of the origin of the crest of Sir John Cheney, — a bull's head, — 
 which was adopted, partly in joke, by Cheney Brothers as a 
 trade-mark. 
 
 The mother of Seth W. Cheney was Electa Woodbridge ; and 
 her descent is traceable to Bev. John Woodbridge, and also to 
 Mabel Harlakenden, who came over from England and who is 
 known as the ancestress of many of the leading families of 
 Connecticut. 
 
 1 
 
2 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 Electa Woodbridge's father kept a tavern in East Hartford, 
 where she was born, and he afterwards removed to another tavern 
 still standing on Manchester Green. Electa's own mother was of 
 nervous temperament, and subject to fits of melancholy, then 
 called the spleen, which kept her sometimes for weeks from ful- 
 filling her duties in her family. At such times the care of the 
 household fell upon the oldest daughter even at a very early 
 age, and thus developed the self-reliance and capacity for work 
 which distinguished her. After the mother's death, the father 
 married her sister, who was the " grandmother " affectionately 
 remembered by Seth and his brothers. He made a beautiful 
 India-ink drawing of her, which is a model of serene old age. 
 He loved to describe the aged couple coming down to visit their 
 daughter, attended by their faithful Pomp. The dog always 
 heralded their approach, for he understood the talk about going 
 down to " Lecta's," and would start at once so as to arrive before 
 them. 
 
 While Electa was yet living at the tavern, George Wash- 
 ington, then President, made a journey to New England on 
 horseback, and passed through Manchester on his way to Provi- 
 dence. As the party halted at the little tavern, the young girl 
 ran out to see them, and Washington asked her to bring him a 
 glass of water, — a service which she always remembered with 
 pleasure. 
 
 Timothy Cheney built a pleasant low house, now known as 
 the Cheney Homestead, on the side of a hill in what was then 
 called East Hartford Woods, or Orford Parish. A little brook 
 ran before the house, affording a good water-power, and a high 
 hill rose beyond it, making this a sheltered, lovely valley. He 
 built a saw-mill on the brook, and took his son Timothy to live 
 and work with him. They tried the first experiment in town 
 of carrying water to a mill by a long canal. It was dug with 
 wooden shovels plated with iron. He died in 1795. His son 
 
BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD. 
 
 3 
 
 Timothy returned to the Centre to live on the old place, while 
 George remained at the Homestead. 
 
 George and Electa Cheney were married Oct. 18, 1798, and 
 took possession of their home. One large room, called some- 
 times " t' other room," opened into a small porch by a door so 
 wide that a hogshead could be rolled through it into the cellar 
 opposite. There in winter the family lived, ate, and cooked by 
 a large open fireplace furnished with crane and pot-hooks. In 
 the summer a large back room was used for work. Two bed- 
 rooms opened out of the keeping-room, — one occupied by the 
 father and mother, the other devoted to the boys as they grew 
 large enough to leave their mother's side. The best parlor and 
 chambers for guests were above ; but as the house was built into 
 a bank, the parlor opened out-doors by a ^pretty porch. 
 
 George Cheney was a man of strong, original, and noble char- 
 acter, in whose traits may be found the germs of those qualities 
 which have given his sons success in life. He was slight in 
 stature, of a quick, nervous temperament ; and he possessed an 
 active, inquiring mind, and very high moral qualities. 
 
 His scrap-book is full of thoughtful extracts on religious 
 themes, showing him to have been a liberal Christian. He 
 was called a restorationist. He was " always preaching." In 
 his last illness he would sit up in bed and say, " Wife, if I 
 could only preach, I 'd tell the people what to do." When his 
 sons heard Theodore Parker, they said, " How father would have 
 enjoyed him ! " He rarely went to church, but gave money 
 liberally towards building the Methodist Church, and providing 
 it with a bell ; and when camp-meetings were held in his w 7 oods, 
 he not only gave the use of the land freely, with pasturage for 
 the horses, but often, when it rained, he would send for all the 
 preachers to come to his house instead of letting them pass 
 the night in the tents. Many of them. stayed in the house. 
 Although opposed to the popular views of religion, he was highly 
 
4 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 respected in the town, where his judgment was generally deferred 
 to. He was a justice of the peace, and " Squire Cheney " settled 
 the quarrels of the neighborhood. He took a warm interest in 
 temperance ; and while he did not refuse his men the allowance 
 of rum which was then considered a right, he abandoned the use 
 of it himself, and gave higher wages to those who would do 
 without it. He was very simple in dress, even objecting to 
 shiny boots and hats, or to a bow on " mother's Sunday bon- 
 net " ; yet he was married in a yellow satin waistcoat and purple 
 breeches, according to the fashion of the times. He disliked 
 the custom of wearing mourning, and never followed it. 
 
 The water-power was successively used for a saw-mill, a grist- 
 mill, and a fuller's mill. The father cultivated the farm, took 
 prizes for wheat, and was careful to have an early vegetable 
 garden. Watermelons were his favorite fruit, and he planted 
 an acre with them, so that in the season a cartload was brought 
 up to the house, a table set out, and family and neighbors were 
 invited to partake of the^n freely. He took great pains to 
 lighten the work of the household by many ingenious contriv- 
 ances, and had a wash-house built by the brook, into which the 
 water was led. He had no contempt for woman or her work, 
 and never thought it unmanly to relieve his wife of the care of 
 the baby. He wrote in his scrap-book : — 
 
 " God forbid that a woman should hold her peace because she is a 
 woman. Methinks the Apostle meant no such thing, but meant that 
 they should let their light shine before men." 
 
 The mother was a woman of fine, clear intelligence, strong 
 feeling, and dignified character, but not demonstrative. She 
 loved her children, and spared no pains for their welfare, but 
 she never petted them. At first she did nearly all the work of 
 the household. This included not only the cooking, cleaning, 
 and washing for the family and two or three workmen, but the 
 spinning, weaving, and dyeing or bleaching of the cloth, and the 
 
4 
 
 BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD. 5 
 
 making of nearly all the garments. She usually hired some help 
 for the spinning and weaving. The wheat was raised on the 
 farm, and the flour bolted in a large back shed, where many a 
 poor neighbor came and received " a baking." The boys once 
 reaped, threshed, and bolted the rye, and had the bread made and 
 baked in the same day. 
 
 When the family became so numerous that it hindered her 
 husband too much to care for the little ones while she cooked, 
 she hired a girl. Sometimes her sister Mary or Esther or her 
 niece Jane lived with and helped her. Lovisa Eich, a young 
 relative, came there as " help " when Seth was two years old, 
 and has been one of the household ever since. She was a great 
 worker, and " Mother Cheney " and " Visa " have often done a 
 baking after the others were in bed. 
 
 When the boys went to bed they threw out their jackets and 
 trousers, rent by the labors and frolics of the day, and " Mother " 
 put patch upon patch, sewing by the light of candles of her own 
 dipping, and had all whole and neat for the next day. 
 
 What wonder that when Seth took her cold dead hand in his, 
 he said, " How much this hand has done ! " 
 
 The father and mother were in the habit of sitting side by 
 side at one end of the table instead of on opposite sides, as 
 parents usually do. The children sat in the order of their ages. 
 If one were absent, the next oldest took his place. 
 
 Nine children came in pretty regular succession, about two 
 years apart, — George Wells, John, Charles, Ealph, Seth Wells, 
 Ward, Bush, Frank, and lastly, a little girl, the pet of all the 
 eight brothers, Electa Woodbridge. The father had a fancy for 
 naming all the boys with monosyllables. Seth was named for 
 a relative, whose wife gave him the silver cup which he used 
 in his last illness and left to his child on his death-bed. 
 
 Seth was endowed with less physical health and strength than 
 any of his brothers. He said that his first remembrance was 
 
6 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 of headache, and he recalled the special indulgences which were 
 granted to his feebleness. He did not often in after life recur 
 to his childish days. The grand struggle of life began early in 
 his soul, and he was always an earnest, thoughtful child. He 
 was more in the house than the others, and his nature drew 
 him more closely to his mother, whom lie did not scorn to help. 
 When with the fond delight of a father he assisted in undressing 
 his baby, as he warmed her little garments he was reminded how 
 he used to " warm the clouts " for his mother, who had then no 
 daughter to help her. 
 
 His first visit from home was to a cousin's (Mr. Blish) in 
 Eastbury. The little fellow eagerly anticipated this pleasure; 
 but homesickness overpowered him, and he was so unhappy 
 that the old farmer took him on his horse before him and 
 brought him home, where he arrived in a state of mingled 
 mortification and delight. 
 
 He was sensitive, although not exactly timid. During his 
 childhood a rat was one day chased about the room until it 
 took refuge behind the clock. At night it escaped, and crawled 
 over the sleeping boy. He was awakened by its touch, and lay 
 paralyzed with fear as it dragged its cold tail slowly across his 
 face. How lon^ that tail was ! He remembered this incident 
 vividly in after life. He sometimes saw faces at the window. 
 This sensitiveness probably prevented his childhood from being 
 the happy, careless time it ought to be. 
 
 A little piece of Seth's writing remains, which he gave to 
 "Visa": — 
 
 " When our parents and friends die and are laid in the cold ground, 
 we see them here no more ; but there we shall embrace them again, and 
 live with them, and be separated no more ; there we meet all good men 
 whom we read of in holy books." 
 
 On the reverse is written, " L. Eich, you please to read this 
 letter," with a date, 1820, and his name, Seth W. Cheney. It is 
 
BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD. 
 
 7 
 
 written on an old piece of paper, on which there is some illegible 
 writing. The date, which would make him nearly or quite ten 
 years old, accords pretty well with " Visa's " recollections ; but 
 the handwriting and spelling, unless copied directly, are remark- 
 ably good for that age. 
 
 The boys went about a mile to school, staying all day. Six 
 good, large doughnuts apiece was their ordinary provision for 
 luncheon. The winter school began immediately after Thanks- 
 giving, and the thought of this was a drawback on the pleas- 
 ures of that festival. Seth never loved school. A New England 
 school of those days was a severe ordeal. The routine of study 
 was dry and uninteresting, and the only discipline consisted in 
 a blow for every breach of order. Seth had little intercourse 
 with other children, and formed no strong attachments among 
 his schoolmates, but ran home all the way as soon as school 
 was out. 
 
 He often recounted a childish fault. He once told a lie. One 
 of the older boys had a Testament, which was old, but the type 
 was handsome, the binding pleased his fancy, and he liked to read 
 from it. The owner of the book being absent, Seth took it to 
 read from. It had a hole in the cover, which, after the manner 
 of children, he picked at until he had visibly enlarged it. On his 
 return, the owner complained to the master of the injury done 
 to the book. Seth denied his deed stoutly, but in vain ; he was 
 punished by the master. This lie came not so much from fear 
 of punishment as from a shyness of nature, which prompted him 
 to concealment without any adequate motive. He would mend 
 the quill pens, and shoot them across the school-room to his cousin. 
 One of the teachers, for whom he felt affection, although he was 
 rather a severe disciplinarian, was Colonel Brown, who survived 
 his pupil, living to a great old age in South Manchester. Seth 
 visited the old man and enjoyed him up to the close of his 
 life. He often spoke of him as showing what varied stores of 
 
8 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 thought may be gathered during the course of an obscure and 
 laborious life, with few opportunities for literary or social 
 culture. 
 
 One other summer teacher, Miss Keeney, — called by the 
 children Aunt Melissa, — was much beloved by him. She finally 
 became a bedridden invalid, but bore her great sufferings very 
 patiently. Seth was in the habit of visiting her and carrying 
 her pictures and flowers until the close of her life. 
 
 The boys had merry, happy times together. They helped on 
 the farm, " raked after cart," and did whatever was to be done 
 to help father or mother. When it was " too wet to work out- 
 doors, they went fishing." Ward was as full of mischief as of 
 goodness, and often played practical jokes upon Jane. Seth was 
 her protector. He understood that it was real suffering for the 
 poor child to be suddenly locked into a dark closet or kept in 
 constant terror of a pistol. 
 
 He had a repugnance to both cats and dogs, and liked horses 
 only moderately. He was full of mechanical invention, and 
 made a machine for cutting profiles and a swift for winding 
 yarn. He learned something of the cabinet-maker's trade, and 
 was always skilful in the use of tools. After he had been en- 
 gaged in mental labor, such mechanical work was refreshing to 
 him, and he would often say, " How pleasant it is to do some- 
 thing I can clo ! " 
 
 The father did not oblige the children to go to church, though 
 they often went with their mother, but he said they must behave 
 themselves on Sunday ; and they popped corn, or boiled wheat, 
 or made candy, or cut out whistles, and did not engage in any 
 noisy sports. But as the Connecticut Sabbath always began on 
 Saturday at sundown and closed on Sunday at sunset, the boys 
 ran to the top of the house to watch the setting of the luminary, 
 and crying, " Sun 's down ! sun 's down ! " went out, with a 
 whoop and halloo, to vent their pent-up energies in the open air. 
 
BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD. 
 
 9 
 
 When some of his sons were converted and baptized, the 
 father only remarked, that " it would not hurt them." 
 
 The housekeeping was liberal, and there was always a keg of 
 molasses in the cellar which the boys could go to at pleasure. 
 One day they were indulging in a candy frolic while the parents 
 were away. The old bellows-top chaise could be seen a long- 
 distance up the lane, and one of the boys was stationed to give 
 warning of its approach. Just as a large spider full of candy 
 was about ready, the watch gave notice that father and mother 
 were coming. A nicely buttered platter stood ready to receive 
 the candy. Seth seized the spider to pour it out ; but the paper 
 holder slipped in his hand, and the spider and its contents fell 
 on the floor, breaking the platter and scattering the sticky candy. 
 Great was the scrabble to get all cleaned up and hidden away ; 
 and it was accomplished in time, and the broken platter was 
 only discovered after a week or two, when the offence was out- 
 lawed by time. 
 
 Seth attended a higher school on the Green, kept by a college 
 graduate, where he learned a little French and Latin, even read- 
 ing Virgil. There was talk of his going to college and becoming 
 a minister, but his school education ceased at this point. 
 
 When his father became ill, and anxious about his affairs, 
 Seth had a soothing influence upon him. He would sit for 
 hours patiently listening to his doubts and cares, and gently 
 and cheerfully persuade him out of them into the belief that 
 all was well. 
 
 His father died July 19, 1829. John had already gone to 
 Boston, and was working as an engraver. Seth joined him there, 
 and entered upon the same profession. 
 
 \ 
 
10 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 ENGRAVING. 
 
 CIETH'S earliest engraving extant is dated 1830. He studied 
 drawing and perspective carefully with Mr. Smith, a very 
 thorough teacher, and drew on stone with Mr. Pendleton. He 
 lived with Mr. Pelton, in Hayward Place. John went to Eu- 
 rope, in June, 1830, and Seth remained in Boston studying and 
 working. 
 
 Seth took great pleasure in the collection of casts and pictures 
 at the Athenaeum in Pearl Street, and accepted a position there 
 as guardian of its treasures, which gave him opportunity for work 
 and study. While here, in 1832, he engraved a picture of All- 
 ston's, the " Mother and Child," which was afterwards burned. 
 
 In 1832 he was ill with cholera in Boston, and was care- 
 fully nursed by a fellow-engraver, Mr. Hills, of Burlington, Vt. 
 They were then at a hotel on Washington Street. They after- 
 wards boarded together at Alonzo Heartwell's. 
 
 Mr. Hills describes Seth as 
 
 " Very young, slim, with a long face, a somewhat projecting chin, 
 and firm lips. His eyes were most expressive, all soul. Hair light, 
 silky, flowing, and voice clear. More poetry in him than in John. 
 This appeared in the engravings." 
 
 Again he says : — 
 
 " He was fine ; never angry, not once. He was fond of humor, 
 enjoying a good laugh. He used to say, 1 The dinner is half a man's 
 life.' They were both absorbed in engraving. No cards nor games 
 interested Mr. Cheney, nor society, nor dancing. But he enjoyed ram- 
 
ENGRAVING. 
 
 11 
 
 bles in the country, particularly over Chesterfield Mt., where he fought 
 a big rattlesnake, which escaped. He liked to he with friends and 
 fellow-engravers." 
 
 His brother Charles, then in business in Providence, offered 
 to supply him with money until he could support himself by 
 his work. 
 
 Little record remains of these years, when his time was divided 
 between his work in Boston, Brattleboro', and Hartford, and his 
 times of refreshment at Manchester. 
 
 Mrs. Charles Cheney's letters give lively pictures of the home 
 at this time, Sept. 18, 1831. She writes of Manchester : — 
 
 " I was delighted with your friends there. I love them all. So 
 kind and hospitable, they all seem to form but one family. It seemed 
 like the old patriarchal days, when all dwelt under one roof-tree. Seth 
 is still at home. He has improved much in health since he went. He 
 has just completed a very fine piece, the 'Dead Soldier.' You have 
 seen the design, I suppose, a thousand times ; but he has executed it 
 in a superior manner. He improves very rapidly, I think." 
 
 Again : — 
 
 " Seth is at home recruiting. . . . An engraving that he has just 
 finished — a scene from ' Guy Mannering ' — is, I think, an admirable 
 thing." 
 
 Again : — 
 
 " Seth's last engraving has excited a great deal of admiration. I 
 think his improvement is wonderful. He spends the summer at home ; 
 appears to be in good spirits." 
 
 This picture from " Guy Mannering " appears to have been 
 the one published afterwards in an annual as the " Invisible 
 Serenader." 
 
 ''March 3, 1832. 
 
 "Balph and Seth had just completed, last summer, a beautiful 
 summer-house in the garden, entirely covered with a grape-vine that, 
 for size and luxuriance, exceeded anything I ever saw. In the centre 
 of it they had arranged an artificial fountain by the aid of the little 
 
12 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 brook. It throws up the water about three feet, and in the evening 
 has a brilliant effect. 
 
 " Seth is still at home, and is very well ; is at work for Goodrich." 
 
 "July 25, 1832. 
 
 " Cholera year. Seth went to Boston a few weeks ago. He writes 
 that he is well, but very homesick." 
 
 LETTER FROM SETH TO JOHN, IN ENGLAND. 
 
 Boston, 22 July, 1831. 
 
 Dear Brother, — I have not heard fifc)m you for a long time. 
 How are you 1 Why don't you write 1 I suppose you are much en- 
 gaged 1 What are you doing 1 Goodrich expects a plate from you 
 every day. I think the one you have done is a splendid affair. So 
 thinks every one who has seen it. I have done the " Dead Soldier" I 
 mentioned to you. Have just finished it ; succeeded very well. I find 
 the greatest difficulty in biting ; in laying, the ground does not hold. 
 Can't get good ground here. 
 
 Gallaudet's health is very poor indeed. Tell you what we are 
 going to do. I am going home, and he goes with me to try farming 
 this summer and fall. I think there is nothing else will do him any 
 good. He has been living in Charlestown this few weeks, but does 
 not get any better, and now he says he makes this last effort. I think 
 we shall have a good time there. He anticipates a good deal of pleas- 
 ure. He has just finished a plate for Goodrich, from Fisher, — a fine 
 thing, too. ... I shall engrave most of the time, for Goodrich thinks 
 there is not much doubt but that he shall go on with the " Token " next 
 year, and I shall begin something for it ; the worst of it is, I can't find 
 subjects. . . . 
 
 Dr. Doane is well. Miss Caroline and Eliza, Charles and his lady, 
 Miss Binney and W T adsworth and myself took a trip to Nahant yester- 
 day. Had a fine time amongst the rocks. 
 
 The next day after I wrote you from home, Richard Pitkin and 
 one of John Willis's sons, about the same age, were drowned while 
 bathing, which is two Uncle has lost in about a month. 
 
 I hope you will write more to us. I must beg pardon for not 
 writing oftener, but I imagine you don't find mine hardly worth read- 
 
ENGRAVING. 
 
 13 
 
 ing. I can't find anything worth writing about is the d of it. 
 
 Gallaudet says he will write you when he gets farming and better, 
 which I hope will be soon. 
 Write. 
 
 Yours, Sep. 
 
 Mr. John Cheney, 
 
 No. 8 Buckingham Place, 
 Fitzroy Square, London. 
 
 While engaged in engraving he spent some time in Brattle- 
 boro', Vt., where he worked for Holbrook and Fessenden, on a 
 comprehensive commentary of the Bible. The work was a pe- 
 cuniary failure, and I have never seen a copy of it. 
 
 LETTER TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 Brattleboro', 1 4th Saturday. 
 
 Dear Mother, — I wrote on a paper* last week that I was going 
 to Vermont, and here I am. You will think, perhaps, rather strange 
 of my coming to this place to engrave ; but as there was a chance of 
 getting employment for at least one year, and perhaps four or five, I 
 thought I could not do better than come. The work I am engaged 
 on is very profitable, and I am very pleasantly situated with Hills, 
 who accompanied me from Boston. Ralph knows him. We room 
 together, and board also. This is — or, rather, will be — a very pleas- 
 ant place in the spring and summer, situated as it is on the banks of 
 the Connecticut River, which winds along within a few rods of our 
 office ; and a lofty mountain rises on the opposite side of the river, 
 which makes the view very fine. The steamboats run occasionally as 
 far as here, which will make it easy getting home, which I shall do 
 as soon as I get time, — by the first of May, I think, if not before ; 
 but I have said enough of myself. 
 
 I have had no letter from John since I have been in Boston, but 
 heard, a few days before I came here, second hand, that he was in 
 Paris, and well. I think we must hear from him soon. Perhaps he 
 will bring news of himself. 
 Hurry, hurry ! Sep. 
 
 * Before the days of cheap letter postage it was very customary to send a news- 
 paper on which a few words were written. 
 
14 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 During these years Seth occasionally visited Providence, 
 where his brothers Charles and Ward were living ; and Charles 
 speaks in letters of some efforts in oil-painting that both Seth 
 and Ward had made, which he thinks very promising. 
 
 In 1831 or 1832 he walked with his brother Ward from 
 Providence to South Manchester on a very hot day. 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS FROM JOHN TO SETH. 
 
 Boston, Thursday, Nov. — (?). 
 
 Dear Brother, — T got your letter day before yesterday. I have 
 obtained twenty-five dollars from Bowen for you, which I send in 
 this letter. I would send you more, but he desired very much that 
 we should wait about a month longer. He has given me about forty 
 dollars since I came here, and will continue to pay what we shall want 
 for our expenses until then. 
 
 Since I wrote you I have got a picture of Mr. Allston's to engrave 
 from. It is called " Beatrice." I don't know as you ever saw it ; it is 
 a head. I like it very much. Besides this, I believe they have not 
 decided on any other subject. There is one by Newton, called " Don 
 Quixote," which will no doubt be done. It has been offered to Gal- 
 laudet, but he does not like it. 'T is, however, a spunky thing. 
 
 As for Pendleton, I do not know if he wishes to engage an en- 
 graver by the year or not. I have never asked him directly, nor has 
 he proposed. They have, however, considerable work to do. They 
 have desired that I shall do a number of things, and they wish, also, 
 to engage you. I have not been able to find anything convenient to 
 send to you. The " Token " people are determined to have their plates 
 from original, and, if possible, from American painters. 
 
 I can't help thinking that it would be better for your health to 
 work at home, if you could find it possible to get along with your 
 plates there. 
 
 London, Nov. 28, 1830. 
 If you are pleased with your situation in the Athenaeum, I advise . 
 you to keep it ; for if you should leave, I think you would miss the 
 advantages you find there very much ; for, besides the facilities for 
 your own profession, the library and other things there make a valuable 
 
ENGRAVING. 
 
 15 
 
 mine of knowledge that cannot fail to be of great use to you as well as 
 amusement. It is very well that you are going to practise drawing, 
 but how or when do you intend to do it 1 It is a pity there is not 
 convenience for drawing from the very fine collection of casts at the 
 Athenaeum. However, by often viewing them, and comparing their 
 different parts, and one figure with another, you will almost insensibly 
 acquire a correctness of eye and taste that will assist you in whatever 
 you attempt to do. 
 
 I don't know as I am capable of giving you any instruction. I 
 believe the greatest fault, from first to last, that one is liable to fall 
 into, and is the most to be guarded against, is a disproportion of the 
 different parts of the figure, or whatever object you are drawing ; and 
 I think the only way to avoid it is to keep the eye upon the whole 
 object, and lightly touch in the main points and most characteristic 
 portions of the form, and when you find that they are right and you 
 have blocked in the whole correctly, you can proceed to the detail with 
 some certainty of success, and save much labor and disappointment. 
 A good and forcible outline, you must know, is everything ; the rest 
 is comparatively mechanical and easy. 
 
 As for shading, I believe it is as well to use the stump first as after- 
 ward ; in hatching or scumbling, it is not necessary to be so very 
 careful as it otherwise would be. It is well enough, no doubt, to 
 give some effect by lines, and in that way acquire a habit of laying 
 them in with more ease and freedom on your plate ; but it is not well 
 to use them in your drawing, for it will cause you unnecessary pains. 
 Do it only for a general idea. It saves a good deal of time to use 
 tinted paper and white chalk for the strongest light. As I thought 
 you could not get it in Boston, I have sent some, directed to the care 
 of Mr. Goodrich. . . . 
 
 I advise you to learn music on some instrument. You will find 
 it a great solace ; besides, I think it of some use to an artist. . . . 
 
 I conclude by what you say that you are getting on famously with 
 your engraving. Go on, but don't run too fast. Strive to work in 
 a neat and simple manner, and yet be very careful never to sacrifice 
 the true character for mechanical beauty. Anything that deserves the 
 name of style comes from a perception of the effect which different 
 lines produce, such as cold or warm, smooth or rough, clear or obscure, 
 &c. ; and by observing these effects and attending to them, I think we 
 
16 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 shall certainly get into the right way ; but, like color in painting, that 
 ought to be a secondary consideration, the form and expression being 
 always first. Study good painting and prints. It is not well to at- 
 tempt work in small things (as to style) ; look out for the general 
 effect. . . . 
 
 I have not become acquainted with many people here. I have seen 
 Mr. Leslie, and am very much pleased with him. He has given me 
 a ticket to the lectures at the Boyal Academy. As for me, I am 
 pretty well situated ; am engaged engraving at my lodgings during the 
 day, and I attend at a drawing academy during the evening ; am get- 
 ting on tolerably well. My eyes are troublesome, but they get no 
 worse. My health is very good. 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 John. 
 
 John remained a year and a half in England, and then went 
 to Paris, where Seth joined him in April, 1833, and was engaged 
 in studying drawing and in engraving. He studied with the 
 Trench painter Isabey, and worked with George L. Brown, the 
 landscape painter. 
 
 He made the acquaintance of M. Dubourjal, an excellent 
 miniature painter, with whom he formed a lasting and cordial 
 friendship. Both brothers boarded with him, — once in the Bue 
 Vivienne, and again in the Bue St. Antoine. He was a man 
 of singular sweetness and beauty of character. He painted a 
 miniature of Seth in 1834, which is the only picture remaining 
 to give an idea of his youthful beauty. 
 
 While in Paris, Seth engraved, with John's aid, for Mr. Good- 
 rich, a plate called the " Young Savoyard," worth two hundred 
 dollars. This was lost at the bankers' in a way never accounted 
 for. It was a serious loss to our struggling young artists. 
 
 He visited Bouen during this trip, and was greatly delighted 
 with its cathedrals. 
 
 John and Seth both studied in De la Boche's atelier. It was 
 then the custom for the students to receive new-comers with 
 
ENGRAVING. 
 
 17 
 
 tricks and jeers similar to those pranks called hazing at college. 
 This practice was carried so far as to cause the death of a stu- 
 dent, which led De la Roche to close his atelier ; but Seth sat 
 quietly at his work, and received no annoyance from the pupils. 
 He had a great respect for De la Roche, and valued highly a fine 
 engraved portrait of him. 
 
 He worked very hard and lived very scantily, breakfasting on 
 a cup of coffee and a roll, and often working until night without 
 other food, when he took perhaps only bread and a glass of vin 
 ordinaire. Fasting always excited his brain, and he worked with 
 great delight. But towards spring his strength began to fail, 
 and he had so severe a pain in his side that he consulted a phy- 
 sician, who applied blisters. He did not gain under this treat- 
 ment, and was advised to go to Fontainebleau and drink asses' 
 milk. He boarded with a Madame Elizabeth, who was very 
 kind to him ; and an old man brought the ass up to the win- 
 dow every morning and drew the milk for him to drink. 
 
 He still remained so feeble, however, that John came to Fon- 
 tainebleau and decided to take him home. They went by sail- 
 ing vessel, about May 12, 1834, and had a long passage. Their 
 principal food was baked potatoes, which were very good. 
 Seth used to describe one old lean turkey which was killed 
 and boiled for a treat on the voyage, but which proved to be 
 very stringy. 
 
 He improved greatly in health during the voyage ; but he 
 referred much of his subsequent physical suffering to this early 
 illness. 
 
 Mr. Crossman says : — 
 
 " The first plate which he engraved — a copy, I think, from one 
 of the illustrations of the Waverley Novels — was as exquisitely done 
 as it could have been by the most experienced and skilful artist in the 
 country, showing no mark of the equivocating hand of a novice, but 
 every line and dot exhibiting the firm, decided, yet delicate tone of a 
 master. The expression, too, of the whole picture, as well as the mi- 
 
 2 
 
18 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 nutest detail, was wonderfully preserved. I well remember that the 
 old engravers, on hearing the facts, were perfectly amazed by this 
 work, and considered it a miraculous performance." 
 
 This refers, probably, to the engraving from " Guy Mannering," 
 in Parker's edition. 
 
 " When John and Seth went to Paris, about the year 1831 or 1832, 
 with several commissions from S. G. Goodrich for engravings for the 
 ' Token,' I recollect that the engraved plates came home without having 
 any name to intimate by whom they had been engraved. Mr. Good- 
 rich wished, for obvious reasons, to have the name of the engraver 
 attached to each plate ; and being unable to decide which was John's 
 and which Seth's work, he brought the plates and proofs to several 
 engravers, to see if we could tell whose name should be placed on the 
 different plates. All confessed that we could not decide with any cer- 
 tainty. The engravings were all excellent, and of very nearly equal 
 merit as artistic productions, but all ventured to ' guess ' that one was 
 probably the work of John, because it appeared a trifle more masterly 
 than the others. The plates were published, however, with the name 
 Cheney alone, no one daring to risk his reputation by deciding between 
 them. When the brothers returned from Paris, it was found that the 
 finest engraving was the work of Seth. 
 
 "All Seth's engravings, like his drawings, whether portraits or 
 landscapes in crayon, have a charming sweetness and beauty of ex- 
 pression very rarely met with even in the best productions of the best 
 artists. The effect of his work is to produce the same pleasurable 
 thrill, or something nearly akin to it, we experience in the best exam- 
 ples of Grecian art, — an emanation of beauty which almost entrances 
 the beholder, that makes ' the sense ache.' " 
 
 Mr. Schoff also speaks of the wonderful facility with which 
 Seth gained a mastery of the art of engraving. 
 
 This anecdote shows the close relation between the brothers, 
 whose whole artistic life was so interwoven that it is difficult to 
 separate it. When some one asked Seth why he thought so 
 much of John, he replied, " Why, he taught me all that ever I 
 knew." 
 
ENGRAVING. 
 
 19 
 
 The number of his engravings is not large. The subjects are 
 usually simple genre pictures, as the "Soldier's Widow" and 
 the " Pilot Boy." As it was difficult to procure good subjects 
 at that time, some of his engravings were copied from English 
 or French prints. 
 
20 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 WESTERN LIFE. 
 
 AN his return from Europe Seth remained for some months 
 mostly at Manchester. He and Frank worked on the farm 
 and built a house for their brother Ward, doing most of the work 
 with their own hands, and much of their own cooking, besides. 
 Seth always referred to it as a very happy time, and his health 
 was particularly good. He was not then seriously engaged in 
 any artistic work. 
 
 May 31, 1835, he started on a tour to Niagara Falls, the 
 Upper Mississippi, and St. Louis, with his brothers Ealph and 
 Charles. 
 
 They went by canal from Albany to Buffalo, and from Buffalo 
 to Niagara by stage. At Niagara the ice was piled up in the 
 river thirty feet thick, and the spray had formed a perfect arch 
 of ice, making a most brilliant spectacle. Seth was so excited 
 that he rushed out upon the ice and swung his hat with delight. 
 He was soon obliged to retreat, for he was drenched to the skin 
 with the cold spray. They returned to Buffalo, and from thence 
 to Cleveland, by steamer ; from there to Cincinnati, to Louisville, 
 on horseback, and from Louisville by boat to St. Louis. At St. 
 Louis they had relations, with whom they stayed. From St. Louis 
 Charles and Seth went up the Mississippi on a boat, living on 
 board. 
 
 St. Louis, June 12, 1835. 
 Dear Brother, — As you must have expected, I have kept my 
 promises with usual punctuality ! The last time (and the first too) I 
 
WESTERN LIFE. 
 
 21 
 
 wrote you was from Niagara Falls, in great haste. The fact is, we have 
 been going ahead so fast, since we left home, that I have had hardly 
 an opportunity of saying a word. After leaving the Falls we went to 
 Buffalo, and from thence to Cleveland in Ohio, and crossed to Cincin- 
 nati by land — and a hard time we had, too — the roads were almost 
 impassable, we broke down and rode on a rail all one night; think of that! 
 The scenery is monotonous, very level till we get toward the Ohio River, 
 where it improves; but, take it all in all, I was disappointed. The land 
 is fine, very fertile, which is about all can be said. Other parts, from 
 what we have seen, may, however, be more picturesque. I was particu- 
 larly pleased with Cincinnati ; it fully realized my expectations. The 
 situation is rather picturesque, and the country round the most agree- 
 able that I have seen anywhere in this Western world. At this place 
 we purchased horses ; but, finding the roads in so very bad a state, 
 and the weather very hot, we rode no farther than Louisville, Ky., 
 crossing, at Madison, the Ohio River. The view of this place from 
 the hills, or rather bluffs, as they are called here, was truly splendid ; 
 it reminded me of the view of Rouen, imagination supplying the city. 
 Louisville is a ■" right smart place," as the Kentuckians say. There is 
 more " go ahead " about it than I have seen in any other place. There is 
 a "heap" of business done here, but it has the slovenly appearance of 
 all the cities in slave States, and the streets are neglected entirely. We 
 disposed of our horses here, and took steamboat for Shawneetown, 111. 
 I found on board Mr. Brimmer, of Boston, bound up the Tennessee 
 River, travelling for his health, which is very bad. Stopping at this 
 place, we intended crossing Illinois by land ; but, the roads being almost 
 impassable from the great quantity of rain that has fallen this spring, 
 we embarked on board the first boat that passed bound for St. Louis. 
 Passing down the Ohio River, the scenery is the most monotonous and 
 dull of any I ever saw. Every turn of the river presented the same 
 scene. I am compelled to say the same of the Mississippi River, though 
 it is on. a larger scale. About half-way between the mouth of the 
 Ohio and St. Louis, on a tremendously dark and stormy night, we ran 
 foul of a snag, breaking at the same time our shaft. We were in about 
 thirty feet of water, with perpendicular banks about the same height; 
 but fortunately the Metamora steamer happened to be passing, and 
 towed the boat ashore. As she had but few passengers, we exchanged, 
 leaving hers on board our boat, to be taken by another, which they knew 
 
22 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 would be passing in the course of the night, and returning with us to 
 St. Louis, by which accident we arrived there much sooner than we 
 should have done by the other boat. I was not much pleased with 
 this place. We stopped here but a short time, and passed up the Illi- 
 nois River and visited some of the principal places in the interior of 
 the State, saw a prairie for the first time here, spent about a fortnight 
 in Illinois, and returned to St. Louis day before yesterday. We slept 
 at Major Bissell's last night. He has the pleasantest situation that I 
 have seen in this country. We are bound now for Galena, up the Mis- 
 sissippi. Ralph returns home across the country. I have no more 
 time, as the boat leaves in a moment. Sep. 
 
 Charles left Seth here, who went up to the Falls of St. An- 
 thony, and round by the Sault St. Marie. He made a beautiful 
 series of pencil sketches, which were unfortunately loaned to 
 a friend and burned. He was much amused with the mixture 
 of barbarism and civilization among the Indians, one of whom he 
 found sitting with nothing on but a silk stock, and an umbrella. 
 
 In the autumn of this year, 1835, Charles proposed to go out 
 West, to engage in farming, and Seth decided to accompany him, 
 hoping that the change of climate and the more active life would 
 establish his health. They went to Cincinnati, and spent the 
 winter there, engaged in finding a good location. Seth had been 
 interested in the vegetarian idea, and during the winter he lived 
 mainly upon bread and apples. 
 
 Charles writes : — 
 
 " Seth and I have been very busy In looking out a place to settle, 
 but among so many good things it is difficult to make a choice. We 
 have not, however, lost anything by delay, for we find places more 
 and more desirable, every day. We are out every pleasant o!ay, and 
 mostly travel on foot. We find this the best way to get about. It 
 will prepare us to follow the plough when the time comes." 
 
 His most congenial companion here was Mr. Beard, the painter. 
 In the spring of 1836 he went, with his brother Charles, to Mul- 
 berry Grove, at Mt. Healthy, Hamilton Co., Ohio. Mrs. Charles 
 
WESTERN LIFE. 
 
 23 
 
 Cheney, born Waitstill Shaw, of Providence, R I., was a woman 
 of great refinement and intellect, as well as both gentle and 
 lively in disposition, and Seth found great pleasure in her society. 
 Her letters give a vivid idea of life in this new country. 
 
 They found a good house on the place, and at once settled there 
 to begin their farming. Seth took a very active part in all the 
 farm work. They engaged in the business of planting mulberry- 
 trees and rearing silkworms, and Mrs. Cheney speaks of the 
 house as being full of the worms, and of finding them a great deal | 
 of care. The mulberries throve wonderfully, however. Seth's 
 health was very poor during all his Western life, though he never 
 had the malarious fever and ague of the country. He had one 
 severe attack of sickness, and bled himself with a penknife ; the 
 bandage got displaced, and he came very near bleeding to death. 
 
 He made a few sketches and paintings here, and his nephew, 
 then a boy of five years old, remembers him as working in a 
 dim, dingy room, with slices of mouldy brown-bread to rub out 
 his drawings, and also as getting the common clay of the coun- 
 try and moulding it into various shapes. 
 
 Among the few pleasant neighbors were the sister poetesses, 
 Alice and Phoebe Cary, for whom he always expressed much 
 admiration and regard. 
 
 The household was deeply saddened by the death of two of 
 Charles's children, from the effects of whooping-cough. Mary 
 died, May 9, in Seth's arms, and in just one month Sarah fol- 
 lowed. Mrs. Cheney speaks of Seth's grief for the children, and 
 he never forgot them. They were buried in Ohio, but, years 
 afterwards, the bodies were removed to South Manchester, and 
 laid in the family burial-lot. It was found that a vine had 
 grown into the coffin containing Mary's body, and completely 
 filled it. Mrs. Harriet Cheney writes, 1850 : "When Seth was 
 told of the vine shooting its roots downward into the coffin of lit- 
 tle Mary, and forming a network over her body, he burst into tears 
 and sobbed like a child, saying, ' The beautiful vine took care of the 
 
24 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 little one, and protected her body from harm.' " Mrs. C. Cheney 
 writes of the children's death and of Seth's love of them, and 
 adds : " You must not repine that Seth is not with you. Think 
 what a comfort he has been to us ; I know not what we should 
 have done without him. He is infinitely better than last fall." 
 His mechanical ingenuity found full scope in contrivances for 
 the comfort of the household. He built with his own hands the 
 reels for reeling the silk used by the family, and made churns 
 and nearly all the wooden ware which they could not buy. 
 
 Charles went very extensively into the planting of mulberry- 
 trees. He speaks of planting three thousand white-mulberry 
 trees, which he bought at the low price of twenty dollars a 
 thousand, — fine, large, thrifty trees. The soil and climate suited 
 them well, and they grew much faster and larger than in New 
 England. Seth took his full share in all the farm work and 
 in the household anxieties, and undoubtedly exhausted his 
 strength in this life of labor with little recreation. 
 
 Mrs. Cheney writes : — 
 
 " Seth must not be stationary ; he cannot be, without working 
 beyond his strength. He must be kept travelling for the good of the 
 concern. I miss him very much ; he was so domestic, always at home, 
 and always kind and obliging. I miss him daily about many little 
 jobs which none could do as well as Sep. Old Mrs. H. says, ' There 
 is nobody I want to see so much as Seth. When will he come % 1 and 
 so with others." 
 
 The simple beauty of his character and his rare power of win- 
 ning affection were fully shown here. Even now the few old 
 neighbors still living at Mt. Healthy remember him better than 
 any of the family, though they knew nothing of his genius as an 
 artist. 
 
 Charles writes : — 
 
 " How is grandmother 1 ? We have her likeness, one of those that 
 Seth painted, — so very like her, it seems as though we had her with 
 us. We value it very highly, and shall keep it for our children." 
 
WESTERN LIFE. 
 
 25 
 
 His brother Push spent the winter of 1836-37 with them, and 
 the silk-raising went on prosperously, but the life was lonely and 
 hard. They often made long journeys on horseback, but did not 
 once go to Cincinnati, though only nine miles distant, on account 
 of the bad roads. Seth had little intercourse with the neigh- 
 bors, but spent his Sundays in roaming over the fields. His 
 health did not improve, and in September John went out and 
 took him on a journey to the Upper Mississippi, the Falls of St. 
 Anthony, and the lakes. 
 
 LETTER FROM JOHN TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 " Friday we rode into Cincinnati, walked about a great deal, and 
 about half-way home Seth fatigued himself, and was not so well the 
 next clay. He is pretty well now, and I think he might get quite well 
 if he would take proper care of himself ; but as soon as he gets strength 
 enough to get about, he immediately wastes it all by working too hard, 
 and as long as he is here, I don't see how he can avoid it, for there 
 seems a great deal to be done, and it makes him very uneasy to see it 
 neglected. I am afraid he can never get well if he remains here, and 
 yet it seems as though Charles and Waitstill could not get along with- 
 out him, or some of their friends to stay with them. Waitstill writes : 
 ' It would be a hard trial to part with him, even for a short time, his 
 kindness has endeared him to us so much.' " 
 
 A sketch in oils of Lake Pepin, made on one of these Western 
 trips, is in the old clock at South Manchester. He was in Man- 
 chester in October, somewhat improved in health, and went in 
 November to Burlington, N. J., where his brothers Ward, Eush, and 
 Frank were then engaged in efforts to raise silk, and spent the 
 winter there, boarding in the village. It was a very warm win- 
 ter. He went often to Philadelphia ; he enjoyed the society of 
 his friend Mr. Edward Arnold, and his father, and Mr. Cephas 
 Smith. In the summer he took, with John, an excursion to the 
 beautiful Delaware Water Gap. 
 
26 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SILK CULTURE. 
 
 T this time the fortunes of the family had become fully in- 
 
 volved in the business of silk culture. At first the mul- 
 berry-trees were raised for the purpose of feeding the worms, 
 and thus procuring a supply of silk at home. This subject had 
 engaged the attention of the Colonists even before the Revolution, 
 and Congress had offered bounties on the raising of silk. Con- 
 necticut had taken an active interest in the work. Charles 
 Cheney engaged in the business of rearing worms at Mt. Healthy, 
 Ohio. Ward, Rush, and Frank attempted the same thing in 
 Burlington, N.J., and even in Georgia. But the real demand 
 for trees for the use of the worms grew into a wild speculation, 
 which spread all over the land, and the original planters found 
 it more profitable to raise trees for sale than to rear the worms 
 and manufacture the silk.* 
 
 While the Cheneys entered into the business of raising mul- 
 berry-trees for sale, they never lost sight of the original purpose 
 of fostering the silk manufacture in America. Perhaps even 
 now silk-raising might become a profitable branch of industry 
 in some parts of America, if conducted by proper methods ; but 
 its culture requires an industrious, painstaking agricultural popu- 
 lation, all of whom shall take a share in the work. 
 
 While Seth Cheney never forgot his vocation as an artist, he 
 entered into the plans of his brothers, and his mind was for 
 
 * For particulars, see Brockett's "Silk Industry in. America," and a pamphlet 
 on "The Silk Industry of the United States," by A. T. Lilly. 
 
SILK CULTURE. 27 
 
 some years occupied with this subject, which had a decided 
 influence on his life. One is tempted to regret the time taken 
 from artistic studies ; yet he perhaps gained physically from 
 this more active life, and certainly, by the close union of inter- 
 ests with his brothers, he not only enjoyed the richest blessings 
 of brotherly love and communion, but, by sharing their final 
 financial success, he was relieved from all pecuniary care when 
 his own power of work failed. ISTo one cared less for money for 
 its own sake than he, — he was always its master, not its slave, 
 — but his keen sense of independence and honor prevented him 
 from ever falling into pecuniary embarrassments such as have 
 ruined the lives of many artists. His simple tastes never led 
 him into extravagant habits, and he was generous but not lavish 
 in his relations to others. 
 
 By the desire of their brothers, and at the expense of the 
 company, Seth and Frank went to Europe, in October, 1837, to 
 purchase mulberry-trees. During the voyage he kept a journal, 
 and as his brothers published a paper, called "The Silk-Grower," 
 he took pains to send them home valuable letters for it, and thus 
 we have a fuller account of this part of his life in his own words 
 than of any other. I shall leave him, therefore, to speak for 
 himself. 
 
 First comes a memorandum of things to be done in New York. 
 It was a custom of his, on going anywhere, to make a list of all 
 he wished to do. Then he was not obliged to think of affairs, 
 and was left free from care until the time came to attend to 
 them. 
 
 " I have occasionally, during the passage, noted down what appeared 
 worthy. 
 
 " After crossing the bar at Sandy Hook, the pilot left us. Imme- 
 diately the captain ordered all sails to be set. With wind fresh and 
 fair, we are ploughing the sea at the rate of ten knots an hour. The 
 Highlands of Nevesink are fast sinking beneath the horizon, and as 
 
28 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 we look towards the setting sun, 'tis a long faint line that slowly fades 
 away, and as night closes in, 't is gone perchance to us forever. To- 
 morrow, as our eyes involuntarily turn towards our country, they will 
 rest on a wilderness of waters. 
 
 " Just hefore sunset the passengers who had been enjoying them- 
 selves on deck disappeared one by one, till I found myself alone. 
 Concluding that some important business was to be attended to, then I 
 went down, and found the table spread with the most tempting viands 
 and wines of all sorts. One passenger, solitary and alone, was making 
 terrible inroads on the carcass of a roast turkey and a bottle of cham- 
 pagne, as though being at sea and eating was no new business to him. 
 As I passed along near the cabin, strange sounds came from within 
 the staterooms on either side, such as people make sometimes after 
 taking violent emetics ; it seemed as though some were casting up 
 their very soles. I began myself to feel queer about the region of the 
 stomach, and made the best of my way to my berth, leaving the soli- 
 tary passenger to finish his pudding, and wondering how it was possi- 
 ble that men should ever think of eating, the very idea of which was 
 sickening to me, absolutely determined not to commit such injury to 
 my stomach. Had not been long in my berth before the cook, the 
 black rascal, came asking if we would have some dinner — some soup. 
 Oh, bah! don't mention it — don't talk to me about soup. I never eat 
 soup, and never mean to eat anything else after this. Soup, bah ! 
 give me the dish — quick ! quick ! — now go and shut the door ! 
 
 " Sunday morn rose glorious and cool, — one of those smoky 
 Indian summer days, with a warm breeze from the Gulf Stream, just a 
 studding-sail breeze. It is a luxury to lie in the sun on the pile of cot- 
 ton bags, covered with an old sail-cloth, before the mainmast, and hear 
 pigs squeal and the sheep bleat and the hens cackle, — equal to the 
 sunny side of a hill in the spring, — and then to look off on the broad 
 ocean, its blue waves tinged with the warm mellow light of an October 
 sun, blending sea and sky with a rich golden tone.* The sun set 
 behind a dark shadowy cloud which came driving furiously on, accom- 
 panied with storms and lightning and wind and rain, before which we 
 have run for thirty-six hours. Last night the sea ran very high, the 
 wind having changed more to the westward, driving before it thin, 
 
 * Frank talked about the sunny side of a hill, and picking up chestnuts on 
 Nebo. 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 29 
 
 white fleecy clouds, through which the moon courageously shone clear 
 on the dark waves' breast, silvering their foaming crests as they rushed 
 wildly along, relieved against the black clouds that lower along the 
 horizon. 
 
 " I never saw one enjoy a voyage so much as Frank. He had not 
 been on board six hours before he settled his accounts with old 
 Neptune, and the first morning ate his breakfast with as great a zest 
 as he ever did at home. Last night, as the ship rolled and pitched 
 incessantly, when I found it quite an effort to keep in my berth, Frank 
 slept in his berth in the same room, snoring continuously as a child 
 resting quietly in its cradle, while I was counting the weary watches 
 of the long night. How inestimable is health, that enables one so easily 
 to conform to the changes of place and circumstance ! 
 
 " Our course lies along the edge of the Gulf Stream. There 
 seems to be a continual conflict between the winds, — one day blowing 
 steaming hot from the south, and the next piercing cold from the 
 opposite direction ; and since we left New York we have had a succes- 
 sion of gales, which make the voyage a very unpleasant one at this 
 late season, though generally a quick one. We have been out but 
 eight days, and are far beyond the Banks of Newfoundland, nearly 
 half the passage made, and shall probably be in Havre by the 1 3th, — 
 at least, so the captain says. 
 
 " After the tremendous blow of last night had fairly subsided, a 
 capsized long-boat passed close alongside of the ship. It might have 
 been only washed by a heavy sea from the deck of a ship, but the 
 imagination will be busy picturing how, when all hope , of safety had 
 fled in that sinking ship, her fated crew had trusted in this last frail 
 hope, and that too has failed, and they have all gone down and lie 
 amid the fearful wrecks that strew the slimy bottom of the deep. 
 
 " We have been out now ten days. Still I am sick. I never had 
 before over three or four days' sickness. I have not yet eaten a full 
 meal, or had a night's rest. I am surprised that some plan is not 
 devised for ventilating the cabins of ships. I am persuaded nothing 
 would conduce more to the health and comfort of the passengers. 
 While on deck breathing the pure and free air of the ocean, the 
 thought of going below to inhale through the long night the mouldy 
 confined air of the cabin is absolutely nauseating, and nothing but the 
 cold and fatigue drives one to his berth. Some few, with myself, 
 
30 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 complain, but the majority are of that unfortunate class that perceive 
 no distinction between the foul contagions of a dungeon and the free 
 air of heaven. 
 
 " These fishermen on the Banks of Newfoundland have a terribly 
 hard life of it. There goes one that has been blown off his fishing- 
 ground by the severe gale of last night. Little do we think, when we 
 sit quietly in our houses and eat codfish for our Saturday's dinner and 
 Sunday morning's breakfast, of the storms and perils the poor fisher- 
 men encounter to procure for us this luxury. 
 
 " We have breakfast about nine o'clock, with fresh baked bread, 
 buckwheat cakes, excellent coffee, with hot milk, etc. ; lunch or dejeuner 
 a la fourchette between twelve and one ; and the dinner-table at four is 
 spread with as great a variety as that of any hotel on shore. In a 
 small ice-house on deck are stowed away beef, mutton, and poultry in 
 sufficient quantity to supply the table during an ordinary voyage, and no 
 encroachments are made on the live-stock of the ship except in case of 
 necessity. There are on board some French sheep that have made five 
 or six voyages ; all stock are said to do poorly the first voyage except 
 geese and ducks, who delight in the sea. The poor turkeys make the 
 most sorry figure of it ; you may see them sit moping the livelong day 
 with half-closed eyes, and the corners of their mouths drawn in, pout- 
 ing disconsolately, as much as to say, ' We are gone turkeys ; ' in fact, 
 they seem to be lineal descendants from that celebrated stock of Job's. 
 Here is the old cow, too ; how wistfully her eyes wander over the 
 waste of waters, as if in search of some green pastures ! And the way 
 those sheep would skip about the sunny side of a hill and the pigs 
 scud in my neighbor's clover patch would be a luxury to look upon, 
 indeed. One cannot help feeling a sort of sympathy for the dumb 
 animals that man has subjected and deprived of their freedom. 
 
 " This is the thirteenth day out ; for the last five days we have had a 
 continual gale and squalls from the cold north, the sea very rough, 
 no comfort on deck (the passengers confine themselves to the cabin). 
 Many of them, like myself, are sick ; there are some that have not 
 made their appearance at table since embarking. Yesterday it fell 
 dead away to almost a calm, which induced all to come on deck to 
 enjoy the morn and sunshine, some looking wan and woe-begone from 
 protracted sickness and confinement to the close air of the cabin and 
 long fasting. Among them you might have seen a fellow about my 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 31 
 
 height, with long locks, sunken eyes and cheeks, and spindle shanks, 
 stalking about like an atomy (a fair representative of Shakespeare's 
 apothecary) ; in fact, I am wasted almost to a skeleton, but still am 
 free from pain, feel none in my chest or side. I expect the way I 
 shall extend my dimensions when I get on shore will be a caution to 
 Jack Falstaff. 
 
 " There was last night the most splendid rainbow spanned on a dark 
 cloud which I ever beheld, and I have observed most glorious ones on 
 land, yet I never saw one in which the colors appeared so distinct and 
 vivid. The sun was low, which raised the arc very high in the heavens, 
 relieved with dazzling brightness from the dusky red clouds piled up in 
 vast volumes still higher, — they alone, independent of the arc, present- 
 ing a sublime spectacle ; and where the bow touched the water there 
 was a mingling of a thousand tints which you might trace even close 
 to the side of the ship, so that to one standing at the mast-head it must 
 have appeared a complete circle of the most brilliant colors. The 
 white sea-gulls were flying high and wildly, and the porpoises playing 
 their frantic gambols below, all betokening a coming storm, which 
 reached us soon after dark. In a twinkling the foresail was gone, and 
 the ship crooning low in the water, scudding swiftly to the westward. 
 
 "To-night one of the steerage passengers they called 'the old 
 soldier ' died. He had not spoken for a day or two, and this morning 
 the mate informed us that from the rattling in his throat and short 
 breathing he would not probably survive the day. On inquiry it 
 appears that he has been in the service of Napoleon, and has been to 
 America in search of his son, who has long been absent. After long 
 seeking, at last despairing of finding him, the heart that quaked not 
 for the snow and fire of Moscow or the wild huzza of the Cossack, nor 
 at Waterloo, sank under him when this last tie that bound him to life 
 was broken ; the old soldier returning desolate and alone to his coun- 
 try — home probably he had none — when death came to his relief. 
 
 " The first two weeks pass off quickly at sea ; but after this one 
 begins to count the days, and now we have been out twenty-four days, 
 with a head wind for the last nine. Even the hours begin to hang 
 heavily ; one becomes tired of everything about the ship ; to fix his 
 mind on a book is a thing impossible ; reads a page, then throws it 
 down and goes on deck and looks to windward ; finds no consola- 
 tion there, takes a few turns back and forward on the deck, meets the 
 
32 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 mate, asks him what 's the prospect, thinks we '11 have a fine wind in 
 the course of a week ; says no more to him, but goes and sits in cabin ; 
 waits impatiently for the lunch bell to ring, not because he feels the 
 least sign of an appetite, but wants something to do. After lunch 
 comes the poser, What is to be done with four long hours to dinner 1 
 Again goes on deck, and scans every cloud in the heavens ; goes below, 
 takes his book j after reading a dozen pages turns back to where he 
 began, having lost the thread of the story by dreaming of what a 
 glorious time he will have when he gets on land, while he was reading. 
 After dinner, probably on champagne days he feels pretty well satisfied 
 with himself and all about him, and cares not which way the wind 
 blows, assured that it blows somebody good ; then, as he lies sleepless 
 in his berth, hears the timbers grate the same tune at every roll of 
 the ship, and tramp, tramp of the watch over his head, and the bell 
 every half-hour counting the watches of the night, or falls into a 
 broken sleep and dreams the ship is sinking,* and is waked by the ship 
 making a lurch and nearly throwing him from the berth, and hears the 
 pumps going ; steward comes in the morning with water, tells him the 
 wind has increased and blows a gale dead ahead, lying to under close- 
 reefed topsails. This is too much j turns over and groans, and tries to 
 get another snooze. 
 
 " A land bird flew on board exhausted, and was caught by the mate. 
 None of our company were ornithologists enough to tell us what class 
 he belongs to ; he looks much like our own snipe. We are only 
 one thousand miles from land, and the poor thing must have had a 
 weary journey of it. It has blown strong from the east for a week. 
 It is probably a migratory bird seeking some southern clime, and 
 would no doubt have perished in the ocean. The 'matter of this letter 
 upon firm land may seem trifling, but after one has been long at sea, 
 the slightest token from terra firma never fails to touch the most insen- 
 sible ; he stands for hours watching a sail as it slowly rises and skims 
 along. 
 
 " We came on soundings yesterday. We had no observation during* 
 the last ten days on account of the thick weather, and the uncertainty 
 of our position renders it extremely unsafe running, and last night the 
 wind hauled to the southeast and blew a gale. Fearing we should not 
 be able to weather the Scilly Islands, stood off this morning. As 
 we approach land every one feels that the danger of the voyage is just 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 33 
 
 here, particularly at this stormy season in the English Channel. 
 Mynheer looks still more long-faced, and takes longer puffs at his 
 pipe, and swears by d under and blitzen he will hail the first pilot boat 
 he sees, and go ashore on the English coast. 
 
 " Our Yankee shows to the best advantage at table. No sooner 
 is he seated than frightful inroads are made on the contents of every 
 dish within reach, which he transfers to his own plate, and as quickly 
 disposes of ; then commences calling on the steward for what is at 
 this and that end of the table : nothing escapes his inevitable appetite. 
 After seeing him eat his breakfast, stowing away chicken legs with 
 ham and eggs and sausages, not to mention buckwheat cakes or mush 
 and molasses, filling up the chinks with four and a half cups of 
 coffee, you would say he eats no more to-day ; but to see him enjoy 
 his lunch would satisfy your own appetite, and then at dinner we 
 shall certainly be put on an allowance. I hope we shall have a short 
 passage. As he sat one day reading in the round house, the old Ger- 
 man says to him, 1 You "have von grand appetite for reading.' Jona- 
 than was a little piqued at what he understood to be a reflection upon 
 his eating propensity; he guessed that he had pretty considerable of a 
 decent sort of an appetite. ' 0, you no understan me ; I mean you have 
 one grand desire to read your book always/ 
 
 " There is a variety amongst our passengers. We have Yankees, 
 Germans, French, and Swiss. The old German is always grumbling ; I 
 never saw his long features drawn up to anything approaching a smile, 
 forever fretting, smoking, and often relating doleful accounts of his 
 travels in America ; how he once engaged in a coach which was to 
 carry four passengers, but ' when we have den place, there be four 
 women extra and three chilens. Mine Got, dis be too bad ; I no stand 
 dis. I have mine luggage taken right out, and I go hire von extra/ 
 When we talk of a short passage he shrugs his shoulders and says, 
 ' I make no short passages. I was forty-two days in den North Sea ; 
 dat be horrible. I was been nineteen day off den West Indies.' Our 
 little Frenchman is a complete personification of the French charac- 
 ter of society ; nothing puts him out of humor, — blow high or low, 
 rain or shine, c'est egal to him ; he smokes his cigar and enjoys his 
 dinner in spite of commotion, and jokes the old German, who sits 
 next him at the table, who all the while looks glum. They some- 
 times have hot disputes over their wine, their sectional prejudices 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 MEM01K OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 clashing often. It is most amusing to observe the contrast between 
 the two characters. 
 
 " Land ho ! It cleared up this morning, and about two o'clock 
 came in sight of Scilly Isles, and as we have a cracking breeze from 
 the west, with sunshine, which we have not seen for many days, 
 everybody is on deck, looking cheerful and in good spirits, enjoying the 
 line prospect, anticipating a speedy deliverance from the long confine- 
 ment. Even the sailors seem to run up the rigging with much greater 
 alacrity than usual. In fact, everything is in the best of humor. 
 
 " Thirty-second day at sea. The breeze lasted but twelve hours, 
 when it hauled to the southeast, by which we made Eddystone. 
 
 " I think I left off in giving you some idea of the characters of our 
 company on board, — of our Yankee John Bull, who considers him- 
 self a British subject because his father lives in England. He 
 despises everything American merely because it is so. If he happens 
 to spy a fine ship, ' Ah ! that is an English ship ! ' and maintains his 
 opinions most obstinately. At table he makes frequent attempts to be 
 witty, and laughs at his own jokes, in which he is joined by his wife, 
 w T ho seems just transferred from boarding-school, and lisps French, 
 and works lace, and strings beads, and other necessary accomplishments 
 which, in these wiser times and this age of improvement, are found 
 requisite to constitute a class of beings which were in the olden time 
 called women and the better half of creation, but are now distin- 
 guished by the cognomen of ladies, but to see whom has much the 
 same effect on one's stomach as a heavy sea. They go to make the 
 tour of Europe. 
 
 " The old maid is a rare specimen. She has a most queer twist to 
 her mouth, and there is a most exquisite touch about every action. 
 When she is skipping about on deck you will see the sailors casting 
 unutterable glances at each other. She is withal a critic, and has long 
 discussions with the passengers about the merits of certain authors ; 
 thinks W. Irving a fine writer, but a pity that one who can write so 
 well should spend his mind on such trifling subjects ; thinks the 
 ' Wife ' a very nice piece. 
 
 " Mrs. , the preacher's wife, poor woman, has a sorry time of 
 
 it. She has never once made her appearance at table during the 
 voyage. It is indeed melancholy to look upon her pale and worn 
 features, as she occasionally comes up on deck in a fair day (which, by the 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 35 
 
 way, is not often), about which plays a most attractive sweetness, that 
 excites the sympathy of all for her suffering. She accompanies her 
 husband, who, in laboring to save the souls of other men, forgot that 
 himself had a body of his own to save, and follows the track of the 
 mass of his profession, who annually leave the country to seek in 
 foreign climes the health they have neglected and lost, — the greatest 
 of all blessings. 
 
 " The wind increasing to a gale towards morning, were unable to 
 weather the land beyond Eddystone j again stood off. During the 
 night the wind hauled dead ahead, and here we are, within twelve 
 hours' sail of port, rolling and tumbling about, now on the starboard 
 tack, now on the larboard, gaining nothing, with no prospect of a 
 change. The barometer set fair ; the easterly winds here bring fair 
 weather, like our westerly. Mynheer begins to lose patience, and 
 swears by dunder and blitzen he will hail the first pilot-boat and go 
 ashore. If the wind holds in the same quarter for many days longer, 
 we shall probably put in to some harbor on the English coast, and 
 wait for a fair wind. 
 
 " On the night of the 32d we encountered the severest gale of all, 
 off Portland lights, from the southeast. What a midnight ! When in 
 the height of the storm, it was necessary to wear ship (to get clear of 
 land; the wind was dead on shore). In bringing her round the ropes 
 attached to the rudder gave way, when she struck aback, bearing down 
 her stern and raising the waves above her stern windows, and stove 
 them in, and the water came rushing into the cabin, and ran forward 
 as far as the ladies' cabin ; the door was fortunately closed, or we 
 should probably have had a scene ; and then, as the ship rolled, ran aft 
 on the other side. Our berths being amidship, and beyond the ladies' 
 cabin, escaped the general deluge. 
 
 " It is my fate to make hard passages across the Atlantic. We are on 
 the thirty-fourth day from New York, — head winds for the last nine- 
 teen, — what we have gained has been by hard beating. We run last 
 night for a few hours with a fair wind ; had it continued at that rate we 
 should have been in port this afternoon, instead of which, early this 
 morning, it again changed, and has since blown so, that we only carry 
 just sail enough to steady the ship, making no headway, but drifting 
 towards the English coast. 
 
 " Thirty-fifth day. Last night we had again a fair wind, which came 
 
36 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 so suddenly and blew so tremendously that it was impossible to run 
 by till ten o'clock this morning, when the wind again began to haul to 
 the eastward. We set sail to make Cape de la Hague, which rises, like 
 the Palisades, in the mist ; but this morning found ourselves about six 
 leagues to the eastward of the Cape, from which the wind blew a gale, 
 with rain in torrents. Fortunately we obtained a pilot this morning, — 
 a hardy, broad-shouldered, weather-beaten pilot, with rings in his ears, 
 (who ever saw one without 1) who understands the sea-language of all 
 countries. The pilot informs us that the Island Sun, which sailed 
 from New York eight days before us, has been in port twenty, and 
 that the easterly winds have prevailed for about a month. 
 
 "This is, we hope, the last night we shall have to pass on board ship. 
 Two hours ago we were lying to in the most furious gale we have yet 
 had. Now the sky has cleared and the wind died away to a gentle 
 breeze. The full moon shines out gloriously, and away in the distance 
 under her lies Cape de la Hague, with her glittering lights like stars, 
 towards which we gently turn our course, and by to-morrow anticipate 
 being in the port for which we have made so long and weary a passage. 
 
 " Nous voila in Havre! Going on deck this morning, we found our- 
 selves entering the dock at Havre, — passengers dressed in their best 
 suits, shaved, and faces washed clean for the first time since coming 
 on board ; the old maid and the wife came out in glowing colors. 
 Nothing appears more ridiculous than this attempt of our country- 
 women at show in foreign countries, for here out-of-doors one never 
 sees any finery, but all plainly dressed. 
 
 "November 30. — We had no sooner hauled up to the wharf than the 
 gens oVarmes came on board for our passports, and porters from the 
 custom-house for our baggage, which they piled on deck, and con- 
 veyed to the custom-house. Meantime we went in search of a hotel, 
 after which we went to the custom-house to unlock our trunks, to be 
 subjected to what most travellers make a great fuss about, but by 
 which I have never been much annoyed. If travellers attempt to pass 
 what the laws of a country prohibit, what can they expect but hin- 
 drance 1 I think you will find that all this noise about custom-house 
 insolence is made by those who attempt to infringe the laws, and to 
 pass what they know is prohibited a free passage. 
 
 " We stop at the hotel de N. York on the quai, and enjoy once more 
 the luxury of lying quietly in bed, after being tossed thirty-five days 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 37 
 
 on the restless "billow, and eating our dinner without the fear of being 
 drowned in soup and gravy. We found it necessary to get passports 
 of the American Consul ; these we carry to the police, and they give 
 one for the interior of France. The Consul charges two dollars and 
 the police two francs. 
 
 " We now took a walk about the walls and ramparts of this ancient 
 city of Havre, the day being very fine and warm. We were surprised 
 at seeing the number of steamboats plying between this and Bour- 
 deaux, Caen, Hamburg, Southampton, Dublin, London, and many 
 other places. They have not the elegant appearance of our boats, but 
 are built much stronger, painted of a dark color, and the machinery is 
 all below. They seem to be constructed by those who consider life 
 and safety of greater importance than speed and elegance, — a perfect 
 contrast to the frail barks to which so many of our countrymen have 
 trusted and lost. Among the vast number of sail from all quarters of 
 the world, there was but one American ship besides our own. This is 
 remarked by the papers as a circumstance that has not occurred since 
 the peace. In the market-place fell in with an old man surrounded 
 with a great quantity of trees j inquired, of course, if he had any mul- 
 berry, — had none, and there were none about here. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " December 1. — We took passage, at ten a.m., in the coupe of the dili- 
 gence for Rouen. The day is warm, the air is soft and moist like May 
 in our country. One is apt to associate the idea of a diligence and 
 slowness together, but nothing is more incorrect. With seven and 
 sometimes nine horses, without sparing the lash, they rumble on with 
 a speed over their paved roads that would soon leave behind the best 
 of our stages, carrying, as they often do, thirty-two passengers, with 
 their baggage piled high on the top of the carriage." 
 
 Paris. 
 
 Frank went out about twelve this morning, and promised to return at 
 five ; it is now six, and no Frank has come. What can have become of 
 him ] I fear very much he has lost his way ; he has no passport with 
 him, can speak no French, may get into difficulty. It is now eight. I 
 have sat in my own room since five, and you may imagine with what 
 feelings I hear every knock at the front door, and say to myself, " There 
 he comes." Hear steps on the stairs coming nearer and nearer. I think 
 the door will open, but a stranger passes on to the . next, humming an 
 
38 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 air to himself, happy. I wait ; another comes in below, steps slowly 
 up one step after the other — ah ! that must be Frank, tired out — now 
 he goes in the room, and . . . 
 
 The last you saw of us was watching the little cottage girl going to 
 • market, whom we soon lost sight of down a winding hedged lane, the 
 
 diligence rumbling on with a speed which would leave the best of our 
 stages far in the rear. The road from here to Rouen is one of the finest 
 made roads I ever saw, and kept in the most perfect order by work- 
 men whose business it is to repair the least defect as soon as it appears. 
 The neglect of this is the reason why our stone roads are ruined in so 
 short a time. The road each side is lined with a row of apple-trees. 
 The face of the country is much like Lancaster County, Penn., with 
 every inch highly cultivated. There are no fences, but you see no 
 division except those made by the color of the different species of vege- 
 tation, the cattle being attended by the herdsmen. We observed 
 immense fields of turnips for feeding sheep in winter. Wheat appears 
 to be the principal grain that is raised in this region ; corn, of course, 
 you never see, a field of corn being only known here as "ble de 
 Turquie," and very rare and dear. By the way, how is it that the 
 French bread is so much better than ours 1 Is it in the making or in 
 the wheat itself? I will send you a barrel of French flour, that this 
 problem may be solved. 
 
 I am enraptured with these old thatched cottages. Frank says, 
 " How ridiculous to talk about New England cottages, — a square-built 
 house, painted white, stuck on a high hill, with a peaked fence about 
 it, with not a solitary tree to protect it from scorching sunshine ! 
 Contrast it with that snug retreat in that copse yonder, with its over- 
 hanging roof covered with a complete mat of the greenest moss, and 
 over the door the vine, hedged about with roses, and overshadowed 
 with the old oaks and elms that have stood and will stand for ages. If 
 you ever build a house take a lesson from one of these." We were sur- 
 prised to see the quantity of produce and merchandise of all sorts 
 transported on the road on the most clumsy carriages you can imagine, 
 with but two wheels, some eight or ten. The mystery is how one horse 
 can guide such an immense load, — the harness alone seems load enough 
 for one horse, — then before him he has nine or ten a la tandem. 
 
 We arrived in Rouen about sunset, and the next day, Sunday, con- 
 cluded to stay and view the old Cathedral and other buildings, for 
 
SiLK CULTURE. 
 
 39 
 
 which the old city is so famous. The Cathedral of Notre Dame is one 
 of the largest and most beautiful in France. The foundation was laid 
 in the year 1100. One of the towers which is upon the rear part of 
 the church was destroyed by lightning in 1822. It has been since 
 restored in cast-iron, and is about five hundred feet in height, said to 
 be the highest monument in the world. 
 
 Our fathers built the church of pine boards ; the fashion changes, 
 pull them down, — obliterate all marks of the places where our ancestors 
 worshipped, destroying the altars and making others of the constituent 
 materials. There is even fashion about the form of our prayers, which 
 we read kneeling on a cushioned stool. This altar has stood for a 
 thousand years j* here, upon the same cold marble, the millions of past 
 generations have knelt, and at the same shrine offered up the same 
 solemn mass that many hundred years ago echoed through these high 
 vaulted arches, and still vibrates through the long, dim aisles. 
 
 Next follow directions in regard to making beet sugar, hardly 
 intelligible or interesting to us now, but as showing his attention 
 to the subject. 
 
 From his accounts we may gather his style of living during 
 this journey. I add a few items which show his temperate 
 expense : — 
 
 Fr c. 
 
 Dinner at restaurant . 2 2 = 42 cents. 
 Cafe au lait . . . . 13 
 
 Dinner 2 00 
 
 Chapeau 15 00 = $3.00. 
 
 Dinner 3 12 
 
 This is the highest charge I find for dinner, but 250 francs for 
 Cours th^orique et pratique de fabrication de sucre idigene, 
 9 for the opera, often 5 or 8 to the garc,on, and liberal artistic 
 payments. He knew how to spend for his genius. 
 
 A separate account is headed " Private Expenses." His ex- 
 penses were paid by the parties engaged in the mulberry 
 speculation. 
 
 * A slight exaggeration. The church was built in the thirteenth century. 
 
40 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 Rouen. 
 
 One is struck with awe on entering in the night one of these vast 
 buildings, lighted below with a few dim tapers that " make darkness 
 visible " ; and the height of the massive pillars that support the lofty 
 arches seem interminable, and the solemn dirge chanted by the choir 
 seems still more unearthly as it floats upward and dies away in the 
 obscurity. 
 
 We ascended Mount St. Catherine, from which there is one of the 
 finest views in the world. I recollected going up with John when we 
 were here four years ago. We gained the summit just as the sun was 
 setting, and sat down among the ruined towers and fortifications that 
 were made by the Roman army under Julius Csesar. 'T was summer 
 time, and all nature was clothed in the richest green. Below the Seine 
 wound along, spotted with its numberless little islands, and before us 
 that wide valley bounded by those gently undulating hills that confine 
 that beautiful river. At the right lay the ancient city of Eouen, its 
 lofty trees and spires seeming to rise even higher than the mountain 
 itself. Over all the setting sun poured a flood of golden light. After 
 visiting the fountain erected over the place where Joan d'Arc was 
 burned, and the gallery of paintings, we took passage in the evening 
 for Paris, as we could find no diligence that left in the morning, — a cir- 
 cumstance which we did not afterwards regret, for it was a glorious 
 moonshine, the air was soft and balmy, and we never felt more like 
 enjoying ourselves. Arrived in Paris early next morning, left Frank at 
 the diligence office while I went in search of lodgings. Went first to 
 Mad. Bell's, near the Boulevard, where John and I had stopped before, 
 but could get no room there. She recommended me to a hotel in Rue 
 Monsigny, No. 5, about the same distance from the Boulevard, and a 
 place we like very much. The weather has been fine since we arrived 
 here, with very little rain, which is uncommon at this season. 
 
 Paris, Dec. 22. 
 
 Ward and Push, — In your last letter you directed us to procure 
 mulberry-trees to an indefinite amount, provided they could be 
 obtained at a cheap rate. We went immediately to Versailles, and 
 found a very fine lot that Mons. Remont had reserved for his own 
 planting the coming season, — some of them were seven feet in height, 
 and very ripe ; to get them we were obliged to take some 15,000 of 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 41 
 
 the moretti, which here are considered superior to the multicaulis, of 
 which there were 30,000 ; these, with the 15,000 multicaulis, we had 
 already engaged, and a few of the moretti he was to let us have, and 
 delivered in Paris, for the sum of 31,000 francs (the number of trees 
 in all amounting to 65,000), were all w.ell packed, and a part of them 
 on the road to Paris, when Mons. Remont discovered that we had (by 
 my bad French) misunderstood each other in regard to money affairs, 
 he supposing we had the whole amount deposited at Wells, when we 
 had only 9,000 francs, or that Wells would guarantee the payment of 
 the debt. Upon this he refused to deliver the trees, of course, except 
 what had already arrived in Paris, for which I gave him a draft for 
 8,000 francs, and he has trusted me for 2,000 francs for forty days, as 
 I have promised him we shall have funds before that time ; he only 
 wanted the guarantee of Wells for six months even. I am sorry you 
 have not put us in the way of obtaining funds on credit, for in a 
 strange country you cannot suppose we can succeed without them. 
 Remont has promised to reserve the trees for us a short time, but as 
 they are rising in value on account of the demand for them in our 
 country, cannot depend on him long. If you have sent funds by the 
 Liverpool, from which we expect news to-morrow or next day, the 
 trees are yours. Those we have started are on the road to Havre, and 
 will go in the Louis Philippe packet of the 1st of January. I am 
 very sorry they could not have all gone together ; they may still. 
 
 Tear off this and send to Burlington. Sep. 
 Mr. John Cheney, Philadelphia. 
 
 As I have told you before, we had purchased in December 45,000 
 Morus multicaulis of M. Remont of Versailles, but on account of some 
 misunderstanding in regard to the payment, he refused to deliver them 
 all at that time ; 15,000, however, with 4,000 moretti, were delivered, 
 for which I gave him drafts on Wells & Co., payable on the 30th of 
 January, being morally certain (from what Rush had written advising 
 us to buy trees, and you would send the money) of receiving funds 
 before that time. If we do not (which I very much fear now, from 
 what I wrote by the Royal William, that the prospect of getting trees 
 here was not promising), we shall soon be short, and must commence 
 to live on six sous a day, as the soldiers do. 
 
 Those 15,000 and 4,000 have gone by the Louis Philippe packet 
 
42 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 of the 1st of January, but she did not sail till the 16th. They were 
 consigned to Gracie & Sergeant, where we purchased the bill in New 
 York. Perhaps I have not done right in directing them so, but when 
 they arrive you will of course go to New York and attend to them. 
 There are nine boxes and one , bale partly wrapped in wicker work, 
 marked S. W. 10 C. E. C. 9. 
 
 M. Eemont has still in reserve for us the rest of the trees, and 
 called on us yesterday and said that he was ready to pack and (ship) 
 them to Havre immediately, besides offering 20,000 more small ones. 
 From some cause he all at once has confidence in us ; he is now pack- 
 ing, and will have them ready by the 1st of February, but to pay the 
 freight to Havre will take the last sous we have. We wait most impa- 
 tiently for means to fulfil our engagements, and if none come within 
 
 ten days shall be in . We shall want about $6,000. We can 
 
 probably find some more trees before spring, but shall not engage any 
 more till we hear from you. 
 
 Paine has bought and sent home a good many trees ; his agent has 
 been all over France. Dr. Knox has been here all winter. 
 
 Messrs. Ward Cheney & Bros., 
 Burlington, N. J., 1839. 
 
 Paris, Jan. 24, 1839. 
 We are attending a course of lectures on the theory and practice 
 of the fabrication of sugar from the beet, given by M. Gautier, inventor 
 of a new method of extracting the sugar, or rather the juice of the beet, 
 without pressure. This is the third course he has given. They come 
 from all quarters here to get instruction ; at present there are some 
 thirty or forty attending, from Belgium, Russia, Cuba, the United 
 States, etc. His plan is being adopted everywhere on account of the 
 simplicity of the process and the increased product, besides a great 
 reduction in the expense of machinery and labor. We are allowed 
 admission every day for one month to the manufactory, and may see 
 every part of the process in every particular. When we are a little 
 further advanced shall give you an account of it. We shall learn more 
 here than we could by visiting every establishment of the kind in 
 France, because here we gain a practical knowledge. We shall send 
 some of the best beet seed, of the most approved variety. Frank 
 says he shall plant twenty acres next season. The apparatus can be 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 43 
 
 sent from here probably at a cheaper rate than it could be made at 
 home. 
 
 M. Remont tells me that my best plan to learn the art of raising 
 silkworms will be to go to the Bergeries de Le-Mans next summer, as 
 there is a model established there for the instruction of all. It is 
 about seven leagues from Paris. There are several other places near, 
 one at Isantz, and another at Villenoble, where large cocooneries are 
 erected, which I shall see in the feeding season. We went yesterday 
 to see M. Clair in the new Cocoonery ; he has models of the most 
 approved laboratories, with apparatus for ventilation and heating the 
 air, and a machine for drying the damp leaves, and a plan of using the 
 net, but not so simple as you have it. 
 
 Great preparations are making in the Champs Elys^es for the 
 approaching Exposition. Five hundred laborers are engaged in erect- 
 ing immense buildings for the reception of the innumerable articles 
 which are offered for exhibition, which it is said will surpass all others. 
 
 We have ascertained here that silkworms' eggs have been preserved 
 in ice-houses for twenty-two months, and that they hatched as well as 
 new, by being hatched in a moist air. A too dry air was probably the 
 cause of failure at Burlington, last year. 
 
 We received a letter from John a few days since, but from Burling- 
 ton not a whisper. Since we got John's letter we are still more 
 anxious to secure the trees, as he says they are selling very high there. 
 These trees at that rate will bring you six or seven hundred per cent of 
 the first cost. 
 
 Don't fail to write by every steamship and packet, and send us the 
 " Silk-Grower " regularly. Frank wants a copy to leave at Galignani's 
 reading-room. 
 
 London, Apr. 13, 1839. 
 Dear Brothers, — I received yours of the 15th of March last 
 night ; brings good news, and I need not say how much pleasure it 
 gives me to hear from home, now that I am alone here, and have no 
 one to talk to. I have neglected writing too much lately, and now, 
 since Frank is gone, I have nothing to write about. James Jackson 
 will say, " Why don't you give us something for the ' Silk-Grower ' % " 
 but what can I find in this great city of London 1 So you must be con- 
 tent for the present ; perhaps I may gather something when I go back 
 to France, which I shall do in May, after I get your letters by the 
 
44 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 Great Western. The wind has blown from the east for the last two 
 weeks, and I think the Richard Anderson may have a short passage. 
 I hope so, on Frank's account, but I very much fear he will not have 
 reached home before you get this, and that he will regret having taken 
 passage in her. How I have bothered Frank in keeping him back so 
 long ! 'T was that unfortunate letter I wrote to Havre that marred all, 
 or you would have seen him long ago. I cannot think of the business 
 of last winter without being amazed at my own foolishness in the 
 management of the affair ; the only excuse I can offer is my ignorance 
 of business transactions. What surprises me now is, how that Remont 
 should have trusted us to so great an amount, being strangers to him 
 and every one here ; it might have been our long, honest faces, for at 
 one time they had a peculiar elongated solemn expression — but enough 
 of this. Frank will give you the particulars. I hope you will see 
 him before you get this. I think it was well for Frank to go, as he 
 did not enjoy being away from his business, when he thought of how 
 much there was to do ; so it was better for him to go, even if he 
 returned again in the fall. By the way, Eush, have you still the 
 intention of coming out this year 1 If so, let me know, because it may 
 have some influence on my moves here, so do not fail to let me know 
 by return of Liverpool ; but in regard to coming out, act freely, and 
 don't think of me. I shall endeavor to discover all I can in relation 
 to the cultivation of silk during the summer, but you must not be dis- 
 appointed if not so much is to be found out as was anticipated. I 
 fear that my " European correspondence " will not amount to much ; 
 however, I shall do all I can. 
 
 By your letters I think your prospects are fine for next season ; let 
 me know how things go often. I wrote you by the Quebec, and sent 
 some "Rohan" potatoes.* 
 
 There is no beginning or end to this letter, I write in such a hurry ; 
 never mind, go ahead ! To save postage I have written to John on the 
 other side. Sep. 
 
 London, Apr. 17. 
 
 Dear John, — Vous 6tes bon garcon to write so often ; in every 
 letter vous avez dit quelque chose j'en suis charrne — poure moi, je suis 
 loge a No. 2 Grafton St., Fitzroy Square, tout pres de Healy & Harvey. 
 
 * The potatoes proved an unfortunate speculation. 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 45 
 
 I have not seen much of London yet, but I am tres content with 
 what I have seen. What nice things there are in the National Gallery, 
 nothing poor ! The Exhibition will open in about two weeks. I anti- 
 cipate a good deal of pleasure from that. I see Healy almost every 
 day ; he is getting on finely, painting big folks ; has improved surpris- 
 ingly, colors like Vandyke. I dined with Harvey yesterday; we 
 shall go to Paris together, in May. He is going to be my cicerone 
 here, and I his in Paris. Healy has promised to go with me to see 
 Betsey and Mary Ann * soon ; they do not live at the old place now. I 
 am sorry I could not have done something better with your funds, but 
 it was so late, you know. 
 
 I bought in Paris some casts for you. They were collected in a 
 hurry, and I fear you may not like the selection ; when I go back I 
 will pay more attention to those things. I am gathering prints every 
 day. I have never seen an engraving of the Lady Jane Grey,t I 
 doubt if there has been one made yet. Some time ago there was a 
 good deal said about the new art of making pictures by the camera 
 obscura, but I have never seen any of the effects produced by it, and 
 lately have heard nothing of it. 
 
 Messrs. Ward Cheney & Bros., 
 
 Burlington, N. J., U. S. A. 
 
 New York Ship, May 24. 
 
 London, May 17, 1839. 
 Dear Brothers, — Your letters of the 24th and 31st of March, and 
 by the Great Western, are received, and give me much pleasure, though 
 I have some fears, from the tone of your last letter, that the tree busi- 
 ness will prove rather a poor speculation; but, situated as we were, it was 
 the best we could have done in the matter. Frank has told you before 
 this, probably, the particulars to your satisfaction. When I think of 
 the affair now coolly, — that the mistake was on our part, and that you 
 have had wrong done you ; but as we could do nothing but grumble 
 then, we took the liberty to indulge ourselves in that luxury. But let 
 it pass ; it is done and cannot be undone. You will think it strange 
 that I am still in London, but I have told you the reason, and now 
 that I shall have nothing to attend to here, I shall return to France in 
 a few days, and gather what there is to be learned in regard to the 
 
 Daughters of his landlady. 
 
 t By De la Roche. 
 
46 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 object for which I came out. I will say again, don't expect anything 
 wonderful. I shall attend particularly to what you say in relation to 
 the eggs, and can no doubt procure any quantity. I send the bill for 
 one thousand dollars by the Great Western ; don't bother yourselves 
 about sending any more at present. 
 
 Frank, you must give me a detailed account of your voyage home. 
 I fear very much you had a long passage, and on the cold water system 
 you must have had rather a dry time of it ; for a few days after you 
 left I felt rather blue, but I soon made some pleasant acquaintances 
 through Healy. In one family in particular I have passed many a 
 pleasant evening ; they are Americans, and live out beyond the 
 Kegent's Park ; they have spent some time in France, and have noth- 
 ing of the reserve that the Americans generally have, so that I feel as 
 much at home there as with you. I had like to have forgotten to say, 
 qu'il-y-a trois soeurs dans ce famille-la (!!!). 
 
 I shall go to France in a few days ; shall go down to Kent to join 
 my friend Harvey, and we shall go over together to Paris. I am sorry 
 I am not there now to see the revolutionary sport. I suppose it will 
 be all over before I get there. 
 
 My health is excellent now. I think this climate suits me even bet- 
 ter than France. I think, after I get through feeding silkworms, I 
 may return here. 
 
 John, I have received your kind letter by the Great Western, with 
 the accompaniment. I wish I could say something in return, but this 
 thick skull of mine encloses so fast what few ideas it holds that no 
 beating can induce them to leave their stronghold. I can only say, que 
 je suis charme de sa lettre et ravi with the writer. 
 
 The Exhibition is open, and said to be better than common. I am 
 disappointed, much disappointed in Wilkie. There is nothing of the 
 blind fiddler left in him. Turner is most extravagant, and leaves his 
 things rude and unfinished. I am pleased with Leslie. There is an 
 admirable picture from Don Quixote by him. Healy has five portraits 
 in the Exhibition, which do him credit ; he is going to France soon to 
 paint the King. I see Healy often, and through him have made some 
 pleasant acquaintance here. We took tea with Betsey and Mary Ann, 
 and afterwards went to the theatre with them. They made inquiries 
 about you, and want to see you very much. 
 
 I dined at the Artists' Benevolent Fund last week, at the Freemasons' 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 47 
 
 Hall; the Duke of Cambridge presided. We had speeches from 
 Lords and great folks. Sergeant Talfourd is a splendid speaker ; we 
 had singers from St. Paul's, two boys, — that sang enchantingly, after 
 dinner, the " Non nobis." I never heard anything surpass that, — 
 " strains that might create a soul under the ribs of death ; " then " God 
 save the Queen," and many other enchanting things were sung during 
 the evening. The gallery was filled with fair forms and faces, and on 
 drinking their healths, we made the old hall resound with shouts. I 
 never felt more glorious in my life. 
 
 Paris, June 24, 1839. 
 
 Dear Brothers, — I wrote you by the Liverpool. Since I wrote 
 I have not heard from you, but expect news by the Great Western 
 in a few days. I have been to Villenoble to see the silk establish- 
 ment of M. Gremodst. They are feeding about twenty thousand 
 there of the white worm, much like what you have fed last season ; 
 they use the leaves of the white and morettis mulberry. They have 
 many mulberries planted, but they are still very small. All the 
 objection that is made to them is that they are not hardy, and will not 
 endure the frosts of their winter. The leaves are considered preferable 
 to all others. The plan of feeding is better described in the books 
 that Frank carried home than I can give it. I shall go out soon to see 
 the reeling process. 
 
 I wish James was here to give you a description of the Exposition 
 de l'lndustrie in the Champs Elysees ; I cannot do it. I went down 
 yesterday to make drawings of some silk reels there, but found them 
 so complicated that I thought they would be useless to you. There 
 are several models of machines for manufacturing sugar from the beet, 
 one for pressing the pulp by a cylinder press ; the rolls were hollow, 
 and the surface perforated with small holes about the size of a quill, 
 and around them a wove wire gauze is laid ; the pulp is forced up 
 between the rollers by a sort of force pump, the juice running off at 
 the ends of the hollow cylinder. I very much doubt whether this 
 plan will work. 
 
 July 7, 1839. 
 
 ... I wrote you by my last it was fortunate I had not paid Remont 
 for all the trees he pretended to have sent. I paid him 2,500 
 francs on arriving in Paris. There is yet some 9,000 or 10,000 francs 
 due. It is very doubtful whether he gets much more. I have not 
 
48 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 seen him for some weeks. I went yesterday to Yillenoble to purchase 
 some eggs for you, but could get none. I don't know that it is of 
 much consequence to get the sort they have here ; they are the same you 
 got at Frankfort last year, — the white peanut worm, — but not near 
 as large and fine ; their multicaulis were about one foot high. I shall 
 be obliged to go South to get eggs. There will be a good many trees 
 in this region next fall, but very small ones. I will see what there is 
 South. We had such poor luck on the last winter's operations that I 
 have not courage to attempt anything again in the way of purchases. 
 
 There are three American artists lodging at the same house with 
 me, who are going next week to the South of France and Italy ; possi- 
 bly I may join them. If I do, I shall not probably see any letter 
 from you for two months or so. In case I should not return soon to 
 Paris, I will have the funds so arranged that Rush or Frank, if either 
 should come out, may take advantage of them ; this would be neces- 
 sary, for they are, you know, deposited in my name. 
 
 Monday, 8. 
 
 I have about made up my mind to go to the South of France, and per- 
 haps to Italy. If I go, I shall start next week with the three artists. 
 
 John, I always get something from you by every letter. Je 
 vous remercie bien, je suis tou jours content do vos nouvelles ; a 
 present je suis loge chez Mad. Pirau et Mons. Harvey et trois autres 
 American artistes de New York, Messrs. Yan Bright, Gray, and 
 Huntington. They go to Italy next week. It is a strong temptation 
 to me to accompany them. Have you seen the engraving of De la 
 Eoche's " Gabriel "1 I think it is one of the most exquisite things in the 
 world. By the way, it is an almost exact portrait of his wife, who is 
 the daughter of Horace Yernet ; she has the most angelic expression 
 of any woman I ever saw, but she is not long for this world. The 
 Lady Jane Grey of De la Eoche has been lost, — burnt. Quel mal- 
 heur, quel malheur ! 
 
 Messrs. Ward Cheney & Bros., 
 
 Burlington, N. J., U. S. A. 
 
 Per British Queen. 
 
 Paris, July 28, 1839. 
 Dear Brothers, — I wrote you by the Great Western, saying 
 that I intended soon going to Italy in company with some American 
 artists ; but since then I have given it up, and shall try to do all in 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 49 
 
 my power to secure some trees for you. I went yesterday to Ville- 
 noble, but they have nothing there worth having ; not a tree over a 
 foot in height. I saw Eemont a week ago ; he has some, but rather 
 small. His price there was forty francs per hundred for the best ; says 
 he has some line trees about sixty leagues from Paris. I think it is 
 rather doubtful whether I shall be able to find good ripe trees here ; 
 the season has been rather backward and cold. The advantage of 
 getting trees here is great on account of the facility of sending them 
 to Havre, to be shipped by the packets. However, if nothing can be 
 done here, I shall immediately start south towards the Mediterranean, 
 and see what can be done there. I think it very doubtful whether 
 many trees can be found, on account of the large shipments of last 
 year. The product of this year has been from cuttings principally. I 
 should say that three-fourths of the cuttings planted at Villenoble had 
 failed ; the cuttings being taken from branches, and small. 
 
 I am glad to hear that your prospects are so good for the next 
 season. You will no doubt make a good deal. It is surprising how 
 the speculation keeps up. . When will it end 1 
 
 Frank, why do you not write 1 I suppose you are enchanting the 
 Burlington folks with your cornet a piston. 
 
 Dear John, I am glad to hear you are going home with Electa to see 
 mother ; how lonely she must be ! I do hope before a long time some 
 of us will be there to stop, after the mulberry speculations are over ; 
 everything must give way to that now. Dubourjal is well. Healy 
 arrived yesterday to paint the King. I will collect some more casts 
 and something more pleasing, and send you, with some pictures that I 
 have collected. 
 
 Health is excellent ; I can stand anything now. 
 
 Messrs. Ward Cheney & Bros., 
 
 Burlington, N. J., U. S. A. 
 
 Paris, Aug. 7, 1839. 
 
 To Ward Cheney, Burlington, N. J. 
 
 Dear Brother, — I wrote you in a great hurry by the Liverpool 
 steamer, after receiving your letter by her. The day after I saw 
 Eemont, and made the following bargain for trees. Perhaps I have 
 done wrong, but as the price of trees was rising every day, and as news 
 from America was received of the sales there, and Prince had sent 
 out two agents to purchase trees, and knowing there must be a 
 
 4 
 
50 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 limited number of them to be had, I got rather nervous and struck. I 
 could have done nothing with any one else but Remont without ready 
 money ; besides, it would have been impossible, I think, to have found 
 so great a number in one place, and to gather a few here and there 
 would be attended with expense and uncertainty ; so, taking all into 
 consideration, I have done what I have done. 
 
 Then follows a copy of the contract in French. This contract 
 was not well carried out, and caused Seth much anxiety and 
 embarrassment, as funds were delayed. 
 
 Next follows a sketch of a reel for silk, with a description of 
 it, which he thought an improvement on the one in use in 
 America. 
 
 "Frank, — lam going to-morrow to Geneva, and from thence I 
 propose returning by way of Lyons in company with some American 
 artists ; perhaps we may go on as far as the North of Italy before I 
 return, but I think not, for I must be back to Paris before the 1st of 
 November to attend to the trees, which I shall see counted and 
 measured, and not trust to others, as last year. 
 
 "John, Philip arrived a few days since from Italy, and goes home 
 by the 8th. He has done some famous things, and will do more ; he 
 seems more ambitious than ever. " 
 
 Geneva, Aug. 15, 1839. 
 I left Paris the 7th, in the coupe* of the diligence, for this celebrated 
 place, passing through Troyes, Dijon, etc. The route from Paris to 
 the foot of the Jura is most dull and uninteresting, passing through a 
 level country, but highly cultivated. I was surprised to see large 
 fields of Indian corn as we approached the Alps. Nothing was 
 wanting but a few stumps to make one imagine he was travelling in 
 Ohio. The weather has been very dry for a long time, and we were 
 enveloped in clouds of dust as we rolled along over a fine stone road. 
 We dined on the third day at Pierre, from which place we began to 
 discover the Alps far away in the distance, like a faint blue cloud ; as 
 we approached them their forms gradually appeared more distinct and 
 definite ; the air was very clear, I think more so than I ever saw it in 
 America. My compagnon de voyage observed, " Is that a cloud we see 
 there above the long line of Jura Alps, or can that be Mont Blanc V' 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 51 
 
 Yes, it is Mont Blanc ! ! ! We were at least one hundred and fifty 
 miles from that mountain, away in the plain below the Jura Alps, 
 which are themselves higher than any mountains I have ever seen ; 
 still Mont Blanc towered above them all, a pyramid of light. I never 
 saw anything before that gave me such an idea of height. We arrived 
 at the foot of the Alps before the sun set, and left the diligence, with 
 its tired horses, behind, and walked on to enjoy the scene before us. 
 Long herds of cows were winding their way down the mountain, fol- 
 lowed by bouncing Swiss girls, with broad-brimmed Jiats ; but we 
 heard not the song of the " Ranz des Vaches"; so we hurried on, and 
 reached the height before the sun had set, and looked down on the 
 vast plain we had passed below. We regretted that we were obliged to 
 pass this line of mountains in the night, by the dim starlight. We 
 were tantalized by faint glimpses of the shadowy forms of mountains, 
 and scenes that by daylight must be glorious ; the sun rose just as we 
 came to the descent of the last Alp in the Jura range, when the 
 glorious sight of the main line of mountains and glaciers, and, crown- 
 ing all, Mont Blanc, burst at once on our view. This was too much ; 
 it was absolutely crushing, painfully sublime. I wish I could convey 
 to you some faint idea of what I saw and felt then, but I have not the 
 command of language, and must be silent. We arrived in Geneva 
 after a journey of three days and three nights from Paris. I am very 
 much pleased with this place and the people ; they seem to be much 
 like the Philadelphians, — a quiet, contented race. Then there is Lake 
 Geneva; nothing can be more delicious than this. I can scarcely 
 believe that I am awake, and that all this delightful scene is a reality. 
 As soon as the dawn appears I rush to my window that looks on the 
 lake and mountains beyond, and try to persuade myself that I am not 
 dreaming, but that it is the same sun I have seen rise three thousand 
 miles off from my low native hills, which I now see reflected from the 
 tops of those vast pyramids of ice and snow ; no, it is not a dream, 
 but I have passed from some other state of existence to Elysium. 
 A strange, melancholy feeling comes over me when I think of leaving 
 this delicious spot, which almost makes me wish I had never come 
 here. I feel, too, that I am undeserving all this good fortune and 
 happiness. John, you have read Rousseau's description of this place. 
 How exquisite it is ! he must have felt how far short of the reality he 
 came. You must come here some day and read Rousseau again ; it is 
 
52 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 worth crossing the Atlantic for. I am going to-morrow to Chillon, at 
 the other end of the lake, in company with Huntington and Gray. I 
 shall wait here till the 23d for your letters by the steamship. Perhaps 
 you may hear from me next in Italy • at all events, I shall return to 
 Paris by the middle of October. 
 
 Paris, Dec. 15. 
 
 We have just returned from Versailles for the fifth time, and have 
 closed a bargain with Mons. Eemont for the following lots of trees, 
 which includes what we have purchased before that I gave you notice 
 
 45,000 Morus multicaulis from 3 to 6 feet in height. 
 17,000 " moretti. 
 
 1,000 " elata. 
 
 1,000 " dandsls. 
 100 fruit-trees of various species. 
 
 The whole purchase amounts to 31,000 francs, the best that can be 
 done in France. We could not obtain the multicaulis without taking 
 the other varieties. They will probably be sent by the packet of the 
 1st or 8th of January. 
 
 You must send the funds as soon as possible. We may be able to 
 gather a few more in the course of the winter. You understand, 
 thirty-one thousand francs. 
 
 As the mail goes immediately, have not time to say another word. 
 
 Sep. 
 
 Milan, Aug. 29, 1839. 
 Florence, Sept. 20. 
 
 Dear Brothers, — I wrote you last week from Geneva by the 
 steamship. The day after we made an excursion on board of the 
 steamboat to the end of Lake Leman. The morning was calm, and 
 the water as smooth as glass ; in the air a mistiness like October in 
 America, through which the dim forms of the lofty Alps that con tine 
 the lake appeared one after the other, as we ascended the lake, like 
 a magical scene. The boat stops occasionally at Vyon, Vevay, etc., 
 to take in and land passengers, — queer, old antique-looking villages, 
 with round towers and Gothic spires, the hills crowned with vineyards 
 to their tops. Anon the famous old Castle of Chillon appeared in the 
 distance on the shore of the lake. Nothing can be more magnificent 
 than the scenery at this end of the lake, bounded by high mountains, 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 53 
 
 some with their tops covered by eternal snows. We landed at Villa- 
 neuve, at the end of the lake, and wandered along the shore of the 
 lake ; now stopping to sketch, and now to admire the magnificent scene 
 around us, of lake and mountains and glaciers. Soon we came to the 
 old Castle of Chillon, which we entered and explored ; descended into 
 the prison cut in the rocks, and dimly lighted up by narrow crevices in 
 the thick walls. Here is where Byron lays the scene of " The Prisoner 
 of Chillon." 
 
 And then we came to Montreux, a village situated on the side of the 
 mountains, and higher up still the pointed spire of the village church 
 rises, founded on a craggy rock half hidden with vines and fig-trees, 
 and below a torrent rushes along down to the lake. From here we 
 command one of the most glorious views in the world down the lake 
 towards Geneva. While we were admiring this splendid scene, one of 
 those lovely Swiss girls passed along. 
 
 "A basket on her head she bore, her brow was smooth and fair." 
 
 She wore the peculiar costume of the Canton de Vaud ; on her arm 
 was hung the curious, comical straw hat worn by the paysans, and 
 beautiful and picturesque it is too ; and so she wended her way up 
 the mountain path that led to her mountain home, and we lost sight 
 of her forever. 
 
 After spending a few most delightful days here, we left with regret 
 this lovely spot, and returned to Geneva, and took passage early in the 
 morning for Milan, taking the road along the northern side of the lake. 
 The sunrise is glorious on this lake ; nothing in nature can be more 
 magnificent than the scene. Here at our feet lies this glassy lake, 
 reflecting clearly all the nearer objects in the middle ground, a most 
 lovely cultivated country with vineyards and cornfields, and here and 
 there a clustering village distinctly marked by a round tower or spire ; 
 then beyond rises the " Mole,'* a great pyramid, as it seems, in the 
 misty morning light ; and high above all towers Mont Blanc, the 
 glaciers stretching away interminably in the distance, reflecting from 
 their icy tops the sun, producing the effect of rivers of molten silver 
 running down the sides of the mountain. 
 
 We again passed the lovely village of Montreux, and took our leave 
 of it with much the same feeling with which one leaves his old home 
 forever, the setting sun casting a rich, warm glow on the thousand 
 
54 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 vineyards spread out like a rich carpet, and rising terrace above terrace, 
 every rock covered with the mantling vine. 
 
 As the sun set we bade good-by to Lake Leman, and, passing along 
 the banks of the Rhone, arrived at St. Maurice just as the full moon 
 rose above the high and craggy rock that overhangs, and that must 
 some day fall and crush these towns. We left early next morning, fol- 
 lowing the Rhone and its narrowing valley, and slept at Brigue the 
 second night, at the foot of the Simplon, which we began to ascend 
 next morning by that splendid road made by Napoleon. The ascent is 
 very easy, so much so that in descending it is not necessary to drag 
 the wheels of heavily loaded carriages. It is the most wonderful work 
 of mechanic art that I have ever seen. My admiration is divided, in 
 passing it, between this and the mighty and seemingly impassable Alps 
 over which it passes. We reached the top of the mountain about 
 noon, and then began to descend towards Italy through the narrow pass 
 only wide enough for the rushing torrent and the road. On each side 
 rise the " cloud-capped " Alps, covered with eternal snows. Here the # 
 sun rises and sets at midday. No words or colors can convey the least 
 idea of their fearful height ; they must be seen. It is painful even to 
 look upon them. 
 
 Anon the air begins to soften as we descend, and' soon the delicious 
 vale of Domo d'Ossola bursts at once on our view, all covered with vine- 
 yards and cornfields and groves of mulberry. Nothing can be more 
 striking and agreeable than this sudden contrast from barren mountains 
 to the most lovely valley in the world. And now we pass along the 
 banks of that beautiful Lake Maggiore, with its enchanting little islands 
 crowned with palaces. Leaving these we come out on the broad, rich 
 plains of Lombardy, like a vast prairie cultivated with great care, each 
 side of the road hedged, and the fields planted with the most luxuriant 
 mulberry, seemingly enough to produce silk for the whole world. 
 
 We stopped at Milan two days. The Cathedral, which is the great 
 object of attraction here, is certainly the most beautiful and imposing 
 piece of architecture I have ever seen. It is built of marble, and in 
 the Gothic style. More than four thousand pieces of sculpture enrich 
 this church ; this may give you an idea of its richness and magnifi- 
 cence. From its lofty spire we had a fine view of the distant Alps 
 which we have passed, and of the plains of Lombardy. 
 
 We were detained ten days at Parma on account of the sickness of 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 55 
 
 one of our companions (Gray), and here I had a fine opportunity of 
 studying the works of Correggio, as some of his best pictures are here. 
 I stood two hours fixed like a statue before that beautiful picture of 
 St. Jerome (so called), of which you have seen engravings ; but little 
 of its surpassing beauty can be copied in an engraving. It is the most 
 sweetly colored picture 1 have ever seen, and the most gracefully com- 
 posed. In the Cathedral are some of his famous frescos. No one 
 but Correggio has painted angels so lovely in form and heavenly in 
 expression. How unfortunate it is that they have been painted on 
 such decaying materials ! Time has bee# hard on them, and will soon 
 obliterate all traces of their wonderful beauty. I gazed long and 
 silently, and turned to go away, when I looked down, and before the 
 altar saw one that knelt with her eyes fixed on the image of the Virgin 
 above her, unconscious of all around. I thought at first it was a mere 
 delusion of the vision, from looking so long on the exquisitely painted 
 forms in the dome above, and that the beautiful image was still left on 
 my sight, until it moved, and, as she passed along, dipped her finger in 
 the holy water, crossing herself, and at the same time touching .the 
 finger of her little sister that she led by her side, who imitated the 
 same motion innocently as a child imitates, looking up to her that led 
 her instead of to the cold marble image above. And now I saw where 
 Correggio found his models. They walked the earth ever, and do so 
 still. He went not to heaven to bring an angel down ; he raised them 
 from the earth. 
 
 In coming from Milan we stopped an hour at Placentia, a place 
 celebrated for its beautiful women, and it well deserves its reputation. 
 I think I saw during the short stop I made there more beautiful 
 women than in all my life before. Their features are classically 
 moulded ; their eyes are dark, with long lashes darker still ; their 
 mouths inclining rather too much to the voluptuous perhaps, a remark- 
 able fulness about the chin and neck, their busts the most perfect 
 imaginable ; their step is firm, but at the same time graceful and easy ; 
 and what is better still than all is that they seem so unconscious of 
 their charms, and move on with the same ease whether observed or 
 not ; 't is all the same. 
 
 Florence, Oct. 15, 1839. 
 Dear Brothers, — I have received yours by the Great Western. 
 It was what I expected, and it is for this that I have waited here so 
 
5(3 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 long, and if I had been in Paris at the time I received your letter I 
 should have followed your advice, and should have shaken hands with 
 you before you will have received this ; but as it is, I am tempted to 
 run the risk of passing the winter here rather than cross the stormy 
 Atlantic at this season, and arrive in our cold climate in the winter. I 
 think there will be no danger in following this course. I shall write 
 to Remont what you advised, telling him at the same time that in any 
 further communication he may wish to have relative to the affair he 
 may direct to the other side of the Atlantic, which will lead him to 
 believe I have returned home^ so that I shall not be troubled by him ; 
 in fact, I have very little fear of him, or pity, for you know how he 
 attempted to deceive us in the last year's purchase in regard to the 
 number of trees. If you shall not think it safe to stop here long, I 
 hope you will tell me what will be my best course, considering the cir- 
 cumstances of the case. I am sorry I was so precipitate in making 
 the contract ; I was anxious to do all I could, and overshot the mark. 
 I hope you will be more fortunate in your summer's operations ; but 
 from what you write, I fear your chance is small. It will be indeed 
 unfortunate if, after so many years of exertion, you should not be able 
 to produce something for your own benefit ; but we must console our- 
 selves that the mere accumulation of fortune is not the greatest bless- 
 ing, and that the poor man is often happier than the prince (!). I 
 natter myself to be able, when I return to America, to depend more 
 upon my own exertions than heretofore, and this is one great induce- 
 ment for me to study here my favorite art, where there are so many 
 advantages. 
 
 Florence, Oct. 17, 1839. 
 I have been now in this delightful city a month ; it is really the 
 most pleasing city I have seen in all my travels. The air is soft and 
 healing in this valley of the Arno. I have not been in such good 
 health and spirits since I can remember, and am able to accomplish 
 more without injury to my health than I ever could before, and this is 
 one of the best places, except Rome, to study the fine arts in the world. 
 There are two of the finest galleries in Europe. We can get models 
 and the best very cheap. There are jive of us Americans. Terry, you 
 know, Frank, who crossed the water with us, is one of our club ; and a 
 fine fellow he is, too, and Dan and I are brothers. We work together, 
 walk together, eat together, room together ; in the morning we all five 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 57 
 
 draw at Terry's room, from a beautiful female model. After th's Dan 
 (Huntington) and I return to our room, and paint from a beautiful girl 
 who sits for her head only ; she has a most sweet and Madonna-like 
 expression, and a face that, if I should see in America, should be apt 
 to fall in love with. Dan has made a most beautiful picture of her 
 looking down. I wish you had it, John, to engrave ; it would make a 
 very pleasing plate for an annual. To-day we have begun another in a 
 position looking up, which makes a fine contrast to the other. I hope 
 to make a picture, too, of my own. It is very agreeable to study so 
 with another, and one learns a great deal more in the same time. I 
 think, by working a year or so in this way, I shall be able to do some- 
 thing if my health permits, and when I return the first I shall do will 
 be to paint the portraits of all the family. I hope to be able to do 
 them justice ; but I am flattering myself, 't is time to stop. 
 
 The expenses of living here are not so great as in Paris. My coffee 
 and bread in the morning costs but half a paul, and dinner not over 
 three pauls ; * rooms are also cheaper than in Paris. Our models, too, 
 will sit all day for four or five pauls, and when there are so many of 
 us together, the expense is comparatively nothing. 
 
 After remaining here about a month longer we all go to Pome 
 together, and shall have the opportunity of studying those famous 
 works of Paphael and Michael Angelo. Time flies now, occupied as 
 I am in my favorite pursuit, and the blue devils never cross my path. 
 I wish I could tell you of the glorious time I have had for the last two 
 months, and describe all that I have seen, but it is impossible, and I 
 must wait till I see you, and we will sit down and talk it over in our 
 old home, when we all meet together there again. How much pleasure 
 there is in the anticipation of meeting one's friends after long separa- 
 tion ! It is the height of enjoyment, of which he who has never parted 
 from those he loves can have no conception. 
 
 Messrs. Ward Cheney & Bros., Burlington, N. J. 
 
 Florence, Dec. 1, 1839. 
 Dear Brothers, — This letter must be a short one, for the best of 
 reasons, — have the poorest of subjects to write about, myself. Since I 
 have been here I have spent all my time in drawing and painting, so have 
 
 * An old Italian coin, worth sixpence English, or twelve cents. 
 
58 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 had no time to see curiosities, except those of art-galleries, and these 
 are enough to satisfy an artist, so that he is apt to neglect all other 
 subjects. I might give you a description of these famous works, but 
 it would be tame and flat, and I have not the faculty of expressing 
 myself in words, so must pass over them in silence, but hope that I 
 shall one day be able, by my pencil, to give you some idea of them. 
 As for seeing palaces and wandering through long fatiguing suites of 
 apartments, this is time lost ; when you have seen one you have seen 
 all. By the way, I was invited to the Pitti Palace the other night to 
 a grand entertainment and ball, given by the Grand Duke of Tuscany, 
 but did not go, — did not think it worth the price of a new suit. 
 
 I have been to walk to-day (Sunday) in the beautiful gardens of 
 the palace, altogether more pleasing, I think, than Versailles ; the air is 
 soft and delicious to-day as May, and what makes it still more delight- 
 ful is that it has been for the last two or three weeks rather cold and 
 rainy, and the wind from the mountains, which have been covered with 
 snow, has felt to me quite wintry ; in fact, it is said November is the 
 most unpleasant month they have here. I hope this fine weather will 
 last at least one week, for to-morrow we all start for Eome, the " eternal 
 city." Pive artists and one doctor from South Carolina, my two com- 
 panions from New York, Terry who crossed the Atlantic with me, and 
 one from Philadelphia make out the number, so that we take the whole 
 voiture. A slow way of travelling they have here. We shall be six days 
 at least going to Eome, which is not more than one hundred and fifty 
 miles. I anticipate, however, an agreeable and interesting time, as we 
 shall pass through the most interesting country in the world to us, of 
 which we hear and read so much. At Rome I shall continue my studies 
 in the fine arts, it being the emporium of art. I hope to make some 
 improvement in the course of the winter. 
 
 Dear John, Powers is engaged in modelling a statue, which he 
 calls " Eve contemplating the Apple." Greenough I have not seen. I 
 hear his " Washington " is nearly finished. We have tried to get some 
 casts from the Venus, by applying to the Director of the Gallery, but 
 cannot obtain them. There is a mighty difference between them and 
 those you see in America. We intended to get copies of the beautiful 
 bas-reliefs on the door of the Baptistery, which Michael Angelo said 
 were fit for the gates of Paradise. They are indeed the most exquisite 
 things I have ever seen, and some casts of them I should consider 
 
SILK CULTURE. 59 
 
 invaluable, but we cannot obtain them. I shall send home a beautiful 
 female Torso, the original of which is at Naples, with some others, 
 Wednesday morning. Start in an hour for Eome. 
 
 Rome, Feb. 2, 1840. 
 How time flies, seemingly faster here than in 
 any other place I have ever been in. 
 
 Dear Brothers, — If I had not been so occupied with art, I 
 should have been quite miserable for the last four months, for I think 
 it is nearly that time since I have heard from you, till I received yours 
 by the Liverpool a few days ago, which I opened with trembling hands, 
 fearing it might contain some evil news, but am happy to hear that 
 you are all in health at least, which 7 is one of the greatest blessings 
 after all, and without it, though one may be independent of circum- 
 stances, he is still unhappy, but let Fortune rob one of all but that and 
 honesty, and he may laugh at her. 
 
 I had got so far in my sermon when I heard a chanting of solemn 
 music in the street, and on going to my window, saw a long procession 
 of Capuchin monks, each with a candle in his hand (this is Candle- 
 mas day), moving slowly up the square and entering the convent 
 opposite ; there was one in the rear dressed in rich robes, with a long 
 white beard and fine head, his voice deep and full. If the clay had 
 been pleasant I should have gone to St. Peter's, where there is a great 
 ceremony of blessing the candles by the Pope. St. Peter's is about 
 two miles from here, on the other side of the Tiber, so that I do not 
 often go there except on the days the Vatican is open ; besides, the 
 chambers are very damp and cold in the winter, and not safe for one 
 of weak lungs to spend much time in. I have yet seen but few of 
 the many rich churches there are here : in fact, one here in Rome 
 feels himself lost in a wilderness of art ; go where he will he is sur- 
 rounded with the accumulated riches of ages ; years might be spent 
 here and one-half left unseen. The wonderfully beautiful works of 
 Raphael, whom they call "divine," — and well he deserves the appella- 
 tion, — were enough for the study of a lifetime, though one may at 
 first be repulsed by the dry and hard manner in which some of his most 
 beautiful works are done, yet the inimitable simplicity of the design 
 will in the end carry him irresistible sway. How I should like to stop 
 here a few years, and study them ; if I were independent, think I 
 
60 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 should, but the recollection of them, I am persuaded, will have an 
 influence upon whatever I may do hereafter; the impression can 
 never be effaced which they make. 
 
 I am still continually occupied in drawing and painting and model- 
 ling, and find I can do more without injury to my health than I 
 have ever been able to before, though I tax nature to the utmost. I be- 
 lieve it must be that the climate has a great effect upon me. The win- 
 ter is past, or rather what they call winter, which to me has been 
 more like spring. To-day we have sunshine and showers and thun- 
 der, like April in America, and have scarce needed a fire for the past 
 two weeks. 
 
 We are five of ns together in the same apartments, and have 
 models every day, either of old bearded men or beautiful females or 
 boys ; there are many models in Rome, and good ones for form and 
 color or character. 
 
 Rome, Apr. 18, 1840. 
 
 Dear Brother, — "When I read your letter by the Great West- 
 ern, my first impulse was to start for home immediately. Unfortu- 
 nate as I imagined you had been, I find I had formed but a poor estimate 
 of the reality ; it is too bad, after so much labor and vexation, to see the 
 end we strove to gain still farther off, away in the misty distance. 
 Perhaps after all, if we had attained, it might not have been better ; it 
 may be we have mistaken the road to happiness, that it may not depend 
 upon fortune. I am glad to hear that you intend to continue the farm 
 at Burlington, for I think there can be no place in the United States 
 so advantageous and pleasant ; hope to see you contented and happy 
 as usual when I come back. But the " Destroyer " has been along the 
 banks of the Delaware and crushed a flower ; * may he spare the 
 " near in blood " till we meet ! This is too much to expect, though, 
 more than I ought to expect, to meet all that I left. 
 
 I will tell you what I wish to do now, which is to spend some time 
 longer here in study, where the advantages are so great, so that I may 
 be able, when I return home, to do my part in restoring our lost for- 
 tune. I feel my health improving so fast that I am confident I shall 
 have nothing to fear in that, and if the success that is not denied to 
 well-directed labor shall follow, it must be my own fault if I do not 
 
 * A young child of Ward's. 
 
SILK CULTURE. 
 
 61 
 
 succeed. My expenses here amount to about twenty-five dollars a 
 month ; I think this summer they will be less. The French Academy 
 is free, as well as the Vatican, where I am daily occupied ; to leave ad- 
 vantages like these, after coming so far, seems a great sacrifice. 
 
 I don't know exactly the amount of funds which I hold of yours, 
 but I think between 7,000 and 8,000 francs, which I have letters of 
 credit for here ; now, as you may wish to avail yourselves of these 
 before I should return (provided you object not to my stop here), how 
 can the refund be made 1 Would it be safe to return a letter of credit 
 to Welles & Co. to Paris, directing them to forward the funds to you, 
 considering the circumstances in regard to Remont 1 I received a let- 
 ter from him yesterday, dated in January, in which he duns me for 
 amount due on last year's purchase ; if he should be disposed, could he 
 in other ways bother me here % However, I fear him not. 
 
 This is Holy Week, and great ceremonies will be performed, and 
 to-morrow will be a great display of fireworks. The weather is spring- 
 like and beautiful. Hope I shall hear from you soon. 
 
 Excuse this disjointed scrawl. When I sit down to write home," 
 my mind is filled with so many conflicting thoughts that I cannot ex- 
 press what I would. I fear this will not arrive in England in season 
 for the Great Western. Adieu. Sep. 
 
 P. S. Letters coming out arrive as soon by the packet by Havre 
 as by the steamer, and of course at much less expense. 
 
 The mulberry bubble had burst, and the collapse was fearful. 
 Mr. Whitmarsh, who had confidently expected to make $250,000 
 before winter, was left without " cash or credit enough to buy a 
 barrel of flour." But fortunately in 1838 Ralph Cheney had 
 started a silk-mill for making sewing-silk, at South Manchester, 
 which was afterwards incorporated as the Mt. Nebo Silk Manu- 
 facturing Co. The brothers, instead of yielding to failure, at 
 once turned all their energies to developing this industry Seth 
 and John gave them their sympathy and help, as far as possible, 
 and thus by a common effort they reaped success from defeat. 
 
 Seth returned home in 1840, determined to devote himself to 
 drawing, and to support himself by his art. 
 
62 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 ARTISTIC LIFE. 
 
 TN the summer and autumn of 1840 Seth was in Manchester, 
 and occupied in drawing in crayons. He lived and worked 
 in the old homestead, and used the coarse, rough paper made at 
 Bunce's mill, in his native town. Among these portraits are 
 those of Mr. and Mrs. Bunce and their children, and admirable 
 ones of his Aunt Emily and Uncle Horace Pitkin. The like- 
 nesses are very perfect, and the drawing is free, delicate, and 
 spirited. His price at this time was five dollars. He went into 
 Hartford for a short time, and took a studio there, making crayon 
 portraits of his friend Mr. Cushman, a miniature-painter, of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Bull of Hartford, and others. These drawings are 
 highly prized for their truth and beauty as likenesses. 
 
 The most beautiful picture he had made abroad was of a little 
 beggar-girl in Rome, of which he made a copy for a lady in 
 Hartford ; the original is at the homestead. 
 
 In the winter he went to Brattleboro', where he was engaged 
 in making drawings for Olney's Geography, but he returned to 
 Manchester in the summer, where his brothers were then busy 
 in establishing silk-mills. He visited his friend Hills at Bur- 
 lington, Vt., during this time. 
 
 Hartford, (May?) 10, 1841. 
 Dear Ward, — I got your letter only in time to write to Welles & 
 i Co., at Paris, by the steamship from Boston, of the 18th, but I think 
 
 there is little chance of securing the funds now. Remont's execu- 
 tions (?) were doubtless false. I have not yet had the pleasure of see- 
 ing Monsieur ; if he comes, why he can go back again, with his labor 
 for his pains. 
 
ARTISTIC LIFE. 
 
 03 
 
 I am glad to see you write in such good spirits. I think we shall 
 have a change of wind by and by, so that we can again get under way, 
 but we will carry less sail than formerly, and keep a sharp look-out for 
 shoals and quicksands. 
 
 I expected Frank up from New York to-day, but he did not come. 
 I have no doubt he will succeed with the daguerreotype. 
 
 I came over here a few weeks ago, and am doing well with the 
 crayon, "patronized by the nobility." The style seems to take very 
 well here, and I shall be constantly employed for some months. I 
 want to get time, though, to come and make a group of those two boys 
 of yours in the course of the summer, besides making a drawing of 
 yourself and Caroline. 
 
 Cushman is here painting miniatures, and doing pretty well; he 
 keeps a horse and carriage here, so we ride out home Sundays, when 
 the weather is good, which, by the way, has been very seldom this 
 spring ; to-day is the first warm Sunday we have had yet, the trees 
 have scarcely begun to have the slightest appearance of green yet, the 
 water is very high in the river from the melting of the snows above, 
 and altogether it has been one of the most disagreeable springs I ever 
 knew. 
 
 The Legislature is in session now, so there is great discussion of 
 shad at our table, being the most important subject discussed by the 
 members during their sojourn here ; for how can a man do justice with 
 an empty stomach % This was no doubt the reason why our wise ances- 
 tors chose this most propitious shad time for their deliberations, herein 
 showing their profound knowledge of human nature. 
 
 John, I believe, intends returning to Philadelphia, this week, to 
 finish his plates. Write me soon and tell all the news. Love to 
 Carry. Yours, Sep. 
 
 In the autumn of 1841 he went to Boston with the determina- 
 tion of abandoning engraving, and trying his fortune in portrait- 
 ure. He took a studio in Cornhill, and from thence he appears 
 to have written this letter to John, although it is only dated 
 
 Boston, Jan. 28. 
 
 Dear J ohn, — As I am confined to my room for a few days by an 
 inflammation of the chest, and feel rather weak from loss of blood and 
 
64 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 blistering and starving, I thought I could not better employ the weary 
 moments than by writing you a line. 
 
 The handwriting shows how weak he was, but he goes on after 
 a break, with a firmer touch. 
 
 I received your letter a day after I wrote you last. From reading 
 I find you have not probably got my last in relation to the ruling- 
 machine,' which will occasion another delay in the matter. I told you 
 then that from what Perkins and others said about those small 
 machines, like Storm's, that I should not order one until I heard from 
 you again, as from their accounts they were not worth having. You 
 will consider me the most undecided of beings, I know, but recollect 
 the two bumps on each side of my head. 
 
 What you proposed in regard to the remittance to mother is what 
 I have been trying to come at ever since I came, and has been one of 
 the greatest motives of exertion, but found it utterly impossible till 
 last week to send her a sou, when it gave me real satisfaction to enclose 
 forty dollars [manuscript illegible], an order on H. Hudson of Hartford, 
 .... which is due me for a portrait I have taken of his daughter. I 
 shall be able to send some more next week, I hope. You see, when 
 I came here, I had little more than five dollars in my pocket, and for 
 nearly two months I received nothing for what I had done, so I got 
 drained down to the last sixpence, which for three weeks lay solitary 
 and alone in my poor pocket (I dared not even go to the post-office), 
 and at last spent three cents of it for charcoal to begin a head, for 
 which I got ten dollars, which I was obliged immediately to spend for 
 charcoal to keep me warm, and so I was obliged to live on from hand 
 to mouth, board-bills in arrears, and clothes ragged, and beginning to 
 grow sick at heart, and think it a losing business, and wish I had not 
 risked, but I gradually began to get my head out of water, and now, if 
 I had nerves enough left, I suppose I might make a fortune, for no one 
 could wish a better prospect than I have now ; but alas ! I have been 
 a fool, — squandered my strength, so that a little over-exertion pulls 
 me down. But enough of this, — I have only mentioned this that you 
 might not think I had neglected and forgot past favors and obligations, 
 and withheld my hand when I had the power to help. 
 
 I am glad to hear through Clark that Ward is getting settled again 
 in Philadelphia. I hope he will succeed to his satisfaction. I hear, 
 
ARTISTIC LIFE. 
 
 65 
 
 too, that Rush proposes to join you in engraving. I have no doubt he 
 will do well. 
 
 P. S. I shall probably go to work again on Monday. 
 
 Wednesday [postmarked, Jan. 29]. 
 
 Dear Mother, — This is the first opportunity I have had of send- 
 ing anything to you. When I first came I had but little to do and 
 gained but little, and was obliged to spend all to meet my immediate 
 wants ; now it is otherwise, my prospects are good. I have already 
 engagements to the amount of nearly $1,000, and increasing every day ; 
 my room is thronged with visitors of the first class and the rich, so 
 I hope to be able in the course of the year to be a little more free. I 
 will send more in a few days. My health is good, able to work all day ; 
 no time to say more now. Sep. 
 
 These touching letters thus simply tell the story of his last 
 struggle with poverty. He was indeed almost despairing, and 
 was just about to write to John that 'he would give up the effort 
 at drawing, and join him in engraving at Philadelphia, when 
 relief came. The lady for whom he had made a copy of his 
 beggar-girl wrote to Mrs. Dr. Putnam of Boston, begging her to 
 go and see the artist ; she did so, and gave him a commission for 
 a portrait. The work was so thoroughly satisfactory that from 
 this time Mrs. Putnam became one of his warmest friends, and 
 he was at once introduced to the most refined and intelligent 
 society of Boston, who appreciated his genius and gave him 
 more commissions than he could execute. 
 
 Boston, Sunday, Jan. 18, 1842. 
 
 Dear John, — I wrote you some weeks ago about the machine. I 
 have been expecting every day since to hear from you, and have got 
 out of patience at last and determined to write you ; let me know what 
 you have concluded to do in regard to the machine. I am afraid I 
 have been too undecided about it myself. 
 
 I am very busy now, and shall be for the winter ; have under way 
 and engaged work to the amount of $700 and coming thicker and 
 faster every day. Mothers have got crazy about their children. The 
 greater number of my commissions are for children and boys and girls, — 
 
 5 
 
66 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 beautiful girls. This is excellent study for me, besides being very agree- 
 able. I shall learn pretty thoroughly, by such practice, the manage- 
 ment of the head in drawing. I have laid by the palette entirely. I 
 could not possibly have succeeded so well with that, for the novelty of 
 the drawings goes a good way with many. Most of my commissions are 
 from the " big folks " here. I often go to their houses to draw, and 
 have a good chance to see what the "world is made of." 
 
 Electa is in good health and spirits, is learning to draw. I think 
 she will succeed well. Gallaudet has a plate under way and seems in 
 better spirits. 
 
 The weather has been fine so far, this winter, here ; I have suffered 
 but little with cold, I think never less even in Italy. How has it been 
 in Philadelphia, and how are you all ? Has Ward removed yet to the 
 city 1 I want to know all about mother and things there, and what 
 you are engaged on at present. I hope that I shall by and by make 
 something fit for you to engrave, but as yet I can't say that I have 
 anything satisfactory. Do write soon. Sep. 
 
 Dr. Lardner is lecturing here ; gave one last night at the theatre, 
 which was jammed ; commences a course at the Melodeon to-morrow. 
 He is altogether the greatest lecturer I have ever heard, handles the 
 subject in the most masterly manner. I wish Frank was here. What 
 is Cushman about now ? Eemember me to him. 
 
 The life in the dingy studio was not uncheered by friendship 
 and the sympathy of fellow-students. Mr. Gould writes : — 
 
 " I saw Seth Cheney for the first time at his studio in Cornhill, 
 Boston, a few doors from Court Street. Alpheus Morse introduced me 
 to a tall spare man, of a leonine blond complexion, light-brown hair 
 falling in curls to the shoulders, high forehead, eyes large, blue, and 
 shady, a quivering sensibility in the cheeks while the mouth and chin 
 were firm and still. He wore no beard. His large bony hand grasped 
 mine. This was my friend. What I felt then, but did not know till 
 afterward, was a certain continent sweetness in his disposition, which 
 gave more and withheld more than any other. 
 
 " There was in that room an extemporized evening drawing school, 
 without official head (the grandest head there declining the position), 
 and Morse, with his natural eye for form and optimistic good temper, 
 laughing his criticisms. A handsome young fellow with Greek profile, 
 
ARTISTIC LIFE. 
 
 67 
 
 Freeman by name, who was drowned soon after, and others met there 
 to draw. The stairway was lighted by a candle stuck into a skull. I 
 once brought up little Forrester Anderson, grandson of Pelby the actor, 
 as a model. He drew a man as children do. 1 Now make his boots,' 
 said Seth, bending over him with loving humor. The child obeyed. 
 1 Heels,' added Seth, — ' and now, nails.' 
 
 " John, Seth, and I went often to the theatre together, and were fond 
 even of the circus, where fine figures were to be seen. One evening 
 found us standing with negroes and sailors in the gallery of the How- 
 ard Athenaeum, just under the roof (Seth in a blue cloak which had 
 crossed the Atlantic six times), ravished by the tearful voice of stout 
 Alboni in La Sonnambula. 
 
 " We met at the gymnasium and frequented the bowling-alley in 
 company. Once he sent a ball that struck out two pins, and struck 
 the canvas behind with a solid blow. He put up both hands, exclaim- 
 ing, ' That hurts my head.' Again he forgot his turn, using the scoring 
 chalk in a sketch on the wooden partition." 
 
 Mr. Morse also remembers with affectionate pleasure these 
 days when they interchanged lessons. He once invited Seth to 
 visit his home, and Seth drew a portrait of his mother which Dr. 
 Frothingham called the finest head he ever saw. It was the first 
 thing he exhibited at one of the annual Athenaeum Exhibitions, 
 and attracted much attention. 
 
 They attended Hudson's gymnasium together, and Morse was 
 astonished at the muscular power of one who seemed so delicate, 
 and who often complained of his head and lungs. Seth made a 
 drawing of the fine, bold head of Hudson, which was also ex- 
 hibited. 
 
 All who knew him at this time speak of the wonderful beauty 
 of his face and the charm of his presence. He was welcomed 
 into the best society, and formed tender and lasting friendships, 
 but he remained ever as pure and simple and unconscious as in 
 his boyhood. 
 
 He worked very hard, and his friends were astonished at what 
 he accomplished, in spite of his frequent ill-health. " 0, how 
 
68 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 I have longed for health ! " he said, in thinking of all he had 
 wished to do in art. There is a list in one of his account-bopks 
 of over one hundred and fifty heads, under the dates 1841 and 
 1842. Although this list probably covers the period up to his 
 leaving for Europe again, in July, 1843, yet probably many 
 things are omitted, and it certainly is a great deal of work for 
 two years. The list of his sitters includes the names of 
 Lowell, Jackson, Gray, Putnam, Appleton, Bowditch, Forbes, 
 Perkins, Dixwell, Ward, Lawrence, Winthrop, Goddard, Higgin- 
 son, and others well known in Boston. The portraits of Mrs. 
 Horace Gray, and of Miss Appleton, a very young girl, were 
 engraved by his brother, for annuals. His prices at this time 
 ranged from ten to fifty dollars. There is an exquisite beauty 
 in these early portraits, unsurpassed even by the work of his 
 later life, in perception of character and spiritual grace. His 
 execution was free and delicate, and it seemed as if his spirit 
 had breathed itself into form on the paper. As in the music of 
 the violin the least possible material means seemed necessary to 
 convey his thought. It was of this time that Theodore Parker 
 wrote thus in his journal : — 
 
 " About 1840 Miss Burley told me of the fine genius and finer 
 moral endowments of Mr. Cheney. He made some crayons for her 
 family then, which I admired much. In 1841 or 1842 Mr. George 
 Russell sat in another artist's room, and heard a conversation in the 
 next apartment, relative to the sermon of ' The Transient and Perma- 
 nent in Christianity.' One was attacking it and its author. Mr. R. 
 learned that the defender was Mr. Cheney, an artist with fine genius. 
 I was surprised to find an artist who thought enough about religion to 
 venture from the beaten paths of theology, and still more to find he 
 was from the heart of Connecticut." * 
 
 Seth was fully interested in the thought and feeling of that 
 time. He was entirely in sympathy with the transcendental 
 
 * Weiss, Life of Parker, vol. i. p. 291. 
 
ARTISTIC LIFE. 
 
 69 
 
 movement, which harmonized with his lofty idealism and pure 
 religious sentiment, and he was intimate with many of those 
 engaged in it. He frequently attended Mr. W. H. Channing's 
 religious services, and once left his room with the intention of 
 joining the society, but some doubts as to his full agreement 
 with the views of the Associationists prevented him from doing 
 so. He attended the conversations at Miss E. P. Peabody's, and 
 had great delight in Mr. Emerson's lectures. 
 
 His pictures at this time, especially his heads of women, seem 
 to express the very spirit of this epoch. 
 
 In 1843 Seth again went to Europe. He had been very suc- 
 cessful in his drawing, and found abundant employment at 
 home, but he yearned for opportunities of study and artistic 
 employment in Europe, and there was now nothing in his cir- 
 cumstances to prevent his indulging his inclinations, as he had 
 earned enough by his work to pay his expenses, and his family 
 were no longer in need of assistance. 
 
 He always considered it advantageous for an artist to go fre- 
 quently to Europe, when he felt his own defects and difficulties 
 in art, that he might learn from the great masters there ; but he 
 thought his own country the true place for work. As we for- 
 tunately possess several letters written during this journey, I can 
 tell the story of it mainly in his own words. 
 
 London, July 23, 1843. 
 
 Dear John, — We had a pleasant voyage of nineteen days to 
 Portsmouth, so short that I can hardly realize that I am in London, 
 when I think of the long passages that I have made across the At- 
 lantic. Nothing happened to mention during the voyage, which to 
 me was a perfect blank in existence, as I wished it to be. I had no 
 pain in this head of mine while on the water, and very little after I 
 landed, as I always have for a few days after a voyage. 
 
 I found Huntington here and Van Bright. I have a room next to 
 them here in Salisbury St. Strand, not far from Charing Cross, which 
 is a much more convenient part of London than the vicinity of Fitz- 
 
70 
 
 MEMOIR OP SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 roy Square, where I formerly was. Van Bright goes home the first of 
 August. 
 
 Huntington goes to the Continent in two or three weeks, and will 
 pass the winter there in Italy. I wonder if I can resist the tempta- 
 tion to accompany him ; it is doubtful. I have not made up my 
 mind to any place distinctly, yet, if I should feel pretty brave, I shall 
 probably go with him ; if not, shall return, as I intended, in the fall. 
 
 Our old friend Terry is still in Italy, and expects to meet us the 
 first of September in Venice, where he intends spending a short time, 
 and then returning to Rome again for the winter. I confess the 
 thought of being again amongst those beautiful works of art, with 
 the same companions, is glorious, — too much for one poor mortal to 
 enjoy twice, I fear. 
 
 I arrived in season to see the Exhibition at the Royal Academy ; it 
 will be open a week longer. I think it much like the other exhibi- 
 tions I have seen there ; nothing great. Turner is more extravagant 
 than ever in his landscapes. Except a picture of Eastlake's, " Hagar 
 and Ishmael," I don't recollect one that gave me much pleasure. 
 
 I have been delighted with the collection in the British Institution. 
 The large room is filled with some of the most beautiful of Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds's works ; there is the " Strawberry Girl," full of nature, and 
 the " Girl Sleeping," and a dozen other most exquisite things. What 
 I have seen there gives me a higher idea than I had of him, — much. 
 
 There are also some fine Cuyps and one or two Claudes, and many 
 others by old. masters. Those landscapes of Claude's in the National 
 Gallery look to me more glowing than ever. 
 
 I went to Dulwich the other day ; started in a tremendous shower. 
 What beautiful Cuyps there are here, so light and sunny ! The soul of 
 Cuyp came to the earth on a sunbeam. Is that sublime or ridicu- 
 lous ] When I came out of the Gallery the sky was clear and pleas- 
 ant, and I saw in nature more glorious things than in Cuyp. 
 
 Dan [Huntington] and I went to Hampton Court to see the car- 
 toons. Burnet gives a capital idea of them in those etchings you have ; 
 they are not so much finished as I expected to find them, but seem 
 done with a great deal of spirit. I saw yesterday Mr. Sheepshanks's 
 collection of modern pictures ; he has some of Mulready's and Leslie's. 
 Mulready is certainly the best artist in England, — perhaps I should 
 except Eastlake, whose style is higher. Mr. Vernon, too, has a fine 
 
ARTISTIC LIFE. 
 
 71 
 
 collection of modern works, which I saw to-day. Mr. Leslie gave me 
 a card of admission. 
 
 I accidentally found our old friend Dubourjal here soon after I 
 came ; he is well, says he has not much to do in Paris. I have per- 
 suaded him to go to Boston, — he will probably sail in September. I 
 think he will do well there, don't you 1 I know you will like to see 
 him ; you can be of great use to him in introducing him to some of 
 our friends there. He intends to return to Paris next week, and give 
 up his room, and sell what he does not want there, and sail from 
 Havre, August 2d. 
 
 I sent a roll of paper by the Victoria, Captain Morgan, which will 
 be left on board till called for. Ward will probably know when she 
 arrives. I could not get the tints I wanted, exactly. Kimberley 
 wanted some of it ; I got it here for eight shillings a quire. I 
 intended to have sent some casts, but they are not dry, so shall post- 
 pone it till I return here next year. By the way, I have not told 
 you, Dan, his wife, and I have engaged our passage in the steamer for 
 Antwerp to-morrow morning. I could not make up my mind to return, 
 after coming so far, without seeing some of the fine things on the Con- 
 tinent. We intend going by the Rhine to Basle and Geneva, to 
 cross the Simplon, and return by the way of Dresden and Vienna. I 
 thought, for the sake of company, I preferred to take this route ; the 
 others can be passed at all seasons, which is not the case with the 
 Simplon pass. 
 
 I wrote mother by the Mediator of the 20th July, from Portsmouth ; 
 hope you are all well. I shall not hear from you till I get to Florence, 
 where I have directed your letters to be sent after I leave here. 
 Direct clearly to care of Baring Brothers & Co., London. 
 
 I was disappointed in not getting a word from you by the steamer. 
 We heard with deep regret of the death of Allston. Two of the 
 brightest stars have set within the last year, Channing and Allston ; 
 but such men cannot be said to die, for their influence on us is perhaps 
 greater after they have left our earth. We bless the sun for the deep 
 and solemn twilight he leaves behind him. 
 
 Aug. 3, 1843. 
 
 Left London this morning at 12 J o'clock, in steamer Soho, bound 
 for Antwerp, in company with H. [Huntington] and wife. I was 
 happy to escape the turmoil and smoke of London. Deliver us from 
 
72 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 great cities ; there is no peace nor quiet in them ; besides, I like a 
 climate where the sun shines one whole day in a year, which I have 
 not seen here. 
 
 4th. — Going on deck this morning, saw the lofty spire of Antwerp 
 Cathedral towering above the low, flat country. After being detained on 
 board about two hours for the agreeable purpose of having our baggage 
 overhauled by the custom-house officers, we landed, and here we are 
 at the Hotel St. Antoine. The first object of curiosity is R.ubens's 
 famous picture of the "Descent from the Cross," the design of which is 
 taken from the fresco of Daniello del Volterra, in Rome, but, with all 
 its gorgeous color and effect of reality, to me far less elevated and im- 
 posing than the fresco. In the church of St. Jacques, over the tomb 
 of Eubens, is a picture of his representing the Holy Family, containing 
 the portraits of himself and family. This picture has less of the gross- 
 ness of the painter, and is touched with more delicacy, but in all there 
 is a want of that elevated sentiment and refinement which throws 
 such a charm over the works of the divine Raphael. In the Museum 
 there are many of Rubens's pictures. The " Christ crucified between 
 two Thieves " is altogether the most horrible picture I ever saw. The 
 executioner is in the act of breaking the legs of one of the two 
 thieves, who, in his last agony, tears his feet from the nails that hold 
 them to the cross. The expression of his face haunts you forever. I 
 wish never to see another of his pictures. I confess I have never seen 
 a religious subject of his that excited in me the slightest devotional 
 feeling. 
 
 Brussels, 5th. — Last night we arrived here by the railroad, about 
 nine o'clock, and being obliged to stop here to get our passports signed 
 by the different ministers, we in the mean time went to the field of 
 Waterloo, situated about twelve miles from the city. The high mound 
 raised over the spot where the Prince of Orange fell is the most con- 
 spicuous object in the field. The ground is slightly undulating, the 
 field waving with rich grain. I gathered a few flowers and a wheat- 
 head for you, Electa, for here blossom flowers even on the field of 
 strife. 
 
 Liege, Qth, Sunday. — Left Brussels about five o'clock last night, 
 and arrived here at nine, a distance of sixty miles by railroad, over a 
 flat country and highly cultivated. Liege is an old town, beautifully 
 situated in the valley of the Meuse. My companion de voyage having 
 
ARTISTIC LIFE. 
 
 73 
 
 conscientious scruples in regard to Sunday travelling, we rest here to- 
 day. This afternoon we have taken a stroll about the town, and 
 ascended the height that overlooks the city, and saw the sun set 
 beautifully over it. 
 
 Aix la Chapelle, 8tk. — We came here en vetturin, and a most 
 delightful ride we had of six hours, through the richest fields of ripe 
 wheat I ever saw in any country. The farmers appeared to be in the 
 midst of harvest, standing sheaves and ripe fields, ready for the sickle ; 
 the landscape varied with beautiful distance. 
 
 Cologne, 8th. — Arrived about two o'clock last evening, by railroad, 
 from Aix la Chapelle, and stopped at the Bellevue Hotel on the oppo- 
 site side, from which we had a fine view of Cologne and the Rhine by 
 a beautiful moonlight. This morning we have walked over the city 
 and seen its magnificent Cathedral. Though unfinished, it is one of 
 the most pure and beautiful Gothic churches on the Continent, or per- 
 haps in the world. After this we went to the Museum to see Bende- 
 mann's picture, " By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept." 
 This is one of the finest of modern pictures. I would rather have 
 been the painter of this one picture than all that Rubens has ever 
 done. Arrived about sunset at Coblentz, situated at the confluence of 
 the Rhine and Moselle. This is one of the most picturesque points 
 on the river. 
 
 To-day, the 9th, having time, before the boat left for Mayence, I 
 wandered alone across the beautiful bridge of the Moselle and along 
 its banks. I was reminded of the scenes on the Connecticut, 
 but farther up I believe it is more precipitous. Returning through 
 Coblentz, I met some of the most beautiful children playing about the 
 streets that I have seen for a long time. By the way, I was not 
 pleased with the English children. There is too much of the archness 
 that we sometimes see in Sir Joshua Reynolds's pictures of them, and 
 which does not suit the character of children. As we get along 
 towards the Alps, I observe more natural grace in the women, and 
 seldom see " put-on airs." I am constantly meeting with that simpli- 
 city so pleasing and so well expressed in the German pictures. Every 
 action to the mind of the observer conveys an idea of expression. 
 Crossing the Rhine on the bridge of boats, we ascended the heights of 
 Ehrenbreitstein. From this point we have a glorious prospect. It 
 will be absurd for me to attempt to describe this noble river, which far 
 
74 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 surpasses in grandeur any that I have had the good fortune to see. I 
 say this independent of its associations. We have seen it under much 
 more favorable circumstances than before. The weather has been fine 
 and clear since we came on the river, and to-day, the 10th of August, 
 the weather is perfectly serene and calm. In fact, since we left Eng- 
 land, the skies have become every day more bright. While I was in 
 England I suffered terribly from depression of spirits. I attributed it 
 partly to the foggy, wet, and pent-up atmosphere of that country; * for 
 as I gradually approach a more sunny clime, and breathe the pure air, 
 and can look up to the mountains and the blue sky beyond, I feel a 
 great load lifted from my sad heart, and begin again to enjoy existence, 
 to see some bright spots and glimpses of happiness, where all before 
 seemed dark and a desert. 
 
 We came to Mayence in the evening, and went immediately on board 
 of a night boat bound for Strasburg. It was a soft moonlight, and 
 the passage through a flat country a perfect contrast to what we have 
 passed below, and after the excitement of the scenes during the day an 
 agreeable repose. We arrived at Mannheim early in the morning, and 
 H., going on deck after the passengers for that place had landed, missed 
 one of his trunks containing forty sovereigns in gold, many of his 
 sketches and prints, with books and clothes, in all to the amount of 
 about three hundred dollars. It was probably taken through mistake 
 by some of the passengers. H. had time to give a description of it 
 to the agent of the boat on shore, who promised to send it to Stras- 
 burg by the next boat. Though he had but little hope of recovering 
 it, yet it arrived safe the next day, as promised. 
 
 Our boat having broken a paddle-wheel through the carelessness of 
 the pilot's running too near the shore, we arrived late, about ten, at 
 Strasburg. Wandering about this morning, we find it one of the most 
 picturesque old towns I have seen. The Cathedral, you know, is 
 famous. Crossing the market-place, we were attracted by one of the 
 most beautiful women we ever recollected to have seen. She was 
 sitting with a child in her arms, and was one of the market-women. 
 There was something in this face that I have never seen in pictures, 
 not even in Eaphael, — a most finely chiselled mouth and nose, not 
 
 * At a later period of life he liked the English climate except in autumn, and 
 thought he felt well there. I think England is not the country of youth. 
 
ARTISTIC LIFE. 
 
 75 
 
 too much roundness, but all exquisitely denned ; neither was there too 
 much of the Grecian in the line of the face. This morning heard 
 grand mass in the Cathedral. None can be unmoved at the sublime 
 effect produced by the chanting of the mass in one of these old Gothic 
 churches ; the innocent voices of boys, the rougher tones of the priest, 
 murmuring with the deep diapason of the vast organ, remind us of 
 that sublime mass that nature pours forth in the mingled song of 
 birds, the gurgling of murmuring brooks, in the rushing winds and 
 the roar of the ocean. 
 
 • 
 
 Geneva, Aug. 21. 
 
 We came here Thursday by the way of Basle and the Lake 
 Neufchatel, Lausanne, and Lake Geneva ; since then have been to 
 Chamouni, and ascended the Mont Cevennes, and have walked on the 
 Mer de Glace. Of course ft will be perfectly ridiculous for me to 
 describe these scenes. On the top of Mont Cevennes I bought a snuff- 
 box for mother, made of agate from one of the high points of the Mer 
 de Glace. 
 
 After resting here a few days, we intend crossing the Alps. I have 
 not heard a word from home since I left ; sometimes wish I was there. 
 Let me hear from you as often as I can. I wish I could do justice to 
 the scenes I pass through in description, but I have no words. Hope 
 you will excuse the meagre account. 
 
 In giving these letters and other descriptions of people and 
 pictures just as they are written, it must be remembered that 
 letters are always the expression of a mood, not the well-con- 
 sidered criticism of permanent thought. Eubens never was a 
 favorite with Seth. He could not find a congenial mind in 
 him, yet he often dwelt with pleasure at a later period on his 
 acknowledged excellences in coloring, especially in landscape. 
 He once said he would like to take from Eubens's pictures in 
 the Louvre hands and other parts full of technical beauties. 
 Eubens was an able painter, not a great artist. 
 
 His friend Morse had gone to Italy the preceding year, and 
 was then in Florence with the family of Mr. Clevenger, the 
 sculptor, who was ill and poor. Their means were almost wholly 
 
76 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 gone, when Mr. Cheney arrived in Florence, and was hailed with 
 the greatest joy. He at once shared his funds with his brother 
 artists. 
 
 A delightful party was formed to go to Rome together by 
 Vettura, — Mr. and Mrs. H. K. Brown, Mr. and Mrs. Huntington, 
 Mr. Freeman, Mr. Terry, Mr. De Vaux a Southern artist who 
 died early, Mr. Morse, and Mr. Cheney. Those of the party still 
 living look back to it as one of the richest and happiest pas- 
 sages of life. They saw a beautiful peasant girl at Lake Bolsena, 
 and almost frightened her out of her senses by their eagerness 
 to make drawings of her. 
 
 At Rome, Morse, De Vaux, and Seth lived together in an old 
 street leading from the Corso, where they had delightful times, 
 sometimes studying, and sometimes practising the art of cooking 
 maccaroni, as learned from their Italian cook. 
 
 An American gentleman, finding that the English, Germans, 
 and French had their life schools, furnished money enough to sup- 
 port an American school for several years. This was the last year 
 of its existence, but our artists profited well by it. The teacher 
 was Ferrero, and his clear, exact lessons were always remembered 
 by Seth with great gratitude. He laid great stress upon exactness 
 and delicacy in outline, often revealing to them the nice expres- 
 sion of slight variations in the form. He also laid great stress 
 on the focussing of light and shadow so that the effect should 
 be clear. Seth often recalled the " troppo confuso," which was 
 the old man's most frequent criticism of his work, and he would 
 often say, " Every shadow has its darkest point, every light its 
 brightest." Ferrero was a fine anatomist, and his plate illustrat- 
 ing the anatomy and proportions of the human figure was Seth's 
 constant study to the end of his life. 
 
 He made a drawing of the daughter of Camuccini, the 
 painter, which was engraved by his brother. 
 
ARTISTIC LIFE. 
 
 77 
 
 Florence, Sept. 2.1. 
 
 Dear John, — I wrote you last from Geneva. Since then I have 
 kept no notes of my journey. We arrived here on the 15th, exactly 
 four years from the time we came here before. 
 
 I have suffered somewhat from depression of spirits, which I attribute 
 to the fatigue of travelling and the irregularity of living one is sub- 
 jected to while on the road. After resting sometime I shall be all 
 right again. I found Brown and wife here very comfortably situated. 
 He is full of commissions for copies and originals, and has improved 
 very much. I have been to Powers's studio to-day ; the Eve is cer- 
 tainly a beautiful statue. There was a bust for Mr. Carey, of Proser- 
 pine, which I like as well too. I am glad it goes to America. Morse 
 is here, and intends spending the winter here in Florence. Poor 
 Clevenger sailed last week from Leghorn, but from all accounts it 
 seems doubtful whether he ever reaches home, on account of his ill- 
 health. There are a good many American artists here now. There 
 will be in Rome this winter from fifteen to twenty. 
 
 These works of Eaphael look more beautiful than ever to me, and 
 the sight of them well pays the long journey to see them ; and Flor- 
 ence, too, is a delightful place. I wish you were here, John, to enjoy 
 it. The weather is clear and fine, the air soft and balmy, which dis- 
 poses the mind to reverie and repose ; but I am changed since I was 
 here before, — I look at things with a more serious eye, and not with 
 the same boyish enthusiasm as formerly. I seem to have grown sud- 
 denly old, and the past seems a dream, the present only the reality. 
 The recollection of the past seems more agreeable than the present, 
 but perhaps the present may bring more good, for I have been led 
 to examine myself and look back to scrutinize the motives of action ; 
 I find, with regret, they have not always been the highest. 
 
 I am disposed now to think that a belief in a "Divinity that 
 shapes our ends " must tend to elevate our thoughts and actions, and 
 give us that peace of mind which we search after so long, and find not 
 elsewhere. How I envy the peace of the humble believer I see kneel 
 at the altar of his God, and offer up his prayers and thanks to the 
 Giver of all Good, and go to his hard daily toil with a calm and quiet 
 conscience, trusting that whatever his fate may be, some wise purpose 
 is intended and iD the end must be the best ! I shall, after all my doubt- 
 ing, become a firm believer, and I hope a good Christian. May God 
 
78 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 grant it ! I am persuaded nothing else can satisfy this restless spirit ; 
 in whatever circumstances, I have been always unsatisfied. This be- 
 lief and trust will, I hope, produce the desired repose. 
 
 I am coming gradually to draw from models. I shall go to sketch 
 in the Pitti Palace and the gallery. 
 
 Florence. 
 
 Dear John, — Why did you not write by the last steamer 1 Is 
 somebody dead 1 I always imagine so when I do not hear, though 
 they say no news is good news. I have been here a little more than 
 a month now, and been horribly homesick sometimes, but it is past 
 now, and I am growing fat, go to the gymnasium, and am in better 
 spirits than I have been for the last six months, brain clearer, and 
 begin to enjoy nature and art again, — hope to be strong enough to 
 do a good winter's work in Eome, where we intend going in a week 
 or so. There will be fifteen or twenty American artists in Rome this 
 winter. I intend to set seriously about the study of the human figure 
 this winter ; in the mean time, too, I can make some sketches from 
 medals which I hope may be of some use to you, besides some finished 
 drawings from Raphael and Michael Angelo, which will go towards 
 paying expenses, as I can dispose of them in Boston at a good price. 
 I have not been in the mood of doing anything very serious since I 
 have been here, and have spent the time in looking at the galleries 
 and sketching. I have made a little pencil drawing from a model 
 which perhaps you may like, — did not begin it with the intention 
 of making a picture. Morse was painting from the model, and to 
 pass the time I sat down to make a mere outline, which pleasing me, I 
 worked on and brought out what I will send with Dan's * picture, 
 which he sends next week from Leghorn. I am sorry now I did not 
 make a large crayon drawing of the subject. I will make some in 
 Rome this winter. 
 
 Dan sends his regards. Carey wished him to make a picture to send 
 by the next steamer for you to engrave, but he says he cannot, but 
 will do something in Rome in the course of a month or so. 
 
 Dan 'has just come in, and proposes that I should send my drawing 
 in this letter. The mail goes in an hour, so I have not time to finish 
 it as I intended ; besides, I am not sure that it is worth the extra 
 
 * Huntingdon. 
 
ARTISTIC LIFE. 
 
 79 
 
 postage, but you must make Carey pay that if he makes use of it. It 
 may get spoiled in going by rubbing. 
 
 Morse is here ; we have roomed together of late. Another winter 
 here will be of great use to him. 
 
 Dear Mother, — I hoped to hear from you ere this, but I suppose 
 my letter had a long passage. John wrote me that you had been sick. 
 I hope you have recovered entirely. I often regret that I have made 
 so long a way between us, but I shall return to you a changed being 
 and with a different mind : doubts, and the darkness that have so 
 long rested on my mind have passed away, and the " calm peace and 
 quiet " of faith has taken their place. I begin now to read the Bible 
 with pleasure and profit, and find great consolation in its truths, and 
 wonder that I should so long have neglected its divine precepts ; but 
 there are minds that must pass through the shadowy vale of doubts 
 ere they reach the sunshine of faith beyond. The 113th Psalm ex- 
 presses what I feel now better than any words that I can say. 
 
 Electa, will you copy and send to me Longfellow's " Psalm of 
 Life " 1 I should like, too, Bryant's " Thanatopsis," but that is too 
 long for you to write. Let me hear from you. I have not heard a 
 word since I left. John said nothing of you in his letter. Do write 
 soon. Sep. 
 
 Rome, Dec. 20, 1843. 
 
 Dear John, — I have received two letters since I wrote you, and 
 one from Electa, — a most delightful one and unexpected. I confess 
 it makes me homesick to think how many I have left behind, but it is 
 only in absence that one can estimate their true value, and know how 
 dear, above all the world else, are those to whom we are bound by the 
 closest of all ties. 
 
 I am glad you have concluded to remain in Boston. There must 
 be much more there to excite an artist than in Philadelphia. Those 
 works of Allston are almost a substitute for the Vatican ; they are 
 conceived in the true style. He appears, I think, to have had a 
 mind more like Correggio than any other man's, and like him too in 
 character. 
 
 When I think, John, of all those great minds, Channing and 
 Allston, living and trusting, all their thoughts and actions elevated 
 by, and dying at last in some religious faith, I am disposed to despise 
 
80 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 my own petty mind that has presumed to doubt its truth. Let us 
 look at this before we regret it, — we may find something that we 
 dreamed not of. 
 
 I am occupied now in making sketches from models, but particu- 
 larly in studying the anatomy of the human figure, and drawing, 
 under Ferrero, the engraver. I find I must make a school-boy of 
 myself again. I hope in the course of the winter to get a good 
 general knowledge of the figure, and a better and more decided style 
 of drawing. As for color, I think I had better let that alone for the 
 present. You will find a slate an excellent thing to draw on, as it 
 does not affect the eyes so much, and the alterations can be made in 
 the outlines with much greater facility, which can afterwards be trans- 
 ferred to paper by tracing. Though it seems to be the longest, yet 
 I believe it is in the end the quickest way of drawing. 
 
 The paper I sent by the Victoria instead of the Mediator, as 
 you supposed. You can now get it by applying to Captain Morgan, 
 as I directed to have it left on board until called for. 
 
 De la Eoche is here on account of ill-health. I hope it is not a 
 serious illness. 
 
 I wrote you some time ago about funds. As I shall probably re- 
 turn very early in the spring, I should like to have you send what 
 money you can conveniently get together on my account. I think 
 about $200 or $500 would be enough, and enable me to get some 
 prints besides, which I should like to do. Charles owes me $150; 
 perhaps he could send you some. There is some way of forwarding 
 bills of exchange to Baring's, they tell me, so that it would not be 
 necessary to send them to me and have them again returned. It 
 would save time and expense. 
 
 I wish I could make out a more entertaining letter from the 
 " Eternal City," but I can't say what I would on paper, so must have 
 a longer talk when we meet again. 
 
 Rome, Jan. 16, 1844. 
 (How time flies, John !) 
 
 Dear John, — I have just got your letter of the 18th of Decem- 
 ber, enclosing a draft for which I am much obliged. 1 received yours 
 of the 1st December, too, in due time. I ought to be the happiest 
 mortal in existence, for I always get such good news from you in this 
 
ARTISTIC LIFE. 
 
 81 
 
 far-off country, but, John, I am not. I can't set about anything 
 serious in the way of art yet. My mind flies from one thing to an- 
 other, and has no settled purpose. There is so much here in Rome to 
 do, and one feels his own deficiencies so sensibly, that it sometimes has 
 the effect of disheartening him ; but I hope to get some benefit from 
 the sight of these great works, to fill the mind with their spirit while 
 I am here, though I shall not accomplish much with my hand, so that 
 the effect will be in perspective. What you ask in regard to Raphael's 
 works can better be answered in his own words, that " to make one 
 beautiful object it is necessary to see many ; " and adds, also, " mi 
 servo di certa idea che mi viene alia mente." I have seen studies for 
 the School of Athens of groups which seem made from individual 
 models with all their peculiarities and accidental costume, which in 
 the finished picture are clothed with flowing draperies and made phi- 
 losophers. The model served more for the idea of action, — the charac- 
 ter and expression he drew from his own observation of the infinite 
 variety in nature rather than from an individual model. Why should 
 we confine ourselves to one object when the whole universe is filled 
 with beauty? 
 
 I am sorry to hear of the unfinished state of Mr. Allston's pictures. 
 I hope the outlines and drawings will not find their way out of the coun- 
 try, though I fear the " Titania's Court " will go to England. I wish 
 you had made an engraving of that. Those are great things. I look 
 back on them with the greatest pleasure, and rejoice that after leaving 
 these fine things here I shall have them to fall back upon. 
 
 It will be observed that Mr. Cheney often speaks in these 
 letters of a state of depression. This was not infrequent with 
 him throughout life. It was undoubtedly partly hereditary, 
 and partly increased by ill-health, and a want of knowledge of 
 sanitary conditions. Full of enthusiasm and capable of work- 
 ing with great intensity and concentration of power, and not 
 having had the advantage of that thorough early mental train- 
 ing which would have helped him to husband his resources, he 
 often exhausted his brain by long-continued excited labor, and 
 
 
 
82 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 I 
 
 did not take sufficient rest and food to balance it. Depression 
 of spirits was the natural consequence, but even in this condi- 
 tion his natural characteristics were always fully manifest. He 
 had wonderful self-control, and when undergoing great mental 
 suffering he would not betray it at all to a careless eye, and 
 often those who knew him best would perceive it only by an 
 unnatural calmness. He was never morose or ungentle or un- 
 kind, and always sought rather to dissipate his melancholy by 
 solitude or converse with nature or by music than to intrude 
 it upon others and demand their sympathy. He also understood 
 his own state of mind, and never referred it to false causes. But 
 his joyous moods were like the sunshine, irradiating and cheer- 
 ing and inspiring all within their influence. 
 
 The religious expressions in these letters are deeply interest- 
 ing, and show how prone he was to converse with heavenly 
 things. He was extremely sympathetic and catholic in his 
 nature, and while he went on constantly to freer and broader 
 views of theology, he also " unlearned contempt," and was never 
 guilty of harshness to those who did not think with him. After 
 he became free from the bondage of the old traditions which 
 were around him in his childhood, he cared little to discuss 
 them, but cared much for the development of spiritual and 
 moral life. He found the essence of religion, and it gave him 
 peace and strength in the final hours of life, with no reference 
 to dogmas. 
 
 Friends of intense positive forms of faith often supposed he 
 was, or would be, a convert to their particular church, because 
 he had the habit of listening reverently and sympathetically to 
 those who were earnest and sincere in their utterances ; but 
 
 ' ' To sect or party his large soul 
 Disdained to be confined ; 
 The great he loved, of every age, 
 The good of all mankind." 
 
ARTISTIC LIFE. 
 
 83 
 
 He rarely attended church services, but found food for his 
 religious nature in music, art, and poetry, and the commun- 
 ion with Nature and his friends. Yet he was by no means 
 * 
 
 indifferent, and was never so excited as by harsh, narrow, 
 and dogmatic expressions of Calvinism. When some bigot 
 dared to intimate that a good man not a church-member " had 
 gone to hell," Seth declared that if God would condemn such a 
 man to hell, he would rather go with him than go to heaven. 
 He once became so excited by a controversy with a Calvinist 
 minister that he did not get over it for many days. At a later 
 period he was much indebted to Theodore Parker for clearing 
 up his intellectual doubts, for showing him the Bible and Jesus 
 in a new light, and giving them again to his love and rever- 
 ence. His own faith was in the goodness of God and the 
 immortality of the soul, and although his mind was sometimes 
 clouded by depression his faith always returned to strengthen 
 him. When in Italy he was once in a very depressed state of 
 mind for several days. One Sunday morning he felt this mood 
 even more deeply than usual. He had a conversation with a 
 friend who was of the Calvinistic school of faith, but this only 
 darkened his spirit the more. He walked out, and wandered 
 into the churches, but psalm and prayer and mass had no effect 
 upon him and he turned to come out. As he passed into the 
 porch a peasant- woman entered, bearing her babe in her arms. 
 She stopped at the font of holy water and crossed her baby's 
 brow, and as she did so such an expression of divine love and 
 human joy came into her face as went straight to his heart 
 and healed him of his pain. How little did that madonna know 
 what she had done ! . 
 
 Becoming very homesick, he decided to return home. But 
 when all was arranged, and he had even gone a stage on his 
 journey, he was seized with an intense desire to stay in Italy. 
 Backed by a conflict of feelings, he was in agony. At last he 
 
84 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 knelt in earnest prayer, such as he had never known before. 
 Then the whole room seemed to be full of angels who came 
 and ministered unto him. He arose calm and went on his way 
 homeward. So powerful was this impression that more than ten 
 years afterward, on his death-bed, he referred to it as a source 
 of strength and consolation. " He hath given his angels charge 
 concerning thee." 
 
 This entry occurs in a note-book : — 
 
 Apr. 23, '44. — Left Rome at seven o'clock with a sad and beat- 
 ing heart. The great bell of St. Peter's tolled solemn and mournful 
 tones in my heart that seemed a death-knell. Oh, who can count the 
 miseries of a hypochondriac 1 Phantoms are, after all, more terrible than 
 the real, for these we may subdue and conquer, but the spirit, who 
 shall lay that 1 " Shadows have struck more terror than could the sub- 
 stance of ten thousand." 
 
 In the same note-book are Bryant's poem, "The groves were 
 God's first temples," and another beginning " My friend, thou 
 sorrowest for thy golden prime." 
 
 One of the few pictures he ever signed is an admirable head 
 of an old beggar man, dated Eome, 1844. Its wonderful light and 
 shadow show how well he had profited by Ferrero's teaching. 
 
 Seth returned home with Mr. Morse directly from Italy. 
 They took passage in a new fine sailing-ship owned in America, 
 the captain being part-owner. Owing to a difficulty in getting 
 their tobacco, the crew refused to weigh anchor on the appointed 
 day. The captain, being provoked at this, declared he would sail 
 the next day 'at any rate. Everything foreboded a storm, and 
 the harbor is a very dangerous one. Still the captain sailed. 
 The storm came on furiously, and in the attempt to take in sail, 
 a fine young sailor was knocked overboard and taken up insen- 
 sible. There was no surgeon on board, and Seth took charge of 
 him and bled him with a penknife. This prompt measure was 
 thought to have saved his life. He was taken to a hospital. 
 
ARTISTIC LIFE. 
 
 85 
 
 Mr. Morse says the perfect coolness and self-possession of Mr. 
 Cheney under these circumstances was astonishing. Although 
 usually a victim of seasickness, he was perfectly well during the 
 excitement of the storm. The captain entirely lost his presence 
 of mind, and was obliged to give up the command of the ship to 
 the mate, who put back to Leghorn. They remained there two 
 weeks before sailing again, and were then fifty-two days on the 
 voyage home. 
 
86 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 MAERIAGE AND LIFE IN AMERICA. 
 
 OETH returned to America in the summer of 1844, and the 
 following letter shows how he was occupied during the 
 autumn. 
 
 FROM MRS. WARD CHENEY TO HER SISTER. 
 
 Dec. 22, 184$ 
 
 Seth is still here ; he will leave for Boston next week. He has 
 been taking Electa's portrait for Eichard ; it is a perfect likeness. He 
 is now taking Ward, and as far as he has progressed it is capital. The 
 • boys (or rather Seth) have been enlarging that little bedroom that 
 goes out east, into a fine large room for mother's sleeping-room, so it 
 may be comfortable, and she not be obliged to go up stairs. Seth did 
 nearly all the work himself, as there was a scarcity of carpenters and 
 masons just at that time. I never saw such a fellow ; he can do any- 
 thing and everything ; he laid all tke brick, built the chimney up to 
 the top, did the plastering and most of "the carpentering, has put a 
 fine yellow wash on the room, and hung pictures up and arranged 
 plants, and you can't imagine what a delightful room it is. I never 
 go into it but it reminds me of a picture. Carry. 
 
 He then went to Boston and thus writes to his sister : — 
 
 Boston, Jan. 12, (probably 1845). 
 Dear Electa, — I did not get your letter till yesterday morning, 
 on account of the carrier not knowing my address. Miss Morse 
 received your present on the day of her marriage ; it was admired by 
 all ; I have not yet seen it, but shall. Caroline [Doane] invited me to 
 stay with her ; so I am here pleasantly situated, and feel almost at home. 
 
MARRIAGE AND LIFE IN AMERICA. 
 
 87 
 
 I am in excellent health and spirits. I have not yet taken a room, 
 but am feeling every day more like going ahead again ; am attacked at 
 every corner to do something. I have been visiting about amongst 
 my old friends, and meet with a cordial welcome everywhere ; have 
 more friends than I deserve, I fear, but it is pleasant to be remem- 
 bered. 
 
 Have you heard anything of this new science they call Neurology 1 
 One describes the character of a person by holding a letter of 
 
 his in the hands. Miss has the faculty, and has described 
 
 many with wonderful certainty, without any previous knowledge 
 of the writer. After holding the letter a few minutes she begins to 
 describe her sensations, or rather the impressions she receives of the 
 character of the individual who wrote the letter. Often, too, scenes that 
 are described in the letter are impressed on her mind. I went with 
 Seth Wells yesterday, who carried a letter from a friend of his. After 
 giving many traits of the character of the person, she laughed at the 
 queer impression that all at once came to her mind of a river running 
 through a hilly, or, as she said, a bluffy country, with pine-trees and 
 lumber floating down. In the letter Seth gave her was a description of 
 a down-East river ! ! ! My character has been read too, some time ago, 
 from a letter I wrote at Geneva in my former visit there. From it 
 she received the impression of glorious mountain scenery, etc., which 
 they told me was described in the letter. I have not seen it, the book 
 in which her characters are written being out of town. I don't know 
 what to think of it myself ; I am not disposed to disbelieve in the 
 power. 
 
 At this time, 1845, he was in the maturity of his genius and 
 activity. He had gained much in technical skill by his resi- 
 dence abroad, and worked with more confidence and ease. Yet 
 he always was diffident and distrustful of his own merit. He 
 came home- to a large circle of friends and admirers, all ready to 
 give him commissions. His price was gradually raised from 
 fifty to seventy-five and one hundred dollars, so that his pecu- 
 niary anxieties were ended. Forty-seven portraits are charged 
 under the date 1845 ; they are almost entirely of Boston people, 
 except a few in New Bedford and one of William C. Bryant. 
 
83 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 Among them is a portrait of the celebrated philanthropist, Miss 
 Dorothea Dix, which became the property of the Boston Athe- 
 naeum, one of his own mother, and a charming group of two 
 children of Eev. James Freeman Clarke, which was a present 
 from his parish. Mr. Clarke says, in his letter of thanks, " this 
 is fulfilling the dream of our lives." 
 
 The list of portraits recommences with the date April, 1846, 
 but includes only twenty-four portraits, all of them Boston 
 names. He was apparently exhausted by work, and retired to 
 Manchester for the summer months. 
 
 In the summer of 1846 he was at Manchester, and here a 
 long attachment to his cousin, Miss Emily Pitkin, resulted in 
 acknowledged betrothal. She was a person of uncommon beauty, 
 and great warmth and sweetness of character, with lively, 
 attractive manners, which made her a general favorite. To one 
 of Seth's nature such an event brought the deepest spiritual 
 experience, and he constantly struggled with the painful sense 
 of unworthiness, which made him shrink from the thought of 
 taking another's happiness into his charge. At the request of 
 her sister, Mrs. Sherman, he kept a journal during this period. 
 His health was exceptionally poor, and affected his spirits so 
 much that this journal is filled with expressions of intense men- 
 tal suffering. Yet he seems to recognize that this heavy weight 
 comes from his own physical condition, and he never fails 
 to recognize the blessings of his lot, and the beauty of nature 
 about him. It would be unfair to repeat these expressions, for a 
 journal gives vent to the most morbid feelings, and rarely records 
 the healthy and bright moments when one is too happy for self- 
 introspection ; but even this record reveals his tender love for 
 those around him, and an entire absence of bitterness or suspicious 
 feeling towards others. Himself he blames for all his sufferings. 
 A few brief extracts will illustrate these remarks. 
 
MARRIAGE AND LIFE IN AMERICA. 
 
 89 
 
 July 1, 1846. 
 
 Made a promise with Esther to keep a journal for a year of my use- 
 less existence. What have I to say to-day 1 Like the day my thoughts 
 have been cloudy and dark, though I am surrounded with every cir- 
 cumstance to make man happy, am in my old home in the midst of 
 those dear to me, am sitting in the very room where I was born ; yet 
 I am not satisfied, but look with regret on the past, with apprehension 
 and sometimes with despair to the future, and wish that I might lay 
 down what my gloomy imagination pictures the heavy burthen of 
 existence, and sleep the <sleep of death ; but then a sunny spot gleams 
 in the dark landscape, and then existence seems a blessing, and I re- 
 solve to bear bravely the " ills that flesh is heir to." ... I have been 
 constantly occupied since my return ; have now over forty heads to 
 be taken off. 
 
 Worked an hour on Mr. H.'s portrait ; walked with John down the 
 way of the old school-house, regret to find it moved. Stood on the 
 site, and thought of the old time, the innocent time of childhood. 
 Where are they all who came to con the a b c, one after another'? 
 There stands the old butternut-tree ; there runs the little brook we 
 paddled in at noon-time. How few like me ever return to look on the 
 same spot ! How many were gathered in the bud and blossom, and 
 laid sweetly and untainted in their graves ! Happy such to escape the 
 storms of life ! Would I were lying quietly by their side ! But let me 
 have patience and bide my time. I like to gather wild-flowers more 
 than in gardens. Went to Hartford ; on the way overtook an elderly 
 man and asked him to ride, but, alas, poor man ! speech he had not, 
 but action, and how much more expressive than words ! Let us not 
 always be babbling. Are words more expressive than actions 1 How 
 much a look may convey to those we love ! How much silence may 
 speak ! This is the way of Nature, or, if she speaks, it is in the " still, 
 small voice." 
 
 July 4. — They say it never rains on this day ; it rained this morn- 
 ing, and we anticipated a sorry time for the children who came to cele- 
 brate Independence, and partake of the collation under the trees by 
 the church, but it held up soon. I reached the church just as they 
 were forming the procession, and a beautiful sight it was to look upon 
 them, and amusing to see them cram their mouths and pockets with 
 the sweet things profusely spread before them, — the table-cloth was 
 
90 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 spread with long sheets of white paper, not a bad idea. In the even- 
 ing a display of fireworks at the head of the lane, but, on account of 
 the dampness of the weather, they were not so brilliant as they might 
 be. The balloon went off beautifully, and was the best part of the 
 show [a fire balloon he had made]. 
 
 July 5. — Oh the luxury of going barefoot! I have tramped 
 about, and am happy as a child again. I do not wonder at the child's 
 impatience to get off its shoes in warm weather that he may pat along 
 freely in every puddle, and strip the daisy heads with his toes ; bar- 
 ring the occasional stings and thorns, he is in. paradise. I never look 
 with entire contempt on myself except with a tight pair of boots on 
 in a hot day, and thick coat with pantaloons strapped down, and black 
 beaver on my head, and gloves on my hands, in the streets of a city. 
 A free man may have lost all his friends, without a sou in his pocket, 
 and still have some respect for himself individually. I believe half 
 the minor troubles come from clothes, but he who can walk on serene 
 with pinched corns is a philosopher indeed. . . . 
 
 July 6. — Decapitated four old hens, and made a fire in the oven 
 for mother, and afterward joined Rush to go to Willimantic, and a most 
 delightful time I had of it. The country never looked so fine, a dark 
 rich green ; it has rained every day for three weeks : the Hop Eiver road 
 ran along beautifully through the valleys and by the hedges and 
 brooks ; the old stone-walls were tangled with vines and hazels and 
 sumachs ; occasionally a tall elm or pine or cedar, and chestnut in blos- 
 som, or monarch oak reared its mossy branches covered with the rich 
 foliage ; old brown houses with stone chimneys among the rocks^ and 
 antique apple-trees ; old gray-headed men, with long jackets, standing 
 in the door, tidy maids drawing water with the old mossy bucket. 
 Altogether I have not seen anything nearly so primitive for a long time. 
 
 July 11. — I usually begin the day with a cold bath, which after a 
 hot night is most invigorating ; to-day have done all sorts of odd jobs. 
 There is something pleasant in this sort of life to me, which is about all 
 that I am fit for, as it requires no concentration of mind and thought. 
 I often regret that I have been tempted away by any other life, but now, 
 after tasting of the excited existence that I have, I should not be con- 
 tented for a long time with this quiet. 
 
 July 12, Sunday. — Passed a dull day, and when will this weight 
 be removed 1 All that I ask I have had, even that which I ought 
 
MARRIAGE AND LIFE IN AMERICA. 91 
 
 not to have anticipated ; perhaps, if I had some real trouble, I might 
 be improved, bi\t as all I have is imaginary, where shall I begin 1 
 There is nothing tangible. 
 
 July 19. — Awoke a shade lighter this morning, but thought too 
 long in bed ; never regret an early rising ; have resolved to arise as soon 
 as I awake hereafter, — not the first time, though, that I have resolved 
 and broken it. 
 
 July 21. — Is there no hope? As I rose this morning I saw the 
 most brilliant rainbow, and tears came to my eyes. I remember the 
 last time I was making preparations to leave the Eternal City, in the 
 early morning, lying on my bed after passing a sleepless night dis- 
 tracted with doubt and fear, thinking of the long and weary way to 
 my home, the mountains to climb, and wide ocean to cross, and 
 dangers to encounter, — I remember then, as the city lay in silence save 
 the distant bell of St. Peter's tolling woe, woe, the bright morning star 
 glimmered above the dome of San Spirito, through my casement, and 
 seemed like an angel eye, and gave me hope. 
 
 During the summer he took a short journey to the sea-shore 
 with his mother and her two sisters. This trio of old ladies was 
 very dear to him, and they were never happier than when with 
 him, trusting to his careful driving and his tender consideration 
 for their fears or their infirmities. He says : — 
 
 At twelve o'clock started with Aunt Mary, Aunt Emily, and mother 
 for the* sea-side in a private conveyance, starting through Glaston- 
 bury, crossing the Connecticut River at Rocky Hill, through Middle- 
 town, and are soon safely stowed at Durham. Have eaten a poor 
 supper ; never stop here again. 
 
 July 22, Guilford. — The phantom has lost its grimness ; in its 
 place dimly appears the angel of Hope. 
 
 July 24. — Calm and clear rises the sun this morning over the 
 waters that sleep so calm and clear beneath, reflecting still the rock 
 and white sail that lie motionless on its bosom. Oh that my mind 
 might bear so light and shadow ! 
 
 The sea-shore did not relieve him, and in August he went to 
 Brattleboro' to try the water-cure, under the direction of Dr. 
 
92 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 Robert Wesselhoeft. The change of air, the out-cloor life, and 
 the moderate use of water were very beneficial to him, and, as 
 the journal proceeds, the heavy weight was lifted from his brain, 
 and he once says he is " as well as he ever expects to be." He 
 entered a little int;o the gay life of the establishment, and found 
 congenial friends and warm admirers among the patients. After 
 a little while he was able to resume his drawing, though only for 
 a few hours a day, and he made a charming portrait of the 
 daughter of his physician, of which he thus speaks : — 
 
 Aug. 8. — Awoke languid and spiritless; got up three times and 
 went to bed again for want of spunk to dress myself. Commenced a 
 sketch of the Doctor's beautiful daughter Minna. I think she has the 
 finest physique of any child of her age I ever saw, a noble specimen 
 of humanity. Made a capital sketch, and felt better. On my return 
 home, found a note from Miss P. inviting me to join her party to the 
 circus on the island. Swallowed a hasty dinner, but reached her house 
 too late to accompany them ; rushed down to the island and found the 
 large tent filled with about a hundred men, women, and children. The 
 air was stifling, and it commenced raining in torrents, and, dripping- 
 through the tents, made sad work with the go-to-meeting finery of the 
 women ; white dresses were stained green from the drippings. In the 
 midst of all fell in with Miss P. and her party making their way out. 
 One person happening to have an umbrella sheltered us both from the 
 deluge that poured down, but we got pretty well drenched before get- 
 ting home, but enjoyed it, — it was short. I saw some very beautiful 
 faces of women and children, which to me was the entertainment. 
 The evening being rainy, played all sorts of games in the saloon, and 
 had some hearty laughs ; finished off by dancing the Virginia Reel. It 
 is now eleven o'clock. I am sitting with my feet in a tub of cold water, 
 and feel as well as ever I expect to. 
 
 He writes to his sister from Brattleboro', postmarked Feb. 26 
 (1847 ?): — 
 
 I ought to have answered your beautiful letter long ago, but this 
 cold water makes one a real selfish being ; he thinks of nothing but his 
 
MARRIAGE AND LIFE IN AMERICA. 
 
 93 
 
 own comfort. If I stay here much longer, what little regard I might 
 have had for others will be washed out of me, I fear, entirely. 
 
 A most surprising change has come over me since I came. It is 
 now six weeks since I commenced the cure. If I put all the well 
 days together for the last four years, I am sure they would not have 
 amounted to half so many as I have passed here. Yesterday I think 
 I never felt so well and free from all ills, at least since I can remember. 
 I have not yet had any grand crisis, nothing except an intolerable itch- 
 ing at times of the skin ; this, the Doctor says, is my disease coming 
 out, which I am disposed to believe, for the sensation is very much 
 like what I have felt before internally. I take a great deal of exercise, 
 though I have not walked over fifteen miles a day yet ; my legs being 
 longer than any other patient's, I am obliged to walk alone, but still I 
 enjoy these solitary rambles among these snow-clad hills, and uncon- 
 sciously sing on my lonely way, and am happy in spite of myself, — 
 even look with pleasure to a repetition of the same scene to-mor- 
 row. The snow is now three feet on a level, and I have not seen 
 the smallest patch of ground since I came here. Within the last week 
 the mercury has been as low as twenty-two degrees below zero, but this 
 we don't mind, though sometimes I am disposed to shiver a little when 
 Stoltz, my man, comes into my room at four o'clock in the mornin* 
 with his lantern and cold wet sheet on his arm, and bids me jump out 
 and be wrapped in ; but the shock is soon over, and is succeeded by 
 an agreeable warmth and soothing effect, and one falls into a most soft 
 and delicious slumber. In this state I once dreamed of visfting the 
 tomb of Priessnitz, which seemed to be in a sort of chapel in an old 
 church ; in the centre of this stood the sarcophagus, in the shape of 
 a bathing-tub, over which were thrown picturesquely sundry sheets 
 and blankets ; the inscription I dreamed to have read, but what it was 
 I could not recall. At another time I dreamed of walking ghost-like 
 clown Washington Street, in Boston, wrapped in my wet sheet and 
 being stared at and annoyed by the shopkeepers as I passed along. I 
 made a short cut down a narrow street, and jumped on a sled which a 
 boy had abandoned in his flight. I coasted over hill and down valley 
 with the speed of lightning, and soon found myself at my own door. 
 Met the Doctor, who advised me not to walk again till I came out of 
 the sheet, for fear of taking cold. I went immediately to my room to 
 dress, after which went out with the intention of returning the boy his 
 
04 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 sled, when, lo ! it was transformed into a sitz-bathing tub, filled with 
 cold water ! This shock awoke me, and it is the last dream I have 
 had of the water-cure. 
 
 After lying two or three hours in the sheet, I am taken out, rubbed 
 by Stoltz and Fritz a few minutes, in a bath of from sixty to seventy 
 degrees. I have never taken an entire cold bath yet ; leaving the bath, 
 I am enveloped in a coarse dry cotton sheet, and rubbed dry. By 
 the way, I think you would like this way, after taking your bath ; it is 
 much better than a towel ; it prevents evaporation, and you become 
 immediately warm in it. After dressing I go out immediately, rain or 
 shine, and walk three or four miles, drinking as much water as I can 
 at every spring I pass ; our breakfast after this, of bread and milk, is 
 * most delicious ; the only trouble is to restrain the appetite within 
 reasonable bounds. Soon after breakfast I take a long walk, return- 
 ing between eleven and twelve o'clock, and sitting coolly down in a 
 tub of water for half an hour or so ; the same bath again at five 
 o'clock. This sitz-bath has a wonderful effect on me ; I always get 
 out of it singing or whistling, and never think of doing less than 
 running two miles to begin with. We dine at one o'clock, — 
 a plain dinner of soup, a roast with two or three kinds of vege- 
 tables, and finish with a simple rice or tapioca pudding with stewed 
 prunes ; our wine is colorless. No one would for a moment suppose 
 that invalids were dining at our table ; cold water has a wonderful 
 effect on the appetite, and very little inconvenience is ever felt by 
 the patiAits from their food. About thirty of us meet at dinner, — old 
 men and women, girls and boys, a motley group. The Doctor presides 
 at one table, and / at the other. I have become quite an adept at 
 carving. So we go on in what seems a monotonous round, one day 
 after another, but still are happy ; why should we not be, when we 
 feel that the blessed boon of health is returning 1 
 
 Sunday Morning. 
 
 I wish you were here to-day, — such a pure blue sky, such clear 
 living air, fit for angels to breathe. No house made with hands shall 
 shut out this glorious God's temple, that shall be my worshipping 
 place to-day ; my dome shall be the blue vault of heaven, o'erarching 
 all ; my marble pavement, the pure white snow ; my aisles among its 
 carved crusted drifts, over which I glide as on a frozen sea ; my altar, 
 the high mountains, its incense the rising mists, my burning lamp the 
 
MARRIAGE AND LIFE IN AMERICA. 
 
 95 
 
 Sun ; the ever living running water shall serve for my sacrament. The 
 winds in the ever-green branches of the tall old pines shall chant my 
 anthem, my prayer : " God, what can words express 1 I bow my 
 head; mine eyes are filled with tears." 
 
 On November 18, 1846, his three old friends and travelling 
 companions, Huntington, Gray, and H. K. Brown, sent him a 
 joint letter of most cordial invitation to join them in New York, 
 offering him every inducement of pleasant lodgings, studio, and 
 companionship ; but he did not accept their invitation, but went 
 to Boston, where he had engagements. 
 
 During the spring and summer of 1847 he was either in New 
 York or Boston, drawing crayon portraits, or at South Manches- 
 ter, resting and enjoying the society of his relatives. 
 
 He took a large studio in Boston, which was formerly the 
 vestry of Dr. Channing's church. John occupied a room above. 
 Part of the time they slept in the upper rooms, taking their 
 meals at the United States Hotel. 
 
 About this time he gave a few lessons, the only time that he 
 ever attempted regular teaching. One of his pupils says : — 
 
 " My first remembrance of Mr. Cheney was at the time when he 
 was taking the likeness of Mrs. Ticknor, when a few young ladies 
 joined to take some lessons from him. I do not think he gave us 
 more than six lessons when we separated for the summer, but he gave 
 us an impulse to work, and an interest in drawing which his modesty 
 made it impossible for him to appreciate. His sincere belief that he 
 knew too little of the technicalities of his art to teach made him un- 
 dervalue the help he gave ; but his genius could kindle the latent spark, 
 without which any help is valueless." 
 
 In September, 1847, he joined Miss Pitkin, who, with her 
 father, was visiting some friends in Eochester, New York, and 
 they decided to be married there and go on a wedding journey 
 to Niagara. He was glad to escape w T edding preparations and 
 festivities w 7 hich did not suit his sensitive nature. The first 
 
96 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 winter after their marriage they spent with his sister, Mrs. 
 Goodman, at Astoria, near New York City. He made por- 
 traits in New York, and enjoyed the society of his artist friends 
 there. 
 
 In the summer of 1848, Seth spent some time at Nahant, with 
 his friend Miss Anna C. Lowell, for whom he made several draw- 
 ings. A few extracts from her journal will show the impression 
 which he made on others at that time. 
 
 Cheney arrived at dusk. . . . Mrs. Henry Ware told me that he 
 had promised Cornelia [Mrs. Goddard, afterwards Mrs. Charles G. 
 Loring] to come down to Nahant to take George's picture, and I sent 
 him an invitation to stay with us. He is so agreeable, and, better than 
 that, interesting, on account of his transparency, sincerity, and sweet- 
 ness, that it is a pleasure to have this opportunity of seeing him 
 freely. . . . 
 
 Aug. 9. — He seemed to enjoy the scenery of the beaches, Swamp- 
 scott, etc. He talked very pleasantly of his travels in Europe, and 
 again in the evening about the celebrated masters in painting, their 
 various styles, etc., all with perfect naturalness and simplicity. At 
 half past eight he took a moonlight walk and retired early. He seems 
 to me far from well, is thin and haggard, though his eyes are bright 
 and spiritual in their expression. 
 
 He alludes frequently to his tendency to depression, speaks of the 
 ocean, especially on' board ship, inspiring him with melancholy ; of Paris 
 being too exciting for his mind, and Rome too desolate. He loved 
 Florence, because it is so quiet and peaceful and home-like ; prefers the 
 country and especially mountain scenery. 
 
 Aug. 10. — Much of the day was occupied with Mr. Cheney. . . . 
 I found his ideas very liberal and enlarged and yet serious. He speaks 
 so frankly and without a shadow of dogmatism or reserve or affectation, 
 that it is refreshing to converse with him. 
 
 This afternoon he accompanied us again in our drive. We were 
 able to drive on the beach close to the water, and he was charmed 
 with this, and drew my attention to every change of aspect in 
 cloud, sky, or water j pointed out every bird and every picturesque 
 object. 
 
MARRIAGE AND LIFE IN AMERICA. 
 
 97 
 
 Aug. 11. — I found him a strong advocate for total abstinence, but 
 all in his own calm, candid, suggestive way.* 
 
 Miss Lowell then relates, at some length, conversations which 
 she held with him, speaking enthusiastically of Mrs. Goddard, 
 Mrs. Ware, and her father, and adds a very characteristic pas- 
 sage in regard to Mr. Lowell's kindness to an old domestic. 
 
 Mr. Cheney's eyes glowed with that radiant look they have when 
 he is speaking of something good or beautiful. 
 
 "How delightful it is to hear of such instances ! " said he; "how 
 much happiness may be communicated by a single word or trifling act 
 of kindness, forgotten perhaps, by the giver, but never forgotten by the 
 receiver ! The memory of your father, what a source of enjoyment it 
 must be to that poor lone woman ! and that years after he is gone." 
 
 " And his kindness to her returning as a blessing to his children," 
 said I, "for it is a great delight to us to hear him thus spoken of." 
 
 " Yes, it must be so ; no good word or deed is ever lost \ it is per- 
 petually living and producing fruit," said he with emotion. 
 
 After tea we took a drive by moonlight. The night was clear and 
 soft, the sky without clouds except a low ridge towards the east, 
 through which the heat-lightning played. The twilight had scarcely 
 faded towards the west, while the full moon shone resplendently and 
 left its broad golden track on the ocean. Cheney was enchanted with 
 the beauty and the novelty of the scene, and we enjoyed it doubly by 
 witnessing his pleasure, and having him point out every picturesque 
 object, and every effect of light and shade and form and hue, with a 
 painter's insight and a poet's taste, and his own spiritual expression 
 gleaming out from his deep, earnest eyes ; now serious, now radiant 
 with pleasure, just discerned in the silvery pale light, which seemed 
 well suited for it, enhanced by, and in harmony with the spiritual 
 beauty of the scene. He made us observe several peculiar and beau- 
 tiful effects produced by the moonlight in contrast with the ocean or 
 rocks ; for instance, above dark Egg Rock there was a line of light, 
 but above the broad golden reflection of the moonbeams on the water, 
 
 * He was not always an advocate for total abstinence, but at times thought 
 the use of good light wines would be rather a preventive of drunkenness. But 
 he was so sympathetic in conversation that people often fancied he advocated 
 doctrines he only did not dissent from. 
 
 7 
 
4 
 
 98 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 seemed to rise up a dark pyramid mysteriously looming up from the 
 horizon. Around the point of little Nahant, too, gleamed a brilliant 
 light concentrating in one bright pencil of silvery rays at the extreme 
 point. 
 
 Aug. 17. — This morning he got so discouraged about Georgie's 
 picture and Cornelia's too, that he said he believed the best way would 
 be to roll them up, and let them remain for several months, and per- 
 haps he could make something of them then ; now he had got to a 
 standpoint and did not feel as if he gained ground. We begged him 
 not to do this, and encouraged him as much as we could. Georgie's 
 is a lovely picture, and looks like him, though a little older-looking 
 and perhaps defective in a few particulars. 
 
 He said, "Well then ! he would go on and try what he could do." 
 Accordingly, he worked hard upon Georgie's all day, often for several 
 hours together in his own room, and he did improve it wonderfully 
 and felt in much better spirits. He then said that last evening he 
 had felt utterly discouraged ; that it always was so ; he had never 
 drawn a picture, that he did not feel at the time that it should be the 
 last, that he would go back to the plough. 
 
 He spoke of " Comus " as more beautiful to him than even " Paradise 
 Lost." 
 
 Glancing round the point of land, as we were looking out intently 
 at it, he said, " There ! this is our last look at that ; we shall never see 
 just this again. Does it not often strike you when you are seeing a 
 beautiful but passing scene in nature, or, indeed, enjoying anything, 
 this thought, that it can never return 1 There may be other aspects 
 or pleasures, but not this one again ; it is the last time." 
 
 All things pleasant come to an end, and we found ourselves soon 
 after in our little, plain, prosaic parlor. 
 
 " This has been delightful, indeed," said Mr. Cheney, " something 
 rescued from Chaos." 
 
 Aug. 22. — Miss called. She admires Cheney with her 
 
 usual extravagance. " The truth is," she said, " Cheney is not a man, 
 he is an angel." She said he was the most impersonal being she ever 
 saw ; not but that he takes great interest himself in persons, for he is 
 remarkable for doing so, but he has not a particle of egotism, and 
 speaks of himself, his family affairs or personal feelings, as little as 
 possible. 
 
MARRIAGE AND LIFE IN AMERICA. 
 
 99 
 
 During the years 1848 and 1849 he once more engaged 
 in engraving. His friend, Mr. Stephen Perkins, published a 
 volume of outlines from Allston, for which the brothers, Seth 
 and John, made the engravings. The preface sufficiently ex- 
 plains the work: — 
 
 " The outlines and sketches contained in this volume are a part of 
 those found in Mr. Allston's studio in Caxn^idge, Mass., after his 
 death in July, 1843. They consist in great part of compositions hastily 
 sketched in chalk, and never carried further ; among them, however, 
 are a few outlines in umber, on canvas, which, although more care- 
 fully done, should not be considered as finished outlines, since they 
 were intended merely as a ground on which to paint. The sizes of 
 the figures in the different compositions vary from that of life to a few 
 inches in length, and where it was necessary to reduce them for 
 engraving, the daguerreotype was used, by which the image was con- 
 veyed to the engraver's plates, prepared for that purpose, and there 
 fixed by tracing the line through the silver. 
 
 " Boston, Jan. 1, 1850." 
 
 The greater part of Allston's works here represented are now 
 the property of the Boston Art Museum, but the book also con- 
 tains reproductions of outline tracings of the great picture of 
 " Jacob's Dream," which is in England ; of " Uriel," and of 
 " Michael setting the Watch," a composition of Allston's, after- 
 wards destroyed. 
 
 Some experiments were made in novel styles of engraving, to 
 represent the technical peculiarities of the originals. The work 
 was done by the brothers so much together that it is difficult to 
 distinguish what belonged to either. Most of it is engraved 
 with a dry point. The " Prometheus " and " Prodigal Son " were 
 engraved on stone by J ohn, and Seth engraved the " Heliodorus," 
 and some others entirely. The darkening of one line to give 
 strength to the outline may be regarded as a mistake, but as a 
 whole the engraving is very delicate and spirited, and the work 
 gives a truer idea of the subtle and spiritual genius of Allston 
 
100 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 than anything accessible to the general public. But although 
 much valued by lovers of art, the book did not find a ready sale, 
 and brought no pecuniary remuneration to the publisher, and 
 little to the engravers. It is now very scarce, the plates hav- 
 ing been destroyed in the great Boston fire, so that it cannot be 
 reproduced. 
 
 Mr. Allston had ^Irawn some of the sketches with a double 
 line, and the artists, with their friendly critics, Mr. Perkins and 
 Mr. Franklin Dexter, were anxiously considering how to render 
 them, — which line should be reproduced. " I shall give both," 
 said Seth, " I will never take it upon me to leave out anything 
 of Allston's." 
 
 The birth of a child in 1848 failed to bring the long-antici- 
 pated happiness, since the little creature died in a few hours. 
 Mrs. Cheney's health failed, and she sought renovation at the 
 Brattleboro' Water Cure, where Mr. Cheney joined her in the 
 intervals of relaxation from work. 
 
 In August and September he made a journey with his brother 
 Frank to Portland and Bangor, by steamer, to Sebago Lake and 
 the White Mountains, and thence to Burlington, to see his friend 
 Hills, and by Lake George and across Vermont to his home. 
 
 Friday (postmarked Sept. 11). 
 Dear John, — I went with Frank, after his return from the 
 West, to Boston and to Nahant, and finished my drawings, and then 
 took passage for Bangor on the Penobscot, and then across to the Ken- 
 nebec, and down to Portland ; and as Frank did not seem to feel like 
 returning yet, and was gaining so much in health and spirits, con- 
 cluded to go to the White Mountains ; only we regretted you were not 
 with us, as we had talked so long about going there together, and about 
 a thousand times on the way wished you were with us. We had a good 
 time and enjoyed all. I think I never enjoyed a journey more in any 
 country. The mountains altogether surpassed my expectations in 
 grandeur and extent. I would go a long way farther to see them 
 again than to Niagara, and would say to any one who could see but 
 
MARKIAGE AND LIFE IN AMERICA. 
 
 101 
 
 one of them, to go by all means to the mountains. We came across 
 to Lakes Champlain and George, beautiful as any Lake Maggiore or 
 Como, to say the least. I mean to go next year and spend half the 
 summer there, and make sketches on the lakes and mountains; find 
 the picturesque everywhere. We arrived at Albany on Wednesday. 
 Prank had business in Paterson and New York, so I came home by 
 the railroad to Springfield. Emily will go to Brattleboro' next week ; 
 the Doctor thinks it will take three months to effect a cure. She will 
 probably be all winter in the cure ; it will be best to make a thorough 
 business of it. I shall go to Boston immediately from Brattleboro' to 
 draw the portrait of a sick lady, that I have solemnly promised to do 
 by the middle of September. I shall very likely be in Boston a couple 
 of months ; shall you be there sooner, or shall you be at home % At all 
 events, don't stay in Philadelphia. 
 
 The following year was saddened by his youngest brother 
 Frank's absence in California, whence he returned very ill with 
 fever. Seth was summoned to him at Manchester, and happily 
 found him recovering. 
 
 His wife returned to Manchester very ill, and the symptoms 
 indicated consumption, a disease of which several of her family 
 had died. The following extract from a letter of Mrs. Harriet 
 B. Cheney to her son gives a picture of Emily's sick-room : — 
 
 Manchester, Mar. 15, 1850. 
 Your Aunt Emily continues to linger on the borders of the grave ; 
 she suffers very little, and is cheerful and resigned. Your Uncle Seth 
 is devoted to her, and her room is filled with everything beautiful to 
 the eye, pictures, and flowers, and mosses. He has made "a chair for 
 her which is almost as comfortable as a spring-bed, and he draws her 
 about in it. 
 
 Seth made a picture of her looking upward in prayer, which, 
 in its expression of holy religious rapture, is unsurpassed by that 
 of any saint ever painted by a Catholic artist. She died May 
 11, 1850. 
 
 In the autumn of 1850 Mr. Cheney had a very severe illness. 
 
102 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 He had been drawing at Newport that summer. Sea-shore life 
 and air always had an unfavorable effect upon his health and 
 spirits. He had also been imprudent in bathing in the hot sun. 
 He started to go to Manchester, but stopped for the night at 
 Stonington, feeling very unwell. He thought he should die, and 
 that no one would know where he was. He asked the landlord for 
 pen and paper, but there was none in the house ; he went out and 
 bought it, and wrote to his sister, not saying that he was ill, but 
 only indicating where he was. The next morning, feeling very ill, 
 he started for Manchester. A camp-meeting on the route attracted 
 many visitors, some of whom were singing their Methodist 
 hymns in the cars, while others, mocking them with ribald songs, 
 made the cars so noisy that, to his aching sensitive brain, it 
 seemed like Pandemonium. He reached home at last, fevered, 
 sick. He wandered from room to room, seeking rest and finding 
 none, until, at last, too weak to move, he lay down in the south 
 room to endure the struggle between life and death. His 
 disease amounted to a high nervous or brain fever, and his state 
 was very critical. A homoeopathic physician from Hartford, 
 Dr. Schue, attended him, and his brother John watched over 
 him. A cough ensued, but the physician said his lungs were 
 stronger than his head, and he could bear it. After the fever 
 abated, he recovered steadily, though he was long weak. How 
 he enjoyed the delicious pears and peaches, and how he mourned 
 for the golden autumn days which passed while he could not go 
 out ! Autumn was his favorite season. His health was then 
 better than usual, and he loved its rich mellow beauty. Ward 
 took him to ride one day, but although he enjoyed it, it ex- 
 hausted him. 
 
 During this sickness he felt a strong desire for life ; he could 
 not resign it. Six years later, when he lay in that room strug- 
 gling between life and death, he was calm and peaceful. 
 
 When sufficiently recovered he went to Brooklyn, N. Y., and 
 
MARRIAGE AND LIFE IN AMERICA. 
 
 103 
 
 spent the winter with Henry K. Brown, working in his studio. 
 He modelled a head of his brother John, and several copies of 
 the antique, among them the " Boy and Goose." He studied 
 anatomy, making drawings of the muscles in a little pocket 
 sketch-book, which he was accustomed to carry in his pocket, 
 that he might study it when crossing the ferry. He had at some 
 time attended a course of dissections. 
 
 He made great improvement in the stronger modelling of his 
 heads. There is an exquisite feeling in his earlier works which 
 could not be surpassed, but his later drawings have a more 
 assured, thorough truthfulness of expression, and he never rose 
 higher than in some of his latest pictures. 
 
 His matured thought did not destroy, but deepened his early 
 enthusiasm. He once said, " It troubles me that beautiful 
 Nature does not give me the same delight and excitement it 
 used to." But he never lost a full, calm, and sober joy in Nature 
 to the last days of his life. 
 
 COPY OF A LETTER OF T. R. GOULD TO MOTHER CHENEY. 
 
 Boston, Nov. 11, 1850. 
 
 Dear Madam, — A change of hour, made two days before in the 
 starting of the train, threatened to keep me in Hartford till three 
 o'clock on Friday afternoon, and allow a very short time in Manches- 
 ter. So I hired a vehicle and was driven out directly to the old home. 
 There it lay, on the slope, as usual, smoking contentedly. 
 
 Seth opened the door, and drew me in with eyes of wonder ; at 
 first he thought it must be a dream, but concluded that I came down 
 in the hail-storm that was then falling. He seemed well and in good 
 spirits, was troubled with a great appetite at dinner, said his head felt 
 clear. He was very beautiful, — in my eyes, he always was, — and now 
 with his complete beard and high head, looked like Shakespeare. Per- 
 haps the low ceiling of the old house aided this fancy, resembling 
 mayhap the poet's at Stratford. Frank was in fine condition. Rush's 
 little daughter made her first successful effort in walking alone, to the 
 great glee of the child and joy of the parents. 
 
104 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 I missed Emily never so much as there, — that pure and joyous 
 spirit that has gone up before. I suppose we all thought of her, but no 
 one spoke. Seth sat in the easy-chair, and we talked three hours away 
 very swiftly. I asked him your Christian name carelessly, — he little 
 knew for what purpose. 
 
 Tell Electa, the younger, " the one fair daughter, and no more, the 
 which you love passing well," with my friendliest remembrance, that 
 I not only did not urge Seth to come to Boston this winter, but 
 advised him not to come ; this went ivith my head, but against my 
 heart, and yet deeply with my heart. I hope to see you all in January. 
 
 So you have heard Jenny Lind, and perhaps the finest music that 
 floats anywhere in this world's atmosphere. She is a good girl. How 
 much personal character adds to all pleasures of art ! 
 
 I am, with respect and affection, always 
 
 Yours, Thomas R. Gould. 
 
 This brief note to Mr. Cheney tells its own story : — 
 
 National Academy of Design, 
 New York, May 11, 1848. 
 
 Sir, — I take the liberty to inform you that at a meeting of the 
 Academy on Wednesday, the 10th inst. you were elected an Associate. 
 On application the Curator will furnish you a copy of the Constitution, 
 By-Laws, etc. Very respectfully, 
 
 E. W. Edmonds, 
 
 Recording Secretary. 
 
 His friend, Henry Peters Gray, painted a portrait of him for 
 the Academy. It has much of his sweetness and beauty, but a 
 little too much of the fine gentleman to be quite characteristic. 
 
HOME LIFE. 
 
 105 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 HOME LIFE. 
 
 TN" the summer of 1851, Mr. Cheney planned a trip to the 
 White Mountains with his brother John, and his sister, 
 Mrs. Goodman. It was arranged that they should meet at 
 Brattleboro', whither he went, and lodged at the Vermont House. 
 Owing to the illness of one of the party, they failed to meet him, 
 and he waited there a few days alone. Here our acquaintance 
 commenced. He took his seat beside me at table, and described 
 to me the walk he had taken over the hills, and the beautiful 
 effect of the sound of church bells re-echoed from the mountains 
 around. A walk was arranged by my friends for the evening, 
 and we said, " Ought we to ask Mr. Cheney to go, or should he 
 offer to accompany us ? " " He will never offer to go, he is so 
 diffident," said the lady who knew him best ; but he accepted 
 the invitation with that peculiar lighting up of the countenance 
 which was so radiant and expressive. 
 
 On Monday morning I left Brattleboro' for a visit to my aunt, 
 at the little mountain town of Dublin, near the grand Monadnock. 
 Mr. John L. Eussell, the botanist, and one or two other gentle- 
 men had proposed to come to Dublin to make an ascent of this 
 mountain. They came to the station to take leave of me, and 
 were talking of it, so that I said to Mr. Cheney, " As you- are 
 disappointed of your trip to the White Mountains, will you not 
 join the party to Monadnock ? " 
 
 He went to Dublin on Wednesday alone, and, thinking it too 
 late in the evening to call, sat on the steps of the old church, 
 
106 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 enjoying the beauty of the moonlight on the mountains around. 
 On Thursday he came to Dr. Leonard's, and we went to ride 
 together, and arranged to go with a party of relatives to Monad- 
 nock on Friday. It was found impossible to procure more than 
 one horse, and we were therefore obliged to walk a great part 
 even of the level distance, and the ascent was steep and fatiguing 
 to one unused to climbing, especially as the weather was very 
 warm. 
 
 As we neared the summit I spoke of an ascent of Mt. Wash- 
 ington, and of my feeling at finding, far above other vegetation, 
 amid storm and mist, a tiny white flower which seemed like a 
 baby's smile. At that moment I looked down, and there it was. 
 Mr. Cheney drew back as if from a shrine, and said, with the 
 most reverent tone, "Why, I had almost trodden on it." He 
 was so fatigued that he did not come to the house until Sunday, 
 when he came and spent the day, and went to church. Dr. 
 Leonard, the pastor, was a man of the purest religious nature. 
 His quiet preaching, the beauty of nature as seen from the win- 
 dows of the church, and the harmonious feeling of the congre- 
 gation, made the whole service so peaceful that Seth enjoyed it 
 more than any religious rite I ever attended with him. At 
 evening we climbed Beach Hill for the sunset view. 
 
 Monday morning, he appeared with a horse and vehicle which 
 almost defies description, — an old yellow chaise much the worse 
 for wear, and a horse whose angular outline and peculiar gait 
 told the history of years of hard service on the mountains. For 
 a week we rode daily in this vehicle, often stopping in the 
 woods and tying the horse to a tree while we gathered flowers, 
 or with a long pole fished lilies from the ponds. These excur- 
 sions filled the country people with wonder and amusement. 
 At this time Mr. Cheney wore his beard long, which was very 
 uncommon in New England, and a straw hat with a broad brim, 
 and a black ribbon around it ; and, moreover, had the habit of 
 
HOME LIFE. 
 
 107 
 
 using a small dark mirror to observe the lights and shadows of 
 the landscape more perfectly. They said, " He certainly was not 
 proud or he would not ride in that old yellow chaise." He 
 joined good-naturedly in the merriment of the young members 
 of the household, and one day brought up a drawing he had 
 made of the equipage. We laughed till we were hoarse at the 
 amusing caricature. Many years after, his brother Ward saw 
 this drawing for the first time, and the tears came to his eyes 
 at the likeness to his brother's form and action. I know of no 
 other comic picture from his hand. 
 
 In the autumn and winter he still occupied Dr. Gannett's 
 vestry. The principal room was very large and high, with one 
 great window, the lower part of which he boarded up to get a 
 high light only. Here he had his casts, a few books, and a grand 
 piano, and in spite of the coldness and dreariness of the apart- 
 ment he enjoyed the space and freedom it afforded him. The 
 boys of the neighborhood climbed up, and peeped in at the win- 
 dow, and seeing the white statues in the dim light, spread the 
 rumor that it was haunted ; and the little mice came fearlessly 
 out from their holes to eat the crumbs of bread which dropped 
 from his hand as he erased his drawing. He and John occupied 
 rooms above as sleeping-rooms, taking their meals at the United 
 States Hotel. His friend, Kimberley, often played and sang to 
 him here, and his artist friends sometimes worked or talked with 
 him. 
 
 He had constant commissions, and drew thirty portraits dur- 
 ing the winter. Among them is one of Dr. James Walker, and 
 two very beautiful pictures of children, the daughters of his 
 friends, Mr. Ingersoll Bowditch and Mr. Stephen Perkins. He 
 vacillated a little at this time between sculpture and painting, 
 and made the admirable bas-relief portrait of Mr. A. Bronsou 
 Alcott. His health was not good, and he suffered especially 
 from trouble in the throat. He made the acquaintance of my 
 
108 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 friend, M S , and took the greatest delight in her rare 
 
 spiritual powers and natural love of art. He carried her flowers, 
 pictures, books, and tried to help her to give outward form to 
 the pictures of her fancy. He speaks of her " as that wonderful 
 being who seems hardly to belong to this earth, but a spirit from 
 another and a higher sphere." He adds : " To see this beautiful 
 child confined to this narrow room, and often racked with tor- 
 turing cramps and spasms, still seeming so glad and happy, made 
 me condemn myself, who could walk freely under the sun, and 
 had hands to do, for ever murmuring at anything." 
 
 He was much exhausted by the labor and excitement of the 
 winter, and went early in the summer to his mother's home in 
 Manchester, where he spent several weeks very quietly. In 
 August he bought a horse, and went on horseback to Berkshire 
 County. He visited Miss Catherine Sedgwick, and made a draw- 
 ing of her. He found the horseback exercise too violent, so that 
 he was quite ill, and he procured a light open wagon in which 
 he came to Dublin with his friends Mr. and Mrs. Henry K. 
 Brown. 
 
 I was again visiting at Dr. Leonard's, and our engagement 
 took place here, and was followed by quiet, happy weeks spent 
 in riding and walking among the beautiful scenery of that region. 
 We left Dublin on a frosty morning in September, with my 
 sister Helen, in the little wagon, and, stopping first at Peterboro' 
 to take leave of our dear friend, Ariana S. Walker, we rode all 
 day to Harvard in Worcester County. It was one of those per- 
 fect days of which there are not many in any life. We took 
 turns in walking up the hills in the crisp autumn air, and gloried 
 in the ripening beauty of the forests, and so travelled forty miles 
 without fatigue either to the horse or ourselves. We spent the 
 night at the picturesque home of my quaint old friend, Henry 
 B. Pearson, who had once been so charmed by my telling him 
 that Mr. Cheney changed the position of the stones in a brook 
 
HOME LIFE. 109 
 
 to improve the music, that he begged me to invite him to his 
 house. The old house stood amid large, open fields, with long 
 avenues of elms leading from the doors, and with distant views 
 of the Bolton hills and the lake. " And they put the pilgrim to 
 sleep in a large upper room whose windows looked towards the 
 sunrising, and the name of that chamber was 1 Peace.' " Mr. 
 Cheney always referred to that as a blessed night, when he lay 
 down and slept until morning as he had not done since child- 
 hood. When he was once afterward unable to meet me at that 
 house, he wrote me to be sure to sleep in that room. 
 
 He did not draw as many portraits this winter as in the year 
 before. He was rather anxious to make a change in his style, 
 and he gave much time to study. Color attracted him very 
 strongly, and he had already made some essays in painting ; but 
 the great demand for his crayon portraits had prevented him 
 from giving sufficient attention to it, to overcome perfectly the 
 mechanical difficulties of manipulation. We studied anatomy 
 together by taking certain parts of the body for a model, which 
 he would mould in clay and I would draw on a slate, while we 
 also studied the names, attachments, and use of the muscles. 
 He made an excellent copy of the " Fighting Gladiator " as a 
 study, and began a bust of my sister Helen, which rivals the 
 antique head of Antinoiis in purity of line and beauty of feature. 
 Mr. Billings felt that he might become a great sculptor, and 
 urged him to that work. He had a slight defect of color-blind- 
 ness, which made him distrustful of his sight in color ; but I do 
 not think it affected either his feeling or expression. The winter 
 was rich in p work and in social enjoyment. In March we took 
 a trip to Dublin to see the glory of the mountains in winter, but 
 the visit was saddened by the severe illness of one of my cousins. 
 In spite of it, however, he enjoyed the quiet and the beauties 
 of the frost and snow, and made a drawing of Ednah Dow 
 Smith, a girl of eleven years old, which is one of his most 
 
110 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 # 
 
 charming works. Her sister's illness gave a touch of pensive- 
 ness to a character naturally bright and sunny, and the picture 
 is as remarkable for perfect delineation of character as for 
 masterly breadth and simplicity of light and shadow, and 
 thorough drawing. The likeness is still recognized in her and 
 in her children. 
 
 We were married, May 19, 1853, by Theodore Parker. We 
 spent a few weeks in travelling, visiting Trenton Falls and Phila- 
 delphia, spending a few days with his sister at Eavenswood, K Y., 
 and then going to South Manchester for the summer. He made 
 a portrait of his brother Ward's wife here, and began one of 
 myself, which was never finished to his satisfaction. In August 
 we took a trip to the White Mountains, spent a night on Mt. 
 Washington, a week at North Conway, and returned to Boston 
 by Portland and Gloucester. 
 
 In September we went to housekeeping at No. 80 Pinckney St., 
 and for the first time in his life he was master of a home. He 
 said, " Let us furnish the house for ourselves and not for other 
 people. There are plenty of fine parlors in Beacon Street for 
 people to look at. Let ours be comfortable and fitted to us." 
 So of the north front parlor we made a studio, in which we put 
 the old grand piano, a large easel, a few chairs, and some casts 
 and engravings, while the sunny back room was made cosey and 
 pleasant for daily use. On Sunday evening Mr. Kimberley 
 would wander off into the studio, and play and sing in his own 
 simple and heartfelt style some of the grandest themes of modern 
 composers. Brother John and Ednah Smith were with us 
 through the winter. As Ednah followed into the room to hear 
 Kimberley play, he suddenly caught sight of her face, which he 
 had not remarked before, and exclaimed, " A likeness ! " as he 
 recognized the original of the picture drawn at Dublin. 
 
 Seth's mother died October 12, 1853, at the age of seventy- 
 three. He was with her for some weeks during her illness, and at 
 
HOME LIFE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 the time of her death. When I joined him, I found him very- 
 calm and brave while he could help others, but when we were 
 alone he wept almost like a child, and so relieved the tension of 
 his nerves. He felt that he could have asked nothing more for 
 his mother than this happy departure with her children all about 
 her, yet the separation sank deeply into his heart. She was a 
 true New England woman. Her sons wished themselves to 
 bear to the grave the body of the mother who bore them, but 
 in deference to the feelings of the old neighbors among whom 
 she had lived in friendship so long, they invited them to act as 
 bearers. But her seven living sons and her daughter's husband, 
 eight active handsome men, walked together under the old maple- 
 trees, planted by her husband's hand, which were so full of the 
 golden yellow of their ripeness that we did not miss the sun- 
 shine, though a few drops of rain fell as they laid her in her last 
 resting-place. When I went into "mother's bedroom," where 
 the whole family had loved to gather around her, I found Seth 
 and John lighting a fire there. " I could not bear to see it look 
 neglected and desolate," said Seth. " Let us keep all that re- 
 mains ! " 
 
 Soon after this, my friend, Miss Walker, came to us so ill that 
 she was brought on a couch, and of course all our arrangements 
 had to conform to her comfort. Seth welcomed her warmly, 
 brought her some little pleasure every day, and said, " It seems 
 to sanctify our home to receive and bless one so suffering." She 
 left us to go to her brother's at Springfield, and we went to 
 Manchester for Thanksgiving. The shadow of the recent loss 
 was over the old house, but all felt that the family festival must 
 be kept up with spirit, and the brothers had a frolic at which 
 the little nephews and nieces looked on amazed. Seth was very 
 fond of fun and wit and laughter, yet he more often enjoyed it 
 in others than gave vent to it himself, but under the inspiration i 
 of Kimberley's music he and his brothers joined in an extempo- 
 raneous concert not of the classic order. 
 
112 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 In March he had a severe attack of trouble in the throat, and 
 went to his sister's in Havens wood, for a few weeks of change 
 and rest. While there scarlet fever broke out in the family, and 
 slightly affected him, so that he was not well, and accomplished 
 but little work through the spring months. The prosperous con- 
 dition of business decided us to fulfil a cherished plan of going 
 to Europe. He desired greatly to break up the routine of crayon 
 drawing, and make a special study of color, which he found it 
 difficult to do amid the many demands for work at home. He 
 did not believe that an artist should live in Europe. 
 
 The last week in the home was one whose history belongs to 
 that of the country, but which brought terrible mental strug- 
 gles into every heart and home. Anthony Burns was arrested 
 as a fugitive slave, was tried before Commissioner Loring, and 
 finally returned to his master. 
 
 There was no lukewarmness in Seth's feeling about slavery. 
 He was thoroughly and heartily an abolitionist, and always gave 
 his sympathy and support to that cause. The whole city was 
 full of excitement. It was a test case, because there was suffi- 
 cient legal ground to clear the prisoner, if the heart of his 
 judges was so inclined. Theodore Parker said, " I tell you he 
 will not be carried away." Wendell Phillips believed " Loring 
 wished to save him and he could." Eich men stood ready to 
 buy him. As it became evident that he would not be legally 
 freed, men said " he must not be taken away from Boston," and 
 former lovers of peace counselled actual violence to prevent it. 
 
 Seth was agitated to the very depths of his soul. He could 
 not give his mind either to his art, or to the necessary measures 
 for breaking up our household. He haunted the scene of the 
 trial, and felt his blood boiling for action, though no action was 
 possible but direct violence in conflict with legal force. It 
 I brought up in his mind the greatest questions of conscience and 
 duty, and the providence of God, which suffers the wickedness 
 
HOME LIFE. 
 
 113 
 
 of men to prevail so long. One night we talked together far 
 past the midnight. But as we talked, clearer and brighter 
 became the faith in God and his providence. We grew to see 
 that no wrong, no violence could help forward the truth, that 
 there must be no cowardice, and no fear of results, but that he 
 alone who stood firm in the great truths of love and trust in 
 God could always stand. His soul became calm and still. He 
 said, "Perhaps I shall not be able to maintain this height; to- 
 morrow amid the strife my blood will be boiling again, but at 
 least we have seen what is the highest." 
 
 We had left our home and gone to my mother's, when the 
 final hour came, and Burns was carried through the streets 
 escorted by a guard of armed men, put on board a ship, and 
 carried South. Such a gloomy day was never seen in Boston. 
 Many shops were closed or draped in mourning. Even the 
 anniversary meetings were deserted ; it seemed as if the people 
 were called up from all New England to witness this great 
 wrong. People went gloomily about the streets, as if they had 
 just laid their dear ones in the grave. The colored people, 
 especially the women, sat upon the steps of the court-house 
 overwhelmed with misery. The blow struck at our consciences 
 broke their hearts. It was impossible for Seth to sit at home 
 ' that evening. We went to Kimberley's to see if music would 
 calm him, but he could not sing ; we must talk, and try to bring 
 peace and righteousness to light out of this chaos. 
 
 The effect on Seth's health was serious. He was restless and 
 anxious until his departure for Europe. A few weeks were 
 spent partly in Boston in finishing some drawings, and making 
 other arrangements for the journey, and partly in visiting the 
 old home and family at Manchester. 
 
 This was the last year in which he took any commissions for 
 portraits, and the last picture which he entirely finished was a 
 beautiful drawing of a young son of Mr. J. H. Wolcott. He 
 
 8 
 
114 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 preferred it to anything he had done that year. The child had 
 that delicate spiritual beauty which often belongs to those who 
 have mothers in heaven. 
 
 During the winter Seth had a constant demand for portraits. 
 He would often say to a person anxious to engage him, " I can- 
 not do it now, but I will in a month;" and sometimes punctual to 
 the time the sitter appeared, and he felt obliged to fulfil a 
 promise which he had considered very vague. His frequent 
 illnesses made him often despondent, and, especially after working 
 too long upon a picture, he would despair of his success, and per- 
 haps destroy it. If he could be persuaded to lay it aside and 
 resume it after an interval of rest, he would sometimes finish it 
 with satisfaction. He was always self-distrustful, and the 
 criticism of one whose opinion he respected would sway him 
 too much. He drew this winter the portrait of Mrs. Theodore 
 Parker, and succeeded fully in rendering the lovely purity of 
 her character. He said, when drawing her, he " felt as if he had 
 been with the angels." He was also urged to draw Mr. Parker's 
 portrait with a view to having an engraving from it. He felt 
 diffident about undertaking it from the great force of character 
 and variety of expression in the sitter's face. As Mr. Parker was 
 apt to fall into a brown study, I attended the sittings to keep 
 him in conversation, and watched the progress of the portrait. I 
 felt that he had succeeded in giving the sweetest and tenderest 
 side of his nature, but Mr. Parker, on seeing it, thought it lacked 
 strength. Mr. Cheney went again to work upon it, with this 
 idea in his mind, and the result was not wholly satisfactory. 
 There is a want of unity in the picture, and while some of those 
 who knew Mr. Parker best prefer it to any other portrait, others 
 do not recognize its truth. 
 
 It is a life-long regret that Mr. Cheney did not draw Mr. 
 Emerson, as the latter desired him to do. An engagement was 
 made for the first sitting, when Mrs. Emerson suggested that 
 
HOME LIFE. 
 
 115 
 
 it would be better for Mr. Cheney to come to Concord in mild 
 weather, and draw Mr. Emerson at home. The plan seemed an 
 admirable one, but alas ! amid the pressure of engagements and 
 the constant drawbacks of ill-health, the time never came when 
 the artist felt able to undertake a work which he knew required 
 his very best powers. 
 
 Seth took a warm interest in the School of Design for 
 Women, which was in operation at this time, and readily 
 received the visits of its pupils, and gave them advice and 
 encouragement. One of the most accomplished pupils, who was 
 appointed an assistant teacher, was Miss Jane M. Clark, and he 
 invited her to come to the house and draw from casts under his 
 direction. Miss Clark was a young girl from New Hampshire, 
 who had been working in Boston for a few years. Her friends 
 were among the most distinguished anti-slavery families, who 
 were charmed with her character and her talent, and had em- 
 ployed her to make portraits of Mr. Garrison, Mr. Phillips, and 
 other noted men of that circle. She was as lovely in person as 
 she was true and modest in character, and she was so conscious 
 of her artistic deficiency that she said there were houses in 
 Boston she could not enter, because these early portraits were a 
 perpetual reproach to her. Mr. Cheney admired her character, 
 and appreciated her talent very highly, and gladly gave her all 
 the instruction she wished. 
 
 He never professed to be a teacher, but he had marvellous 
 power, and he gave her new insight into the principles of draw- 
 ing, and a confidence in her work w T hich she never had before. 
 He stimulated and encouraged his pupils without flattering 
 them. They felt willing to devote themselves to the dryest and 
 severest lessons, and they became idealized in his presence. He 
 sought first what was good in their work, then gently and faith- 
 fully told them what was wrong, and helped them to correct it. 
 Miss Clark made rapid progress under such instruction. When 
 
116 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 she attended the atelier of Henri Scheffer at Paris, she told him 
 that she wished to begin at the beginning, and when he saw her 
 drawing he exclaimed in amazement, " Why, you know how to 
 draw ! " 
 
 A short extract from Miss Clark's journal will give a picture 
 of his home at this time, and show how she appreciated the 
 privileges enjoyed there. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM JEANIE CLARK'S JOURNAL. 
 
 May 30, 1854. — I have been for the last time to Mr. Cheney's to 
 draw. They were both out, so I wandered through the pleasant rooms, 
 and took last looks, and said good-by to all the precious familiar things. 
 
 The dear picture* of the infant Jesus, with its mysteriously deep 
 and beautiful eyes, looked at me dreamily, sorrowfully, and yet with a 
 great fulness of light and serene faith that helped me to go forth again 
 into the world, surer of another world, surer of the deep significance 
 and use of this. The sweet Eosat looked down with her innocent 
 wondering face, as if she half knew the meaning of my lingering feet, 
 baby though she was. The Roman Girl, with her veiled head and 
 dignified carriage, looked not at me ; and Neddy, with her half-thought- 
 ful, half-coquettish face, cared not that I went. The other pictures 
 and casts and even the furniture said a kindly " good-by," and I left 
 them all forever with a great sorrowful gladness in my heart that it 
 had been my privilege to»love them all so well as to shrink thus at 
 the parting. It has been a rare and blessed privilege to me, a some- 
 thing for my whole life. 
 
 When we planned to go to Europe we felt very strongly the 
 advantage a year's study in Paris would be to Miss Clark, and 
 decided to ask her to accompany us, if money could be raised to 
 pay her expenses. Seth was very much interested in the plan, 
 and easily procured the requisite amount from his and her 
 
 * The copy of the Dresden Madonna, by Retzsch, belonging to Mr. Stephen 
 Perkins, then loaned to John Cheney, 
 t Rosalie Goodman. 
 
HOME LIFE. 
 
 117 
 
 friends. I had the great pleasure of telling her of this prospect, 
 and shall never forget her look of surprised, almost alarmed 
 delight. She had felt the greatest longing, and almost a right, to 
 go with us, but had believed it impossible, as she had no means of 
 her own. 
 
 One delightful occasion deserves to be put on record. Mr. F. 
 B. Sanborn invited us to meet a small company at the rooms of 
 Mr. Moncure D. Conway in Harvard University, to hear a paper 
 from Mr. Emerson on poetry. Mr. Morton had just received a 
 box of the true Plymouth May-flower, which he distributed 
 among us, and whose fragrance tilled the room. After the read- 
 ing Mr. Otto Dresel played upon the piano, improvising or play- 
 ing from memory, in his own poetic and expressive style, which 
 Mr. Cheney preferred to that of any other musician. We 
 walked home over the bridge, by the glow of the sunset light, in 
 the fresh beauty of spring, and Seth eaid, " What do we go to 
 Europe for ? We shall find nothing better than this." 
 
 This scrap of letter gives a vivid picture of his simple home 
 feeling : — 
 
 TO MRS. CHENEY AT EXETER, N. H. 
 
 At Studio, Friday morning, Sept., 1853. 
 
 Dear Ednah, — The postman brought your note this morning, 
 while I was washing the dishes. I am very glad you found Anna 
 revived. I feared you would be too late. 
 
 Who do you think I had to dinner yesterday 1 Just as I was 
 cooking the chops for John and myself the bell rang, and on going to 
 the door I found Ward ; of course I invited him to dine. Fortunately 
 I had just three chops ; was not that providential 1 Ward pronounced 
 them the finest he ever ate. John of course found them not quite 
 enough done. In the evening went to Brookline to bid Stephen 
 Perkins good-by ; he sails on Monday, wished to be remembered, 
 hoped to see us in Italy next summer. 
 
 Ward brings sad accounts of mother's health, her cough is wasting 
 her away fast ; she thinks she cannot remain much longer. I am glad 
 
118 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 I can go up now on her account. Ward says she hardly expects to 
 see Charles and Eush again; they will sail from Liverpool the 20th of 
 September. We shall go up this afternoon ; shall leave the keys and 
 
 silver at the P s. John gathered the peaches this morning, I 
 
 gave them to Mrs. P. They were all ripe, and would have been lost 
 while we are away. Good-by. Ever yours, 
 
 Sep. 
 
EUKOPE AGAIN. 
 
 119 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 EUROPE AGAIN. 
 
 TX7E sailed for Liverpool in the Niagara, Aug. 2, 1854. We 
 were a party of six. At the time of sailing Seth seemed 
 very unwell and full of heavy, sad forebodings that he should 
 never see the old home again. But the anxieties of leaving over, 
 and once afloat, he became calm and cheerful, bearing the tedium 
 of the voyage patiently, and helping those who were more ill 
 than he. 
 
 He seemed quite well and happy in England, which he enjoyed 
 very much. He liked the soft climate, the sense of comfort in 
 travelling, and the mellow beauty of the landscape. The National 
 Gallery was full of interesting memories of his early life in 
 London, when he studied there the first great pictures he had 
 ever seen. 
 
 We passed rather rapidly to Antwerp and up the Ehine, which 
 was familiar ground to him, and hastened to Veyteaux on the 
 Lake of Geneva. Here he enjoyed for two weeks freedom from 
 care, and the glorious scenery of the lake and mountains. We 
 often walked to the neighboring village of Montreux, and bought 
 a basket of delicious fruit, with the intention of taking it home 
 to the family. On our way back we stopped at the bath-house, 
 and then climbed to the little picturesque church, where we sat 
 and rested, and enjoyed the view, and tasted of the fruit so 
 thoroughly that there was usually the same errand to be done 
 on the morrow. 
 
 We then went to Chamouni by Martigny and the Tete Noir, 
 
120 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 and from thence to Geneva. He made no record of this journey, 
 but he found his wonted refreshment and delight in nature. 
 He often walked up the hills with his brother when the others 
 rode on mules. The ride over the Jura Mountains in a carriage 
 
 o 
 
 was full of novelty and interest, and we reached Paris early in 
 October. Seth was very fond of Paris, where he had spent many 
 months in study in the days of early enthusiasm ; and all the 
 sadness which he experienced there could not wholly destroy 
 his enjoyment of its beauty. During the few weeks that his 
 sister remained with him and while the weather was fine, much 
 of his time was given to seeing the sights of Paris and the en- 
 virons, but he also engaged a studio and began to paint. He 
 went frequently to the Louvre, and especially studied Titian's 
 portrait of Francis the First, which he considered a masterpiece. 
 He drew a portrait in crayon for his sister, and a slight sketch 
 in charcoal of a very old man, but he took no commissions for 
 any work. He made a copy of Parmigianino's head of St. Lucia 
 from the engraving, as a study in color. It is very warmly 
 colored, with a light crimson robe, rich auburn hair, and that 
 peculiarly brilliant complexion which always accompanies it. 
 That this style of color attracted him is shown by another unfin- 
 ished head, a duplicate of one of his crayon drawings, which has 
 the same tone of color and complexion. He also painted a 
 portrait of his brother John, which is very low in tone and some- 
 what severe in character. A young American artist, Mr. William 
 G. Babcock, introduced him to the works of Jean Francois Millet, 
 who was then just rising into fame. Before leaving home Seth 
 saw his " Eeapers," in the possession of Mr. Martin Brimmer, and 
 was very much interested in the naturalness and intense earnest- 
 ness of this artist. He made a faithful copy of a small picture 
 owned by Mr. Babcock, representing a nymph in the woods. 
 This picture is in Millet's earlier manner, before he began his 
 great humanitarian representations of labor. A few sketches 
 
EUROPE AGAIN. 
 
 121 
 
 and beginnings of pictures of Miss Clark and myself, made in 
 leisure evenings, and a beautiful little female head modelled in 
 wax are all that remain of his winter's studies. 
 
 He visited the ateliers of both Henri and Ary SchefFer. He 
 went very little into society, but occasionally met Mr. Story, 
 Mr. Cranch, Mr. Eastman Johnson, and other American artists. 
 At the house of his old friend George P. Healy, he always found 
 a warm welcome and a simple happy home life which gave him 
 great satisfaction. One great social pleasure came from the fre- 
 quent visits of his old friend, M. Dubourjal. 
 
 He enjoyed greatly the fine music in the churches, especially 
 at the Madeleine and St. Eoch. But all these studies and pleas- 
 ures were interrupted by illness. In December he was suddenly 
 seized with the "grippe," and suffered excruciating pain for 
 some days. His recovery was slow, and when able to rise from 
 his bed he was still very weak and nervous. He longed for 
 home, but when we talked over plans of return, his love of art 
 prevailed, and we decided to go to Italy instead, trusting that 
 the change of scene and climate would benefit him. But after 
 passports were signed and preparations made, Miss Clark, who 
 was to remain in Paris, was taken ill, and we could not leave 
 her. Her disease was typhoid fever. She was attended by the 
 celebrated Dr. Jahr, with able consulting physicians. The fever 
 abated, but appetite and strength never returned. Her spirit 
 wandered sometimes in beautiful fancies, sometimes in distress- 
 ing vagaries, and the end drew near. Every kindness was shown 
 her by American friends in Paris ; and she had a devoted Eng- 
 lish nurse. Her homesickness passed away, and she was happy 
 in the presence of friends about her. When told that death was 
 near, she said, " I am sorry to leave my father, but I shall see my 
 mother," and then gave directions for the disposal of her little 
 treasures. When a friend bent over for the last kiss, and her 
 soft curls touched her face, she looked up and said, " She is one 
 
122 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 of the angels," and at every interval of consciousness she asked 
 to have us all about her, and at night she went to sleep. 
 
 This rarely beautiful nature made a deep impression of respect 
 and love on all who knew her. She was at once the most sensitive 
 and the most upright person I ever knew. Feeling that money 
 had been given her to cultivate her art, she carried economy to 
 the verge, not of meanness, for she had no tinge of that, but of 
 injury to her own health and welfare. In the half year that 
 she passed with us she bought nothing for herself but a pair of 
 shoes and a pair of gloves, and would have lived on bread and 
 apples if we would have allowed it. Although it came sadly too 
 late she welcomed the token of confidence and appreciation in a 
 letter from Mr. S. G. Ward, the treasurer of the School of Design, 
 appointing her as permanent teacher, and securing her funds for 
 another year of study. Yet she seemed one of those not fitted 
 to live in this world ; her body was very frail, and her mind almost 
 too delicately strung to bear the rough winds of earth. She was 
 like a lark who sings its heavenly morning melody and then rises 
 upward out of sight. 
 
 Seth felt this parting deeply, and all the painful details of 
 necessary business in a strange country were very trying to him, 
 yet he bore himself calmly and bravely, and took all the labor 
 and care he possibly could. I had been very ill, and had only re- 
 covered sufficiently to ride out when Jeanie died, but was again 
 prostrated by nervous suffering and confined to the bed for some 
 days. Dr. Jahr advised our immediately quitting Paris, and 
 Seth's recollections turned to Fontainebleau, where he had sought 
 health before. We went thither about the 20th of March. At 
 Fontainebleau he visited the palace and enjoyed the frescos of 
 Francia, and we amused ourselves with feeding the fat carp in 
 the pond. He was interested to find his former lodgings and 
 his old landlady. When at last the good Mile. Marguerite, 
 bent with age, recognized him, she expressed great delight, for 
 
EUROPE AGAIN. 
 
 123 
 
 she had felt sure when he left her that he would not live to 
 reach home. She showed us the window to which the ass used 
 to be brought up for him to drink the milk, and they recalled a 
 thousand pleasant little circumstances. He went again to see 
 her, to carry her some candy for her cough, and to' say good-by. 
 
 One day, Mr. Cheney and Mr. Babcock walked through the 
 forest about seven miles to Barbizon, to see Millet and his 
 works. I had been engaged in the sad task of writing to friends 
 at home, and I shall never forget the fresh life and delight with 
 which he came into my room. In Millet he found the artist 
 who answered to his own conceptions of his sacred calling, — 
 a man simple in his life and habits as the meanest peasant, who 
 had studied all that could be learned of art, and who used his 
 skill and genius to express the noblest thoughts of the human 
 soul. He described the painter's family, his Jiappy domestic 
 circle, and the picturesque little town in w 7 hich he dwelt. 
 
 The next day we rode over to Barbizon and remained there ■ 
 a few weeks. Barbizon had not then attained much celebrity, 
 but several artists were living there. Eousseau, the landscape 
 painter, was Millet's dear friend ; Jaques was making his beauti- 
 ful etchings ; and William M. Hunt, William Babcock, and some 
 other artists, spent summers there. It was as primitive as 
 any of the French villages described by George Sand. There 
 was neither church nor school-house, bank office nor railroad, 
 nor even a spring carriage in the town. The women carried 
 their produce to market on donkeys, and went to the forest to 
 gather fagots. The houses were thatched and covered with 
 vines and stone-crop; the yards accommodated the hay-stack, 
 the manure-heap, and the chickens. All the business of the 
 town was transacted in the bar-rooms of the two little inns. 
 Madame Yannier's, where we stayed, was a two-story structure, 
 and our room overlooked the yard. As the dining-saloon, although 
 ornamented with original works by the painters, was cold and 
 
124 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 cheerless, we lived and ate in our room, which had a curtained 
 alcove for the bed. Our large fireplace was filled with stumps 
 from the forest, and instead of the greasy preparation of the 
 cook, we had our potatoes roasted in the ashes. Excellent coffee, 
 eggs, chickens; rabbits, custards, and stewed prunes made up the 
 rest of the diet, and we took turns in toasting the black bread 
 by the fine bed of coals. 
 
 We spent the time till dinner in the forest, gathering the early 
 spring flowers, and watching the lizards crawl out from their 
 winter's sleep. 
 
 We saw but little of Millet, who was ill with a severe cough, 
 but we all went to his studio one morning. Dressed in the 
 ordinary peasant costume, wearing wooden sabots, with his dark 
 eyes and hair and full beard, his appearance was very impressive 
 and inspired confidence and respect. The studio was large and 
 well lighted. We saw there the touching picture of "Tobit 
 * watching for the Eeturn of Young Tobias," * and several of his 
 scenes from peasant life, all of them full of deep thought and 
 feeling. But most of all was Seth interested in the picture, then 
 unfinished, of " The Laborer." It spoke to the very heart. The 
 workman stood alone, leaning upon his spade. The long furrow 
 which he had dug since morning told of his ceaseless toil. He 
 paused a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow, and every limb 
 and muscle fell into a position of utter weariness. The lonely 
 plain gave him no companionship, the cold gray sky no gleam of 
 hope. It filled him with thoughts of the first curse upon labor, 
 of the slavery which then debased our own country, of the toiling 
 sufferers of Europe. The tears were in Millet's eyes, and he said 
 to Mr. Babcock that he was deeply touched by Seth's sympathy, 
 and gratified that he said no word of praise or spoke of the 
 execution of his pictures. Although very different in their 
 
 * Now in the Art Museum. 
 
EUROPE AGAIN. 
 
 125 
 
 work, they recognized each other as kindred. Seth said, " I do 
 not care if I never see him again. I am perfectly satisfied with 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Babcock introduced Mr. Cheney to a young peasant-girl 
 who was accustomed to sit to artists as a model for the head. 
 Adele was an illegitimate child, the granddaughter of an old 
 weaver, whom she supported by her work. She had a thought- 
 ful German face, which seemed to mirror the suffering her mother 
 must have known. She was shy and modest as a hare, and 
 would not lift her eyes. He drew her in charcoal in her peasant 
 costume, and felt that it was almost impossible to give the 
 exquisite delicacy of her features. Theodore Parker said he 
 " never drew a finer stroke," and Miss Curtis said, " It is Gretchen 
 in 'Faust.' " He saw the resemblance and proposed some time 
 to paint it. 
 
 Although Seth experienced much happiness at Barbizon, he 
 was very far from well ; he suffered continually from severe 
 noises in the head,, with deafness, and his throat and head were 
 often troublesome. We went back to Paris for a clay or two, 
 and then started on a short tour in Germany, Mr. Babcock still 
 accompanying us. At Eheims, though very sad and suffering, 
 the beauty of the Cathedral gave him great delight, as did also 
 that of Strasburg and its beautiful environs. He felt better in a 
 week of warm weather at Munich, and enjoyed exploring the 
 old print-shops with Babcock. In the gallery he specially en- 
 joyed the Peruginos, and the "Apostles" of Albert Diirer. The 
 "Beggar Boys" of Murillo gave him hearty enjoyment. He 
 would stand before the picture of the old grandmother combing 
 the boy's head, while he plays with a dog and munches an 
 apple, and say, " He is having too good a time." 
 
 The day at Nuremberg was cold and stormy, and Seth 
 suffered severely in his ear, so that he could visit only a 
 few of the principal places. But he was deeply moved by 
 
126 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 the works of Diirer, and counted the knowledge which lie 
 gained of him as the best result of his German tour. He 
 afterward bought the engravings of the " little Passion," from 
 which he gathered great comfort and strength. We hastened on 
 to Dresden, where he took advice of a physician, who prescribed 
 rest and quiet. It was some days before he dared to visit the 
 gallery, and then it was cheerless and cold ; but the old spirit 
 arose when he saw that " finest outgush of Eaphael's soul," the 
 Madonna di San Sisto. He said that " the angels below seemed 
 to have forgotten their own superior nature in their adoration 
 of the glorious child." 
 
 By Dr. Kinzelmann's advice he went to Loschwitz on the 
 Elbe, and remained a fortnight, but he could not find the charm 
 of Barbizon here. He suffered intense agony from his ear, 
 which was somewhat relieved by the discharge of an ulcer, 
 but he never had full relief from the noise till the last hour 
 of his life. Dr. Kinzelmann advised a sea-voyage, and he 
 decided to sail directly from Bremen, for America. When 
 fairly started for America, he gave way to a transport of 
 delight. The voyage was long and tedious, and he suffered 
 more from sea-sickness than usual. He had not the habit of 
 light reading, and could not wile away the time with novels. 
 Some comic German woodcuts proved a great resource, and we 
 had some fine music from Miss Elise Hensler and others. 
 
 We arrived in New York, June 6, and had a beautiful view 
 of Staten Island as we came up the harbor, by sunset light. 
 
LAST JOYS AND SORROWS. 
 
 127 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 LAST JOYS AND SORROWS. 
 
 TN his old home, with the burden of care taken off, with his 
 brothers and sisters about him, and his friend Kimberley 
 to amuse and cheer him, amid the beauty of June, and with all 
 the comforts of New England life, I hoped he would find rest 
 and strength, and left him for a short time to visit my mother, 
 but the accounts I received of his health made me hasten back. 
 
 He remained in Manchester all summer. He worked a little, 
 making a very lovely crayon sketch of his niece, Eosalie Goodman, 
 and beginning a picture in oil, which is the most beautiful thing 
 he has left in color ; while his portrait of his brother John has 
 something of the severe manner of Page, this has all the tender- 
 ness and beauty of Allston's best works. It remains to show what 
 he would have done had health and life been granted him. 
 
 He rode every day and enjoyed the old familiar beauty, and 
 loved to point out the picturesque resources of New England's 
 scenery and inhabitants. 
 
 He talked much of the expression of landscape, which he 
 thought had not yet been fully brought out. A place on his 
 favorite ride suggested a picture of death, a dark sluggish pool 
 bordered with cypress and fringed with long hanging moss, while 
 a companion picture, full of hope and morning, should represent 
 life. 
 
 He was much interested in building a studio on the grounds, 
 and made various plans for it, once suggesting a stone ruin, but 
 he ended by putting up a very plain wooden building. A new 
 
128 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 chamber for the old house was also desired, and he wished to 
 do much of the work himself, hoping to derive benefit from the 
 exercise. His health did not improve, he suffered constantly 
 from the noise in the head, from severe pain in his limbs, 
 and irritation of the bowels. In August, however, he began 
 the work on the studio by the side of the little brook, which is 
 connected with all the fortunes of the family, and it was a great 
 relief to his nervous anxiety. On the 8th of September a great 
 joy came to him in the birth of his daughter. He received the 
 gift with the profoundest gratitude. By his desire the baby was 
 named Margaret Swan. He would sit and gaze upon the child 
 without speaking, as if to assure himself of the. reality of her 
 presence, or as if he felt how short would be the time he could 
 enjoy her. 
 
 A few days after he went to Boston to take care of the casts 
 which had been sent from Europe. He visited his friend Mr. 
 Gould, and also Mrs. Forbes at Milton. He was very unwell 
 while there, and returned with the trouble in the throat very 
 much increased. 
 
 He walked and rode through the autumn, and it was interest- 
 ing to see how much beauty he found in the brown seed-vessels, 
 which he gathered into bouquets, and how much he saw even in 
 barren fields and cloudy skies. The child was a constant source 
 of delight, and he counted himself deeply aggrieved if he was not 
 called to see her dressed and undressed, that he might watch 
 her unfolding charms. 
 
 He went to Boston just before Thanksgiving, where he con- 
 sulted his old friend, Dr. Putnam, who gave him some tempo- 
 rary relief. By his advice he went to his sister's, in New York, 
 for a few weeks, but he did not gain in health ; the constant 
 inclination to clear his throat, the shortness of breath, the 
 general weakness, became very alarming. 
 
 He returned on Christmas-day, and at New Year's we took 
 
LAST JOYS AND SORROWS. 
 
 129 
 
 rooms at the United States Hotel. We were very pleasantly 
 situated here; his friends, the Kimberleys, were in the house, 
 and we had our meals in private. He enjoyed the baby fully, 
 and tried to draw her picture, but strength was wanting. He 
 walked daily, and occasionally rode out to Koxbury in an 
 omnibus for the sake of the air. When his brothers John and 
 Ward came to Boston in February, they found him no better, 
 and urged his return to Manchester. He seemed to revive a 
 little by the change, and was very glad to be at home. " Now, 
 I feel that I could either live or die, here." He became very 
 much interested in politics. He had never voted but once, 
 from a youthful enthusiasm for Gen. Jackson, but now that 
 politics wore a moral aspect, he was very much interested in 
 the Kansas question, and much pleased at the idea of Fre- 
 mont's nomination for the Presidency. He wanted a young 
 growing man in the office. He attempted a little carpentering 
 for amusement, but did not draw or paint. Mr. Kimberley 
 began a bust, and he was much interested in his progress. 
 " It will be the last," he said. It delighted him when the baby 
 began to recognize him, and he was very proud when she cried 
 after him. He would say in the morning, " We have another 
 day with her." In the warm spring days he would sit on the 
 piazza with the child in his lap, and feed the little " chipping 
 birds" who came hopping about. The child's nurse at that time 
 was an extremely pretty young girl, and the two together made 
 a succession of pictures, which gave him great pleasure. One 
 night the nurse could not get her to sleep, and he told her to 
 bring the child to him. She nestled in his arms at once, and 
 sobbed herself to sleep, and I found him looking at her with 
 his eyes full of tears. 
 
 He said, " When I was so ill before, I felt that I could not 
 die, but now that I have every joy I could ask for in life, I feel 
 that I can leave it." 
 
 9 
 
130 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 When Charles Sumner made the great speech in Congress, to 
 which Brooks replied by his brutal assault, Seth was very much 
 excited. He would talk of it the first thing in the morning, 
 and he discussed the whole matter in every light. He was 
 impatient for the newspapers, and when the Transcript brought 
 a report of Emerson's speech, he felt with great delight that the 
 right word had got spoken, and he cut out the slip and carried 
 it in his pocket. It seemed to give him rest, to show how even 
 this horrible outrage could be nobly borne. 
 
 One day, the last of June, his brother Eush by a sudden 
 impulse, asked him to go up and dine with him. It was the 
 last meal he took away from home. He felt very near to this 
 brother, and spoke of the beautiful spiritual communion he had 
 with him. 
 
 Soon after he suffered severely from cramps, first in the leg 
 and afterwards in the chest, so that at one time he could not lie 
 down for many hours. Sometimes his wonderful fortitude gave 
 way, and he groaned aloud, but his patience and love never 
 failed. He never became irritable, but was constantly grateful 
 for every attention. 
 
 He was only able now to sit in his large chair by the door and 
 look out upon the green earth, and to have the baby in his lap 
 with a green twig to " brush the flies off papa." 
 
 In Paris he had bought a picture by William M. Hunt, a portrait 
 of a little French girl. It was sent home at this time, and he 
 enjoyed it very much. He often said, " I am glad we have got 
 it." Once he said, " I don't know but it does me harm, it keeps 
 me thinking so about art." One very hot day he suffered from 
 extreme pain, and at evening he asked me to read to him 
 Bryant's poem " The Evening Wind." As I did so the pain 
 passed away, the heat slackened, and he experienced deep peace- 
 ful enjoyment. He could bear but little reading, but enjoyed 
 some passages from E^nelon, of which he said, u I think they do 
 me good." 
 
LAST JOYS AND SORROWS. 
 
 131 
 
 One day his sister began speaking about the engravings he 
 had made from Allston. This led to a conversation about 
 Allston, and Seth's own work, which excited and exhausted him 
 so much that he sent his sister away. I found him with the 
 tears flowing from his eyes. He said, " When I think of those 
 men, and that I have seen and known one of them; when I feel 
 what a glorious thing art is — " He could not finish his sen- 
 tence. It was almost his last word on art. I once said to him, 
 " You speak extravagantly about other things, saying ' It is the 
 best you ever saw in your life/ etc., but in regard to art a few 
 words as, ' It is very well ' are a great deal from you. Why is 
 it ? " ", Is it so ? " he said ; " it must be because art is so sacred." 
 
 Early in September he was relieved from pain, and slightly 
 braced by cooler airs, and a gleam of hope came, but it soon 
 passed away. He felt that the change was surely coming, and 
 one morning he woke with the dark shadow of the valley upon 
 him, and could not see the child he must leave. But in 
 that hour the bitterness of death passed, and he then spoke of 
 his brother Wells's influence on his daughter, and said, " It makes 
 me sure that I shall be as near to her as I could be in life." 
 His desire to go out of doors this morning was so great that he 
 was wrapped up and placed in his large chair, and his brothers 
 lifted it out of the door, and set it down in the path. It was a 
 glorious September day, still and warm, and the sun shone 
 gently on the dear familiar scene, through the leaves just 
 touched with yellow. He looked up and down the valley, at 
 Ward who was beside him, then turned to look for me and 
 said, " I could die now." At night he said, " Though this morn- 
 ing began so terribly it has been a very happy day." 
 
 He was thus taken out two days more. Sunday morning, as 
 I recognized a symptom which seemed to me fatal, his eye met 
 mine, and a look of rapture passed over his face. " What makes 
 me so glad ? " he said ; " now I know there is no doubt." Doubt 
 
132 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 had always been his great enemy. " He who doubts is damned," 
 he often said ; " there is no need of any future punishment." 
 John soon after brought him a piece of a very fine water-melon. 
 He tasted it and said, " It is the last ! it is good enough to be 
 the last." He asked me to eat with him, and his child must 
 taste it too. He had no delirium, the only wavering of the 
 brain was a sense of double consciousness. He would say when 
 drinking, " It seems as if this other one got everything." 
 
 On the 8th of September his brother Rush's wife gave birth 
 to a little daughter ; he was interested in the event, remembered 
 that it was his own baby's birthday, and said she must have his 
 silver cup. The next day he craved some cider, and it excited 
 him so much that he felt as if it mioht save him. He said, " I 
 am going to take just as much as I want, it is a crisis in my 
 life." Some fine peaches were brought him ; he enjoyed their 
 beauty, but could not taste them. "You eat them," he said. 
 Many were around him and he was much excited. " Oh, don't 
 send anybody away!" he said. He had a severe fainting-fit in 
 the afternoon. Ward watched with us that night. The old 
 noise in the ear left him no quiet. At last he said, " Keep very 
 quiet, — it is all still, I can hear now." Fatal signs appeared, 
 but he fell into a quiet sleep. John took Ward's place. He 
 woke and said, " I am cold." I threw a blanket over him and 
 gave him a spoonful of warm tea. " Wait ! " he said. It was 
 his last word, — a significant one. The nurse brought the baby in ; 
 he recognized her, and also his dear Aunt Emily. He seemed 
 to try to speak, but could not. They said, " He is gone," but I 
 ivaitecl ; he opened those glorious eyes, and the soul that never 
 dies looked out of them at us once more. 
 
 In one of his last days he said, a I think my sins are all for- 
 given, for they do not trouble me now." He also said, " I do 
 not feel a particle of hate toward any human being." 
 
 Wednesday, Sept. 10, 1856. 
 
LAST JOYS AND SORROWS. 
 
 133 
 
 Seth had always disliked much funeral ceremony, and we 
 would have wished to lay the worn-out body quietly in the 
 earth, but the thought of the offence it might give to friends 
 decided us against it. We telegraphed to ask Theodore Parker 
 if he would come. The answer was in one word, "Certainly." 
 The service was delayed two days that his brother Ralph 
 might be sent for from the West. But on Thursday it be- 
 came evident that the burial ought not to be delayed, and at 
 eventide his brothers bore him to the old burial-ground, where 
 he had often looked to his resting-place, under the, old oak- 
 tree. Only the nearest relations went. The moonlight was 
 veiled by soft mists, and nature was all in harmony with his 
 peaceful euthanasy. 
 
 The next day a funeral service* was held at the old house. A 
 few friends came from New York and Boston, and Mr. Parker 
 made an address. The village choir sang the hymn, " There is a 
 balm for souls distressed." 
 
 Mr. Parker said, " If I did not believe in the two great 
 truths of religion, the goodness of God and the faith in im- 
 mortality, I should not dare to come here to-day to stand on 
 the grave of so many buried hopes, and to look into your 
 sorrowful faces." He spoke of Seth's genius, of his love, of his 
 purity, and of his soul, to which " religion was as native as the 
 air." 
 
 Mr. Cheney left no will, as his property would legally go to 
 his wife and child, as he would have wished. He made some 
 requests in regard to his pictures, which were fulfilled as nearly 
 as possible. 
 
 * This service, apart from the material burial, has been perpetuated in the 
 family, — only that it has since taken place before, instead of after the actual 
 interment, the family retaining the remains as long as they think best, and then 
 going quietly by themselves to the cemetery. It enables all friends and relations 
 to pay honor to the deceased, and to gather consolation and strength from a 
 religious service, without the painful ceremonies of a funeral procession. 
 
134 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 ESTIMATE OF HIS CHARACTER AND WORKS. 
 
 rjlO those who did not know Seth Cheney, it is impossible to 
 give a full idea of the traits which made him so inestimably 
 precious and dear to all who knew him well. Such hold him 
 as one of those rare natures which forever make life rich and 
 beautiful to us, and immortality a fact. Exquisitely sensitive 
 in his nervous organization, like a musical instrument he thrilled 
 to every touch, and though often suffering keenly, he was quite 
 as capable of a happiness which radiated like sunshine upon 
 those who breathed his atmosphere. Life was no smooth, un- 
 ruffled sea for him ; it was swept with stormy gusts of will and 
 passion, but they were always airs from heaven which purified. 
 If led to any expression of excitement, however righteous, he 
 suffered for days until the serenity of his soul was restored. 
 He had great self-control, often hiding intense feeling by an 
 almost unnatural calmness, yet he was free and spontaneous 
 and sympathetic, — a deep perennial spring which seemed to 
 gush forth freely for all to partake of, yet which could never be 
 exhausted and never revealed its hidden source. 
 
 He could not live in petty relations ; everything had infinite 
 spiritual meaning to him. Yet he was no ascetic, but full of 
 interest in life, and nature, and practical every-day work. Eating 
 was a delicate, refined pleasure ; his sense was so keen that the 
 natural flavor of the simplest food, as rice, grains, fruit, gave him 
 exquisite enjoyment. He liked to cook a beefsteak for himself 
 
ESTIMATE OF HIS CHARACTER AND WORKS. 135 
 
 and some friend, and as he did so, to tell how the priests ate the 
 meat they had first sacrificed to the gods. He loved mechanical 
 work, and was skilful in it, always meeting the want of the 
 moment with some ingenious contrivance. 
 
 He was entirely free from conventionalism or affectation. 
 Among the rich and cultivated his simplicity was welcome and 
 fit ; the poor and lowly never felt that he condescended to them, 
 only that he sympathized with and blessed them. Loving to 
 listen and listening sympathetically, he was unconscious of his 
 power in conversation, yet he seemed to illumine every subject 
 he touched upon ; in modestly seeking information he imparted 
 his own insight. His love of children was fully returned by 
 them. Even in a strange country children have crept to his 
 side and taken his hand in the streets, or lain down to sleep by 
 his chair. Many thought of him as 
 
 14 Too bright and good 
 For human nature's daily food." 
 
 A little girl, on hearing that he was to be married, said, " Was 
 Shakespeare married ? " and, touching his soft beard, she said, 
 " What pretty feathers ! " But nothing pained him like ex- 
 aggerated praise, which only wakened the more his feeling of 
 self-distrust ; sometimes, when it was fulsome, he replied with 
 sarcasm. " Send us another genius like yourself," said a lady 
 who had flattered him ad nauseam, as he was leaving a watering- 
 place. " If I can catch one," he replied, laughing. With all 
 this keen sensibility he was very brave both in bearing physical 
 and mental pain, and in doing whatever was required of him. 
 Mr. Morse says " he was a man of perfect courage." This was 
 shown morally as well as physically. In relation as he was 
 with many who thought so differently, he never shrank from 
 avowing his sympathy with reforms, with anti-slavery, with 
 liberal theology, and with woman suffrage. He was not dog- 
 matic, but was always seeking new light, and on some questions, 
 
♦ 
 
 136 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 such as the best means of checking intemperance, he had not 
 decided opinions, but listened with interest to everything 
 earnestly said on the subject, and so was often counted as en- 
 dorsing what he only did not contradict. 
 
 His purity of character spoke in everything he said or did ; 
 he was true to the knightly vow of chastity which he and his 
 friend pledged to each other in youth. 
 
 All these qualities appeared in his art, which was the expres- 
 sion of his own soul. To him art was neither a trade nor an 
 amusement, but a sacred vocation. He always said, " Art is for 
 expression," and, keenly sensitive as he was to beauty, he did 
 not feel that to be the only object in art. He said to Gould in 
 his last illness, * This is one world, and art is another." 
 
 His great power was in the expression of character in indi- 
 vidual heads. He never attempted historical or genre painting, 
 and only rarely grouped two or more heads together. Sculpture 
 attracted him, and some of his friends thought his genius pointed 
 strongly that way ; but the only original works remaining are a 
 medallion likeness of Mr. A. Bronson Alcott, life-size, a bust 
 of Miss Helen P. Littlehale, left unfinished and cast after his 
 death, a small female head in wax, and a bas-relief of his 
 brother John. These show the same qualities and power as his 
 drawings ; the exquisite modelling of the features in the bust 
 reminds one of the Greek, and the small head is graceful as 
 Eaphael. His studies in modelling were of great service in his 
 drawing. Landscape-drawing was. a recreation in which his fine 
 feeling of light and shadow had full play. . 
 
 He loved color, but he has left very few paintings. In his 
 last visit to Europe, however, he made it a special study, and 
 a copy from Millet, a study in color made from Domenichino's 
 " St. Lucia," and the unfinished portrait of Eosalie show how pure 
 and delicate was his feeling. As another artist said, " The man 
 who did those could have done anything. 
 
ESTIMATE OF HIS CHARACTER AND WORKS. 
 
 137 
 
 But he is best known by his portrait heads drawn in crayon, 
 which form by far the greater part of his work, and which are 
 unsurpassed by any others in this style. " You draw in crayon, 
 like Cheney," said a lady to Kowse. " I draw in crayon, but not 
 like Cheney," he replied ; " nobody draws like Cheney." 
 
 He worked in Boston during the period of Transcendentalism 
 and his portraits of the men and women of that day preserve for 
 us the spirit of that inspired epoch when liberality of thought 
 and enthusiasm for culture were added to that moral intensity 
 which animated reforms. Emerson, Hawthorne, and W. H. 
 Channing are on the list of his commissions, but ill-health pre- 
 vented him from fulfilling them. It has often been said that he 
 refused to draw Daniel Webster because of his moral character. 
 I do not think this is true. He had engaged to give him a 
 sitting, but circumstances prevented the fulfilment of the 
 engagement, and he rejoiced, because he shrank from the effort 
 to render a character so oppressively powerful and out of his 
 special range of sympathies. But he was not apt to assume the 
 post of censor, and while deeply regretting Mr. Webster's course 
 in his later years, he fully appreciated his genius and felt his 
 death keenly. 
 
 He loved old age and delighted^to portray it. His pictures 
 of his mother, his two aunts, and his uncle are among his most 
 admirable heads. Of his uncle he said " that he had one money 
 eye and one benevolent one," and he would often show the dif- 
 ference by covering one or the other. His intuitive insight into 
 character enabled him to represent the real depth and permanent 
 quality of the nature, so that his portraits of children continue 
 to resemble them in full maturity. And no artist ever more 
 truly idealized his portraits, always giving the noblest and best 
 expression. One of his friends criticised the portrait of a young 
 relative as too exalted. " She is not capable of that." " She is," 
 the artist asserted. Soon after, her relative saw her under 
 
138 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 emotion which called out all her best feelings, and there was the 
 expression that Cheney had given her. Of one lady he said, " It is 
 impossible to make a portrait of her ; she does not put her charac- 
 ter into her face." Equally beautiful are his portraits of children ; 
 perhaps the rarest of all the Eosalie, his beautiful niece of two 
 years old. More than one has said that among all the beautiful 
 babes in the galleries of Europe there is none like this ; as an- 
 other artist said, " This is American, it is intellectual innocence." 
 Every mother's heart is touched as she looks on it, and thinks it 
 is like the child who is an angel in heaven. Gould says, " I 
 have searched and missed in all the galleries of Europe a face 
 of more ethereal beauty than Seth's Eosalie." The only sitters 
 he did not like were cold, inexpressive, regular beauties. To a 
 handsome lady of middle age he once impatiently said, " I can't 
 draw you ; you have neither the wrinkles of age nor the beauty 
 of youth." Another lady wished him to draw her aunt, saying, 
 " I know she is very homely, but cannot you draw her a little 
 lightly, tenderly ? " He succeeded fully in giving her the aunt 
 she loved in spite of the homeliness. 
 
 He was fond of books rather than a voluminous reader. He 
 often regretted that he could not relieve the tension of his brain 
 by light reading, but he seldom cared for a novel unless some- 
 thing as full of thought as " Consuelo " or " Wilhelm Meister." 
 Milton was his travelling companion, and crossed the ocean with 
 him every time. He was very fond of Wordsworth, and the 
 " Ode to Duty " was his favorite poem. But the Italian poets 
 were even more to him than the English, especially Dante and 
 Michael Angelo. He said the sonnets were as great as the 
 Sistine Chapel. 
 
 Quaint old books like Feltham's "Eesolves" and Browne's 
 " Eeligio Medici " were frequently in his hands, and Emerson's 
 writings, especially " Nature," were his constant delight. Though 
 he passed many hours of seeming inaction, his mind was always 
 
ESTIMATE OF HIS CHARACTER AND WORKS. 
 
 139 
 
 busy, always thinking of his work. "I never see two sticks 
 lying together," he said, " but I am considering what angle they 
 make and what proportion they bear to each other." This sense 
 of relation and proportion was always in his mind ; " The head 
 cannot be right if the background is wrong," he said. 
 
 His taste in art was wide and catholic, yet discriminating. 
 
 Michel Angelo stood first, and far above all others. He never 
 spoke of him without profound reverence, but loved to tell 
 anecdotes of him, of his methods of work, and of his attachment 
 to his old servant. He especially admired the " Christ." 
 
 Of Eaphael he was also very fond, and his own work has been 
 oftener compared to Eaphael's than to any other. He was 
 much offended by Buskin's flippant talk about "the fall of 
 Raphael." 
 
 He was very fond of Correggio. Having been detained at 
 Parma by his friend Gray's illness, he studied him faithfully, and 
 appreciated the beauty of his light and shadow, and the sunny 
 joyous beauty and high religious inspiration of his pictures. 
 
 Claude was a great favorite. Yet, idealist as he was in the 
 fullest and best sense of the term, he fully appreciated the breadth, 
 truth, and humor of the Dutch School, and the power of Eem- 
 brandt. So, too, of Velasquez and Murillo, whose best works in 
 Spain he never saw. He reverenced Albert Diirer very highly, 
 and during his last visit to Germany found great strength and 
 comfort in his pictures. 
 
 Of contemporary* European artists, two moved him very 
 deeply, — David Scott, whom he knew by his " Pilgrim's Prog- 
 ress" and "Monograms of Man" as well as by his Life and 
 Poems ; and Jean Francois Millet, of whom I have spoken else- 
 where. The noble religious strength of Millet was entirely 
 satisfactory to him. Allston was very dear to him both as an 
 artist and as a friend, and he always classed him among the 
 immortals. 
 
140 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 He was gentle in his criticisms of other artists, and utterly 
 free from all jealousy, giving lessons and sympathy and encour- 
 agement freely. But he would not lower his standard of art, 
 for he felt that was one of our greatest dangers* "Nothing 
 discourages me so much," he said, " as the ease with which people 
 are satisfied." He was anxious to have a collection of good 
 statues in Boston, and, in connection with Mr. James Bussell 
 Lowell, started a project for this purpose, and made a list of the 
 casts for it, but, owing to financial embarrassments, nothing was 
 done at that time. He was very fond of music, and although he 
 never mastered any instrument, he loved to play chords on the 
 organ or piano, which he did with great expression. He felt that 
 the influence of music on character was not sufficiently estimated. 
 Of a young lady he said once, " She has not gained, and I think 
 it is owing to the influence of the music she has been hearing." 
 Mozart and Beethoven were his favorite masters, and he de- 
 lighted also in the old church music, especially Pergolesi's Stabat 
 Mater. He loved to have music when he was working, and his 
 friend Kimberley added much to his happiness in this way. 
 
 Kimberley says : — 
 
 ' 'Art with him was intuitive; his studio everywhere and every 
 when. Perhaps De la Boche and Camuccini might give him some rules, 
 hut the divine power we see in his pictures as also in his conversation 
 was in himself; if he touched a leaf or a twig, he beautified it. . . . 
 He seemed to me to have wings that I could rest under.*' 
 
 One friend says of his eyes, " I have looked up into their 
 deeps as into a kind of heaven." Another said, " Other people 
 seem to me beautiful because they are good, but he seems to me 
 good because he is so beautiful." 
 
 Mr. Gould says : — 
 
 " His mind was synthetic, intuitive, imaginative, deductive ; began 
 with spiritual truths, took in harmonies, was impatient of processes, 
 
 * He would not buy a friend's pictures if they were not faithful in drawing. 
 
ESTIMATE OF HIS CHARACTER AND WORKS. 
 
 141 
 
 seldom needed them to arrive at his object. Saw truth in vision ; 
 with all, there was a certain impermanence in his mental impressions, 
 by fault of literary training, which induced him to think the same 
 problem over and over again, and this circular movement sometimes 
 banished repose." And again, "Ketzsch's picture of the youth with 
 Pegasus is a true portrait of Seth." 
 
 Speaking of the strict Puritan influence of Connecticut, Mr. 
 Gould says :. — 
 
 " Beloved without measure by man and woman as he was, only this 
 central rectitude, so fortified, could have kept him from error, and ad- 
 justed the relations of his blameless and beneficent life." 
 
 Of his instruction in his art he says : — 
 
 " It was illuminated by pithy apothegms of art, which he would 
 utter in his brief, sententious way : ' Look to the general effect. What 
 then ! Then it is done. Don't rivet your mind to your w$rk ; care 
 less for it and you will succeed.' 
 
 " He was no ascetic, but aesthetic, sensuous, humane, delighting in 
 color with the true temper of an artist who makes ' a bridal of the 
 earth and sky.' He liked artists, — Jo Ames, Staigg,Kimberley, Gray, 
 Greenough, all of them — and tried to promote good-fellowship. 
 
 " His speech was brief, but his conversation complete, made out by 
 looks, tones, manners, presence." 
 
 EXTRACT FROM A LETTER WRITTEN IN 1852, BY S. W. CHENEY. 
 
 I cannot let' the Sunday pass, the good Sunday, that comes so punc- 
 tually every week, and sits so quietly among the seven days, and then 
 retires so serenely and leaves the rest of the days to hobble on and 
 fret themselves for a whole week. The thought of you is to me like 
 a serene Sabbath, and comes to me as a rest in a weary life. The 
 thought — how much there is in the thought of love — the love that 
 suggests the "Infinite love," what repose there is in that! Whether 
 the object is present or absent, that remains and is immortal. 
 
 Paris, 64 Rue de la Rochefoucauld, Oct. 5, 1878. 
 My dear Mrs. Cheney, — It was a very great pleasure to have 
 seen yourself and daughter, who is so like her late gifted father and 
 
142 
 
 MEMOIR OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 my early friend, of whose memory I have the most charming remem- 
 brances both as a man and an artist. I have always said and strongly 
 felt that no one has treated the head of woman so nobly in my time, 
 and indeed even amongst the drawings of the old masters the only one 
 that occurs to me to mention in comparison is that of our Lord by 
 Leonardo da Vinci. About Cheney's heads there was an exquisite 
 charm entirely and all his own ; this was also the case with him as a 
 man whose sympathetic nature and pure simplicity of life made all 
 love him who had the good fortune to really know him. 
 
 In the winter of 1832 I first met the brothers John and Seth 
 Cheney. I was presented to them by my ever since very dear friend 
 John C. Crossman, the clever artist. I well remember some beautiful 
 works by these three friends ; one head by Seth particularly touched 
 me. We next saw each other in the summer of 1834, studying in the 
 Louvre. I made some copies, and have often thought since how much 
 more wisely he passed his time by working more with his head than 
 with his brush. We again met in London in 1838, on his return from 
 Italy. Eight years after, in Boston, I saw with delight his admirable 
 works, and renewed my relations with him, his brother John, and my 
 still earlier friend Crossman. 
 
 Geo. P. A. Healy. 
 
 Mr. Healy once said, " No man living understands the play 
 of light and shadow as he does." 
 
 A friend one day found him reading a French Testament, 
 " because," he explained, " the task set me to read it in English 
 in my youth made it hateful, and obscured the meaning. We 
 shall be Christians by and by, when we come to know the 
 Author truly." 
 
 " He was a man, take him for all in all, 
 I shall not look upon his like again." 
 
PORTRAITS ANL ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 143 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 PORTRAITS AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 The earliest portrait of Mr. Cheney is a miniature painted by 
 his friend Dubourjal, in 1834. It is very harmonious and pleas- 
 ing in color, and gives a true impression of his pure and delicate 
 youthful beauty. 
 
 A drawing of his own represents him at a little later period, 
 but before he wore the full beard. 
 
 Mr. Gray painted a portrait for the Academy, of which I have 
 spoken elsewhere. 
 
 Mr. Healey painted a portrait in the winter of 1853. 
 
 Mr. Gould modelled a small bust from life, and afterwards a 
 larger one from memory ; but perhaps his most striking reminis- 
 cence of his friend is in his noble ideal bas-relief of the Ghost in 
 Hamlet. 
 
 His friend Mr. Kimberley has made various attempts to rep- 
 resent him fitly both in sculpture, on canvas, and in crayon, 
 before and since his death. 
 
 The portrait of which I have the pleasure of giving a carbon 
 photograph in this memoir, was drawn by him during the past 
 winter, from a small daguerrotype taken about the time of his 
 second marriage, in 1853. The loving interest he has felt in this 
 work, and the unwearied care he has bestowed upon it, have 
 been rewarded with success, for this may truly be pronounced 
 to be the most faithful portrait of Mr. Cheney existing, both in 
 feature and expression. 
 
144 
 
 MEMOIK OF SETH W. CHENEY. 
 
 The vignette on the title-page represents the old homestead 
 in which he was born, — not as it was then, but as it was at the 
 time of his death, it not having been altered since then in any- 
 important respect. 
 
 The carbon photographs are from two of his original drawings, 
 — the first the Maria or Eoman Girl, and the second the Eosalie. 
 After repeated trials this process gave the best reproduction of 
 the beauty of the originals. 
 
 The heliotype, number one, is from a drawing of an old man 
 in Eome ; and number two is from the portrait of Miss Ednah 
 D. Smith, drawn at Dublin, K H., in 1851. 
 
 The original color of the paper on which his drawings were 
 made was often unfavorable to photography, and this difficulty 
 has been increased by the effect of time in making the tints un- 
 equal, yet I think all will feel gratified at so great a measure of 
 success as has been secured by the care and skill of those who 
 have had charge of these illustrations. 
 
 Jamaica Plain, April 5, 1881.