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THE 
 
 WRITINGS 
 
 JAMES KENNARD, .Tr 
 
 1 
 
 \ 
 
SELECTIONS 
 
 T HE W R I T I N G S 
 
 JAMES KENNARD, Jr., 
 
 A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE AND CHARACTKIi 
 
 PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 WILLIAM D. TICKNOR & COMPANY 
 
 M DCCC XLIX. 
 
"Sals'* 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in llie year ISIS, by 
 
 Manning Kennard, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massaciui.setts. 
 
 
 OAM^AfDGE.:. 
 METCALF AND COMPANY, 
 
 f/i,^NTBH^ T4 THE" UNIVERSIT.r ■' '■ 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 vii 
 
 PROSE WRITINGS. 
 
 ECONOMY 3 
 
 THE WAY 38 
 
 theory and practice, or principles carried out . • 59 
 
 Alison's history of europe 75 
 
 who are our national poets ? ..... 105 
 
 toleration 127 
 
 what is transcendentalism ? 134 
 
 passages from my NOTE-BOOK 147 
 
 MY LEG ., 158 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF KITE-FLYING 170 
 
 WHITE-LYING AND ITS VICTIM 181 
 
 WAR WITH MEXICO 187 
 
 THE CHURCH OF CHRIST 208 
 
 TYRANNY IN A FREE COUNTRY 219 
 
 AN HISTORICAL PARABLE 228 
 
 POETRY. 
 
 MIDNIGHT MUSINGS 239 
 
 A S.-VIL ON THE PISCATAQUA 243 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 A FRIEND INDEED 246 
 
 THE BALLAD OF JACK RINGBOLT 248 
 
 "luff when you can, bear AWAY WHEN YOU MUST " 256 
 
 WRECK OF THE SEGUNTUM 258 
 
 THE WATER-CURE, OR THE BALLAD OF KATE PETERSON . 262 
 
 EPIGRAM 270 
 
 THE LAY OF THE JILTED 271 
 
 FOURTH OF JULY 274 
 
 TO 276 
 
 THE LAKE AT SUNSET 278 
 
 THE EARTHQUAKE 281 
 
 LINES ON THE CELEBRATION OF THE CAPTURE OF VERA CRUZ 286 
 
 LIBERTY 288 
 
 DEATH ON THE PALE HORSE 290 
 
 SAD HOURS a93 
 
 THE GRATE 295 
 
 AFFLICTION 297 
 
 WEARY NOT 299 
 
 NIGHT 300 
 
 SORROW 302 
 
 THE soul's DESTINY 303 
 
 WHAT SHALL I ASK IN PRAYER? 304 
 
MEMOIR, 
 
 A. P. PEABODY, 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 James Kennard, Jr., was born in Portsmouth, New 
 Hampshire, on the 20th of November, 1815. His 
 parents were James Kennard, and Mary P., daughter 
 of Thomas Manning. He received the best educa- 
 tion which the schools of his native town afforded, 
 and was distinguished through his boyhood by quick- 
 ness of apprehension, keen powers of observation, 
 and the most happy and genial temperament. His 
 acquisitions were highly respectable, and a love of 
 reading and a thirst for knowledge were very early 
 manifested. There was nothing, however, in his 
 prevalent tastes and habits, which seemed to point 
 him out as a subject for a liberal education ; and his 
 own inclinations led him to ,an active rather than a 
 studious life. He was accordingly placed, in his 
 fifteenth year, as junior clerk in a wholesale and re- 
 tail dry-goods store, still remaining a member of his 
 father's family. After little more than a year, a 
 lameness in the right knee, which could be traced 
 to no injury, and which resisted all usual modes of 
 b 
 
X MEMOIR. 
 
 treatment, compelled him to abandon the business 
 on which he had entered. From this time onward, 
 his life, with scarcely an intermission, was one of 
 prolonged and acute suffering. For two or three 
 years he remained principally at home, the object of 
 the most assiduous and devoted care, and surrounded 
 by all the appliances for his relief and restoration 
 which skill could suggest or love afford. At times, 
 especially in the winter, he was confined to his 
 chamber, — at other times, he was able to walk, ride 
 and sail, to visit his friends, and to enter freely into 
 the less wearisome forms of social amusement. Dur- 
 ing this period, he manifested the most entire patience 
 and cheerfulness, the elasticity of his spirit remained 
 unbroken, the sunniness of his temper unclouded, 
 A large portion of his time was spent in reading, 
 and the extensive and admirably selected library of 
 the Portsmouth Athenaeum furnished him an ample 
 supply of the books best adapted to direct and culti- 
 vate his literary taste. He read with method and 
 system, compared author with author, and sought 
 full and accurate information on all the subjects on 
 which his curiosity was excited. His disease hav- 
 ing evidently become chronic, his parents reluctantly 
 consented to his making experiment of the restora- 
 tive influences of a milder climate ; and in October, 
 1835, he went with a party of friends, who were to 
 
MEMOIR. XI 
 
 reside there permanently, to Jacksonville, in Florida. 
 After remaining there through the winter, he spent 
 two months at Winnsborough, South Carolina, and 
 returned home, apparently much improved in health, 
 in July, 1836. During the first part of his absence 
 from home, he kept a journal, principally for his 
 mother's gratification. We regret that we cannot 
 print this entire. But the following extracts from 
 the portion that remains unmutilated will tell his 
 story in his own words, and will present an interest- 
 ing picture of his mind and heart at one of the most 
 critical periods in the formation of his character. 
 
 " Charleston is an antiquated-looking place, wholly unlike 
 the Northern cities of the United States. All the buildings 
 look old, and none of them are elegant. They are mostly 
 of brick, plastered with a composition resembling, or meant 
 to resemble, granite. I saw but one building which looked 
 less than thirty years old, in the whole town. I am told that 
 the moisture in the atmosphere is the cause of this gen- 
 eral appearance of age exhibited by the city. Charles- 
 ton agrees very well with my idea of an Oriental metropolis. 
 The buildings are generally detached ; I saw but few blocks. 
 The principal streets are broad and spacious, and lined with 
 pride-of-India trees, which must give them a very pretty 
 appearance in the summer season. They are filled with 
 people, who do not appear to move with the activity of the 
 Northerners ; and the blacks, especially, barely creep along. 
 The wharves were covered with cotton, the busy season 
 being about to commence. 
 
 " I was very much pleased with Charleston as a whole. 
 We staid there three days, and on the morning of the 14th 
 
Xll MEMOIR. 
 
 of November, we again set sail for Florida. There was 
 scarcely wind sufficient to fan us down the harbour. We 
 found on the bar an English ship, which sailed from the 
 city the day before ; and hardly had we passed over, when 
 the wind came, slap, right back into its old quarter, south- 
 west. The British vessel swung off and sailed back to town, 
 leaving us to beat out against a fresh southerly breeze. 
 We were three days in reaching the mouth of the St. John's, 
 — being most of the time becalmed. About ten o'clock, 
 A. M., on the 17th of November, we descried the long 
 wished-for point of our destination, the St. John's lighthouse, 
 and the low, sandy coast of the land of flowers. The beach 
 was as white as snow, and sterile and barren enough did the 
 promised land appear. We anchored off the bar, which was 
 distinctly marked out by the breakers, and waited for the 
 tide to rise. The water has the same muddy appearance as 
 that on Charleston bar, and is so full of sharks, that, while the 
 captain was out in the boat sounding preparatory to enter- 
 ing the river, his line was nearly pulled from his hand by a 
 shark which had seized the lead ; — when hauled up, the 
 lead bore the marks of teeth deeply impressed upon it. We 
 entered the river that evening, and anchored about seven 
 miles inside the lighthouse. 
 
 " I rose before the sun on the morning after we entered the 
 river, and what a glorious sight met my view ! The wide 
 expanse of the St. John's was calm and glassy as a mirror, 
 reflecting the ten thousand beautiful tints which the skies 
 possess in this sunny clime, just before sunrise and just 
 after sunset, and from the banks the graceful trees bent in ad- 
 miring contemplation over their own beautiful images clearly 
 defined in the dark stream beneath them. Thousands upon 
 thousands of every variety of water-fowl floated lightly on 
 the bosom of the waters, or wheeled in mazy circles grace- 
 fully over the surface of the river. They had just fled from 
 the approaching severity of a Northern winter, and appeared 
 
MEMOIR. XIU 
 
 to be rejoicing in their happy escape from that frozen clime. 
 A bird of passage myself, — I had fled like them from ice 
 and snow, to seek in Florida a refuge from disease and a 
 restoration to health. When I left the North, the chill winds 
 of autumn had robbed the trees of their foliage, and the sear 
 leaves were heaped up and whirled about by the eddying 
 blasts, which already partook too much of the nature of 
 winter for my personal comfort and health. Four short 
 weeks had elapsed, — I was breathing the balmy air of the 
 South, — while in my native State the ground was covered 
 deeply with snow, and the lakes and rivers were bound in 
 ice. 
 
 " In New York the trees are less bare and the foliage less 
 lifeless than at Portsmouth. In Charleston every thing ap- 
 peared blooming and fresh as during September at the North ; 
 and in Florida I found myself, as it were, in the midst of 
 summer. The mildness of the atmosphere, the gorgeous 
 splendor of the sunrise, the warbled music of the birds, 
 the water-fowl with their discordant screams, and the trees 
 clothed in their green and luxuriant foliage, were all con- 
 nected in my mind with the idea of July. Among other 
 productions entirely new to me, the tall cabbage-tree, with 
 its branchless trunk and tufted top, the beautiful magnolia, 
 and the majestic live-oak, attracted my attention and ex- 
 cited my admiration. With the sun arose a light breeze, 
 — we weighed anchor and proceeded slowly up the river. 
 
 There was scarcely wind enough to move the vessel. 
 The smooth face of the river was hardly broken by a ripple. 
 Now and then a porpoise rose to the surface, and, after 
 breathing, dived again immediately, and occasionally an 
 alligator jumped from the bank and sank like lead to the 
 bottom. 
 
 " By 10, A. M., the sun got to be very hot, the wind failed 
 entirely, and, finding it impossible to stem even the slow 
 b* 
 
XIV MEMOIR. 
 
 current of the St. John's, the captain ordered the anchor to 
 be dropped. 
 
 "Being rather discontented onboard the vessel, B. and 
 myself took our guns and rowed ashore in the boat. The 
 tropical appearance of every thing, the strange character of 
 the herbage and trees, compared with what we had been 
 accustomed to see, the insects and reptiles, excited feelings 
 of astonishment, and curiosity to see more of the country 
 which might become our future place of residence. O, the 
 wild thrill of joy which passed over me when I first stood 
 upon the sandy beach of that noble river ! For years this 
 had been the wish of my heart ; for years had I striven for 
 this ; and for this I had left home against the wish of my 
 parents, though with their tacit consent. 
 
 "In my boyhood, my imagination had been excited and 
 captivated by accounts of Florida ; and an invincible desire 
 to behold that favored land, clothed by fancy in the most bril- 
 liant colors, had for five years been the dominant wish of 
 my soul. Two years after my ideas were first awakened 
 upon this subject, I experienced a severe attack of the 
 rheumatism, which was repeated during the following winter, 
 entirely depriving me for the time of the use of my limbs, 
 and leaving me in so weak a state as to be unable to return 
 to my business. I passed a year and a half in idleness, 
 gradually recovering during the summer of 1834, until in 
 September I thought myself nearly able to return to busi- 
 ness again. I had in view a very good situation in Jeremie, 
 but lost it by waiting for my father's consent, he being at 
 sea at the time. Had he arrived home a week before he 
 did, God only knows what might have been my destiny. 
 His approval of the measure came too late. The place 
 was occupied by some one else, and I was condemned to 
 pass another winter at the North. It was in vain that I 
 urged the necessity of my case, in vain that I foretold 
 the effects which the approaching cold weather would pro- 
 
MEMOIR. XV 
 
 duce in my system. My father had seen a great deal of 
 the Southern climate, and thought it fully as bad as that of 
 New England. Neither he nor my mother could bear the 
 idea of my being taken sick among strangers, deprived of 
 the comforts to which I had been accustomed at home. I 
 cannot blame them ; it was in kindness to me. And it really 
 did seem a wild undertaking for one in delicate health to 
 wander alone twelve hundred miles from home, in the midst 
 of strangers, and liable to be rendered entirely helpless at 
 any time by a fell disease, which would yield to no remedy 
 but time. Many an anxious hour would my poor mother 
 have passed, and many an unhappy thought would have 
 preyed upon my dear father, had they permitted me to set 
 out alone on such an expedition. Had any misfortune oc- 
 curred to m.e, they would have blamed themselves. I spent 
 that winter of 1834-35 at home, and miserably enough as 
 regards my bodily comfort. It is a dark spot on memory's 
 field. I recovered sufficiently by May, 1835, to allow of my 
 going to Boston in search of medical advice. I spent five 
 or six weeks there, under the care of Dr. , a profes- 
 sional bone-setter, and wasted about one hundred dollars in 
 fees and other expenses, and then returned to Portsmouth in 
 the same state in which I left it. 1 was discouraged ; dark 
 visions of amputated limbs and cork legs haunted me, both 
 asleep and awake. But what weighed most upon my 
 mind was the idea of becoming a burden upon my father 
 for life, — a galling thought to an independent spirit. I was 
 convinced that time alone, with a warm climate, would restore 
 me. Seeing my despondency, and knowing the determina- 
 tion of my wishes towards Florida, my father gave at last 
 an unwilling consent to the long wished-for expedition. 
 How my blood thrilled at the thought, and what a load was 
 taken from my mind ! But for two months, up to the very 
 day of my departure, he never ceased to persuade me 
 to resign all thought of the voyage ; and even at the 
 
XVI MEMOIR. 
 
 very last hour he seriously urged me to have my trunk 
 taken from the vessel, and remain at home. But he might 
 as well have attempted to move Mount Washington. Sadly 
 enough I felt at the thought of leaving every thing dear be- 
 hind, and many a night had I waked in tears at the antici- 
 pation. Deeply rooted was my affection for home, but 
 stronger for the time was the wish to travel. 
 
 " I went in company with friends, with whom I had been 
 intimate from my childhood, and upon whom I could depend 
 in case of sickness. This it was which reconciled my 
 mother to the step I was taking. And friends indeed they 
 proved ! — Miss D. was as kind to me as a mother, and 
 the young ladies were as sisters to me. The whole family 
 secured a place in my affections which can never be vacated 
 And happy indeed should I be at the thought, that the recol 
 lection of me would continue as fresh in their memories. 
 
 " I have wandered widely from the course of my narrative 
 but in writing this journal I follow the impulses of the mo 
 ment, and record whatever comes uppermost in my mind 
 It is a journal of thoughts and feelings as well as of actions, 
 and being intended, my dear mother, only for your eye, I 
 write as I think and feel, without suppressing any thing. I 
 am satisfied, my dear mother, that you will be better pleased 
 with my freely expressed ideas than with a constrained 
 style, stiffly written, or clumsily decorated with the orna- 
 ments of poetry or rhetoric. I began this in compliance 
 with your wishes, and for you I shall continue it until we 
 next meet." 
 
 On Mr. Kennard's return from the South, he con- 
 sidered his health so firm, that he made arrangements 
 to enter into business with an elder brother then 
 established in Philadelphia. While in Boston on his 
 way thither, he was attacked in the diseased joint 
 
MEMOIR. XVU 
 
 with great severity, and was obliged to abandon all 
 plans that involved the necessity of physical effort. 
 The succeeding winter was passed in severe suffer- 
 ing, but with a serene, happy, and hopeful spirit, and 
 in the enjoyment of books, and of the society of a 
 numerous circle of friends, who did every thing in 
 their power to alleviate the weariness of his long 
 confinement. In the spring of 1837, he found" him- 
 self so far relieved and invigorated, as to commence 
 the study of medicine with his family physician and 
 faithful friend, C. A. Cheever, M. D. But, after a 
 few months, renewed infirmity compelled him to 
 resign all thoughts of a professional, as he previously 
 had of a mercantile life. In August of the same 
 year, he put himself under the professional care of 
 Dr. Hayward at the Massachusetts General Hospital, 
 where he remained four months. The disease 
 seeming incurable, and at the same time being ap- 
 parently confined to the knee-joint, it was deemed 
 expedient to amputate the leg above the knee. The 
 operation took place on the 4th of November. He 
 declined sending notice of the time to his parents, in 
 order to save them the pain of being in Boston at 
 the critical moment, or of protracted anxiety as to 
 the result. On that morning, he wrote them a letter, 
 apprising them of what was to take place, and prom- 
 ising to add a postscript in case of the successful issue 
 
XX MEMOIR. 
 
 in the least. Though the knife will pain me, it will be but 
 for a few moments. I '11 put in a P. S. after the operation. 
 " Adieu. — Your affectionate brother, 
 
 " James Kennard, Jr. 
 
 " Nov. 7. — All is over. Not half so bad as I thought. 
 Have been rather feverish and restless since the operation, 
 but am now getting quite calm. Doctor says I am doing well. 
 
 " Expect father and mother to-day. Yours truly, 
 
 " J. K. Jr." 
 
 Mr. Kennard's parents went to Boston on the 7th 
 of November, and found James apparently at the 
 point of death, from an erysipelatous inflammation in 
 the limb which had been subjected to the operation, 
 and a sympathetic febrile affection of the whole 
 system. After a few days these symptoms abated, 
 and his recovery was very rapid. Towards the close 
 of December, he wrote to his parents that he would 
 be shortly permitted to return home. They went 
 immediately to Boston, to accompany him on the 
 then long and tedious ride ; but found that he had 
 anticipated them, and returned the same day by a 
 different route. For several months, he appeared to 
 be in the enjoyment of the most vigorous health. 
 He walked easily and freely with the aid of a crutch, 
 and was patiently waiting for the entire cicatriza- 
 tion of the maimed limb, to avail himself of the 
 support of an artificial leg. But in July, 1838, his 
 left knee suddenly became swollen and inflamed, and 
 was for a long period the seat of more intense suf- 
 
MEMOIR. XXi 
 
 fering than he had ever experienced before. From 
 that time he never walked. A small carriage was 
 procured for him, and in this, for a few months, 
 he was occasionally drawn to take the air, or to visit 
 his friends. This, however, he could use but for a 
 little while, as all motion soon grew intensely pain- 
 ful. After a short period it became apparent that 
 the process of ossification was taking place in the 
 remaining knee-joint, and in the joints of the elbows, 
 wrists, and fingers. Thenceforward he was confined 
 almost entirely to his chamber, and for the greater 
 part of every day to his bed, with much less power 
 of self-help than a new-born infant. He was occa- 
 sionally brought down stairs till the summer of 1841, 
 when he found that he could no longer bear removal, 
 except that with the most careful preparation, and 
 with the utmost delicacy of touch, he was taken 
 daily from his bed, and placed for an hour or two in 
 his easy-chair. Within a year after his return from 
 j the hospital, he became unable so much as to raise 
 jhis hand to his head, or to assist himself in the 
 least in taking his food. A very limited power of 
 I action remained in his right wrist, and in two or 
 I three of the fingers of his right hand. His eyesight, 
 I however, was still unimpaired, and his mental indus- 
 jtry, with book and pen, exceeded in amount that of 
 ,most professed students and scholars. A frame was 
 
XXU MEMOIR. 
 
 fitted to his bed, and on this his book was so placed, 
 that he could turn over the leaves with the aid of a 
 small wand ; and on the same frame his writing-ap- 
 paratus was so adjusted, that he could write in a per- 
 fectly legible and clear hand, though, except at the 
 very first, only in double columns on a letter-sheet 
 of the ordinary size, the gradual induration of the 
 wrist allowing his fingers only that narrow range of 
 motion. In this way he penned the greater part of 
 the contents of this volume, besides numerous arti- 
 cles for the weekly press, and very many pieces, both 
 in prose and verse, which have never been printed ; 
 and conducted at the same time an extensive and 
 increasing correspondence with relatives, friends, 
 authors, editors, and not a few whom he had never 
 known personally, but who had become deeply in- 
 terested in him by the report of his talents, merits, 
 and sufferings. 
 
 But even this resource was soon to fail him. In 
 November, 1844, while reading a badly printed book, 
 he was seized with inflammation in the right eye, and 
 suffered so agonizingly, that all that he had pre- 
 viously endured seemed trifling in the comparison. 
 The left eye, of course, was sympathetically affected. 
 The residue of his life was spent with a deep shade 
 over his face, and in a darkened room. Similar 
 attacks of inflammation ensued at imcertain intervals. 
 
MEMOIR. XXIU 
 
 and were generally about a week in duration. When 
 not violently inflamed, the eye could not bear a direct 
 ray of light without severe pain, and the shade was 
 never lifted from his face, except to afford him a 
 momentary glimpse of some countenance which he 
 was unwilling to forget. During the paroxysms of 
 this new disease, he was able to speak only in the 
 faintest whisper, and could hardly bear the sound of 
 another voice. But in the intervals he still con- 
 tinued his literary pursuits and his correspondence, 
 with the aid of his sisters and a numerous corps of 
 friends, who were all emulous of the privilege of 
 serving as his readers and amanuenses. How cheer- 
 fully he bore this last and sorest privation of all may 
 be seen from the following extract from a letter to a 
 favorite cousin in Boston, — the first that he had 
 dictated to him since his inability to write. We 
 should not insert this quotation, did it not stand in 
 the most perfect and beautiful accordance with the 
 whole tone of feeling and spirit which marked every 
 day of his now sightless life. The letter bears date 
 January 12th, 1845. 
 
 " You will doubtless be astonished at the alteration of my 
 handwriting; but my experience goes to prove, that, the more 
 I am deprived of the usual aids, such as eyes, hands, joints, 
 &c., the better I can write, and the easier I can get along in 
 every way. Just shut up your eyes, chop off your hands, 
 and try it. If you only have faith and a good amanuensis, 
 
XXIV MEMOIR. 
 
 my word for it, you will succeed to perfection. I feel in 
 such high spirits about it, that I intend soon to commence 
 writing my life, and expect to become as renowned as Mil- 
 ton, and to get more for my book, to be entitled, 'The Life of 
 an Invalid,' than he did for his Paradise Lost, to say nothing 
 of the fame." 
 
 Nearly coincident, in point of time, with Mr. Ken- 
 nard's loss of vision, was the severest affliction of his 
 life, — the death of the mother, whose daily prayer 
 had been that she might outlive her suflfering son. 
 In many beautiful traits of mind and heart had he 
 reflected her image, and borne the impress of her 
 fidelity. In his early years, his father had been an 
 enterprising and successful shipmaster, and, though 
 eminently faithful in all domestic relations and du- 
 ties, had been so much of the time absent from his 
 family, that James may be said to have grown up 
 almost wholly under his mother's guidance ; and, in 
 his infirmity and pain, she had watched by his bed- 
 side, entered with entire sympathy into all his plans 
 and pursuits, and made herself seemingly as essen- 
 tial to his existence as she was in his infancy and 
 childhood. Her sickness was long, and marked by 
 the frequent alternation of hopeful and discouraging 
 symptoms. While the case remained doubtful, he 
 was deeply agitated. When a fatal issue became 
 certain, he grew calm, and even cheerful ; and, when 
 the last scene was over, consolation, strength, and 
 
MEMOIR. XXV 
 
 peace seemed to flow from his chamber for the 
 whole grief-stricken family. But his serenity of 
 spirit resulted, no doubt, from a conflict, in which 
 his slender residue of physical strength was essen- 
 tially impaired. 
 
 Though he never ceased to feel the void created 
 in the circle of his aff'ections by his mother's removal, 
 yet, as regarded all the outward offices of motherly 
 care and tenderness, he sustained no loss. His sisters 
 had become thoroughly versed in all that appertained 
 to his comfort, and deemed no privilege so great as 
 that of attendance on their invalid brother. And one 
 other friend there was, in humble life, but of a noble 
 heart, whose extraordinary bodily strength had long 
 rendered her services absolutely indispensable. We 
 refer to Nancy Sherburne, (the Nancy commemorated 
 in one of the poems in this volume,) an elderly 
 woman, who, on his return from the hospital, was ofl[i- 
 ciating as cook in his father's family. From the 
 first, she took great pleasure in rendering him what- 
 ever assistance he demanded. When he was disabled 
 from walking, she drew him in his carriage, and bore 
 him in her arms over the staircase. As he grew 
 more helpless, she gradually suspended her other 
 duties, and devoted herself wholly to the care of 
 him, remaining perpetually within call by day and 
 night, and so strongly attached to her charge, that 
 
XXVI MEMOIR. 
 
 Other friends could hardly win permission of her 
 to perform for him any service that lay within her 
 power. She lifted him as if he had been an infant, 
 and with a grasp as gentle as it was firm. There 
 were frequently times, when even the adjustment of 
 his pillows by a less skilful hand than hers would 
 have giv^en him excruciating torture, and the hour- 
 long process by which alone he could be conveyed 
 from his bed to his chair, a process as delicate as if 
 his frame had been strung with threads of glass, 
 demanded more than a common man's strength, and 
 all of a woman's love. Had he been her own child, 
 she could not have loved him better ; and, though a 
 a person of the scantiest education, and bearing no 
 outward marks of refinement, she gradually grew 
 into a sympathy of spirit and character with him, 
 and evidently derived the richest recompense for her 
 self-denying toil in the improvement and elevation 
 of her whole moral nature. His attachment to her 
 Avas only less than filial ; and one of his last requests 
 was, that room for Nancy should be left at his side 
 in the family inclosure at the cemetery. 
 
 Early in the year 1847, Mr. Kennard had three 
 successive attacks of influenza, which greatly re- 
 duced and enfeebled him. He recovered, however, 
 so far as to take much interest in the construction of 
 a rocking-chair of his own contrivance, in which he 
 
MEMOIR. XXVll 
 
 hoped to enjoy some little measure of exercise with- 
 out suffering. With how much buoyancy of spirit, 
 in his helpless and sightless condition, he could re- 
 gard even this slender alleviation of his confinement, 
 will appear from the following extract from a letter 
 to his cousin, dated May 6th, 1847. 
 
 " I wish you could see me rocking in my chair, while I 
 dictate ; my new chair, mind ye. It is a regular hobby- 
 horse, only it has not any head, and I don't exactly bestride 
 it ; but I rock. Sir, in the most elegant, long, swinging 
 fashion, and with the greatest ease. This gait is very 
 agreeable to me, after remaining so many years a fixture. 
 The slightest touch sets me agoing ; in fact, Sir, it is the latest 
 improved kind of perpetual motion, and if you want to see 
 the machine working, you had better come soon, or it will 
 be entirely vvorn out. It is of my own contrivance, and I 
 consider it my greatest essay; it has not yet travelled 
 ' round the world,' but I am expecting every day when it 
 will ' make the circuit of the globe,' as B. says ; for Nancy 
 declares that I go to Boston and back in it, every day. 
 That is the way she dignifies my morning exercise." 
 
 This was one of the last letters that he dictated. 
 Shortly after it was written, he became alarmingly 
 ill with an attack of nausea. From this he recov- 
 ered, and remained in his usual health, though feeble 
 and languid, till July 22d, when the nausea returned. 
 Nature was now exhausted, and medical treatment 
 proved unavailing. The disease of the stomach 
 was probably the last symptom of an entire function- 
 al derangement. For six days his sufferings were 
 
XXVlll MEMOIR. 
 
 acute and constant, yet borne, not with patience 
 merely, but with entire self-possession, and unclouded 
 serenity of spirit. On the morning of July 28th, 
 having retained his consciousness to the last moment, 
 and after several hours of entire freedom from pain, 
 he departed this life in perfect peace. 
 
 We have thus followed our friend through the suc- 
 cessive stages of his suffering, decrepitude, and de- 
 cline. And, at first view, it might seem only a course 
 of disappointment, sorrow, and agony. He was a 
 youth of the most active habits and the most san- 
 guine temperament, in full sympathy with all the 
 gayer and more festive aspects of life, and seemingly 
 as little fitted as one could be for the stern discipline 
 which was appointed him. Flattering prospects were 
 opening before him. With superior talents for busi- 
 ness, with friends able and willing to place him on 
 the career of enterprise under the most favorable cir- 
 cumstances, his hopes were blighted at the very age 
 when such sacrifices are the most severely felt, and 
 when the atmosphere of the sick-chamber seems the 
 most uncongenial. Yet we have never known a 
 happier person. A word of discontentment, mur- 
 muring, or repining never escaped him. His coun- 
 tenance, though thin and wan, bore no trace of grief 
 or care, but to the very last wore an expression, not 
 only of serenity, but even of joyousness. His cham- 
 
MEMOIR. XXIX 
 
 ber was an eminently cheerful place. To his family 
 and his friends, it was not the scene of sad and 
 anxious duty, but the happiest apartment in the 
 house. The social communings by his bedside are 
 remembered without any of those associations of 
 solicitude and gloom that are wont to cluster about 
 our reminiscences of even the most patient invalid. 
 When absent from him, we pitied him ; when in his 
 presence, we forgot that he was a sufferer, and re- 
 joiced with him. Never did the spirit achieve a 
 more entire conquest over the body, — never can 
 the independence of the soul on the mortal frame 
 have been more fully manifested, — never can more 
 of heaven have been witnessed on earth. 
 
 Of course, a victory so entire could not have been 
 won without strong religious faith. He was early 
 the subject of judicious and faithful religious instruc- 
 tion ; and his sincere interest in the great themes of 
 Christian doctrine and duty was attested by his con- 
 stant service as a Sunday-school teacher, from the 
 time that he ceased to be a pupil till he was no 
 longer able to go to the house of worship. From 
 the period of his residence at the hospital, religious 
 faith seemed the very atmosphere of his being. His 
 trust in a merciful Providence was implicit and un- 
 wavering. The truths of Christianity were fully 
 verified in his daily experience, and assumed in his 
 
XXX MEMOIR. 
 
 mind the form of self-evident propositions, too plainly 
 written on the tablets of the heart to need the out- 
 ward evidence so essential to persons of a less ele- 
 vated religious consciousness. But this evidence, 
 though to him no longer needful, he still held sacred. 
 It formed the steps of the ladder on which he had 
 risen as from earth to heaven ; and, for the sake of 
 those who were still toiling up the ascent, he would 
 not have removed the steps. Immediate revelation 
 could hardly have strengthened his belief in immor- 
 tality. His views of death, and of the reunion of 
 friends beyond the grave, were eminently cheerful. 
 He was at all times ready to die ; yet was too happy 
 to long for dissolution. On the very last day of his 
 life, he said, — '^ Although I have no fear of death, 
 nor doubt of future blessedness, I would willingly 
 recover and stay longer here, my life has been so 
 happy." 
 
 In estimating the sources of his happiness, his 
 prompt and generous social sympathies demand dis- 
 tinct notice. We never knew a more unselfish being. 
 He never talked about his own trials, and cut off the 
 kindly inquiries of visitors with the briefest answers 
 consistent with courtesy. But in every thing, were it 
 little or great, sad or joyful, that concerned the wel- 
 fare of kindred, friends, or acquaintance, he mani- 
 fested the warmest interest. As his coevals came 
 
MEMOIR. XXXI 
 
 forward to occupy prominent and prosperous places 
 in life, no matter how remotely from him their lot 
 was cast; he took diligent note of their successes and 
 their honors, and never seemed more happy than 
 when apprised of their merited good fortune. Nor 
 were opportunities wanting for what we might term 
 his active benevolence. Very many were the plans for 
 individual and social improvement and benefit which 
 had birth from his suggestion, and were matured 
 at his bedside. Very many were the mutually ad- 
 vantageous acquaintances and friendships formed 
 through his agency. Very many were the wrong 
 stories set right, the characters vindicated, the kind 
 interpretations made current, by his instrumentality. 
 There were not a few who never undertook any 
 thing aside from the routine of business, without 
 resorting to him for sympathy, encouragement, and 
 counsel ; and still more there were who would have 
 deemed a good book unread, a pleasant journey un- 
 finished, a happy chapter in life incomplete, till they 
 had talked it over with him. Of course, with such 
 a spirit, he never lacked society, or assistance in his 
 literary studies and labors. His reader or amanuensis 
 for the time being was conscious of receiving, not 
 conferring, obligation ; and there were several, not of 
 his own household, who for years devoted certain 
 portions of each day or week to him, with the feel- 
 
XXXU MEMOIR. 
 
 ing that they were doing much more for themselves 
 than for him. Indeed, it has often been remarked, 
 that no one ever visited him, or performed any ser- 
 vice for him, simply as an act of kindness, but always 
 in the temper and spirit in which the most pleasant 
 social engagement would be made and kept. 
 
 Sympathies thus active could not be confined 
 within the circle immediately around him. He kept 
 himself constantly informed of every phasis and 
 movement of social and political life, and took a deep 
 interest in all plans and measures of reform and phi- 
 lanthropy. His ethics were entirely of the Christian 
 school. He called evil, wrong, and sin by their 
 own names, and admitted in justification of them 
 neither ancient prescription, nor venerable authority, 
 nor the most plausible grounds of expediency. Yet 
 he was most tolerant in his judgment of the motives 
 both of individuals and bodies of men ; and, while 
 he strikingly verified that portion of St. Paul's des- 
 cription of charity, "rejoiceth not in iniquity, but 
 rejoiceth in the truth," his considerate candor and 
 his confidence in the ultimate triumph of the Right 
 and the Good reminded us of those other traits in 
 the same sketch, " believeth all things, hopeth all 
 things." He early became warmly interested in the 
 cause of the slave, not as an Ishmaelitish partisan of 
 some one idea of emancipation or some one unvary- 
 
MEMOIR, XXXIU 
 
 ing mode of agitation, but in communion of spirit 
 with all who, with the slightest measure of sincerity, 
 gave their efforts, influence, or simple Godspeed, to 
 the work. On all subjects of this class, as well as 
 on the politics of the nation, he united, to a degree 
 perhaps almost unattainable by one not withdrawn 
 from the turmoil of active life, decided opinions, 
 strong preferences, and the most comprehensive fel- 
 lowship for all of every party whose aims and pur- 
 poses seemed patriotic, philanthropic, and benevolent. 
 Nor were his judgments on such matters those of a 
 secluded theorist, or founded on a defective and one- 
 sided acquaintance with facts and circumstances. 
 The accuracy with which he kept himself informed 
 as to all the significant transactions, movements, and 
 speculations of the passing day, in fine, of every 
 thing worthy of a benevolent curiosity, alike in the 
 larger and the narrower circle, excited our contin- 
 ual surprise. It seemed as if the figures of all the 
 prominent actors in the great drama and in all the 
 little by-plots were perpetually passing and repassing 
 before his eye, as in the mirror of a camera ohscura. 
 Mr. Kennard's literary attainments and activity, 
 though by no means the most interesting, present 
 one of the most extraordinary aspects of his charac- 
 ter. From the preceding sketch of his life, it will 
 be seen that he was far from having received a schol- 
 d 
 
XXXIV MEMOIR. 
 
 arly education. The studies of his boyhood had been 
 chiefly directed with reference to his destination for 
 the counting-room ; and, though faithfully pursued, 
 they were closed at too early an age for extensive ac- 
 quisition. But, during the last nine years of his life, 
 he made himself a thorough proficient in many de- 
 partments of historical, critical, and elegant literature. 
 He was satisfied only with the most accurate knowl- 
 edge. If an unfamiliar location was referred to, he 
 inquired at once its place on the. map. If an un- 
 known historical personage was named, he sought 
 out his history. If a new word occurred, he never 
 passed it by, without ascertaining its etymology and 
 its exact significance. He was master of that most 
 essential element in the acquisition of knowledge, 
 the art of shaping questions. On every subject, he 
 seemed to understand intuitively just what to ask, 
 what were the points really at issue, what the prime 
 topics of investigation, what the collateral sources of 
 evidence or illustration. 
 
 The impulse which made him an author it is not 
 difficult to define, yet to some minds it may be hard 
 to understand. He had no thought of fame, nay, 
 seemed unconscious to the last of the degree to 
 which his productions had attracted notice and found 
 circulation. He was led to write, we believe, solely 
 from the desire to be useful. He felt the importance 
 
MEiMOlR. XXXV 
 
 of his own opinions, and was solicitous to make 
 others feel them. The editor of the Portsmouth 
 Journal was his friend and neighbour, and that quite 
 extensively circulated paper was his first, and for 
 some time his only, medium of communication with 
 the public. He commenced by furnishing articles 
 almost every week, under the signature of " Vattel,'' 
 on such subjects as from time to time occupied a 
 prominent place in the general mind, especially on 
 the moral bearings of the great political questions, 
 and on the reformation of existing wrongs and evils. 
 Many of these pieces were extensively copied, and 
 read by thousands. Some of them were among his 
 choicest productions, and might have occupied a 
 place in this volume to the exclusion of much of the 
 excellent matter that we have inserted, had not the 
 occasions on which they were written, and the ques- 
 tions which they discussed, so far passed out of mind, 
 as to deprive them of much of their original interest. 
 When he became known as a writer, he was solicited 
 to furnish articles to be read before the literary asso- 
 ciations of the town. Subsequently he was urged 
 to become a writer for several of the leading literary 
 publications of the day, especially for the Knicker- 
 bocker, the editor of which repeatedly expressed a 
 high sense of obligation to him for his valuable con- 
 tributions. 
 
XXXVl MEMOIR. 
 
 His earliest poetical pieces, so far as known, were 
 written to beguile the occasional loneliness of his 
 residence in Florida. As his thoughts flowed readily 
 in verse, he afterwards adopted that medium for the 
 record of his personal experiences, his reminiscences 
 of boyhood, his solitary and midnight musings, his 
 sources of support and consolation. At the same 
 time, whether in a playful or a more sober mood, 
 he often threw into a metrical form his offerings of 
 congratulation or sympathy to his. personal friends. 
 Subsequently he adopted this mode for the more 
 energetic expression of his opinions or emotions, on 
 a large range of moral and religious subjects. After 
 the publication of some of these pieces, requests for 
 poetical contributions flowed in upon him from vari- 
 ous quarters. Thus, with the most modest appreci- 
 ation of his own poetical genius, he has left in print 
 and manuscript compositions of this class, of a high 
 order of merit, numerous enough of themselves to 
 have filled the present volume. One of the pieces, 
 which will be found in the selection now printed, 
 has a singular history attached to it. We refer to 
 the poem entitled, "What shall I ask in Prayer?" 
 It was the spontaneous eff*usion of his own spirit at 
 an early period of his confinement. It was one of 
 the first of his published pieces, (under his usual sig- 
 nature of Vattel,) in the Portsmouth Journal, from 
 
MEMOIR. XXXVll 
 
 which it was subsequently copied into other papers. 
 Two persons, strangers to each other, and ignorant 
 of his signature, both of whom had been deeply 
 afflicted, at different times cut this poem from news- 
 papers, and sent it to him, expressing the hope that a 
 piece from which they had derived great consolation 
 might open sources of comfort to him under his 
 heavy trial. He was deeply moved by this experi- 
 ence. '* I never was more gratified," said he ; "■ for I 
 then felt, that, if any thing that I had written had 
 comforted and supported those in affliction, I had 
 not lived in vain." On his death-bed, he requested, 
 with characteristic modesty, that no obituary notice 
 of himself should be furnished for the public prints. 
 His friend of the Portsmouth Journal, reluctantly 
 acceding to this prohibition, and without any knowl- 
 edge of the circumstances just related, in connection 
 with the simple statement of his age and the date 
 of his removal, repruited this poem as peculiarly con- 
 genial with the life, and expressive of the character, 
 of the deceased. 
 
 In closing this sketch, we must be permitted to 
 ^refer for a moment to the light cast by the subject of 
 it on the true sources of happiness. '^ Mens sana 
 m corpore sano, — A sound mind in a sound body," 
 — has come down to us from remote antiquity, as 
 a proverbial expression of the essential conditions 
 
XXXVUl MEMOIR. 
 
 of earthly felicity ; and there are multitudes who 
 feel, thatj with an elastic bodily constitution, they 
 could brave and outlive the sternest buffetings of 
 calamity, could sail through stormy seas and under 
 lowering heavens, who yet would regard chronic and 
 wasting illness as an intolerable burden. There is, 
 indeed, no person who seems entitled to so much 
 commiseration as one equally removed from life and 
 death, poised between the two worlds, the outward 
 man perishing without hope of restoration, and yet 
 so slowly that it may be years in dying, while for 
 those years there cannot be one moment's conscious- 
 ness of health, or free use of limbs, or respite from 
 suffering, or natural repose. But instances like this 
 show us that the sound body may be dispensed 
 with, if the sound mind be retained, if the heart be 
 right and true, sincere and pure, generous and devout. 
 They prove that the soul has a life of its own, a sep- 
 arate interest, a peace and joy independent of its 
 bodily environment. And is there not, in a life- 
 experience like this, a distinct foreshadowing, or 
 rather foreshining, of immortality? Must not the 
 soul that remains thus unscathed as the body wastes, 
 that grows with the increase of infirmity, that clothes 
 itself in new beauty while limb after limb and sense 
 after sense refuse their office, that beneath the death- 
 shadow looks forth from the mutilated and worn-out 
 
MEMOIR. XXXIX 
 
 wreck in calm and holy triumph, live on, when dust 
 returns to dust ? Why should not the spirit, which 
 survives the maiming and decay of the body, survive 
 its dissolution also? Why needs it the frame to 
 whose healthy action it has manifested such supreme 
 indifference ? And if so much of heaven can be 
 enjoyed under the severest pressure of earthly calam- 
 ity, how can the human heart worthily conceive of 
 that heaven of which it is written, — " There shall be 
 no more death, neither sorrow, neither shall there be 
 any more pain " ? 
 
PROSE WRITINGS 
 
 i:a 
 
ECONOMY.* 
 
 Glancing superficially at the civilized world, one 
 would think this a very economical age. Innumer- 
 able are the contrivances for the saving of labor, both 
 of the body and the mind. Time and space are al- 
 most annihilated in travelling over the natural world ; 
 and in the literary world, thought also is rendered 
 unnecessary, to such a degree that the traveller 
 through that mazy region may almost sleep as he 
 goes, so small is the mental exertion required of 
 him. 
 
 In every thing we are productive ; yet are we the 
 most prodigal nation in existence. In many things 
 we are truly economical ; in others, we do but veri- 
 fy the old proverb, — '' Penny- wise and pound-fool- 
 ish." 
 
 My subject is Economy^ physical and mental, po- 
 litical and social, real and false. In physical econ- 
 omy no age ever equalled the present. Earth, air, 
 fire, and water are apparently turned to their utmost 
 account. Railroads, canals, turnpikes, and aque- 
 
 * A Lecture written for the Portsmouth Lyceum, in 1841. 
 
4 ECONOMY. 
 
 ducts form a vast network over the land ; steam- 
 ships and sail-craft of every kind cover the ocean 
 and bays ; the leviathan steamboat is heard panting 
 and puffing on our mighty rivers ; the hum of busy 
 commerce never ceases in our cities ; and the buzz- 
 ing of machinery and the clank of the engine are 
 heard in every village. 
 
 The waterfall, once hidden in the depth of the pri- 
 meval forest, and visited by travellers from distant 
 parts, through toil and danger, as a wonderful natural 
 curiosity, is now turned from its wonted course by 
 means of dams and canals, and made to labor for the 
 benefit of man ; while around it a busy village takes 
 the place of the hoary woods, and through the mul- 
 titude of man's inventions the aspect of the place is 
 entirely changed. What was before valuable as a 
 piece of natural scenery is now esteemed a matter of 
 dollars and cents. The age of romance has, for that 
 spot, passed away for ever ; its age of utility has 
 commenced. 
 
 The example is infectious ; every beautiful cas- 
 cade, every thundering cataract, is looked upon as a 
 matter of speculation ; and does the solitary travel- 
 ler, the ardent lover of Nature, discover a new won- 
 der of this sort, as yet hidden in the depth of the 
 ancient woods, and far removed from the profaning 
 footstep of the manufacturer, he cannot even then 
 indulge long in unmixed love of the beautiful, or ad- 
 miration of the sublime. The thought will intrude, 
 " How will this noble specimen of Nature's handi- 
 work be one day marred by the handiwork of man ! " 
 
ECONOMY. 
 
 Ay, that it will, right soon ! and so should it be, if the 
 wants of man demand it, or his happiness will be 
 thereby promoted. Bread for the body, bread for the 
 multitude, is needed, as well as pretty sights for the 
 favored few to gaze upon. 
 
 We have pierced the earth in all directions for 
 mineral productions ; we press the winds into our 
 service, and hunt the leviathan on the boundless 
 deep ; we compel those two antagonist principles, 
 fire and water, to work together for our good ; the 
 ocean is no longer a barrier to our progress ; the val- 
 leys rise, the hills sink, and mountains are almost lit- 
 erally removed and cast into the sea. '' The crook- 
 ed roads are made straight, and the rough ways 
 smooth." 
 
 We have done all this ; yet how have we done it ? 
 Has it been done economically ? 
 
 By all this vast system of internal improvements 
 and of intercommunication between nations great 
 good has doubtless been accomplished. The hidden 
 resources of the country have been brought to light ; 
 the useless has been made valuable ; and wealth has 
 taken the place of poverty. But it must be remem- 
 bered, that the actuating spirit in all these enterprises, 
 the dominant motive, has been love of money, which, 
 it has been said, " is the root of evil." However 
 that may be, Providence has so ordered this great 
 ruling passion of our nature, that the good which re- 
 sults from its gratification greatly exceeds the evil. 
 And this will, undoubtedly, on a careful examina- 
 tion, be found to be the case (so far as the whole 
 1* 
 
6 ECONOMY. 
 
 race is concerned) with every passion of the human 
 heart. Still, as all the works of man are necessarily- 
 imperfect, so we, although the most pains-taking, 
 time-saving, labor-saving, and money-saving people 
 on earth, have committed many grand errors in car- 
 rying our money-making plans into execution. That 
 which was begun in a spirit of economy has been 
 prosecuted extravagantly. That which was sup- 
 posed to be a safe investment has turned out a ruin- 
 ous speculation. And where this has not been the 
 case, where pecuniary success has crowned our ef- 
 forts, the waste of human life has been, and contin- 
 ues to be, deplorably great, and the wear and tear 
 of morals immense. 
 
 True economy is liberal, far-sighted. It aims at 
 worthy ends, and knows how to adapt means there- 
 to. In fact, true economy is comprehensive good 
 management. 
 
 Let us notice a few of the great changes and im- 
 provements which so strikingly mark the progress of 
 the present age, and examine them in an economical 
 point of view. Unavoidable evils should be endured 
 with philosophical and Christian resignation ; but it 
 is believed, that, in following out many of our plans 
 of improvement, there occurs, incidentally, an unne- 
 cessary demoralization of human hearts, a weakening 
 of human intellects, and a useless waste of human 
 life. 
 
 To begin with the latter. Look at our railroads, 
 for instance. Fifty lives are lost, fifty limbs are 
 broken, now, through carelessness, where one was. 
 
ECONOMY. 7 
 
 under the old stage-coach system of travelling. Rail- 
 roads are generally constructed with but one track. 
 Legislatures ought never to give a charter in which 
 it is not stipulated that two tracks shall be laid on 
 the road ; or, if they deem it advisable to grant char- 
 ters for roads with single tracks, they should at least 
 make it a penal offence for an engineer to endanger 
 the lives of passengers by disobeying orders or vary- 
 ing from the regular routine prescribed by the direct- 
 ors. It might be demonstrated, that any projected 
 railroad route, which would not be likely to warrant 
 the expense of laying two tracks, ought to be aban- 
 doned, on the ground that it is not sufficiently de- 
 manded by the business wants of that section of the 
 country. It could be proved to be true pecuniary 
 economy, as well as a vast saving of human life, to 
 let such a route alone. Had the States of our Union 
 been governed by this rule, the great expense in- 
 volved in the construction of railroads would have 
 effectually prevented their engaging in many of the 
 unprofitable undertakings which now hang like 
 millstones around their necks, and bid fair to sink 
 some of them irretrievably in the gulf of bankruptcy 
 and disgrace. 
 
 There is another piece of parsimony of which 
 every railroad corporation in our country has been 
 more or less guilty. I refer to the practice of mak- 
 ing their cuts through hills, their passages by via- 
 ducts, and their tunnels through mountains, so nar- 
 row and low as constantly to endanger the lives of 
 passengers and officers. It is surely not very strange 
 
8 ECONOMY. 
 
 or blameworthy in an inexperienced traveller on rail- 
 roads, when he finds himself in sudden darkness, to 
 thrust his head out to see what is the matter. A 
 lucky man is he, in this saving age, if he gets it in 
 again without having his brains knocked out. This 
 is unpardonable in a railroad company. It is laying a 
 trap for the unsuspecting passenger. It is infringing 
 on that well-known rule, — ''No tricks upon travel- 
 lers." 
 
 The practice of such economy should be discoun- 
 tenanced and frowned upon by an endangered public. 
 It is only necessary for all whose lives are thus in 
 danger of being trifled with to speak out loudly, by 
 word of mouth, and through the press, and the evil 
 would soon be remedied. Travelling on railroads 
 would become unpopular, unless these obstacles to 
 safe travelling were removed ; and that route on 
 which these salutary reforms should be earliest intro- 
 duced would reap the benefit, and win golden opin- 
 ions from all men, at least, from all travellers. Oth- 
 er companies would soon follow the example thus set 
 them, and, on the principle of economy, would make 
 the changes demanded of them. 
 
 The travellers on railroads are surely numerous 
 enough to accomplish the reforms necessary, if they 
 would but speak out. But, as usual, " what is every- 
 body's business is nobody's business"; and the pub- 
 lic will probably suffer to a much greater extent than 
 has yet been the case, before it will rise in its majes- 
 ty and put down these crying abuses. 
 
 Among the numerous societies which are every- 
 
ECONOMY. 9 
 
 where springing up, for the furtherance of almost ev- 
 ery object under the sun, would it not be well to in- 
 troduce and organize yet one more, — to be called 
 the Railroad Reform Society ? With the watch- 
 word " Agitation," and with all the machinery of 
 Presidents, Corresponding Secretaries, and Travelling 
 Lecturers, something might be accomplished. At 
 any rate, we recommend the consideration of this 
 suggestion to all who are afflicted with a propensity 
 for society-making. Here is a large field for their 
 operations. 
 
 What, then ! Shall we preach a crusade against 
 railroads, because of a few incidental evils ? By no 
 means. The good which they produce greatly pre- 
 dominates over the evil. The question is, whether 
 the abuses may not be reformed, while the blessings 
 are retained ; whether the rotten branches of the 
 tree may not be lopped off, while the healthy ones 
 are preserved. Do not strike at the root ; it is as- 
 suredly a good one. As well might one have all his 
 teeth extracted, because he occasionally suffers with 
 the toothache. It is only necessary to extirpate the 
 useless ones, and fill the slightly decayed. There is 
 no danger, however, that men will ever attempt to 
 do without teeth, or the world without railroads, or 
 some contrivance which will afford even a more rapid 
 mode of conveyance. 
 
 To railroads and canals our country is indebted 
 much, and tvill be indebted more. In a commercial 
 point of view, they furnish great facilities for the 
 conveyance of produce to market, and thus render 
 
10 ECONOMY. 
 
 valuable immense sections of country before nearly 
 worthless, and in this manner wealth and prosperity 
 are spread more equally over the different portions of 
 our broad Union, instead of being confined, as under 
 the old system, to a few favored districts. 
 
 They facilitate travel ; and thus, by the more fre- 
 quent intercourse which takes place between the 
 people of the North, the South, the East, and the 
 West, render om' national character more homogene- 
 ous. Above all, the artificial barriers of State boun- 
 daries, and geographical obstructions, are alike anni- 
 hilated. Sectional distinctions and prejudices are 
 abolished ; and the nation is bound together by that 
 strongest of all ties, without which all others would 
 be useless, — the tie of mterest. 
 
 Thus, individual love of wealth, and private econ- 
 omy and speculation, prove, in the end, true Political 
 Economy. 
 
 There is one certain result produced by the rail- 
 road system, the ultimate efi"ect of which upon our 
 national character and institutions yet remains to be 
 seen. Large cities must inevitably grow up at all 
 the great central depots. Under our democratic in- 
 stitutions, it is a difficult, and oftentimes an impos- 
 sible thing, even now, to keep in order the population 
 of a large city. A great metropolis has been com- 
 pared to an issue, which, foul in itself, serves to drain 
 the system of its unhealthy humors, and thus pre- 
 serves the soundness of the whole body. Unless 
 subordinate to law, it is, rather, a cancer, which pro- 
 duces disease and death in the whole body politic. 
 
ECONOMY. 11 
 
 Whether this is a just comparison or not, one thing 
 is certain, — that nowhere else can be found such 
 extremes of virtue and vice, wealth and poverty, 
 splendor and wretchedness, refinement and vulgarity. 
 It remains to be proved, that the population of over- 
 grown cities, composed of such materials, can be 
 kept in subjection to the law without military force. 
 
 Among all the saving changes of the present day, 
 none are more remarkable than those which are tak- 
 ing place in the Economy of War. There seems to 
 be a general mania abroad for inventing engines and 
 missiles for the destruction of human life. No less 
 than fifteen or twenty kinds of explosive shot have 
 been invented within the last three or four years. 
 Paixhan guns and steam-frigates are destined to 
 make an entire revolution in Naval Economy. The 
 world has already seen their power demonstrated, in 
 the reduction of Acre and the bombardment of Can- 
 ton. But it has yet to see the effect of these two in- 
 ventions, when brought into action in a sea-fight be- 
 tween two large fleets. May such a sight 7iever be 
 seen ! 
 
 Then with regard to private warfare, — how innu- 
 merable are the inventions of secret weapons for its 
 prosecution ! — the patent revolving many-chambered 
 rifle pocket-pistols, the bowie-knives, dirk-knives, and 
 sword-canes. 
 
 This is a singular sort of economy ! indeed it is. 
 It aims at effecting the greatest destruction of human 
 life with the least possible expenditure of time and 
 money. In the case of railroads, the loss of life is 
 
12 ECONOMY. 
 
 incidental and unintentional ; but here it is the direct 
 aim and end of the inventors. 
 
 The wearing of secret weapons is, doubtless, pro- 
 ductive of unmixed evil. The consciousness of hav- 
 ing them in his possession makes the bad man still 
 more ruffianly in his conduct, and causes even the 
 more respectable man to resort to their use when in- 
 sulted. They are ready instruments of vengeance, 
 and Satan is always whispering in the ear of the 
 wearer, " Strike ! " Even peaceably-inclined men 
 sometimes conceive themselves obliged thus to arm 
 themselves, when travelling in some parts of our 
 country. Where nearly the whole adult male popu- 
 lation is thus armed, it is not surprising that murder- 
 ous brawls should frequently occur. The actors are 
 seldom punished. Jurymen are very lenient to such 
 offenders. Each man of them thinks, — ''I may 
 soon be in the same predicament as the prisoner " ; 
 and so, as he hopes for mercy in such a contingen- 
 cy, shows mercy himself, by bringing in a verdict 
 of ''Not guilty." This is his practice of the golden 
 rule, — "Do unto others as ye would that others 
 should do unto you." Under this order of things, 
 (or rather c?isorder,) death by violence has become so 
 common in many portions of our republic, that the 
 murder of a human being is regarded in those regions 
 with less horror than is excited by the murder of a 
 dog in Constantinople ! 
 
 All this is extremely bad economy, both with re- 
 gard to human life and to public and private morals. 
 The march of improvement is here retrograde. 
 
ECONOMY. 13 
 
 As to the improvements in national warfare, they 
 will, undoubtedly, have a really beneficial influence 
 on the fate of the world. As, in ancient times, ''out 
 of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong 
 came forth sweetness," so now (as always) does 
 Providence bring forth good out of seeming evil. 
 Let the art of destruction be perfected to such a de- 
 gree as to insure the death of nearly all the combat- 
 ants, and the belligerent parties will fight wonderful- 
 ly shy of each other. The fate of battles will de- 
 pend upon engineers and firemen. The small will 
 be equal to the great, nay, superior, for they will 
 expose less surface. The weak will, by the help of 
 machinery, be able to cope with the powerful. Per- 
 sonal prowess will go for nothing. The glory of war 
 will have passed away for ever. If nations will 
 fight, then let us make the means of destruction as 
 perfect as it is possible |o make them. This is true 
 economy, as far as it goes ; though, doubtless, it 
 would be better economy still to " beat our swords 
 into ploughshares, and our spears into pruning- 
 hooks," and so abandon war altogether. When will 
 nations and individuals learn that it is for their inter- 
 est to live peaceably with each other ? When will 
 they learn to make this great saving in time, money, 
 life, and morals ? When will they learn that it is 
 cheaper, as well as more conducive to happiness, and 
 therefore wiser on all accounts, to leave war to the 
 feasts ? They, for the most part, make no war upon, 
 their own species. 
 
 When will the happy day arrive when '' nation 
 2 
 
14 ECONOMY. 
 
 shall no more rise up against nation " ? It will as- 
 suredly come, though tve shall not live to see it. 
 The march of society is onward, and will not 
 cease until this important result is accomplished. 
 Even in our day, wars of conquest are becoming dis- 
 reputable among civilized nations. This is a great 
 step in economy, and a long stride toward universal 
 peace. 
 
 This is a saving age ; time-saving, labor-saving, 
 fuel-saving, and (in connection with the latter) even 
 a«r-saving. Labor-saving machinery is multiplied to 
 an unprecedented extent. Every thing is done easi- 
 ly. A man may travel from Maine to Louisiana in 
 twelve days ; from New York to London in fifteen ; 
 and from New York to Jerusalem in thirty days. 
 We may see it stated in the newspapers, that such a 
 man '' left this country, made the tour of Europe, 
 and returned in sixty days ! " What of that ? What 
 is the result ? How much more does that man know 
 than when he set out ? He steps on board a steam- 
 ship, is taken seasick the moment he gets outside 
 the harbour, and, before he recovers sufficiently to 
 pay any attention to the glorious ocean through 
 which he is ploughing, he is safely landed at Bristol. 
 He inquires of the waiter at the hotel where he puts 
 up, at what time the cars leave for London, and look- 
 ing at his watch, finds that he has just time to swal- 
 low his breakfast and be off. This is lucky ! he has 
 seen Bristol; Avhat more does he want with that 
 place ? He has only sixty days to spare from his 
 counting-room, — he must make the most econom- 
 
ECONOMY. 15 
 
 ical use of his time, and see as many places as possi- 
 ble. He bolts his breakfast, jumps into the cars, 
 passes the outskirts of one English town, dives un- 
 der another, flies over a third on a bridge built from 
 mountain to mountain, taking a birdseye view by 
 the way, and at the close of the day, lo ! he is iij 
 London. He retires to his chamber that night with 
 great satisfaction, calls for a map of England, search- 
 es out the names of all the chief towns through 
 which he has that day passed, and notes them down 
 in his memorandum-book as so many places which 
 he has visited, intending to consult the Traveller's 
 Guide next day concerning the history of said 
 towns, for materials out of which to manufacture a 
 descriptive letter to his friends at home. What a 
 grand day's work he has performed ! — crossed Eng- 
 land in nearly its widest part ! — seen the best por- 
 tion of the country in one day ! 
 
 Next day he posts to Dover, steams to Calais, and 
 then posts and steams over the whole Continent. 
 He visits all the principal places, examines them 
 quite as thoroughly as he did London and Bris- 
 tol, and, at the end of thirty days from the time 
 when he first set foot upon English soil, he finds 
 himself again on board a noble steamship, heading 
 for America. Sixty days from the time when he left 
 New York he is again walking in Broadway. His 
 friends shake hands with him, and ask him where 
 he has been for the last two or three weeks. He 
 endeavours to look unconcerned, but his heart swells 
 with satisfied ambition, as he answers, — "I was in 
 
16 ECONOMY. 
 
 Vienna twenty days ago." " Ha ! is it possible ? " 
 returns a friend ; '' you have been absent so short 
 a while, that I thought you had only gone to the 
 Springs, or to Niagara Falls ! " 
 
 If our hero has labored for the reputation of being 
 ^ rapid traveller, '' verily he has his reward." But I 
 again ask. What is the result of all this ? How 
 much more does that man know than when he set 
 out on his travels 1 Has the mind been enriched, or 
 the heart expanded ? No ! the humble pedestrian 
 who has spent a week among the " highways and 
 by-ways " of his own immediate neighbourhood has 
 done more for the education of both than has been 
 accomplished by the European traveller, with all his 
 expense of time and money. 
 
 The habit of travelling rapidly over the superficies 
 of things is as common in the literary as in the nat- 
 ural world. It is fostered by the literary economy 
 of the present day. It appears almost a necessary 
 and unavoidable evil. The multiplicity of books is 
 so great, and the rate of increase so rapid, that it is 
 impossible for the most diligent reader to keep pace 
 with them. To do so, he who reads 7nust run ; and, 
 finding it impossible to run fast enough on the com- 
 mon roads, he patronizes the literary railroads, (that 
 is, the Reviews,) and by their help he is enabled to 
 run over the whole world of letters in an amazingly 
 short space of time. As to the benefit received from 
 his travels, it is about equal to that received by the 
 European tourist who travels over the whole Con- 
 tinent by steam in ten days. He knows the titles 
 
ECONOMY. 17 
 
 of all the books that are published, and can tell 
 the names of one half their authors ; and that is 
 about all. The traveller on the by-ways of litera- 
 ture, the retired villager, who peruses and reperuses 
 a hundred times his well-thumbed library of fifty vol- 
 umes, receives infinitely more real benefit therefrom. 
 
 Book-making is now-a-days a trade, which, being 
 a very profitable one, is followed by a multitude who 
 have no natural talents for the business. Thus the 
 manufacture has increased to an enormous extent, 
 while the products have proportionately decreased in 
 value. Ideas are scarce, but books are plentiful. 
 An author commences with a thought^ {sometimes^) 
 and, by dint of hard work, he spreads it out over the 
 surface of two hundred pages ; like the gold-beater, 
 who commences with an ounce of gold, and, by dint 
 of hammering, extends it to the length of a mile. 
 
 The author does the whole work, and leaves noth- 
 ing for the reader to do. He examines and explains 
 his idea in all its possible phases ; and when he is 
 done, there is not a new position in which the reader 
 can view it, — there is not a new application which 
 he can make of it. Works of this kind are the most 
 profitless of all. To the mind they are truly labor- 
 saving machines. But as the well-being of the body 
 is preserved by exercise, so also is the health of the 
 mind secured by action. Labor produces strength ; 
 one cannot exist without the other. The mind per- 
 ceives and thinks only through material organs. It 
 acts by them and upon them. Work, therefore, is as 
 necessary to the mind as to the body ; and the system 
 2* 
 
18 ECONOMY. 
 
 of labor-saving book-making is, intellectually and 
 morallyj the worst economy in the world. A more 
 lavish expenditure of ideas, and a greater saving of 
 ink and paper, would be a decided improvement. As 
 it is, the reader finds every thing done to his hand ; 
 nothing is required of him. The road is too smooth ; 
 and in travelling over it, be his mind never so active, 
 it is almost infallibly lulled to sleep. 
 
 It is a true principle, that whatever is most easily 
 obtained is least valued ; and this is true of mental 
 as of physical acquisitions. Books are so numerous 
 at the present day, that, were they as perfect as 
 could be desired, still they would be esteemed but 
 lightly, compared with the value set upon them be- 
 fore the invention of types and printing-presses. 
 How much less, then, should they be valued, when 
 they have not only increased so immensely in quan- 
 tity, but deteriorated so greatly in quality ! 
 
 From these two causes, books receive, individual- 
 ly ^ but little consideration in our day. In the ag- 
 gregate^ they are much sought after, read indiscrim- 
 inately, and then thrown aside for newer publica- 
 tions, which, in their turn, are as lightly glanced 
 over, and as quickly forgotten. It is but one la- 
 mentable result of the lethargic state of mind thus 
 induced, that a proper consideration is seldom be- 
 stowed upon the books which most deserve it. 
 
 The only really valuable books are those which 
 are suggestive ; those in which the reader is expect- 
 ed to accompany the author on his rugged road, and 
 keep up with him by his own labor. Such a writer 
 
ECONOMY. 19 
 
 receives but little encouragement ; he demands too 
 much exertion of his followers. That author is pre- 
 ferred who takes his indolent admirers upon his back, 
 and transports them from beginning to end without 
 labor to themselves. They are accustomed to such a 
 conveyance ; their limbs have become enervated by 
 such indulgence ; they cannot go alone. As to the 
 benefit obtained by such a journey, it is a question if 
 any is really received. 
 
 I like not a book over which one can travel 
 from beginning to end at a railroad pace. I like a 
 book which is continually opening new sources of 
 thought, and inviting me to lay it down and prose- 
 cute the search on my own account. No one is so 
 patient as an author. He will stop loheii I please, 
 and as long as I please ; never scolds me for tardi- 
 ness when I come back, and is always ready to start 
 again when I give the word. After such an excur- 
 sion, I return to him with pleasure, and find my 
 strength renewed for the journey. Again and again 
 I request my friend to stop, while I make a short 
 trip up this rugged ravine, or down that beautiful 
 valley. 
 
 Not unfrequently I step into the balloon-car of 
 metaphysics, and sojourn for a while among the 
 clouds ; and anon I descend deep into the mines of 
 industrial economy and national wealth. But al- 
 ways, on my return, I find my friend quietly waiting 
 for me. He never chides me for these absences ; 
 for he himself points the way to these minor jour- 
 neys, and urges me to accomplish them by my own 
 
20 ECONOMY. 
 
 unassisted labor. I reap a rich reward, and, so far 
 from being fatigued by my solitary rambles, I am 
 able the more vigorously to prosecute the remainder 
 of my journey on the great route. 
 
 Thus, when the goal is finally attained, and I 
 look back upon the ground passed over, I find that 
 the main line of travel is but the connecting trunk 
 of a thousand ramifications. It is as if the episodes 
 exceeded the chief poem itself. 
 
 The friend who accompanied me on that route is 
 dear to my heart. He did not carry me in his arms, 
 — he did better, — he taught me to go alone ; he 
 taught me to think for myself. I delight, again and 
 again, to travel with him over the same ground ; and 
 I continually find something new to arrest my atten- 
 tion and excite my admiration. Were the margin of 
 his book wide enough, and could I write thereon all 
 the thoughts suggested by its perusal, ere I had done 
 with it, the work would be trebled in size, — the 
 notes would far exceed the text in quantity. The 
 style of that author may be uncouth, affected, even 
 clumsy ; these are small faults. They are but as 
 clouds to the sun. I only the more admire the bril- 
 liant genius which, through all such petty obstruc- 
 tions, lights up my mind, as the sun illumines the 
 earth, even on the darkest day. 
 
 Style is much, but thought is more. Yet, as in 
 the social world the dress is often more thought of 
 than the man, so in the world of letters words are 
 often more valued than ideas. 
 
 The elegant coat is frequently the passport to 
 
ECONOMY. 21 
 
 good society ; the heart that beats beneath is seldom 
 examined into. The flatterer is a favorite ; while 
 the plain-spoken man of truth has fewer admirer s^ 
 though perhaps vcioxQ friends. 
 
 Upon the same principle, a book often sells well 
 because of its elegant language, because it can be 
 read easily and without thought, or because the au- 
 thor falls in with the popular feelings of the day, and 
 flatters the habits and prejudices of the majority of 
 his readers ; while the writer, who, without regard to 
 expediency, boldly utters his true thoughts and feel- 
 ings, without fear or favor, frequently receives but 
 little consideration from the public in general. The 
 former is caressed and rewarded by the many ; the 
 latter is appreciated only by the few. Yet Heaven 
 is just, and verily they both ''have their reward." 
 The one receives it from his own conscience, and 
 from the hearts of his friends ; the other from the 
 pockets of his admirers. 
 
 One of the most remarkable features in the litera- 
 ry economy of the present day is the multitude of 
 magazines and mammoth newspapers with which 
 the reading public is overwhelmed. As to the latter, 
 they have increased to such an extent, that they have 
 become a pestilence in the land. They are so nu- 
 merous, so large, and so frequently published, that 
 the editors are sorely puzzled to find respectable 
 matter to fill them. Sufficient good matter, suffi- 
 ciently neio, could hardly be found in the whole 
 world, and the cost of obtaining it would be too 
 great to be borne by such cheap publications. Con- 
 
22 ECONOMY. 
 
 sequently, they are filled with whatever comes most 
 easily to hand, — generally the poorest sort of trash, 
 such as love-stories of every imaginable kind, sick- 
 ly sentimentalities, and miserable doggerel. Here 
 and there really good articles are found ; but we are 
 obliged to wade through such seas of rubbish to get 
 at them, that the labor and time thus spent are alto- 
 gether disproportionate to the reward obtained. 
 
 The effect of these publications is almost wholly 
 injurious. Many who could not think of subscrib- 
 ing three dollars a year to some really useful work, 
 or of spending the same amount in purchasing 
 truly valuable books, will, nearly every week, waste 
 six cents upon these worthless productions. They 
 do not feel the loss of so small a sum, and never stop 
 to calculate how much they thus spend in the course 
 of a year. In this manner these papers obtain an 
 immense circulation. 
 
 The evil effect is twofold. Many buy because 
 the paper is cheap ^ and afterward, astoimded at the 
 magnitude of the undertaking, never have the cour- 
 age to attempt the reading of it. They have their 
 pockets picked, — but that is a slight matter. It is 
 bad economy to purchase that of which you make no 
 use ; it is worse economy, in this instance, to use the 
 article than it is to purchase it. He who constantly 
 reads one or two of these weekly publications, and 
 who reads scarcely any thing else, is in imminent dan- 
 ger of becoming weakly himself. He is indulging in 
 the worst kind of literary dissipation. The mind 
 must be supplied with wholesome food, or a mental 
 
ECONOMY. 23 
 
 dyspepsia will follow. A morbid appetite is created 
 which is insatiable. It urges him on. He reads 
 without relish and without nutrition, yet read he 
 must. Good books become distasteful to him. His 
 mind is enfeebled. Like the body, it must not only 
 be supplied with proper food, but it must labor for it. 
 
 Now these mammoth papers require no labor in 
 the perusal, except of the arms in holding them, and 
 of the eyes in scanning their immense surfaces. If 
 any ideas are obtained, it is without exertion of 
 the mind. That is overladen with a quantity of 
 trash, which, in its weak state, it is wholly incapable 
 of digesting, and which, if digested, would yield but 
 the smallest modicum of nourishment. 
 
 The mammoth newspaper is literally a literary 
 omnibus ; for such a variety of useless litter was 
 never before huddled into the same space. 
 
 If, then, they are really of so little value, why are 
 these worthless publications so well patronized by 
 the public ? The most obvious reason is, they are 
 so cheap that it is deemed good economy to buy 
 them. On the same principle, many persons buy 
 articles at auction, not because they have any use 
 for them, but because they are knocked off so low. 
 In both cases purchasers '' pay too dear for their 
 whistle." 
 
 Intimately connected with these mammoth week- 
 lies is the daily penny press. Curiosity was the 
 besetting sin of mother Eve, and her descendants 
 appear to be nowise lacking therein. The love of 
 news is inherent in human nature. We read, that, 
 
24 ECONOMY. 
 
 when Paul was at Athens, " all the Athenians and 
 strangers which were there spent their time in noth- 
 ing else but either to tell or to hear some neiv thing." 
 Nearly two thousand years have passed since then ; 
 but human nature has not changed. To tell or to 
 hear some new thing is quite as powerful a passion 
 among the Yankees of the nineteenth century as 
 with the Athenians in the time of Paul. Doubtless, 
 God implanted it in us for good purposes ; but man 
 has, in all ages, striven hard to thwart the intentions 
 of Providence. 
 
 In no country or age has this passion been more 
 abused than in our own country at the present day. 
 It has always been the fruitful cause of gossip and 
 slander in a small way, in petty village circles, and 
 in fashionable city coteries ; but it required the in- 
 vention of printing and of the steam-engine, and the 
 liberty of the press, to carry the system to the high 
 pitch of perfection to which it has attained in this 
 country. It really does seem as if the art of gossip 
 could be no more improved. But no one can look 
 into futurity ; no one can say what effect will be 
 produced, when the principles of electricity, electro- 
 magnetism, and animal magnetism are once brought 
 into subjection, and rendered willing slaves to this 
 all-absorbing passion. By means of the latter, we 
 may sit by our firesides and learn at any one time 
 what may be then happening at any spot on the 
 earth's surface, or even in its most hidden recesses. 
 By the two former principles, when used in telegraph- 
 ing, we may literally " put a girdle round about the 
 
ECONOMY. 25 
 
 earth in forty minutes." So let us not boast too 
 loudly of the facilities which we at present enjoy for 
 gossiping on a large scale. We shall be entirely out- 
 done by our great-grandchildren. Let us be mod- 
 est, or there will be such a laugh raised at our ex- 
 pense, by our news-loving descendants, as will go 
 nigh to wake us from our graves. 
 
 But let us fold the wings of imagination and come 
 down to sober reality. The penny papers of the 
 present day, — What are their objects ? What efforts 
 are made to attain those objects ? What is the foun- 
 dation of their success ? As a whole, are they good 
 or evil in their effects ? And, finally, ought they to 
 be encouraged ? 
 
 As to the objects aimed at by the proprietors of 
 these papers, there can be no mistake on that point. 
 They are, first, to make money ; secondly, to make 
 more money ; and, thirdly, to make most money ; and 
 so on to the end of the chapter. There is no other 
 motive. 
 
 And every thing is sacrificed in order to attain this 
 end. Misery and crime are the daily food served 
 out to the readers of the penny paper. Horrid mur- 
 ders are greedily seized upon, and crimes which should 
 never be mentioned out of the court-house or the 
 prison are given forth, with all their disgusting de- 
 tails, to be read by hundreds and thousands of in- 
 nocent children, who have never before dreamed that 
 it could enter into the heart of man to commit such 
 deeds. Police reports are daily made, in which ig- 
 norance and helplessness are ridiculed, and vice and 
 3 
 
26 ECONOMY. 
 
 wretchedness are shown up as things to be laughed at. 
 Trials of persons charged with the most revolting 
 crimes are seized upon with avidity, and served up 
 in the most piquant manner to the lovers of the hor- 
 rible. The sanctity of private life is invaded, and in- 
 nocent individuals, who are so unfortunate as to be 
 connected with the criminal by ties of blood or mar- 
 riage, are dragged before the public, and made to un- 
 dergo a double torture. 
 
 These papers are sold by newsmen who must have 
 some astounding piece of intelligence to announce 
 each day. The sale of the papers depends upon 
 this ; and so a " horrible murder," or a ^' dreadful 
 case of depravity," is daily furnished or manufac- 
 tured to answer this purpose. Some piece of news 
 must, at all events, be blazoned forth every day. 
 One day, it is " News from the Steamer President," 
 which turns out to be an announcement that " no 
 further intelligence has been received from this ill- 
 fated vessel." Another day, it is the " Trial of Mc- 
 Leod," which, upon examination, proves to be a 
 *' Postponement of the trial until next week." The 
 day after, we are startled with the announcement, 
 that '' Mr. Smith has suddenly disappeared, and it 
 is supposed he has been murdered, as he had a large 
 sum of money about him at the time." In the af- 
 ternoon, an extra is issued, to inform the anxious 
 public that " Mr. Smith has been discovered, safe 
 and sound, having ridden out to his farm without in- 
 forming his family, and having been detained there 
 all night by a storm." 
 
ECONOMY. 27 
 
 The paper is filled with such trash as this. If any 
 good things are admitted, they are in extremely small 
 quantities. If any really worthy subject is intro- 
 duced, it is not with the intention of advancing the 
 cause of truth ; it is presented in that view which 
 will be most likely to attract attention, and conduce 
 to a large sale of that day's paper. It is treat- 
 ed of in a single article, in a single paper. It must 
 not be dwelt upon ; it would be old matter the next 
 day. Is there any subject of great public interest 
 upon which you wish to be informed ? You will 
 there find but a hint of it, — just enough to make a 
 news paragraph ; the paper is too small to contain 
 more. You must resort to some larger and better- 
 conducted journal for the information which you re- 
 quire. You need not wait till to-morrow in the 
 hope that your penny paper will furnish it. The 
 penny paper never looks hack. 
 
 It looks forward, though ; it is fond of predictions. 
 It delights, for instance, in anticipations of war ; per- 
 ad venture it would delight in war itself. Such a 
 lamentable event would furnish paragraphs without 
 number. Bloody victories and disastrous defeats 
 would glare from every page in large capitals. War 
 would prove a mine of wealth to the penny papers. 
 When the political horizon is unclouded, when the 
 more respectable and considerate journals speak of 
 nothing but peace, if you would believe the penny 
 press, the sky is black with the impending storm, 
 and they stigmatize their quiet editorial brethren as 
 false prophets, '^ crying. Peace, peace, when there is 
 
28 ECONOMY. 
 
 no peace." People, and above all people, editors, are 
 accustomed to prophesy loudly that which they wish 
 to come to pass. 
 
 If the penny papers are all that I have declared 
 them to be, why are they so largely patronized ? 
 What is the foundation of their success ? 
 
 The answer is plain. The penny paper is cheap, — 
 curiosity is strong, and here is an opportunity to grat- 
 ify it economically. Then there is the love of the 
 awful and the horrible, a feeling common to nearly 
 all of us, and which it is the business of the penny 
 paper to pamper and gratify. The same passion 
 which delights in the " Mysteries of Udolpho," or 
 '' The Monk," delights also in the stories of blood 
 and murder which daily appear in the columns of 
 the penny paper. The public taste is depraved and 
 sickly. Does the penny paper attempt to rectify it ? 
 O, no ! that would endanger the craft. The low, the 
 fearful, the terrible, must be served up each day. 
 The mind of the reader craves this stimulus as the 
 drunkard craves his drink. A moral intoxication en- 
 sues, and it is the business of the penny paper to see 
 that the appetite abates not. It is fostered by every 
 possible means, until habit has done its work, and 
 the victim has neither the will nor the power to break 
 through the meshes in which he has become entan- 
 gled. I have read of a lady (whose daily spiritual food 
 was gathered from penny papers) who deemed herself 
 sick, and sent for a doctor, because, for the week pre- 
 vious, she " had not relished her miii^dersy Poor 
 lady ! she was unconsciously, and in spite of herself, 
 
ECONOMY. 29 
 
 approaching a state of mental and moral health. If 
 this were sickness, it is to be hoped that she never 
 recovered. Would that there were many more like 
 her ! Would that we all might lose our " relish for 
 murders " ! The penny paper would then reform or 
 die. Not long since, a well-meaning friend, who is 
 somewhat infected with this mania for the horrible, 
 actually sent me a paper with the recommendation 
 that it contained " a grand lot of murder s.^^ 
 
 At times, certain crimes seem to become, as it 
 were, epidemic diseases in the land. Who does not 
 remember the startling rapidity with, which the ac- 
 counts of fearful and horrible murders rushed in upon 
 us during the autumn and winter of 1840 ? Those 
 were glorious times for the penny papers. They 
 made money ; and — by their disgustingly minute 
 reports of horrible scenes — / solemnly believe they 
 made murderers. There is a sympathy in crime, 
 as in every other manifestation of powerful action, in 
 the human mind and heart. And thus it is that 
 criminals increase in proportion to the publicity given 
 to crime. 
 
 " Vice is a monster of such frightful mien, 
 As, to be hated, needs but to be seen ; 
 Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
 We first endure, then pity, then embrace." 
 
 The faults of the penny paper have been dwelt 
 
 upon. Their virtues should likewise be pointed out ,• 
 
 but, after the most diligent search, none have been 
 
 discovered ; unless, indeed, it be deemed one, that 
 3* 
 
30 ECONOMY. 
 
 they afford a very cheap vehicle by which quackery 
 of all sorts may ride into public favor. 
 
 I arrive, then, at the conclusion, that penny pa- 
 pers, as at present conducted, are an almost unmit- 
 igated evil. And with them, in the same category, I 
 would place all papers, whether penny or two-penny, 
 which are chiefly hawked about by newsmen, in- 
 stead of being regularly subscribed for. There may 
 be those which deserve to be excepted from this 
 sweeping censure. If any such exist, they are of 
 course excepted. I can see no reason why all may 
 not be so conducted as to be wholly unexception- 
 able. 
 
 A cent apiece daily from sixteen thousand men 
 amounts to fifty thousand dollars in the course of a 
 year, three fourths of which are returned to the 
 contributors in the shape of deadly poison, and the 
 other fourth remains in the pockets of those patriotic 
 and disinterested individuals, the editors and pub- 
 lishers. This is miserable economy in those who 
 patronize these public nuisances, which pick the 
 pockets of purchasers, and demoralize the hearts of 
 readers. 
 
 " What, then ! " it may be asked ; " would you 
 abolish newspapers ? We receive the earliest and 
 cheapest news by these publications which you so 
 much condemn. We know that their moral tone is 
 not very good ; we know that they contain much 
 exceptionable matter ; but the neios, the neivs, how 
 shall we obtain that so readily and cheaply? '' 
 
 To all which I would reply by asking. Is it abso- 
 
ECONOMY. 31 
 
 lately necessary to your comfort, welfare, and happi- 
 ness, that your families should be informed of every 
 bloody fight, rape, robbery, or murder, in the shortest 
 possible space of time after the crime is committed ? 
 Is it necessary that they should be informed at all of 
 these events ? You shudder at the barbarity of the 
 Spaniards, who teach their children to delight in 
 bloody bull-fights ; why should you not shrink from 
 instilling into your sons and daughters a love for the 
 recital of sanguinary tragedies of a far deeper die ? 
 They will become quite sufficiently enlightened up- 
 on the subject of crimes, by knowing those which 
 are perpetrated in your own immediate neighbour- 
 hood, — do not rake the whole earth for a larger sup- 
 ply of poisons with which to pollute their young 
 minds and hearts. 
 
 As to the commercial news, to obtain which you 
 might be excused in making some haste, it is well 
 known that no merchant relies on the penny paper 
 for information. Besides which, every man who 
 pleases has access to some reading-room, where he 
 can always find credible and respectable journals to 
 consult. 
 
 The penny paper is, therefore, wholly useless to 
 the merchant, and worse than utterly worthless to 
 the general reader. 
 
 How would Sir William Berkeley hold up his 
 hands in astonishment and horror, could he step 
 from his grave and witness the crying abuses of the 
 press of the present day ! When governor of Yir- 
 ginia, in 1671, he wrote thus to the Lords Commis- 
 
32 ECONOMY. 
 
 sioners : — "I thank God there are no free schools nor 
 PRINTING, and I hope we shall not have them these 
 hundred years ; for learning has brought disobedience 
 and heresy and sects into the world, and printing has 
 divulged them, and libels against the best govern- 
 ment. God keep us from both ! " 
 
 Hon. Henry A. Wise, about two years since, in the 
 House of Representatives, publicly thanked God 
 that not a single newspaper 'was printed within his 
 district. He must have had in view such papers as 
 I have been censuring ; otherwise it is inconceivable 
 that he could have made such a speech. 
 
 There is no necessity for abolishing newspapers ; 
 only improve them. " And how," it may be asked, 
 "is this to be done?" Simply thus: — Patronize 
 only those papers which are honest and thorough, 
 and which could not soil the mind of the purest maid- 
 en who might peruse them. Papers can be found 
 which have attained or nearly approached this stand- 
 ard. Encourage them, and them only. Many such 
 have ceased to exist, or have fallen into bad hands, 
 merely because of the want of support. Subscribe 
 only to those papers which " noble ends by noble 
 means pursue." 
 
 Literary travelling and book-making, mammoth 
 weeklies and penny dailies, have been viewed in 
 turn. All these exert a controlling influence on our 
 advancement in art, science, wealth, and happiness. 
 They are a part of the education of the people. 
 And, as a whole, it must be admitted that their ad- 
 vantages immeasurably exceed their disadvantages. 
 
ECONOMY. 33 
 
 Still, as a people, we are far from perfect. That our 
 political economy needs amending is evident from 
 the fact, that, in a time of peace, our national and 
 state governments are deeply in debt, and some of the 
 latter almost irretrievably so. That our social and 
 personal economy is not all that it should be is made 
 plain by the near approach to a general bankruptcy 
 in purse and morals which prevails over the greater 
 portion of the Union. A French lady writes thus 
 to her friend in Paris : — '' There have been so many 
 failures and frauds, explosions of fortune and charac- 
 ter, vicissitudes of condition, abscondings, elope- 
 ments, family misfortunes and feuds, that I shall 
 scarcely venture to inquire about any one when I go 
 back." Could not an American, who had been ab- 
 sent seven years, write thus, with truth, to his 
 friends in the United States? 
 
 We are too fond of novelty. True, we have ad- 
 vanced rapidly ; we have made many improvements ; 
 but we are such an ambitious, scheming, go-ahead 
 people, that we never stop to complete one under- 
 taking before we commence another. We have " too 
 many irons in the fire at once." Our nation may 
 be personified as a gigantic '' Jack-at-all-trades," who 
 is " good at none." Would it not be better for 
 us to pause awhile, and complete and perfect the un- 
 dertakings upon which we are now engaged, before 
 attempting the execution of any new schemes ? We 
 are the most productive people on the face of the 
 earth ; but we are far from being truly econmnical. 
 
 But, with all our improvements, although we ran- 
 
34 ECONOMY. 
 
 sack land and sea for opportunities to exercise our in- 
 ventive talents and our penny economy, there yet re- 
 mains, among many others, one subject which is too 
 much neglected, — a subject in which the truly 
 economical may find a large scope for the exercise of 
 their saving and managing propensities, and upon 
 which depend not only our wealth, prosperity, and 
 happiness, but our very existence as a nation. I re- 
 fer to our common schools, to the education of the 
 lohole people. 
 
 Among the many means employed for national ad- 
 vancement, this is by far the most effective. In the 
 whole range of important subjects, this is, to us, the 
 most important. A democratic people cannot afford 
 to be an ignorant people. A liberal government and 
 a liberal education of the many must go hand in 
 hand. The former cannot long exist without the 
 latter ; the latter ivill not long exist without the 
 former. 
 
 It has been said, " The price of liberty is eternal 
 vigilance." Very true ; but the vigilance of the igno- 
 rant will never suffice for the preservation of liberty. 
 Let us say, rather, the price of liberty is the school- 
 rnustefs salary. Education must come first ; vigi- 
 lance will then follow as a matter of course, and to 
 some purpose. 
 
 We have already done much ; our common schools 
 are the glory of the republic, especially so of New 
 England, and still more so of some particular States 
 of New England ; but they are still far behind the 
 wants of the people. Under our system of govern- 
 
ECONOMY. 35 
 
 mentj when a man becomes a citizen, he is endowed, 
 for himself and his children, for ever, with the right 
 of suffrage, — with the right, virtually, of taking part 
 in the government of the country. In order to fill 
 this high office properly, and with safety to the com- 
 monwealth, he should be educated, well educated, not 
 only in the common branches of reading, writing, 
 and arithmetic, but in morals, and in the general 
 principles of common and constitutional law. Re- 
 ligious education also should be attended to, and for 
 this end Sunday Schools should be encouraged. 
 
 The right of suffrage is possessed by the whole 
 people ; they can never be deprived of it ; — we 
 ought to thank God that they cannot ; it is not de- 
 sirable that they should be. For this fact, when 
 rightly viewed, in all its possible and probable con- 
 sequences, by the property-holding portion of socie- 
 ty, will lead them to see the absolute necessity that 
 exists for the education of the whole community ; 
 and thus will knowledge and the fruits of knowl- 
 edge be secured to all. 
 
 Not a single person who has the capacity to learn 
 should be allowed to grow up in ignorance. No 
 parent should be permitted to bring up his children 
 thus. He has no moral right, and he should have 
 no legal right, to do so. We should go out into the 
 " highways and hedges " of society, and " compel " 
 all to come in and partake of the feast prepared for 
 them by the bounty of the public. 
 
 When men enter into the social compact, they 
 surrender some of their natural rights, in order to 
 
36 ECONOMY. 
 
 secure to themselves the enjoyment of others of far 
 greater value, such as the protection of life and prop- 
 erty, and the exercise of just so much liberty as is 
 consistent with the happiness of the rest of the com- 
 munity. Now it is not consistent with the happi- 
 ness and welfare of the community, that men should 
 be allowed to deprive their children of the blessings 
 of a good education ; and they should be obliged by 
 law to surrender their right to commit such a crime. 
 There is no other safe course to be pursued in a/ree, 
 democratic republic. 
 
 We should have a sufficient number of primary 
 and secondary schools to accommodate every child 
 in the country, and every child should be obliged to 
 attend school when circumstances permit. High 
 schools ought to be established, sufficiently numer- 
 ous to educate all who might wish to attend them ; 
 and they should equal, if not excel, the best private 
 schools. All this should be done at the public ex- 
 pense. This course is imperiously demanded by an 
 enlightened self-interest, by a well-directed love of 
 national glory, by the necessity of the case, by true 
 economy. 
 
 An ignorant nation is not fit to be free, does not 
 deserve to be free, and, moreover, never can be 
 free. A glance at the history and present condition 
 of the Spanish American states will establish the 
 truth of this assertion beyond a doubt. All the 
 revolutions and counter-revolutions in which those 
 unhappy countries abound will efiect nothing tow- 
 ards their political freedom, unless the rising gen- 
 
ECONOMY. 37 
 
 eration be better educated than the present. What 
 they need is not so much political emancipation, as 
 emancipation from the thraldom of ignorance. And 
 until this shall have taken place, peace, happiness, 
 and prosperity will never dwell in those ill-fated 
 lands. They will be governed by a succession of 
 tyrants. No matter how democratic a revolution 
 may be in its origin, the ignorance of the mass of 
 the victors will compel them to invest their chief 
 with dictatorial powers, which he will soon use for 
 the oppression of the people. He will govern until 
 his tyranny can be borne no longer, when he will be 
 overthrown by another revolution, the leader of 
 which will in his turn become a tyrant ; and so on 
 for ever, unless the education of the people is pro- 
 vided for, or unless some chief, more powerful and 
 more popular than his predecessors, should establish 
 an hereditary monarchy, with a titled nobility and a 
 standing army which would rally around the throne, 
 and thus preserve order by force. 
 
 Let us take warning from the distracted state of 
 our sister republics on the continent of America. 
 Let us educate the whole people. Let us do this, 
 in justice to the memory of our glorious ancestors, 
 in justice to ourselves, in justice to posterity, that 
 perpetual heir to the consequences of our virtues and 
 our vices, which is destined to cover the broad con- 
 tinent, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and to count 
 its hundreds of millions. 
 4 
 
THE WAY.* 
 
 " And an highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called. 
 The way of holiness ; the unclean shall not pass over it ; but it 
 shall be for those : the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err 
 therein." — Isaiah xxxv. 8. 
 
 It is supposed, that, when he uttered these words, 
 the inspired man spoke prophetically of the Gospel 
 of Christ and of his glorious kingdom. 
 
 What is this highway, which shall be called the 
 way of holiness ? Who are the chosen guides to 
 conduct the lost sheep to this glorious path, which 
 leadeth unto the pleasant meadows and the living 
 waters of heaven ? Are they Catholic, or Protes- 
 tant ; Calvinist, or Lutheran ; Unitarian, or Trinita- 
 rian ? Has sect any thing to do with it ? Has 
 any one denomination taken out a patent right to 
 carry passengers over this road, and to exclude from 
 the benefits thereof all who will not travel in its 
 vehicles ? Was heaven closed to the Gentiles before 
 the Christian dispensation ? Is it even now eternally 
 sealed to the countless millions who have never heard 
 the name of Jesus ? 
 
 * A Lecture read before the South Parish Society for Mutual Im- 
 provement, in 1842. 
 
THE WAY. 39 
 
 God made man: God is good: therefore, God 
 made man to be happy. God is all- wise : God is all- 
 powerful : he fails not in adapting means to ends : 
 therefore, man will be, must be, happy. Not one 
 man ; not one class of men ; not one sect of Chris- 
 tians ; not even all Christendom, exclusively ; but 
 all heathendom also, and all mankind. For all has 
 God provided a broad highway to heaven. And so 
 plain is it, so easily found, that even the wayfaring 
 man, though a fool, though a pagan, though a Ma- 
 hometan, shall not err therein. 
 
 What is this highway, this way of holiness, which 
 is so plain to all ? 
 
 God has never left himself without a witness in 
 the hearts of men, from the creation of the world 
 even unto the present day. He has implanted in us 
 the two great sentiments of veneration and benevo- 
 lence, upon which is founded all true 7^eligion, — re- 
 gard and love for the Good, the Beautiful, the Sub- 
 lime, — in fine, the perception and adoration of a Dei- 
 ty ; and love, pity, and charity for our fellow-be- 
 ings. Thus said our Saviour : — " Thou shalt love 
 the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all 
 thy soul, and with all thy mind ; this is the first and 
 great commandment ; and the second is like unto it, 
 Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." He but 
 uttered that which already existed in the hearts of 
 all, — dimly comprehended, perhaps, but still there. 
 These two commandments are stamped indelibly 
 upon the spiritual constitution of every man. 
 Though obscured by the clouds of ignorance, 
 
40 THE WAY. 
 
 though darkened by the mists of superstition and 
 priestcraft, they are more or less intelligible to all, 
 and more or less obeyed by all. Less obeyed, how- 
 ever, than intelligible. So deeply graven are they in 
 human nature, that there is not to be found on record 
 a well-authenticated instance of a nation which has 
 not recognized them, however faintly ,• and it may 
 well be doubted if there ever existed a single indi- 
 vidual from the tablets of whose heart they have 
 been utterly obliterated. 
 
 This, then, is the great highway, — love to God, and 
 love to man. We are told that the second is like unto 
 the first. Where the first is obscured, where God is 
 shown to the benighted heathen painted by their 
 priests in such hideous colors that only fear and dis- 
 gust are excited, instead of love, then is the second 
 all-sufficient for their salvation. Love, kindness, 
 meekness, charity to their fellow-men, will never fail 
 to conduct their possessors to happiness and heaven, 
 whether they be disciples of Confucius, of Mahomet, 
 or of Christ. He who can truly say to the '' angel " 
 with ''the book of gold," — "Write me as one who 
 loves his fellow-men," — fulfils both commandments, 
 whether he be nominally a worshipper of Jove or 
 Jehovah. Be his ideas of the eternal, all-pervading 
 Spirit of the Universe howsoever crude, erroneous, 
 and dim, — if he do but recognize and reverence the 
 true, the pure, the noble, the lofty, in man, he is a 
 true worshipper of God, — he sees God in man ; and 
 therein he errs not, for '' God made man in his own 
 image " ; and though sin and suffering have done 
 
THE WAY. 41 
 
 their utmost, they have never been able wholly to 
 destroy the likeness. What God hath joined togeth- 
 er (the animal and the godlike), all the powers of 
 darkness have not been able to sunder. 
 
 No system of idolatry has ever existed on earth 
 which has not been animated by some portion (how- 
 ever small) of the spirit of true religion. Whether 
 this originated in the innate moral constitution of 
 man, or from dim recollections of a former revelation 
 which God had made to the fathers of the human 
 race, is a question not easily to be determined ; and, 
 indeed, is not important. For, if the latter supposi- 
 tion be true, then the hearts of the children must 
 have been fitted to receive and perpetuate the truths 
 communicated to the fathers. The voice of God 
 which spoke to our first parents in the garden must 
 have found in the hearts of their descendants a re- 
 sponsive echo, which has not died away even yet. It 
 is the voice of God within, and, though still and 
 small, it yet speaks to the deafest ear among the 
 most degraded heathen, directing to the broad high- 
 way to heaven, which is ever open unto all. 
 
 But if, on the other hand, religion springs sponta- 
 neous in the human heart, then therein also must we 
 recognize the hand of God stretched out for the sal- 
 vation of even the meanest of the human family. 
 In either case, it is certain that God has neither left 
 men to consummate their own destruction, nor pre- 
 determined them to perdition. 
 
 Thus in no age, in no clime, under no form of re- 
 ligion, has man been left to grope his way in utter 
 4* 
 
42 THE WAY. 
 
 darkness. In the heart of every one has God kept 
 aUve a light to iUumine the path ; and the high- 
 way to heaven has always been open. " Faith and 
 works" have been demanded, not only of the Chris- 
 tian, but of the heathen ; and all have been meas- 
 urably able to render them; — faith in the higher 
 part of man's nature, and benevolence, pity, and 
 charity for his faults, his sufferings, and his crimes. 
 " For not the hearers of the law are just before 
 God, but the doers of the law shall be justified. 
 For when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do 
 by nature the things contained in the law, these, 
 having not the law, are a law unto themselves: 
 which show the work of the law written in their 
 hearts, their conscience also bearing witness, and 
 their thoughts the mean while accusing or else ex- 
 cusing one another."* 
 
 But here many questions arise which it is difficult, 
 nay, almost impossible, to answer. If God had pre- 
 viously provided ways and means for the salvation 
 of mankind, whence the necessity for the missions of 
 Moses and the prophets, or for the still higher and 
 holier niission of Jesus? Or, if the necessity of 
 these be admitted, why were not the truths thus 
 communicated to man spread over the whole earth, 
 and made plain to every inhabitant thereof? Why 
 was their advent so long delayed, and when at last 
 they appeared in all their glory, why were they con- 
 fined to a single nation, as in the case of the He- 
 brew dispensation; and to but a small number of 
 
 * Romans ii. 13 -15. 
 
THE WAY. 43 
 
 nations, as is the case with the Christian dispensa- 
 tion after a lapse of eighteen hundred years ? If a 
 knowledge of the miraculously revealed word of God 
 be absolutely essential and necessary to salvation, 
 why should it be confined to so few, and why should 
 the millions who now live, and the millions who 
 have died, in ignorance, be condemned for that 
 ignorance which has not been of their own seeking 
 or making ? No, no ; God has inscribed on the 
 hearts of all the rudiments of the law which Moses 
 and Christ wrote out in full. 
 
 We are bound to believe that our good God has 
 ordered all things rightly. But although we con- 
 tend that the salvation of the heathen is provided for, 
 yet let us not on that account be led to undervalue 
 the blessings of the Gospel. We cannot be too thank- 
 ful that we have been chosen as the depositaries of 
 its precious truths ; and we cannot be too solicitous 
 to use aright, or too fearful of misusing, the treasure 
 intrusted to us. 
 
 Jesus said, '' I am the way, and the truth, and 
 the life ; no man cometh unto the Father but by 
 me." That is, '' I am come to show you the way 
 to truth and life, and no man cometh unto the 
 Father but by this way." What this way is he has 
 elsewhere declared to be loving God with all our 
 heart, and our neighbours as ourselves. 
 
 For us J then, the Bible is '^ the way " ; or rather, 
 it is the guide which points to "the way" to heav- 
 en. But are its directions, its advice, always giv- 
 en so plainly, that " the wayfaring men, though 
 
44 THE WAY. 
 
 fools," never " err therein " ? / contend that they 
 are^ in all essential points. So does almost every- 
 one. Yet, in reality, how great are the diversities in 
 opinion and doctrine ! 
 
 The Bible is a glorious book. Its truths are reve- 
 lations from God. It is of vital importance to all to 
 whom it has been given. But does it never strike 
 your mind, that it is a pity it were not a little plain- 
 er to the understandings of its readers ? 
 
 It would be a difficult task to enumerate the 
 many different and opposite doctrines which men 
 have in all ages imagined that they discovered in 
 this Book of Truth ; and texts in any quantity have 
 been found therein to support every doctrine, even 
 the wildest. Even at the present day, new doc- 
 trines are continually arising, and new modifications 
 of doctrines are taking place, in all which move- 
 ments support is drawn from the Holy Book. 
 
 Why is this so ? If God had pleased, could he 
 not have made all as plain as the sun makes the 
 earth at noonday ? He would by so doing have 
 quelled for ever all doubt in the minds of his crea- 
 tures. There could have been then but two parties, 
 at most, — the friends and the enemies of God. 
 The former would have formed one perfect church ; 
 there could have been no sects on the face of the 
 earth. The latter (if any could have existed under 
 such circumstances) would have ranged themselves 
 together as one unbroken mass of God-haters. 
 
 If God had pleased, he could have done this ; but 
 he did not see fit so to do, and we are bound to be- 
 lieve that he acted with infinite wisdom. 
 
THE WAY. 45 
 
 But though I arrive at this conckision, yet I love 
 to read God's mind in his creations, spiritual and 
 material. Though I believe that all his works are 
 perfect, that there is an entire adaptation of each to 
 all and all to each ; though I believe that man is fit- 
 ted to the world and the world to man ; though I 
 believe with the poet, that, 
 
 " In spite of man, in erring reason's spite, 
 One thing- is plain, whatever is is right " ; 
 
 yet I love to trace out this general adaptation ; I love 
 to explain away apparent imperfections by reason, if 
 possible. When that fails, I love to fall back upon 
 the ever-enduring support of faith, — faith in the 
 goodness of God ; that never fails me. When rea- 
 son's lamp burns dimly, when the clouds of doubt 
 encompass me, when I am weary with groping my 
 way, and my feet stumble along the dark and un- 
 certain path, if I but invoke the blessed light of 
 faith, the clouds are dissipated, and all is bright 
 again. Bright, — but with a dim and uncertain 
 brightness, like moonlight ; sufficient, indeed, to 
 show me my path, to acquaint me with what lies 
 immediately around me, but vague and deceptive if 
 I attempt to scan the horizon. And herein lies a 
 great truth. For, after all our mental labor and 
 study, man can obtain only partial and uncertain 
 glimpses of his spiritual destiny. This is but the 
 7iight of his existence ; and only when the dawn of 
 another life breaks upon him can he hope to see 
 eternal truth face to face, and gaze upon it with un- 
 dazzled eye. Till then he must be contented to see, 
 
46 THE WAY. 
 
 by the borrowed light of faith, the reflection of the 
 Deity, valuable chiefly in its being an evidence of 
 the existence of the Source of all light. What if it 
 be occasionally eclipsed by earth, we but value it 
 the more highly after it has emerged from its dark 
 shadow. There was a sublime truth in the ancient 
 Hebrew notion, that no man could see God and live. 
 Mortal man cannot comprehend Jehovah. 
 
 And not until his prison wall 
 
 Is left, although unwilling-ly ; 
 Not till his galling fetters fall, 
 
 And leave the long-bound prisoner free ; 
 And not until his quailing eye 
 
 Is strengthened, can his soul embrace 
 The glories of eternal truth, 
 
 And see Jehovah face to face. 
 
 It is a profitable employment of the time, talents, 
 and opportunities which God has given us, to 
 endeavour to prove to our minds, (what faith avers to 
 be true, but which, practically, reason often doubts,) 
 that in the perfection of wisdom has God ordered 
 all things. 
 
 To return. Why has not God revealed himself to 
 us in the Bible so clearly that none could doubt ? 
 Why has he not informed us of our duty and our 
 destiny so distinctly that all men should act and be- 
 lieve alike ? Let us, then, not disdaining the assist- 
 ance of the heavenly lights of faith and revelation, 
 examine this subject by the lamp of reason also. 
 
 One question is often answered by asking another, 
 and the answer to the latter is also the answer to 
 the former. 
 
THE WAY. 47 
 
 Look at the material world, and what do we 
 find ? Is it perfect, according to the imperfect 
 notions of man ? Is he always sufficiently well 
 clothed, fed, and housed to satisfy his ideas of bodi- 
 ly comfort ? Does he suffer nothing from the vicis- 
 situdes of climate, from sickness, or from any of 
 God's creatures that cover the earth, swarm in the 
 air, and fill the waters ? 
 
 We find that man is condemned to physical toil 
 and suffering. Hardship seems to be the condition 
 of his existence. And yet this very hardship is found 
 to be, in reality, the condition of his happiness. 
 Without labor, health could not exist, and the 
 pleasure of rest could not be enjoyed ; without sick- 
 ness, the advantages of health could not be appreciat- 
 ed ; without weakness, strength could not be valued ; 
 in fine, (as we are constituted,) without pain, there 
 could be no pleasure ; without apparent evil, there 
 could be no real good. We are, as it were, most 
 readily instructed by opposites. Evil is apparent 
 only ; for with God nothing can be evil which pro- 
 duces good. Thus we find that the principle of 
 compensation (so called for want of a better term) is 
 all-pervading. Look as closely as we may (and the 
 more closely the better) into the physical constitu- 
 tion of man and the world, and we find that they 
 are perfectly adapted to each other. Let no one de- 
 ny this, and attempt to explain the apparent evils by 
 saying that they are real, and that we were con- 
 demned to suffer under them as a punishment for the 
 sin of our first parents in the Garden j for this, if true, 
 
48 THE WAY. 
 
 would only remove the difficulty a step farther, or 
 involve a charge of injustice against God in punish- 
 ing the children for crimes which they did not com- 
 mit. But it is not true ; for the penalty is not con- 
 fined in its operation to man. The inferior animals 
 sinned not in Eden, yet do not they also suffer from 
 cold and heat, from thirst and hunger, and from tor- 
 ment and destruction by hostile tribes ? Are not 
 their lives spent in labor to sustain themselves and 
 perpetuate their races ? 
 
 Toil and suffering are, therefore, the innate, inhe- 
 rent, and all-pervading conditions of animal existence 
 on earth. 
 
 Leaving the inferior animals, let us observe the 
 operation of the law of toil upon man. Nations 
 which are least subject to it are least advanced in re- 
 ligion, morals, arts, and sciences, and also in individ- 
 ual comfort and national wealth. Witness the in- 
 habitants of tropical countries, where nature furnish- 
 es food almost gratuitously, and where clothing and 
 houses are hardly deemed necessaries of life. 
 
 On the contrary, nations upon whom this law lays 
 its commands more imperatively, whose lot is cast 
 among ungenial climes and sterile soils, whose 
 whole existence is spent in a constant war with the 
 elements, are far more robust in body and mind, 
 purer in morals, and generally farther advanced in 
 arts, sciences, and religion. Witness the inhabitants 
 of the temperate, and even of the frigid zones. 
 
 Thus we find that the law of labor is a blessing, 
 and not a curse j and -from the comparatively misera- 
 
THE WAY. 49 
 
 ble condition of those upon whom this law bears 
 most lightly, we may form some conception of the 
 wretched . state into which the world would be 
 plunged, were mankind entirely exempted from its 
 operation. Look about among your own circle of ac- 
 quaintances, in your own immediate neighbourhood, 
 and tell me who are the happiest, — those who spend 
 their lives in idleness, or those who are compelled 
 by circumstances, or induced by innate vigor of 
 mind, to lead a life of continual activity. " In the 
 sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread," was 
 uttered in kindness, and not in anger. Blessed 
 is the man who has always something to do. 
 
 The laiv of toil is therefore productive of great 
 benefit to man. So also is the laio of suffering. 
 Uninterrupted prosperity hardens the heart. Adver- 
 sity subdues its pride and its passions, and elevates 
 and purifies its higher feelings. A man's own per- 
 sonal suff"erings call forth in himself the virtues of 
 patience and resignation. They separate him from 
 the earthly, and attach him to the spiritual. The 
 night of adversity robs the low earth of its borrowed 
 splendor, but reveals to the soul the countless lights 
 of heaven. In fine, afiiiction leads to reflection, to 
 repentance, to love of God, to true Christianity. 
 
 The sufferings of others awaken in us the tender 
 emotions of pity, benevolence, and love to man. 
 They render us thankful for the blessings which we 
 enjoy, and make us desire to impart them to others. 
 Were there no suff'ering in this world, were the 
 physical and moral constitution of man perfect, ac- 
 5 
 
50 THE WAY. 
 
 cording to our ideas of perfection, the command, 
 '' Love thy neighbour as thyself," would never have 
 been uttered. Its necessity would have been super- 
 seded. There would have been nothing upon which 
 it could act. 
 
 The law of suffering is, therefore, beneficial both 
 to the sufierer and to those around him. In wisdom 
 has God ordered all things. 
 
 Examine still further the physical and mental 
 condition of mankind, and we find, that, as God has 
 made great differences in climate and geographical 
 situation, in societies and nations, thereby creating 
 an infinite variety of situations, to be filled by dif- 
 ferently constituted individuals, so also has he fitted 
 mankind thereto ; and we accordingly see, so innu- 
 merable are the qualities and combinations of qual- 
 ities, both of the body and the mind, among the 
 individuals of the human race, that no two are found 
 to possess exactly the same cast of personal pow- 
 ers and mental characteristics. All situations are 
 thus filled, and generally by those who are nat- 
 urally constituted to occupy them profitably for 
 themselves and mankind. There are the strong for 
 labor, the skilful for art, and the intellectual for sci- 
 ence, with every variety of combination of these 
 three, in all imaginable grades, from the African 
 slave up to Newton. At the same time, we are also 
 endowed with so great a degree of mental and phys- 
 ical flexibility, that we are able to accommodate our- 
 selves easily to almost any situation into which we 
 may be thrown. 
 
THE WAY. 51 
 
 I have endeavoured to show that the laws of toil 
 and suffering are blessings to humanity ; that variety 
 in the world is fitted to variety in mankind ; that all 
 things are suited to man, and man to all things ; in 
 fine, that in wisdom has God created the world and 
 all things therein. Though in our moments of 
 thoughtlessness we may practically deny these posi- 
 tions, yet calm reflection must convince us of their 
 truth. The beauty of creation appears to man, not 
 so much in the perfection of each separate part, as 
 the exact adaptation of all parts to each other, and 
 in the grandeur and perfection of the harmonious 
 whole. Let mortal man (could he be endowed with 
 the requisite power) remove but one stone from this 
 glorious arch, in the vain hope of improving it, and 
 he would be awakened from his foolish day-dream 
 by the thundering crash of ruined worlds. If thou 
 canst not bring thine intellect to acknowledge this, 
 then let Faith assist thee, for thou hast need of her 
 aid. 
 
 I said that the answer to one question will 
 often be found to contain the answer to another, 
 though apparently on a diff"erent subject. There is 
 an analogy among all created things. 
 
 If God has thus perfected his material creations, 
 if he has thus admirably adapted thereto the animal 
 and the intellectual constitution of man, think you 
 he has neglected his moral constitution, — the high- 
 est and most important part of his nature ? Think 
 you that he is unmindful of man's spiritual condition, 
 progress, and destiny ? Has he provided for the 
 
52 THE WAY. 
 
 body and neglected the soul ? Has he provided for 
 time and neglected eternity ? No, no ; he who sees 
 clearly must perceive that with God the welfare of 
 the soul is the primary, and the welfare of the body 
 the secondary consideration. Matter is but the 
 vehicle on which the spirit rides to heaven, to be 
 cast aside when no longer needed. We arrive, 
 therefore, at the conclusion, that, if God's material 
 world be thus perfect, his spiritual creation cannot 
 be less so. In that, too, means must be perfectly 
 adapted to ends. 
 
 Among the innumerable aids provided to assist 
 man in his spiritual progress, the Bible is the most 
 important. Indeed, many natural aids which we 
 deem independent of it were in fact revealed by it. 
 Yet all who study it do not arrive at the same .con- 
 clusions. There are a thousand and one sects, each 
 differing in its creed from every other, — differ- 
 ing in what each deems essential points ; and more 
 than this, each member of each sect differs in minor 
 points from every other member of his society ; and 
 all claim to be supported by this Holy Book of 
 Truth ! 
 
 Can this be so, and be right ? 
 
 Yes, it is so, and it is right. Why is it right ? 
 
 1. Because human nature cannot perfectly com- 
 prehend the Deity. If it could, it would be able to 
 attain to the possession of infinite knowledge, even in 
 this world. We should be gods, and not men. 
 
 2. Because (except in his direct revelations to 
 the heart of each) God must necessarily reveal 
 
THE WAT. 53 
 
 himself to us in human language, which can never 
 be otherwise than imperfect. Or he must reveal 
 himself by human agents, or by agents in the shape 
 of humanity. If by the latter, they look, act, and 
 speak like men, be they never so perfect. If by the 
 former, as has most frequently been the case, then 
 they are but men like those around them, and are 
 subject to their passions and infirmities. Besides, 
 how could these special agents, — these prophets, — 
 themselves have heard God otherwise than imper- 
 fectly ? They were men, and therefore comprehend- 
 ed but faintly. Consequently, their revelations could 
 not have been otherwise than faint, — more faint even 
 than their own conceptions ; for they could speak 
 only in human language. Indeed, the conceptions 
 of the prophets and apostles themselves must have 
 been extremely vague ; for in our every-day experi- 
 ence, how uncertain are our comparatively tangible 
 thoughts, until shaped into language ! If words 
 cannot be found in which to embody them, how 
 soon they elude our grasp and fade away ! 
 
 Revelations of the Deity are, therefore, according 
 to the present constitution of man and of the world, 
 necessarily imperfect. Let us endeavour to discover 
 why it is best they should be so, and thus to discern 
 real perfection in apparent imperfection. 
 
 1. It is best, because spiritual truth, if obtainable 
 without exertion, would not be properly esteemed 
 by man. He values least that which is most easily 
 acquired ; he values most that upon the obtaining of 
 which he has expended the greatest amount of labor, 
 5* 
 
54 THE WAY. 
 
 whether of body or mind. Action is the condition 
 upon which the health of the soul depends. " In 
 the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread," said 
 God unto Adam. " By mental toil shalt thou earn 
 thy soul's food," is stamped quite as plainly on 
 the mental and moral constitutions of his descend- 
 ants. Herein is the analogy between the material 
 and spiritual creations perfect. Labor is alike the • 
 condition of progress in both. 
 
 The great law of Jehovah 
 
 Is action, here on earth ; 
 It is the only prover 
 
 Of spiritual worth. 
 Then tempt me not, and think not 
 
 To shake my soul with doubt ; 
 God helping me, I '11 shrink not, 
 
 But fight the battle out. 
 
 The language of another will here apply, altered 
 somewhat to suit the subject. 
 
 " Therefore, God, in his revelations of himself to 
 man through the Holy Book, hath not instructed 
 him as to all the particulars in relation to the subject- 
 matter of instruction, but still insinuated some per- 
 ception thereof, that thus a desire of examining and 
 acquiring the knowledge of it might be excited and 
 cherished ; which desire would die away, in case all 
 the particulars were explained." 
 
 2. It is best that revelation should be imperfect, 
 aiid hence that innumerable sects should be called 
 into being, because, as in the animal existence 
 
 * Swedenborg, N. 35. 
 
THE WAY. 55 
 
 of mankind, sickness and suffering in others call 
 forth pity and benevolence in ourselves, so the 
 soul's sickness, the ignorance and the spiritual wants 
 (or what we deem the spiritual wants) of others, 
 lead us to attempt to enlighten their path with our 
 own feeble lamps, and to nourish them with our ow7i 
 scanty stores of knowledge, — lead us, in fine, to at- 
 tempt their conversion. And if the attempt be made 
 in the right spirit, our lamps glow the brighter, and 
 our stores increase in proportion as we impart them 
 to others. Differences in religious opinions are of 
 incalculable benefit to mankind. They excite 
 thought ; and though the discussions which arise 
 often fan the embers of discord, they serve also to 
 keep alive the pure flame of true religion. Thus, 
 differences in the physical condition of mankind, and 
 differences in their spiritual condition, both alike 
 serve to help them on their road to heaven. 
 
 These latter differences result, inevitably, from the 
 apparent imperfection of revelation, and the differ- 
 ences in the constitution of the minds and hearts 
 of individuals. And, 
 
 3. This brings us to our last and most important 
 reason for the apparent imperfection of revelation. 
 It does not appear alike to all, because the minds 
 of men are not all alike. It is suited to the ac- 
 knowledged imperfection of human nature. It is not 
 entire, because the mind of man is not infinite, and 
 therefore could not comprehend revelation if it were 
 so. It was intentionally made imperfect. Prophets 
 and holy men of old were designedly allowed to 
 
56 THE WAY. 
 
 mingle with the eternal truths which they revealed 
 somewhat of their own human passion and infirmity. 
 Some minds cannot receive as truth that which 
 seems perfectly plain to others. Perhaps none can 
 receive truth unadulterated. As in the natural world 
 an infinite variety of climate, of food, and of occu- 
 pation is provided for the infinite variety in the 
 physical constitutions of men, so in the Book in 
 which God reveals himself to men he has provided 
 for the infinite variety in their spiritual constitutions. 
 Thus, while the path of human duty is made plain 
 to all, a wide range is given for theorizing and 
 speculation. In the latter every one may, and every 
 one does, suit himself; and hence arise sects innu- 
 merable. With regard to human duty there is but lit- 
 tle difference in opinion ; there is hardly room for it 
 to exist ; for in the Sermon on the Mount the whole 
 duty of man is laid down. It speaks to the hearts 
 and understandings of all. It points to the great 
 highway, which, beginning on earth, ends in heaven. 
 So that we do not lose sight of the path of hu- 
 m^an duty we shall be pardoned for an occasional 
 episode or vagary in creed and doctrine. This is 
 the path in which '' wayfaring men, though fools, 
 shall not err." This is the path which is open alike 
 to Jew and Gentile, to Christian and to heathen. 
 
 I have endeavoured to show that the physical con- 
 stitutions of man and of the world are perfectly 
 adapted to each other, so as to produce the intended 
 ends. I have also endeavoured to show, by analogy 
 
THE WAY. 57 
 
 and otherwise, that the moral and intellectual consti- 
 tution of man is exactly suited to his circumstances, 
 and that God has adapted thereto the revelations 
 which, from time to time, he has made of man's ori- 
 gin, duty, and destiny. I have also endeavoured to 
 show that God has provided a highway on which all 
 may travel to heaven, and that this highway is love, 
 — that '^ love " which is said to be " the fulfilling of 
 the law," — love to God and love to man, which are 
 in practice the same. In fine, I have endeavoured 
 to show that in wisdom God has made all things, 
 spiritual as well as material. Volumes have been 
 and may be written on this subject, but it never has 
 been or can be exhausted ; for it comprehends all 
 subjects. 
 
 Art thou undecided between the Trinity and 
 Unity ? Art thou fearful that thou shalt not render 
 due honor to each member of the Godhead ? Wor- 
 ship the Almighty Spirit of the Universe ; and be as- 
 sured, that, in adoring the whole, thou adorest each 
 part. Art thou lost in the mazes of the doctrine of 
 Atonement ? Art thou unable to receive it, and at 
 the same time fearful of condemnation in not accept- 
 ing it ? Go and do a kind service to a suffering 
 brother-man, and thy path shall be enlightened, thy 
 heart made easy, and thou shalt go on thy way 
 rejoicing. Dost thou doubt of thine own salva- 
 tion ? Go, repent of thy sins ; forgive all who have 
 offended thee, as thou desirest to be forgiven; do 
 unto others as thou wouldst that others should do 
 unto thee ; and, as thou fearest the judgment of God, 
 
58 THE WAY. 
 
 judge kindly of thy fellow-mortals. Quarrel with 
 no man on account of his honest belief; for if thou 
 art wise, thou wilt bethink thee how likely it is 
 that thou thyself art in error, — nay, how impossi- 
 ble it is, that, on many points, thou shouldst be oth- 
 erwise. 
 
 Thus, whenever thou art lost in the mazes of theo- 
 retical theology, go, practise that which thou know- 
 est to be right, and fear not the issue. For '' if any 
 man will do His will, he shall know of the doc- 
 
THEORY AND PRACTICE, 
 
 OR PRINCIPLES CARRIED OUT.* 
 
 '• My dear," said Mr. Mallory to his wife one 
 morning at the breakfast-table, "my dear, you know 
 I have fully adopted the principles of Teetotalism, 
 Abolitionism, and Non-resistance. Upon reflection, 
 I have come to the conclusion, that principles are of 
 no use whatever, unless put in practice ; and I have 
 determined to carry mine out to their full extent, 
 and be governed by them in every act of my life, 
 however apparently trivial." 
 
 "Your theory sounds very well, Mr. Mallory," 
 said his wife ; " but what change do you intend to 
 make in your practice ? I am sure you have always 
 been temperate ; you have always raised your voice 
 against slavery at all proper times ; and certainly you 
 are not a fighting man ; I never knew you to get in- 
 to a quarrel in your life, although your temper may 
 have been occasionally ruffled. How can you alter 
 your practice, except by keeping a more strict watch 
 
 * Published in the Knickerbocker, for October, 1842. 
 
60 THEORY AND PRACTICE. 
 
 over your thoughts, actions, and words, so as to offer 
 as perfect an example as possible of a Christian life ? 
 I confess I cannot see." 
 
 '' We must go farther than that, my dear. It has 
 been the fault of most moral reformers, that they 
 have endeavoured to eschew evil themselves, to wash 
 their own hands clear of sin, and at the same time 
 have practically upheld others in their iniquity. As 
 for myself, I am determined to make thorough work, 
 be the consequences what they may. We must 
 discontinue the use of sugar and molasses. They 
 are products of slavery ; and I will not uphold that 
 institution, how indirectly soever. 1 will have no 
 more cotton used in my family for the same reason. 
 You must purchase linen instead." 
 
 '' But, Mr. Mallory, how expensive that will be ! " 
 " I can't help it, wife ; I will not sell my soul for 
 money. And there is another thing ; you must not 
 buy any thing more of Mr. Winkle the grocer. I 
 hear he sells wine by the gallon, and I cannot con- 
 scientiously patronize such a man. And you know 
 I told William the next time he played truant I 
 would punish him, and lock him into his room two 
 days. Now yesterday morning he did not go to 
 school, as he was told to do, and in the afternoon 
 he carried a forged excuse for his absence. Super- 
 ficially considered, perhaps, if he ever deserved pun- 
 ishment, he does now ; but mature reflection con- 
 vinces me that the principle of non-resistance forbids 
 the use of coercion, even upon a boy. We must 
 rule by love. Is it not written, ' Vengeance is mine, 
 
THEORY AND PRACTICE. 61 
 
 I will repay, saith the Lord ' ? And are we not 
 commanded, ' Resist not evil ' ? No exception is 
 made in the case of children. It would be doing 
 evil in my family for the sake of keeping evil out of 
 it. No ; I '11 not punish William ; for it is no better 
 for a full-grown man to fight with a little boy than 
 for two men to fight. It is a relic of barbarism, this 
 using the rod, and shutting up children in dark 
 rooms. It is an awful crime for a parent to strike 
 his child. — No ; I will use love and moral suasion, 
 and leave the rest to God." 
 
 '' But, Mr. Mallory, have n't you always punished 
 William in love ? I should be sorry to think you had 
 punished him in anger. You know he is always a 
 good boy for two or three months after punishment ; 
 while, on the other hand, talking and persuading 
 seem to have no effect whatever upon him at cer- 
 tain times, I fear you will ruin him for ever by this 
 sudden change in your system of government." 
 
 '' I think not, Mrs. Mallory ; but even the fear of 
 that should not deter me from doing my duty, which 
 I conceive to be plainly this : Whenever I discover 
 that I have been acting on wicked principles, I must 
 discard them at once, and adopt Christian principles 
 in their stead ,• and no consideration of expediency 
 should induce me for a moment to continue in my 
 old course. I cannot serve God and Mammon." 
 
 '' I have a case in point, which I think you will 
 allow to be an exception to your rule. A man was 
 injured by a fall last week, who had been accus- 
 tomed to drink a pint and a half of spirit daily. 
 6 
 
62 THEORY AND PRACTICE. 
 
 He was taken to the hospital ; and the doctor, who 
 was a thorough-going teetotalist, refused to allow 
 him any stimulant whatsoever, because he considered 
 the use of spirituous liquors a great sin ; and no 
 considerations of expediency, he said, should induce 
 him for a moment to consent to such a thing. He 
 must do his duty and leave the rest in the hands of 
 God ; and the consequence was, that the poor sot 
 had the delirium tremens, and died ; when half his 
 usual quantity of spirit, slightly decreased daily, 
 would probably have saved his life. Now I am 
 afraid the sudden change in your system of govern- 
 ment will prove equally fatal to William. Can't you 
 make a change more gradually ? " 
 
 " Gradually ! Would you ask a pirate to leave off 
 robbing and murdering gradually? The principle 
 is the same in my case ; the difference is only in de- 
 gree." 
 
 After uttering this sage opinion, Mr. Mallory put 
 on his hat and walked down to his counting-room, to 
 attend to his mercantile business, mentally reiterating 
 on the way the new rule of action which he had laid 
 down for himself: Never to depart for an instant 
 from his non-resistant, abolition, and teetotal princi- 
 ples, whatever might be the consequence to himself 
 or others. He determined to test every act of his 
 life by his new code of morals. Poor man ! he did 
 not reflect that there is a higher principle, — the 
 only primary, true, and immutable rule of action : 
 ' Cease to do evil ; learn to do well ' ; and that all 
 others are but secondary to this great principle, and, 
 
THEORY AND PRACTICE. 63 
 
 when found conflicting with it, cease to be correct 
 rules of life. 
 
 Now it chanced that one of Mr. Mallory's ships 
 had arrived on the previous night, and one was to 
 sail on that day, after clearing at the custom-house. 
 But as he had repudiated human government, ab- 
 solved himself from all allegiance to it, and renounced 
 its protection, what could he do with those vessels ? 
 Pay duties on his cargo in one case, or pay for clear- 
 ance in the other, he could not ; for would not these 
 sums contribute toward upholding a system of vio- 
 lence and war ? His vessel could not go to sea 
 without papers ; so he discharged captain and crew, 
 and laid her up at the wharf. He could not, for the 
 same reason, pay the duties on the cargo just arrived ; 
 so he discharged the crew .and laid up the other 
 vessel also ! 
 
 Not many days elapsed before Mr. Mallory discov- 
 ered that the person to whom he paid wharfage 
 led a very dissolute life. He came to the conclusion, 
 that the money which he paid him went to support 
 him in his extravagance and dissipation. He could 
 not encourage any man in such courses ; and as he 
 owned no wharf himself, and could find no wharf- 
 owners whose characters were immaculate, he was 
 sorely puzzled what to do with his vessels. Provi- 
 dentially, he succeeded in finding a sufficient num- 
 ber of abolitionists and temperance-men whom his 
 conscience would allow him to employ, and there- 
 upon he caused his vessels to be taken to the middle 
 of the stream and safely moored. He was then easy 
 
64 THEORY AND PRACTICE. 
 
 on that score. He had many offers for his vessels ; 
 but they all came from men to whom his conscience 
 forbade him to sell. As a matter of course, none 
 who agreed with him in opinion wished to engage 
 in such unholy traffic ; and he could not sell to oth- 
 ers, for that would be encouraging them in sins 
 which he dared not commit himself. 
 
 A few days after this, Mrs. Mallory asked her 
 husband for a little money, which she needed for 
 some household purpose. 
 
 '' I have no money, my dear," said Mr. Mallory. 
 
 ''You have no money, Mr. Mallory? Why, you 
 have become very poor all at once ! There were 
 large dividends declared on your bank stock last 
 week ; why don't you draw them ? " 
 
 " I can't, Mrs. Mallory ; my conscience will not al- 
 low me to do so." 
 
 " Heaven help us ! — is the man crazy ? " exclaim- 
 ed his wife. 
 
 " I trust not, my dear ; but listen and judge wheth- 
 er I am right or not. I have discovered that large 
 profits are made in these banks on loans of money 
 to distillers ; to traffickers in spirits and wines, 
 and in products of slave labor ; and to the govern- 
 ment, to be employed in building war-ships, and in 
 carrying on wars of extermination against the poor 
 Indians. The capital which I have invested in those 
 banks is used in a thousand ways to uphold vice 
 and crime. It grieves me to the heart to think 
 that money of mine is employed for such base pur- 
 
THEORY AND PRACTICE. 65 
 
 poses. It has become the sinews of war, the op- 
 pressor of slaves, and the demon of the distillery. 
 This money of mine is scattering moral pestilence 
 and death, wherever it goes. And it is potent for 
 evil ; for no sooner has it finished one deed of dark- 
 ness and returned to the bank vaults, than it is again 
 sent forth on another errand of iniquity, and so on 
 for ever. I will touch no more of the spoils ! " 
 
 " Then sell your stock," said Mrs. Mallory ; ''sell 
 it, and we can live on the principal." 
 
 '' Sell it, woman ? " said the short-sighted moralist, 
 with virtuous indignation ; "do you suppose I would 
 encourage others to commit crimes of which I shrink 
 to be guilty myself 1 Never ! I will leave the 
 matter to Providence. I will neither touch, taste, 
 nor handle the accursed thing." 
 
 " If you are not mad yourself, you will drive me 
 mad, Mr. Mallory. It is lucky that you owe no debts. 
 But there are many things wanted in the family, 
 and unless you can contrive some way to get them, 
 we shall be obliged to go to the workhouse soon." 
 
 " O, I can raise a little money for immediate use. 
 Brother Brumble wants to buy some furniture for 
 his parlour, and as I know he is a good man, and will 
 not make a bad use of it, I intend to sell him all 
 our drawing-room furniture." 
 
 Mrs. Mallory controlled herself with difficulty ; 
 and when she saw the furniture carried away, she re- 
 tired to her chamber and wept bitterly at the misera- 
 ble prospect before her. 
 
 6* 
 
66 THEORY AND PRACTICE. 
 
 William soon got wind of his father's new system 
 of family government. He concluded not to go to 
 school any more ; spent his time in bad company ; 
 rode about a great deal, and ran up a large bill at 
 every tavern and stable in town. He was but thir- 
 teen years old, yet he soon reached half a century in 
 sin. Mrs. Mallory was heart-broken. Mr. Mallory 
 loould have been wretched, but his principles upheld 
 him in this hour of trial. He could not interfere, for 
 it would violate his conscience ; and so it came to 
 pass that William went to the Devil as fast as he 
 could travel. 
 
 Time rolled on. With bills against his son con- 
 tinually coming in, and never-ceasing demands for 
 household expenses, Mr. Mallory was sorely puzzled 
 for money. One by one, every piece of spare furni- 
 ture was disposed of; expenses were curtailed, do- 
 mestics dismissed, and yet there remained many calls 
 unanswered and many debts unpaid. Mrs. Mallory 
 at this time discovered that her husband was a large 
 proprietor in the Lowell railroad ; a circumstance of 
 which she was not before aware, for all husbands do 
 not inform their wives of all the property which they 
 possess. This corporation had lately made a semi- 
 annual dividend of four per cent. Mr. Mallory 
 owned fifteen thousand dollars' worth of stock ; six 
 hundred dollars would make them quite easy again. 
 She resolved to mention the subject to her husband ; 
 and accordingly at supper that evening she began by 
 inquiring of Mr. Mallory why he did not draw his 
 dividend on his Lowell railroad stock. 
 
THEORY AND PRACTICE. 67 
 
 " Lowell railroad stock ! " said he ; *' how did 
 you know that I owned any ? " 
 
 ''No matter how I discovered the fact," said she ; 
 '' you do own it : now why don't you make use of 
 itj and relieve your family from disgrace and want ? 
 I have been obliged to take Emily and Ann from 
 school, because I have no means of paying their tu- 
 ition ; and unless you will avail yourself of the 
 means you possess, I shall be compelled to send them 
 to the district school ; no great hardship, certainly, 
 were it not that we are able to do better for them. 
 Almost every decent article of our furniture has been 
 sold ; yet our butcher's and grocer's bills are unpaid, 
 and our children are greatly in need of dresses and 
 shoes. Do, my dear husband, draw this railroad 
 dividend ; we shall then be at ease, at least for some 
 months to come, by which time I hope you may be 
 brought to entertain more rational views on these 
 matters." 
 
 " Rational views ! " said' Mr. Mallory ; '' that is 
 ever the way with you advocates of expediency ! 
 When one has grasped the truth, and determined to 
 hold fast to it, be the consequences what they may, 
 he is ' irrational ' ; he is 'a fanatic ' ; he ' carries 
 his principles too far,' &c. ; as if truth were a thing 
 to be taken up when convenient, and dropped when 
 burdensome. In my days of sin and darkness I pur- 
 chased a large amount of stock in the Lowell rail- 
 road ; but now that my eyes are opened, my con- 
 science will not allow me to draw any support from 
 that polluted source. The profits of that road are 
 
68 THEORY AND PRACTICE. 
 
 made by conveying passengers of all kinds, many 
 of whom are engaged in morally unlawful business, 
 and are enabled by it to prosecute their sinful under- 
 takings with vigor and success : for instance, distil- 
 lers, and wholesale and retail dealers in wine and 
 ardent spirits. The money of pickpockets, gam- 
 blers, drunkards, keepers and inmates of bad houses, 
 and of almost every kind of vile creature in the 
 shape of humanity, all goes to make up and swell 
 the profits of this corporation. And yet you ask me 
 to partake of this unholy spoil ! But there are 
 worse objections. A large proportion of the reverme 
 of the road is derived from the transportation of cot- 
 ton, a slave product, from Boston to Lowell, and 
 from freight of manufactured cotton goods from 
 Lowell to Boston. This is the great business to 
 which the road is devoted, — this, and the convey- 
 ance of persons engaged in manufacturing cotton. 
 The Lowell railroad is one great prop of the tottering 
 edifice of slavery. I will touch none of the unhal- 
 lowed spoil ! " 
 
 And thereupon Mr. Mallory put on his hat and 
 walked out of the house, with his head very erect, 
 and his face glowing with the expression of the self- 
 satisfied and self-righteous feelings which filled his 
 heart, and which he mistook for philanthropy and 
 virtuous resolution. 
 
 As he passed along the street, and recognized 
 " morally unlawful business," he indulged in thoughts 
 and feelings which would have startled him, could 
 he have seen them put into words. Thus they 
 
THEORY AND PRACTICE. 69 
 
 ran ; and though he knew it not, the Devil was busy 
 with his heart : — "I thank thee, God ! that I am not 
 like those whom I see around me." He forgot the 
 publican who was justified before the Pharisee. " I 
 thank thee that I am not a wine-bibber." He for- 
 got that his Saviour drank wine, and, when there was 
 none to be had, even turned water into wine, for the 
 use of the wedding-guests. '' I thank thee that I 
 do not, like these sinners around me, contribute to 
 support human government and all its attendant in- 
 iquities." He forgot that the Saviour paid tribute 
 to Caesar, which went to support the government 
 of Rome and all its concomitants. 
 
 Thus wrapped in the mantle of self-righteousness, 
 and possessed by the demon of scorn, he passed 
 through the streets, in his heart despising all whom 
 he met, and arrogating to himself a purity beyond 
 that of his Divine Master. And yet Mr. Mallory im- 
 agined that his heart was filled with true philanthro- 
 py, and the pure religion of the meek and lowly 
 Jesus. Alas for him ! alas for us all ! For are we 
 not liable, in a greater or less degree, to the same 
 condemnation ? 
 
 Time passed on ; and Mr. Mallory, being deter- 
 mined to act " up to his principles " in all things, ex- 
 tended the operation of his impracticable theories 
 day by day into the minutest ramifications of the 
 business of life. He was soon looked upon by 
 many as an insane man, and his friends had a guar- 
 dian appointed to administer his affairs and look after 
 
70 THEORY AND PRACTICE. 
 
 the welfare of his family. This had become a ne- 
 cessary step, and Mrs. Mallory readily consented that 
 it should be taken. 
 
 But from that day and hour her husband refused 
 to live in the house, or partake with the family in 
 their meals. He said that this " would be but sharing 
 in unholy spoil." He went about preaching his fa- 
 vorite doctrines, living upon alms, and altogether 
 leading a precarious and vagrant life. For, instead of 
 eating such meats as were set before him, on the 
 principle that " the workman is worthy of his hire," 
 into whatsoever house he entered, he first asked, — 
 " Are you abolitionists, teetotallers, and non-resistants 
 here ? " If answered in the negative, he proceeded 
 no farther ; but retracing his steps to the street, faced 
 round and poured out such a volley of terrible denun- 
 ciations against them and theirs, dooming them to in- 
 famy in this life and eternal perdition in the next, 
 that the inmates soon closed their doors and win- 
 dows in self-defence, and left him to deliver the rest 
 of his lecture to the crowd of laughing and hooting 
 boys who always gathered about him on such occa- 
 sions. If, on the contrary, the answer was in the 
 affirmative, he would enter that house with pleasure, 
 and seat himself for a talk on his favorite and only 
 topics. He seldom found any of his friends, howev- 
 er, who held doctrines so ultra as his own ; and 
 when he discovered that they were not inclined to 
 carry their principles to such a ridiculous extent as 
 he had carried his, he charged them with "making a 
 compromise with the Devil " ; with attempting to 
 
THEORY AND PRACTICE. 71 
 
 serve both God and Mammon ; and invariably depart- 
 ed from that house immediately, refusing to partake 
 of any refreshment, and breathing out denunciations 
 even more bitter than he bestowed upon those who 
 differed from him wholly both in principles and prac- 
 tice. " For," said he, as he shook his skirts clear of 
 such friends, " you sin with your eyes open ; you 
 sin against the Holy Spirit that is within you, whose 
 teachings you comprehend, but refuse to obey ; and 
 never, either in this world or the next, shall the dew 
 of forgiveness descend on your parched and thirsty 
 souls." 
 
 Mr. Mallory would have been starved outright, 
 were it not that some charitable persons kept their 
 opinions to themselves, tacitly allowing him to be- 
 lieve that they agreed with him in all things, and 
 by this kindly silence inducing him to accept of 
 their hospitality. Not always, however, could these 
 considerate friends avoid giving cause of offence to 
 his scrupulous conscience. He would inquire the 
 history of every article of food that was set before 
 him, and if he could detect any slavery, alcoholic, 
 or warlike taint therein, he would refuse to partake 
 of those viands, and would often quit the house al- 
 together, lest he should be contaminated by those 
 who, as he said, '' professed one thing with their 
 lips and practised the very opposite in their daily 
 lives." He once spent a few days with a benevo- 
 lent physician, for whom he did some writing as an 
 offset for his board ; but he left his house in holy 
 horror, on being requested to copy a prescription 
 
72 THEORY AND PRACTICE. 
 
 for the cholera in which the word '' brandy " ap- 
 peared ! 
 
 Thus sane on all other points, (and some may- 
 think on all,) Mr. Mallory led a vagabond life, 
 preaching through the cities and villages his favorite 
 doctrines of moral reform, speaking really a great 
 deal of truth, laying down generally correct premises, 
 but reasoning thereon in such a manner as almost 
 invariably to lead to error. His motto was, — '' Nev- 
 er stand still ; follow unhesitatingly where principles 
 lead; always improve." An excellent motto, cer- 
 tainly, and worthy to be adopted by all. But unfor- 
 tunately, Mallory, though possessed by a strong de- 
 sire to be a great reasoner, had only a semi-logical 
 mind. The consequences were lamentable. His 
 principles, as he called them, proved but ignes-fatui, 
 which led him away from the great highway of 
 truth into the wilderness of error, — convenient dis- 
 guises assumed by Satan to lure him to destruction. 
 
 It can be no wonder, therefore, that every day 
 found him engaged in some new vagary. The last 
 was the wildest of all. He laid it down as a fact 
 not to be controverted, that our ancestors obtained 
 possession of this country by fraud and murder. 
 He thought the receiver as bad as the thief, and one 
 that would profit by murder as bad as the murderer. 
 He came, therefore, to the conclusion, that all who oc- 
 cupied lands which were originally obtained by fraud 
 and murder were themselves guilty of fraud and 
 murder. He had shared in the unholy spoil, but he 
 would partake of it no longer, either directly or indi- 
 
THEORY AND PRACTICE. 73 
 
 rectly. He had renounced houses and lands him- 
 self; he would now refuse to receive any sustenance 
 or support whatever from the occupants of the pol- 
 luted soil of the country. He resolved to leave it for 
 ever. 
 
 He sought, but sought in vain, for any conveyance 
 by which he could escape, without violating the 
 principles which he had adopted as his rule of action. 
 Either the ships in which he thought to embark were 
 owned by wicked men, or were bound on some sin- 
 ful voyage ; or in the act of leaving the country, he 
 would be obliged to do something by which he 
 should recognize the validity and propriety of a civil 
 government which relied upon war for its defence, 
 Finding himself thus hedged in by his sovereign 
 principles of truth, so that he could turn neither to the 
 right nor left without committing sin, he wandered 
 away to the sea-coast, that being the very verge of 
 the polluted land from which he wished to escape ; 
 and there, seating himself on the brow of an over- 
 hanging cliff, he darkly mused on himself and on 
 the unhappy world in which he was placed. The 
 land-breeze bore to him the scent of flowers and of 
 new-mown hay ; but to him it seemed the rank 
 effluvia of corruption. The stars were shining in 
 the clear sky, and the moon was just rising from her 
 ocean-bed ; but their mild glances bore no heavenly 
 message to his heart. To him they appeared to 
 glare in fiery wrath on the iniquitous world below. 
 He could not bear to look at them ; they seemed to 
 consume the very soul within. 
 7 
 
74 THEORY AND PRACTICE. 
 
 His gaze fell upon the ocean. Unrippled by the 
 light fanning of the land wind, it was calm and 
 smooth as glass as far as the eye could reach. Its 
 bosom rose and fell regularly, like the young breast 
 of a lovely maiden in a deep and placid sleep. The 
 radiant fires of heaven and the distant blaze of the 
 light-house flashed brokenly from its surface in long 
 lines of undulating light. It presented to his wea- 
 ry spirit a picture of rest and peace. And tossed 
 and worn indeed must his mind have been, when 
 the never-resting ocean seemed peaceful in compari- 
 son. Only when it touched the accursed land on 
 which he stood did it arouse itself from its slum- 
 bers, and thunder forth its indignation and wrath. 
 
 Up to this period, amidst all his vagaries, Mr. Mal- 
 lory had been in some measure a sane man ; but the 
 balance of his mind was now irretrievably lost. Be- 
 hind him lay the depraved and vicious earth ; above 
 him from the countless eyes of heaven glared Al- 
 mighty wrath ; below him was peace and rest. His 
 brain whirled ; he leaped from the cliff", and plunged 
 into the waves below. He perished, a victim to a 
 false system of morals and philosophy. 
 
ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE* 
 
 This work, originally published in Great Britain 
 at the price of fifty dollars, has been republished in 
 the United States, entire, for four dollars, and an 
 abridgment for the use of schools has been issued at 
 the low price of one dollar. Both of these reprints 
 have, we believe, been extensively circulated in this 
 country, and, for good or for evil, will work an effect 
 on the minds and hearts of our people. Therefore a 
 few remarks, founded upon the early Edinburgh 
 edition, may not at this time be amiss. It would 
 occupy more time and space than we can command, 
 regularly to review this great work ; — great, certain- 
 ly, in material volume, as well as in the events of 
 which it treats ; great, also, in several other points 
 of view from which Ave shall have occasion to ob- 
 serve it. 
 
 The first feature which attracts attention is the 
 frequency of typographical errors, and slips of the 
 pen. We are tempted to think that the author nev- 
 er corrected his proof-sheets. We read of the " Ba- 
 varian Republic " (intended to be Batavian) ; and 
 
 * Published in the Christian Examiner, for January, 1845. 
 
76 
 
 very often find ''Russia" and "Prussia" each in 
 place of the other. The good old English word 
 "nowise " our author never uses, but in its place em- 
 ploys such expressions as "no way," "noways," 
 and "no ways," which occur so frequently as to dis- 
 figure almost every third page of his work. His 
 statistical figures, as well as his figures of speech, 
 often exhibit discrepancies and contradictions ; and, 
 in following out his generally good descriptions of 
 military movements, the reader sometimes finds 
 himself on the wrong bank of a river, and before he 
 can advance another line in the narrative, is obliged 
 to make whole divisions and battalions move about 
 and change places with a celerity which even Bona- 
 parte himself might have envied. The numerous 
 contradictions which appear in this voluminous 
 work, alike in matters of philosophy, of fact, and of 
 opinion, — taken in connection with the familiar 
 sound of many passages, — have suggested the no- 
 tion, that this " History " is chiefly made up of polit- 
 ical articles from Mr. Alison's pen, which have ap- 
 peared at various times in the British Reviews, and 
 which the author has tacked together, v/ith little or 
 no collation, and published as one work. But, upon 
 a more careful examination, we find that even this 
 hypothesis fails to account for the frequency of the 
 discrepancies which continually startle the reader ; 
 for the author sometimes utters a sentiment on one 
 page which he contradicts on the next ; and this has 
 induced us to extend our supposition so as to include 
 even the newspaper articles of Mr. Alison in our fan- 
 
77 
 
 cied list of his materials. Thus the whole work is 
 like a confused heap of stones ; not a solid pyramid, 
 built by a master- workman. 
 
 Mr. Alison is a superlative Tory, with many of 
 the virtues, and most of the faults, of that character. 
 He is a rank aristocrat in all his feelings, and takes 
 every opportunity to flatter the nobility of Great 
 Britain, with which he is connected by blood or mar- 
 riage. He belongs to the worthy old Scotch nation, 
 which any one might guess, for he never lets slip, 
 unimproved, an opportunity of lauding Scotch 
 troops, Scotch generals, and Scotch lords, or even 
 any foreigner of Scottish descent, however remote. 
 His praises may be well merited, — we are inclined to 
 think that they are ; but while liberal to the Scotch, 
 he overlooks the merits of the English and Irish, as 
 such, can hardly find it in his heart to be just to a 
 Frenchman, and is absolutely unjust to Americans. 
 Russia seems to be his model government, and he 
 thinks remarkably well of Austria. Great Britain 
 under the Tories is glorious, but under Whig gov- 
 ernment is almost contemptible. 
 
 Slavery is a favorite hobby with our author, and 
 (we were about to say) he has ridden it to death ; — 
 would that he had ! But no, his whole object is 
 to resuscitate and reinvigorate the dying monster. 
 Russian serfdom he thinks an admirable institution. 
 He says, that no people ever arrived at freedom and 
 happiness except through slavery, and that none ever 
 can ! He thinks that the Irish would be better off, if 
 
 they could only been slaved during a couple of cen- 
 
 7# 
 
78 Alison's history of Europe. 
 
 turies ; it would fit them for freedom ! He forgets, 
 however, to tell us how it is that the Cossacks, who 
 never were enslaved, are so happy, substantially free, 
 and well off in worldly respects, as he represents 
 them. Rude plenty, courage, and loyalty, with an 
 extra allowance of the private virtues, are theirs, — 
 all that a Tory like himself could desire in a people ; 
 yet, up to their remotest ancestry, they have never 
 been slaves. The mass of Russian rustics, he informs 
 us, are below the Cossacks ; yet, if slavery be such an 
 excellent thing to elevate a people, they ought to be 
 far above them. Thousands of years of slavery on 
 one side, and an equal duration of freedom on the 
 other, have produced effects fatal to his theory. 
 He laments West India emancipation, and, regard- 
 less of the quiet demeanour and general advancement 
 of the blacks, he measures the comparative blessings 
 of slavery and freedom by the number of hogsheads 
 of sugar which can be spared for exportation. The 
 proverbial hardships to which the negroes were sub- 
 ject in the cultivation of cane and the manufacture of 
 sugar, under the ancient regime, are sufficient to ac- 
 count for their dislike to that employment in a state 
 of freedom, and for much of the consequent deficit 
 in the export. The remainder may be charged to 
 the increased consumption of sugar by the blacks 
 themselves. While slaves, they consumed no more 
 sugar than they could manage to steal. Moreover, 
 by means of the lash, the blacks were compelled to 
 do vastly more work than nature ever intended that 
 man should perform in hot climates, where little 
 
79 
 
 clothing is needed, and the earth produces the sub- 
 sistence of the inhabitants almost spontaneously. 
 What wonder that nature asserted her supremacy, 
 when the unnatural forcing system was abandoned? 
 Does Mr. Alison mean to say that it is right for 
 Great Britain to enslave nine tenths of the popula- 
 tion of her tropical colonies, and set the other tenth 
 over them as drivers, in order that absent proprietors 
 may live in splendor in England ; that a large mer- 
 cantile marine may be built up ; that the profits of 
 manufacturers may be increased ; and, finally, that 
 through all these means the revenues of government 
 may be augmented ; which revenues would go chiefly 
 towards supporting the aristocracy and the younger 
 sons of the nobility of Great Britain? Can such 
 ends, however good Mr. Alison may think them, jus- 
 tify such means ? If so, then let it be proclaimed that 
 power gives right ; this would simplify the code of 
 morals greatly. If not, then let Mr. Alison expunge 
 from his next edition all the fine moral and religious 
 observations which he is continually parading before 
 his readers. For one thing, however, we thank him. 
 In treating of the propriety and expediency of 
 slavery, he makes no distinction of color. He is too 
 philosophical for that. He desires not to limit the 
 benefit of his favorite institution to blacks : but is 
 willing to commit to its beneficent influences Rus- 
 sians, and Irishmen, and, we infer. Englishmen, 
 Americans, and Frenchmen. Yet, strange to say, 
 notwithstanding this, and although he elsewhere 
 stigmatizes as shallow those who condemn the 
 
80 Alison's history of europe. 
 
 Americans, he twits us repeatedly with the inconsis- 
 tency of slaveholding. The sneer may be deserved, 
 but it comes with an ill grace from him. 
 
 Mr. Alison is never weary of telling us that the 
 welfare of the people depends upon the existence of 
 a landed aristocracy. He glories in the fact that 
 England has but three hundred thousand landed pro- 
 prietors, and laments that France, in consequence of 
 the Revolution, has six millions. He thinks, that, in 
 consequence of this fact, she can never be free, and 
 dooms her in perpetuity to an Oriental despotism. 
 Doubtless France must suffer a long while for the 
 crimes of the Revolution ; the great change in the 
 proprietorship of landed possessions was too sudden 
 and violent not to produce temporary evil. A few 
 generations will settle this matter, and when France 
 is fit to be free, the subdivision of estates will 
 not prevent her being so ; nor will it, we think, 
 greatly retard the approach of that happy day, if, in- 
 deed, it do not hasten it. Strangely enough, in con- 
 tradiction to his general opinions and arguments on 
 this subject, he depicts Tyrol as almost an Elysium ; 
 dwells with enthusiasm on the religion, morality, 
 substantial freedom, inflexible loyalty, and rustic 
 plenty of the inhabitants ; and doubtless his encomi- 
 ums are well deserved, for he has in person minutely 
 examined that country. But, almost in the same 
 breath, he informs his readers that in the Tyrol a 
 state of almost absolute equality exists ; there are 
 few large proprietors, and the land is minutely sub- 
 divided ! 
 
Alison's history of europe. 81 
 
 For the anecdotes which AUson has interspersed 
 through his work concerning Napoleon and his gen- 
 erals he has manifestly often no other authority than 
 mere gossip. The best French authorities have ex- 
 ploded, long since, some of the very romantic and 
 very absurd stories, which he notwithstanding grave- 
 ly relates as matters of history. And sometimes, 
 too, where the tale has some foundation in truth, the 
 time and scene are so changed by the author of this 
 '' History " as utterly to confound the reader. He 
 makes Napoleon utter at Dresden, in 1813, a re- 
 proach to his generals and marshals for their luke- 
 warmness, which in fact was spoken in Poland, in 
 1812, when, with nearly half a million of men, he 
 was on the point of invading Russia. And, worse 
 still, he makes Napoleon address Rapp, who was in 
 fact, as we are elsewhere informed, at that moment 
 shut up in Dantzic, hundreds of miles away. Un- 
 doubtedly these errors are to be charged to careless- 
 ness, not to ignorance. But when he comes to deal 
 in the affairs of America, we are obliged to suppose 
 that both causes have combined to produce that 
 "Comedy of Errors," — his chapter on the United 
 States. 
 
 Numerous as are the anachronisms, slips of the 
 pen, and typographical errors in that portion of the 
 work devoted to European affairs, they are as noth- 
 ing, compared with the blunders contained in his 
 chapter on America and the American war. It 
 seems to us that Mr. Alison is better fitted for a 
 party politician, a warrior, or a poet, than for an his- 
 
82 Alison's history of Europe. 
 
 torian, or, as he often assumes to be, a preacher of re- 
 ligion and morality. He seems to have a tolerably 
 correct eye for military affairs, the reader is left 
 in no doubt with regard to his political partisan- 
 ship, and no one who has perused his remarks on 
 America will hesitate to award him high rank among 
 the prose poets of the nineteenth century. He is so 
 given to idealizing, that the reality is often entirely 
 lost sight of. The following extract is a favorable 
 specimen of his style of poetical description. With 
 a few touches of his pen, our author has entirely an- 
 nihilated those scourges of the mariner in the Gulf 
 of Mexico, the tempestuous '' northers " of winter 
 and the devastating hurricanes of summer. But, to 
 compensate for this, he bestows the West India 
 Islands upon the Gulf of Mexico, and makes grapes 
 very convenient to sailors. Doubtless Jack will be 
 exceedingly grateful for the change. 
 
 " In the Gulf of Mexico the extraordinary clearness of 
 the water reveals to the astonished mariner the magnitude 
 of its abysses, and discloses, even at the depth of thirty 
 fathoms, the gigantic vegetation which, even so far beneath 
 the surface, is drawn forth by the attraction of a vertical 
 sun. In the midst of these glassy waves, rarely disturbed 
 by a ruder breath than the zephyrs of spring, an archipela- 
 go of perfumed islands is placed, which repose, like baskets 
 of flowers, on the tranquil surface of the ocean. Every 
 thing in those enchanted abodes appears to have been pre- 
 pared for the wants and enjoyments of man. Nature seems 
 to have superseded the ordinary necessity for labor. The 
 verdure of the groves, and the colors of the flowers and 
 blossoms, derive additional vividness from the transparent 
 
Alison's history of europe. 83 
 
 purity of the air and the deep serenity of the azure heavens. 
 Many of the trees are loaded with fruits, which descend by 
 their own weight to invite the indolent hand of the gatherer, 
 and are perpetually renewed under the influence of an ever 
 balmy air. Others, which yield no nourishment, fascinate 
 the eye by the luxuriant variety of their form or the gor- 
 geous brilliancy of their colors. Amidst a forest of per- 
 fumed citron-trees, spreading bananas, graceful palms, of 
 wild-figs, of round-leaved myrdes, of fragrant acacias, and 
 gigantic arbutus, are to be seen every variety of creepers, 
 with scarlet or purple blossoms, which entwine themselves 
 round every stem, and hang in festoons from tree to tree. 
 The trees are of a magnitude unknown in northern climes ; 
 the luxuriant vines, as they clamber up the loftiest cedars, 
 form graceful festoons ; grapes are so plenty upon every 
 shrub, that the surge of the ocean, as it lazily rolls in upon 
 the shore with the quiet winds of summer, dashes its spray 
 upon the clusters ; and natural arbours form arj impervious 
 shade, that not a ray of the sun of July can penetrate." — 
 Vol. X. p. 553, first edition. 
 
 In describing the United States geographically, 
 (for which the reader may judge, from the foregoing 
 specimen, how well our author is qualified,) he rep- 
 resents the Alleghany Mountains as being covered, 
 among other trees, with '' the majestic palm " and 
 "verdant evergreen oak." The inhabitants of that 
 region will be greatly astonished at this information, 
 and doubtless will appreciate the importance of the 
 discovery that evergreens are verdant. 
 
 We have always thought, that, as the Missouri is 
 the main branch of the Mississippi, the two should 
 be considered as one river, and spoken of under one 
 
84 Alison's history of europe. 
 
 name. But, until the change is made by competent 
 authority, we must continue to use ih& received geo- 
 graphical nomenclature. Mr. Alison makes no pr-o- 
 test against the use of the customary terms, and is, 
 therefore, entirely inexcusable in jumbling together, 
 in such inextricable confusion, the names of our two 
 great rivers. He makes the Missouri empty into the 
 Gulf of Mexico, and represents the Mississippi as 
 one of its branches ; in company with " the Ohio, the 
 Tennessee, the Arkansas, the White River, the Kan- 
 sas, and the Red River " ; which three latter rivers 
 (as well as the four former), he says, " have given 
 their names to the mighty States which already are 
 settled on their shores." 
 
 He speaks repeatedly of New England as a State, 
 thus : " the two States of New England and Massa- 
 chusetts." He seems to think that Louisiana is in 
 Virginia ; for, after describing the new-made lands 
 at the mouth of the Mississippi, he observes, — " and 
 at length, on the scene of former desolation, the 
 magnificent riches of the Virginian forest are reared." 
 He might as well have said, " the Mexican forest." 
 
 A striking instance of the recklessness with which 
 Mr. Alison often makes assertions, and of the unphil- 
 osophical manner in which he frequently establishes 
 a general rule from an exception, is found in the fol- 
 lowing extract. 
 
 " The law allows any rate of interest agreed on by the 
 parties to be taken, and it is often excessive ; one per cent. 
 a month is an usual, three per cent, a month no uncommon 
 occurrence." — Vol. x. p. 580. 
 
85 
 
 Now the first portion of this allegation is wholly- 
 false, and the second is true only of a short period. 
 If Mr. Alison were writing at the present time, he 
 might with equal truth declare, as a general rule, 
 that " in the United States interest is very low ; 
 four and one half per cent, per annum is a usual, 
 three j9er cent, no uncommon occurrence." 
 
 A certain portion of our population will be glad to 
 learn, that, in this country, "a widow with eight 
 children is sought after and married as an heiress " ; 
 and all will be astounded at the credulity or men- 
 dacity of the soi-disa7it historian who declares that 
 in America '' even family portraits, pictures of be- 
 loved parents, are often not framed, as it is well un- 
 derstood, that, at the death of the head of the family, 
 they will be sold and turned into dollars, to be di- 
 vided among the children." And this is history ! 
 
 Our '' common sailors " will be happy to learn 
 that their wages are raised to ''four or five pounds a 
 month " ; and our Democrats surprised to hear that 
 '' it is generally made an indispensable pledge, with 
 every representative on the [Democratic] side, that 
 he is to support the system of 'repudiation,' and re- 
 lieve the people of the disagreeable burden of pay- 
 ing their debts." The election for President, he 
 says, takes place on the 4th of March ; and he seems 
 to have strange notions with regard to the Veto 
 power ; for he declares that " the President can 
 refuse his sanction to the laws, but, by a singular an- 
 omaly, though that prevents their execution, it does 
 not prevent them from being laws, and carried into 
 8 
 
86 Alison's history of europe. 
 
 effect, when a more pliant chief of the republic is 
 elected." It is impossible to make any thing but 
 nonsense of this passage ; if he means as he has 
 written, then he has put forth an absurdity ; if he 
 means, that, at a future time, under a new President, 
 Congress may repass a rejected act, and the new 
 Executive may approve it and put it in force, then 
 he errs in calling that an ''anomaly" which may 
 take place in England or France at any time after 
 a change in the ministry. Our President occupies a 
 position in some respects similar to that of the Eng- 
 lish Premier, and all the incumbents of the Execu- 
 tive chair are not bound to " follow in the footsteps 
 of their illustrious predecessors," although Mr. Ali- 
 son seems to think it an anomaly that they are not. 
 Equally without foundation in truth is our author's 
 assertion, that " that noblest of spectacles, which is 
 so often exhibited in England, of a resolute minor- 
 ity, strong in the conviction and intrepid in the 
 assertion of truth, firmly maintaining its opinions in 
 the midst of the insurgent waves of an overwhelm- 
 ing majority, is unknown on the other side of the 
 Atlantic." With what propriety is the term ^^insur- 
 gent waves " applied to a legally ruling majority ? 
 And if the Americans do, in a political sense, so 
 "crouch to numbers" and "feign acquiescence," as 
 Mr. Alison represents, then how is it that our 
 frequent political changes. State and national, are 
 brought about ? The former question indicates a 
 ruling propensity in Mr. Alison to use high-sounding 
 words without regard to their meaning, and the lat- 
 
Alison's history of europe. 87 
 
 ter points out another instance of his recklessness in 
 assertion, and his wholesale mode of generalization. 
 The scenes presented in the halls of Congress are 
 sufficiently disgraceful, and we blush for our country 
 when we think of them ; but our author never lets 
 a good piece of national slander pass from his pen 
 without additions and corrections. According to 
 him, " murders and assassinations in open day are 
 not unfrequent among the members of Congress 
 themselves ; and the guilty parties, if strong in the 
 support of the majority, openly walk about, and set 
 all attempts to prosecute them at defiance." Now, 
 unless our memory fails us, the author cannot find a 
 solitary instance of the crimes which he declares to 
 be so frequent. '' All the State judges, from the 
 highest to the lowest, are elected by the people," 
 says Mr. Alison, — another sweeping assertion, which 
 we hope may not prove prophetic. 
 
 Concerning American manners Mr. Alison re- 
 marks, very judiciously : — 
 
 "The manners of the Americans are the manners of 
 Great Britain, minus the aristocracy, the land-owners, the 
 
 army and the Established Church." " They are 
 
 vain on all national subjects, and excessively sensitive to 
 
 censure, however slight, and most of all to ridicule." 
 
 " The Americans have already done great things ; when 
 they have continued a century longer in the same career, 
 they will, like the English, be a proud, and cease to be a 
 vain people." — Vol. x. pp. 628, 629. 
 
 This is all true, and Alison is doubtless correct 
 when he sarcastically compares us with " those class- 
 
88 Alison's history of Europe. 
 
 es or individuals who have not historic descent or 
 great personal achievements or qualities to rest upon, 
 and who, desirous of general applause, have a secret 
 sense that in some particular they may be unde- 
 serving of it." He has likewise represented justly, 
 though strongly, the restless activity which is the 
 prominent feature of American character. 
 
 " Every thing goes on at the gallop ; neither society, nor 
 the individuals who compose it, ever pause for an instant : 
 new undertakings are incessantly commencing ; new paths 
 of life continually attempted by the unfortunate ; successful 
 industry ardently prosecuted by the prosperous. Projects 
 of philanthropy, of commerce, of canals, of railways, of 
 banking, of religious and social amelioration, succeed one 
 another with breathless rapidity," etc. — Vol. x. p. 592. 
 
 In his geographical description of the United 
 States, Mr. Alison makes no mention of the great 
 lakes, although two are entirely within our border, 
 and we have at least an equal share in the remain- 
 der ; but when he comes to describe Canada, a Brit- 
 ish province, he is never weary of glorying in the 
 magnificent chain of great lakes which he seems to 
 think are exclusively within its boundaries. So 
 enraptured does he become in contemplating Canada, 
 that he predicts she will one day conquer the United 
 States ; or, in his own words, " assert the wonted 
 superiority of Northern over Southern nations." 
 Perhaps she may ; but neither Alison nor any one else 
 can know any thing of the matter. There is such a 
 thing as British ^'vanity"; nothing else could have 
 induced our author to print this bellicose suggestion. 
 
Alison's history of europe. 89 
 
 Although Mr. Alison has sufficient reason, as a 
 military historian, to be proud of the soldiers and 
 sailors of his country, he is not satisfied with pure 
 truth, but falls into the same one-sided mode of 
 relating battles which is so common among our own 
 writers and orators. He always represents circum- 
 stances to be favorable to the Americans and un- 
 favorable to the British, in order to palliate British 
 defeat or enhance British glory. By way of giving 
 advice to the British government, he does state, con- 
 cerning the action between the Chesapeake and 
 Shannon, that the latter was manned by a picked 
 crew, more numerous than usual, who had long 
 been trained by Captain Broke for the very purpose 
 of doing what had never yet been performed, — cap- 
 turing an American frigate. But he neglects to state, 
 what is equally well known, that the Chesapeake 
 had an inexperienced crew, just shipped, many of 
 whom had never been at sea. He is still more un- 
 fair in his account of the capture, by a squadron of 
 British frigates, of the frigate President, which he 
 coolly declares was fairly beaten by a single frigate, 
 the Endymion. It is well known that this same 
 victorious frigate was so roughly handled as to be 
 obliged to fall back out of reach of the President, 
 who could not stop to take possession of her, but 
 continued her flight in her crippled condition until 
 she was overtaken by a fresh frigate of the enemy. 
 Because one or two broadsides from this new antag- 
 onist sufficed to bring down the stars and stripes, 
 Mr. Alison sagely concludes that the President was 
 8* 
 
90 Alison's history of europe. 
 
 beaten before, or she would not have surrendered so 
 soon to her new enemy. He seems to think that an 
 American frigate ought to be able to beat, in detail, 
 a whole British squadron, without being crippled 
 herself, and that she should be able to commence 
 each successive action with undiminished forces ; and 
 he makes no account of the remainder of the British 
 squadron, which was pressing all sail to come into 
 action. Really, for Mr. Alison to boast of the result 
 of this battle must to most minds only demonstrate 
 to what straits he was driven to find material, in the 
 naval encounters of the war, with which to soothe 
 wounded British vanity. For ourselves, we should 
 not, in this review, have noticed these instances of 
 our author's unfairness, were it not to add one or two 
 more items to the proof we have already adduced, 
 that he is unworthy of the confidence which should 
 be bestowed upon an accurate and impartial histo- 
 rian. Alison is not an historian, but a partisan polit- 
 ical writer. 
 
 It is to be presumed that Mr. Alison is more to 
 be depended upon in his European chapters than in 
 that portion of his work devoted to America, in pre- 
 paring himself for which he apparently spent but 
 little time, and of the blunders contained in which 
 we have given the reader a very few of the many 
 specimens which might be gathered. But, if some 
 of his European critics tell the truth, he is not trust- 
 worthy even in European affairs. He has himself 
 acknowledged numerous errors in his early editions, 
 by lately publishing a new one, ^' revised and cor- 
 
Alison's history or europe. 91 
 
 reeled." Now it is certainly better to correct errors 
 than to allow them to remain uncorrected ; but it 
 would be better still, more dignified and faithful, be- 
 sides being more just to those who purchase the 
 books and imbibe the errors, to see that none are put 
 forth. Errors are not easily removed from the 
 mind, when once imbibed. How many of Mr. Ali- 
 son's first readers — those who first patronized his 
 work, and set him up in the world as an historian 
 — will ever peruse his corrected edition ? One does 
 not often read twice over ten octavo volumes of from 
 eight hundred to a thousand pages each. Mr. Alison 
 puts forth hastily, while yet in a crude state, the 
 first volume of a "History of Europe," so called, 
 and, like the modern serial novel-writer, hurries vol- 
 ume after, volume before the public in an equally 
 uncorrected state, to take advantage of the interest 
 which his former volumes may have excited. Cer- 
 tain friends, acquaintances, and gullible individuals 
 among the public, purchase his first edition as it 
 comes out, volume by volume. From them he re- 
 ceives his first encouragement, by them he is first 
 made known to the world. When he has finished 
 his work, and drawn fifty dollars apiece from the 
 pockets of the said friends, acquaintances, and gulli- 
 ble individuals, he finds leisure to do what should 
 have been done before publication, namely, to revise 
 and amend his manuscript, and correct his proof- 
 sheets. A new and ostensibly perfect edition appears, 
 with which the remaining portion of the public is 
 supplied, while the old purchasers are left with ten 
 
92 Alison's history of europe. 
 
 worthless volumes on their hands. In this predic- 
 ament stand many American libraries; the work, 
 imported at an exorbitant price, now remains on 
 their shelves an almost useless incumbrance. For 
 if the new edition be what it purports to be, (which 
 is greatly to be doubted,) if it is to become a stand- 
 ard historical work, then must all large libraries in 
 Europe and America be furnished with copies of it, 
 whether they possess the defective edition or not. 
 We beg leave to suggest that it would only be hon- 
 est in Mr. Alison to make the offer to his first cus- 
 tomers of exchanging the old for the new edition. 
 
 The style of Mr. Alison is ambitious, high-sound- 
 ing, but often empty, very unequal, and frequently 
 decidedly bad. Long, parenthetical periods, and 
 even un grammatical sentences, are not infrequent. 
 Still, there is an air of pretension, an owl-like grav- 
 ity, and a pseudo-philosophic and religious tone, in 
 his wordy periods, which appear to have taken the 
 fancy and misled the judgment of many worthy 
 people. But he frequently contradicts himself in 
 philosophy,, and is guilty of gross inconsistencies in 
 morals and religion. He is continually holding up 
 the idea, that in national affairs, as well as in those 
 of individuals, the only righteous rule of conduct is 
 to do to others as we would that others should do to 
 us. Yet he attempts to excuse, almost to justify, 
 the transfer of Norway to Sweden, — her hated ene- 
 my; and declares, without qualification, that the 
 British government committed a great fault in 
 restoring to Holland Java, which had been seized at 
 
Alison's history of Europe. 93 
 
 a time when Holland was sinking under the yoke 
 of her merciless conqueror, Napoleon. The Cape of 
 Good Hope and several other colonies, of which 
 Holland was robbed, are not sufficient to satisfy the 
 acquisitiveness of the just^ honest, and religious Mr. 
 Alison. England should have kept more of the 
 property of her unfortunate ally, whose only fault 
 consisted in her being subdued by England's enemy. 
 Poor Holland ! it was her fate to be plundered alike 
 by friend and foe. 
 
 The religion, morality, philosophy, and politics of 
 Mr. Alison, as a public writer, all seem to be spuri- 
 ous, and this, not because he has not made many wise 
 and just observations, but because he has marred their 
 effect by attempting to reconcile things which are 
 irreconcilably repugnant to each other. With high- 
 toned principles in his mouth, he yet justifies deeds 
 which were enacted in defiance of all principles, save, 
 perhaps, these two: — Might makes right; and, Do 
 evil that good may come. If we may gather his 
 ideas concerning Christianity and Christ from an 
 expression used in his chapter on India, they are 
 low indeed. After mentioning the various hordes of 
 conquerors who had overrun India previously to the 
 advent of the Europeans, he speaks of their being 
 followed by "the disciplined battalions of Christ." 
 Disciplined battalions of Christ ! Does he think, if 
 our Saviour were to return bodily to the world, he 
 would put himself at the head of such an army, and 
 direct their movements in a course of robbery and 
 bloodshed ? Does he think that the spirit of Christ 
 
94 Alison's history of Europe. 
 
 filled the hearts and inspired the deeds of these 
 "disciplined battalions," which he thus impiously 
 designates as his ? 
 
 Mr. Alison is a conservativ^e in the worst sense, of 
 that term. Whatever has been sanctioned by time, 
 whether right or wrong in itself, he upholds. One 
 instance out of many will suffice to give an insight 
 into his character in this respect. He laments the 
 destruction of the "rotten boroughs" of England. 
 He thinks it a good thing, that half a dozen men, or 
 even a single man, should have had power to send a 
 member to Parliament, while a city of one or two 
 hundred thousand inhabitants could do no more ; and 
 his only argument to sustain his position is, The 
 system has worked well, — why disturb it? Very 
 good, so long as the nation is satisfied with it ; but 
 a system can hardly be said to work well, w^hen it 
 has become odious to nine tenths of the people. 
 Yet Mr. Alison laments the extinction of those 
 sources of corruption, the "rotten boroughs." It 
 is a principle of his, the violation of which he never 
 excuses in a government, that nothing should be 
 yielded to popular clamor. He Avould grant reform 
 as a favor, after the clamor has subsided, but never 
 as a right. The government should never acknowl- 
 edge that the people have any rights but those 
 which they have always exercised. He disapproves 
 even of the measure of Catholic emancipation. 
 The terrible scenes which followed the concessions 
 made by Louis XYI. to the democrats of France, 
 and which he thinks were consequent thereon, seem 
 
Alison's history of Europe. 95 
 
 to have inspired him with a horror which allowed 
 his mind no rest except in the idea of a strong gov- 
 ernment, right or wrong ; right, if possible, according 
 to his notions, but strong at any rate. He is fre- 
 quent in his praises of the aristocrats, but has never 
 a good word for the democrats of Great Britain. 
 Yet justice demands that we should say, he seems 
 to endeavour to be impartial, and if he does not praise 
 the opposite, he often condemns his own party, al- 
 beit his censures are generally called forth by their 
 concessions to the democratic spirit of the age. 
 Democracy is his hete noir, and truly the aristocracy 
 of the Old World have some reason to fear it. Such 
 men as Mr Alison, even on account of their ultra- 
 conservatism, do good in the world. They serve to 
 retard the otherwise too hasty and destructive ad- 
 vance of the said black beast, to prevent his ap- 
 proach until the world is prepared for him, — when 
 it will be found that they can no longer interpose an 
 available obstacle, and at last that the monster is not 
 such a frightful creature, after all, as they imagined 
 him to be. Democracy must come ; until then, we 
 look with complacency even on its opposers, though 
 we must strive against them. There rises before 
 the mind's eye a picture of strife, and by the mental 
 ear sounds of anger and clamor are heard. It is the 
 lumbering vehicle of Human Society. Mist and 
 darkness surround it ; before and behind, on the right 
 and on the left, crowds of excited people are tug- 
 ging it this way and that. Hardly any progress 
 seems to be made ; the different parties appear to be 
 
96 Alison's history of Europe. 
 
 more engaged in quarrelling with, and throwing 
 stones and dirt at, each other, than in advancing on 
 their common journey. Lament it not ; there is a 
 deep ravine in front, down which, were the old om- 
 nibus to tumble, it would be dashed to pieces, and 
 need reconstruction. This would inevitably be its 
 fate, could those ahead have their way ; but those 
 behind are so busily engaged in pelting those before, 
 that the latter, from the necessity of self-defence, 
 pull but little ; and, meanwhile, how beautifully that 
 ravine is filled up by the falling missiles which over- 
 shoot their mark ! Do those before see this, and 
 thank those behind ? Do those behind perceive that 
 they are thus preparing the way of those before ? 
 No, the success of society depends upon their mu- 
 tual ignorance and antagonism. Let the democrats 
 cease their efforts, and the world will stand still, or 
 retrograde. Let the aristocrats and monarchists sud- 
 denly join their efforts to those of the democrats, 
 and the whole will rush together into the jaws of 
 destruction. 
 
 Mr. Alison's picture of the " results of equality in 
 America" is not, however, by any means appalling, 
 although he does his best to make it so, by com- 
 paring some of these results with, nay, making them 
 " exceed, the savage atrocities of the French Revolu- 
 tion." In his concluding paragraph he can find 
 nothing tangible to charge, as the " results " of de- 
 mocracy in America, more awful than, first, that 
 we have not liberated our slaves ; which fact, ac- 
 cording to his principles, ought to redound wholly 
 
Alison's history of Europe. 97 
 
 to our credit : secondly, that our government did not 
 re-charter the United States Bank : thirdly, that we 
 talk of ^' abolishing the national debt " ; a statement 
 entirely untrue, and doubly so from the fact that we 
 had no national debt, properly speaking, when Mr. 
 Alison penned this passage : and, lastly, that '' deeds, 
 exceeding in cruelty the savage atrocity of the 
 French Revolution, have been perpetrated in many 
 parts of the United States " ; an assertion which 
 must be taken with a few small grains of allowance. 
 Now remove from this list those charges which 
 might be made against any monarchy, and those 
 which are entirely false, and what remains ? Noth- 
 ing but the charge concerning slavery, which we 
 should say was rather a ''result," and a continuation 
 of inequality. Quite as accurate is his statement, 
 that President Washington, in 1794, as '' one of the 
 last acts of his administration, by his casting vote in 
 Congress,''^ established a commercial treaty with 
 England. Mr. Alison cannot have read, attentively, 
 the Constitution -of the United States ; and he appears 
 to have adopted the most objectionable portions of 
 the generally excellent works on America to which 
 he refers in his margin. He is too fond of declama- 
 tion, and of generalization from insufficient data, to 
 be a correct writer. 
 
 It seems to us that our author deals very fairly 
 with Bonaparte ; in fact, he palliates some of his 
 crimes which appear to us to be worthy only of ut- 
 ter condemnation. He shows also much impartiality 
 in criticizing the faults of the Duke of Wellington, 
 9 
 
98 Alison's history of Europe. 
 
 — evidentlyj however, in pretty much the same man- 
 ner in which an astronomer would describe the ex- 
 act size and number of the spots on the sun. He de- 
 clares that " the Duke " was surprised and out-gen- 
 eralled by Napoleon previously to the battle of 
 Waterloo ; which battle he won only by his indom- 
 itable perseverance, and torrents of British blood 
 shed by others to expiate his fault. Thus only was 
 the campaign redeemed. Wellington had a narrow 
 escape ; for, had he been compelled to order a retreat, 
 the defiles in his rear might have turned it into an 
 entire overthrow ; in which case, the term " Waterloo 
 defeat " would have had a very different meaning, in 
 France and England, from that which it now bears. 
 
 The sum and substance of all Mr. Alison's politi- 
 cal philosophy are contained in the following sen- 
 tence : — " No community need be afraid of going 
 far astray, which treads in the footsteps of Rome and 
 England." What the ''footsteps" of Rome were, 
 in which every nation should follow that is desirous 
 of not " going far astray," Mr. Alison tells us on the 
 very next page : — ''To the surrounding nations 
 Rome appeared a vast fountain of evil, always 
 streaming over, yet always full, from which devastat- 
 ing floods incessantly issued, to overwhelm and de- 
 stroy mankind. We may judge how far and wide it 
 laid waste the neighbouring states, from the nervous 
 expression which Tacitus puts into the mouth of the 
 Caledonian chief, — ' Ubi solitudinem fecerunt, pa- 
 cem appellant ! ' " 
 
 It appears to us, in our ignorance, that Mr. Alison 
 
Alison's history of Europe. 99 
 
 is a sound military critic ; and we also deem him a 
 good financier, and a tolerably fair political partisan, 
 as the world goes. Had he confined himself to 
 these departments, we should never have been in- 
 duced to review his "History." We like his 
 descriptions of battles better than his sermons; he 
 figures with much more credit in the former than in 
 the latter, though he seems to consider preaching his 
 especial forte. His father, as is well known, was a 
 clergyman ; which may serve to explain many of our 
 author's inconsistencies concerning ethics and religion. 
 May he not have obtained his really sound morals and 
 religion from his father's fast-day sermons, and after- 
 wards marred their beautiful proportions by placing 
 in contact with them his own worldly morality and 
 loose philosophical notions ? It is this perpetual in- 
 consistency which renders Alison's History a work 
 of peculiarly pernicious tendency. The apparently 
 sound philosophical and religious views which it 
 contains serve to sweeten and disguise the poison 
 with which they are mixed ; the respect inspired by 
 the former has induced many to take all the rest on 
 trust. We cannot charge Mr. Alison with hypoc- 
 risy ; we believe him to be sincere, but not 
 thorough. By his palliation of sin, and his support 
 of established abuses, he spoils all his fine sermon- 
 izing. One of the deadliest thrusts ever made at 
 true religion is delivered by Mr. Alison, in his con- 
 stant attempt to hold it up as useful chiefly as an 
 instrument of political government, — a very good 
 thing to keep the people orderly and obedient. He 
 LofC. 
 
100 Alison's history of Europe. 
 
 has no faith in the vitality of religion, unless she is 
 fed from the government crib, — no trust in the vol- 
 untary system. The example of the Irish Catholics, 
 who support their own Church-establishment vol- 
 untarily and the intrusive Church of England by 
 compulsion, and the experiment of the Puritans in 
 New England, have neither of them any weight 
 with Mr. Alison. In truth, he denies the suc- 
 cess of the latter experiment. With him, religion is 
 a nonentity, unless it be government religion. He 
 is not at all particular as to its form. Let govern- 
 ment support the Establishment, and force one or 
 more creeds on the people, and all is well. Govern- 
 ment may support Heathenism in one part of the 
 empire, Episcopacy in another, and Presbyterianism 
 in a third; or, like the Prussian government, may 
 cause to be taught under one roof both Roman 
 Catholicism and Protestantism, the latter according 
 to a creed altered and amended at the pleasure of 
 the king. 
 
 Our author declares that " the popular and demo- 
 cratic party," " in general, evince the most deadly 
 hostility to the tenets of Christianity," while "its 
 principles form the corner-stone of the opposite body, 
 who endeavour to maintain the ascendency of prop- 
 erty and education." Suppose he had instanced the 
 Puritans of England on one side, and the court of 
 Charles II. on the other ; what would have become 
 of his assertion? Where has property ever been 
 more safe than in New England? and in what 
 country has the education of the whole people been 
 
101 
 
 so long and so thoroughly provided for ? Where are 
 the common schools of Old England? What has 
 she done even for the liberal education of those who 
 are able to pay for it ? Why, shut them out from 
 her Universities, unless they subscribe the " Thirty- 
 nine Articles." Does Mr. Alison mean that aristo- 
 cratic religionists '' maintain the ascendency of edu- 
 cation," by placing it on heights inaccessible to all 
 but those who have full purses, and consciences cut 
 according to the government pattern ? We presume 
 that he is a Protestant ; but had he lived in the six- 
 teenth century, where would his present principles 
 have placed him ? In his own country, he would, of 
 course, have been on the side of government, that 
 is. Catholic and Protestant alternately ; and when 
 finally settled as a Protestant, it would have depend- 
 ed upon his precise locality whether he had been 
 a Presbyterian or an Episcopalian. Had he lived in 
 Germany, Charles V. would have moulded his con- 
 science according to the last Papal bull ; and in 
 Constantinople he would have been an excellent 
 Mahometan. This, too, from choice and political 
 principle, — not as a matter of birth, education, and 
 conscience. 
 
 No, religion does not depend on government pat- 
 ronage for her existence and progress ; and in proof, 
 Mr. Alison to the contrary notwithstanding, we 
 adduce the example of the United States of America, 
 on one side, and, on the other, the Spanish and Por- 
 tuguese states of this continent. And, furthermore, 
 we quote Mr. Alison's own admission and lamenta- 
 9* 
 
102 Alison's history of Europe. 
 
 tion of the fact, that, even in Great Britain, " the 
 National Church [has fallen] behind the wants of the 
 inhabitants, and a mass of civilized Heathenism 
 [arisen] in the very heart of a Christian land." 
 
 Instances without number might be cited, to prove 
 that religion has only been polluted by the embraces 
 of the state. A sovereign may do vast good in the 
 cause of religion ; but he must act as a munificent 
 private individual, and his efforts must differ from 
 those of such an individual only in degree, not in 
 kind. Compulsion destroys the vitality of religion. 
 Religion has lived in spite of governments, not by 
 their help; and every step made in advance has 
 been made outside of, and in opposition to, state 
 establishments. Were it not for this, the Christian 
 religion never could have made any progress at all. 
 
 Mr. Alison praises the Emperor Alexander for his 
 Christian virtues, and lauds, ad nauseam, the relig- 
 ious proclamations of the pious emperor to his pious 
 soldiers. Russia was sound at heart : religion 
 reigned in the hearts of the Czar and his army. An 
 excellent thing, — a state religion ! Through it the 
 emperor can so easily command the whole resources 
 of the nation, moral and material ! No matter, if he 
 is (as Mr. Alison coolly informs us Alexander was) 
 an habitual adulterer, and a " profound dissimula- 
 tor " ; no matter, if he does spend his life in adding 
 to his territory " more by the arts of diplomacy than 
 war," that is, more by lying and cheating than by 
 robbing ; no matter, if he does share with an enemy 
 the spoils of a defeated ally ; no matter, if he is a 
 
103 
 
 perfidious enemy, a false neutral, and a faithless 
 friend ; — he is none the less an excellent Christian. 
 Who can doubt that the interests of the Church are 
 safe in such hands ? Not Mr. Alison. And the re- 
 ligious soldiers, too, to whom such excellent address- 
 es were made, — it does seem to us that they might 
 have been considered better Christians, if they had 
 perpetrated a little less of the robbery, rape, and 
 murder for which they rendered themselves notori- 
 ous in France. A loss of such religion would have 
 improved their Christianity. In truth, in a descrip- 
 tion con amove of the wars which followed the 
 French Revolution, the less there is said of Christi- 
 anity, the better. 
 
 In conclusion, it seems to us, that, as a military 
 and political writer, Mr. Alison deserves credit for 
 general ability, though frequently incorrect ; but, as 
 a moralist and Christian philosopher, he is utterly 
 unsound, — looking at his work as a whole ; for 
 what is unexceptionable in this department of his 
 work is more than neutralized by that which is of 
 decidedly evil tendency. As an historian and geog- 
 rapher, he has been severely criticized, and, it appears 
 to us, justly ,• and, unless his last edition is truly a 
 "revised and corrected" one, "Alison's History of 
 Europe " is far from being sufficiently near perfec- 
 tion to insure it an immortality of fifty years. Its 
 bodily form may cumber the shelves of libraries for 
 centuries ; but the early editions, at least, will be 
 looked upon, by all future historians, as untrust- 
 worthy, dead for all the purposes of history. Nev- 
 
104 Alison's history of Europe. 
 
 ertheless, we desire distinctly to admit that much of 
 this work — perhaps the greater part of it, counting 
 by pages — is worthy, taken separately, of admira- 
 tion and praise ; and, had it not been that with this 
 there is so much contradictory and erroneous mat- 
 ter mingled, we should have been engaged in the 
 pleasant task of quoting from and commending the 
 former, instead of the less agreeable one of noticing 
 a very small portion of the latter. 
 
WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS?* 
 
 Who says that we have no American poetry, 
 no national songs? The charge is often made 
 against us, but (as will be hereinafter proved) with- 
 out the slightest foundation in truth. Foreigners 
 read Bryant, and Halleck, and Longfellow, and 
 hearing these called our best poets, and perceiving 
 nothing in their poems which might not just as well 
 have been written in England, or by Englishmen, 
 they infer, that, as the productions of those who 
 stand highest among our poets have nothing about 
 them which savors peculiarly of America, therefore 
 America has no national poetry ; — a broad conclu- 
 sion from narrow premises. 
 
 What are the prerequisites of national poetry? 
 What is necessary to make the poet national ? — this 
 being, in the opinion of these foreign critics, the 
 highest merit he can possess. Certainly, liberal ed- 
 ucation and foreign travel cannot assist him in 
 attaining this desirable end ; these denationalize a 
 man ; they render any but the narrowest soul cos- 
 mopolitan. By these means the poet acquires a 
 
 Published in the Knickerbocker for October, 1845, 
 
106 WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS ? 
 
 higher standard than the national. By a kind of 
 eclecticism, he appropriates forms and thoughts, 
 images and modes of expression, from all countries 
 and languages ; by comparing the specific, the tran- 
 sient, and the idiosyncratic, he arrives at the gener- 
 al and the permanent ; and when he has written in 
 his own language a poem in accordance with his 
 new ideal standard, he may have produced a noble 
 work, but it can hardly be a national poem. He 
 has striven to avoid the faults peculiar to his own 
 countrymen, — faults which he might have deemed 
 beauties, had he finished his education in his village 
 school, and never ventured out of his native valley. 
 He has become enamoured of the excellences of the 
 poets of other nations, the very knowledge of which 
 prevents him from being national himself. He has 
 become acquainted with the rules of universal 
 poetry, as the linguist learns, in the study of foreign 
 tongues, the principles of universal grammar. His 
 standard is universal, not national. 
 
 From what has been said, it follows, that, if it 
 be so desirable as some people think, that poetry 
 should smack strongly of the locality in which it 
 is written, then, in order to obtain that end, we must 
 keep our poets at home, give them a narrow educa- 
 tion, and allow them no spare money by which they 
 may purchase books or make excursions into other 
 ranks of society than their own. If we could only 
 pick out the born poets when they are a fortnight 
 old, and subject them to this regimen, the nation 
 would be able to boast of original poets in plenty, 
 
WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS? 107 
 
 during the next generation. This is the way in 
 which Burns became Scotland's greatest national 
 poet. If he had been born a lord, had been educat- 
 ed at Cambridge, and had made the grand tour of the 
 world, does any one suppose he would have been a 
 better poet, or half so good ? At best, he could not 
 have been so original, nor so Scottish ; and he might 
 have proved to be only a tasteful Haynes Bayley, 
 or Barry Cornwall ; or perhaps a miserable, moody, 
 misanthropic Lord Byron. Where would have 
 been the glory of England, the immortal Shak- 
 speare, had the boy William received an education 
 like that given in the nineteenth century to lads of 
 genius who have rich fathers ? 
 
 Applying this rule to America, in what class of 
 our population must we look for our truly original 
 and American poets ? What class is most secluded 
 from foreign influences, receives the narrowest edu- 
 cation, travels the shortest distance from home, has 
 the least amount of spare cash, and mixes the least 
 with any class above itself? Our negro slaves, to be 
 sure. That is the class in which we must expect 
 to find our original poets, and there we do find them. 
 From that class come the Jim Crows, the Zip Coons, 
 and the Dandy Jims, who have electrified the world. 
 From them proceed our only truly national poets. 
 
 When Burns was discovered, he was immediately 
 taken away from the plough, carried to Edinburgh, 
 and feted and lionized to the '' fulness of satiety." 
 James Crow and Scipio Coon never were discovered, 
 personally ; and if they had been, their owners would 
 
108 
 
 not have spared them from work. Alas that poets 
 should be ranked with horses, and provided with 
 owners accordingly ! In this, however, our negro 
 poets are not peculiarly unfortunate. Are not 'some 
 of their white brethren owned and kept by certain 
 publishing-houses, newspapers, and magazines ? Are 
 not the latter class, like the former, provided with 
 just sufficient clothing and food to maintain them in 
 good working condition, and with no more ? And 
 do not the masters, in both cases, appropriate all the 
 profits ? 
 
 Messrs. Crow and Coon could not be spared from 
 the hoe, but they might be introduced to the great 
 world by proxy. And so thought Mr. Thomas 
 Rice, a "buckra gemman " of great imitative pow- 
 ers, who accordingly learned their poetry, music, and 
 dancing, blacked his face, and made his fortune by 
 giving to the world his counterfeit presentment of 
 the American national opera ; counterfeit, because 
 none but the negroes themselves could give it in its 
 original perfection. And thus it came to pass, that 
 while James Crow and Scipio Coon were quietly at 
 work on their masters' plantations, all-unconscious of 
 their fame, the whole civilized world was resound- 
 ing with their names. From the nobility and gen- 
 try, down to the lowest chimney-sweep in Great 
 Britain, and from the member of Congress down to 
 the youngest apprentice or school-boy in America, it 
 was all 
 
 *' Turn about and wheel about, and do just so, 
 And every time I turn about I jump Jim Crow." 
 
WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS ? 109 
 
 Even the fair sex did not escape the contagion ; 
 the tunes were set to music for the piano-forte, and 
 nearly every young lady in the Union and the 
 United Kingdom played and sang, if she did not 
 jump, " Jim Crow." ''Zip Coon " became a fash- 
 ionable song, " Lubly Rosa, Sambo come," the fa- 
 vorite serenade, and " Dandy Jim of Caroline " the 
 established quadrille-music. White bards imitated 
 the negro melodies ; and the familiar song, 
 
 " As I was gwine down Shinbone Alley, 
 Long time ago," 
 
 appeared in the following shape : — 
 
 " Near the lake where drooped the willow, 
 Long time ago." 
 
 What greater proofs of genius have ever been ex- 
 hibited than by these our national poets? They 
 themselves were not permitted to appear in the 
 theatres and the houses of the fashionable, but their 
 songs are in the mouths and ears of all j white men 
 have blacked their faces to represent them, made 
 their fortunes by the speculation, and have been 
 caressed and flattered, on both sides of the Atlantic. 
 
 Humorous and burlesque songs are generally 
 chosen for theatrical exhibition, and this fact may 
 have led many to believe that the negroes compose 
 no others. But they deal in the pathetic as well as 
 the comical. Listen to the following, and imagine 
 the hoe of Sambo digging into the ground with 
 additional vigor at every emphasized syllable : — 
 10 
 
110 
 
 '* Massa an' Misse promised me 
 When they died they 'd set me free ; 
 Massa an' Misse dead an' gone, 
 Here 's old Sambo hillin' up corn ! " 
 
 Poor fellow ! it seems a hard case. His " massa 
 an' misse " are freed from their bonds, but Sambo 
 still wears his. He might here very properly stop 
 and water the corn with his tears. But no ; Sambo 
 is too much of a philosopher for that. Having ut- 
 tered his plaint, he instandy consoles himself with 
 the thought, that he has many blessings yet to be 
 thankful for, even if the greatest of all be wanting. 
 He thinks of his wife, and the good dinner which 
 she is preparing for him, and from the depths of a 
 grateful and joyous heart he calls out, at the top of 
 his voice, — 
 
 " Jenny, get your hoe-cake done, my darling ! 
 Jenny^ get your hoe-cake done, my dear ! " 
 
 and Jenny, in her distant log-hut, which is embow- 
 ered in Catalpa and Pride-of-India trees, gives the 
 hominy another stir, looks at the hoe-cake, and 
 giving the young ones a light cuff or two on the 
 side of the head, to make them '' hush," answers 
 her beloved Sambo in the same strain : — 
 
 "De hoe-cake is almost done, my darling! 
 De hoe-cake is almost done, my dear ! " 
 
 Now if that field of corn belonged to Sambo, and 
 the hut and its inmates were his own, and he 
 belonged to himself, this would be a delightful spe- 
 cimen of humble rural felicity. But perhaps his 
 
WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS? Ill 
 
 young master may be so unfortunate as to lose the 
 ten thousand dollars which he has bet upon the race 
 that is to take place to-morrow ; and poor Sambo 
 and his family may be sold, separated, and sent just 
 where their new masters please, — possibly to labor 
 on a sugar plantation, the hell of the blacks. 
 
 The greater portion of our national poetry origi- 
 nates in Virginia, or among involuntary Virginian 
 emigrants. Slaves are worked very lightly in that 
 State, comparatively speaking. They are raised 
 chiefly for exportation. Every year, thousands are 
 sent to the far South and Southwest for sale. The 
 Virginian type of negro character, therefore, has 
 come to prevail throughout the Slave States, with 
 the exception of some portions of Louisiana and 
 Florida. Thus everywhere you may hear nearly 
 the same songs and tunes, and see the same dances, 
 with little variety and no radical difl'erence. Taken 
 together, they form a system perfectly unique. The 
 negroes have many doleful ditties about the slave- 
 drivers, which never reach the ears of the world. 
 It is only their comical or humorous songs that 
 arrive at the honor of being set to music and sung 
 by the aristocracy. Without any teaching, the 
 negroes have contrived a rude kind of opera, com- 
 bining the poetry of motion, of music, and of 
 language. "Jim Crow" is an opera; and all the 
 negro songs were intended to be performed, as well 
 as sung and played. And considering the world- 
 wide renown to which they have attained, who can 
 doubt the genius of the composers ? Was not the 
 
112 WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS? 
 
 top of Mount Washington, once upon a time, the 
 stage on which '^ Jim Crow " was performed, with 
 New Hampshire and Maine for audience and specta- 
 tors ? So saith one of the albums at the foot of the 
 mountain. And does not William Howitt tell us 
 that the summit of the Hartz mountains was the 
 scene of a similar exhibition ? 
 
 These operas are full of negro life ; there is hard- 
 ly any thing which might not be learned of negro 
 character from a complete collection of these original 
 works. A tour through the South, and a year or 
 two of plantation life, would not fail to reward the 
 diligent collector ; and his future fame would be 
 as certain as Homer's. Let him put his own name, 
 as compiler, on the title-page, and (the real authors 
 being unknown) after the lapse of a few centuries 
 the contents of the book will be ascribed to him, as 
 " the great American poet," the object of adoration 
 to the poetical public of the fiftieth century. What 
 was Homer but a diligent collector ? Some learned 
 people saij that he was nothing more, at any rate. 
 Thou who pantest for glory, go and do likewise ! 
 
 While writing this, your city papers advertise, — 
 ' 'Concert this evening, by the African Melodists." 
 African melodists ! As well might the Hutchinsons 
 call themselves English melodists, because their an- 
 cestors, some six or eight generations back, came 
 from England. Whether these performers are 
 blacks, or whites with blacked faces, does not ap- 
 pear ; but they are doubtless meant to represent the 
 native colored population of " Old Varginny," and as 
 
WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS? 113 
 
 such should be judged. They are American melo- 
 dists, par excellence. 
 
 It is a true test of genius in a writer, that he 
 should be able to put his sayings into the mouths 
 of all, so that they may become household words, 
 quoted by every one, and, nine times in ten, with- 
 out knowledge of the author of them. How often 
 do we find in Shakspeare, Sterne, and other celebrat- 
 ed old writers, the very expressions we have been 
 accustomed to hear from childhood, without thought 
 of their origin ! They meet us everywhere in the 
 old standard works, like familiar faces. And how 
 often, when uttering one of these beautiful quota- 
 tions, if questioned as to its origin, we feel at a loss 
 whether to refer the querist to Milton, Sterne, or 
 the Bible ! Proverbs are said to be " the wisdom of 
 nations " ; yet who knows the author of a single 
 proverb ? How many, of the millions who weekly 
 join their voices to that glorious tune. Old Hundred, 
 ever heard the name of the composer ? How tran- 
 scendent, then, must be the genius of the authors 
 of our negro operas ! Are not snatches of their 
 songs in every body's mouth, from Johnny Groat's to 
 Land's End, and from Labrador to Mexico ? Three 
 hundred and fifty times a day, (we took the pains to 
 count once,) we have been amused and instructed 
 with '' Zip Coon," " Jim Crow," and the tale of a 
 '•Fat raccoon, a-sittin' on a rail." Let Webster 
 tell of the tap of Britain's drum, that encircles the 
 world ! Compared with the time occupied by Great 
 Britain in bringing this to pass, 'Mim Crow" has 
 10* 
 
114 WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS? 
 
 '' put a girdle round about the earth in forty min- 
 utes." At no time does the atmosphere of our planet 
 cease to vibrate harmoniously to the immortal songs 
 of the negroes of America. At this present moment, 
 a certain ubiquitous person seems to be in the way 
 of the whole people of these United States simul- 
 taneously, (a mere pretender, doubtless, dressed up 
 in some cast-off negro clothing,) and any one may 
 hear him told, a hundred times a day, to " Get out 
 ob de way, old Dan Tucker ! " But if he gets out 
 of any body's way, it is only that of '' Dandy Jim 
 of Caroline." O that he would obey the command 
 altogether ! but, depend upon it, he will do no such 
 thing, so long as the young ladies speak to him in 
 such fascinating tones, and accompany their sweet 
 voices with the only less sweet music of the piano. 
 Dan takes it as an invitation to stay ; and doubtless 
 many a lover would like to receive a similar rejec- 
 tion from his lady-love. — a fashion, by the way, like 
 that in which the country lass reproved her lover for 
 kissing her : " Be done, Nat ! " said she, '•' and [sotto 
 voce] begin again ! " 
 
 Who is the man of genius ? He who utters clear- 
 ly that which is dimly felt by all. He who most 
 vividly represents the sentiment, intellect, and taste 
 of the public to which he addresses himself. He to 
 whom all hearts and heads respond. Take our " na- 
 tional poets," for example, whom, being unknown 
 individually, we may personify collectively as the 
 American Sambo. Is not Sambo a genius? All 
 tastes are delighted, all intellects are astonished, all 
 
WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS? 115 
 
 hearts respond to his utterances ; at any rate, all 
 piano-fortes do, and a hundred thousand of the 
 sweetest voices in Christendom. What more con- 
 vincing proof of genius was ever presented to the 
 world ? Is not Sambo the incarnation of the taste, 
 intellect, and heart of America, the ladies being the 
 judges ? Do not shrink from the answer, most 
 beautiful, accomplished, delicate, and refined lady- 
 reader ! You cannot hold yourself above him, for 
 you imitate him ; you spend days and weeks in 
 learning his tunes ; you trill his melodies with your 
 rich voice ; you are delighted with his humor, his 
 pathos, his irresistible fan. Say truly, incomparable 
 damsel ! is not Sambo the realization of your poetic 
 ideal ? 
 
 But our national melodists have many imitators. 
 Half of the songs published as theirs are, so far as 
 the words are concerned, the productions of "mean 
 whites " ; but, base counterfeits as they are, they 
 pass current with most people as genuine negro 
 songs. Thus is it ever with true excellence. It is 
 always imitated ; but no one counterfeits that which 
 is acknowledged by all to be worthless. The Span- 
 ish dollar is recognized as good throughout the 
 world, and it is more frequently counterfeited than 
 any other coin. The hypocrite assumes the garb of 
 virtue and religion ; but who ever thought of feign- 
 ing vice and infidelity, unless upon the stage ? 
 Every imitator acknowledges the superior excellence 
 of his model. The greater the number of imitators, 
 the stronger is the evidence of that superiority; the 
 
116 WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS? 
 
 warmer their reception by the public, the more firm- 
 ly becomes established the genius of the original. 
 
 But the music and the dancing are all Sambo's 
 own. No one attemps to introduce any thing new 
 there. In truth, they, with the chorus, constitute all 
 that is essentially permanent in the negro song. The 
 blacks themselves leave out old stanzas, and intro- 
 duce new ones, at pleasure. Travelling through the 
 South, you may, in passing from Virginia to Louisi- 
 ana, hear the same tune a hundred times, but seldom 
 the same words accompanying it. This necessarily 
 results from the fact that the songs are unwritten, 
 and also from the habit of extemporizing, in which 
 the performers indulge on festive occasions. Let us 
 picture one of these scenes, which often occur on 
 the estates of kind masters, seldom on those of the 
 cruel. So true is this, that the frequent sound of 
 the violin, banjo, or jaw-bone lute, is as sure an 
 indication of the former, as its general absence is of 
 the latter. 
 
 Like the wits of the white race, the negro singer is 
 fond of appearing to extemporize, when, in fact, he 
 has every thing ''cut and dried" beforehand. Sam- 
 bo has heard that his " massa" is going to be put up 
 as candidate for Congress; that his "misse" has 
 that day bought a new gold watch and chain ; that 
 Miss Lucy favors one of her lovers above the rest, 
 that " massa and misse " have given their consent, 
 and, in fact, that Violet, the chamber-maid, saw Miss 
 Lucy looking lovingly on a miniature which she 
 had that morning received in a disguised package. 
 
WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS? 117 
 
 Sambo has learned all this, and he has been engaged 
 the whole day, while hoeing corn, in putting these 
 facts, and his thoughts thereon, into verse, to his 
 favorite tune, "Zip Coon." He never did such a 
 day's work in his life before. He hoed so fast, that 
 his fellow-laborers looked at him in astonishment, 
 and said Sambo had " got de debbil in him ; dumb 
 debbil, too ; no get a word out ob him all day." 
 Sambo finished his hoeing task by three o'clock, but 
 not his rhyming. He could not sit still, so he went 
 to work in his little garden-patch ; and just at sun- 
 down, having completed his verses to his satisfac- 
 tion, and hummed them over till confident that he 
 could sing them through without hesitation, he 
 threw down his hoe, and shouted and capered for 
 joy like a madman. 
 
 Soon after tea, Violet enters the parlour : — " Sam- 
 bo sends compliments to Massa and Misse, and de 
 young gemmen and ladies, and say he gwine to gib 
 musical entertainment to company dis evening in de 
 kitchen, and be happy to hab a full house." Sam- 
 bo is a favorite servant, and so, with an air of kind- 
 ness and dignity, the master replies : — " Give our 
 compliments to Sambo, and say that we v/ill a.ttend 
 with pleasure " ; and soon the whole family go out 
 to the kitchen, which at the South is always a 
 building by itself. The master's family occupy one 
 end of the room, standing ; the doors and windows 
 are filled with black faces, grinning ivory, and rolling 
 eyes. Sambo emerges from behind a rug, hung 
 across the corner of the kitchen, and the orchestra, 
 
118 WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS ? 
 
 consisting of one fiddle played by old Jupe, strikes 
 up, " Clar de kitchen, old folks, young folks, old 
 Varginny neber tire." This is a feint, skilfully 
 planned by Sambo, just as if he intended nothing 
 more than to sing over the well-known words of 
 one or two old songs. He goes through this per- 
 formance, and through two or three more, with the 
 usual applause : at last, old Jupe strikes up '' Zip 
 Coon," and Sambo sings two or three familiar stanzas 
 of this well-known song ; but suddenly, as if a new 
 thought struck him, he makes an extraordinary 
 flourish, looks at his master, and sings, — 
 
 " 0, my ole raassa gwine to Washington, 
 
 O, my ole massa gwine to Washington, 
 
 O, my ole massa gwine to Washington, 
 
 All 'e niggers cry when massa gone. 
 
 I know what I wish massa do, 
 
 I know what I wish massa do, 
 
 I know what 1 wish massa do, 
 Take me on to Washington to black him boot an' shoe. 
 Zip e duden duden, duden duden da. 
 
 " Misse got a gold chain round her neck, 
 
 Misse got a gold chain round her neck, 
 
 Misse got a gold chain round her neck ; 
 
 De watch on toder end tick tick tick, 
 
 De watch on toder end tick tick tick, 
 
 De watch on toder end tick tick tick, 
 Jus de same as Sambo when he cut up stick. 
 Zip e duden duden, duden duden da. 
 
 " Miss Lucy she hab a gold chain too, 
 Miss Lucy she hab a gold chain too. 
 Miss Lucy she hab a gold chain too ; 
 
WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS ? 119 
 
 No watch on de toder end ob dat, I know, 
 
 No watch on de toder end ob dat, I kno\\% 
 
 No watch on de toder end ob dat, I know, 
 
 I reckon it's a picture ob her handsome beau. 
 
 Zip e duden duden, duden duden da." 
 
 Great tittering and grinning among the blacks ; 
 hearty laughter among the whites ; blushes, and a 
 playfully-threatening shake of the finger at Sambo, 
 from Miss Lucy. Sambo meanwhile "does" an 
 extra quantity of jumping at an extra height. His 
 elation at the sensation he has produced really in- 
 spires him, and he prolongs his saltations until he 
 has concocted a genuine impromptu stanza : — 
 
 " Who dat nigger in e door I spy ? 
 Who dat nigger in e door I spy ? 
 Who dat nigger in e door I spy ? 
 Dat old Scip by de white ob him eye. 
 Zip e duden duden, duden duden da. 
 
 " By de white ob him eye an' he tick out lip, 
 By de white ob him eye an' he tick out lip, 
 By de white ob him eye an' he tick out lip. 
 Sambo know dat old black Scip. 
 
 Zip e duden duden, duden duden da." 
 
 Exit Sambo, behind the rug. Great applause ; and 
 white folks exeunt. The evening winds up with a 
 treat of whiskey all round, furnished by ''massa" 
 on the occasion, and in due time all disperse to their 
 several log-huts, and retire to rest, after one of the 
 most joyous evenings they ever passed in their lives. 
 All sleep soundly but Sambo ; he lies awake half 
 the night, so excited is he by the honors he has 
 acquired, so full of poetical thoughts seeking to 
 
120 WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS ? 
 
 shape themselves into words. Shimber at last falls 
 on him ; but his wife declares, next morning, that 
 Sambo talked all night in his sleep like a crazy man. 
 Thousands at the South would recognize the fore- 
 going as a faithful sketch of a not infrequent scene ; 
 pictures just the reverse of this may be drawn with 
 equal truth, we know, but that is not our purpose 
 here. 
 
 " The man who has no music in his soul, 
 Nor is not moved by concord of sweet sounds, 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; 
 Let no such man be trusted.'' 
 
 Shakspeare never uttered a more undeniable 
 truth ; and if he were living at the present day, and 
 needed evidence to back his opinion, a short experi- 
 ence as a cotton-planter would furnish him with the 
 requisite proof. This thing is well understood at 
 the South. A laughing, singing, fiddling, dancing 
 negro is almost invariably a faithful servant. Possi- 
 bly he may be lazy and idle, but " treasons, strata- 
 gems, and spoils " form not the subject of his med- 
 'itations. He is a thoughtless, merry fellow, who 
 sings '' to drive dull care away," sings at his work, 
 sings at his play, and generally accomplishes more 
 at his labor than the sulky negro, who says nothing, 
 but looks volumes. These last words have struck 
 " the electric chain " of memory, and forthwith starts 
 up a picture of by-gone days. '' The time is long 
 past, and the scene is afar," yet the mental daguerre- 
 otype is as fresh as if taken yesterday. 
 
 One day during the early part of the Indian war 
 
WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL P9ETS ? 121 
 
 in Florida, we stepped into a friend's boat at Jack- 
 sonville, and, with a dozen stout negro rowers, 
 pushed off, bound up the St. John's with a load of 
 muskets, to be distributed among the distressed 
 inhabitants, who were everywhere flying from the 
 frontier before the victorious Seminoles. As we 
 shot ahead over the lake-like expanse of the noble 
 river, the negroes struck up a song, to which they 
 kept time with their oars ; and our speed increased 
 as they went on and became warmed with their 
 singing. The words were rude enough, the music 
 better, and both were well adapted to the scene. A 
 line Avas sung by a leader, then all joined in a short 
 chorus ; then came another solo line, and another 
 short chorus, followed by a longer chorus, during 
 the singing of which the boat foamed through the 
 water with redoubled velocity. There seemed to 
 be a certain number of lines ready manufactured ; 
 but after this stock was exhausted, lines relating to 
 surrounding objects were extemporized. Some of 
 these were full of rude wit, and a lucky hit always 
 drew a thundering chorus from the rowers, and an 
 encouraging laugh from the occupants of the stern- 
 seats. Sometimes several minutes elapsed in si-* 
 lence ; then one of the negroes burst out with a 
 line or two which he had been excogitating. Little 
 regard was paid to rhyme, and hardly any to the 
 number of syllables in a line ; they condensed four 
 or five into one foot, or stretched out one to occupy 
 the space that should have been filled with four or 
 five ; yet they never spoiled the tune. This elas- 
 ticity of form is peculiar to the negro song. 
 11 
 
122 WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS ? 
 
 But among these negroes there was one who rowed 
 in silence, and no smile lighted up his countenance at 
 the mirthful sallies of his sable companions. When 
 the others seemed merriest, he was unmoved, or 
 only showed, by a transient expression of contempt, 
 the bitterness which dwelt in his heart. In physi- 
 ognomy he differed entirely from his companions. 
 His nose was straight and finely cut, his lips thin, 
 and the general cast of his countenance strikingly 
 handsome. He was very dark, and in a tableau 
 vivant might have figured with credit as a bronze 
 statue of a Grecian hero. He seemed misplaced, 
 and looked as if he felt so. The countenance of 
 that man, as he carelessly plied his oar, in silent 
 contempt of the merry, thoughtless set around him| 
 made an impression on my mind which will never 
 be effaced. He spoke not, but '' looked unutterable 
 things." He had no '• music in his soul " ; he was 
 not " moved by concord of sweet sounds " ; but his 
 thoughts were on '' treasons, stratagems, and spoils " ; 
 he was thinking of the muskets and ammunition 
 which the boat contained, and of the excellent use 
 that might be made of them, in the way of helping 
 the Indians, instead of repelling them. '' Let no 
 such man be trusted ! " would have been a proper 
 precaution in this case. A few weeks after this, he 
 ran away and joined the Seminoles, and was sus- 
 pected to have acted as a guide to the party that 
 subsequently laid waste his master's plantation. 
 
 Comparatively speaking, however, there are few 
 negroes at the South who have 
 
 I 
 
WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS ? 123 
 
 souls. The love of music and song is characteristic 
 of the race. They have songs on all subjects, 
 witty, humorous, boisterous, and sad. Most fre- 
 quently, however, specimens of all these classes are 
 mingled together in the same song, in grotesque 
 confusion. Variety is the spice of the negro melo- 
 dies. Take the following as a fair specimen of ne- 
 gro humor and pathos : — 
 
 *' Come, all you jolly niggers, to you de truf I tell-ah ; 
 Neber lib wid white folks, dey neber use you well-ah : 
 Cold frosty mornin', nigger bery good-ah, 
 Wid he axe on he shoulder, he go to cut de wood-ah ; 
 
 Dingee I otten dotten, balli' otten dotten, 
 
 Dingee I otten, who dar^ J 
 
 ** Come home to breakfast, get somethin' to eat-ah ; 
 And dey set down before him a little nasty meat-ah ; 
 Den at noon poor nigger he come home to dine-ah, 
 And dey take him in de corn-field and gib him thirty-nine-ah ! 
 Dingee I otten dotten, balli' otten dotten, 
 Dingee I otten, who dar^ ? 
 
 "Den de night come on, and he come home to supper-ah, 
 And dey knock down, and break down, and jump ober Juber-ah ! 
 Den a little cold pancake, and a little hog-fat-ah, 
 And dey grumble like de debbil, if you eat too much ob dat-ah ! 
 
 Dingee I otten dotten, balli' otten dotten, 
 
 Dingee I otten, loho dar'' 1 
 
 " Den, O poor nigger ! I sorry for your color-ah ; 
 Hit you on de back-bone, you sound like a dollar-ah ! 
 Cold frosty mornin', nigger bery good-ah ; 
 Wid he axe on he shoulder, he go to cut de wood-ah ! 
 
 Dingee I otten dotten, balli' otten dotten, 
 
 Dingee I otten, who dar'' 1 " 
 
124 WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS? 
 
 The intelligent reader, conversant with Hewitt's 
 '' Student Life in Germany," cannot have failed to 
 note the close similarity of style between the fore- 
 going and some of the students' songs, translations of 
 which are therein given. The question arises. Who 
 was the imitator ? Surely not the negro : he knows 
 not that there is in existence such a being as a Ger- 
 man student. But the students know the whole 
 history of the negroes, and doubtless are acquainted 
 with their world-renowned songs. The inference is 
 irresistible : the student is the imitator of the negro, 
 just in the same way that he is the imitator of 
 Homer, and Anacreon, and Sappho. The student is 
 a man of discernment, able to recognize true genius, 
 and not ashamed to emulate it, however lowly the 
 circumstances in which it may be found. He 
 remembers that Homer was a blind, wandering beg- 
 gar, and, knowing that simplicity and adversity are 
 favorable to the growth of true poetry, he is not sur- 
 prised to find it flourishing in perfection among the 
 American negroes. Or, say that the student is not 
 an imitator of the negro : then we have a case 
 which goes to establish still more firmly the well- 
 known truth, that, human nature being the same 
 everywhere, men of genius, living thousands of 
 miles apart, and holding no communication with 
 each other, often arrive at the same results. 
 
 Proofs of the genius of our American poets crowd 
 upon us in tumultuous array from all quarters. A 
 few of them only are before the reader, but enough, 
 it is hoped, to establish their claim beyond a doubt. 
 
WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS ? 125 
 
 Now let justice be done. Render to Caesar, and 
 Pompey, and Scipio, and Sambo, the just honor 
 which has so long been unjustly withheld ; and 
 render to America the meed of praise which has been 
 so pertinaciously denied to her. Sambo claims 
 honor for the fact that he is a true poet : America 
 asks praise for bringing him up, with infinite pains, 
 in the only way in which a true poet should go ; 
 which fact was demonstrated in the beginning of 
 this article. Acknowledge, then, ye British critics, 
 your sins of omission and commission ; eat your 
 own slanderous words, and proclaim the now unde- 
 niable truth, or else be branded as false prophets, 
 and " for ever after hold your peace " ! 
 
 A wise man has said, " Let me have the making 
 of the songs of a people, and I care not who makes 
 their laws." The popular song-maker sways the 
 souls of men ; the legislator rules only their bodies. 
 The song-maker governs through love and spiritual 
 affinity; the legislator by brute force. Apply this 
 principle to the American people. Who are our true 
 rulers ? The negro poets, to be sure. Do they not 
 set the fashion, and give laws to the public taste ? 
 Let one of them, in the swamps of Carolina, com- 
 pose a new song, and it no sooner reaches the ear of 
 a white amateur, than it is written down, amended, 
 (that is, almost spoilt,) printed, and then put upon a 
 course of rapid dissemination, to cease only with 
 the utmost bounds of Anglo-Saxondom, perhaps of 
 the world. Meanwhile, the poor author digs aAvay 
 with his hoe, utterly ignorant of his greatness. 
 11* 
 
126 WHO ARE OUR NATIONAL POETS ? 
 
 '' Blessed are they who do good, and are forgotten ! " 
 says dear Miss Bremer. Then blessed indeed are 
 our national melodists ! " True greatness is always 
 modestj" says some one else. How great, then, 
 are our retiring Sambos ! How shrinkingly they 
 remain secluded, and allow sooty-faced white men 
 to gather all the honors and emoluments ! The 
 works of great men are always imitated. Even 
 those miserable counterfeits, " Lucy Long," and 
 '' Old Dan Tucker," have secured a large share of 
 favor, on the supposition that they were genuine 
 negro songs. With the music no great fault can be 
 found ; that may be pure negro, though some people 
 declare it to be Italian. Be that as it may, the 
 words are far beneath the genius of our American 
 poets ; this any student, well versed in negro lore, 
 can perceive at a glance. 
 
 Bryant, Longfellow, Halleck, Whittier, do you 
 ardently desire fame ? Give heed to foreign re- 
 viewers ; doubt no longer that nationality is the 
 highest merit that poetry can possess ; uneducate 
 yourselves ; consult the taste of your fair country- 
 women ; write no more English poems ; write negro 
 songs, and Yankee songs in negro style ; take les- 
 sons in dancing of the celebrated Thomas Rice ; 
 appear upon the stage and perform your own operas ; 
 do this, and not only will fortune and fame be 
 yours, but you will thus vindicate yourselves and 
 your country from the foul imputation under which 
 both now rest. With your names on the list with 
 Crow and Coon, who then will dare to say that 
 America has no national poets ? 
 
TOLERATION.* 
 
 " Do unto Others as ey would that others should do unto you." 
 
 " He is a skeptic ! " says one ; " have nothing to 
 do with him ! " Yes, he is a skeptic, and therefore 
 it is the duty of all good Christians, of all who 
 have the welfare of their souls at heart, of all un- 
 changeable believers in established forms and creeds, 
 to shun him as they would the plague. They 
 deem him the victim of a moral pestilence, and 
 fancy that he scatters disease and death wherever 
 he goes. Is Truth, then, so weak, and her influence 
 on her followers so enervating ? 
 
 But who is this skeptic ? Is he honest ? '' O, 
 yes ! no one doubts that he is sincere, honest, and 
 desirous of being truly virtuous ; but all this makes 
 him only so much the more dangerous. He is Satan 
 in the garb of an angel." How do you knoio he 
 is a devil ? You do not know it ; but I will tell you 
 why you think as you do, — why you judge thus 
 harshly of your brother. It is because he is not a 
 Christian according to your creed. And who made 
 you a ruler and a judge over him ? He believes in 
 
 * Published in the Knickerbocker, for May, 1843. 
 
128 TOLERATION. 
 
 God, and that Jesus is the Christ ; he believes it to 
 be his duty, and feels it to be his privilege, to love 
 God with all his heart, and also to love his neigh- 
 bour as himself; but he does not believe some other 
 things which you do ; he does not subscribe to every 
 item of your church creed, and therefore he is to 
 you a heathen. Be not so uncharitable, or you may 
 disgust him at the outset with what you deem Chris- 
 tianity. He has already, through much toil, com- 
 prehended and received the above-named four cardinal 
 articles of your faith ; speak kindly to him, encour- 
 age him, and he may in due time understand and 
 embrace the remaining and minor articles. 
 
 But how came you with your creed ? Were you 
 educated in it ? Did you take it on the authority 
 of your teachers ? Ah, indeed ! Then if you had 
 been born a Turk, it would have been a sin in you 
 to have questioned the truth of Islamism. It is 
 now a sin for you to ask a Turk to doubt the au- 
 thority of his teachers. If it is right to believe all 
 that our early spiritual guides have taught us, and a 
 sin to doubt the infallibility of their authority, then 
 all who unhesitatingly receive the religion of their 
 fathers are right; then all mankind are right, except 
 skeptics and apostates ; and even the skeptics are 
 right, if their parents and teachers were skeptics 
 before them. Call home your missionaries ; abolish 
 your societies for the conversion of the heathen. 
 You ask them to sin, when you invite them to 
 emancipate themselves from the thraldom of au- 
 thority. 
 
TOLERATION. 129 
 
 This is slavish. To be a saving, yours must be 
 a living faith : you must work out your own salva- 
 tion ; others cannot do it for you. You must build 
 up your own faith, and breathe into it the breath 
 of life from your own soul. You must begin by 
 doubting ; you must be a skeptic ; a skeptic, but not 
 a mere caviller. Be earnest, be truth-loving. 
 ^' Seek and you shall find ; knock and it shall be 
 opened unto you." And look not askance on others 
 who seek truth in a different path from your own, 
 for the castle of Truth has many approaches ; jior 
 on those who knock not at the same door with your- 
 self, for it hath many portals, — ay, and many a pos- 
 tern and private entrance, by which those whom you 
 despise may chance to obtain an audience before 
 you, with your crowd, shall have reached even the 
 anteroom of the castle. 
 
 You believe in a certain creed and certain forms 
 of worship ; and if you believe with all your heart, 
 I say, God speed you on your road to heaven ! I 
 will never attempt to turn you from what you 
 deem the path of duty, by denunciation and threats 
 of the penalties of hell-fire. Believing as you do, it 
 would be a sin for you to act otherwise ; it would be 
 a sin in me to ask you to belie your conscience. I 
 may, indeed, question your belief, and inform you of 
 mine ; but I have no right to condemn you, if you 
 cannot forsake yours and adopt mine. 
 
 Have charity, dear brother ! have charity for 
 those who differ from you. All stomachs cannot di- 
 gest the same kind of food; all souls cannot draw 
 
130 TOLERATION. 
 
 nourishment from the same spiritual aliment. All 
 eyes cannot see through the same spectacles ; all 
 souls cannot worship through the same forms, can- 
 not discern God through the same medium. He 
 who is honest and earnest is on the road to heaven ; 
 and whether his progress be slow or rapid, he will 
 surely reach it, be he Jew, Gentile, or Christian ; 
 and he will find a little charity no burden on the 
 
 road. 
 
 * 
 
 The human mind is a kind of telescope ; the ele- 
 
 me|ital faculties are the glasses ; and as in no two 
 are these found alike, so no two persons see with 
 equal readiness, distinctness, and power. The vis- 
 ion of some is distorted ; of others, clear and pierc- 
 ing for distant objects, but useless for their immedi- 
 ate neighbourhood ; of yet others, almost microscopic, 
 perceiving with surprising minuteness objects near at 
 hand, but blind to those which are distant, — discern- 
 ing the near flower, but failing to comprehend the 
 entire landscape. This will account for the diff"er- 
 ent manner in which we view things. Where I see 
 a plain natural fact, you see a miracle ; where I see 
 a simple truth, and reverentially state it, you hold up 
 your hands in horror, and exclaim, — '^ Falsehood and 
 blasphemy ! " Verily, friend, we resemble two per- 
 sons standing on a cliff, observing the distant ocean ; 
 the one with a pocket-glass, the other with a power- 
 ful telescope. What appears a schooner to one is a 
 cockboat to the other ; where this man sees naught, 
 the other beholds a distant fleet ; and, as each be 
 lieves his own glass the best, or (if he be very 
 
TOLERATION. 131 
 
 modest) at least as good as his neighbour's, however 
 earnestly they strive to convince one another, each 
 obstinately remains of his own opinion, the one be- 
 lieving in his cockboat, the other in his schooner. 
 
 Which has the best glass, you or I, I will not 
 undertake to determine ; though I am fully as much 
 inclined to think that you have it as that I have. 
 Could we but exchange for a moment, as the ocean- 
 gazers might easily do, what a light would break in 
 upon the short-sighted one ! What a clearing up of 
 doubts would there be ! What a doing away with 
 disputed questions ! But, unhappily, as every tub 
 must stand on its own bottom, so every man must 
 see with his own mental telescope ; hence there 
 must needs be doubts and disputations to the end. 
 Or rather, I should say, this is happily contrived; 
 for what a sleepy world were this, if all saw alike ! 
 and what an unhappy man would he be, who, after 
 enjoying a friend's fine telescope, should be again 
 reduced to his own old horn-spectacles ! 
 
 After all, it must be best as it is ; for God made 
 every thing ; and I must even be contented with the 
 pocket-glass which he gave me, although you may 
 have your heaven-searching telescope. 
 
 But we are a proselyting race, and though we are 
 perfectly well satisfied with our own spy-glasses, we 
 are continually endeavouring to improve the faulty 
 ones of our neighbours ; and certainly this is a laud- 
 able undertaking, if conceived and executed in a 
 proper spirit. But when I would restore sight to a 
 blind man, I must not begin by charging him with 
 
132 TOLERATION. 
 
 blasphemy because he says the sun shines not, or he 
 will be apt to avoid me, and so prevent me from do- 
 ing a good action. Thus, without finding fault with 
 this man or that for beholding according to the fac- 
 ulties which God has bestowed upon each, I would 
 merely desire the same privilege myself; and if, in 
 my blindness, I should honestly aver that there is 
 no sun in the sky, do not open on me the cry of 
 ''falsehood" and "blasphemy," seeing that to me no 
 sun exists. 
 
 Are you undecided between the Trinity and the 
 Unity? Are you fearful that you shall not render 
 due honor to each member of the Godhead ? 
 Worship the Almighty Spirit of the Universe, the 
 great God of Nature ; and be assured that in adoring 
 the whole, you are adoring each part. Are you lost 
 in the mazes of the doctrine of atonement ? Are you 
 unable to comprehend it, and at the same time fear- 
 ful of condemnation for not accepting it ? Go and 
 do a kind service to a suffering brother-man, and 
 your path shall be enlightened, your heart made 
 easy, and you shall go on your way rejoicing. Do 
 you doubt of your own salvation ? Go, repent of 
 your sins ; forgive all who have offended you, as 
 you desire to be forgiven ; do unto others as you 
 would that others should do unto you ; and as you 
 fear the judgment of God, judge kindly of your fel- 
 low-mortals. Gluarrel with no man on account of 
 his honest belief; for if you are wise, you will be- 
 think yourself how likely it is that you may be 
 in error, — nay, how impossible it is, that, on many 
 points, you should be otherwise. 
 
TOLERATION. 133 
 
 Thus, whenever you are lost in the mazes of 
 theoretical theology, go and practise that which you 
 know to be right ; and fear not the issue ; for, " If 
 any man will do His will, he shall know of the 
 doctrine." 
 
 12 
 
WHAT IS TRANSCENDENTALISM?* 
 
 1 
 
 This question has often been asked, but seldom 
 answered satisfactorily. Newspaper editors and cor- 
 respondents have frequently attempted a practical 
 elucidation of the mystery, by quoting from their 
 own brains the rarest piece of absurdity which they 
 could imagine, and entitling it " Transcendentalism," 
 One good hit of this kind may be well enough, by 
 way of satire upon the fogginess of certain writers 
 who deem themselves, and are deemed by the multi- 
 tude, Transcendental par eminence. Coleridge, how- 
 ever, thought that to parody stupidity by way of 
 ridiculing it only proves the parodist more stupid 
 than the original blockhead. Still, one such at- 
 tempt may be tolerated ; but when imitators of the 
 parodist arise, and fill almost every newspaper in the 
 country with similar witticisms, such efforts become 
 "flat and unprofitable"; for nothing is easier than 
 to put words together in a form which conveys 
 no meaning to the reader. It is a cheap kind of 
 wit, asinine rather than Attic, and can be exercised 
 
 * Published in the Knickerbocker, for March, 1844. 
 
WHAT IS TRANSCENDENTALISM? 135 
 
 as well by those who know nothing of the subject 
 as by those best acquainted with it. Indeed, it is 
 greatly to be doubted whether one* in a hundred of 
 these witty persons knows any thing of the matter ; 
 for, if they possessed sense enough to make them 
 worthy of being ranked among reasonable men, it 
 could be proved to gthem in five minutes that they 
 are themselves Transcendentalists, as all thinking 
 men find themselves compelled to be, whether they 
 know themselves by that name or not. 
 
 " Poh ! " said a friend, looking over my shoulder ; 
 " you can't prove we a Transcendentalist ; I defy 
 you to do it ; I despise the name." 
 
 '' Why so ? Let us know what it is that you de- 
 spise. Is it the sound of the word ? Is it not 
 sufficiently euphonious ? Does it not strike your ear 
 as smoothly as Puseyite or Presbyterian?" 
 
 '' Nonsense ! " said he ; " you don't suppose that I 
 am to be misled by the sound of a word ; it is the 
 meaning to which I object. I despise Transcenden- 
 talism ; therefore I do not wish to be called Tran- 
 scendentalist." 
 
 ''Very well; but we shall never ^get ahead,' 
 unless you define Transcendentalism according to 
 your understanding of the word." 
 
 " That request is easily made, but not easily com- 
 plied with. Have you Carlyle or Emerson at 
 hand?" 
 
 Here I took down a volume of each, and read va- 
 rious sentences and paragraphs therefrom. " These 
 passages are full of Transcendental ideas ; do you 
 object to them ? " 
 
136 WHAT IS TRANSCENDENTALISM? 
 
 "No," said my friend; "for aught I can perceive, 
 they might have been uttered by any one who was 
 not a Transcendentalist. Let me see the books." 
 
 After turning over the leaves a long while, he se- 
 lected and read aloud a passage from Carlyle, one of 
 his very worst ; abrupt, nervous, jerking, and at the 
 same time windy, long-drawn-q^t, and parentheti- 
 cal ; a period filling a whole page. 
 
 "There," said he, stopping to take breath, "if 
 that is not enough to disgust one with Transcenden- 
 talism, then I know nothing of the matter." 
 
 " A very sensible conclusion. Bless your soul, that 
 is Carlyle-ismj not Transcendentalism. You said 
 but now that you were not to be misled by the 
 sound of a word ; and yet you are condemning a 
 principle, on account of the bad style of a writer 
 who is supposed to be governed by it. Is that 
 right ? Would you condemn Christianity because 
 of the weaknesses and sins of one of its professors ? " 
 
 " Of course not," replied he ; "I wish to be fair. 
 I cannot express my idea of the meaning of Tran- 
 scendentalism without tedious circumlocution, and 
 I begin to despair of proving my position by quota- 
 tions. It is not on any particular passage that I rest 
 my case. You have read this work, and will under- 
 stand me when I say that it is to its general intent 
 and spirit that I object, and not merely to the au- 
 thor's style." 
 
 " I think that I comprehend you. You disregard 
 the mere form in which the author expresses his 
 thoughts; you go beyond and behind that, and 
 
 ^ 
 
WHAT IS TRANSCENDENTALISM? 137 
 
 judge him by the thoughts themselves, — not by one 
 or by two, but by the sum and substance of the 
 whole. You strip off the husk to arrive at the ker- 
 nel, and judge of the goodness of the crop by the 
 latter, not the former." 
 
 " Just so," said he ; " that 's my meaning precisely. 
 I always strive to follow that rule in every thing. 
 'Appearances,' you know, 'are deceitful.' " 
 
 " That is to say, you go beyond or transcend ap- 
 pearances and circumstances, and divine the true 
 meaning, the substance, the spirit, of that on which 
 you are about to decide. That is practical Transcen- 
 dentalism, and you are a Transcendentalist." 
 
 " I wish you would suggest another name for it," 
 said my friend, as he went out of the door ; "I de- 
 test the sound of that word." 
 
 " I wish we could," said I, but he was out of hear- 
 ing ; ''I wish we could, for it is an abominably long 
 word to write." 
 
 ''I wish we could," mutters the printer; " for it is 
 an awfully long word to print." 
 
 " I wish we could," is the sober second thought 
 of all ; for people will always condemn Transcen- 
 dentalism until it is called by another name. Such 
 is the force of prejudice. 
 
 " I have been thinking over our conversation of 
 yesterday," said my friend, the next morning, on 
 entering my room. 
 
 '' O, you have been writing it down, have you ? 
 Let me see it." 
 
 12* 
 
138 WHAT IS TRANSCENDENTALISM? 
 
 After looking over the sketch, he remarked, — 
 '' You seem to have me fast enough ; but, after all, 
 I believe you conquered merely by playing upon a 
 word, and, in proving me to be a Transcendentalist, 
 you only proved me to be a reasonable being, — 
 one capable of perceiving, remembering, combining, 
 comparing, and deducing, — one who, amid the ap- 
 parent contradictions by which we are surrounded, 
 strives to reconcile appearances and discover princi- 
 ples, and from the outward and visible to learn the 
 inward and spiritual, — in fine, to arrive at truth. 
 Now every reasonable man claims to be all that I 
 have avowed myself to be. If this is to be a Tran- 
 scendentalist, then I am one. When I read that I 
 must hate my father and mother before I can be a 
 disciple of Jesus, I do not understand that passage 
 literally ; I call to mind other precepts of Christ ; I 
 remember the peculiarities of the Eastern style ; I 
 compare these facts together, and deduce therefrom a 
 very different principle from that apparently embodied 
 in the passage quoted. When I see the Isles of Shoals 
 doubled, and the duplicates reversed in the air above 
 the old familiar rocks, I do not, as I stand on Rye 
 beach, observing the interesting phenomenon, be- 
 lieve that there are two sets of islands there ; but, 
 recalling facts which I have learned, and philosophi- 
 cal truths which I have acquired and verified, I at- 
 tribute the appearance to its true cause, the refrac- 
 tion of light. When, in passing from room to room 
 in the dark, with my arms outspread, I strike my 
 nose against the edge of a door, I do not thence con- 
 
WHAT IS TRANSCENDENTALISM? 139 
 
 elude that my nose is longer than my arms. When 
 I see a man stumble in the street, I do not at once 
 set him down as a drunkard, not considering that 
 to be sufficient evidence, although some of our 
 Washingtonian friends do ; but I compare that fact 
 with the state of the streets, and with what I know 
 of his previous life, and judge accordingly." 
 
 ''Well," said I, '' you are an excellent Transcen- 
 dentalist, — one after my own heart, in morals, phi- 
 losophy, and religion. To be a Transcendentalist is 
 after all to be only a sensible, unprejudiced man, open 
 to conviction at all times, and spiritually-minded. I 
 can well understand, that, when you condemn Tran- 
 scendentalism, you object, not to the principle, but to 
 the practice, in the superlative degree, of that princi- 
 ple. Transcendentalism is but an abstract mode of 
 considering morals, philosophy, religion, — an appli- 
 cation of the principles of abstract science to these 
 subjects. All metaphysicians are Transcendentalists, 
 and every one is Transcendental so far as he is meta- 
 physical. There are as many different modifications 
 of the one as of the other, and probably no two 
 Transcendentalists ever thought alike ; their creed is 
 not yet written. You certainly do not condemn 
 spiritualism ; but ultra-spiritualism you seem to 
 abhor." 
 
 " Precisely so. I did not yesterday give you the 
 meaning which I attached to Transcendentalism ; in 
 truth, practically you meant one thing by that term, 
 and I another, though I now see that in principle 
 they are the same. The spiritualism which I like 
 
140 WHAT IS TRANSCENDENTALISM 
 
 looks through nature and revelation up to God ; that 
 which I abhor hardly condescends to make use of 
 nature at all, but demands direct converse with God, 
 and declares that it enjoys it too, — a sort of contin- 
 ual and immediate revelation. Itself is its own au- 
 thority. The ultra-spiritualist contains within him- 
 self the fulness of the Godhead. He admits nothing 
 external, unless it be brother spirits like himself. 
 He has abolished nature, and to the uninitiated 
 seems to have abolished God himself, although I am 
 charitable enough to believe that he has full faith in 
 God after his own fashion. He claims to be in- 
 spired, to be equal to Jesus, — nay, superior ; for one 
 of them lately said, — 'Greater is the container than 
 the contained ; therefore I am greater than God, for 
 I contain God ' ! The ultra-spiritualist believes 
 only by and through and in his own inward light. 
 Let him take care, as Carlyle says, that his own 
 contemptible tar-link does not, by being held too 
 near his eyes, extinguish to him the sun of the 
 universe. Now the true spiritualist makes use, not 
 only of his own moral and religious instincts, but 
 of all that can be gathered by the senses from exter- 
 nal nature, and all that can be acquired by untiring 
 consultation with the sages who have gone before 
 him ; and from these materials in the alembic of his 
 mind, with such power as God has given him, he 
 distils truth." 
 
 '' Truth ! ah, that is the very point in question. 
 ' What is truth ? ' has been the ardent inquiry of 
 every honest mind from the days of Adam to the 
 
 1 
 
WHAT IS TRANSCENDENTALISM? 141 
 
 present time, and the sneering demand of many an 
 unbeliever. Eve sought it when she tasted the 
 forbidden fruit. But since then, thank God ! no 
 prohibition has been uttered against the search after 
 truth, and mankind have used their hberty with 
 great industry for six thousand years ; and what is 
 the result ? Is truth discovered ? How much ? 
 And how much of falsehood is mixed up with what 
 is known to be true ? These questions are constant- 
 ly suggesting themselves to thinkers, and to answer 
 them is the labor of their lives. Let them have 
 free scope, ultra-spiritualists and all. Even these 
 latter go through the same operation which you 
 have just claimed to be peculiar to the true spiritual- 
 ist. All do, whether they will or not, make use of 
 observation, learning, and the inward light. Some 
 arrive at one result, and some at another, because 
 the elements differ in each. If any two could be 
 found, whose external observations, learning, intel- 
 lect, and inward light or instincts were precisely 
 equal in volume and proportion, can it be doubted 
 that these two would arrive at precisely similar re- 
 sults ? But they are not equal ; and so one comes 
 to believe in external authority, and the other refers 
 every thing to a standard which he thinks that he 
 finds within himself. The latter is deemed by the 
 public to be a representative of pure Transcendental- 
 ism, and he is condemned accordingly as self-suffi- 
 cient. 
 
 " And privately, between you and me, my good 
 friend, I cannot help thinking it rather ungrateful in 
 
142 WHAT IS TRANSCENDENTALISM? 
 
 him, after becoming so deeply indebted to his senses, 
 to books, and the Bible, for his spiritual education, 
 to turn round and despise these means of advance- 
 ment, and declare that they are mere non-essential 
 circumstances, and that a man may reach the same 
 end by studying himself in himself. It is as if a 
 man should use a ladder to reach a lofty crag, 
 and then kick it over contemptuously, and aver that 
 he could just as well have flown up, and ask the 
 crowd below to break up that miserable ladder and 
 try their wings. Doubtless they have wings, if 
 they only knew it. But, seriously, I am not inclined 
 to join in the hue and cry against even the ultra- 
 Transcendentalist. He has truth mixed up with 
 what I esteem objectionable, and some truth to 
 which others have not attained ; and as I deem the 
 eclectic the only true mode of philosophy, I am 
 willing to take truth where I can find it, whether in 
 China or Boston, in Confucius or Emerson, Kant or 
 Cousin, the Bible or the Koran ; and though I have 
 more reverence for one of these sources than for all 
 the others, it is only because I think that I find there 
 the greatest amount of truth, sanctioned by the high- 
 est authority. To put the belief in the Bible on any 
 other ground is to found it on educational prejudice 
 and superstition ; on which principle, the Koran 
 should be as sacred to the Mahometan as the Bible 
 to us. Do we not all finally resort to ourselves, in 
 order to decide a difficult question in morals or relig- 
 ion ? and is not the decision more or less correct, ac- 
 cording as we refer it to the better or to the baser 
 portion of our nature ? " 
 
WHAT IS TRANSCENDENTALISM? 143 
 
 " Most certainly ! I have often said I would not 
 and could not believe in the Bible, if it commanded 
 us to worship Sin and leave our passions unbridled." 
 
 " Well said ! And in so saying, you acknowledge 
 yourself to be governed by the same principle which 
 actuates the ultra-Transcendentalist, — the moral 
 sense or instinct, similar to the ' inward light ' of 
 the Friends. After all, I apprehend that the real 
 point in which men differ is, whether this moral sense 
 is really an instinct, or whether it is evolved and put 
 in operation by education. How much is due to 
 nature ? is the true question. But to solve it is im- 
 portant only theoretically, for practically we all act 
 alike ; we cannot, if we would, separate the educa- 
 tional from the natural moral sense ; we cannot iin- 
 educate it, and then judge by it, freed from all cir- 
 cumstantial bias. But whether more or less indebted 
 either to nature or education, it is to this moral and 
 religious sense that the ultra-Transcendentalist refers 
 every question, and passes judgment according to its 
 verdict. It is sometimes rather vaguely called the 
 ' Pure Reason ' ; but that is only a term^ hardly a 
 'mouthful of articulate wind.' " 
 
 " You and I shall agree very well together, I see," 
 replied my friend. " If we dispute at all, it will be 
 foolishly about the meaning of a word. All the 
 world have been doing that ever since the confusion 
 of tongues at Babel. That great event propheti- 
 cally shadowed forth the future ; for now, as then, 
 the confusion and disputation are greatest when we 
 are striving most earnestly to reach heaven by our 
 
144 WHAT IS TRANSCENDENTALISM ? 
 
 earth-built contrivances. We may thence draw a 
 lesson, not to be too aspiring for our means ; for 
 our inevitable failure only makes us the more ridic- 
 ulous, the higher the position we seem to have 
 attained." 
 
 '' Very true ; but we should never arrive at the 
 height of wisdom, which consists in knowing our 
 own ignorance and weakness, unless we made full 
 trial of our powers. The fall of which you speak 
 should give us a modesty not to be otherwise ob- 
 tained, and make us very careful how we cast ridicule 
 upon others, seeing how open to it we ourselves are. 
 Every man may build his tower of Babel, and, if he 
 make a right use of his failure, may in the end be 
 nearer heaven than if he had never made the at- 
 tempt. Ridicule is no argument, and should only 
 be used by way of a jeu d^esprit, and never on sol- 
 emn subjects. It is very hard, I know, for one who 
 has mirthfulness strongly developed to restrain him- 
 self on all occasions, and what is solemn to one 
 may not be so to another ; hence we should be very 
 charitable to all, — alike to the bigots, the dreamers, 
 and the laughers, to the builders of theoretic Babel- 
 towers, and the grovellers on the low earth." 
 
 " There is one kind of Transcendentalism," replied 
 my friend, " which you have not noticed particular- 
 ly, which consists in believing in nothing except the 
 spiritual existence of the unbeliever himself, and 
 hardly that. It believes not in the external world 
 at all." 
 
 " If you are on that ground, I have done. To talk 
 
WHAT IS TRANSCENDENTALISM ? 145 
 
 of that would be wasting our time on nothing, — or 
 ' our eternity,' for with that sect time is altogether 
 a delusion. It may be true ; but the believer, even 
 in the act of declaring his faith, must practically 
 prove himself persuaded of the falsity of his doc- 
 trine." 
 
 •'You wanted a short name for Transcendental- 
 ism ; if a long one will make this modification of it 
 more odious, let us call it hicomprehensihilityosity- 
 ivityalityationmentnessism ! " 
 
 My friend said this with a face nearly as long as 
 the word, made a low bow, and departed. I took 
 my pen, and reduced our conversation to writing. I 
 hope by this time that the reader has a very lucid an- 
 swer to give to the question. What is Transcenden- 
 talism 1 It will be a miracle, if he can see one inch 
 farther into the fog-bank than before. I should like 
 to take back the boast made in the beginning of this 
 paper, that in five minutes I could prove any reason- 
 able man a Transcendentalist. My friend disconcert- 
 ed my plan of battle, by taking command of the 
 enemy's forces, instead of allowing me to marshal 
 them on paper to suit myself ; and so a mere friendly 
 joust ensued, instead of the utter demolition of my 
 adversary, which I had intended. 
 
 And this little circumstance has led me to think 
 what a miserable business controversialists would 
 make of it, if each had his opponent looking over 
 his shoulder, pointing out flaws in his arguments, 
 suggesting untimely truths, and putting every possi- 
 ble impediment in the path of his logic ; and if, 
 13 
 
146 WHAT IS TRANSCENDENTALISM? 
 
 moreover, he were obliged to mend every flaw, prove 
 every such truth a falsehood, and remove every im- 
 pediment, before he could advance a step. Were 
 such the case, how much less would there be of 
 fine-spun theory and specious argument ! how much 
 more of practical truth ! — always supposing that the 
 logical combatants did not lose their patience, and re- 
 sort to material means and knock-down arguments ; 
 of which, judging by the spirit sometimes manifest- 
 ed in theological controversies, there would really 
 seem to be some danger. O, it is a very easy thing 
 to sit in one's study and demolish an opponent, who, 
 after all, is generally no opponent at all, but only a 
 man of straw, dressed up for the occasion with a few 
 purposely tattered shreds of the adversary's cast-off 
 garments ! 
 
 Note by the '^ Friend." — The foregoing is a 
 correct sketch of our conversations, especially as the 
 reporter has, like his Congressional brother, corrected 
 most of the bad grammar, and left out some of the 
 vulgarisms and colloquialisms, and given me the 
 better side of the argument in the last conversation ; 
 it is very correct. But it seems to me that the ques- 
 tion put at the commencement is as far from being 
 solved as ever. It is as difficult to be answered 
 as the question, What is Christianity ? to which 
 every sect will return a difierent reply, and each 
 prove all the others wrong. 
 
PASSAGES FROM MY NOTE-BOOK.* 
 
 BY AN INVOLUNTARY RECI.USE. 
 
 May 16th. — A beautiful day ! The sky is blue ; 
 the earth is green ; the trees are putting forth their 
 first leaves, with here and there a blushing or snowy 
 blossom ; the air is balmy from the west ; the birds 
 are singing gayly during the intermissions in their 
 labors of nest-building ; all nature is busy, and 
 beautiful, and happy. How am I ? I was happy 
 when I awoke, and for some time after ; but as I 
 was sitting on my bedside, and quite near the win- 
 dow, the latter was opened, and I saw how brightly 
 every thing looked out of doors, felt the soft wind 
 on my cheek, and heard the cheery notes of the 
 birds. They appealed to memory ; they called up 
 forgotten or dimly recollected feelings and scenes ; 
 they raised the ghost of my former self, and made 
 me long once more to be free, — to roam over the 
 earth, to sail over the waters, to climb the trees, 
 swim in the rivers, gallop over the plain, or plunge 
 
 * Published in the Knickerbocker, for July, 1844. 
 
148 PASSAGES FROM MY NOTE-BOOK. 
 
 into the surf of the ocean-beach ! I longed to par- 
 take again unrestrainedly of outward and animal 
 life ; and thought wistfully of the spiritual food also 
 which might thus be gathered. Man was not 
 made to live in a chamber, and subsist Avholly on 
 the bolted flour of intellectual aliment, — books ; he 
 needs to labor and struggle for his soul's food in the 
 broad field of the outward world, and to swallow it, 
 Graham-like, bran and all ! '' Ah ! " thought I, " with 
 what a different eye should I noio look on the won- 
 ders of God's world ! After years of confinement, it 
 would appear to me as a new creation. Even thus 
 does it strike me now, as I catch but this partial and 
 restricted glimpse of its glories. O that I had bet- 
 ter improved my opportunities Avhen I was in the 
 world! Give me back my youth, give me back 
 my health, and I will render a better account of 
 the future than I can of the past." ('' Bold mor- 
 tal ! " whispered a mysterious voice.) Thus I 
 thought ; thus I longed ; my equanimity was dis- 
 turbed ; my chamber looked gloomy and narrow, — 
 my old chamber, at the thought of leaving which 
 I once wept. I became discontented ; I felt unhap- 
 py. Seat me in my chair ; shut down the window, 
 and turn my back to it; truly, "comparisons are 
 odious." 
 
 The ghost is laid, and I am myself again ; my 
 present, not my former self; I hear that same mys- 
 terious voice saying, "It is not so bad, after all, to 
 live in a chamber, and have the quintessence of all 
 things brought in the shape of books, and laid on 
 
PASSAGES FROM MY NOTE-BOOK. 149 
 
 your table. Out in the world there is nothing to be 
 found but ' sour grapes ' ; but it is only the eau de vie 
 distilled from them that ever reaches you. Never 
 desire that which cannot be obtained. Resign your- 
 self to Providence, and be as happy as you can be." 
 
 May 18th. — O the green and flowery meadows ; 
 the groves, melodious with birds and redolent of 
 perfume ; the dark pine woods, with their solemn 
 and eternally whispered hush ! How do I long once 
 more to roam over them and through them ! It is 
 impossible to do it bodily, and I will not repine 
 thereat, but desire rather to be thankful that the 
 mind is free, that I am yet able to roam in the 
 spirit. Memory, conjure up the beautiful Past ! 
 Present reality, vanish ! Past reality, become pres- 
 ent ! And, O beloved Imagination ! take me by 
 the arm and let us once again wander, and adore 
 Nature and her God. Yet it is no wandering, 
 devious though the path may seem ; for, rambling 
 thus in the right spirit, we are on the straight road 
 to heaven. Now to the past ! 
 
 It is the Sabbath of the Lord. We are far away 
 from church or meeting-house, but this blue sky 
 shall be our cathedral dome, these sweet birds our 
 choir, this boat shall be our pew, and all nature our 
 prayer-book and sermon. Step with me into this 
 light skiff, thou who lovest Nature in her quietness. 
 There is no breeze ; the waters of the stream are 
 like a mirror ; and as we pass along, hardly dipping 
 the paddle once in the space of a [minute, look at 
 13* 
 
150 PASSAGES FROM MY NOTE-BOOK. 
 
 the little minnows, scudding away as the shadow of 
 the boat covers them, and then stopping to see what 
 is the matter ! And see the long eel-grass and 
 sedge, streaming away before the current, pointing 
 earnestly towards the head of the stream, but ad- 
 vancing not one inch ! When the tide turns, they 
 will point just as eagerly the other way. They are 
 like the courtiers of a despotic government, always 
 subservient to the reigning tyrant ; or the dema- 
 gogues of a republic, ever ready to do the will of 
 the multitude. 
 
 Hark ! 't is the sound of Newington bell, calling 
 the farmers and their wives and children to worship. 
 It has passed over a league of land and water before 
 it reached our ears, mellowed by the distance into 
 a soft and bewitching treble. Hark ! once more ; 
 and now we have the bass, as, miles away down 
 the broad Piscataqua, the deep-toned bells of Ports- 
 mouth add their solemn voices to the anthem. 
 Nothing harsh or dissonant reaches us ; we hear 
 not the stroke of the hammer; only the most 
 spiritual portion of the sound strikes our ear. 
 Trembling, wavering, swelling, sinking, — it is like 
 the voice of a celestial wind-harp, swept by the 
 breezes of paradise ; and it breathes into the soul a 
 spirit of rapt devotion akin to that which one might 
 imagine a seraph to feel. This is, perhaps, '' senti- 
 mental religion," but a little of it is good in this 
 work-day world, and is certainly in accordance with 
 this scene. Often thus have I felt myself carried 
 from earth to heaven on those sonorous undulations, 
 
PASSAGES FROM MY NOTE-BOOK, 151 
 
 the last wave of which is even now sweeping past 
 us. 
 
 But to the head of the stream we are slowly tend- 
 ing, borne onward by the gentle flood-tide. On the 
 left are green meadows, with here a patch of corn, 
 and there a patch of potatoes, with a plentiful 
 sprinkling also of apple-trees. On the right is a 
 gentle ascent, covered to the top, here with grass, 
 and there with grain. Of this, however, only tran- 
 sient glimpses are caught through the irregular 
 rows of trees with which the stream is on this side 
 lined ; first willows, then maples, birches, and beech- 
 es, and finally terminating in an extensive grove of 
 lordly oaks. There is a strange kind of bird calling 
 from one of those trees to its wandering, perhaps its 
 murdered mate, for its note is rather mournful. I 
 wish I were an ornithologist, that I might tell you 
 its name ; but it speaks to me as plainly as if I 
 knew the Latin for its genus and species. There is 
 a monstrous bowlder of granite on the right hand. It 
 stands as the advanced guard of the point which we 
 are just passing. Now, if I were a geologist, I might 
 fancy that I could tell you whence it came, how it 
 came, and why it is rounded instead of being angu- 
 lar. But to relate the history of that bowlder re- 
 quires a holder man : I confess my ignorance ; and, 
 with an extra dip of the paddle, we pass on. 
 
 There is a clump of barberry-bushes on the left, 
 at the top of the bank ; the current carries us close 
 to it, and small birds fly from it with a whirring, at 
 our approach, forsaking their nests in fear. We will 
 
152 PASSAGES FROM MY NOTE-BOOK. 
 
 not harm them ; indeed, we could not, without harm- 
 ing ourselves. The middle of a large barberry-bush 
 is a safe place for a nest ; those who otherwise 
 would rob, being in salutary fear of scratched faces 
 and hands, pass peaceably by a nest so ensconced. 
 Here we are, opposite the oak grove. What a dark 
 shadow it throws upon the water ! What is this on 
 our left ? A pigeon-stand, built for murderous pur- 
 poses ; and there, too, is the booth of pine branches, 
 erected to conceal the sportsman. The stand is 
 covered with wild pigeons ; they seem to know that 
 no one will molest them on the Sabbath, for they 
 fly not at our approach. Were it Monday, and had 
 we a gun with us, they would be off in a twinkling. 
 Here the creek divides, both branches becoming 
 mere gutters ; but that is a beautiful point which 
 separates them. There, too, is a pigeon-stand, and 
 farther on, a little to the left, is another. This is a 
 famous neighbourhood for pigeons. On a calm morn- 
 ing in the latter part of summer, twenty dozen are 
 often shot in sight of this place before breakfast. I 
 have seen many killed, but cannot boast of having 
 shot many myself. To.-day they are safe ; short 
 respite ! 
 
 Let us land and saunter through these grand old 
 pine woods on our left. Our boat touches the 
 strand, we disembark, make her fast to a bush, and 
 prepare to enter the solemn forest. This is the 
 way ; here is the path ; take care that the boughs 
 of the saplings, rebounding from my pressure, do not 
 put out your eyes. Here we are at last, in one of 
 
PASSAGES FROM MY NOTE-BOOK. 153 
 
 the noblest of God's houses, with the pillars of 
 Nature's church raising their tall shafts around us in 
 every direction. Although there was not wind 
 enough to ripple the waters of the stream which we 
 have just left, yet the tree-tops are uttering ceaseless- 
 ly their solemn, mournful, soothing murmurs. 'T is 
 as if angels were whispering in the boughs above 
 us. The wood-bird whistles mysteriously in the 
 distance, and his mate answers yet more distantly. 
 Let us lie on the soft moss, and, in Nature's grand 
 cathedral, worship Nature's God ! O, how great, 
 how good, how beautiful, seems every thing around 
 us ! On this glorious day, earth, water, and sky vie 
 with each other in praising the Almighty. O, how 
 infinitely great, good, and beautiful must He be. 
 who created all things ! 
 
 These feelings are raised within us by observing 
 the marvels of this small spot. Let us now glide 
 in imagination over the whole earth; continents, 
 oceans, and islands ; rivers, lakes, cataracts, vol 
 canoes, valleys, mountains, burning deserts, and 
 frozen zones. Long before our flight is completed, 
 our wonder and adoration are raised seemingly to 
 the loftiest pitch, and we feel how utterly insignifi- 
 cant we are, compared with the mighty sphere on 
 which we move. Could we live twice ten thousand 
 years, and be possessed, each of us, of a Fortunatus's 
 wishing-cap, we should not, at the end of our long 
 lives, have done more than to commence our investi- 
 gations. And this is earth ! A mere speck, com- 
 pared with the millions of orbs which circle eternal- 
 ly through God's illimitable universe ! 
 
154 PASSAGES FROM MY NOTE-BOOK. 
 
 Let us, in the spirit, (which says, and it is done,) 
 leave the earth, wing our way to the mighty sun, to 
 the most distant planets, to the farthest comet of our 
 system ; then, sailing through the immeasurable 
 space which separates them, let us visit the millions 
 of other solar systems ; let us penetrate to the grand 
 centre ; let us pass to the outmost confines of crea- 
 tion. The grand centre ! it moves around a yet 
 grander ! and that around a grander still, and so on 
 to infinity. We may seek in vain for the ultimate 
 centre, — the source of all things. Equally vain 
 will be our search for the outmost confines of crea- 
 tion. Can any one discover the boundaries of 
 space ? Can any one imagine a line, a partition- 
 wall, beyond which space does not exist ? No ! do 
 what we may, we can never get rid of the idea of 
 space ' wherever we imagine ourselves, that sur- 
 rounds us. As with space, so is it with duration. 
 We cannot conceive of a moment which had not a 
 preceding, nor of one which will not have a follow- 
 ing moment. Negatively, we comprehend the eter- 
 nal and the infinite ; but positively and by experi- 
 ence, never ! Then how utterly beyond human 
 comprehension the Author of eternity and infin- 
 ity ! '' He is past finding out." 
 
 Here we are, in mid space, thousands of billions 
 of leagues distant from our own planet. The spirit 
 is fatigued, the imagination is weak ; the Finite can- 
 not measure the Infinite. Let us return to our own 
 solar system, which now in the mighty distance is 
 but one shining speck amid many that dot the black 
 
PASSAGES FROM MY NOTE-BOOK. 155 
 
 space ; the sun alone being visible, as a very small 
 star. Could we speed toward home with only the 
 rapidity of light, thousands of years would elapse 
 ere we could reach our destination. But imagina- 
 tion is fleeter than light ; and, while the thought is 
 passing through the mind, we are within the boun- 
 daries of our own system. Let us slacken our speed 
 a little ; we feel quite at home, although millions of 
 miles intervene between us and Earth. We descry 
 our native planet in apparently close embrace with 
 the moon ; but they separate as we advance, like a 
 maiden and her lover at the approach of strangers. 
 We are now enabled to see what a magnificent 
 moon Earth is to her own satellite ; and we are 
 taught thereby a lesson of modesty, and discover 
 that the moon was no more made for Earth, than 
 Earth for the moon. We will not visit the satellite, 
 for she has been so overrun lately by Mesmeric tour- 
 ists and Shakers, not forgetting Locke, the lunar 
 Munchausen, that we could not hope to gather a 
 new fact, and should not like to publish a book on 
 so threadbare a subject. 
 
 Homeward, then ! We are near enough to Earth 
 to see her continents, islands, and oceans. Here is 
 our own America ; our own New England ; our own 
 Piscataqua ; our own creek ; our own pine woods ; 
 and here also are our own bodies, which we left on 
 the moss half an hour since. They are asleep ; 
 how could it be otherwise, when the spirit was ab- 
 sent ? Often, while the body is taking its rest, does 
 the soul thus wander through creation ; and on this 
 
156 PASSAGES FROM MY NOTE-BOOK. 
 
 account it is, that, while travelling in strange regions 
 which we never before visited in the body, a sud- 
 den flash of memory comes over us, and we say to 
 ourselves, '' We have been here before, God only 
 knows when or how " ; and the next moment the 
 impression passes away for ever. Our bodies move 
 uneasily ; they feel that their souls are near ; they 
 sleep most soundly when we are farthest away from 
 them. Let us enter. 
 
 Come, arouse ! — the tide is falling, the boat is 
 grounding, and by the time we get home dinner will 
 be waiting. The body needs food as well as the 
 mind, and it will take a longer time to paddle corpo- 
 really down the stream in our skiff, than it would 
 for us to sail spiritually over the whole earth. 
 
 That is a pleasant reminiscence to me. Eventful 
 years have passed since then ; but the scenes still lie 
 brightly and greenly before my mental eye, and to 
 no portion of Memory's varied landscape do I so 
 often turn, and with such unfading pleasure. The 
 dear tenants of the old farm-house, my aged grand- 
 parents, dust though their bodies are, still live in my 
 heart; and with the recollection of them mingles 
 not one painful thought. I remember them as em- 
 bodying my highest ideas of goodness, and love, 
 and simplicity. They departed in a good old age, 
 when, on account of the infirmities which had crept 
 upon them, it would have been sinful to wish them 
 to live longer. One of the strongest desires of my 
 heart is to meet the dear couple in the other world. 
 
PASSAGES FROM MY NOTE-BOOK. 157 
 
 If I could be the same simple boy that I once was, 
 and live with them on the same old farm, drive the 
 same old cows to pasture, drink the same milk, eat 
 the same sweet bread and butter and the same lus- 
 cious baked apples, and paddle in the same "float" 
 on the same creek, I almost think I should hesi- 
 tate to exchange my heaven for any that I have 
 ever heard of, or seen described. 
 
 14 
 
MY LEG.* 
 
 It was a most dismal night, in that most dismal 
 of months, November. The storm howled loudly 
 without, and the sleet drove furiously against the 
 windows. I sat in my apartment alone, in my easy- 
 chair, before a blazing wood-fire. There was no 
 other light in the room. My Leg, my lame leg, 
 rested on a chair before me, with a soft cushion 
 under it. Without, raged elemental war ; within, 
 all seemed peace and comfort; but it was only in 
 seeming, for in the bosom of the lonely occupant of 
 that room a battle was going on between hope and 
 fear, as violent as that of the elements without. 
 
 O that leg ! It was the torment of my life. 
 Years ago I had strained my knee, and what was at 
 first a slight aifair had, by neglect, mismanagement, 
 and rheumatism, increased to such an inconvenient 
 and alarming degree, that I was regularly confined 
 to the house every winter, and constantly threat- 
 ened with the loss of my limb. There it was 
 before me, always before me ; I could not get rid of 
 
 * Published in the Knickerbocker, for September, 1844. 
 
MY LEG. 159 
 
 it. The sight of it tormented me by day, and the 
 thought of it haunted me by night. It had thrown 
 me out of business ; it had cut off my prospects of 
 happiness in life, of usefuhiess to myself, my 
 friends, and the world ; and, last and least, it had 
 tormented me night and day with bodily pain. I 
 detested, I perfectly hated, that leg! I had tried 
 coaxing and good treatment ; I had tried driving 
 and rough usage; but all in vain; for ''still the leg 
 kept on " its old course of obstinate and incurable 
 lameness. It headed me off in every undertaking. 
 It flattered me when idle, but if I imagined myself 
 well, and entered into the active business of life, it 
 invariably drove me again into retirement, with a 
 few additional twinges as a punishment for my 
 temerity. If my fancy were excited, my reason 
 convinced, or my heart touched by the charms and 
 accomplishments or the talents and virtues of a fair 
 daughter of Eve, I must close my heart at once ; I 
 must conceal my thoughts and feelings; I must 
 shun her society. My bosom must be mailed 
 against the darts of Cupid ; for, should one chance 
 to strike home, what gentle hand would extract it, 
 and apply the healing balm of affection returned? 
 Who would love and marry me? I had a most 
 inveterate spite against that leg ! 
 
 Well, there I sat ; sometimes looking into the fire, 
 in which I could see nothing but surgeons' knives, 
 plasters, and tourniquets ; sometimes around the 
 room ; but the dancing shadows on the wall looked 
 like so many cripples " going it '' with their wooden 
 
160 MY LEG. 
 
 legs, with which they beckoned me to become one of 
 their number ; while a grin on the countenance of 
 each seemed to say, '' Our invitation, like that of 
 royalty, must be complied with " ; and then, not rel- 
 ishing this picture, It urned my eyes toward the win- 
 dows, but nothing pleasant was there to be seen. The 
 space just outside the windows seemed crowded to the 
 utmost with the malignant faces of the baffled de- 
 mons of the storm. There they were, glowering in 
 at me, vaguely terrible, with little visible save their 
 horrible eyes. They seemed to say, — ^' O, how we 
 would rain, hail, and snow upon you ! how we 
 would pierce you with the cutting blast ! how we 
 would stiffen your joints for you, and rack your 
 frame with rheumatic pains, if we only had you 
 here ! " Then, raging with disappointment, they 
 vanished, while the storm howled more loudly than 
 ever, and shook the house to its base ; and the sleet 
 beat more furiously against the windows, as if the 
 malevolent spirits of the tempest were making a last 
 eff'ort to beat in the glass or overturn the whole 
 establishment. 
 
 I shrank back, and buried myself in my easy- 
 chair and in thought. The current changed : Fear 
 vanished and Hope triumphed. I looked into the 
 fire again ; the surgeons' knives and plasters had 
 disappeared, and in their places were green fields, 
 wooded glens, and forest-glades. On a mossy rock, 
 by the banks of a winding brook, under a green and 
 graceful canopy of waving elms, sat my lady-love 
 and myself. The declaration had been made, the 
 
MY LEG. 161 
 
 suit had been successful, and happiness was in our 
 hearts and on our countenances. Again the scene 
 changed. I saw a noble house, a commodious and 
 elegant country-seat, with grand avenues leading to 
 it, and verdant lawns and beautiful gardens sur- 
 rounding it. On the green in front of the house 
 three or four children were playing, and under the 
 piazza sat a good-looking couple, who seemed to be 
 highly amused at the pranks of the little folks. 
 And that good-looking couple was myself and my 
 wife ; and those were my children ; and that house 
 and those beautiful lands were mine too, earned by 
 my own labor ; and we were all very happy. 
 
 Just then a stick of wood, which had burnt 
 through the middle, parted, and one of the brands 
 fell, point foremost, toward the hearth-rug, and scat- 
 tered half a dozen coals upon it. I jumped up as 
 well as I could, seized the brush, swept the coals 
 into the fire, and sank back exhausted into my easy- 
 chair. The bright vision had fled for ever, and for 
 its loss I had nothing to console me but an extra 
 quantum of pain. 
 
 I looked at that leg again, half spitefully, half 
 sorrowfully. " O," thought I, '^ what would I not 
 give to the man who should restore that limb to 
 health ! I 'd be his servant for five years ; I 'd bind 
 myself to a blacksmith for seven years ; I 'd trundle 
 a wheelbarrow three hours a day during my life ; 
 I 'd do a7iy things almost." 
 
 ''Would you? " said a voice near me. 
 
 I looked up in astonishment. I was not aware 
 14* 
 
162 MY LEG. 
 
 that I had uttered my thoughts aloud; how, then, 
 could any one know what was passing in my mind ? 
 I had not heard the door open ; how, then, came any 
 one into the room ? '' The speaker must be the 
 Devil himself," thought I. 
 
 '' Hem ! " said the stranger ; "just so ! just so ! " 
 
 The fire brightened up at that moment, and 
 enabled me to obtain a good view of my visiter. 
 He was of a perfect brimstone hue ; he might have 
 been taken for a gigantic yellow-bird. His boots 
 were yellow ; his trowsers were yellow ; his coat, 
 vest, and cravat were yellow; his hair, whiskers, 
 eye-brows, and skin were yellow ; in fine, he was all 
 yellow, from top to toe, except his coal-black eyes. 
 Such eyes I never saw before in my life, and hope 
 never to see again. Instead of sparkling as black 
 eyes generally do, the iris of each seemed to have 
 no glistening cornea in front, but appeared rather to 
 be the circular mouth of a deep cave, in which dark- 
 ness alone was visible. I looked into those terrible 
 e^T'eSj and felt that the owner could be none other 
 than Satan himself. At that instant a light flashed 
 up in the depths of their dark recesses ; and while 
 I gazed more intently, I distinctly saw, in those 
 gloomy caverns, two miniature pictures of hell. 
 
 At length the stranger spake : — " Well, I see we 
 know each other ; and you probably can guess my 
 business with you to-night, as you are a Yankee." 
 
 '' To tempt me, I suppose ? " said I. 
 
 '/Why, not exactly that," said he; -'I come to 
 make a bargain with you ; that 's all ; and I intend 
 
MY LEG. 163 
 
 to be perfectly fair. For valae received, I expect 
 you to render me service equivalent." 
 
 "That sounds well," said I; ''but what is the 
 value I am to receive, and the service I am to ren- 
 der ? " 
 
 " The value is a good sound leg, and health so 
 long as you live. The service is to gamble three 
 hours each day through life, instead of trundling a 
 wheelbarrow for the same length of time. Certainly 
 these are better terms than you had any right to ex- 
 pect ; especially are they so, considering that I shall 
 insure you success in all your gambling specula- 
 tions." 
 
 '' But," said I, " I wish to live respectably in the 
 world, and to win the regard of my fellow-citizens. 
 I cannot do this, and be a professed gambler." 
 
 '' Pooh ! pooh ! " growled the man in yellow ; " I 
 am astonished at you ; you are not the man I took 
 you for ; you are a perfect greenhorn. There are 
 more ways of gambling than by venturing money 
 on games of chance. Gamble in stocks, man ! 
 gamble in bread-stuffs ! gamble in fuel ! You can 
 be a deacon of the church, if you please, and do 
 these things, without perilling your reputation as a 
 Christian or a man of honor. I will furnish you 
 with a large capital with which to commence 
 business, and will guaranty success in all your com- 
 mercial enterprises ; and the more extensive they 
 are, the more successful they shall be." 
 
 In the back part of the easy-chair in which I sat 
 lay a small Bible, a gift from my mother ; I remem- 
 
164 MY LEG. 
 
 bered it at this moment, and, recollecting also the 
 many stories which I had heard of the Devil's being 
 baffled by the Holy Book, I determined to play him 
 a trick. Not bearing in mind the old proverb, 
 '' He who would sup with the Devil should use a 
 long spoon," and foolishly hoping " to dance with- 
 out paying the piper," I opened the negotiation 
 thus : — 
 
 " Well, old gentleman, suppose you make a trial 
 of your skill ! I do not believe that you can give me 
 a good sound leg, and I should like to have that point 
 established before I conclude a bargain with you ; if 
 you can, I frankly acknowledge it will be a great 
 temptation to me. If, after a few minutes' trial of 
 my restored physical poAvers, I should refuse to 
 accede to your terms, you could, undoubtedly, cause 
 me to return to my former condition ? " 
 
 '' To be sure I could ! " quoth my diabolical vis- 
 iter ; ''and I have not the slightest objection to grat- 
 ifying you. There, now ! move your leg, and see 
 whether it is not perfectly well and strong." 
 
 I hesitated, for there was an eagerness in the man- 
 ner of Satan, a glow, as of anticipated triumph, in 
 his horrible eye, which startled me, and caused me 
 to pause and reflect. I felt that I had only to will 
 to take one step, in order to my restoration to physi- 
 cal soundness. I revolved my scheme in my mind ; 
 there seemed to be no flaw in it ; and at last, over- 
 come by a sudden impulse, I moved my leg. I lift- 
 ed it up, I put it down, I drew it toward me, and 
 then, extending it suddenly, kicked the easy-chair 
 
MY LEG. 165 
 
 against the Devil's shins with such force that he 
 roared out kistily, in real or pretended pain, and 
 stooped to rub the injured parts, casting at me a 
 glance of malignant joy, which was hardly noticed 
 at the time, though afterward vividly recalled ; for 
 at that moment I seized my Bible, jumped up, and, 
 after dancing round the room two or three times, to 
 make sure of my entire restoration, ran up to the 
 Devil and thrust the Holy Book in his face, expect- 
 ing of course the results which are said invariably 
 to follow such a proceeding. A howl in my ears, 
 and a brimstone stench in my nostrils, were all that 
 I imagined would be left of his Satanic Majesty in 
 one instant after that operation. " Have I not read 
 so a thousand times? " thought I, as I put the book 
 to his nose. 
 
 '' Yes, you have ! " answered Satan aloud, rising 
 at the same time with a malevolent grin on his 
 countenance, and knocking the Bible into the 
 farthest corner of the room ; " yes, you have ; but 
 those stories were all lies, got up at my order, and 
 published to bamboozle such greenhorns as you, 
 who would fain obtain the agreeable portion of the 
 wages of iniquity without doing the work. Fool ! 
 to think that a certain quantity of paper and ink, 
 bound in sheepskin, could save you from the conse- 
 quences of sin ! I know that there is a vulgar super- 
 stition to that effect, but that is all my work. Had 
 you treasured the principles of yonder book in your 
 heart, you would have been invulnerable to my 
 attacks ; you would not have invited temptation by 
 
166 MY LEG. 
 
 discontent and murmuring; you would not have 
 tampered with me, knowing me to be one ' who 
 goeth about seeking whom he may devour ' ; nor, 
 if you had obeyed the spirit, would you have placed 
 dependence on the letter of your Bible. ' The let- 
 ter killeth, the spirit leadeth to life.' I quote from 
 memory," continued Satan, with a mocking air, 
 "and if I am wrong, you, who rest your hopes of 
 salvation so much on the letter, ought to be able to 
 set me right. Ha! ha!" laughed the gentleman in 
 yellow, after a short pause ; "a goodly number of 
 servants have I on this earth ; excellent Christians, 
 as they deem themselves, dear, delightful old scandal- 
 mongers, as they really are, who go to meeting 
 twice a week, read their Bibles every morning and 
 night, and would not tell a lie for the world, but 
 who circulate, with a rapidity equal to that of 
 Morse's telegraph, every lie concerning their neigh- 
 bours which they can find ready-made for their 
 use, and who, if the story be not complete, think it 
 no harm to make the requisite additions. With 
 hearts filled with envy, they eagerly spread every 
 thing which they hear to the disadvantage of those 
 whom they fancy the world thinks their betters ; 
 and they practically spend a great portion of their 
 time in mentally thanking themselves, (not the 
 Lord,) that they are not like other people, sinners 
 living without God in the world. Ha! ha! ha! a 
 rich harvest do these faithful servants gather in for 
 my garner ! These are they whose lives cast re- 
 proach upon the religion they profess ; who neither 
 
MY LEG. 167 
 
 go in themselves, nor allow others to go in. Dis- 
 gust at their hypocrisy causes the voluntary banish- 
 ment from your infinity of Christian churches of 
 many better people than themselves. These are my 
 tools ; yet they read their Bibles daily ; they, like 
 you, trust to the letter, and like you, they are de- 
 ceived." 
 
 I retreated, as Satan stretched forth his hand, 
 struck with horror at the conviction that I had over- 
 reached myself. 
 
 ''Overreached yourself!" ejaculated the Devil, 
 giving utterance to my thought ; " you have taken 
 the purchase-money, and so bound yourself by the 
 contract. You cannot escape, and might as well 
 surrender at discretion gracefully." 
 
 " I am not satisfied with my leg," said I, sitting 
 down in my chair ; " you may return it to its former 
 condition, and be off." 
 
 " But suppose I will do no such thing ! I tell 
 you, my fine fellow, you are just as much compelled 
 to do my will, as the man whom I fitted with that 
 famous 'cork leg ' was compelled to travel." 
 
 And thereupon I found myself rising against my 
 will, and advancing to meet Satan, who stood in the 
 middle of the room. He took my hands in his ; a 
 sort of diabolical music, that might have come from 
 Satan's own royal band, fresh from his infernal pal-' 
 ace, struck up without, and immediately I found 
 myself dancing a jig with the Devil. No words 
 can describe the steps or the figure of that dance. 
 Such a cutting of demoniac pigeon-wings, such dia- 
 
168 MY LEG. 
 
 bolical double-shnfiling, never before were witnessed 
 on earth. The music grew louder, the dance more 
 '^fast and furious," and my brain whirled amid 
 evolutions which seemed interminable, and which 
 my body performed in spite of my mind. I now 
 sincerely repented that I had ever entered into nego- 
 tiations with Satan ; I attempted to kneel and ask 
 pardon of Heaven, but found, that, instead of sinking 
 to the floor, the most that I could do was to bend my 
 knees by lifting my legs. Gravitation seemed anni- 
 hilated ; I kneeled on air, and in this position I 
 continued to pop up and down, and hither and thith- 
 er, in precise imitation of the Devil, who performed 
 opposite to me, and kept his cavernous eyes fixed 
 steadily on mine, while our hands were locked in an 
 embrace which I vainly strove to loosen. 
 
 Thus things went on for several minutes, I still 
 dancing on air, with my knees bent, when suddenly 
 I observed an expression of vexation take the place 
 of the look of triumph which the face of Satan had 
 hitherto worn. It deepened gradually as our move- 
 ments grew slower, until at last, with a horrible 
 glare of disappointed malignity, he let go my 
 hands and disappeared, while the demoniac band 
 without gave a parting flourish, compounded of 
 groans, screeches, and howls, which made the house 
 rock. Simultaneously I fell to the. floor with a 
 tremendous shock, and became painfully aware, as I 
 waked from my dream, rubbing my knee, that at 
 any rate the Devil had not flown away with my 
 lame leg. 
 
MY LEG. 169 
 
 I had risen from my chair during my sleep, and 
 fallen across the stool in front ; and I leave it to 
 mental philosophers to settle the question, whether 
 the whole dream was caused by that accident or not. 
 Be this as it may ; concerning the noises which sa- 
 luted my ears on waking, it was difficult to per- 
 suade myself that they came from any other source 
 than Satan's own brass band. The roaring of the 
 wind through the trees, the furious beating of their 
 branches against the house, the rattling of the win- 
 dows, and the hollow moaning of the storm about 
 the corners of the dwelling, were enough, one would 
 think, to justify that suspicion. But add to this the 
 slamming of doors, and the rushing up stairs of half 
 a dozen persons from the room below, alarmed at my 
 fall, and you can hardly wonder that for a moment 
 I doubted whether I had been dreaming. " The 
 Devil makes more noise in departing than he did in 
 coming," thought I ; but at the next instant the 
 quickly opened door, the thronging heads, and friend- 
 ly, though anxious, faces, set me all right again. 
 
 That limb had '' offended ^e," and, not long after, 
 I ''cut it off" and cast it from me." It is many 
 years since Satan lost the power of tempting me 
 
 through MY LEG. 
 
 15 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF KITE-FLYING * 
 
 BY A YANKEE "POOR RICHARD. 
 
 Were you ever in your youth addicted to kite- 
 flying ? There is a great deal of fascination in the 
 sport, and, it must be confessed, not a little vexation 
 also. There is poor Willie, going down the street, 
 crying as if his heart would break ; twisting his 
 knuckles into his eyes, and uttering an occasional 
 -'boo-hoo!" that is absolutely touching. What is 
 the matter with him ? I will tell you. 
 
 Willie has been saving his pence for three months 
 past, in order to buy a huge ball of twine ; for he 
 was determined to fly his kite high, this summer. 
 He has been a week making a frame ; and this 
 morning, before going to school, he covered it with 
 a "double" of the defunct ''Brother Jonathan," 
 made a long "bobtail," and fitted on the "belly- 
 band." He fancied it would be dry, and ready to 
 fly, by twelve o' clock ; but during school hours he 
 thought so much of his kite, that he missed all his 
 
 * Published in the Knickerbocker, for September, 1844. 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF KITE-FLYING. 171 
 
 lessons, and was kept in till one. There was no 
 kite-flying for him before dinner ; and after that was 
 over, just as he was darting out of the door, his 
 father called him back, and told him he had some 
 errands for him to do. Willie's face lengthened an 
 inch, but, saying nothing, he sat down on the sofa 
 till his father was ready, and then took his little 
 wheelbarrow and followed him '' down in town " to 
 get some groceries. He was very much afraid the 
 wind would fall before he could get back ; he never 
 in his life wheeled so fast, or stopped so few times 
 to rest. He was as red as a lobster when he 
 reached home, and the perspiration poured from his 
 face ; but what cared he ? The breeze blew fresh- 
 ly, and there were no more errands to do. Hurrah 
 for the big kite ! 
 
 I think I can see him rushing with it out of the 
 yard. It is taller than himself; twenty feet of tail 
 are dragging behind ; and in his hand is a great ball 
 of twine, containing three skeins of '' twid-line.'" 
 " Here, Tim Wilkins, set up this kite for me : now 
 then ! " and away runs Willie, '* letting out line " at 
 every step, as his kite rises. The street makes a 
 bend ; Willie deviates from a straight course ; the 
 kite unaccountably swings to the right ; '' Look out 
 for those elms ! *' He runs more swiftly, hoping 
 the kite will get above them before it reaches them. 
 " Either stop entirely, and pay out, or else run quick, 
 Willie ; I advise you to stop. No ? well, run then, 
 quick ! quick ! it is almost clear : bah ! the tail has 
 caught ! " Down on its side swings the kite ; Willie 
 
172 THE PHILOSOPHY OF KITE-FLYING. 
 
 pulls like a good fellow, but all in vain ; the tree 
 wont let go. At last the line parts, after breaking 
 the back-bone of the kite ; the wreck remains in the 
 tree ; and Willie winds up the remainder of his line, 
 and goes home crying. Poor Willie ! this is the end 
 of all his toiling, and saving, and anticipation ! 
 
 After all, what are all men, and all women too, 
 but kite-flyers ? And how great a proportion of 
 their schemes end, like Willie's, in disappointment 
 and grief! 
 
 The most persevering kite-flyers that I know of 
 are the reformers ; and if they were better ac- 
 quainted with the art of flying common kites, they 
 would be more successful in their endeavours to ele- 
 vate to a respectable position the various kites of 
 reform which they are engaged in flying. I will 
 venture to assert, that Martin Luther was, when a 
 boy, a " first-rate " kite-flyer. I do not believe he 
 ever lost a kite on an elm-tree in his life. And as 
 to Father Miller, of present notoriety, I think I may 
 with equal confidence assume, that he neither 
 Knows now, nor ever did know, any thing about 
 kite-flying. The eager reformer too often gets his 
 kite into some unforeseen moral elm-tree. 
 
 The kite is the scheme or plan of reform. The 
 wind is the moral atmosphere of society, which is 
 always in motion in some direction. Even when a 
 calm prevails down below, there is always breeze 
 enough aloft, if you can only get your kite sufii- 
 ciently high to take the benefit of it. The line is the 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF KITE-FLYING. 173 
 
 necessity and propriety of the case, combined with 
 the motives and means of the actors, and twisted 
 into a cord, the goodness and strength of which 
 alone can justify the experiment, and by which the 
 kite at the same time maintains its place in the 
 heavens and its connection with its originators and 
 the earth below. Those who fly the kite are the 
 reformers ,• and the bobtail is composed of those 
 who strenuously oppose the new scheme, — the ultra 
 conservatives, who always, on the announcement of 
 any new piece of kite-ism, seize its tail in order to 
 prevent its ascension, not perceiving that they are 
 the balancing power of the whole concern, without 
 which the new kite could not ascend one yard. 
 
 When any set of men wish to fly a new kite, 
 they spend, like our friend Willie, a long time in 
 cogitation, anticipation, and preparation. I am 
 going to suppose a successful ascension. Every 
 thing is ready, but a dead calm pervades the lower 
 atmosphere. Not to be discouraged, however, the 
 schemers ''set up" their kite, and, line in hand, 
 straightway start ofi" at a full run through the streets 
 and lanes and over the broad fields of society, rais- 
 ing a breeze as they go, and carefully avoiding the 
 neighbourhood of elm-trees. Out from their work- 
 shops and houses run the inhabitants, to see what is 
 going on. Some encourage, some hoot, and others 
 sternly determine to keep that kite down at all 
 events. Away run these sturdy old opposers after 
 the kite, which, meanwhile, for want of a bobtail, is 
 doing nothing better than skimming the ground, and 
 15* 
 
174 THE PHILOSOPHY OF KITE-FLYING. 
 
 occasionally digs into it head foremost, and needs to 
 be " set up " again. 
 
 Just at this moment up comes Tom, and seizes 
 the kite by its lower extremity, determined to keep 
 it down. But the kite, finding itself in some meas- 
 ure balanced, rises and takes him off his legs. With 
 desperate gripe, Dick seizes Tom by his ancles, and 
 is carried up also. Harry rushes forward, makes a 
 grab at Dick, and finds himself going up likewise. 
 The kite is getting a respectable bobtail. A dozen 
 more string themselves on ; the kite only ascends 
 the more steadily ; the conservatives are alarmed ; 
 those below dare not fasten on, those above are too 
 proud to let go ; the kite is just balanced, and rises 
 majestically to the breezy heavens. The reformers 
 may rest now, make their line fast to a tree, and en- 
 joy their success, saying to each other, — '' What an 
 excellent bobtail those conservatives make ! " Very 
 true, brother reformers ; but without those same 
 adversaries, where would your kite have been ? 
 Respect them, therefore, for they answer a useful 
 purpose, and are indispensably necessary to the suc- 
 cessful issue of your scheme. Acknowledge your 
 obligations, and be thankful. 
 
 Let us look into the sky of the Past. What a 
 multitude of vast and shadowy kites do we there 
 see flying ! There soars the kite of Galileo, with 
 a host of learned doctors, an infallible pope or 
 two, and a college of cardinals, dangling at its tail. 
 There floats the kite of Columbus, with the New 
 World painted on its front, and the Old World, and 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF KITE-FLYING. 175 
 
 nearly all its great men, strung together on its mag- 
 nificent bobtail. Higher and broader yet, see the 
 mighty kite of Luther, and count, if you can, the 
 innumerable popes, cardinals, and priests, the im- 
 ages, the monasteries, and the convents, which swing 
 in shadowy grandeur below, — tipped off with the 
 vast and misty shape of Satan himself, who writhes 
 and struggles in vain to keep the kite from rising. 
 He has a black spot on the side of his face ; that 
 came from the inkstand which Luther, when once 
 tempted by him, dared to cast at the arch-conserva- 
 tive ; and since then, the Reformer and his disciples 
 have kept the Father of Evil so busily employed, 
 that he has not found time to wash his face. Look 
 yonder at the scientific kite of Harvey, with a heart 
 on its broad bosom, and all the anatomists, physiol- 
 ogists, surgeons, and physicians over forty years 
 old at the time that kite was set up hanging as 
 an appendage to its lower extremity. Nearer yet 
 behold the kite of Washington and the American 
 Continental Congress of 1776, with the United 
 States of America on its breast, France, Spain, and 
 Holland assisting to hold the line, and a long string 
 of Tories, ending with the empire of Great Britain, 
 for a bobtail. 
 
 These are some few of the kite-flying schemes 
 which have proved successful ; but let not the ardent 
 reformer imagine, that, because these have succeed- 
 ed, his own will therefore be equally fortunate. 
 These are the happy exceptions. On the other 
 hand, let him not be discouraged by the numerous 
 
176 THE PHILOSOPHY OF KITE-FLYING. 
 
 failures ; but let him learn wisdom by experience, 
 and avoid, in flying his next kite, the obstacle which 
 proved ruinous to his last. It is well for us that 
 
 " Hope springs eternal in the human breast " ; 
 
 and if, on mature reflection, his head and his heart 
 approve his plan, let him set up his new kite, by all 
 means. And you, grim old conservatives ! if your 
 consciences justify you also, seize its tail, and pre- 
 vent its ascent, if you can. If you can keep it 
 down, (as you often do,) it will be right that it 
 should be kept down ; if you are carried up with it, 
 that will be perfectly proper also ; you will make a 
 beautiful bobtail, and will, moreover, in so doing, 
 have fulfilled your '' mission." 
 
 Cast your eyes up at the sky of the Present. 
 Wherever you look, you see kites flying, of all 
 sizes and shapes, and at all heights. Some are wrig- 
 gling from side to side, as if striving, snake-like, to 
 work their way upward ; and now and then, when 
 the wind rises, they turn a succession of somersets, 
 downward, until near the ground, when, the breeze 
 failing, they resume an upright position ; and those 
 who hold the lines contrive, by dint of running, to 
 raise the kites to their former elevation. Those 
 kites have bobtails either too short or too light. 
 Once in a while a bob gets reinforced, just as the 
 kite has nearly reached the ground. Look ! there is 
 one which has just '' turned a pudding " twenty 
 times ; it is close to the ground, and, were its op- 
 ponents content to look upon it with perfect con- 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF KITE-FLYING. 177 
 
 tempt, it would probably sink hopelessly to the earth. 
 But a mob of opposers are fearful that it may, 
 and determined that it shall not, rise again. Half a 
 dozen string themselves on, and the former wrig- 
 gling and ridiculous affair calmly ascends to a lord- 
 ly position, which it maintains with great dignity. 
 Look at yonder thing which is continually making 
 bows to the left ; that is a one-sided affair, and all 
 the bobtail in the world could not make it respecta- 
 ble. Enough to balance it would be sufficient to 
 drag it to the earth. There is, however, one thing 
 about these wrigglers of all kinds, which makes 
 them very safe, though very ridiculous ; they dive, 
 and dive, but seldom come entirely to the ground. 
 But let one of those majestic, well-balanced kites, 
 that float aloft as steadily as stars, — let one of them, 
 by a sudden blow, lose its' balance and dive, and 
 "when it falls, it falls like Lucifer," with one long, 
 steady rush to the earth, shattering itself as it 
 strikes, "never to rise again." Such a fate always 
 threatens even the best-balanced political kite. It is 
 only the truly moral, philosophical, and religious 
 kites that possess a sort of immortality ; their ma- 
 terials are imperishable, and if they do make a dive, 
 as during the Dark Ages, they are always sure to 
 be set up again, on a larger and more perfect scale, 
 on the first proper opportunity. 
 
 With regard to the kind of kite-flying which we 
 are now discussing, an individual may multiply him- 
 self indefinitely. He may be engaged in flying 
 half a dozen kites, and at the same time be swinging 
 
178 THE PHILOSOPHY OF KITE-FLYING. 
 
 at the bobtails of half a dozen others ; yea, his for- 
 mer self may be dangling at the tail of a kite which 
 his present self is busy in flying. You and I are at 
 this moment apparently engaged only in philosophi- 
 cally observing the doings of others ; but, by our 
 written or spoken word, we are in truth tugging 
 away at this or that kite-line, or swinging at the 
 bobtail of this or that ridiculous wriggler or ma- 
 jestic soarer. Take this mnemonic telescope, and 
 see for yourself. Mind and use it right end fore- 
 most ; and if you see yourself in a foolish position, 
 and are inclined to feel chagrined, take heart ; look 
 a little farther, and you will find you have many 
 excellent people to keep you company. If you 
 find me cutting a ludicrous figure, moderate your 
 mirth until I have taken a look through the glass at 
 your various representatives, and then we will both 
 have a hearty laugh together. '' 'Fore heaven ! we 
 are all in a case." 
 
 After all, what is there in this state of things to 
 cause lamentation ? In the moral, as in the material 
 world, nothing can be done, unless the centrifugal 
 and centripetal, the projectile and the restraining 
 forces, are duly balanced. This equilibrium exists 
 not in the individual, but results from the combined 
 action of the whole. Were all reformers, the world 
 would soon be dashed into pieces, through some 
 false step, taken in the headlong race to perfection. 
 Were all conservatives, what a gloomy and hopeless 
 destiny would await the race of man on earth! 
 Hope, sometimes well, frequently ill founded, is the 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF KITE-FLYING. 179 
 
 motive principle of one party ; Distrust, based 
 often on prejudice, frequently on sound reasoning, 
 impels the other party. Practically, no man is 
 altogether a reformer, or entirely a conservative ; but 
 he joins this party or that, as his conscience and rea- 
 son direct. If there be such a person on earth as a 
 true philosopher, who never descends from his lofty 
 mount of observation and contemplation, he proba- 
 bly never witnesses, among the struggling masses 
 below, a single enterprise of which he can Avholly 
 approve, nor one which he can utterly condemn. 
 But amid all the quarrels of polemics, the advances 
 and retreats of parties, the battles and intrigues of 
 factions, the action and the counteraction, he dis- 
 cerns clearly that the great body of society moves 
 slowly but surely on toward the far distant Para- 
 dise, transient glimpses of which are perceived only 
 by the prophetic glance of the faithful seer. 
 
 But all men are not philosophers, and those who 
 are most deserving of that name frequently descend 
 into the arena of active life and take sides with the 
 combatants. Not to do so would argue in a man 
 the want of human sympathies. Such a one might 
 be above man in intellect, but he would be below 
 him in feeling. 
 
 Let each one, then, do what seems to him his 
 duty. Fear not, — Providence is over all. What is 
 right to me may be wrong to you ; but let us all act 
 our parts honestly ; the world will be the better for it, 
 and I am sure each individual will. Fly your kite, 
 neighbour ; perhaps I may help you, either at one 
 
180 THE PHILOSOPHY OF KITE-FLYING. 
 
 end or the other ; and I shall be pleased to have you 
 reciprocate. As Mr. Weller says, " Reciprocity is 
 mutual." Never was the profound wisdom of that 
 saying more satisfactorily exemplified than in Kite- 
 flying of all kinds. 
 
WHITE-LYING AND ITS VICTIM.* 
 
 •' Walk in and take pot-luck with us," said friend 
 A . In an unlucky moment I accepted the invi- 
 tation, forgetting that a fine turkey awaited me at 
 
 home. On entering the parlour, we met Mrs. A , 
 
 who received me very politely, but seemed rather 
 disconcerted when her husband announced that I had 
 dropped in to dine with them. I turned away to 
 give her time to recover her equanimity, but in the 
 opposite glass saw her dart a reproachful look at her 
 spouse, accompanied with a gesture of vexation ; and 
 at the same time I saw him elevate his hand in an 
 imploring attitude, and cast at her a beseeching look. 
 All this was seen at a single glance ; but it was suf- 
 ficient. I was miserable from that moment. I 
 thought of the turkey, and said to myself, — " What 
 a goose, not to have thought of it before ! " But what 
 could I do ? It was plain that the good-wife had only 
 a poor dinner to offer me, and was greatly mortified 
 
 Published in the Knickerbocker, for November, 1844. 
 
 16 
 
182 WHITE-LYING AND ITS VICTIM. 
 
 thereat. I pretended to be looking at some engrav- 
 ings on the centre-table, but was all the while trying 
 to invent a scheme by which to extricate myself 
 from my unpleasant position, and had nearly come 
 to the conclusion that I would suddenly pretend to 
 recollect a previous engagement, when a domestic 
 announced that dinner was ready. It was too late : 
 in another minute I was in the dining-room ; and 
 ^^ there I smelt 'em out." I was about to partake 
 of a salt-fish dinner ! My heart sank within me 
 at the thought that I had left a real gobbler at 
 home to come here and dine on a "Cape- Ann tur- 
 key " ! Of all articles tolerated on a dinner-table, I 
 most abominate boiled salt-fish ; and now it was to 
 be seasoned with the sauce of misery and the pepper 
 of domestic irritation. "I must get rid of these last 
 two ingredients, at any rate," thought I, ''and the 
 only way to accomplish it is to swallow the former 
 with a good grace." " Shall I help you to some 
 fish ? " said the lady. " Certainly," replied I ; " there 
 is nothing of which I am so fond." Here I observ- 
 ed her countenance to brighten. " Some onions ? " 
 "Thank you, yes; I always eat onions with fish." 
 (Face brighter still.) "Beets? carrots? parsnips?" 
 "Yes, yes, yes." (Another shade vanished.) "Eggs? 
 butter? potatoes?" "Yes, that 's exactly right; 
 you understand these things, I see ; I could not be 
 
 suited better. What a lucky fellow I was, A , 
 
 to fall in with you to-day ! " 
 
 By this time his wife's face was as bright as a sun- 
 ny day in May, and the perturbation so long visible 
 
WHITE-LYING AND ITS VICTIM. 183 
 
 on the countenance of my friend had given place to 
 a smiling Calm. I felicitated myself on the happy 
 turn of affairs, and the thought of having made my 
 entertainers easy almost made me happy myself; al- 
 most^ but not quite, for right before me lay an enor- 
 mous plate of salt-fish and accompaniments, which I 
 must devour as a proof of the truth of my declara- 
 tion, that " there was nothing of which I was so fond 
 as a salt-fish dinner." I put on a smiling face, and 
 addressed myself to the task. Mustard and vinegar 
 alone saved me from loathing. Host and hostess 
 were now on excellent terms with each other and 
 with me ; and we discussed at large the merits of 
 dun-fish, pickled fish, pollock, hake, cusk, haddock, 
 and salmon ; also lump, halibut, mackerel, lobster, 
 shad, and trout ; but we unanimously agreed that 
 there was nothing so delicious as the dun-codfish, 
 served up exactly like the one on which we were 
 then dining ! By and by my friend brought forth 
 a bottle of excellent Madeira and some fine Havanas. 
 We were quite a happy party ; and, when I reflected 
 that this was owing entirely to a little innocent false- 
 hood of which I had been guilty, I took great credit 
 for my benevolent artifice, and thought, " Here is a 
 case which would prove, even to Mrs. Opie, that 
 good can come out of a white lie." Just then 
 the voice of that dear woman seemed to whisper, 
 "Wait a little! " 
 
 Just a fortnight from that day, I received from 
 
 A a written invitation to dine with him ; to 
 
 which, owing to an unfortunate repugnance to saying 
 
184 WHITE-LYING AND ITS VICTIM. 
 
 " No," which is my besetting sin, I returned an affirm- 
 ative answer. To tell the truth, I had no objec- 
 tion ; for I thought it likely that he was going to 
 show me that he did sometimes dine on other things 
 than salt-fish. I expected a sumptuous dinner, and 
 was accordingly very punctual. There were no 
 frowns now, no gestures of vexation, no perturbed 
 visages ; all seemed smiling, peaceful, happy. There 
 was an air of ill-concealed triumph in the counte- 
 nances of my friends, which seemed-to say, " We will 
 show you to-day what a good dinner is." I ex- 
 pected venison, at the least. " Dinner is ready, if you 
 please, Ma'am," said the servant : and we proceeded 
 at once toward the dining-room. I was a little sur- 
 prised that there were no guests except myself, for I 
 had expected to meet a large company ; but, on reflec- 
 tion, I felt it to be a higher compliment to be invited 
 to dine alone with my friends, — on venison. How 
 kind they were ! By this time we were in the hall. 
 "Is it possible," thought I, "that the odor of that 
 salt-fish dinner has hung about this place for a 
 fortnight ? It 's rather too strong for that. It canH 
 be that we are to dine on salt-fish again to-day ! " 
 My doubts increased at every step. We entered the 
 dining-room, my friend a little before me, as if to 
 prevent my seeing what was on the table, until I 
 was close to it, when he stepped aside, and she 
 withdrew her arm from mine ; and both turned and 
 looked, first at the table and then at me, with an air 
 of mingled triumph and friendship, which was partic- 
 ularly vexatious ; for on the table lay a dinner iden- 
 
WHITE-LYING AND ITS VICTIM. 185 
 
 tical with the one of which I had rehictantly par- 
 taken a fortnight before ! The blood rushed to my 
 face, as if determined to find vent there, and then as 
 suddenly retreated. I am sure I looked very pale, 
 for I felt as if fainting ; but, recovering soon, I com- 
 plained of being subject to vertigo, declared I had 
 not felt well all day, and made this " white lie " a 
 plea for eating very sparingly. During the whole 
 time I sat at table, I could not get Mrs. Opie out 
 of my mind. " She is avenged," thought I ; " my 
 white lie has brought its own punishment." 
 
 Not long after this, I was again invited to dine 
 
 with the A s. Would you believe it, I was fool 
 
 enough to accept ; and again a salt-fish dinner was 
 set before me, " because I was so ill as not to have 
 been able to enjoy my favorite repast the last time I 
 was there ! " How I '' groaned in spirit " ! Neither 
 my friend's wine nor his exquisite cigars could ele- 
 vate me. I was about to say, in reply to a commis- 
 erating remark, that my mind was preoccupied with 
 very serious business matters ; but I thought of 
 Mrs. Opie, and was silent. I tried to smile, but I 
 have no doubt the result was a grimace. I escaped 
 as soon as possible, and hoped, as I left the house, 
 that I had taken my farewell of salt-fish dinners for 
 ever. 
 
 But " the end was ?iot yet " / This was about 
 two years ago ; and since then, I have been inveigled 
 into the acceptance of no less than seventeen invita- 
 tions to salt-fish dinners, of which I have now the 
 general reputation of being passionately fond ! I 
 16* 
 
186 WHITE-LYING AND ITS VICTIM. 
 
 am sure, if such a thing were possible, I should have 
 acquired a taste for them long ago ; but, on the con- 
 trary, my dislike of them increases in a geometrical 
 ratio. I have been several times on the point of 
 feigning dyspepsia, as an excuse for declining all 
 invitations; but the thought of Mrs. Opie has pre- 
 vented me. I have prayed that I might have a 
 slight touch of it, — just enough to swear by ; but my 
 chylifying function continues as strong as that of an 
 ostrich or an anaconda. I begin to think that Fate 
 itself is against me. Without doubt, I am " doomed 
 for a certain time to walk the earth," during which 
 I shall be compelled to accept invitations to cod-fish 
 dinners ! They will '' be the death of me," at length, 
 however ; I shall be " found gone for good," some 
 pleasant night ; the '' crowner's quest " will sit on 
 my corpus, and the verdict will be, "Died of a 
 white lie, and a suffusion of salt-fish dinners on the 
 brain ! " 
 
WAR WITH MEXICO. 
 
 IN FOUR PARTS.* 
 
 Scene. — The Battery at New York. Present, — officers of the gov- 
 ernment, civil, military, and naval, — soldiers, sailors, citizens, 
 &c. Ship-of-war lying in the stream, — boats going to and fro. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 The Three Warriors, — and their Reasons for fighting the Mexi- 
 cans. 
 
 Dialogue I. — The Christian Warrior. 
 
 A. Good morning, friend ; I hear you are bound 
 for Texas ; how can you consent to engage in this 
 war ? 
 
 15^ Officer. My duty calls me thither. 
 
 A. Your duty ? Have I not heard you at various 
 times during the last two years condemn the policy 
 and morality of the annexation of Texas in toto ? 
 Have I not heard you call the Mexicans an injured 
 people ; and stigmatize your own countrymen as 
 
 * Published in the Christian Citizen, November, 1845. 
 
188 WAR WITH MEXICO. 
 
 ruthless robbers, preying upon a weak nation, and 
 doing their utmost to spread the dark spot of slav- 
 ery still more widely over the American continent ? 
 Have I not heard you characterize the Texans as 
 a set of godless freebooters, — the very scum of the 
 earth, — outcasts from all well-ordered communities? 
 
 1st Officer. Yes, your memory is correct ; I have 
 said all that and more ; but it is the duty of a soldier 
 to obey orders, and serve his country in time of war, 
 without questioning the propriety of the commands 
 received from head-quarters. 
 
 A. You profess to be a Christian, I believe. 
 
 1st Officer. Yes, I am an humble disciple of Jesus. 
 
 A. How will you manage to perform your du- 
 ties as a Christian and as a soldier, simultaneously ? 
 Will not the orders of your Heavenly Commander 
 conflict with those of your earthly general ? The 
 former bids you do as you would be done by ; the 
 latter commands you to shoot and stab those who 
 never injured you, whose faces you never saw, whose 
 names even you do not know, and whom your coun- 
 trymen have systematically pillaged. You are com- 
 manded to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly 
 with your God ; but you are about to assist in con- 
 summating an act of the grossest injustice ; are ready 
 to murder your victims without mercy, if they resist ; 
 and then daringly stand before God and the world, 
 and call yourself a Christian ! You are about to en- 
 list in the service of brigands, and assist them in se- 
 curing their ill-gotten plunder ; and although you 
 detest slavery from the bottom of your heart, you are 
 
WAR WITH MEXICO. 189 
 
 ready to lend the weight of your arm to spread the 
 curse wider and wider. Light, and knowledge, and 
 freedom, and happiness should be your desire for all 
 mankind ; but darkness, ignorance, slavery, and mis- 
 ery are the ends and aims of this accursed war. I 
 cannot wish my country success in such an under- 
 taking ; and I cannot see how you, as a Christian, 
 can have part or lot in it. How can you pray for 
 success in such a contest ? 
 
 1st Officer. Sir, you are a fanatic ; there is no 
 reasoning with such people as you. You are a trai- 
 tor, too, and deserve a traitor's fate. 
 
 A. Perhaps so ; I will not take offence at your 
 language, for I have spoken plainly myself Before 
 we part, however, let me relate an anecdote. 
 
 A certain bad man had been in the habit of pilfer- 
 ing from the fields and barns of his neighbours, much 
 against the wishes of a pious son, who often remon- 
 strated with his father on his iniquities, but without 
 effect. At last the old man determined on a grand 
 foray, for the purpose of laying in his winter's supply 
 of provisions, and invited his son to join him. This 
 the latter steadily refused to do, until he saw that his 
 father was determined to commit the robbery at any 
 rate, with or without him ; he then, notwithstanding 
 his piety, joined the expedition, and did his best to 
 plunder his brother Christian, with whom, by the 
 way, he had partaken of the sacrament only the Sun- 
 day before. The two robbers were taken, tried, and 
 condemned to the State's prison for five years. The 
 young man claimed exemption from punishment on 
 
190 WAR WITH MEXICO. 
 
 the ground that he had endeavoured to dissuade his 
 father from the crime, and had only taken part in it 
 as an act of filial duty, when he found the old gentle- 
 man firmly determined to execute his purpose. The 
 judge, however, was so obtuse, that he could not per- 
 ceive that this lessened the young man's guilt at all. 
 And to prison he went, accordingly. Think you the 
 Eternal Judge will excuse you for the part which you 
 are about to take in this unjust war ? 
 
 Dialogue II. — The Ambitious Warrior. 
 
 2d Officer, Have you heard the news ? We are 
 to have war with Mexico. 
 
 A. I hope not ; it has not come to that quite yet ; 
 peaceful counsels will prevail. 
 
 2c? Offixer. O, I forgot ! — you are a Peace -man. 
 Now I suppose I shall have a lecture on the enormi- 
 ties of war. But it is of no use to talk to me ; I 
 want war ; it will be just the thing for me. 
 
 A. Why do you wish for war? You certainly 
 cannot have faith in the justice of your cause. 
 
 2d Officer. I have never looked into that matter ; 
 it is none of my business. I want promotion and 
 distinction ; I long for honor and glory ; if the two 
 countries choose to go to loggerheads with each 
 other, so much the better for me, — it is an ill wind 
 that blows nobody good. 
 
 A. Suppose you should fall on the field of battle. 
 
 2d Officer. I should fall covered with glory. 
 
 A. With blood, you mean ; and where your soul 
 
WAR WITH MEXICO. 191 
 
 would go, the mantle of glory would not cover your 
 sins. Before the bar of God, it would change to a 
 garment of shame. 
 
 2d Officer. There, I told you so ; I knew I 
 should get a lecturing. But it is of no use ; I hope 
 there icill be a war ; I should glory in it. 
 
 Dialogue III. — The Mercenary Warrior. 
 
 Zd Officer. Well, those rascally Texans have 
 brought us in for it, at last ; we are to have a war in 
 real earnest, I verily believe. 
 
 .4. How do you relish the idea of fighting in their 
 behalf? I think I have heard you condemn the 
 scheme of annexation, and all its aiders and abettors 
 thus far. Will you take part in the war notwith- 
 standing ? Does the phantom of glory mislead you ? 
 
 3^ Officer. No, indeed ; I care nothing for glory ; 
 I fight for something more substantial. I do not pre- 
 tend to be a patriot, either ; I entered the service of 
 my country for pay and plunder, and nothing else 
 under heaven. I don't wish to fight ; if I could get 
 better pay in civil life, I would resign my commis- 
 sion to-morrow. 
 
 A. Perhaps you would accept one from the Mexi- 
 cans, if they would double your pay. Excuse me, 
 but your language might have come fitly from the 
 mouth of a "free-companion" of the Middle Ages. 
 
 3c? Officer. No, no ! I would not exactly do that, 
 either ; especially as those poor devils of Mexicans 
 are out of money, and stand a bad chance of waging 
 a successful war. 
 
192r WAR WITH MEXICO. 
 
 A. Well, there is one thing at least for which I ad- 
 mire you, — your candor. You, at any rate, make no 
 pretensions to a Christian character ; nor do you at- 
 tempt to cover your motives with the cloak of ambi- 
 tion. You plainly avow your objects to be mercenary. 
 The Devil will not be able to cheat yoii, at worst, 
 entirely out of your purchase-money ; for, if you fall 
 in battle, your wife and children will probably receive 
 a pension ; and thus you will, in a manner, continue 
 to draw pay even after death. I think you have 
 the advantage of the Christian warrior and the am- 
 bitious warrior ; for the former professes not to look 
 to his pay for his reward, and, should he be killed, he 
 certainly could not, as a Christian, expect to be re- 
 warded in heaven, for deeds of injustice and blood- 
 shed which he might have committed on earth ; and 
 the ambitious warrior would find that his earthly 
 glory would avail him nothing in the spiritual 
 world. He must live in order to enjoy it, and he 
 might chance to die in a hospital without having ever 
 obtained it. He certainly runs a great risk in the 
 hope of obtaining a very small reward. Little honor 
 is to be obtained in this war. 
 
 3d Officer. As you say, I make no pretensions to 
 Christianity ; I am a man of the world. In my opin- 
 ion, a Christian has no business in the army or navy. 
 I agree with the Duke of Wellington, that a man of 
 tender conscience is not fit for a soldier. If ever I 
 am converted, I shall throw up my commission im- 
 mediately. 
 
 A. I wish you would talk to your brother officer, — 
 
WAR WITH MEXICO. 193 
 
 the professing Christian ; I think he might learn 
 some wholesome truths even from a man of the 
 world. 
 
 Zd Officer. As to the justice or injustice of this 
 Avar, that is no concern of mine ; you must settle that 
 matter with the government ; I only obey orders. 
 
 PART 11. 
 
 The Three Statesmen, — and their Motives for ordering the War- 
 riors to fight the Meocicans. 
 
 Dialogue I. — The Christian Statesman. 
 
 A. I have conversed with several officers of the 
 army and navy concerning the threatened war with 
 Mexico. They give various reasons why, in case 
 such war ensues, they shall obey the orders of govern- 
 ment, and join their respective regiments and ships ; 
 but all, without exception, when questioned with re- 
 gard to the justice of the contest on our part, refer 
 me to head-quarters, declaring that to be a matter 
 with which they have no concern. To you accord- 
 ingly I come, as one of the highest, if not the very 
 highest source to which I can apply for the infor- 
 mation needed. Your reasons for supporting the war 
 must be the best that can be offered ; for you are, I 
 believe, a professing Christian, and have, I know, 
 although a Southerner, proved yourself under try- 
 ing circumstances willing to stand by your princi- 
 ples, though at the risk of losing your character as 
 a man of honor. To refuse to fight a duel, in the 
 17 
 
194 WAR WITH MEXICO. 
 
 Southern States, is a proof of high moral courage. 
 I ask you then, how you, as a Christian statesman, 
 can lend your aid to this scheme of national robbery, 
 and use your influence in support of this unjust 
 war. 
 
 1st Statesman. I thank you for your compliment ; 
 but you have come to the wrong person. But for the 
 present, a very few words will suffice to place the re- 
 sponsibility of these measures where it truly ought to 
 rest. I am only the exponent of the will of the peo- 
 ple ; it is the duty of the public servant to obey his 
 masters. The people have spoken, and I obey. On 
 them alone rests the praise or blame which this mat- 
 ter should justly call forth. 
 
 A. Have you no higher master than the people ? 
 '' Whether it be right in the sight of God to hearken 
 unto men more than unto God, judge ye." 
 
 \st Statesman. As a private citizen, I should say 
 that we had not justice altogether on our side ; but, as 
 a public servant, it is my duty to put my private opin- 
 ion entirely out of sight. '' The powers that be are 
 ordained of God " ; and surely, in our country, the 
 " powers that be " are the people : them I must obey, 
 or I shall disobey God. " Vox populi, vox Dei.^^ 
 What would you have me do ? 
 
 A, If you are a Christian, trust not to such soph- 
 istries ; resign your place, and wash your hands of 
 this matter ; or else retain it, and use all your influ- 
 ence to promote the ends of justice. 
 
 1st Statesman. A pretty proposition, truly ! I see 
 that you are one of those fanatical Peace-men. Had 
 
WAR WITH MEXICO. 195 
 
 I known that in the beginning, I would not have ex- 
 changed words with you. Good morning, Sir. 
 
 Dialogue II. — The Ambitious Statesman. 
 
 A. I am curious to know how it is that you, 
 whose eloquent voice was so lately heard on the floor 
 of Congress, thundering forth denunciations against 
 President Tyler for his iniquitous plan of a treaty of 
 union with Texas, — that famous "bomb-shell" that 
 was intended to explode in the midst of the Balti- 
 more Convention, and scatter the ranks of the faith- 
 ful in dismay and disorder, — I am veri/ curious to 
 know how it is that you have so suddenly altered 
 your tone. You were for obtaining Texas, truly ; 
 but only with its old boundaries ; and that, too, by 
 peaceful negotiation with Mexico. Yet, amid the 
 preparations now going on for rudely seizing, not 
 only Texas, but portions also of four other Mexican 
 departments and provinces, you have suddenly be- 
 come silent, and your influence is exerted only in 
 favor of this grand scheme of national robbery. 
 What is the cause of this sudden change ? 
 
 2d Statesman. My dear Sir, it will not do for a 
 politician to go too far ahead of the people. He may 
 lead them, it is true, if he can do so without their 
 knowing it ; I have done that myself often ; but this 
 time I miscalculated my powers. I went ahead too 
 fast, and soon found myself obliged to take the back- 
 track or be left entirely alone. Ah, Sir ! I forgot for 
 a time that I was a politician, foolishly allowed my 
 
196 WAR WITH MEXICO. 
 
 heart to soften, and felt and spoke as a man indig- 
 nant at the injustice and folly about to be commit- 
 ted. But I was a fool myself, and you don't catch 
 me in a like predicament again. I have learnt a les- 
 son which I shall not soon forget. It will not do for 
 an ambitious politician to oppose the wishes of his 
 sovereign, either in a monarchical despotism or a 
 democratic despotism. He must play the courtier, 
 if he wishes to be advanced. I have had some hope 
 of reaching the Presidential chair ; but for a time that 
 hope seemed set for ever. Its aurora again illumines 
 the horizon of my political fortunes ; I shall take 
 care, if possible, not to extinguish it again. 
 
 A. Your motives, then, are entirely ambitious. 
 Do you feel no compunctions of conscience at this 
 iniquitous business ? 
 
 2c? Statesman. None whatever : the justice or in- 
 justice of the matter lies wholly with the people. I 
 have done what I could, but the people will have 
 their way ; and I do not consider myself bound to 
 sacrifice my political fortunes to no purpose. If I 
 were in the Presidential chair, I might be able to do 
 some good. I might then afford to look more to the 
 ends of justice, and the opinion of posterity ; but, 
 in order to reach that station, I must be a time- 
 server, and look only to the opinion of my contem- 
 poraries. 
 
 A. Does that satisfy your conscience ? 
 
 2c? Statesman. Not exactly ; but I intend to make 
 up for that, when I get to be President. I mean to 
 take Washington for my model ; I am going to make 
 
WAR WITH MEXICO. 197 
 
 one of the best Presidents that ever graced this re- 
 public ; I am, upon my honor ! and you may tell all 
 your friends so. Only elect me President, and you 
 will never have occasion to repent of it. I have 
 some sins to answer for, and I intend to atone for 
 them all then. O, what a blessed thing it is to 
 have the power, as well as the will, to do good ! I 
 wish you a very good morning, Sir. 
 
 A. (solus). Ah ! I am afraid to trust him ; he is 
 too much of a time-server. I wonder if he talks so 
 good to a half-horse, half-alligator Westerner, with 
 his rifle on his shoulder, bound for Texas. I suspect 
 that he keeps different kinds of bait in his pocket, to 
 suit all sorts of gudgeons. 
 
 Dialogue III. — The Mercenary Statesman. 
 
 A. Your face looks bright this morning, friend. 
 You seem to be pleased at all these preparations for 
 war. 
 
 3d Statesman (rubbing his hands). My Texas 
 bonds and Texas land-scrip will now be worth some- 
 thing ; I shall make my fortune out of this ; why 
 should not my face look bright ? 
 
 A. You seem to look at the thing in a business 
 point of view, entirely. You speak rather unguard- 
 edly, however. One might suppose from your lan- 
 guage, that the support which you have rendered to 
 the scherhe of annexation had been bought and paid 
 for. I do not mean to hint at such a thought, how- 
 ever. 
 
 17* 
 
198 WAR WITH MEXICO. 
 
 1 
 
 3d Statesman {with a sinister smile). O. 
 course not ! 
 
 A. But have you no consideration for the justice 
 or injustice of our cause ? 
 
 3c? Statesman. I have no time to think of that ; 
 it is as much as I can do to attend to my own busi- 
 ness. Go and talk to the people about the justice of 
 the war. I should be a fool not to improve the ad- 
 vantages of my position. I saw from the beginning 
 that the people were determined to have Texas, and 
 I knew it would be impossible for me to stem the 
 current. I confess, however, that I had no great de- 
 sire to do so. " There is a tide in the affairs of men," 
 (fcc. ; this tide I have " taken at the flood," and, if it 
 does not " lead on to fortune," I am mistaken. 
 Good morning, Sir. 
 
 PART IIL 
 
 The Five Citizens, — and why they upheld the Statesmen who 
 ordered the Warriors to fight the Mexicans, 
 
 Dialogue I. — The Christian Citizens. 
 
 A. I asked the warriors, why they were going to 
 fight the Mexicans. They gave various reasons ; but 
 the chief one was, that the government command- 
 ed them. I asked the members of the government, 
 and the head politicians, why they commanded the 
 officers to fight the Mexicans. They declared that 
 the people ordered them to do so ; they were their 
 servants, and must obey them. You rank among the 
 
WAR WITH MEXICO. 199 
 
 most respectable of our citizens, and are, I believe, 
 professors of religion ; yet, if I have heard aright, 
 you uphold the government in the course it is pursu- 
 ing, and helped to form the public opinion on which 
 the action of the government is founded. Will you 
 be so kind as to give me your reasons for so doing ? 
 
 1st Citizen. I have no objection at all to do so. 
 I am a Southerner, and am interested in upholding 
 the divine institution of slavery. That institution, 
 Sir, was ordained by God, when he declared that 
 Canaan should be a servant in the house of Japheth. 
 Governors McDufRe and Hammond have proved 
 that beyond a doubt ; and some dozen of your 
 Northern clergymen, in elaborate publications, have 
 done the same thing. This ought to satisfy any 
 body but a heretic ; and, Sir, when I behold your 
 Northern fanatics endeavouring to pull down this ven- 
 erable institution, established by Jehovah, and sanc- 
 tioned by all the prophets and apostles of our holy 
 religion, my heart is filled with indignation, and, 
 were I not a Christian, I would almost consent to see 
 those fellows burned alive, as some of our people 
 threaten to have them, if they catch them south of 
 Mason and Dixon's line. Well, Sir, in order to pre- 
 vent the desecration intended, it is necessary that we 
 should render the South politically stronger than the 
 North. This can be done only by annexing Texas. 
 There are many reasons for taking this important 
 step ; but if there w^ere no other, this alone would be 
 sufficient to justify me in upholding the government 
 at the present crisis. I must say, however, that my 
 
200 WAR WITH MEXICO. 
 
 heart warms with a glow of philanthropic satisfaction, 
 as I contemplate the inestimable blessings which we 
 are about to bestow upon, as well as receive from, 
 Texas, — the free institutions, the civil and religious 
 liberty, and the high civilization of our own country. 
 When I say Texas, I mean, of course, all those 
 adjoining Mexican provinces which we may incor- 
 porate with Texas proper, and which are now set- 
 tled by descendants of the Spaniards, — poor, be- 
 nighted creatures ! deprived at present of the in- 
 vigorating influence of that precious boon of Provi- 
 dence, — domestic slavery. {Exit \st Citizen.) 
 {Enter 2d Citizen.) 
 
 2d Citizen. Well, well, I am afraid war is com- 
 ing at last ; I did hope that we should finish the an- 
 nexation of Texas without bloodshed ; but, if the 
 Lord wills it, we must submit. I did not like this 
 business, at first ; it seemed rather unjust, and adapt- 
 ed, at first sight, to extend and perpetuate the atro- 
 cious system of slavery, which from the bottom of 
 
 my heart I detest and abhor. But but 
 
 but 
 
 A. I should like to hear your reasons, if you can 
 manage to express them, for upholding, at this late 
 hour, a scheme of the enormity of which you seem 
 to have had at first a very clear conception. 
 
 2d Citizen. Why, Sir, in the first place, the 
 people were determined upon it. They have got 
 the country into a predicament from which we can- 
 not withdraw with honor, and it is the duty of 
 every good citizen to stand by the government at 
 
WAR WITH MEXICO. 201 
 
 this juncture. The tide of popular opinion could 
 not be stayed, and now, Sir, I see that the finger of 
 the Lord directed it. In this new acquisition, sought 
 for the purpose of building up slavery, I foresee that 
 an avenue is about to be opened through which our 
 black population will pour forth without ceasing, 
 until it has dissipated itself in the vast regions of the 
 South and Southwest : for this is not the last Mex- 
 ican province which we are to absorb. Slavery will 
 spread through every one of them ; no more negroes 
 will be imported ; the old States, as they become ex- 
 hausted by slave cultivation, will, one by one, rid 
 themselves of their servile population, which, accord- 
 ing to the laws of supply and demand, will find a 
 market among the virgin lands of Mexico and Cen- 
 tral America. Here they will mix with the Indians ; 
 the colored population will in time so far outnumber 
 the whites, that it will be impossible to keep them in 
 a state of slavery, and liberty for the dark-skinned 
 race must be the inevitable result. O, what a bless- 
 ed thought, — that the down-trodden African will be 
 able to stand erect and say, "I, too, am a man"! 
 Who would not vote men and money to carry on 
 this Mexican war, with such a prospect before him 
 to cheer him on in the path of duty ? 
 
 A. Not so fast, my friend. If " God maketh the 
 wrath of man to praise him," no thanks to us. 
 Take care how you do evil in order that good may 
 come. The evil you are sure of: the good may 
 never arrive. 
 
202 WAR WITH MEXICO. 
 
 Dialogue II. — The Ambitious Citizen. 
 
 A. On all hands I am referred to the people as the 
 source of this threatened Mexican war. Can you 
 tell me your reasons for assisting to bring the coun- 
 try to this pass ? 
 
 3d Citizen. O, I had nothing to do with the ini- 
 tiation of this business ; the scheme was concocted 
 among the rabble, the rowdies, the counterfeiters, 
 the horse-stealers, and land-stealers, — the sovereign 
 mob, — what we call the democracy of the land. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! " what 's in a name ? " A good deal, say 
 I. You see, Sir, I was tired of being a plain citizen ; 
 I wanted to get an ^'H-o-n." before my name; I 
 saw that the democracy were pleased at the idea of 
 acquiring Texas ; each man felt as if he were sure 
 of a farm for nothing but the taking. This offered 
 too good a chance to be missed ; I turned orator at 
 once, — pleaded for the oppressed Texans, — talked 
 of rich lands, of honor and glory, the stars and stripes, 
 and the spread of free institutions. If I was not 
 quite as eloquent as Demosthenes, it was no fault of 
 mine ; nor was the failing discovered, for the enthu- 
 siasm of the people made up for all deficiencies. I 
 expect to ride into Congress yet on this hobby. 
 This is, of course, entre nous. 
 
 Dialogue III. — The Mercenary Citizens. 
 Aih Citizen. Well, my friend, what do you think 
 of our prospects ? Shall we have war ? 
 
WAR WITH MEXICO. 203 
 
 A. I hope not ; it is a disgraceful, unchristian 
 business, from beginning to end. 
 
 4/A Citizen. O, fiddlestick ! don't go to sermon- 
 izing now. I have got two or three profitable con- 
 tracts already, for the supply of the army now on its 
 way to the frontier ; and, should we have war in real 
 earnest, I shall make a snug little fortune before it is 
 over. At any rate, war or no war, I shall come out 
 the gainer by this business. I shall make a hundred 
 per cent, on my Texas bond and land scrip; and 
 the settlement of a new country always ofiers grand 
 chances for speculation. I have hopes, too, of a fat 
 office from the party. Here is my friend B. from 
 the South. Ah ! what say you to this business? Do 
 you want war or not ? 
 
 5th Citizen (B). No ; I don't want a war, if we 
 can get through without one. The sooner this 
 question is settled, and Texas ours, the sooner will 
 the tide of emigration commence ; and then. Sir, 
 will come the fruition of all my hopes. If I con- 
 tinue to live in Virginia, and raise negroes for sale, I 
 shall get double the price for them that I now do ; 
 and if I choose to remove to Texas with my slaves, I 
 shall get a fine plantation for next to nothing, and 
 shall realize a fortune out of the abundant crops of 
 sugar and cotton which can be easily made from the 
 virgin soil of that rich country. They say we can 
 make three hogsheads of sugar to an acre, and a 
 dozen bales of cotton to a hand. As to the war, if 
 we cannot get Texas to the Rio del Norte peaceably, 
 and that too very soon, then I say let us settle the 
 
204 WAR WITH MEXICO. 
 
 matter at once by fighting. Six months of active 
 operations would finish the business. 
 
 A. You seem to look at the matter very coolly, 
 gentlemen, as a concern only of dollars and cents. 
 Do you not care to inquire whether our country is 
 right or wrong in this matter ? 
 
 Ath Citizen. Pshaw ! Go to the adventurers who 
 planned, and the half-horse, half-alligator set who ex- 
 ecuted, this Texas enterprise, and talk to them about 
 the justice of the proceeding ; — what do we care 
 about it ? Have you heard the news ? 
 
 A. What? 
 
 Ath Citizen. Scrip is looking up. 
 
 5th Citizen. Negroes are rising. 
 
 '^ Ha, ha ! " shouted Satan, from his throne in 
 Pandemonium, whither a report of the preceding 
 conversation had been instantaneously conveyed by 
 a branch of Morse's electric telegraph, lately estab- 
 lished between New York and the infernal city, — 
 not so far apart, by the way, as some people seem to 
 imagine, — " O, ha, ha! that inquisitive fellow has 
 carried his investigations pretty far ; but if he wants 
 to arrive at the true source of this business, he must 
 take one step more, and come to me. I can tell him 
 more about the origin of this Texas scheme than 
 any of those faithful servants of mine whom he has 
 been questioning. Ha, ha, ha ! devil never had bet^ 
 ter ! " 
 
 Ath Citizen. What noise is that ? 
 
 5th Citizen. Don't you know ? They are testing 
 cannon at Sandy Hook. 
 
WAR WITH MEXICO. 205 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 The Chaplain ; and how he intends to pray for Success to his Coun- 
 try in the War which Satan instigated the Citizens to uphold the 
 Statesmen in ordering theWarriors to ivage against the Mexicans. 
 — Conclusion. 
 
 A. I am glad to meet you here ; I have been 
 engaged in making some curious inquiries this 
 morning. With a question or two more, addressed 
 to you, I may appropriately close my investigation 
 into the motives of those who instigated, and those 
 who stand ready to carry on, our threatened war 
 with Mexico. It is lamentable that the professed 
 followers of Christ should be so ready to engage in 
 the murderous game of war. 
 
 Chaplain. Ah, my friend ! war and pestilence are 
 sent by Providence as punishments for the sins of 
 mankind. 
 
 A. You confound the acts of man with the doings 
 of God. Epidemic pestilence may be properly said 
 to be sent by Providence, as it is the result of his 
 natural laws, over which man has no control ; but 
 war is a crime springing directly out of man's own 
 heart, over which he has some control, or else he is 
 not responsible for his actions. But we will not en- 
 gage in a theological discussion. I wish to ask you, 
 whether, on the field of battle or the deck of a 
 man-of-war, you can pray that victory may perch on 
 the banners of your country in this contest with 
 Mexico. 
 
 18 
 
206 WAR WITH MEXICO. 
 
 Chaplain. Ahem ! certainly ; it would be my 
 duty to do so. 
 
 A. Then I suppose you approve of the origin and 
 progress of this affair, and think it right that the ac- 
 quisition of Texas should be consummated. Doubt- 
 less there are many excellent people who have been 
 misled in this matter, and who deem themselves 
 actuated by the purest of motives in forwarding the 
 project of annexation ; but it has been my lot to 
 meet with very few such, and of these, the greater 
 part attempted to justify themselves only on the 
 ground of expediency. But here come those whom 
 I have been questioning this morning concerning 
 their motives for furthering this scheme : and what 
 are they ? 
 
 Christian Warrior. Duty. 
 
 Ambitious Warrior. Honor and glory. 
 
 Mercenary Warrior. Pay and plunder. 
 
 Christian Statesman. Obedience to the people. 
 
 Ambitious Statesman. The Presidential chair. 
 
 Mercenary Statesman. Bonds and scrip. 
 
 1st Christian Citizen. The divine institution of 
 slavery. The extension of the area of freedom. 
 
 2d Christian Citizen. The destruction of the ac- 
 cursed system of negro bondage. 
 
 Ambitious Citizen. A seat in Congress. 
 
 \st Mercenary Citizen. Government contracts, 
 speculation, spoils of office, &c. 
 
 2c? Mercenary Citizen. A new market for negroes. 
 
 Adventurers. Any thing for a change. Hurrah for 
 the gold and silver of Mexico, and a '' revel in the 
 halls of Montezuma " ! 
 
WAR WITH MEXICO. 207 
 
 Satan {taking a long stride from Pandemonium 
 to the deck of the man-of-war lying in the stream). 
 To build up my kingdom on earth ; and no lack of 
 workmen, either ; ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Citizen. Ha ! what is that ? 
 
 Officer. Those are the signal guns. 
 
 2d Officer. Yes, the old sea-dog has set his pups a 
 barking, and we must be off. 
 
 And so they were signal guns, and yet none the 
 less the expressions of Satan's uproarious mirth. 
 His favorite mode of laughing is through the can- 
 non's mouth. How, from his brazen throat, on the 
 embattled field, he breathes out fire and smoke, 
 shaking his sides with mirth, and making the wel- 
 kin ring with shouts of joy ! When the armies of 
 the North and the South meet on the plains of Tex- 
 as or Mexico, ere they join in mortal combat, with 
 what edification will his Infernal Majesty listen to 
 the prayers for victory, put up on the one side by 
 the Catholic priest, and on the other by the Protes- 
 tant chaplain ! And then how will the merry fiend 
 howl with delight, as Christians mow down Chris- 
 tians ! 
 
 The embarkation was finished ; the man-of-war 
 weighed anchor ; with magic celerity the snowy 
 canvas covered her tall spars, and she moved majes- 
 tically down the broad bay of New York, — a beau- 
 tiful spectacle, were it not for the thought of the 
 deadly errand on which she was bound. 
 
THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 For a week I had been reflecting on matters 
 of deep concernment. Theology, cosmogony, hu- 
 manity, and eternity were the food of my thought. 
 All modes of religion passed in review before my 
 mind, and from the midst of the overwhelming mass 
 of ignorance, superstition, and priestly duplicity, I 
 strove to extract the small portion of truth, a few 
 grains of which pervade even the lowest form of 
 religion which is found on the face of the earth. 
 My spirit was employed, as it were, in an eclectic 
 tour, seeking for materials wherewith I might 
 build an impregnable castle of faith, in which my 
 soul might dwell secure from the attacks of my in- 
 cessant enemy, — Doubt. Heathenism, Mohamme- 
 danism, and Judaism were soon passed over ; — they 
 offered no abiding-place, — hardly a spot where the 
 spirit might rest her weary wings, and refresh her- 
 self for another flight. 
 
 O, what a relief to the toil-worn, storm-beaten 
 soul, to fold her pinions and nestle in the bosom of 
 
THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 209 
 
 Jesus ! Here are Love, Purity, Goodness, Truth. 
 Here is the representative of the sovereign Lord of all 
 things. In him dwells the fulness of the Godhead 
 bodily. Such, and nowise different, is God himself 
 Does not the trusting soul long to throw herself on 
 his bosom, melt into perfect union, and be one with 
 him? 
 
 His life, works, precepts, death, prove him to 
 have been a Divine Man, in the perfect likeness of 
 God, — the highest manifestation of infinite love and 
 power that the world ever witnessed. Here, then, 
 may we find truth ; here may we learn what true 
 religion is. In what, then, does Jesus tell us that 
 religious duty consists ? " Thou shalt love the Lord 
 thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and 
 with all thy strength, and with all thy mind ; this 
 is the first and great commandment, and the second 
 is like unto it : Thou shalt love thy neighbour as 
 thyself. On these two commandments hang all the 
 law and the prophets." Here we have the whole 
 duty of man. There is no act of our lives, no thought 
 of our hearts, which does not come under one, or the 
 other, or both, of these two all-comprehensive moral 
 and religious rules. Do we love God ? Then we 
 love infinite Goodness, Purity, Beauty, Mercy, Truth, 
 and we shall strive, both in thought and deed, after 
 the Good, the Pure, the Beautiful, the Merciful, the 
 True. Do we love our neighbours as ourselves ? 
 Then we shall be kind, forgiving, helpful, toward 
 them, and strive to do them all the good in our 
 power. 
 
 18* 
 
210 THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 
 
 I 
 
 Thus I sought, and thus I found, Truth, — truth 
 so simple, that he who runs may read ; and I felt in 
 my heart that " Love is the fulfilling of the law " ; 
 that in love to God and love to man lies the very 
 'essence of Christianity. I regarded all other doc- 
 trines taught in the name of Christ as non-essential, 
 — good, if they led to a stronger love to the Crea- 
 tor and the creature, — evil, if they narrowed the 
 soul, and led to bigotry and persecution. 
 
 Feeling assured in my heart that I had found the 
 true talisman, the Ithuriel-spear, at the touch of 
 which all disguise would fall, and every thing appear 
 in its true colors, I straightway set about examining 
 the doctrines and the practices of the dominant 
 Christian sects since the days of the Apostles. 
 Heavens, what an expose ! What a " teaching for 
 doctrines of the commandments of men " ! What 
 a murdering of souls and bodies ! What anger and 
 clamor and uncharitableness ! What wars and* op- 
 pressions ! All this, in the sacred name of Christ ! 
 Wearied out, I fell asleep ; but my mind rested not, 
 and uncontrolled fancy reproduced and moulded in- 
 to strange shapes the thoughts and visions of my 
 waking hours. 
 
 I stood in the heart of a vast and populous city, 
 on an immense elevated square or park, miles in 
 extent, in the centre of which, on a gentle eleva- 
 tion, arose the walls, the columns, and the mighty 
 dome of a church, grand and extensive beyond the 
 power of my faculties to comprehend. Toward this 
 central point crowded, in interminable masses, the 
 
THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 211 
 
 countless millions of the vast city which stretched 
 away to the horizon on every side. They said this 
 was the Church of Christ, in which the Almighty 
 dispensed his munificent spiritual bounties to man- 
 kind, ^' without money, and without price." Yet, 
 strange to say, I observed that the different masses 
 kept studiously separate from each other ; and the 
 leaders of each host claimed to be the exclusively 
 commissioned almoners of God. They spent more 
 time and energy in railing at the leaders of the rival 
 hosts than they did in pressing forward to the goal, 
 and seemed more desirous to prevent others from 
 entering, except in their train, than they were to 
 enter themselves. The larger grew the respective 
 parties of the different leaders, the louder grew 
 their railings, and the more freely did they pour out 
 their excommunications and Christian curses upon 
 their rivals. They held up pieces of paper, on 
 which were inscribed certain phrases which they 
 themselves did not profess wholly to understand, 
 shouted out some cabalistic words, and declared 
 that all who could not pronounce their shibboleth, 
 and declined to sign their incomprehensible papers, 
 should be for ever shut out from the Church of 
 Christ, and punished for their obstinacy with eternal 
 torments. Some turned pale with fear, on hearing 
 these awful denunciations, and straightway gave in 
 their adhesion to the party which dealt them out 
 most freely. Others, of stronger make, but with 
 somewhat too little of patience and faith, turned 
 back, saying, " If your Church of Christ can be reach- 
 
212 THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 
 
 ed only on such terms as these, it cannot be worth 
 toiling after. If you are the servants, what must the 
 master be ! " And thus was many an honest manj 
 who had longed to worship in the great church, 
 turned from his purpose, and thrust back into the 
 crimes and pollutions of the city from which he had 
 made his faint attempt to emerge. Others still felt 
 only pity and contempt for the bigots who so freely 
 poured out their maledictions on all non-conformists ; 
 and, finding all their attempts to soften the hearts 
 of their godly opponents vain, they quietly drew 
 together, and pressed on with what speed they could 
 make toward the great object of their desires. Yet 
 now and then (alas for human nature!) a railing 
 voice went up from the midst of their ranks, and 
 poured out censures and reproaches against the rival 
 parties with whom they came in contact. And 
 sometimes the outskirts of one host came into bodi- 
 ly collision with portions of another, — and then 
 blood was shed by antagonist Christians ! 
 
 The tracks of some of the parties, for a long dis- 
 tance behind, were strewn on either side with the 
 mutilated remains of Christian brethren, who had 
 been burnt or otherwise tortured to death, because 
 they were unable to pronounce the party watch- 
 word of the majority. Large companies of the 
 friends of the murdered seceded from the hosts of 
 which they had formed a part, and pursued a sepa- 
 rate route to the great church. Yet, horrible to re- 
 late, no sooner was their organization completed 
 than they set about slaying and torturing every strag- 
 
THE CHURCH OF CHRITS. 213 
 
 gler who came within their reach and could not ut- 
 ter their new shibboleth. These persecuting refugees 
 from persecution claimed to be the saints par emi- 
 nence ; they were austere in countenance and man- 
 ners, freely doomed others to the stake, the gallows, 
 and hell, and "for a pretence made long prayers." 
 
 Meanwhile to my eye the church remained as far 
 in the distance as ever ; it seemed to recede as the 
 toiling hosts advanced. Though the ascent was 
 gentle, yet it seemed interminable ; and though clear- 
 ly defined against the blue sky, yet the columns, 
 portals, and dome of the vast edifice of dazzling 
 white looked down upon us from the immense dis- 
 tance and height, in seemingly unapproachable sub- 
 limity. But I observed that those around me saw 
 not as I did, but deemed themselves already at the 
 entrance of the church. Yet now and then one 
 would get tired, and return to the city, which on 
 such occasions always seemed miraculously near at 
 hand to receive him. 
 
 My dream here became confused and indistinct. 
 At times it seemed as if the great temple enlarged 
 itself, rose to the sky, and stretched to the horizon 
 on all sides, comprehending in its vast walls the 
 entire mass of toiling millions around me. And 
 then, again, all this changed, and the temple seemed 
 more distant than ever. Then there arose, on this 
 hand and that, strange structures, which seemed to 
 be rude copies, impudent forgeries, intended to rep- 
 resent the great church. Into these crowded the 
 respective hosts, marshalled by their leaders, each 
 
214 THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 
 
 of whom, in confident tones, assured his followers 
 that this was the true churchy to reach which they 
 had so long been toiling ; and, with regard to the 
 rival edifices into which were crowding other hosts, 
 each leader declared, sometimes in pity, at other ', 
 times in wrath and contempt, that all such were | 
 false churches, and that all who worshipped therein 
 would be condemned to eternal torments. I drew 
 near, first to one and then to another of these misera- i 
 ble counterfeits, and invariably found, when close to 
 them, that the mighty temple in the distance was * 
 totally obscured by the dust raised by the sectarian I 
 hosts around their poor shanties. But in spite of 1 
 the heart-burnings and jealousies, the anger and clam- 
 or, kind words now and then passed between the 
 rival sects, and there was more love for each other at 
 the bottom of their hearts than showed itself on the | 
 surface. This was evident from the fact, that, during 
 the truces that frequently occurred, they sought op- 
 portunities to serve each other ; but let the magical I 
 shibboleth be uttered, and all was discord and bitter- 
 ness again. The sects seemed to fear to be too kind 
 to each other, lest they should compromise their 
 principles. That their hatred to each other was not 
 personal was proved by the fact that every new con- 
 vert received a hearty and joyous welcome. The 
 points of difference between the rival sects seemed 
 very small, and it appeared lamentable that they 
 should quarrel about such unimportant matters^ 
 while frequently neglecting "the weightier matters 
 of the law." And then I looked up, and saw plainly, 
 
THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 215 
 
 as the dust cleared away, that the great temple had 
 again risen to the sky, and extended on every side, 
 until it embraced every one of those conflicting sects 
 who had so long sought an entrance into it. From 
 the azure dome and green walls, everywhere shone 
 out the smile of God, and the countenance of the 
 Saviour, slightly shaded by sadness at the bicker- 
 ings of his followers, beamed benignly upon the 
 rapt worshipper whose heart was filled with love. 
 
 We all were in the Church of Christ ; and the lit- 
 tle counterfeit structures "built with hands," scat- 
 tered here and there, occupied, each, but a very 
 small portion of the pavement of the great temple. 
 One of these buildings (all of which seemed to me 
 now mere baby-houses) I recognized as the house in 
 which many of my friends worshipped, and which I 
 had sometimes entered myself. I attempted to do 
 so now, but so greatly seemed I to have increased in 
 stature, that I was obliged to go through an opera- 
 tion similar to that of the armed giant in the Ara- 
 bian Nights, when he shrank again into the brazen 
 casket. When I presented myself at the portals, 
 entrance was denied me unless I could give the 
 watchword, and soldiers were stationed to enforce 
 the rules. My dream here became confused ; I 
 heard prayers and hymns of praise from within, — 
 shouts, and curses, and firing of guns, by the guar- 
 dians without ; I longed to reach the interior, and 
 tell the worshippers what evil deeds those without 
 were doing in their name. A party of friends came 
 up, and I attempted to enter with them, but was 
 
216 THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 
 
 driven back with curses and blows ; I resisted not, but 
 retreated in despair of effecting my object ; a soldier 
 followed me for a long distance, pricking me with 
 his bayonet, until I lost all patience ; love departed 
 from my heart, and resentment and hatred took pos- ^ 
 session of it ; I put aside his musket, seized a knife j 
 from his belt, and plunged it into his heart, exclaim- j 
 ing, " Die, wretch ! I will obey the law of love when" 
 I can, but you would not let me do so." Then, as I 
 saw him fall and expire, my soul was filled with re- 
 morse. Just at the time when I was thoroughly con- 
 vinced that love was the fundamental law of Chris- 
 tianity, I had murdered a fellow -man ; and the fact 
 that I had apparently done it in self-defence did not 
 seem to mitigate my agony at all ; and equally with- 
 out effect was the consideration, that my crime was 
 in a great measure caused by the false organization 
 of society and the so-called Christian churches. 
 One thought only occupied my mind, — I had com- 
 mitted murder. I looked up and around, but the 
 smile of God I could no longer see, nor the face of 
 the Saviour beaming love upon me. The azure 
 ceiling of the lofty dome was not now visible, — I 
 seemed cast out from the great temple, — clouds and 
 darkness surrounded me, — I was alone with Despair. 
 I groaned and cried aloud for mercy, and in the 
 effort — I awoke, — my eyes rested on the familiar 
 walls of my chamber, dimly lighted by the night- 
 lamp, and I thanked God it was but a dream ! 
 
 Yet, as I lay awake, reflecting upon the matters 
 which had thus employed my mind during my sleep- 
 
THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 217 
 
 ing as well as my waking hours, I could not but 
 perceive that the dream was strangely methodical, — 
 in fact, it consisted, for the most part, of the ab- 
 stract thoughts of the preceding day, reduced, as it 
 were, to canvas by a wakeful imagination at night. 
 I determined to transfer these pictures to paper by 
 " word-paintings," ere they had entirely faded from 
 memory. If my dream is more consistent on paper 
 than it really was at the time, it is owing to the fact, 
 that the inconsistencies were the soonest forgotten, and 
 the chasms occasionally filled with an afterthought. 
 But the concluding portion stands unamended, and 
 is it not lamentably true to every-day experience ? 
 Are we not driven daily to violate the dictates of 
 conscience, — to disregard eternal truths which in 
 our highest moments have been revealed to us, — to 
 employ for ends comparatively good means which 
 we loathe, and for using which we despise ourselves, 
 — are we not driven to do all this, and more, by the 
 false organization of society and of the self-styled 
 Christian churches ? 
 
 We may not be responsible for the existence of 
 this state of things, but for its continuance we cer- 
 tainly are. Society is a whole, and each individual 
 forms, indissolubly, a part of it ; each one is respon- 
 sible for a portion of its sins, be he himself as pure 
 as the driven snow ; and to relieve himself from the 
 load, he must lessen the amount of it in an equal 
 proportion, by the influence of his example, by his 
 written or spoken word, by all the means in his power. 
 No man can retire from the world and say, " I will 
 19 
 
218 THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 
 
 keep myself aloof from my fellow-men lest I be pol- 
 luted, I will maintain my purity in private, and 
 thus will I fit myself for heaven " ; — no man can 
 do this, and accomplish the end which he proposes 
 to himself. Such selfishness defeats itself. It disre- 
 gards the most important of God's laws. Only in 
 
 THE HOPE OF THE SALVATION OF THE RACE IS THE 
 SALVATION OF THE INDIVIDUAL TO BE FOUND. 
 
TYRANNY IN A FREE COUNTRY.* 
 
 Mr. Editor : — A law, lately passed in Alabama, 
 proscribing free colored persons, has been going the 
 rounds of the papers, and, so far as I have seen, 
 without comment. Said law prescribes '' that every 
 free person of color arriving in that State, on board 
 a vessel, as cook, steward, or mariner, or in any 
 other employment, shall be immediately lodged in 
 prison, and detained until the departure of said ves- 
 sel," &c. Also, '' if any free person of color thus 
 sent away shall return, he or she shall receive 
 thirty-nine lashes ; and if found within the State 
 twenty days after such punishment, he or she shall 
 be sold as a slave for any term not exceeding one 
 year. " The sixth section makes it lawful for any 
 person to seize and enslave for life, for his own use, 
 any fi-ee person of color who may have come into the 
 State of Alabama after the first day of February, 
 1832 ; provided, that this section shall not take efiect 
 until the first day of August, 1839. The seventh 
 section makes it lawful for any person to seize upon, 
 
 * Published in the Portsmouth Journal, for April 13, 1839. 
 
220 TYRANNY IN A FREE COUNTRY. 
 
 and enslave for life, any free person of color who 
 may be found in this State after the passage of this 
 act, and who shall have come into the State subse- 
 quently to its passage. 
 
 Here is a most unrighteous law, and one clearly 
 unconstitutional. The Constitution of the United 
 States provides that " the citizens of each State shall 
 be entitled to all the privileges and immunities of citi- 
 zens in the several States." (Art. 4th, Sec. 2d,) But 
 here is a law which denies to a free colored citizen 
 of New Hampshire '' the privileges and immunities of 
 a citizen " in Alabama. If business call him to that 
 State by sea, he enters it only to tenant a prison ; 
 and the captain of the vessel is called upon " to give 
 bonds in the sum of two thousand dollars that he 
 will take him away when the vessel departs," If 
 for business, or other purposes, he enter Alabama 
 by land, he may be seized and sold into perpetual 
 slavery. And this is done in a country which 
 boasts itself free^ and under a constitution which 
 guaranties equal privileges to all free persons of any 
 State who may choose to travel or sojourn for a 
 while in any other State of the Union ! 
 
 If the free colored people of the Northern States 
 do not know their rights, or fear to demand them, it 
 is high time that they were informed of them ; and it 
 is high time that the North should assert and maintain 
 the rights of her citizens, whether their skins are 
 white or black, whether they are learned or ignorant, 
 whether they are honored or despised. The District 
 Courts of the United States will give them redress,* 
 
TYRANNY IN A FREE COUNTRY. 221 
 
 to them let them apply. North Carolina, South 
 Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Mississippi, and Ten- 
 nessee all have laws similar in their tendency to this 
 lately passed in Alabama. The law has been resist- 
 ed by the English, and effectually. The case was 
 tried many years ago in Charleston, South Carolina. 
 Some colored persons were taken from a British ves- 
 sel which arrived at that city, and were conveyed to 
 prison. Remonstrance was made, and the case was 
 carried before the United States court. The court 
 declared the law to be unconstitutional, and therefore 
 null and void. Notwithstanding this decision, the 
 law has been in force from that day to this ; and I 
 never heard of an American captain who dared to 
 raise an objection to it. It is too much trouble ; it 
 will cost a little money ; and so shipmaster after 
 shipmaster allows his cook, steward, or foremast 
 hands, to be taken away from his vessel and incar- 
 cerated for one, two, and sometimes three months, 
 without opening his mouth to protest against such 
 injustice. The law remains, a standing proof of 
 successful Nullification. 
 
 The Southerners sometimes call us truckling and 
 mean ; they say that we will submit to the greatest 
 insults, if by so doing we make money, and that we 
 will suffer ourselves to be robbed of our dearest 
 rights, rather than risk life or limb in their defence. 
 This can hardly be believed while it is remembered 
 that Boston was the hot-bed of the American Rev- 
 olution. But when Northern men will allow their 
 vessels to be unmanned, and the rights and liberty 
 19* 
 
222 TYRANNY IN A FREE COUNTRY. 
 
 of those under their protection to be infringed, with- 
 out uttering one word of remonstrance, who can 
 wonder that the Southerners charge us, and with 
 some appearance of truth, with mean and truckling 
 policy? Let the Northern States assert the rights 
 of their citizens, and maintain them. If they can- 
 not, it is time that the union of these States were 
 dissolved. Our independence was declared on light- 
 er grounds. 
 
 Southern policy has too much the ascendant in 
 our national councils, and always has had. South- 
 ern policy created the tariff, and Southern policy 
 abolished it by the threat of imllification and seces- 
 sion. Southern policy refuses to form a treaty with 
 the independent republic of Hayti, or even to ac- 
 knowledge her independence ; and with a commerce 
 of 1,500,000 dollars ^er annum with that island, our 
 merchants are obliged to pay ten per cent, more than 
 those of any other nation, merely because the South- 
 erners will not consent to have a colored minister 
 at Washington ! How do the aristocratic courts of 
 England and France manage to tolerate the presence 
 of Haytien ministers ? I have a most sacred regard 
 for our Union, and would do all in my power to keep 
 it holy and inviolate ; provided always, that the 
 rights of every class of our free citizens should be 
 respected as the Constitution guaranties. But a union 
 cemented with the blood of our citizens sold into 
 perpetual slavery, or drawn from their backs by the 
 thirty-nine lashes ordered by the legislature of xila- 
 bama, would be a union vnholy and infamous. 
 
TYRANNY IN A FREE COUNTRY. 223 
 
 The operation of this law is also in direct contra- 
 vention to our treaties with foreign nations. Free 
 English, Spanish, French, Portuguese, and Brazilian 
 colored citizens are subject to the same treatment as 
 colored people from the Northern States. If we 
 should succeed in forming a treaty with Hayti, their 
 vessels would be completely unmanned, if they dared 
 to enter a Southern port. 
 
 I am no Abolitionist, in the technical sense of the 
 word ; the Slave States may settle the question of 
 Slavery among themselves ; the Constitution guaran- 
 ties them that right. But let them also respect our 
 rights, — the rights of even our meanest citizens. 
 
 There sail out of New Bedford ships owned by 
 colored merchants, and officered and manned by col- 
 ored mariners ; and the crews are allowed by all 
 who have seen them to be better behaved than any 
 white crews that sail out of the United States. 
 Yet these merchants and mariners cannot prosecute 
 any voyage to the Southern ports of our country, 
 by reason of the oppressive laws of the Southern 
 States. If they were ever obliged to put into one 
 of these ports in distress, the crew, officers and all, 
 would be plunged into prison, and their ship might 
 rot and sink at the wharf, for all the relief they 
 would get in that country of '' free and equal rights." 
 
 I have shown the operation of this law upon the 
 free colored citizens of the North ; now let us look 
 at its effect upon the free colored persons who have 
 immigrated into Alabama, upon the faith of the laws 
 of the State, since the first of February, 1832, and 
 
224 TYRANNY IN A FREE COUNTRY. 
 
 I 
 
 up to the time of the passage of the law under con- 
 sideration. The sixth section, as given at the head 
 of this article, condemns all free colored persons 
 who have immigrated into the State during the last 
 seven years, by a piece of ex 'post facto legislation, 
 to perpetual slavery , unless they leave the State 
 before the first of August next. They must sell all, 
 wind up their concerns, pack up, and be off, in six 
 months, under penalty of forfeiture of liberty ! But 
 how are these poor people to get out of the State in 
 safety, with their goods and chattels, if they have 
 any ? How are they even to know that such a law 
 is passed, — since they know not how to read, 
 thanks to the anti-literary laws which are the 
 lasting disgrace of the statute-books of the Slave 
 States ? Who will inform them, when, by with- 
 holding the fact for six months, they may seize up- 
 on them for slaves? But suppose them duly 
 warned ; — they have settled their concerns, packed 
 up their little all, — and the next question is. Where 
 shall they go ? Can they pass into Mississippi ? O, 
 no ! According to the laws of that State, they would 
 be sold for slaves for a term not exceeding five years. 
 Can they pass into Tennessee ? No ! They would 
 be fined from ten to fifty dollars, and condemned to 
 hard labor in the penitentiary from one to two years, 
 according to the laws of that enlightened State. 
 Can they pass into Georgia ? Not there ! They 
 would be fined one hundred dollars each, and, if not 
 able to pay, would be sold by public auction. Can 
 they pass into Florida ? No ! not even there can the 
 
TYRANNY IN A FREE COUNTRY. 225 
 
 poor, persecuted beings take refuge. The penalties of 
 entering that Territory I do not know ; but no free 
 colored person is allowed to pass the boundary line. 
 Where, then, can they go ? Every State adjoining 
 Alabama spurns them; — their only refuge is the 
 sea! 
 
 And what have these poor, persecuted beings 
 done to deserve such ignominious treatment ? Have 
 they committed any crime? Are they murderers? 
 — incendiaries ? No ! their only crime is, that their 
 faces are darker than those of their persecutors ! 
 They are called "/ree " in the very law which de- 
 crees their expulsion ; yet they are driven out of 
 the State like so many wild beasts ! To get to 
 Mobile from the upper part of the State, the fugi- 
 tives would be obliged to travel several hundred 
 miles ; and, destitute of means as many of them are, 
 that would be no trifling journey, if not an utter im- 
 possibility. The summer season is the time allotted 
 for their departure, — a time when there are very few 
 vessels in Mobile, and those few it would be utterly 
 out of the power of the blacks to charter. No ! no ! 
 few of them will be so fortunate as to escape from 
 that inhospitable State. 
 
 It needs but a slight examination of the case to be- 
 come satisfied of what will be the horrible eifect of 
 this law. There are probably several hundreds of 
 free colored people in Alabama, who have been driven 
 into that State during the last seven years by the 
 tyrannical laws of the neighbouring States ; and nine- 
 ty out of one hundred of these miserable fugitives. 
 
226 TYRANNY IN A FREE COUNTRY. 
 
 who have not where to lay their heads, will be re- 
 duced to slavery. Suppose there be but one hundred 
 in the State ; the bad principle of the law will be 
 equally apparent, and the bad policy of it more so, 
 considering that it was hardly worth while to dis- 
 grace the State by passing such a tyrannical law for 
 so small an object as the expelling of one hundred 
 poor blacks, men, women, and children, from its 
 territory. The same would be true, were there but 
 ten free blacks in the State. 
 
 This ex post facto legislation is against the princi- 
 ples of the constitution of Alabama itself, and is a 
 most unwarrantable exercise of power without right. 
 This is, however, a concern of their own, and they 
 may settle it among themselves ; but we have a per- 
 fect right to express our opinion upon the subject ; 
 and we do say that such a law is a disgrace to any 
 people pretending to be free and civilized. It is 
 equal to the famous expulsion of the Moors from 
 Spain, — equal to the tyrannical laws against the 
 Jews which the various governments of Europe pro- 
 mulgated during the Dark Ages. 
 
 I should be glad to hear that there was a provision 
 in the law for the safe exportation of the fugitives 
 from the State, prior to August 1st, 1839. There 
 must be some good people in Alabama; — let them 
 see that these poor creatures are sent safely out of 
 the country, before their doom falls upon them. Let 
 them look to this thing, lest a greater disgrace come 
 upon their State than has already befallen it. 
 
 It may excite a sneer in some, that any one should 
 
TYRANNY IN A FREE COUNTRY. 227 
 
 take up the cause of so degraded a class as our free 
 colored population are said to be. If they are de- 
 graded, it is our laws and customs that have made 
 them so. If ignorant and in some measure helpless, 
 so much the more do they need our assistance, and 
 so much the greater is the dishonor of deserting 
 their cause. Were they educated and wealthy, they 
 could assert their rights themselves. Let those 
 sneer who will, but never let them again boast of 
 their country's Declaration of Independence, which 
 declares that "all men are created equal." If this 
 matter concerned as many white persons as there 
 are colored people involved in it, would not the 
 country ring from one end to the other? Are they 
 not men, then, that their interests should be passed 
 over so lightly ? 
 
AN HISTORICAL PARABLE.* 
 
 The country was called Philanthropia by the in- 
 habitants, because they assumed to be the warmest 
 lovers of the human race that could be found on the 
 face of the earth. They were the first to declare 
 equality of rights among all men ; the first to as- 
 sume, as the only premises on which political action 
 could righteously be founded, the self-evident truth, 
 that every man possesses an inalienable right to life, 
 liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. They were 
 the first to light the torch of freedom, and throw it 
 among the combustible materials of the old mon- 
 archies. Their disciples increased ; other nations 
 emulated their example, and some outstripped them 
 in the race. 
 
 But though the Philanthropians declared, in theo- 
 ry, the equal rights of all men, yet, in practice, they 
 made some exceptions ; for what general rule is with- 
 out its exceptions ? Exceptions were necessary in 
 order to confirm the rule. There were certain red- 
 haired people among them, whom they relieved of 
 
 * Published in the Portsmouth Journal, for April 20, 1844. 
 
AN HISTORICAL PARABLE. 229 
 
 the burden of liberty, exempted from the laborious 
 duty of pursuing happiness, and occasionally eased 
 of the load of life, when dark-haired people would, 
 under similar circumstances, have been left to pursue 
 what all Christians declare to be, at best, but a 
 weary pilgrimage in a vale of tears. Believing '' a 
 little learning" to be "a dangerous thing," and 
 having read that one of the wisest of men had de- 
 clared, after a life spent in study, that he knew noth- 
 ing at all, they, out of pure kindness, forbade that 
 the red-haired people should be taught any thing but 
 the arts which are necessary to satisfy the physical 
 wants of man. Knowing that human beings, if 
 left to themselves, often come to want, and having 
 never heard of a milch cow that was starved to death 
 by the man who lived by selling her milk, they hu- 
 manely passed a law by which the red-haired people 
 were elevated to the rank of cattle, and assigned to 
 certain persons among the dark-haired race, who 
 were thenceforth called their masters, or owners, and 
 who extended to them the same parental care which 
 they bestowed upon their other stock, and sold and 
 bought them in the same manner. Being thus en- 
 dowed with all the privileges and immunities of per- 
 ambulating merchandise, so admirably did the system 
 work, that a cow would as soon have been expected 
 to demand admittance into the alms-house, as a red- 
 haired person. Pauperism was unknown among this 
 favored portion of the inhabitants ; and of the whole 
 population, they alone were truly independent. In 
 order to extend the blessings of the system as far as 
 20 
 
230 AN HISTORICAL PARABLE. 
 
 possible, the descendants of the red-haired, to the re- 
 motest generation, were endowed by the law of in- 
 heritance with all the privileges possessed by their 
 ancestors, even though the red hair should in process 
 of time be displaced by black ; and upon any such 
 the masters were forbidden to thrust the curse of lib- 
 erty ; and he who should lead any one of these fa- 
 vored beings astray was declared worthy of death. 
 
 Were not the dark-haired people deservedly called 
 Philanthropians, and their country Philanthropia ? 
 
 After the lapse of centuries, the two races had so 
 mingled their blood, that many dark-haired persons 
 were, by the law of descent, elevated to the rank of 
 cattle, who, if red and black had any thing to do with 
 the matter, had no more right to that station than 
 their masters. Among these was Emma, who, from 
 her resemblance to her owner and his family, might 
 have been taken for his daughter. A wicked dark- 
 haired man, named John, lured her to leave her mas- 
 ter, flee from Philanthropia, and take up her abode 
 in the adjoining country of Misanthropia, (so called 
 by the Philanthropians,) where equality was more 
 practised, but less talked of. 
 
 But the fugitives were pursued, overtaken, and 
 brought back. Emma received a good cow-skin- 
 ning ; for is it not written, " Spare the rod and spoil 
 the child " ? John was very properly tried, found 
 guilty, and condemned to be hung, in order that the 
 majesty of the law might be vindicated ; and who 
 can doubt the justice of the sentence ? Are not the 
 powers that be ordained of God, and, by conse- 
 
AN HISTORICAL PARABLE. 231 
 
 quence, infallible ? And the judge, is not he one of 
 the highest of the powers that be ? and is not all that 
 he utters full of wisdom and goodness, profitable for 
 reproof and edification, and redolent of the Christian 
 virtues ? Ye who doubt, listen to the sentence pro- 
 nounced upon the criminal by the judge. 
 
 "John, you are to die a shameful, ignominious 
 death upon the gallows. You little thought, when 
 you stepped into the bar with an air as if you 
 thought it a fine frolic, that you were so soon to 
 hear this appalling annunciation ; and I reckon you 
 '11 laugh now on the other side of your mouth. But 
 that is the way those who break the laws of Philan- 
 thropia are always brought up. You have com- 
 mitted the awful crime of aiding the great-grand- 
 child of a red-haired person to run away, and depart 
 from her master's service ; and you are now to die 
 for it ! 
 
 '' You are a young man, and I fear have been an 
 idle as well as a dissolute one ; not that this would 
 have been any great matter, if you had held in bond- 
 age a hundred or two of red-hairs, and been disso- 
 lute and idle according to law. Your crime was the 
 consequence of a want of attention, on your part, to 
 the duties of life, shown in the fact of your falling in 
 love with the descendant of a red-hair, and wishing 
 to marry her. Had you kept her in concubinage, 
 and thus increased the property of her owner, no one 
 would have found any fault with you ; and if 
 you had dressed decently, and conformed yourself to 
 the rules of good society in other respects also, you 
 
233 AN HISTORICAL PARABLE. 
 
 ■ 
 
 might have dwelt among us respected and honored, 
 and perhaps one day been elected Vice-President of 
 the nation. But to free a red-hair, and then marry 
 her ! — horrible ! You must acknowledge that you 
 deserve to be hung. Had you remembered in the 
 days of your youth Him who created all men equal, 
 and endowed them with an inalienable right to 
 life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, you 
 would never have committed the unpardonable sin 
 of helping a fellow-creature to exercise these rights. 
 Unpardonable, did I say ? No, the arms of your Fa- 
 ther are continually stretched out, in love, towards 
 you, the vilest of sinners, although the arms of 
 your brethren are about to be employed in hanging 
 you. He will forgive, though we persecute to death. 
 '' Perhaps you can read ; if you can, read the Bible. 
 You will there learn that it is your duty to do to 
 others as you would that others should do to you; 
 that is, you should assist owners of red-hairs to re- 
 tain and increase their stock, as you would wish to 
 be protected in the possession of your own proper- 
 ty. You will there learn that it is sinful to covet 
 and steal your neighbour's maid-servant^ or any thing 
 that is his. You may also read there, that God is 
 no respecter of persons ; but be careful to construe 
 that passage aright. He is not a respecter of per- 
 sons, but he is of property ; and when persons are 
 made property by law, then they are no longer per- 
 sons. You may, indeed, read that we are forbidden 
 to kill ; but when a man does that which he knows 
 will be followed by the punishment of death, we do 
 
AN HISTORICAL PARABLE. 233 
 
 not kill, — he commits suicide. But above all, you 
 will there learn that it is the duty of men to for- 
 give each other, as they themselves hope for final 
 forgiveness. Harbour, therefore, no ill-will to us of 
 the dark-haired race who are about to hang you. 
 You have erred ; but remember that 
 
 ' To err is human ; to forgive, divine.' 
 
 ^' But perhaps you cannot read : if so, it is not to 
 be wondered at ; for in this department of Philanthro- 
 pia we have no free schools, and the expense of edu- 
 cation at the private seminaries is too great for those 
 poor people who own no red-hairs. Consequently, 
 you may know but little with regard to the princi- 
 ples of our holy religion, and perhaps nothing of the 
 law by virtue of which you are to be hung ; but 
 you shall not be left without comfort in your last 
 moments ; the ministers of the Gospel will aid you ; 
 they will read and expound the Scriptures to you, 
 and prove beyond a doubt, that God ordained the 
 slavery of the red-haired race, and the death, by 
 hanging, of all who oppose it. 
 
 " The sentence of the law is, that you be taken 
 
 hence to jail, securely confined till , on which 
 
 day, at , you will be taken to the place of public 
 
 execution, and there be hanged by the neck till your 
 body be dead. And may God, who is now looking 
 down upon us, judge between us and you, and have 
 mercy on your soul ! " 
 
 And certain distant observers arose, who said it 
 was a sin to enslave the red-hairs and their descend- 
 20=^ 
 
234 AN HISTORICAL PARABLE. 
 
 ants ; a crime to hang those who assisted them to 
 escape ; a meanness, in those who reigned only by 
 right of the strongest, to exult over the victim con- 
 demned to the gallows ; a piece of hypocrisy, at such 
 a time, to put on the garb ' of religion, and of blas- 
 phemy, to use God's name as a sanction to such pro- 
 ceedings. And the slaveholders felt very uncomfort- 
 able ; the consciences of some smote them, and 
 others grew wrathful at this interference with their 
 rights. 
 
 And it came to pass that certain other observers 
 arose also, and rebuked the fault-finders, and defend- 
 ed the judge and his dark-haired compatriots, and 
 exhibited a great deal of solemn horror at the harsh 
 language applied to them, and the consequent great 
 injustice of which they were made the victims ; but 
 had no word of sympathy for John, no perception of 
 the injustice of which he had been made the victim, 
 in common with the red-hairs. Some declared, that 
 the red-hairs ought to be enslaved, they deserved 
 nothing better. Others, very excellent and estimable 
 people, wished that all should be free alike, provided 
 such a state of things could be brought about with- 
 out suffering to the dark-haired race ; and they really 
 believed it could be done, if people would only let 
 the matter alone. They therefore said a great deal 
 to induce people to adopt this course, and to prove 
 that slaveholding was only a misfortune, not a sin. 
 And when the slaveholders knew these things, they 
 felt very comfortable ; the scruples of the conscien- 
 tious were satisfied, and the ire of the wrathful was 
 
 I 
 
AN HISTORICAL PARABLE. 235 
 
 appeased : and, one and all, they set about extending 
 and perpetuating red-haired slavery. 
 
 But the governor of that department of Philan- 
 thropia was a tender-hearted man ; he thought that 
 John had not committed a crime worthy of death, 
 and feared that God would not hold him guiltless, if 
 he permitted his execution ; yet he dared not grant 
 him a full pardon, for public sentiment demanded 
 that some punishment should be inflicted for the 
 offence of breaking the laws ; he therefore commuted 
 the penalty of death to that of a public whipping. 
 
 And when many centuries had passed away, and 
 Christianity dwelt in the hearts and ruled the lives 
 of the people of Philanthropia, and liberty was a 
 fact, not a name, — then the posterity of the ancient 
 Philanthropians read the history of their country, 
 and, contemplating some of the deeds of their fore- 
 fathers, said, — "* * * * * ** 
 * # # * " 
 
POETRY. 
 
MIDNIGHT MUSINGS.* 
 
 In at the open window shine 
 
 The far-off solemn stars of heaven : 
 
 With sleepless eyelids, I recline 
 Upon my couch, to musing giVen. 
 
 A holy silence fills the air ; 
 
 In sleep repose earth's sons and daughters ; 
 One voice alone is heard afar, — 
 
 The rushing "sound of many waters." 
 
 Piscataqua ! I know full well 
 
 Thine old, familiar tone, dear river ! 
 
 To thee, as by a mighty spell, 
 
 My inmost heart is bound for ever. 
 
 In boyhood, while life's morning dew 
 Still moistened hope's delusive blossom, 
 
 In sail-boat, or in light canoe, 
 I loved to sport upon thy bosom. 
 
 * Published in the Knickerbocker, for November, 1845. 
 
240 MIDNIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 And when the summer sun sank down. 
 At eve, among his gorgeous pillows, 
 
 Far from the hot and dusty town, 
 I 've bathed amid thy cooling billows. 
 
 Full many a river may, I fear, 
 
 In point of length be ranked before thee ; 
 But thou art broad, and deep, and clear. 
 
 And blue as are the heavens o'er thee. 
 
 Of Mississippi they may speak 
 
 Who find t' explore him time and season ; 
 But I have pierced thine every creek. 
 
 And love thee for that very reason. 
 
 No mighty common sewer art thou, 
 To do the drainage of the nation. 
 
 But thy pure waters ebb and flow 
 With Ocean's every heart-pulsation. 
 
 Oft sound the echoes on thy side, 
 
 With music, song, and laughter hearty, 
 
 As o'er thy breast, at even-tide. 
 Floats the returning water-party. 
 
 And oft, as now, when summer night 
 The harsher din of daylight hushes, 
 
 I listen to thy voice of might. 
 
 As seaward thy strong current rushes. 
 
 Anon, above thy solemn bass, 
 
 A sound like Fate's dread step approaches, 
 
MIDNIGHT MUSINGS. 241 
 
 As o'er thy bridge, at hurrying pace, 
 
 Come tramping steeds and rumbling Coaches. 
 
 That midnight train hath come and gone, 
 From silence sprung, in silence ended ; 
 
 But further, naught to me is known. 
 Or whence it came, or whither tended. 
 
 From voiceless gloom thus suddenly 
 Emerges man, — a solemn marvel ! 
 
 From mystery to mystery. 
 
 Thus o'er the bridge of Life we travel. 
 
 O, what a bitter mockery 
 
 Were this brief span to mortals given, 
 Had we, O God ! no faith, in thee. 
 
 No staff on earth, no hope of heaven ! 
 
 O, no ! there lies beyond the tomb 
 No " silent land," awaiting mortals ; 
 
 A land of melody and bloom 
 
 Spreads out behind Death's gloomy portals. 
 
 Then bravely bide the doom that waits ; 
 
 Bear all of earth, for all of heaven ; 
 Step, like a conqueror, through those gates, — 
 
 Not like a captive, chained and driven. 
 
 O river ! rushing to the sea 
 
 With eager and impetuous motion, 
 
 Soon thy pent waters shall be free 
 
 To roam the deep and boundless ocean. 
 21 
 
242 MIDNIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 Then, while thou murmurest in mine ear, 
 Let me accept the lesson given : 
 
 Dost thou pant for a wider sphere ? 
 So should my spirit long for heaven. 
 
 Though in the silence of the night, 
 I thus discourse with thee, dear river ! 
 
 Though flowing almost in my sight. 
 
 Loved stream ! we meet no more for ever ! 
 
 For ever ? When the ties which chain 
 My soul to clay kind Death shall sever, 
 
 Free as the wind I '11 roam again 
 Along thy banks, delightful river ! 
 
A SAIL ON THE PISCATAaUA.* 
 
 O'er the dear Piscataqua 
 
 Gaily is our light boat dancing ; 
 Brightly on its crystal waves, 
 
 Lo ! the morning sun is glancing. 
 
 Portsmouth Bridge is left behind ; 
 
 Now we 're past the " Pulpit " f pressing ; 
 Lift your hat, and bend your head 
 
 To the Parson for his blessing. 
 
 Stationed on the rocky bank, 
 
 From his Pulpit, as we near him, 
 
 Through the pine-trees, whispers he 
 Solemn words, would we but hear him. 
 
 Thus sweet Nature everywhere 
 Truth reveals to all who need it ; 
 
 Thus on life's tumultuous tide 
 Borne along, we lightly heed it. 
 
 * Published in the Knickerbocker, for June, 1846. 
 t " The Pulpit," a pine-clad cliff so called on the southwest bank 
 >f the river, before which it is customary to make obeisance in passing. 
 
244 A SAIL ON THE PISCATAQUA. 
 
 Far and near, on either hand, 
 See the trees like giants striding 
 
 Past each other, up and down, 
 With a ghostly motion ghding. 
 
 From the rocky pass emerged, 
 
 Sinking cUfFs and shelving beaches, 
 
 Far receding, usher us 
 
 To the loveliest of reaches. 
 
 Stretching wide, a beauteous lake 
 To the raptured eye is given ; 
 
 Far beyond, the blue hills melt 
 In the clearer blue of heaven. 
 
 Rustic dwellings, clumps of trees, 
 Upland swells, and verdant meadows 
 
 Lie around, and over all 
 
 Flit the summer lights and shadows. 
 
 O'er the river's broad expanse 
 Here and there a boat is darting, 
 
 Swelling sails and foaming, bows 
 Life unto the scene imparting. 
 
 Humble market-wherry there 
 
 Lags along with lazy oar ; 
 Here, the lordly packet-boat 
 
 Dashes by, with rushing roar. 
 
 Comrades, look ! the west-wind lulls ; 
 Flags the sail ; the waves grow stilly : 
 
A SAIL ON THE PISCATAQ.UA. 245 
 
 Rouse old Mollis from his sleep ! 
 Whistle, whistle, whistle shrilly ! 
 
 See, obedient to the call. 
 
 O'er the beach the breeze approaching ! 
 Now our little bark careens, 
 
 Leeward gunwale nearly touching. 
 
 LufF a little ! ease the sheet ! 
 
 On each side the bright foam flashes : 
 In her mouth she holds a bone. 
 
 O'er her bow the salt spray dashes. 
 
 To and fro ; long tack and short ; 
 
 Rapidly we work up river. 
 Comrades, seems it not to you 
 
 That we thus could sail for ever ? 
 
 21=* 
 
A FRIEND INDEED.*, 
 
 A NURSE more tender, friend more true, 
 Man never saw, man never can see, 
 
 Than ever unto me has been. 
 
 Through many a dark and painful scene. 
 The good, warm-hearted Nancy ! 
 
 Her kind attention never flags. 
 
 She faileth in no exigency ; 
 No mother to her child could be 
 Devoted more than she to me. 
 
 The generous-hearted Nancy ! 
 
 When sorely crippled in each limb, 
 
 As one may feel, but none can fancy. 
 She lifts me then, with gentle care. 
 From chair to couch, from couch to chair, 
 The dear, kind-hearted Nancy ! 
 
 When racked with pain in every joint. 
 She practiseth true necromancy ; 
 
 * Published in the Knickerbocker, for August, 1846. 
 
A FRIEND INDEED. 247 
 
 And by her soothing kindness then 
 Drives pain away, brings ease again : 
 A true physician Nancy ! 
 
 When melancholy fills my mind 
 
 With many a dark and dreary fancy, 
 With cheerful voice and laughter gay 
 She drives my gloomy thoughts away : 
 A true consoler Nancy ! 
 
 Of a large portion of my heart 
 
 She hath the rightful occupancy ; 
 And there, while life and sense remain, 
 Her image shall its place retain. 
 
 The noble-hearted Nancy ! 
 
 When I am gone, O, may it prove 
 
 No idle and unfounded fancy. 
 That, whether in her joy or woe. 
 She '11 think of him who lieth low ! 
 
 I know thou wilt, dear Nancy ! 
 
 And when I reach the ''better land," 
 Where sorrow hath no occupancy, 
 
 My joy can never be complete 
 
 Till in those realms of bliss I meet 
 With thee again, dear Nancy ! 
 
THE BALLAD OF JACK RINGBOLT.* 
 
 Jack Ringbolt lay at the Seaman's Home, 
 
 And sorely afraid was he, 
 Lest he should end upon the land 
 
 A life spent on the sea. 
 
 He was born upon the ocean, 
 
 And with her dying groan 
 His mother gave him being, 
 
 Then left him all alone, — 
 
 Alone upon the desert sea. 
 
 With not a female hand 
 To nourish him and cherish him, 
 
 Like infants on the land ! 
 
 The storm-king held a festival 
 
 Upon the deep that night ; 
 His voice was thundering overhead, 
 
 His eye was flashing bright : 
 
 * Published in the Knickerbocker, for December, 1846. 
 
THE BALLAD OF JACK RINGBOLT. 249 
 
 The billows tossed their caps aloft, 
 
 And shouted in their glee ; 
 But, O, it was for mortal men 
 
 An awful night to see ! 
 
 Among the shrouds and spars aloft 
 A host of fiends were shrieking ; 
 
 And the pump-brake's dismal clank on deck 
 Told that the ship was leaking. 
 
 The ship was lying to the wind, 
 
 Her helm was lashed a-lee ; 
 And at every mighty roller, 
 
 She was boarded by a sea. 
 
 The doom-struck vessel trembled. 
 As the waves swept o'er her deck ; 
 
 She rolled among the billows, 
 An unmanageable wreck. 
 
 To their boats they took for safety, 
 
 The captain and his men. 
 And the helpless new-born infant 
 
 Was not forgotten then. 
 
 A rough, hard-featured countenance 
 The storm-tossed captain wore ; 
 
 But his heart for tender innocence 
 With love was flowing o'er. 
 
 " He shall not perish here alone. 
 Upon the ocean wild ! 
 
250 THE BALLAD OF JACK RINGBOLT. 
 
 But only God can nourish him, 
 The motherless young child ! " 
 
 But all in vain his kindness, 
 
 Had they not at break of day — 
 
 Glad sight ! — beheld before them 
 A vessel on her way. 
 
 They were rescued, and on board of her, 
 As the passengers drew round, 
 
 In woman's arms the orphan boy 
 The needed succour found. 
 
 He lived ; but to his inmost soul 
 His birth-night gave its tone ; 
 
 The spirits of the stormy deep 
 Had marked him for their own. 
 
 He lived and grew to manhood 
 
 Amid the ocean's roar ; 
 His heaven was on the surging sea, 
 
 His hell was on the shore ! 
 
 He joyed amid the tempest, 
 
 When spars and sails were riven ; 
 
 And when the din of battle drowned 
 The artillery of heaven. 
 
 He often breathed a homely prayer, 
 That, when life's cruise was o'er, 
 
 His battered hulk might sink at sea, 
 A thousand miles from shore. 
 
THE BALLAD OF JACK RINGBOLT. 251 
 
 And now, to lie up high and dry, 
 
 A wreck upon the sand ! 
 To leave his weary bones at last 
 
 Upon the hated land ! 
 
 The thought was worse than death to him, 
 
 It shook his noble soul ; 
 Strange sight ! adown his hollow cheek 
 
 A tear was seen to roll. 
 
 " Could I but float my bark once more, 
 
 'T would be a joy to me 
 Amid the howling tempest 
 
 To sink into the sea ! " 
 
 Then, turning to the window, 
 
 He gazed into the sky ; 
 The scud was flying overhead, 
 
 The gale was piping high : 
 
 And in the fitful pauses 
 ' Was heard old Ocean's roar, 
 As in vain his marshalled forces 
 Rushed foaming on the shore. 
 
 Look now ! his cheek is flushing. 
 
 And a light is in his eye ; 
 " Throw up the window ! let me hear 
 
 That voice before I die ! 
 
 " They 're hailing me, the crested waves, 
 A brave and countless band. 
 
252 THE BALLAD OF JACK RINGBOLT. 
 
 As rank on rank, to rescue me, 
 They leap upon the land ! 
 
 a 5 
 
 T is all in vain, bold comrades ! 
 
 And yet, and yet so near ! 
 Ye are but one short league away, — 
 Must I — die — here ? 
 
 '* No ! the ship that brought me hither 
 
 Is at the pier-head lying, 
 And ere to-morrow night she '11 be 
 
 Before a norther flying. 
 
 " Now bless ye, brother sailors ! 
 
 If ye grant my wish," he cried; 
 '^ But curse ye, if " He spake no more, 
 
 Fell back, and gasped, and died. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 They sewed him in his hammock 
 With a forty-two pound shot 
 
 Beneath hi| feet, to sink him 
 Into some ocean grot. 
 
 Adown the swift Piscataqua 
 They rowed with muffled oar, 
 
 And out upon the ocean, 
 A league away from shore. 
 
 'T was at the hour of twilight, 
 O n a chill November day. 
 
THE BALLAD OF JACK RINGBOLT. 253 
 
 When on their gloomy errand 
 They held their dreary way. 
 
 The burial service over, 
 
 He was launched into the wave ; 
 Now rest in peace, Jack Ringbolt ! 
 
 Thou hast found an ocean grave. 
 
 Down went the corpse into the sea, 
 
 As though it were of lead ; 
 But it sank not twenty fathoms, 
 
 Ere it touched the ocean's bed. 
 
 Then up it shot and floated 
 
 Half-length above the tide ; 
 A lurid flame played round the head, 
 
 The canvass opened wide. 
 
 No motion of the livid lips 
 
 Or ghastly face was seen ; 
 But a hollow voice thrilled thro' their ears, 
 
 " duarter less nineteen ! " 
 
 Then eastward sped the awful dead, 
 
 While o'er the darkened sea 
 Upon the billows rose and fell 
 
 The corpse-light fitfully. 
 
 They gazed in fearful wonderment, 
 
 Their hearts with horror rife ; 
 Then, panic-stricken, seized their oars. 
 
 And rowed as if for life. 
 
 22 
 
254 THE BALLAD OF JACK RINGBOLT. 
 
 Their eyes were fixed with stony stare 
 
 Upon the spectral light ; 
 They rowed like corpses galvanized, — 
 
 So silent and so white. 
 
 They darted by " The Sisters " ; 
 
 They went rushing past '' Whale's Back " ; 
 With tireless arms they forced the boat 
 
 Along her foamy track : 
 
 But not a single face was flushed, 
 Not one long breath they drew, 
 
 Until Fort Constitution 
 
 Hid the ocean from their view. 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 '^T WAS midnight on mid-ocean, 
 
 The winds forgot to blow ; 
 The clouds hung pitchy black above. 
 
 The sea rolled black below ; 
 On the quarter-deck of the Glendoveer 
 
 The mate paced to and fro. 
 
 There was no sound upon the deep 
 To wake the slumbering gales. 
 
 But the creaking of the swaying masts, 
 And the flapping of the sails. 
 
 As the vessel climbed the ocean-hills 
 Or sank into the vales. 
 
 The mate looked over the starboard rail. 
 And saw a light abeam ; 
 
THE BALLAD OF JACK RINGBOLT. 255 
 
 The lantern of a ship, mayhap, 
 
 A faint and flickering gleam : 
 Was it bearing down on the Glendoveer, 
 
 Or did the mate but dream ? 
 
 A phantom-ship on a breezeless night 
 
 To sail ten knots an hour ! 
 Now on the beam, now quartering, 
 
 Now close astern it bore : 
 All silent as the dead it moved, 
 
 A light — and nothing more ! 
 
 No creaking block, no rumbling rope, 
 
 Was heard, nor shivering sail ; 
 But, luffing on the larboard beam, 
 
 A voice was heard to hail. 
 That made the hearts of the Glendoveers 
 
 Within their bosoms quail. 
 
 It broke upon the still night-air, 
 A hoarse, sepulchral sound : — 
 
 " What ship is that ? " A moment, 
 And the mate his breath has found : — 
 
 " The Glendoveer, of Portsmouth, 
 From Cadiz, homeward bound ! " 
 
 A livid glare, a ghastly face, 
 
 A voice, — and all was o'er ; 
 " Report Jack Ringbolt, sunk at sea, 
 
 A thousand miles from shore ! " 
 Silence and darkness on the deep 
 
 Resumed their sway once more. 
 
LUFF WHEN YOU CAN, BEAR AWAY 
 
 WHEN YOU MUST."* 
 
 When the mariner sees, far ahead on the ocean, 
 By the yeasty white waves, in their wildest commo- 
 tion, 
 That breakers are lying direct in his path, 
 He dashes not onward to brave all their wrath, 
 But, still in his compass and helm placing trust. 
 Luffs, luffs if he can, bears away when he must. 
 
 'Mid the lightning's sharp flash, 'mid the thunder's 
 
 deep roar, 
 When the foaming waves dash on the rocky lee- 
 shore, 
 When Hope disappears, and the terrible form 
 Of Death rides triumphant upon the dark storm, 
 In God and their ship the bold mariners trust. 
 Luff, luff while they can, yield a point when they 
 must. 
 
 Then make it your rule, on the billows of life, 
 So to sail as to shun all commotion and strife: 
 
 "* Published in the Knickerbocker, for February, 1847. 
 
LUFF WHEN YOU CAN, ETC. 257 
 
 And thus shall your voyage of existence be pleasant, 
 Hope smile on the future, Joy beam on the present, 
 If you in the rule of the mariner trust, 
 "Luff, luff while you can, bear away when you must." 
 
 And when the lee-shore of grim Death is in view, 
 And the tempests of fate your lone vessel pursue, — 
 Even while your last prayers unto God are addressed. 
 Though prepared for the worst, still hope on for the 
 
 best ; 
 Carry sail till the last stitch of canvass is burst, — 
 Luff, luff while you can, drive ashore when you must. 
 
 22 
 
WRECK OF THE SEGUNTUM: 
 
 A BALLAD.* 
 
 [The Spanish ship Seguntum was wrecked on the Isles of Shoals 
 in the winter of 1813, and all hands on board perished.] 
 
 Fast o'er the seas a favoring breeze 
 
 The Spanish ship had borne ; 
 The sailors thought to reach their port 
 
 Ere rose another morn. 
 
 As sank the sun, the bark dashed on, 
 
 The green sea cleaving fast : 
 Ah ! little knew the reckless crew 
 
 That night should be their last ! 
 
 They little thought their destined port 
 
 Should be the foaming surge, — 
 That long ere morn again should dawn. 
 
 The winds should wail their dirge ! 
 
 As twilight fades, and evening shades 
 
 Are deepening into night, 
 The sky grows black, and driving rack 
 
 Obscures the starry light. 
 
 * Published in the Knickerbocker, for July, 1847. 
 
 
WRECK OF THE SEGUNTUM. 259 
 
 And loudly now the storm- winds blow, 
 
 And through the rigging roar ; 
 They find, too late to shun their fate, 
 
 They 're on a leeward shore. 
 
 'Mid snow and hail they shorten sail ; 
 
 The bark bows 'neath the blast ; 
 And, as the billows rise and break, 
 
 She 's borne to leeward fast. 
 
 The straining ship drives through the seas, 
 
 Close lying to the wind ; 
 The spray, on all where it doth fall, 
 
 Becomes an icy rind. 
 
 It strikes upon the shrinking face 
 
 As sharp as needles' prick ; 
 And ever as the ship doth pitch. 
 
 The shower comes fast and thick. 
 
 And with it comes the driving snow, 
 
 Borne on the bitter blast ; 
 The helmsman scarce the compass sees, 
 
 It flies so keen and fast. 
 
 A sound of fear strikes on the ear ; 
 
 It is the awful roar 
 Of dashing breakers, dead ahead, 
 
 Upon the rocky shore ! 
 
 ^' Wear ship ! hard up, hard up your helm ! " 
 Aloud the captain cries : 
 
260 WRECK OF THE SEGUNTUM. 
 
 Slowly her head pays off, and now 
 Before the wind she flies. 
 
 Now on the other tack close braced, 
 She holds her foaming course : 
 
 Short respite then ! too soon again 
 Are heard the breakers hoarse ! 
 
 Ahead, to windward and to lee. 
 
 The foaming surges roar : 
 " O Holy Virgin ! save us now, 
 
 And we will sin no more ! 
 
 '' We vow to lead a holy life ! " 
 
 Too late ! alas, too late ! 
 Their vows and plaints to imaged saints 
 
 Cannot avert their fate. 
 
 They strike a rock ; O, God ! the shock ! 
 
 They vanish in that surge ! 
 Through mast and shroud the tempest loud 
 
 Howls forth a dismal dirge. 
 
 There lives not one to greet the sun, 
 
 Or tell the tale at home ; 
 A winding-sheet for sailors meet, 
 
 The waves around them foam. 
 
 The storm is o'er ; the rocky shore 
 Lies strewn with many a corse. 
 
 Disfigured by the angry surf. 
 That still is murmuring hoarse. 
 
WRECK OF THE SEGUNTUM. 261 
 
 And thus the Spanish crew were found * 
 
 Cast on those barren isles ; 
 There, in unconsecrated ground, 
 
 They rest them from their toils. 
 
 No mourners stood around their graves, 
 No friends above them wept ; 
 
 A hasty prayer was uttered there ; 
 Unknown, unknelled, they slept. 
 
 * Thirteen in number. Their graves are still to be seen on one 
 of the Isles of Shoals. These islands lie off the harbour of Ports- 
 mouth (N. H.), nine miles from the mouth of the Piscataqua. 
 
THE WATER-CURE: 
 
 OR THE BALLAD OF KATE PETERSON.^ 
 
 An honest man Tim Peterson, 
 Hard-working and hard-faring ; 
 
 And Mary was a loving wife, 
 His daily labors sharing. 
 
 Along the border of his farm. 
 
 His well-tilled fifty acres, 
 The beautiful Piscataqua 
 
 Threw up its mimic breakers. 
 
 A small, neat house, a large, full barn, 
 
 A thrifty farmer proved him ; 
 Yet none looked on with envious eyes, 
 
 For all who knew him loved him. 
 
 Upon this model farm of his. 
 Laved by those briny waters, 
 
 * This, and all or nearly all of the following poems, were pub- 
 lished, at different times, in the Portsmouth Journal. 
 
THE WATER-CURE. 263 
 
 A model family he raised, 
 Of noble sons and daughters. 
 
 Throughout the township, they were famed 
 For goodness, beauty, quickness ; 
 
 And on them fate shed not the blight 
 Of poverty and sickness. 
 
 They loved each other, and they loved 
 
 Jehovah, and their neighbour ; 
 And did not strive to shun their lot 
 
 Of never-ending labor. 
 
 They paid their taxes to the town, 
 
 The parish, and the nation ; 
 Had faith, but rested not alone 
 
 On that for their salvation ; 
 
 But rendered unto every man 
 
 The debt or tribute due him, 
 And, if another failed to pay. 
 
 Were never known to sue him. 
 
 They went to meeting twice a week. 
 
 Each one was a professor. 
 And, though it seem incredible, 
 
 Each one was a possessor. 
 
 *' O, what a happy family ! " 
 
 I hear my reader saying : 
 *' May I as good and happy be ! " 
 
 I hear my reader praying. 
 
264 THE WATER-CURE. 
 
 And yet no happiness was theirs ; 
 
 They nursed within their bosom 
 A canker-worm, by which their joys 
 
 Were blasted in the blossom. 
 
 An antiquated maiden aunt 
 (His heart with pity swelling) 
 
 Tim sheltered ; in return, she proved 
 The demon of the dwelling. 
 
 She said that he was needing much 
 A steady, prudent person 
 
 To take the charge of his affairs, — 
 And he might get a worse one j 
 
 Hinted, that, for his sake alone. 
 From cherished plans she parted 
 
 And rendered, upon his account, 
 Three suitors broken-hearted. 
 
 But then she loved her nephew dear, 
 
 And so at last consented. 
 Such was her story : but too late 
 
 His kindness Tim repented. 
 
 1 
 
 Blow high, blow low, — rain, hail, or snow, — 
 
 Be foul or fair the weather, — 
 Within that house a storm raged on, 
 
 Weeks, months, and years together. 
 
 They were an amiable set, 
 Averse to strife and anger, 
 
THE WATER-CURE. 265 
 
 And often yielded to the shrew, 
 To stop her dreadful clangor. 
 
 And thus it was, that, step by step, 
 She grasped all household power, 
 
 And made the farmer's family 
 Like slaves before her cower. 
 
 And he himself was often fain, 
 
 When raged the battle sorest. 
 To seek a refuge in the fields. 
 
 The orchard, or the forest. 
 
 But even there, in summer time. 
 
 When doors were open flying, 
 While birds were sending up their hymns, 
 
 And zephyrs gently sighing, — 
 
 From the far homestead issuing, 
 
 Discordant notes would mingle 
 With Nature's melodies, that rose 
 
 From meadow, wood, and dingle. 
 
 And therefore Tim, when winter came, 
 
 A hearty welcome gave him ; 
 For then closed doors and woodland work 
 
 Would household torment save him. 
 
 But when the farmer and his sons. 
 At eve, were homeward wending, 
 
 A furlong off, the vixen's voice 
 The frosty air was rending. 
 23 
 
266 THE WATER-CURE. 
 
 Desire of rest and dismal dread 
 Were in their bosoms blended, — 
 
 While, through the spacious chimney-throat, 
 The piercing tones ascended. 
 
 To wish her sick, or wish her dead. 
 Poor Tim was strongly tempted : 
 
 Alas ! from all the ills of flesh. 
 Aunt Katy was exempted. 
 
 If strict obedience to her will 
 They ever failed to grant her, 
 
 She vowed that she would have her way, 
 Or hang herself instante7\ 
 
 One summer eve, by rage and spite 
 For the fell purpose seasoned. 
 
 She ran up stairs and slipped a rope 
 Around her scraggy weasand. 
 
 They found her ; — " O Aunt Katy dear ! 
 
 How could you be so wicked? " — 
 They did not notice, in the dusk, 
 
 She stood upon a cricket ; 
 
 But lifted her, took off the rope. 
 And ceased not their complaining, 
 
 Till Katy yielded signs of life. 
 When wearied out with feigning. 
 
 From that time forth, as might be guessed, 
 She reigned with tenfold rigor ; 
 
THE WATER-CURE. 267 
 
 The hanging really seemed to give 
 Her evil passions vigor. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 " Accursed family is this ! 
 
 I '11 live no longer in it. 
 The blessed river runs close by ; 
 
 I '11 drown myself this minute." 
 
 They noticed not her thrilling threat, 
 As through the door she darted ; 
 
 But pleased, their plan had worked so well, 
 They smiled as she departed. 
 
 Away she marched, with lengthy stride, 
 Head up, and hair wild-flying ; 
 
 Her outward semblance, all the while, 
 Her inmost heart belying. 
 
 She climbed the fence across the path ; 
 
 A sudden qualm came o'er her ; 
 She cast a furtive glance behind. 
 
 An anxious look before her. 
 
 Among the trees the autumn wind 
 A mournful moan was making ; 
 
 The tiny waves along the beach 
 In puny rage were breaking. 
 
268 THE WATER-CURE. 
 
 She waded in the chilly tide, — 
 
 A horrid thrill it gave her ; 
 She cast another glance behind ; 
 
 Would no one come to save her ? 
 
 With slower, slower, slower step, 
 She moves among the billows : 
 
 She does not see the laughing eyes 
 That watch behind the willows. 
 
 She pauses, listens, thinks she hears 
 
 Behind an eager bustling ,* 
 Darts on, then stops ; — 't is but the wind 
 
 Among the dry leaves rustling. 
 
 Her courage sank, — the waves arose 
 
 The higher and the colder, 
 As though within their dark embrace 
 
 Preparing to enfold her. 
 
 Between her pride and love of life 
 A struggle here ensuing, — 
 
 The latter won, — her stern resolve 
 To die at once undoing. 
 
 " I see," cried Kate, '' to drown myself 
 Would only be to please you ; 
 
 But, cruel monsters ! I will live 
 A long while yet, to tease you." 
 
 Then back toward the welcome shore 
 With rapid steps she hurried. 
 
THE WATER-CURE. 269 
 
 Soon reached the house, and in her room 
 For two long weeks lay buried. 
 
 From that time forth her temper cooled ; 
 
 She every day grew meeker ; 
 Her manners softened, and her voice 
 
 With every day grew weaker. 
 
 She felt ashamed ; shame led to thought, 
 And thought to late repentance ; 
 
 She felt subdued, and seldom smiled, 
 Or spoke a wordy sentence. 
 
 And when a year had passed away. 
 
 And by its trials proved her, 
 Of that late wretched family 
 
 Not one but dearly loved her. 
 
 Years fled in tranquil happiness ; 
 
 Tim's sons and daughters married ; 
 And when, at last. Aunt Katy died. 
 
 And to the grave was carried, — 
 
 A long procession followed on, 
 
 A mournful silence keeping ; 
 And every heart was filled with grief, 
 
 And every eye was weeping. 
 
 23* 
 
EPIGRAM 
 
 BY A TEXAN, ON THE DEMISE OF HIS COUNTRY AS A NATION. 
 
 Defunct is my nation ; with rapture I sing ; 
 
 And yet a most thorough-paced patriot I : 
 For one's country to live is a glorious thing, 
 
 And, O, it is sweet for one's country to die ! 
 
THE LAY OF THE JILTED. 
 
 She 's marriedj — the girl that I loved the best, — 
 
 She 's married to another ; 
 And what I shall do I do not know. 
 
 O, what a plaguy bother 
 These flirting coquettes are ! I think 
 
 I never will love again. 
 My hopes of the future were centred in her ; 
 
 But, alas ! all my hopes were in vain. 
 
 Another has stolen the heart away 
 
 Which I fondly hoped was mine, lang syne ; 
 And she vowed as strongly to love him till death 
 
 As she vowed to love me till mine. 
 And she stood at the altar and vowed that she 'd 
 cherish, 
 
 Obey him, and love him, and honor! 
 One evening she thus promised me, when the light 
 
 Of the moon and the stars shone upon her. 
 
 O, well I remember the happy night 
 
 When that vow of my Mary was given ; 
 
 She gazed at the sky, and she lisped, '' When I fail, 
 Then fails the north star of the heaven ! " 
 
272 THE LAY OF THE JILTED. 
 
 Then fails the north star of the heaven ! the star 
 
 Shines as brightly as ever it did ; 
 But where is my Mary, sweet creature ! O, where ? 
 
 And where has her constancy fled ? 
 
 O the wretch ! how I 'd spurn her ! her perfidy 
 
 Has turned all my love into hate. 
 But hark ! what whispers ? 't is Conscience, I think ! 
 
 '' Your memory is treacherous of late. 
 To how many damsels have you, in your day, f^ 
 
 Promised constancy, love, and devotion ? 
 Say, how many girls have you thus led astray, 
 
 And then cast adrift on Life's ocean ? 
 
 '' For fear that you don't recollect, even now, 
 
 I '11 just jog your memory a mite, 
 About one Kate ah ! now I see that you take. 
 
 But, dear me ! don't look quite so white ! 
 You '11 faint, I 'm afraid ; take some water, — that 's 
 well ; 
 
 You 've recovered, and now I '11 proceed. 
 If I err in my story, correct me, that 's all ; 
 
 Attention ! good sir ; pray take heed. 
 
 -''Perhaps you remember one night in September, 
 
 (I think it was on the eleventh). 
 You walked with ' sweet Kate,' and you called her 
 your angelj 
 
 And ' first love ' (you knew 't was the seventh). 
 You gazed at the stars, and you talked of the spirits 
 
 Who live in those bright worlds afar ; 
 
THE LAY OF THE JILTED. 273 
 
 And you said that you hoped you should one day be 
 dwelling 
 With her in some far-distant star. 
 
 ^' And the ' angel,' alas ! she believed all you said, 
 
 And gave you her heart, the poor maid ! 
 And you — left her, and carried your vows to another ; 
 
 And Kate — poor Kate ! — was betrayed. 
 Well, how fared your next love ? — you don't recol- 
 lect ! 
 
 O, then, I '11 just ask, did you banter " 
 
 O Conscience ! dear Conscience ! do pray hold your 
 tongue. 
 
 And I vow I '11 get married iiistanter. 
 
 Well, now, I declare it is quite too provoking 
 
 To have such a conscience as this, 
 That recollects all my old sins, and keeps poking 
 
 Them at me, to mar all my bliss. 
 Confound it ! I meant to have made a good story 
 
 Of this same unfortunate jilting, 
 And woven a coverlid, thick, for my sins ; 
 
 But Conscience, the jade! spoilt the quilting. 
 
FOURTH OF JULY. 
 
 A THOUSAND thrilling recollections flash 
 From memory's field in vivid colors forth, 
 As, starting from my sleep, I hear the crash 
 Of pealing cannon, and the noisy mirth 
 Of joyous niultitudes. The dewy earth 
 Is not yet lighted by the rising sun. 
 Yet doth the welkin ring, from south to north, 
 With cracker, pistol, blunderbuss, and gun, 
 Proclaiming that the boys have just commenced their 
 fun. 
 
 Memory is busy, and I feel almost 
 A boy again ; I seem to be once more 
 Just springing from my bed, counting as lost 
 The time there spent beyond the hour of four. 
 Short was my prayer just then, my toilet o'er 
 In half the usual time, — I grappled quick 
 My powder-flask and gun, — stole to the door 
 All silently. Ah ! then my heart beat thick, 
 Lest I betrayed myself by some untimely creak ! 
 
FOURTH OF JULY. 275 
 
 In vain may parents try to keep their children 
 In bed till sunrise on a morn like this, — 
 The sounds are so exciting and bewildering, — 
 It is a pity thus to mar their bliss ; 
 What 's more, unless they tie them, they will miss 
 The little urchins, if into their bed 
 They take a peep, long ere the sun shall kiss 
 The hill-tops with his rays. — Oft have I fled 
 Thus, through the old back window which hangs o'er 
 the shed. 
 
 And when my mother (bless her !) thought me close 
 And safe in bed, well out of danger's way, 
 Around me then the smoke of powder rose. 
 Pealed from my gun loud welcomes to the day, 
 And careless I pursued my dangerous play ; 
 For, on this day of Liberty, I thought 
 'T was quite excusable to disobey 
 My parents, (naughty boy !) — and, if not caught, 
 My conscience scarcely ever spoilt my morning's 
 sport. 
 
 Boys will be boys ! and now, to tell the truth, 
 I wish myself a wild young boy again. 
 O, in the thoughtless joyousness of youth. 
 How little is there known of care and pain ! 
 How little felt the storms of Fate which rain 
 So heavily on manhood's hopes, and quench 
 In gloom the flame which strives, but strives in vain, 
 To gather strength, — sinking beneath the drench 
 Of ceaseless sorrows, which oft make the strongest 
 blench. 
 
TO 
 
 How beautiful, how beautiful. 
 
 Thy clear cerulean eye ! 
 I gaze upon it as I gaze 
 
 Upon the azure sky : 
 And as unto my longing look, 
 
 At some rapt hour, is given, 
 Far in those bright, ethereal depths. 
 
 By faith, a glimpse of heaven ; 
 So, as into those orbs of blue 
 
 My ardent glances dart. 
 Far in their liquid depths I read 
 
 The heaven of thy heart. 
 
 But as the Peri mourned the fate 
 Which closed on her the crystal gate 
 
 Of Paradise for ever. 
 Yet, while bewailing her sad lot. 
 Still hovered near the sacred spot 
 
 Which she might enter never ; 
 So, while I look upon thy face, 
 And in its every feature trace 
 The guilelessness and matchless grace 
 
TO , 277 
 
 Of the pure heart within, 
 How ardently my soul aspires 
 
 That glorious heart to win ! 
 But soon in darkness hope expires. 
 
 It may not be ; it may not be ; 
 And yet I linger near to thee, 
 And nourish passion's fires 
 By gazing at those azure eyes. 
 Which, like the gates of Paradise, 
 Half-opened, show the heaven within, 
 All-glorious and free from sin. 
 
 lady ! is there not for me, 
 As for the Peri, still a hope, 
 
 As she won heaven, that I win thee ? 
 
 O, tell me, lady ! what tan ope 
 The portals of thy heart to me ? 
 
 1 'd roam the broad earth through and through, 
 
 I 'd sail from sea to sea, 
 But I would find that potent charm, 
 
 The gift most worthy thee, 
 That I might make thee all mine own. 
 That peerless heart, mine, mine alone ! 
 
 24 
 
THE LAKE AT SUNSET. 
 
 tlow stilly sleeps the wood-girt lake ! 
 
 There 's not a zephyr to awake 
 
 A ripple on the mimic sea ; — 
 
 It sleeps, — it sleeps, — how tranquilly ! 
 
 'T is evening : 'neath the glowing west 
 
 The glorious s»n hath sunk to rest ; 
 
 But still his latest beams adorn 
 
 The misty curtains round him drawn, — 
 
 Those gorgeous clouds which hang on high 
 
 Their many-tinted canopy ! 
 
 The deep blue arch, the golden west, 
 Are painted in the lake at rest 
 So perfectly, that, while I stand 
 Upon this jutting point of land, 
 Between two worlds I seem to move, — 
 A heaven below, a heaven above ! 
 
 The trees that o'er the lake are bending, 
 The smoke from cottage-hearth ascending, 
 
THE LAKE AT SUNSET. 279 
 
 The cliff that towers in majesty 
 In bold relief against the sky, 
 The goat, so statue-like, so still, 
 That crowns its loftiest pinnacle, 
 And e'en the early bird of even, 
 That flits across the fading heaven. 
 Are mirrored back without a break 
 From the smooth surface of the lake. 
 
 The Christian, thus, with placid soul, 
 Calmed by Religion's mild control, 
 In whom the Spirit from above 
 Hath writ the truths of heavenly love, 
 Reflects them clearly in his life. 
 Still calm amid this world of strife. 
 
 But hark ! the rustling of the trees 
 Tells of the coming evening breeze. 
 Lo ! o'er the surface of the lake 
 The unchained winds their courses take ; 
 And, as in rising strength they sweep, 
 The waves awaken from their sleep. — 
 'T is gone ! that heaven within the deep ! 
 
 Above, the stars of evening glow, 
 But not within the lake below ; 
 Its broken surface, rough and black, 
 Gives to the eye no image back. 
 
 'T is thus that wildly o'er the heart 
 At times the storms of passion start, 
 
280 THE LAKE AT SUNSET. 
 
 And, while they last, obliterate 
 All vestige of a happier state. 
 No longer shows the spirit forth 
 Rich tokens of its heavenly birth. 
 But, gloomy, fierce, and tempest-driven, 
 Refuses to look up to heaven. 
 
 Grant, Heavenly Father ! my request : 
 May my soul be th^ lake at rest ! 
 And, if upon its bosom deep 
 The storms of passion e'er should sweep, 
 Then, gracious Father ! may thy will 
 Say to the tempest, '' Peace, be still ! " 
 
 As home I wandered on that even, 
 A truth — it seemed a truth from heaven 
 Breathed on my spirit ; thus it spake : — 
 " Learn thou a lesson from the lake ! 
 None are so good, but o'er the soul 
 At times the earth-born tempests roll ,* 
 None so depraved, but, if we look 
 Into the heart's most sheltered nook. 
 We there may some faint image trace 
 Of heavenly truth and heavenly grace : 
 As in the lake you still may find 
 Some spot unrufiied by the wind, — 
 Some far-retiring, tree-girt cove. 
 Reflecting still the heavens above." 
 
THE EARTHaUAKE. 
 
 All day the clouds had hung 
 Gloomy and threatening in the far southeast ; 
 And hollow murmurs, like the distant crash 
 Of mountain billows on the rock-bound shore, 
 Came through the stagnant air, and waked a dread 
 And fearful boding in each listener. 
 
 The darkness spread ; the blessed sun was hid ; 
 Deep gloom pervaded all the firmament, 
 And all the earth, and every heart therein. 
 The solid globe seemed in its mortal throes ; 
 Deep, hollow rumblings passed beneath our feet ; 
 Earth shook and wavered like the unstable ocean. 
 Houses and churches toppled down, and men 
 Ran shrieking from their falling tenements ; 
 And the dark forest waved and nodded, like 
 The cornfield 'neath the wild autumnal blast ; 
 And lightnings flashed from the black mass above. 
 And ever and anon the deep-voiced thunder spake. 
 But still the air stirred not ; no rain-drops fell ; 
 And from the thirsty ground, when shaken by 
 The passing earthquake, rose huge clouds of dust. 
 24* 
 
283 THE EARTHQUAKE. 
 
 But Still the air moved not ; a calmness dread, 
 Portentous, did pervade the atmosphere. 
 Which, though itself was motionless, was filled 
 With screaming fowls of heaven on restless wings. 
 Who, as if conscious that some dread catastrophe 
 Impended o'er creation, swept and wheeled 
 In mazy circles, shrieking warningly. 
 But resting not their weary wings. Fear looked 
 From every countenance ; and parents then 
 Gathered their trembling offspring round and fled, 
 Seeking protection on the rock-based hills ; 
 While closer to her breast the mother clasped 
 Her helpless and unconscious babe, as if 
 There it were shielded from all harm. 
 
 But some fled not. Despair had struck 
 Their inmost hearts, and numbed all faculties, 
 All feelings except fear, which reigned triumphant. 
 There they sat, — while others, in whose breasts 
 Hope still burned with a feeble flame, rushed on, 
 In the vain thought of finding safety ; where 
 They knew not, but still on they fled, — on, on, 
 'Mid wail and shriek ; and at each rending crash 
 Of heaven's artillery, came forth a louder howl ; 
 And every quake, which shook Earth to her centre. 
 Prostrated thousands. O that piercing cry ! 
 " O God ! great God ! art thou a God of mercy ? " 
 
 And the lightning's flash, and the thunder's crash. 
 And the earthquake's rumbling roar, 
 
 And, in the lull, the warning sound 
 From the distant ocean's shore, 
 
THE EARTHQUAKE. 283 
 
 Were the stern answers to their wild demand. 
 
 On, on, they rushed. — But, as I said, some fled not. 
 
 And now a dark thought seized them ; desperate, 
 
 They burst into the cellars, reckless all 
 
 Of rending earth and houses falling fast. 
 
 And rolled into the city's square huge casks. 
 
 And, gathering round, commenced their fearful revels. 
 
 And strove in the intoxicating bowl 
 
 To lose all sense of danger, while around 
 
 A vast bonfire they danced, and yelled, and howled 
 
 Like hell-born demons. And the deep draughts 
 
 worked 
 Within, until each mad, infuriate wretch, 
 Seizing his blazing brand, spread hell around. 
 Till the whole city roared and crackled fierce, 
 In fearful conflagration. 
 
 From afar. 
 The frightened denizens who fled looked back, 
 And deemed the last great day had come, when earth 
 Should melt with fervent heat, and heaven shrink up 
 And vanish like a scroll. 
 
 Amid these horrors, one calm scene there was. 
 A glorious company had gathered there, 
 In the broad field : none shrieked, none fled ; 
 But faith and hope beamed from each countenance : 
 Not earthly faith, not earthly hope ; for well 
 Knew they that death was nigh ; 
 But faith in God, hope in redeeming grace. 
 And if, when fiercer flashed the lightning forth, 
 
284 THE EARTHQUAKE. 
 
 When deeper rolled the thunder, or when shook 
 The quaking earth, as in its last death-throes, 
 Their cheeks grew pale, and fear seized on their 
 
 hearts. 
 It was but for an instant ; gathering strength 
 In prayer, they cast it off, and still awaited, 
 With new serenity, God's hour. 
 
 'T was near the close of day, when from the west 
 The brazen clouds rolled up ,• and, dim and faint, 
 The dying sun looked forth, as if to take 
 His last farewell of earth. All nature then, 
 As for this solemn interview, was hushed. 
 The earth quaked not, the lightning flashed no more. 
 And the last echoes of the thunder died. 
 The beasts, which all day long had run, and howled. 
 And rent the air with cries of terror, ceased. 
 The screaming birds quelled their discordant shrieks, 
 And settled down again on tree and bush, 
 To rest their wearied pinions. And again 
 The hearts of men beat free ; they hoped once more ! 
 Yet, hardly daring to indulge their hopes, 
 They gazed in mute inquiry on each other. 
 Low bowed the Christian band, and, with bent knees, 
 Clasped hands, raised eyes, thanked God inaudibly. 
 E'en the inebriate crew stood still, in awe 
 At the impressive silence. Not a sound 
 Was heard, save the far voice of Ocean. 
 
 O God ! that shock ! — The solid earth had sunk 
 A hundred fathom 'neath the ocean's level ! 
 
 I 
 
THE EARTHq,UAKE. 285 
 
 Louder and louder came that distant roar. 
 
 The sea had burst its bounds !. and inland rolled 
 
 On the devoted earth, devouringly, 
 
 Foaming and thundering on its rapid way. 
 
 Houses, and ships, and churches were submerged, 
 
 Or borne resistlessly upon the crest 
 
 Of the huge mountain billow that advanced, 
 
 With a deep front, a hundred fathom high. 
 
 In foam and mist, on its o'erwhelming course. — 
 
 Now recommenced the flight ; and howl and shriek 
 
 Joined the deep bass of the advancing ocean 
 
 In horrid harmony ! On, on it came ! 
 
 High up in air its white and foamy crest 
 
 Gleamed fearfully distinct against the dark 
 
 Background of heaven. 
 
LINES 
 
 SUGGESTED BY THE RINGING OF BELLS AND THE FIRING OF CAN- 
 NON IN CELEBRATION OF THE CAPTURE OF VERA CRUZ. 
 
 Ho ! Christians, rejoice, there is news of a fight, — 
 Rejoice for the victory of wrong over right. 
 Vera Cruz is in ruins, the battle is o'er, — 
 Babes, matrons, and maidens lie stiff in their gore. 
 'Mid the crashing of shot, and the bursting of bombs, 
 Dark Slavery triumphs, pale Freedom succumbs. | 
 Ho ! Christians, rejoice, this is Christian-like work ! 
 Not the deed of the barbarous heathen or Turk. 
 Bid the merry bells ring and the loud cannon speak, 
 For the battle is won by the strong o'er the weak. 
 Ho ! brothers, rejoice at the glorious news. 
 We are Christians^ no doubt ! battering down Vera 
 
 Cruz ! 
 Rejoice, for in this worthy compeers have we, — 
 Pandemonium rings with demoniac glee ; 
 The boom of the cannon, the clang of the bell. 
 Find a ready response in the echoes of hell ! 
 
 But, hark ! from the city a cry of despair ; 
 
 The mangled, the murdered, the widowed, are there. 
 
LINES. 287 
 
 Heaven looks on the vanquished with pitying eyes, 
 The bosoms of angels respond to their sighs, 
 And their tears draw down answering tears from the 
 skies. 
 
LIBERTY 
 
 Scene. — A town in South Carolina; drums beating, guns firing, 
 colors flying. Time, — 4th of July. A coffleof slaves seen in the dis- 
 tance ; four sons of liberty on horseback, with long whips, acting as 
 drivers. 
 
 Tune. — " / see them on their winding way.'' 
 
 I SEE them on their toilsome way, 
 Their faces wear no smiles to-day ; 
 The white man's note of revelry 
 Blends with the captive's wailing cry, 
 And waving arms, and banners bright, 
 Are glancing in the noonday light ; — 
 But not for them this jubilee ; 
 Waves not for them the banner free ; 
 And at the contrast, fainter still, 
 The sinking captives mount the hill. 
 
 Crack, crack the whip ! — the cruel lash 
 Leaves on their shoulders many a gash ,• 
 Weeping and chained, along they drag, 
 Above them waves fair Freedom's flag. 
 And, from the crowded court-house near, 
 The white man's hymn of joy they hear. 
 
LIBERTY. 289 
 
 Forth, forth, and meet them on their way, 
 Their bleeding feet broojp no delay ; 
 Strike off their fetters, make them free, 
 The7i raise your songs of liberty. 
 
 25 
 
DEATH ON THE PALE HORSE. 
 
 A PAINTING BY DUNLAP. 
 
 Not thus, not thus, should Death be shown. 
 
 With fearful form and countenance, 
 With writhing serpent following on, 
 
 With hope-annihilating glance. 
 With all that 's withering to the heart, 
 
 And all that 's hideous to the eye. 
 With hands from which pale lightnings dart, 
 
 With all that tends to terrify ; 
 
 Not thus should Death, our kindest friend. 
 
 To mortal view be bodied forth, — 
 Death, in whose bosom is an end 
 
 For all the sin and woe of earth : 
 O, 't is a heathen custom, this, 
 
 From which all Christians should be weaned ; 
 The friend who ushers us to bliss 
 
 Should not be painted as a fiend. 
 
 Around God's throne in heaven above. 
 Death was the mildest of the throng, 
 
 His heart most filled with holy love. 
 In warmth and charity most strong ; 
 
DEATH ON THE PALE HORSE. 291 
 
 For angels differ in their frame 
 Like men, and not to all are given 
 
 A mind and heart in each the same ; 
 Thus all are not alike in heaven. 
 
 When God ordained man's destiny, 
 To Death the blessed task was given 
 
 Of setting careworn spirits free, — 
 
 Of ushering souls from earth to heaven : 
 
 As downward on this blest employ- 
 He darted on his pinions bright, 
 
 How thrilled his heart with holy joy ! 
 How beamed his countenance with light ! 
 
 And ever since that blessed hoiur 
 
 Has Death watched o'er each child of clay, 
 As bends above her darling flower 
 
 A tender girl, from day to day ; 
 Till, when the long-sought bud appears. 
 
 Expanding to a lovely blossom. 
 She plucks it from its stem, and wears 
 
 The cherished flower upon her bosom. 
 
 Thus tenderly Death watches over 
 Each struggling spirit shrined in clay, 
 
 Till, at the mandate of Jehovah, 
 He bears the ripened soul away. 
 
 The bond, the free, the high, the low, 
 Alike are objects of his love ; 
 
 And though he severs hearts below. 
 
 He joins them evermore above. 
 
292 DEATH ON THE PALE HORSE. 
 
 1 have a picture in my eye : — 
 
 A bowed-down captive drags his chain 
 Along his dungeon mournfully, 
 
 And writhes and groans in bitter pain ; 
 But suddenly the walls are burst, 
 
 There rushes in unwonted light ; 
 Dazzled and blind, he shrinks, at first, 
 
 From his deliverer, with affright. 
 
 And not until his prison-wall 
 
 Is left, although unwillingly, — 
 Not till his galling fetters fall, 
 
 And leave the long-bound prisoner free, — 
 And not until his quailing eye 
 
 Is strengthened, — can his gaze embrace 
 The look of calm benignity 
 
 That beams from his deliverer's face. 
 
 And this is Death ! O, paint him not 
 
 As yonder canvas shows him forth, — 
 Death, who removes us from a spot 
 
 So full of sin and woe as earth ! 
 O, 't is a heathen custom, this. 
 
 From which all Christians should be weaned j 
 The friend who ushers us to bliss ' 
 
 Should not be painted as a fiend. 
 
SAD HOURS. 
 
 The cold winds of autumn are sighing around, 
 
 And the leaves sere and yellow lie strown o'er the 
 ground ; 
 
 By the eddying blasts they are whirled through the 
 air, 
 
 And the tall trees that bore them are naked and bare. 
 
 Ah ! thus has a frost nipped the plans which I cher- 
 ished, 
 
 And desolate left me : my hopes have all perished ! 
 
 Disappointment has tracked me, misfortune assailed ; 
 
 In vain I resisted, the storm has prevailed : 
 
 The present is misery, the future a void ; 
 
 O, the foliage of hope is for ever destroyed ! 
 
 For ever ? 0, no ! to the heart, tree, and plain 
 
 A spring is approaching ; in verdure again 
 
 The tall oak shall be clad, and where chill winter 
 
 hovered. 
 With a carpet of green the brown heath shall be 
 
 covered. 
 
 25^ 
 
294 SAD HOURS. 
 
 Bethink thee, sad youth ! were thy hopes placed 
 
 aright ? 
 Didst thou rest on thy God ? Didst thou pray, day 
 
 and night, 
 For the strength which should bear thee in victory 
 
 through ? 
 In sickness and sorrow he still will be true. 
 Though friends should forsake, though misfortune 
 
 assail thee, 
 Trust humbly in God, — he never will fail thee : 
 In the hour of thy trial look upward to heaven, 
 Ask strength of thy Father, and strength shall be 
 
 given. 
 
THE GRAVE 
 
 [PROM THE ANGLO-SAXON.*] 
 
 Ere thou from mother camest forth. 
 
 Into the broad world sent, 
 For thee was built a house of earth, 
 
 For thee a mould was meant. 
 But 't is not ready-made for thee, 
 
 Nor its depth measured, 
 Nor hath been seen by mortal een 
 
 The length of that chill bed. 
 Thy future house I show to thee, 
 
 Thy mansion dark and cold : 
 Thy measure first must taken be. 
 
 And afterward the mould. 
 
 Not loftily thy house is built, 
 With wall and ceiling high. 
 
 But when thou art therein, thou wilt 
 Find but just room to lie. 
 
 * Versified from the literal translation of Longfellow, — Voices of 
 the Mght, p. 114. 
 
296 THE GRAVE. 
 
 The roof is low upon thy breast 
 Now freed from worldly care ; 
 
 So thou in mould shalt dwell full cold, 
 Dimly and darkly there. 
 
 That house is doorless, black within, 
 
 And Death doth thee detain, 
 For he the key hath turned on thee, 
 
 And there must thou remain : 
 Yes, though within that earth-house damp 
 
 'T is loathsome to reside. 
 Still must thou dwell in that chill cell, 
 
 And worms shall thee divide. 
 
 Thus in the dark grave laid away. 
 
 From loved ones separate, 
 Thou hast no friend to come or send, 
 
 In pity of thy fate, 
 And ope thy prison-door, and ask, 
 
 With look and accent kind, 
 If in thy cold, dark house of mould 
 
 Thou 'rt suited to thy mind : 
 No friend shall come to share thy home. 
 
 Or gaze once more on thee, 
 For in the tomb thou 'It soon become 
 
 A loathsome sight to see. 
 
AFFLICTION. — A FRAGMENT. 
 
 How prone are all to think 
 
 Their individual troubles greater far 
 Than those of others ! and thus, link by link, 
 
 They forge the chains which bind them to the car 
 
 Of fell Despair ; thus cloud the kindly star 
 Of Hope in darkness ! — Is it well to bend 
 
 Beneath our sorrows thus ? No ! burst the bar, 
 And up to heaven our thoughts and wishes send ; 
 Though ever with the strain some earthly note will 
 blend. 
 
 Who ever had his wish fulfilled on earth, 
 Who ever deeply drained the cup of joy, 
 
 And did not find some drawback to his mirth, 
 Some dregs at last, some balancing alloy, 
 To mingle with his gladness, and annoy 
 
 E'en while he would be happiest ? — Is it wise 
 To be seduced thus, by such earthly toy. 
 
 From the strait path ? No ! let us upward rise 
 
 Above the earth, and place our hopes in Paradise. 
 
298 AFFLICTION. 
 
 There, and there only, can we hope to reap 
 
 In joy the fruit whose seed was sown in sadness ; 
 O, when misfortune causes us to weep, 
 
 Let not our sorrows goad us on to madness ; 
 
 But tune we then our harps to holy gladness ; 
 For by these fiery trials we are made 
 
 Fit candidates for heaven 
 
WEARY NOT. 
 
 As vapor, ever to the sky ascending, 
 
 Becomes condensed in rain, and, downward tending, 
 
 Rushes all madly to the earth again, 
 
 So strives the spirit, ever, to attain 
 
 The heaven of purity, — but strives in vain ; 
 
 For, vapor-like, when highest it is floating. 
 
 Some low-born passion, some weak earthly doating, 
 
 Checks its career, unnerves the spirit's pinion, 
 
 And re-subjects the soul to sin's dominion : 
 
 Failing, and fluttering, from its lofty height, 
 
 Down, down the spirit rushes into night ! 
 
 Weak spirit ! — loeary not ; again resume thy flight, 
 
 Who, that can soar, would dwell on earth for ever ? 
 
 Each trial strengthens ; and when death shall sever 
 
 Thy bonds, then shalt thou take a loftier flight, 
 
 Emerge from darkness into endless light, 
 
 Stretch thy freed pinions, soar from sun to sun, 
 
 And fold them not till heaven itself be won ! 
 
NIGHT. 
 
 A HYMN FOR THE AFFLICTED. 
 
 Hath thy spirit, sinking, pining, 
 Seen earth'' s sun of hope depart ? — 
 
 Stars of heavenly hope are shining 
 On the midnight of thy heart ! 
 
 Though diminutive, in seeming, 
 When compared with thy lost one, 
 
 Every star in heaven gleaming 
 Is as mighty as thy sun. 
 
 Erring one ! short-sighted spirit ! 
 
 Canst thou not this great truth see, - 
 All thy sun's transcendent merit 
 
 Was, that it was near to thee ? 
 
 Ever thus the nearest pleasure 
 Veils the distant from the view : 
 
 See thou more correctly measure, 
 To eternal interests true. 
 
NIGHT. 301 
 
 What is space unto the spirit ? 
 
 Let not the material eye 
 Blind the soul's ! Strive to inherit 
 
 HopeSj though distant, that ne'er die. 
 
 Thank thy God, who doth the glowing 
 
 Sun of earthly hope withhold ; 
 Thereby to thy spirit showing 
 
 Heavenly hope a thousand-fold ! 
 
 26 
 
SORROW. 
 
 Doth the sullen surge of sorrow 
 O'er thy troubled spirit roll ? 
 
 Is the prospect for to-morrow- 
 Darker, stormier, for thy soul ? 
 
 Whiter are the sands of ocean, 
 Beaten by the raging tide : 
 
 So by sorrow's sad emotion 
 Is the spirit purified. 
 
 1 
 
THE SOUL'S DESTINY. 
 
 Behold yon moon, slow lifting up her head 
 
 From out that smoky cloud ! How deeply red 
 
 Is her broad disk, as through the evening fog 
 
 She wends her way ! Those vapors seem to clog 
 
 Her footsteps, pointing to the upper heaven. — 
 
 But look ! that murky veil night's queen hath riven ; 
 
 The shadows from her face fast disappear ; 
 
 Paler, yet brighter, grows that lovely sphere, 
 
 Till in mid-heaven, unveiled, undimmed, she rides, 
 
 Transparent ether laving her bright sides. 
 
 Thus shall the soul of man, which on this earth 
 Is fettered to the soil and chained from birth, 
 ^ Released hmas. Death's kind hand, to heaven rise, 
 And, purged from sin, gleam bright above the skies. 
 
WHAT SHALL I ASK IN PRAYER? 
 
 What shall I ask in prayer ? Have I not all 
 That fortune can bestow of earthly gifts, — 
 Health, riches, friends? 
 
 What shall I ask in prayer? 
 That God continue to pour out on me 
 Thus bountifully all earth's choicest blessings ? 
 Shall I kneel down and pray that he will still 
 Preserve my health inviolate, sustain 
 In all its robust strength this wondrous frame ? 
 That he will still pour wealth into my coffers, 
 Nor leave a single wish ungratified 
 Which luxury can prompt ? Or shall I ask 
 That friends may yet be true, — that time may not 
 Estrange their hearts from me, nor death destroy ? 
 Shall I pray thus ? — No ! — let me rather bend 
 In fearful, trembling meekness at the shrine : — 
 Father in heaven ! O, give me strength to use 
 Aright those talents which in wisdom thou 
 Committedst to my care ! I am thy steward ; 
 And when the final day of reckoning comes. 
 May I then render in a good account ! 
 I pray not that thou wouldst continue all 
 
WHAT SHALL I ASK IN PRAYER ? 305 
 
 These earthly blessings ; for thou knowest what 
 Is best for me. — Should sickness, sorrow, want, 
 E'er come upon me, all I ask, O God ! 
 Is resignation to thy holy will. 
 
 What shall I ask in prayer ? — Misfortune sweeps 
 Resistless over all my earthly hopes. 
 Storm after storm has beat upon my head ; 
 Broken and scattered to the winds the fabric 
 Of all my worldly greatness. One by one 
 My plans have failed ; and, striving to regain 
 The ground which I had lost, and seat myself 
 Again on Fortune's highest pinnacle, 
 I have but overwhelmed myself the more. 
 And made my fall the greater. — All is gone ! 
 Riches have fled, and deep, corroding care 
 Has preyed upon my very life ; this frame, 
 Erect in health and manly vigor once, — 
 Which scarcely knew what illness was, — is bowed 
 By sickness : tottering and feeble now 
 The once elastic step. Pale is the cheek 
 Which once did wear the ruddy glow of health : 
 And dim the eye which shone with joy and hope- 
 One comfort only yet remains to me : — 
 A gentle friend ; — true as in former days ; 
 More kind and more affectionate than ever. 
 She watches by my bed, and soothes my pain, 
 And droops not, though my spirit sinks within me. 
 Adversity 's thine element, O woman ! — 
 What shall I ask in prayer ? Shall I send up 
 27 
 
306 WHAT SHALL I ASK IN PRAYER? 
 
 To heaven's gate complaining notes of woe, 
 And supplicate Jehovah to give back 
 The riches and the health of former days ? 
 Doth not the Lord know what is best for me ? 
 Father, above ! I bow beneath the rod : 
 Amid the desolation of my hopes, 
 I ask but resignation to thy will. 
 
 What shall I ask in prayer ? I have no friend ! 
 
 Misfortune robbed me of my wealth, and then 
 
 I saw, alas ! the ties which bound my friends 
 
 To me were golden strings ; they snapped in twain ; 
 
 My riches fled; and friendship was no more ! 
 
 Death snatched away my last, true, only friend. 
 
 She died ! and I am left alone to drag 
 
 In misery the burden of my life along. 
 
 Grim famine stares ; and sickness eats into 
 
 My very vitals, nor permits repose. 
 
 Poor, friendless, sick, — I raise my thoughts to heaven. 
 
 What shall I ask in prayer ? — Shall I besiege 
 God's throne with lamentations ? Shall I pray 
 That he restore to me health, riches, friends ? 
 Then would my sorrows have been all in vain. 
 Health makes us thoughtless that a time will come 
 When '' dust returns to dust " ; and riches are 
 Too prone to keep our thoughts from higher things ; 
 And friends do often fill the heart so wholly, 
 That not one thought of God can gain admittance. 
 '' 'T is good for me that I have been afllicted." 
 
WHAT SHALL I ASK IN PRAYER? 307 
 
 I thank thee, God ! and should there be m store 
 Yet further trials, strengthen me, I pray. 
 And give me spiritual health, and let 
 My riches be laid up in heaven above ! 
 My everlasting Friend, thou God of mercy ! 
 In earthly troubles. Lord ! I only ask 
 For resignation to thy holy will. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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