I 
 
THE CONVALESCENT. 
 
 BY 
 
 vy 
 
 N. PARKER WILLIS. 
 
 ISTEW YOEK: 
 
 CHxiRLES SORIBNER, 124 GPwA^TD STREET. 
 
 M DCCC LIX. 
 
P5 33^t 
 
 Entbrbd according to Act of Congress, in the j-ear 1S59, by 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER, 
 
 In the Clerk's OflBce of the District Court of the United States, for t'lie Southern Dijtrictof 
 
 Nev/ York. 
 
 W. II. TiNsoN, Storootj'jA.^r. J. J. Ueitu. Printer. 
 
TO 
 
 WILLIAM BEATTIE, OF LONDON, 
 
 AND 
 
 JOHN F. GRAY, OF NEW YORK, 
 
 PHYSICIANS, 
 
 To whose counsel I have owed so much, and whose still 
 
 COIN'ST^N-T in R I E ns- 3D S H I F, 
 
 in health or sickness, is so inestimably precious to me, I 
 gratefully inscribe this record of convalescence. 
 
 N. P. WILLIS. 
 Tdlewild, April, 1859. 
 
DEDICATORY PREFACE. 
 
 To SICKNESS I have always found I had much reason to be 
 indebted ; but, among the other blessings which have come to 
 me under its apparent unterapting veil, I number two of the 
 most precious memories of the past — two of the habitual and 
 most unfailing sources of my happiness at the present hour — 
 the friendships of two eminent men, to whose medical care 
 and counsel, under Providence, I have, at different times, 
 owed my recovery. 
 
 By Dr. "William Beattie, the English poet and physician, 
 so well known to our countrymen, I was first attended, in 1835, 
 when dangerously ill in London ; and, with the acquaintance 
 thus formed upon a sick-bed, commenced a confidential inter- 
 course, maintained subsequently by a correspondence, which, 
 after twenty-four years of almost constant separation, still 
 retains its first interest and cordialit3% My last and just- 
 received letter from the venerable man (now near eighty 
 years of age, if I am not mistaken), came accompanied with 
 a present of ten or twelve rare books from his choice library, 
 and an invaluable manuscript of Campbell the poet, whose 
 most intimate friend he was during that afflicted man's trou- 
 bled life, and to whom he performed so devotedly the last 
 services and honors. 
 
 By Dr. John F. Geat, of New York, I have been more 
 lately attended, through the years of my critical experience ot 
 
t 
 
 ii Dedicatory Preface. 
 
 pulinonaiy disease ; and to his admirable skill, and watchful 
 and patient care, I owe, like so many others, a recovery, by all 
 others thought impossible. Eor even so weary an illness, since 
 it brought within reach treasures I might otherwise have lost 
 — the intimate knowledge of such a man, and the privileged 
 assurance of a place in his heart — I thank God as for a 
 blessing. 
 
 Looking upon the well-tried and affectionate friendships of 
 these two eminent and admirable men — friendships first won 
 in sickness, but confirmed and strengthened in after health — 
 as among the choicest privileges and honors of my varied life, 
 let me, by gratefully inscribing their names together on the 
 first leaf of this record of convalescence, link the two jewels 
 found so far apart, to be left, as it were, in a casket of memory 
 to my children. 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 The key to the volume whicn follows — or rather the 
 encouragement to the collection of its contents into a volume 
 for re-publication — is the very large correspondence of inquiry 
 drawn upon me by the appearance of tlie articles, one after 
 another, in the " Home Journal." I find, by the number and 
 earnestness of the strangers who have thus written to me, 
 that there is a very large Public of Unrest, composed of 
 Invalids — consumptives more particularly — whose main and 
 most hopeful inquiry is for some new catholicon of health. 
 From any more fortunate or successful fellow-patient, whose 
 cure would seem to be remarkable, the experience is sought, 
 with exceeding interest and particularity. 
 
 " Convalescent " as I find myself to be, at present, how- 
 ever, or in as fair healtli as may reasonably be expected at 
 the beginning of one's fifties — and this after being pro- 
 nounced by many physicians an incurable case of consump- 
 tion — I have no special medicine to commend. It is in 
 answer to many correspondents that I here say I can advocate 
 no particular theory of pulmonary treatment. With a rea- 
 sonable amount of advice from any school of medicine, with 
 a sensible watch of Nature's curative instincts, and wath 
 proper self-government, persevering exercise, and control of 
 appetites, the most "incurable" may often take the "favor- 
 able turn." There is but one little secret, of which I may 
 
iv To THE Reader. 
 
 confess to have accidentally learned the value in my ovrn 
 experience of recovery — accidentally, because I practised it, 
 not for cure but by way of resigning myself to a destiny I 
 believed to be irretrievable — and in this very un-medical 
 secret there may often be a cure, for consumption. It is that 
 the patient, after paying reasonable attention to the symptoms 
 and treatment of his disease, should ignore and out-Jiappy it I 
 "With good spirits, occupation, and tlie disease talcen Utile or 
 no notice of^ recovery is, at least, much more likely. This 
 book V7ill, perhaps do its best office, in showing how that 
 indirect cure operated upon me. 
 
 Of topics which interested me, of excursions I took, etc. etc. 
 during this year or two of convalescence, the chronicles are 
 also here given. It forms altogether a volume of most digres- 
 sive miscellanies, for which, of the general reader, indulgence 
 should be asked. But it is to my parish of Invalids, that, I 
 must confess, I principally address and commend it. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 LETTER I 
 
 Advantage of Evergreen Trees — Swapping Hats— Billy Babcock, the Centena- 
 rian—His Habits and Dress — His Memory of Washington — His Pension — 
 Droll effect of meeting on the Road a given-away Suit of Old Clothes, etc., 13 
 
 LETTER II. ^ 
 
 Spontaneousness in Writing — An Adventure in Riding — Mounted at one time 
 on a Horse and a Cow — A Story by a neighbor Fisherman — Catching a Snap- 
 ping-turtle — Ward's Adventures — The Difficulties of Winter Pilotage of 
 Steamboats, before the Railroad on the Hudson — Bald Eagle on the Ice, 
 etc., etc 21 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 Winter Diseases — Foliage in White, after a Light Snow — Capture of a 'Possum 
 —Chase in the Snow, with Bare Legs — 'Possum's Habits when caught, etc. 83 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 The Highlands, with the Hudson frozen over — Difference of Scenery without 
 Water — Sleigh-ride over the Ice — West Point— Cozzens's—Dell-Monell and 
 Font-Anna— Tedium of Winter 89 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 Use of Love for Dumb Animals — Quinty and his Doom — A stray Dog and his 
 Habits — His death— Dog Insanity, etc 43 
 
 LETTER YI. 
 
 Poetry of Wild Animals in a Neighborhood— An Insane Wolf— His coming down 
 from the Mountains to claim Hospitality — Visit to a Neighbor's to see his Re- 
 mains — Tlie Irishman's reluctance to confessing having buried him — The dis- 
 illusion and the '♦ Yaller Dog." 43 
 
vi Contents. 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 Pilgrimage across the River — Two miles on the Ice — Polypus Island — Its Un- 
 suspected Capabilities — Billy Babcock and his Hat — The Sonnet to the Hat, 
 etc, etc 65 
 
 LETTER VIII . 
 
 Pleasure of doing a Thing for the First Time — Meeting of Politicians on the 
 Road, bound to a Meeting — Asked to go and make a Speech — The Disadvan- 
 tage of the Counsellor's handsome Boots — My Speech in Favor of dividing the 
 County, etc., etc 61 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 Charm of Early Spring — Philosophy of Work as Overseer — Kindling Woods- 
 Th'e Skunk and his Flesh and Habits — The Monument to the Czar— A curious 
 Stump coming down with the Freshet — Quinty'a Fear of it, etc., etc 71 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 Visit from Old Billy Babcock — His Breakfast and Memories — Billy's Dagnerreo- 
 type— Honoring Gift of a Coat to him— Sam B. Ruggles's Impulse, etc. etc. 80 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 Visit to a Valley Uninhabited — Johnny Kronk's Fisherman Hut — Hubbard tbe 
 Boatman — Discovery of a Spring, and Naming it Font Anna — An Eagle — Pic- 
 Nic in Dell-Monell— The Baptism by that Name — Snakes not found, etc.,. . 87 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 Rights of Boys — Natural Freedom of Chestnut-trees — A Chestnut- Saturday- 
 Curious party of Strangers visiting Idlewild — Tying Horses to Trees in Pri- 
 vate Grounds — Low Standard of general Politeness 94 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 My Crumb-family of Winter-birds — The Kingfisher and Blue Jay — the Red 
 Squirrel — A Quadruped Chicken — A Chicken half Duck — A Stuffed Bantam 
 Hen — Interview between Stuffed Hen and Living Bantam Cock, Jake, etc. 100 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 Late Freshet — Pond washed out and Boat gone — Death of two favorite Dogs — 
 Charming Habits of the lost ones— Jake's other Name— His History etc.. lOT 
 
Contents. vii 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 Letter to Morris about a previous Letter torn-up — Temptingness of the topic~ 
 Pleasure of writing confidentially — Tired loolc at the Letter — Discontent 
 with it — Tearing up — Reason why, and reconsideration — Irving's Abbotsford 
 — Fragments of torn Letter re-gathered — Trip to Irvington — Breakfast with 
 an old Friend in a same old place — Railway ride to Irvington — Wolfert's, 
 dell — Mr. Grinnell's yacht, the " Haze " — Sunnyside and Mr. Irving, etc. 
 etc 116 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 Continuance of Letter to Morris descriptive of a Day with Washington Irving — 
 Impression of his Appearance — Visit to his Library — His Desk and Blotting- 
 sheet — Conversation for a half hour — Literary habits — Motley's "Dutch Repub- 
 lic" — Feeling as to his own New Books before they Avere reviewed — History of 
 the first Conception of the Sketch-Book — Pictures on the Walls— The Grounds 
 of Sunnyside — Comparison of Climates — Tulip-trees in triplets — Squirrels and 
 two-legged Tree-destroyers— Humorous Reason for Growth of Trees — Incident 
 at starting on our Drive to Sleepy Hollow, etc., etc 124 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 Concluding Letter to Morris about the Visit to Mr. Irving — Protest against 
 " Influence of the Air " of Sleepy Hollow — " Green Lane" character of the 
 Road — No living Dutch Inhabitants to be seen— House of the Dutch Family 
 who keep the Keys of the Hollow— Boyish Reminiscence of Mr. Irving's — 
 Monument of Andre— Haunted Bridge of Logs — Brom Bone's Pumpkin — 
 Character of Scenery— Oldest Church on the River— Family Tomb of the 
 Irvings — Passing of Undercliff in the Rail-train — Philosophy of Mr. Irving's 
 Charm of Personal Character and Manner, etc., etc 135 
 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 
 Containing a Curious Story of a Hard-run Squirrel and two Celebrated 
 Editors 145 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 Ancient Duty of Hospitality— Chance for it at Newbur.gh— The Boats up and 
 down— Trip to Poughkeepsie — Passengers on the Day -boat— Missing the Down- 
 boat— Adventures in Poughkeepsie— The splendid Straw Hat for a Sign, and 
 its Eager Acquisition— A whole Child, etc., etc i 158 
 
viii Contents. 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 Jake and Quinty once more — A Poem to Jake's Memory — The Dog the Under- 
 valued of this Earth— De Trobriand's Obituary of Jake — Present of a new Dog 
 from a Stranger— BeU'a getting him Home — Jerry's Character and his hatred 
 of a Gentleman — Bianca Raventail and Kitty Grizzle — Dog Friendship and 
 its Nature — Monody on Quinty, by a Distinguished Lady of Boston, etc. 165 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 Bianca Raventairs behavior to a Wild-cat Cousin — A Secret too romantic to be 
 kept — Bayard Taylor and our Friend the Judge— Taylor's Friendship and his 
 fellow Traveller — His Letter — Description of his German Home — Offer 
 of Capital to Taylor, by Col. Perkins of Boston— Romance of Taylor's Life, 
 etc ISO 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 
 Previous Account by Friend Sands — Seeing with different Eyes— The raised Leg 
 of Massachusetts— His laid-off Garter and Slippers— Fossil of an Eden Day — 
 Buzzard's Bay Physiognomy — Wood's Hole — The Yacht Azalia — Edgartown, 
 and its Head Man Dr. Fisher— Indian Shell-currency of the Island — Extract 
 from an old Book about Nantucket — Quaker Character of Buildings and of 
 Scenery — Contrast between Quaker and Indian Names — Indian Legend and 
 its Poetry— Quaker superiorities — Early and easy Marriages — Whale Oil Agil- 
 ity and Grace of Gait, etc., etc 19T 
 
 LETTER XXIII. 
 
 Gay Reception at Edgartown — Happy Exemption from the usual Penalty of 
 the Voyage— Picnic Refreshment on the Voyage — Universal Temperance — 
 Original Price of the Island of Nantucket — Quaker Exemptions from Com- 
 mon social Evils— Curious Chapter from an Old Book, about the •'Friends " 
 of Nantucket, and their Manners and Customs — Specimen of the First-born 
 Poetry of the Island, etc. etc 210 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 Arrival at Nantucket — Peculiar Vehicle of the Island — Ramble in the Town 
 the first Evening — Disappointment in the Physiognomy of the Place— Visit to 
 an Old Inhabitant— The Macy Family — Picture of the last Indian Native of 
 the Island— His Pride about Shoes— Kadooda and his Laws — Band of Music 
 — Curious Nantucket Predjudices, formerly, on the Subject, etc., etc 228 
 
Contents. ix 
 
 LETTER XXV. 
 
 Mounting a Nantucket Steeple— Sensations in theBelfry— Curious Spanish Bell — 
 Trip to 'Sconset— Funny Laws of the Place— Queer Poem — Arrival at the Ar- 
 cadian Village — Hour on the Beach before Dinner— Sea-Mockery of Life's 
 Story — Meeting with Ladies— Chowder-Time and Entrance to the Inn— The 
 Manly Landlady — Excellent Dinner — Puppet-show of Whale-ships— Sharks on 
 the Beach— WhittUng-Room— Philosophy of Whittling — Return to Nantucket, 
 etc., etc 244 
 
 LETTHRXXYI. ^ 
 
 A 'Sconset Acquaintance — A Talk with a Sea-Captain Forty Years after he 
 was chewed up by a Whale — The Harpooning and the turn of the Angry 
 Monster upon his Enemies — The Marks of his Four Teeth — The After-History 
 of the Crushed Mouthful — Six days to Port — Arrival at Peru — The Emperor's 
 Physician — The Back-Country Doctor — Captain Gardiner's Invention of a 
 Tandem Hammock— Ride over the Mountains between two Mules — Recov- 
 ery after Six Weeks — Command resumed and Voyage prosecuted — Import- 
 ant Considerations as to the American Whale Fishery, etc., etc 25T 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 Visit to the Light-house of Sancoty's Head — View of a Curious Lake — Sugges- 
 tion as to a new Revenue for Nantucket — Aquatic Cow-yard to Milk the 
 Whale— History of the first Whale ever captured — The Spermaceti Aristo- 
 crat of the Ocean — Process of Killing and Preparing— Poetry of Indian life 
 
 . on the Island— Recent Connection of Nantucket with the Mainland by Tele- 
 graph, etc., etc 266 
 
 LETTER XXVIII. 
 
 To Invalid Morris— Morning at Brady's — His Reason for moving further up 
 Broadway — Photograph of Dana and its uses — Bancroft, Dr. Potts, Russell 
 Lowell, etc — Likeness of Lord Napier — Description of "Imperial Photo- 
 graph " — Comments on Photography and Portrait Painting— A true Likeness 
 and its Injustice— Suggestion of an Inquiry for Artistic Philosophy, etc.. 281 
 
 LETTER XXIX. 
 
 To Morris at Mobile — Out-door Luxury of Southern Climate—" Tiff's Ex- 
 change " — Southern Noon-ing — New Orleans and its Chaotic Marvels — Shirt- 
 sleeve Promenade — Recommendation to Transplant a New Orleans Fashion 
 to Broadway — Invalid Advice — Caution as to Trifles, etc., etc 291 
 
Contents. 
 
 LETTER XXX. 
 
 ^Pleasure of having a Friend at a Distance — Trip to Town and first Call for New- 
 est Gossip — Bridal Reception, and re-beautiful-ness of a Retired Widow — 
 Omnibus-Drive down Broadway — Petticoats doing Penance — New Fashion of 
 Coat-Collars — Throats dressed differently — Beards — Boots — Hats — Dinner at 
 Dietz's-Mrs. Hatcli at the Tabernacle— Morris in Florida, etc., etc 299 
 
 LETTER XXXI. 
 
 Starting of the Summer Boat on the Hudson — Forbidding a Neighbor the Prem- 
 ises — Caprices of Climate, etc., etc 808 
 
 LETTER XXXII. 
 
 Prodigality of Spring— Blight of Evergreens — Pleasure of living in the country 
 -Hog Liberty, etc., etc 
 
 LETTER XXXIII. 
 
 Discovery of a New Spring — Employment for Idle Day — Digging out a Hanging 
 Rock — A Discovery — A Visit, etc., etc 820 
 
 LETTER XXXIV. 
 
 Ansv/er to many Inquiries — Corroboration of Experience -Mental Effect of 
 Horseback-Riding — Unstableness of a Stable — Exercise with or without 
 l''atigue — Insufficiency of Pedestrian Exercise — Philosophy of Uses of a Horse 
 — Importance of the Use of a Saddle-Horse to Old Age — How much it affects 
 Brain-work in all Professions — Advice to Convalescents, etc., etc 829 
 
 LETTER XXXV. 
 
 A dvice for Invalids, etc S8T 
 
 LETTER XXXVI. 
 Experiences of Friendship, etc 845 
 
 LETTER XXXVII. 
 
 Mouth made up for a Week's Feast on Physical Beauty— Journey to Springfield 
 for the " Fair"— Miracles sold for cheap Tickets— Physiognomy of rural Mas- 
 sachusetts — Energetic improvement of Springfield Street and Houses — Male 
 Passions for Horse-talk — Promotion of Horse-dignity at Springfield — Descrip- 
 tion of Races deferred, etc., etc 859 
 
Contents. xi 
 
 LETTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Second Letter— Taking the Opportunity to looli through a 'Wiser Man's Eyes- 
 Drive to the Hippodrome— Visits to the Horses in their Stalls— Company of 
 Good Observers— Horse " Hard-Times " and his Card— Beauty of the Peter- 
 sham Morgan— Style of the Black Horse, " Lone Star "—Suitableness of Horse 
 to his Rider— Perfecting of the Quadruped and Deteriorating of the Biped- 
 Need of Reformation in the Shape and Condition of American Man— One 
 Exception, etc., etc 365 
 
 LETTER XXXIX. 
 
 The Hippodrome on the Second Day— The Trotting-match— The Aspect of the 
 Ci owd on the Course— Ethan Allen and Hiram Drew— Philosophy of fast Trot- 
 ting—Portrait of a famous Yankee Jockey— Cavalcade of Gentlemen's equip- 
 ages — Lack of Style in American Driving— Society on Wheels and Beauty of a 
 Park Drive — The Equestrian Cavalcade with Lady-riders— Unsuitableness of 
 Crinoline to the Side-saddle, etc., etc 874 
 
 TRIP TO THE RAPPAHANNOCK. 
 
 LETTER I . 
 
 Unceremonious Departure— The Journey South— Glimpse of the Susquehanna 
 
 Cloudless Welcome to Virginia — Digression to narrate a Story— Saw-Mill in 
 
 the Woods— A Hoist into the Air unexpectedly— The Miller and the Interior 
 of his Hut— His Death, that Night— The Scene of his Laying-out— Who he was 
 etc., etc ^'^^ 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 First Experience of eating a Persimmon— Suggestion as to Nature's Symbol for 
 Secrecy— Chance for Cheap Living in " Ole Virginny "—Instance of Oblivious 
 Life—What Good Blood may stagnate down to— Fight with the Guardian 
 Dog— Interior of a Reduced Gentleman's Residence — Dried Apples pro- 
 duced—Mrs. X, as seen through her Dirt— Virginia Lack of Yankee Curiosity, 
 otc. ••... 991 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 Drive through the Pine Woods— An old Chapel— The Craves of the Family of 
 Washington's Mother— Copy of an Epitaph— The Blind Preacher— Female 
 seclusion in Virginia— Disappointment as to their Horses— Excellent way of 
 hitching Horses— Tandem of Cows— Carelessness of personal appearance 
 in Virginia Gentlemen— Mistaken impression of a Fellow-traveller, etc. . . 401 
 
xii Contents. 
 
 LETTER IT. 
 
 Negro Happiness in Virginia — Persevering Politeness against Discouragement — 
 Family's Slaves Moving West — Evening View of a Negro Cabin — Aunt Fanny, 
 the Centenarian and the Black Baby— New kind of Negro Music — Pig-matins 
 at Daylight — Chats with Negro Woodsmen — Virginia Supply of Black Walnut 
 for Coffins — Adroit Negro Compliment — Family Graves on Plantation — Visit 
 to the Hut of a Murderer's Widow 410 
 
 LETTER V . 
 
 Caught asleep — General Mint-julep before Breakfast — Virginian Refinements 
 of good Eating — Reembarkation on the Rappahannock, for Fredericksburg — 
 The River, along through King George County — Country-seats of the Car- 
 ters, Tayloes and other well-known Names — Scene of George Washington's 
 Boyhood — His Mother and her humble Cottage — His every-day Appearance 
 and Character at Fredericksburg, when a Boy — Difference of the IBoy-ideal 
 from that of a Man — A second Picture of the adolescent Washington, from 
 sixteen to twenty — His first Visit to Belvoir and Intimacy with the Fairfaxes 
 — Wish that a gifted Descendant of this Family would give us their Remem- 
 brances of Washington — Fredericksburg itself and its Tomb and Cliapel — 
 Snow, and Journey across to the Potomac, etc., etc., etc., 419 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 Valley between the Potomac and Rappahannock — Washington's Frequent Ride 
 across the " Neck of Virginia " — His Personal Appearance, when a Young 
 Man — ^Young Washington the Surveyor — A Chance Tableau of Contrasted 
 Fairfaxes ani Planters — The Young Englishman on Board the Boat, and our 
 Virginia Captain — The Captain's Outer Man compared with his Passenger's 
 —His New Invention — The Reading of his Application for a Patent — The 
 Young Englislaman's Self-sacrifice for Friendship — Parting of the well-trim- 
 med Plant of a London Gentleman, and the George Washington " Run to 
 Seed," etc., etc. .. 437 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 Charm of the Number Seven — The Nile among Periodicals — Virginia Tea-table 
 Peculiarity — Virginia Fashion of Ornamental Trees — Talk with a Physician 
 About Intermittents and Negroes — Fever and Ague something of a Bugbear 
 — Prescription — A Neglected Bird — Superiority of wild Geese to tame— Cu- 
 rious Restoration of a Virginia Church — Former and Present Standard of 
 Manners — Mount Vernon from a Historical Point of View — Curious Docu- 
 ment, etc., etc 447 
 
THE CONVALESCENT. 
 
 -<«>- 
 
 L E T T E K I. 
 
 Advantage of Evergreen Trees — Swapping Hats— Billy Babcock, tlie Centena- 
 rian—His Habits and Dress — His Memory of Wasliington — His Pension — 
 Droll effect of meeting on the Road a given-away Suit of Old Clothes, etc., etc. 
 
 January 7, 1855. 
 Weather to sit out of doors with a book! April is 
 reconnoitering. And I never so much realized, as to-day 
 (though I have recorded it before), the wisdom and 
 luxury of a home buried in evergreen trees. Without the 
 ice in the river, there would be no necessity of knowing 
 that it is not summer. Every particle of snow gone from 
 the fields and mountains, and a sun so warm, that to the 
 children exercising out of doors, the full shade of our 
 groves of hemlocks and cedars is welcome ! The farmer, 
 about here, is bothered with the luxuriant pertinacity of 
 these evergreens. He thinks of them as Bombastes thought 
 of Fuzbos : 
 
 " He conquered all but Fuzbos — Fuzbos him ;" 
 
 13 
 
14 The Convalescent. 
 
 but, to grounds cultivated for beauty, such prodigal growth 
 of trees, wl^ose foliage recognizes no winter, are a wealth 
 and a blessing. To-dav, we look out of open "windows, 
 upon a summer of both trees and temperature. 
 
 I was called upon yesterday to remember an appeal to 
 your patriotism, which I promised to make — you being a 
 general and the object of appeal being a revolutionary sol- 
 dier with whom I have lately swapped hats, with the 
 underst-anding that your influence to procure him a pen- 
 sion was to be " thrown in." As the hat I got by my bar- 
 gain is a relic, having been worn by a revolutionary 
 head while crossinof from its first to its second centurv, 
 and two years beyond the crossing, I must be excused for 
 giving the history of " our trade " rather circumstantially 
 — the hat being thus made authentic by having its story 
 told, and the wearer being brought to your charitable 
 notice, " as agreed." 
 
 My friend Torrey, the village blacksmith, had several 
 times offered to " show me the beat" of the revolutionary 
 soldier I visited and described in the Home Journal last 
 summer. He declared that " old Babcock, up in the 
 mountains," was " more of a cur'osity," for he could hold 
 a stick in both hands and jump over it, at a hundred 
 years old, and that was two years ago. He was " still 
 full of fun and as sharp as a 'coon," though quite a vagrant 
 in his habits, and going to and fro, between here and 
 
Billy Babcock, the Centenarian. 15 
 
 Jersey, as he could find temporary work, or as lie took the 
 whim. Five or six generations of his descendants were 
 scattered along through the mountains (the old man 
 counted them last at one hundred and sixty-five) but 
 they were all poor, and he was still homeless and thriftless. 
 His one steady idea seemed to be to get a pension, as he had 
 served six years in the revolutionary army, and had been in 
 the battle of Monmouth and the battle of Stony Point, and 
 was wounded at Monmouth. The diflaculty lay in his having 
 left, the army " without any writing to show for it," though 
 he did it to work in the mountain-forge, back of West 
 Point, where he was a journeyman when the war begun, 
 and where he was sent for again, to help cast cannon balls 
 for the army. I was interested in the story, as Torrey's 
 hammer emphasized it on the heels of my mare, and pro- 
 mised to give the old man a kind welcome when he should 
 come. 
 
 One bright morning, accordingly, his name was sent up 
 to me. Torrey had been too busy to leave his shop, bnt ano- 
 ther of my village cronies, Chatfield, the tanner, had under- 
 taken to show the old man the way. He sat in the library, 
 when I went in, directly under a btist of venerable Tasso — 
 a closely-shaved and pinched-faced little old man, under a 
 heavily-bearded old patriarch — and my first thought, I 
 must own, was a wonder that so beautiful and needful 
 a drapery, for the features of age, could ever be refused its 
 
16 The Convalescent. 
 
 natural growth and office. A veil of snowy white had 
 been given by God to that little toothless mouth and to the 
 stringy wrinkles of that repulsive chin and throat, and yet 
 with the cost perpetual, and pains daily and vexatious, 
 Nature's unceasing effort to put it on were resisted 1 
 
 "A bite and a glass of suramat" had preceded me, and 
 my visitor was lively and talkative. His hearing and sight 
 were apparently as good as ever, and in quickness of rgply 
 he certainly excelled most men, young or old, of bis class 
 of life. I began conversation rather jokingly, but be was 
 soon "down upon me," as my neighbor said, "like a thou- 
 sand of brick." Hilarity and imperturbable good-nature 
 seemed to have constant possession of him. He had no 
 reserves. Some allusion was made to his favorinof one lea: 
 more than the other in his movements; and he ascribed it 
 to a rheumatism, got by sleeping " out on the road the 
 other night" (in November) "after a glass too much." 
 He said he knocked at all the doors as he went along, and 
 asked for a night's lodging, and they " passed him on " 
 with their " no room, go to the next house !" till he was 
 tired. So he lay down under a wall ; and " it wouldn't 
 have hurt him, if it hadn't sprung up cohl in the night, and 
 froze r In this homeless habit of wanderino-, as in the 
 making of baskets, which is his resource, when he can find 
 nothing better to do, he seemed to show gipsy blood. 
 
 The questions we naturally put to him concerning Gene- 
 
Swapping Hats. IT 
 
 ral Washington (of whom he told us nothing except that 
 he saw him every day for years), brought up the " pension " 
 matter, and he stated his case — urging it much more 
 strenuously when he found I had a General among my 
 acquaintances. Seeing his hat, which he had thrown into 
 the corner behind the door on entering the library, I took 
 it up while he was talking, and inquired into its history. 
 He had bought it in his ninety-ninth year, and worn it ever 
 since — now three years. It had evidently been sat upon 
 and slept upon, and used for the receiving and conveying 
 away of potatoes and cold victuals — the shape long since 
 gone, if it ever had one, and the band supplied by a piece 
 of coarse twine. It was perhaps a " two shilling felt," to 
 begin with ; but the honor it had had, in covering a head 
 while it stepped into its second century, gave it a value — to 
 say nothing of the wear-out it had received, upon a brain 
 whose boyish recklessness and jollity a hundred years had 
 failed to sober or make sorry ! Oh, I wanted that hat ! 
 Stepping into the entry, I brought him my Idlewild broad- 
 brim, with its spacious silk band — a hat, the first glance at 
 which *' warranted the man to own a cow " — and proposed 
 a " swap." It was amusing to see the cunning old chap 
 assume a value for his hat immediately on finding it was 
 wanted, and dodge all admission that he was making 
 a good bargain. He only agreed, finally, on condition of 
 my '* speaking to my friend the General about his pension.** 
 
18 The Convalescent. 
 
 So never come to Idlewild, mj dear Morris, or venture to 
 look at the old hat (which now surmounts the bust of 
 John Quincj Adams in the hall), until yon have done 
 your possible with the secretary of war, for Billy Babcock 
 and his revolutionary claims. 
 
 But I was indebted to the old man, shortly after, for a 
 sudden retrospect, which, I fear, I can hardly make inter- 
 esting to you — the contrast and grotesqueness of k de- 
 pending very much on the associations it awakened in my 
 own memory. Driving to Newburgh in the afternoon, we 
 met him, at a sudden turn of the road. He had been 
 down with a load of baskets (eight miles, on foot), and 
 was returning to the mountains — toddling jauntily along 
 with his stick, but the mud and other signs showing that 
 he had stopped to rest when quite too happy to mind 
 where. He was dressed from head to foot in a suit of my 
 own clothes which I had given him ; and though it was 
 funny, of course, to see my coat and trowsers going to 
 Newburgh with a load of baskets, and coming back " so," 
 there was still, for me, a remoter reach of association in 
 the spectacle. The suit chanced to be the sole memorial of 
 that " dandyism " of twenty years ago, the pickled memory 
 of which is still carefully preserved by my brother editors, 
 and used for the acid to their criticisms. Both coat and 
 trowsers were of London make, in 1836 — relics that had 
 seen a deal of sly wear as old clothes in my rainy-day 
 
A Suit of Old Clothes. 19 
 
 wood-choppings and brook-clearings, but the fancy cut and 
 decoration of which had hitherto prevented their being 
 given away. There was as much fun as anything else in 
 bestowing them upon the ragged and merry old basket- 
 maker. But, by dint of long keeping and tumbling over, 
 they had insensibly become the furniture of my remem- 
 brance of gay life in London ; and to meet them now, sud- 
 denlj^, on the road, zig-zag-ing about on legs and arms a 
 hundred years old, and bound to finish their career in un- 
 housed dirt and vicissitude — there was a mingled drollery 
 and contradictoriness in the confused impression, which 
 made me both lauo-h and sfrow thouo-htful. If there must 
 be reappearances of one's coats and trowsers, it would be 
 pleasanter to see them in their cleanly and decent wont — 
 not spattered with mud while they are honored by longei 
 wear — and if I had foreseen the venerableness of these 
 after-walks of mine, I certainly should have selected the 
 pantaloons of a plainer period. You see my old-clothes 
 moral, I hope. 
 
 My friend, the merry centenarian, has called on me once 
 since. He was finding it too cold in the mountains, and 
 was going over into Jersey for the winter. My velvet 
 facings and silk braids had proved good material for 
 " swap," and he had parted with all of my toggery except 
 the hat — the pillow-and-cushion duties of this last, how- 
 ever, having rendered its previous history a matter of pure 
 
20 The Convalescent. 
 
 faith. He was as blithe and quick-witted as ever, and his 
 gaiety — patriarch as he is — was positively infectious. It 
 is the elixir of his unfailing vitality, I am certain. He has 
 no idea of dying, and is " coming round in the spring, to 
 see if that General has got his pension fixed." So keep 
 the matter in mind. 
 
 We have had another strange visitor here — but my 
 letter is long enough for these short days. Adieu. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 P.S. Jan. 1 0. — Let me record that two steamboats passed 
 down the river yesterday, and a sloop to-day, though the 
 ice, which has suddenly vanished with the rain, has been 
 dotted with skaters for a month. 
 
LETTER II. 
 
 Spontaneousness in Writing— An Adventure in Riding— Mounted at one time 
 on a Horse and a Cow — A Story by a neighbor Fisherman — Catching a Snap- 
 ping-turtle— Ward's Adventures— The Difficulties of Winter Pilotage of 
 Steamboats, before the Railroad on the Hudson— Bald Eagle on the Ice, 
 etc., etc. 
 
 January 2*7, 18o5. 
 "New events and fresh information are raore interesting 
 than essay- writing, I believe, even if the events are small 
 and the information homely. It is this supposition (with 
 an eye only to the preference of our readers, and the pro- 
 bability of interesting them) which, week after week, 
 makes me throw aside a first half-page of a speculating or 
 criticising " leader," and fall to describing, instead, some 
 new phase of my every-day life in the country. I am 
 ready to cease being thus autobiographic, when the new 
 incidents and fresh information give out. I never send you 
 one of those homespun letters, in fact, without quite a per- 
 suasion that it will be the last. But life always seems to 
 ke^p new, somehow ; and a present hour always seems to 
 me worth any two of the past or the future. "Yours to 
 command," however. My hope of interesting, is by mak- 
 ing this column differ, in case of its failing to excel. I will 
 
 21 
 
22 The Convalescent. 
 
 go oftener to town, and ride in omnibuses and dissipate at 
 parties, whenever those rides are more amusing (say) than 
 the one I describe to-day, or whenever city brains are better 
 worth borrowing from than the brains of our country 
 droppers in — such (say) as my friend the fisherman's, of 
 whose water-life on the Hudson, as he gossipped it over 
 our blazing wood-fire last evening, I will jot down an 
 item or two while I remember it. 
 
 And now to my hobnail commonplaces — more sure of a 
 pleasant understanding after this " strictly confidential " 
 apology 
 
 You may wonder how a zeal in our common service, 
 should add to my experiences the new sensation of being 
 mounted upon a cow! But this, and a ride upon a camel 
 in Asia Minor, are two of this planet's possible emotions 
 with which I shall not pass to another star unacquainted. 
 It was a trifle of a surprise — coming as it did after that 
 hardest day of in-door drudgery which least prepares one 
 for perilous adventure. You know my weekly crisis, the 
 Thursday evening's mail — closing at Newburgh at six, and 
 inevitably to be reached, storm or starlight, by the " final 
 copy for the printer." I had scribbled, up to the last 
 moment, as usual, hopped into the saddle at dusk, gal- 
 lopped the four miles rather nervously for fear of missing 
 the inexorable bag, reached it, and was trotting leisurely 
 home. Tt was a cloudy night — dark as half-past six had 
 
An Adventure in Riding. 23 
 
 ever the liberty to be — when I reached the covered bridge 
 across the mouth of the Moodna. 
 
 The small and single lamp, usually making darkness 
 visible at the far end of this rickety old tunnel, was not yet 
 lit. The outline of an entrance, under an arch of hopeless 
 black, was all I could distinguish — a promise of emergence 
 to light on the other side, which required the faith of a 
 gimlet. My horse took a sniff of suspicion, and half 
 bolted ; and as he had thrown me over his head a week or 
 two before, and that was my first experience as a one-horse 
 missile, I hesitated a second before putting on the compul- 
 sion. In went both heels, however — for it was a bitter cold 
 night, and my lungs are not the customers for winter air 
 without exercise — and in spi'ung Sir Archy upon the 
 unseen planks, I loosed the rein — instinct being more 
 to be trusted than reason (I have always observed) in 
 " feeling one's way." The smothered sound of the hoofs 
 upon the never-swept carpet of lumber-dust and manure, 
 came down in stifled echoes fi'om the roof. Paff ! patFl 
 paff ! — which side we should bang against, and what hole 
 of the remembered short planks my dancing animal would 
 back into in rearing, I could only guess. A sudden 
 plunge I Half a leap to go over something — but the 
 twitched curb (with the flash across my mind that it was 
 the warped flooring out of place) balked the eflfort, and the 
 next moment we rose into the air — to explanatory music I 
 
24 The Coxvalescext. 
 
 The gasp of a cow told the story, while the balance of 
 uncertainty, as to whether I was to fall backwards or for- 
 wards, gave me leisure to listen. With the ten legs under 
 me actuated by three different conceptions of the crisis — 
 the cow cross ways, the horse for proceeding, and I for 
 retreating — there was a very miscellaneous scramble, for 
 an instant. My horse fortunately recovered his footing 
 without a fall — ^but whether we had slid to earth over the 
 horns or the tail of the animal that had lifted us, the dis- 
 creet belly of my horse shows to the inquisitive daylight no 
 sign. As the reclining cow commonly rises first behind, 
 the declivity for us was doubtless towards the head — 
 though the improbability that a gentleman and his horse 
 would ever travel over the horns of old Smith's cow, the 
 most vicious animal in the neighborhood, without a scratch, 
 makes it likely again that we dismounted over the tail 
 Either way " very happy," of course ; for, with so close a 
 shave upon a coi^-tastrophe, I should not stand upon cere- 
 mony in the dark. 
 
 With my neighbor, last evening, the conversation natu- 
 rally fell upon the perils in our daily experience ; and he, 
 having passed his life (and accumulated a very snug pro- 
 perty) by varying his farming with shad fishing in the sea- 
 son, steamboat-piloting when they run through the ice in 
 the winter, stopping of drift timber and shooting of ducks, 
 has a truly amphibious knowledge of the Hudson and its 
 
Catching a Snapping-turtle. 25 
 
 land and water liabilities. I must say I listened to him 
 with great interest, and picked here and there a valuable 
 hint for my own using; though the question occurs, natu- 
 fally, whether the readers of the Home Journal^ not being 
 river-rustics themselves, will be as much entertained. But 
 i shall try to be brief. 
 
 I silently pocketed a caution as to my next summer's 
 swimming, while the talk fell upon snapping-turtles 
 (among the dangers of the neighborhood), and Ward 
 gave us an account of catching one. He was out in his 
 decoy-boat after ducks, and had chanced to shoot a wild 
 goose, that he left to float among the sedges till he should 
 have leisure to pick him up. Meantime, lying flat in his 
 boat, and watching through the straw bulwark for the 
 game, he observed the dead goose hohhing under occasion- 
 ally. The water was clear, and, with a little closer look, 
 he saw, that, to the broken leg of the goose, which hung 
 down, a large snapping-turtle was reaching up, and trying 
 to get the right hitch to pull the dead bird to the bottom. 
 Ward quietly floated that way, stripped up his sleeve, and, 
 with a sudden pluck, caught the snapper by the middle 
 (out of reach of his head), and threw him into the boat. 
 He was about the size of a chair-cushion, and made " great 
 soup." Happy river, of course, that has such live succu- 
 lents for poor folks — but, to gentlemen that swim partly 
 under water, the risk of being nibbled at by an animal 
 
 2 
 
26 The Coxyalescext. 
 
 wliose bite does not loosen even when its head is cut oiF, 
 makes it one kind of " wild o-ame" too manv ! 
 
 Ward himself is a native growth of " American," in 
 which I take a patriotic delight. The country's reliance, 
 for energy in daily matters and for resource and courage 
 in emergencies, is in the likes of him — few though they 
 be, and yet constituting the centre that holds together the 
 whole wheel of our national energy. His life is to mind 
 his business. He says little — ^his ideas always keep- 
 ing ahead of his words. What practical knowledge he 
 needed, he has " come at" by a shorter cut than b(X)ks, 
 having had no education, and yet doing everything with a 
 "knack" that works like science. At present he is build- 
 ing hiraself a boat, "just to pass a spare month of the 
 winter," and he thinks no more of that untaught exercise 
 of his ingenuity than an Irishman of peeling a fresh po- 
 tato. With his early savings (as a sloop-skipper and 
 steamboat pilot), be bought the river farm of which Idle- 
 wild was a part, and has since turned everything to ac- 
 count within reach — supplying Newburgh and New York 
 with shad and bass in immense quantities by his skillful 
 hauling and netting, growing the best fruit, stopping the 
 drift-timber after the freshets, killing more wild game than 
 all the other neighbors together, raising famous grain, 
 breeding the best fowls and pigs, and — taking summer 
 boarders. With all this variety of tribute-levying upon 
 
Ward's Adventures. 27 
 
 air, earth and water, Ward is as soft-spoken and as quiet- 
 moving as the most indolent man in the world, and, among 
 his neighbors, he stands for the most simply honest and 
 kind-hearted of men, who knows his own rights pretty 
 well, but is willing to help everybody else to theirs. 
 
 But Ward's plums and peaches are not the only " larg- 
 est of their kind," for which he could take the premium. 
 As he sat down by our hickory-fire for an evening's chat, 
 I could not but confess I had rarely seen, out of England, 
 such a specimen of stock for a farmer to be proud of as 
 the well-developed, handsome daughter, of sixteen, who 
 had come in with him, and to whose lap my children ran 
 with their dolls in the opposite corner. I had admired 
 her fine proportions and energetic movement as she skated 
 on the river a day or two before ; but her frank and truth- 
 ful manners, liberally-moulded features, and joyous expres- 
 sion of health and happiness, made her show even better 
 in a drawing-room ; and I patriotically wished, as I com- 
 pared her with the slices of American loveliness princi- 
 pally looked to for the continuation of our country, that 
 such whole girls were plentier. 
 
 To return to river dangers, however. 
 
 Ward thought he had run one or two risks of drowning, 
 even in such small waters as the Hudson. He was once 
 made " almost too sea-sick to hold on," here in this High- 
 land bay, by being sent to the topmast of a sloop, in one 
 
28 The Convalescent. 
 
 of our mountain hurricanes. A small boy, then, and with 
 only the rope he had hugged his way up on, to cling to, 
 the pitching and lurching of the sloop, which was all but 
 upset with every blast, threw him about like the knot on 
 the end of a whip-lash, and disturbed his breakfast. But 
 his nearest approach to " giving over breathing with a job 
 half done," was in trying to get up a barrel of salt shad 
 from the bottom of the river. He had been sent with an- 
 other young man, by his "boss," to take it to a customer, 
 in a boat, and they had accidentally rolled it overboard in 
 deep soundings. It was in the early spring, *' before the 
 water was any way pleasant," but he off with everything 
 but his trowsers, tied a rope round his waist, and dived — 
 the other young man agreeing to pull him up when he 
 should telegraph by a kick that he had got hold. A bar- 
 rel of fish is a heavy thing to lift, under water or out of 
 \t, but he got hold of the two ends ; and then the trouble 
 was to wait to be pulled up. He hung on, though it was 
 awkward landing it, even after he got it to the top. How 
 near drowning he was, of course he don't now know. He 
 would not care to be any nearer to it, however, for that 
 money's worth of fish, 
 
 "We had some lesser gossip about snakes and drift-tim- 
 ber, ice-cracks and snow-floods, and then we got Ward 
 upon experiences that will be of more interest to the pub- 
 lic at large — his winter-pilotings of the steamboats that 
 
Difficulties of Winter Pilotage. 29 
 
 made their passages while sleighs were running on the 
 river. 
 
 The railroad has lessened the urgency of the demand 
 for the winter navigation of the Hudson, but it could al- 
 ways be done " when it would pay." The damage to 
 boats was very great. A gang of ship carpenters was 
 kept waiting on the dock, both at Newburgh and New 
 York, to commence repairs at the moment of arrival. A 
 pipe was arranged to turn steam out upon the wheels, and 
 this melted the ice and dried the wood immediately, so 
 that the carpenters could handle them. They never lost a 
 passage from breakage of paddle-boxes, though they were 
 sometimes terribly shattered. The railroad was then build- 
 ing, and the demand for freight of tools and materials, 
 and passage of workmen, was very great ; so that Ward's 
 boat, the Highlander, tried to make two passages in the 
 twenty-four hours — down in the day time and up at night 
 — but the ice in the dark proved too much for them. 
 Another boat was then put on (the Utica), and they 
 crossed each other with day passages. 
 
 From the narrowness of the river, at the pass through 
 the Highlands, the ice always closed again where the boat 
 had made a channel, and was often crowded together and 
 piled up " so as to look rather ugly." The Highlander 
 was once stuck, and remained two weeks frozen fast, just 
 opposite West Point; and she was only got out, at last, by 
 
30 The Convalescent. 
 
 blowing up the ice around her with bomb-shells. The 
 " standing from under," when the slabs rained down, after 
 those explosions, was "spry work." 
 
 I supposed that the sharper the boat, or the more like a 
 ■wedge — with the wheels far aft, so that she could take ad- 
 vantage of the cracks in the ice — the better. But it was 
 quite the contrary. They needed the length of the boat for 
 a lever to make her wheels act short on the bow, and then, 
 having once entered a crack (which could not be followed 
 far without bending away from their course), they could 
 manao-e to break out of it. When ice was thick enouo^h 
 to bear an ox-team, as it was most of the time, the only 
 way to get through it was to crush it down with the weight 
 of the boat. They had a false bow put on, therefore, cased 
 in copper, which would enable them to slide up over the 
 edge, with the force of their headway. This would crush 
 it under, for a short distance, and then they would back, 
 gefe on another head of steam, and charge again. It was 
 sometimes a long and tedious job, breaking through the 
 winding narrows of the Highlands in this way, and there 
 was danger, always, of letting the boat stop long enough 
 for the ice to tighten around her. 
 
 Passengers jumped on board almost anywhere, with a 
 projecting plank jutting out, while they slackened a little. 
 Freight was taken on board, and landed, by horse-teams 
 coming out to them on the ice. It was droll, sometimes, 
 
Bald Eagle on the Ice. 31 
 
 to be going along through a narrow channel with the 
 sleigh-bells keeping pace on the ice alongside — like a sail- 
 ing and trotting-niatch on the same element. The busi- 
 ness was profitable, as the railway people could afford to 
 pay very high for freight, which they would otherwise 
 have to draw with teams over the back country. Then 
 the Cold-Spring forge was casting bomb-shells, etc., for the 
 Mexican war ; and that heavy freight could hardly be got 
 to New York at all, without a boat. At one time -there 
 was such a pressure for these war materials that they were 
 obliged to make extra passages on Sundays. 
 
 Ward mentioned one of our well-known neighbors who 
 has lately taken to a new amusement. He seems to be 
 fond of sitting on a cake of ice, any sunny noon, and float- 
 ing down the river, just in front of us. This idler — a hald 
 eagle^ and the largest remembered in this part of the coun- 
 try — has haunted Idlewild for a year past, and his circlings 
 of swoop around the projecting eminence on which our 
 house stands, are the admiration of man, woman and child, 
 for some distance. He lives, as is well known, by taking 
 tribute of the fish-hawk, from whom he receives the fish 
 just dived for, on presenting his hill ; but to do this he 
 must be on the wing and ready to pounce down, any in- 
 stant, with his superior swiftness — so the ice-rafting is pro- 
 bably but a royal amusement. The nest of this monstrous 
 eagle (larger than any goose, Ward says), is some- 
 
32 The Convalescent. 
 
 where on the peak of the Storm King, whence he sails 
 down upon us, with a turn up the bend of the ravine, by a 
 propulsion which I cannot easily understand. It must be 
 "od-ic force," or the exercise of my motto ( Will is might), 
 for he stirs not a wing, and the three miles are done like 
 an arrow-flight. Eagles are sacred among sportsmen, and 
 this one has evidently no fear of being shot; though Ward, 
 whose o;un is inevitable, said it was hard not to brino^ him 
 down, sometimes, when his whke head and snowy tail 
 sailed along so temptingly within reach. Of course I 
 plead — spare the King ! 
 
 The ice has a very flattering way of making a man's 
 farm seem larger — extending out Idle wild some acres into 
 the Hudson — and my boy, Grinnell, who is skating just 
 now, on this apparently new permanency of meadow, ex- 
 pects me down every moment to witness his progress in 
 the art. I would resume it myself — for, being " split up a 
 good way," as the boys used to say of my long legs, I was 
 among the fast ones on Frog Pond, in Latin-school days — 
 but, like a churn that makes no butter by gently being 
 carried along, I have a liver that requires an inward exer- 
 cise beyond skates. Churning and horse-trotting for but- 
 ter and bile ! So, a look at my boy's new accomplishment, 
 and then to the saddle, to take a churn. Yours. 
 
LETTER III. 
 
 Winter Diseases — Foliage in White, after a Light Snow— Capture of a 'Possum 
 — Chase in the Snow, witli Bare Legs— 'Possum's Habits when caught, etc. 
 
 January, 1855. 
 Winter is seizing us all by tlie throat, in this part of the 
 country. The sudden blanketings and un-blanketings of 
 the hills — snows and thaws in wonderfully complete alter- 
 nation — affect the Highland health. One of my stoutest 
 neighbors, a river sloop-man used to all manner of expo- 
 sure, died yesterday of the prevailing bronchitis. My 
 family table assembles a half-dozen varied influenzas — a 
 putting out of tune of its usual accord of voices, which, to 
 one who relies upon it for his only music, is quite an in- 
 terruption of comfort. 
 
 On ray favorite curative principle of counter-irritation, I 
 started off, with a stuffed head, for a sharp trot in the 
 snow-storm, a day or two ago, and so chanced to see one 
 of those private theatricals with which Nature makes our 
 country entertainments correspond to the dramatic season 
 in the city. I had been gone two hours among the hills, 
 and the sky and my raucous membranes had meantime 
 been clearing up together. It had stopped snowing and I 
 
 2* 83 
 
34 The Convalescent. 
 
 had stopped snuffling; and the sun was setting with a 
 glow in the west, of which the blood in my veins felt like 
 a rosy partaker. Slacking rein as I entered the gate, and 
 removing a pair of " green goggles" (excellent uglinesses 
 with which to protect weak eyes from the patter as well 
 as the glare of the snow in riding), I became suddenly 
 aware of a scene of extraordinary beauty. The soft and 
 feathery snow had so completely foliaged the trees that 
 they looked full and shady, as in June. The woods on 
 either side had the expression of leafy impenetrableness 
 which enchants the forever-refuge-seeking eye ; the mea- 
 dows and slopes were carpeted with the evenness of a 
 lawn ; and over all was spread the warm color of the 
 kindling sunset. It was midsummer, 'performed in white — 
 its burden of leaves all there, and its press and crowd of 
 flowers inimitably copied in snowflakes. The picturesque 
 and beautiful half mile from the river-gate to our door — 
 over meadow and brook, and along the wooded terraces 
 and rocky precipices of the glen — will never be more su- 
 perb in summer than as I saw it — (riding alone, too, a 
 most unwilling millionaire, to have such a wealth of splen- 
 dor all to myself) — in the middle of winter. 
 
 (What tempting subjects are these glories of Nature 
 with no events to them — so thrilling to the beholder and 
 so tiresome at second-hand ! I have indulged this time, 
 but give me credit for twenty resistances.) 
 
Capture of a 'Possum. 35 
 
 The event of the past month, to my children, has been 
 a shirt-tail chase and capture of a 'possum, in the pitiless 
 snow of midnight, a fortnight ago, by the Vice-President 
 of these united stables and hen-roosts, Sam Bell. The nar- 
 rative of the affair, in Bell's purest of Know-nothing dia- 
 lect, would be worth Hackett's coming to hear — but I 
 must confine myself to such mere mention of the circum- 
 stance as will sufRce to introduce to you our patriotic ad- 
 dition to the family — Native American, and found nowhere 
 else, as the 'possum is accredited to be. Waked up at 
 night, in his farm-cottage under the hill, by a stir among 
 the chickens. Bell, it appears, went to the door (in his in- 
 tegument No. 1) to see what was the matter. It was a 
 bright and bitter cold night, after the clearing up of a 
 snow storm ; and, with the opening of the door, he saw 
 some dark animal take up the line of its retreat towards the 
 woods. To almost any gentleman (especially from a for- 
 eign countrj^) there would be little doubt as to the out- 
 weighing of the comparative attractions — a warm wife in 
 the bed he had just left, or a naked-legged rush, through 
 the snow, after a wild animal. The thinking that can be 
 done in a second, however, by one of our prompt and un- 
 chance-losing Yankees, is wonderful to know. The mys- 
 tery of a month of missing chickens and sucked eggs, was 
 explained to Bell by that dark line drawn over the snow — 
 a fox or a wild-cat, as he took it to be. The jumping mo- 
 
36 The Convalescent. 
 
 n 
 
 tion of " the critter " suggested to him, instantly, that, in 
 deep drifts, he could catch one that would outrun him on 
 hard ground ; and, grabbing the first stick from the wood- 
 pile, he " after him." The snow " felt ugly up round 
 above his knees," and it was heavy running, though he 
 thought he was helped some by having no trowsers ; but 
 he gained on the animal, overtook, and "got a lick at 
 him." Whether he had dropped dead or was stopping to 
 spring back, he did not know, but there was the black 
 lump still as death, on the snow before him. It wasn't a 
 pleasant place to stop and think, though it was awk'ard 
 putting a hand out to take hold of a wild varmint in the 
 dark ; but he caught sight of something like a tail, made a 
 plunge at it, and " had him," safe off the ground. It turned 
 out to be a 'possum (an animal, as you know, that always 
 drops and pretends to be dead when it is close-pressed), 
 and Bell carried him back to the house, put a string round 
 his neck, tied him to the door-post, and went to bed — first 
 raking open the coals a little, of course, and getting on a 
 dry shirt. 
 
 Installed behind the stable, in the box that Buchanan 
 Read's bust came over in (an apartment with an associa- 
 tion at his disposal, of course), the 'possum is now "one 
 of us " — a daily visit to him being, for our little people, 
 among the periodicities of the morning. It is a little tan- 
 talizing, perhaps, to see "good society" (the hen-roost and 
 
'Possum's Habits when Caught. 3t 
 
 cWckens) so absurdly little beyond the limit of his chain, 
 but he bears it with the can't-help-it-ism of a philosopher. 
 You would think, to see him looking from that round hole 
 (a side-door, added to Read's apartment, for his conve- 
 nience) that those safe chickens whom he is beholding so 
 tranquilly and humbly, were not of the natural species for 
 which nature had given him an appetite — the chickens 
 (vice versa) having no more terror at Ids presence than at 
 the child's mufif, which he closely resembles. How won- 
 derful is civilized resignation at contiguity to forbidden 
 food ! 
 
 With vile head, and a tail like a rat's, the opossum's 
 body is a superb mass of light grey fur. His taste in food 
 is fastidious, and he is said to taste (to others) like the 
 tenderest of fresh young pork. This one, we regret to 
 find, is a male — the she-'possum being certainly the most 
 remarkable female in the animal world, and of habits (as a 
 mother) very curious to study. In these days of finding 
 wives too expensive, it is interesting to turn to nature, and 
 see what is expected of husbands upon instinct. The she- 
 'possum is herself a house, herself a carriage, herself a 
 doctor. With the providing of neither of these three ex- 
 pensive articles is her mate burdened. The " abdominal 
 pouch," Katural History tells us, " is the residence of the 
 young, for the infancy period after their birth, and they go 
 in and out," at their happy pleasure. To go any distance, 
 
38 The Convalescent. 
 
 1 
 
 or ascend a tree, they are " taken by her on the back, 
 where they cling to the fur, and likewise hold on by en- 
 twining their little prehensile tails with that of the mo- 
 ther." " Wonderful medical virtues are attributed to the 
 tail of the female opossum." When we add, to this lux- 
 ury of auto- furnishing in his mate, that the 'possum can 
 siq^port himself by either end — hanging to a tree by his 
 " prehensile tail," and swinging his head in tail-like idleness 
 to the summer air — a professed author, at least, might sigh 
 over a comparison of gifts and privileges ! 
 
 The drops that have been to the sky to be purified are 
 coming down in countless flakes — cold, separate and pure 
 — to try another course of duty on this defiling earth, min- 
 gle again, and wait for another evaporation. Or, as Bell 
 expressed the same bit of news just now, " it snows feather 
 beds." Through this crov^'d of life-resuming spirits — 
 through these feathers yet unconfined by ticking and pil- 
 low-cases — I must gallop to Newburgh with my letter for 
 the mail. Time to be oflf. 
 
 Yours, pen and horse, 
 
LETTER IV. 
 
 The Highlands, with the Hudson frozen over — 'Difference of Scenery without 
 Water — Sleigh-ride over the Ice — West Points Cozzens's—Dell-Monell and 
 Font-Anna — Tedium of Winter. 
 
 February 2, 1866. 
 For a realizing sense of what the world would be with- 
 out woman — what strength and sublimity are, that is to 
 say, without grace and loveliness — you have only to come 
 and see the Highlands without the Hudson. I thought 
 for the mere sake of contrast, to-day (February 2), that I 
 would drive to the middle of the river in my sleigh, and 
 follow the familiar steamboat track to West Point. It is 
 frozen solid from shore to shore, and the ice, like the hill- 
 sides, covered with snow, so that it is one bleak and drear 
 surface from the peak over Anthony's Nose to the crown 
 of the Storm-Kino^, with no sia^n of that lono^ vallev's hav- 
 ing ever been blessed with running water. 
 
 Now, in this most celebrated spot in world for picturesque 
 beauty, you have no idea what a difference it makes! 
 I went, expecting, at least, some new impression of gran- 
 deur and sublimity. But the mountains, which, in sum- 
 mer, are grand and sublime, looked only big and ugly to- 
 
 89 
 
40 The Convalescent. 
 
 day ! The height and boldness above, without the con- 
 trast with the loveliness below, were simply unsightly. 
 For sheer lack of eye-water, after gazing at the Storm- 
 King's "ugly mug," I turned my eyes over to " UnderclifF," 
 and conjured up to my imagination the vastly better-look- 
 ins: face of our friend the General. 
 
 There is a curious sensation, however, in driving over 
 such a wide and trackless level — something, probably, very 
 like to Arctic exploration. Merely taking the West Point 
 Hotel for a landmark, we steered for it, for four miles, 
 over a trackless plain of snow ; but the usual speed of 
 Lady Jane seemed of no manner of use without road-side 
 objects by which to measure it. We seemed overcoming 
 no distance, though the plump trotting-haunches over the 
 whipple-tree did their handsomest as usual — a type, I dare 
 say, of the monotony there would be, after all, in success 
 without obstacle. 
 
 On reaching Cold Spring, we struck into a well-tracked 
 highway between it and West Point — the cadets and sol- 
 diers seeming to make a favorite walk of crossing the 
 river, and pleasure sleighs and loaded teams plying busily 
 backward and forward. To my countryfied eyes, after 
 the winter among plain folks, the population of uniforms, 
 erect figures, and military countenances, made a pleasant 
 variety. It was one of the coldest days of the year, by 
 the way, and how these young " combatants," with their 
 
Dell-Monell and Font-Anna. 41 
 
 extremely narrow and unprotective coat-tails, managed to 
 keep wann — two-thirds of those we saw being without 
 any outer garment — perplexed my sympathies to under- 
 stand. 
 
 To reach West Point in half an hour from my own 
 door was very delightful, and I had thus a foretaste of what 
 the drive will be when the proposed road is finished along 
 the shore. It seemed queer to be jingling our Idlewild 
 sleigh-bells along past Cozzens's — a spot only accessible by 
 a steamboat excursion in summer — and mv sense of neigh- 
 borhood is greatly enriched by it. The two great hotels, 
 I must say, however, with their wildernesses of closed win- 
 dows, looked very lonely and unnatural. The govern- 
 ment, I observed, keeps the walks well cleared over the 
 parade-ground, and we met a platoon of snow-shovellers, in 
 uniform, with wooden weapons on shoulder, marching 
 under the command of a corporal, to some new-drifted 
 Sebastopol. There wns also a considerate road laid out 
 across the river to Garrison's dock, the safe line between 
 the air-holes indicated by cedar bushes stuck in the snow. 
 I must not forget one consoling glimpse which I got, of 
 the possibility of water — the sun flashing upon the crystal 
 cascades of Dell-Monell, and gleaming down through that 
 wild ravine like a staircase of silver. I glanced also at the 
 coy rock-spring of Font-Anna, which we lingered over in 
 our excursions last summer, but, whatever flow may be 
 
42 Tpie Convalescent. 
 
 hidden at its heart, the snow over its lovely lip looked 
 pitilessly unyielding. 
 
 The fishes in the river, of course, are finding it dark — 
 their world roofed in and covered thickly with double 
 crusts of snow — and I presume, if desires can be prayers, 
 that they are praying for sunshine and open sky. I am 
 sure I join in the prayer. How w-elcome the spring will 
 be ! How delightful to see earth and water again, out of 
 doors ! And as to summer and heat, flowers, verdure and 
 foliao-e — they seem dreams of sweet impossibilities. Mean- 
 time, however, let us not be ungrateful for tlie already length- 
 ening days, and, with the awful prophecy over our heads of 
 the march northward of the summer plague — its next stride 
 possibly from Norfolk to New York — let us thank God for 
 
 pure air, even with winter. 
 
 Yours. 
 
L E T T E R V . 
 
 Use of Love for Dumb Aaimals — Quinty and his Doom — A stray Dog and his 
 Habits — His death — Dog Insanity, etc. 
 
 February, 1855. 
 
 For those whose destiny it is to die with love or money 
 unspent (my case), there is a certain '^ small change," of 
 afFectionateness which can only be expended, I find, on 
 dumb animals. Hence my perhaps too frequent call upon 
 you to be interested in the quadrupeds of Idle wild — these 
 recipients of what is left over of victuals and tenderness, 
 forming a part (more or less) of the life I endeavor to 
 describe to you. I appealed to your sympathy last 
 week for our newly domesticated 'possum. In the letter 
 befoi'e me I must mention another " varmint " or two — 
 quadruped event, just now, being our principal news and 
 stir. You have human event enough to occupy you, I 
 know. But the basement story of your heart (intended 
 for the brute creation and kept closed in city life), requires 
 airino- now and then. So come down from " hio-h human- 
 ity," and un-shutter to us, for a minute or two, on the 
 ground floor. It will rest you. 
 
 Half-past ten, January 30, and a bitter bright, night — 
 
 43 
 
44 The Convalescent. 
 
 but, before narrating to you the death in the moonlight 
 (which I have hard work not to turn into a poem, by the 
 way), I should explain why our sensibilities, that night, 
 were somewhat more than usual on the alert. 
 
 Our " pup," Quinty (Quintessence-of-ugliness being his 
 name, but Quinty for shortness), had been for several days 
 missino-. We had not felt altoo-ether comfortable about it, 
 aside from his loss as a play-fellow — for there was a pos- 
 sibility that our family discipline (to make sure of his let- 
 ting alone '"'•that ^possum^^), had exceeded the bounds of 
 reason. I had, myself, a reproachful misgiving or two, 
 and the children took Quinty's part altogether — though he 
 was a terrier, " worst kind," and I had done it with a consci- 
 entious look at his " ug-lv mufr," and a far reaching: view 
 of the temptation after dark, and his probable forgetfulness 
 of himself and his obligations, in a tete-a-tete. At any rate, 
 after being whipped prospectively, at the door of the 'pos- 
 sum's house — merely to establish the connection in his mind 
 between whip and 'possum — the pup had " quit." Search 
 through the neighborhood was in vain, and he had been 
 gone, now three days, mournfully justified and regretted. 
 
 But, to proceed with the narrative. 
 
 Half- past ten, and we were sitting over the embers of 
 the dining-room fire, a slice or two of boiled turkey on the 
 table, and the cares of the day behind us. There was a 
 moan outside. We ran each to .a window, and looked out 
 
A Stray Dog and his Habits. 45 
 
 — clear as noon day it seemed to be, in the intense bril- 
 liancy of the moon, and the frozen ground sparkling in the 
 light — but nothing to be seen. We had concluded it must 
 be the fat cook with her nightmare, or my own mare dream- 
 ing in the stable, and had returned to th^fire, picturing 
 how Quinty might come home at midnight — bleeding and 
 hungry from the cold world to whose mercy he had mis- 
 takenly appealed — when up rose the plaintive moan again, 
 with quick repetition — some creature in agony, beyond a 
 doubt — and, seizing my hat, I rushed out, with a whistle 
 of penitent vehemence, and stood listening upon tl'e lawn. 
 All still again. 
 
 After a look about among the sharp-edged shadows of 
 the hemlocks, I was turning to the door for a great coat, 
 to make a more leisurely patrol around the premises, when 
 the sound reached me once more, coming evidently from 
 the hill-slope above the stables. I rushed to the spot, and 
 there lay — stretched out and moaning beneath the glaring 
 moon — not Quinty, but the dog of all canine-ity that I 
 wished most dead — neighbor Currie's spotted fox-hound, 
 that kills all our rabbits ! Hatred and pity struggled in 
 my breast. I saw in a moment (for I had heard his yelp, 
 at intervals, all day, coming up from the inaccessible re- 
 moteness of the glen), that he had chased my innocents 
 till he had run himself to death (as is the nature of the 
 breed), struggling only to reach human succor in his dying 
 
46 The Contalescent. 
 
 hour. There he lay — his head flung back and his eyes 
 glazed — the open mouth just, moving with his moan, and 
 his limbs quivering and extended — and, sympathy apart, I 
 should have preferred, of course, that he vpould die imme- 
 diately. But, no 
 
 I was at his side in another moment, with a handful of 
 slices of cold turkey vrhich I had snatched from the table 
 — mine enemy forgiven in his extremity, and the delicate 
 meat shoved down into his open throat with eager and 
 trusting finger. No recognition of meat or me ! I felt his 
 shrunk loins. They were still slightly warm. But there 
 lay the white meat, unstirred between his loosened jaws, 
 and he was a dog past turkey, it was clear. Poor fellow ! 
 Was he conscious and suffering, while he could still strug- 
 gle and moan ? 
 
 As I stood looking at the dying creature, wondering at 
 the scene of death under that solemn sky, and admiring 
 the nature that could so pursue its game to the dying 
 gasp, it occurred to me that a dash of cold water, and then 
 the warmth of the kitchen fire, might startle life back into 
 his veins. My man George came up at the moment, and, 
 while he ran for his stable-bucket, I held" up the dying 
 dog by the tail, to make it down-hill to his heart and brain; 
 but neither the change of posture nor the dash of water 
 was of any avail. His moan stopped. There was a con- 
 vulsive movement only in his legs, the spasm of their just 
 
Dog Insanity. 47 
 
 exhausted swiftness. George thought he " ought to be 
 put out of misery." And so thought I. But, of the 
 knocking on the head I did not like to remain and be a 
 spectator. 
 
 Whither, upon the moonlight, sped that released energy 
 — that self-sacrificing, single-though ted devotion ? Its toil 
 — its forgetfulness of cold and hunger — had been for 
 another's food. The caught game was left untouched for 
 his master. Did so brave a spirit stop there ? I will put 
 a head-stone to the grave where he is left behind — since 
 we must pray for worse company to Heaven. 
 
 I was in at my friend the blacksmith's, a day or two 
 after, and Torrey rather favored my idea of dog existence 
 lapping over upon man's immortality — (here and there a 
 dog that was better worth saving than some men, that is to 
 say) — mentioning insanity in the animal as a peculiarity 
 which it shared with our species. He said, however, that 
 a wolf bad been killed a few nights before, just out- 
 side the village ; and, by its actions, and a swelling over 
 its brain from some previous blow or bruise, he believed 
 that animal also was insane. The talk ended in our agree- 
 ing to walk over to neighbor Clark's farm, under the 
 mountain, the next day, and have a look at the fur and 
 phrenology of the "wild critter "—taking our mutual 
 crony, Chatfield the tanner, along with us, to see whether 
 we could bring home the skin and have it dressed for a relic. 
 
LETTER VI. 
 
 Poetry of Wild Animals in a Neighborhood — An Insane Wolf — His coming down 
 from the Mountains to claim HosiJitality — Visit to a Neighbor's to sec his Re- 
 mains — The Irishman's reluctance to confessing having buried him — The dis- 
 illusion and the " Yaller Dog." 
 
 February, 1855. 
 In the daily life of every human being, I am inclined to 
 think, there is a background of poetry — some other life, if it 
 is only the spider's web weaving in the corner of a room, 
 where the imagination takes refuge from its own too 
 mere life of things daily and certain. For me, the wild 
 animals of the neighborhood furnish that charming poetry 
 of uncertainty. They are growing rarer and rarer, about 
 Idlewild — but we still have venison in plenty, bear's-meat 
 occasionally, now and then a wolf-skin offered for sale, and 
 stories of wild-cats and panthers. With material for thus 
 peopling the bushes through whicli one rides, in these 
 tangled Highlands, the " price per acre " is blissfully for- 
 gotten. One does not count, over again, neighbor Loose- 
 pig's litter in the road. The bright green thickets might 
 turn out something, as we ride along, besides estimates of 
 bean-poles and fire-wood. 
 
 It was this possibility, of something around us beyond 
 
 48 
 
An Insane Wolf. 4^ 
 
 what is seen and saleable, that made me listen very eagerly 
 to the blacksmith's story of the wolf he believed to be in- 
 sane. That so wild an auimal should come down from the 
 mountains, and deliberately claim hospitality — putting his 
 paws up against Farmer Clark's kitchen window, and stay- 
 ing quietly to be killed, while the dog (the biggest New- 
 foundland in the neighborhood), was afraid to go near 
 him — was explainable only by that unnatural bump noticed 
 afterwards on his brain. So said Torrey, and so hoped I ; 
 and, as I said before, I wanted the skin of that " myth," and 
 beofo-ed the blacksmith and tanner to come down and dine 
 with me the next day — to walk over afterwards and 
 exhume him, in company that would treat with tenderness 
 both his poetry and peltry. 
 
 Farmer Clark lives next door to the Storm-Kino; — " snuo* 
 up to Butter Hill," as the neighbors would define his posi- 
 tion ; and, starting from Idlewild soon after dinner, we 
 made a bee-line, across lots, to the mountain. U was one 
 of the bitterest days of that " coldest weather for fifty-eight 
 years," the papers say — (last week) — and the ground was 
 bare, Torrey's shop being a sort of shanty of shrunk 
 boards, through the cracks of which he keeps up his 
 acquaintance with the winds pretty well, and Chatfield fol- 
 lowing an out-door business, they found it warmer walking 
 than I did, probably ; though my principal embarrassment 
 was the difiiculty of laughing at Torrey's stories as we went 
 
 3 
 
50 The Convalescent. 
 
 along ; the first six breaths in the open air having stiffened 
 my moustache into a curry-comb, and any sudden move- 
 ment of the lips very painful. On one farm that wo 
 passed (it was among the tall blacksmith's early reminis- 
 cences), there used to live a tough old grinder of the poor, 
 who slept with one eye open to guard his apples. Out of 
 respect to his age, the boys did not like to stone him (when 
 he jumped out of bed and gave chase without stopping to 
 dress, at the first barking of the dog), but they armea 
 themselves one night, each with a shingle cut into the 
 shape of what the school-marm used to call her " spanker," 
 and, laying a rail to trip up the old gentleman on a 
 soft place, they run him out of breath and then led the 
 chase across it. When he was down, they availed them- 
 selves of the easy access to his sensibilities, held his sharp 
 nose to the grass and administered school justice. As the 
 nearest instance of Western Lynch law to the Eastern sea- 
 board, which had ever come to my knowledge, I thought 
 the mention of this little statistic miofht be of interest 
 to the future historian. 
 
 The grand mountain, whose tangled side rose seventeen 
 hundred feet in an almost perpendicular wall before us, was 
 full of bear-stories, of course. Torrey gave us several 
 poetical ones he had heard — better than the librettos of 
 most operas any one of them, but this letter is to be limited 
 to poetry with an eye-witness. 
 
Jemmy's Reluctance to Confess. 61 
 
 Neighbor Clark's big dog came out, as we approached 
 the gate ; but, though it was he who had seen the wolf and 
 doubtless remembered him, he was of that unhappy class 
 who cannot impart their feelings. We inquired for his 
 master. He had gone to New York, but " Jemmy," who 
 shot the wolf, was in the shanty, farther down the road ; 
 and so we kept on to Jemmy's. 
 
 But our pilgrimage to the tomb of the insane hero was 
 to have other obstacles. Jemmy ignored the whole busi- 
 ness ! His friend, a brother Paddy, had been prosecuted 
 for killing a dog that bothered his cow, a short time before 
 — damages twenty-one dollars and fifty cents — and he was 
 not going to confess to anything " in this quare country," 
 till it was " proved on him." We were lawyers, hunting 
 up evidence ; he knew that. And there stood Jemmy, with 
 his teeth shut tight together. If our neighbor the miller 
 had not chanced to drive up, and agreed to " stand 
 between Jemmy and all harm," we should have had no 
 clue to the mortal remains to which we had come to 
 do honor. 
 
 On a slight elevation in the potato-field, behind the 
 barn, Jemmy was soon at work with his pick-axe. He had 
 " put him under about two feet, on a wet day ;" but it was 
 like hammering granite, now, the ground was so frozen 
 into rocks. We looked on (we three, and the miller, 
 whose curiosity was awakened), standing under the lee of 
 
62 The Convalescent. 
 
 n 
 
 the barn, and keeping our enthusiasm as warm as was any 
 way possible ; but the wolf coming to light again so reluc- 
 tantly, that I should have liked to consult some " table " (in 
 a warm room), as to whether his spirit thought pos- 
 thumous renown worth while. Sleeping in his grave, thus 
 far, in respectable uncertainty, it was hazardous, at least 
 (we might have been kindly considerate enough to reflect), 
 to subject him, a second time, to the scrutinies of a well- 
 peppered immortality. 
 
 It was suo-orested, at last, that we should find a warmer 
 place in which to await the resurrection ; and, Ohatfield 
 agreeing to stay and see that the body was got out of 
 the frozen ground without bruising, we went into the 
 house, where Mrs. Clark gave us a kind welcome among 
 her children around the fire. " Further particulars," natu- 
 rally. The night was dark when the wolf came — his jump 
 at the window very nearly dashing it in — his eyes glaring 
 through the gloom outside — the blow Mr. Clark gave the 
 stranger quietly submitted to, but even the big dog quite 
 scared with his still way of sitting and looking, and 
 Jemmy sent for with his gun. They had buried him 
 without looking at him much, and were not sure it 
 was a wolf — but his behavior was very unlike any tame 
 creature. 
 
 The announcement came, at last — the sepulchre was 
 open. We bundled out, quite glowing and comfortable, 
 
The Dis-illusion and the "Yaller Dog." 58 
 
 to see the dead whom our hero-worship had so perse- 
 verino-ly snatched from oblivion. Jemmy stood warm 
 over his pick-axe. Chatfield looked mum. The open 
 grave was there; and, beside it (in Torrey's words of 
 disappointment), "a small yaller dog P'' They all recog- 
 nized him. He had been a vagrant cur about the village 
 for some time — too poor to be owned or pitied — and, in 
 the extremity of cold and starvation, probably, had so lost 
 his reason as to lay his paws against the window, while 
 he looked in at the family around their supper-table by 
 their blazing fire. If our interest in the poor dog had 
 been a little earlier ! If a crust had been given him while 
 living, as freely as -the half-dollar for digging him up 
 when he was dead ! We stood rebuked over the frozen 
 carcass, from which we had thus stripped the poetic 
 mystery to see only the cold dull sorrows. Poor " yaller 
 dog!" 
 
 Torrey insisted, as we walked home to tea, that 
 his other " myths " of the mountains were more founded 
 on fact, and he has promised me a collection of skins — 
 wolf, fox, bear, raccoon ('possum we have, for our poor 
 fellow died last night), wild-cat, panther and wood- 
 chuck — in the course of the season. There is a wild 
 race of woodsmen in the mountains behind us, who 
 will be glad to bring them down for a trifle. Between 
 covering a sofa and carpeting a bedroom, I shall be a cus- 
 
54 The Convalescent. 
 
 tomer for the hunter — " the meat his'n," as my friend says, 
 and the poetry mine. 
 
 Pardon the length of this story of an afternoon's walk, 
 my dear general, and believe me 
 
 Yours, 
 
LETTER VII. 
 
 Pilgrimage across tbe River — Two miles on the Ice — Polypus Island — Its Un- 
 suspected Capabilities— Billy Babcock and his Hat — The Sonnet to the Hat, 
 etc. etc. 
 
 March, 1855. 
 Wk quite out-Williams-and-Stevens you, to-day — a plate 
 of solid crystal stretching from Idlewild meadows clear 
 across the Hudson — a two-mile mirror of dazzling ice, 
 almost without a flaw. Since this extreme cold, our broad 
 bay has been solid enough for an army to pass — foot, bag- 
 gage, artillery and dragoon — and, with the sudden rain, 
 succeeded by as sudden cold again, the somewhat rough 
 surface has glazed over in a breathless calm. Such a 
 spread of looking-glass into landscape — pond-ice into 
 prairie of crystal — makes a curious demand upon the fancy 
 for more room; a poetical influence of which a glove- 
 stretcher is the modest prose. It affects me like the bar- 
 rel of writing ink, which I saw at the apothecary's in New- 
 burgh, the other day — wanting quite a new-sized thought 
 to realize what was thus comprehensively hooped in. Two 
 mil'es square of polished ice, framed in Highlands ! I trust 
 
 the moon appreciates her new looking-glass. \_ 
 
 60 
 
56 The Convalescent. 
 
 Yesterday afternoon we made a faoiily pilgrimage across 
 the frozen river, the children on skates, with " Lion ^' (my 
 boy's sled), to bring back any lady for whom the four 
 miles of slippery walking might prove too much, and my- 
 self on a pair of neighbor Ward's "clamps"^ — the sharp- 
 ened shoe-points with which he goes near the edges of the 
 floating ice-slabs, in drawing his winter nets. Ward him- 
 self kindly accompanied us ; for, though sleigh-teams have 
 crossed, during the past week, the " air-holes" have a 
 covering scarce thicker than tissue paper, and it needs 
 a practised eye not to run upon them unexpectedly, 
 especially with the glaze of the sunshine on the polished 
 surface. At twenty spots which our friend struck with his 
 pole, it dropped through with its mere weight, and we 
 made quite a zig-zag course in avoiding the " skeary-look- 
 ing places." These air-holes are worn by curves in the 
 current, or by the entrance of tributary streams with 
 warmer spring-water, or by the working of ice-slabs under- 
 neath. The " suck under " is strong with the tide, and a 
 dip dangerous. 
 
 My main object of curiosity was to visit Polypus Island, 
 which lies close to the opposite shore, and which makes a 
 break for us in the music of every rail-train, intercepting also, 
 for a minute, the sight of every long line of cars. This rocky 
 mass, with a surface of perhaps four or five acres, and near 
 a hundred feet high, is scarce visitable in summer, being a 
 
Polypus Island. 57 
 
 sort of Alsatia, where doubtful company finds a haunt 
 islanded from control and interruption. We passed by the 
 island in reaching the opposite shore — where we desired, 
 first, to bring away a commemorative pebble (from Irving's 
 side of the river), and, second, to stand close to the track 
 while a train went by at speed (a sensation missed by a 
 mere depot acquaintance with railroads), and, these points 
 successfully achieved, we made for the Polypus. 
 
 How capabilities are dwarfed and beauties obscured by 
 distance ! I had supposed this to be a round and barren 
 rock, fruitful in nothing but cactus and mosses, with at 
 most a whortle-berry bush that could find place to root. 
 But here was an indented glen, opening to the south, and in 
 which could be placed a cottage invisible from either shore; 
 and all around this hollow, and up among the clifis, were 
 the vigorous shoots of hickories and cedars that must have 
 once heavily shaded the whole island, and which are now 
 cropped by marauders as periodically as they attain a 
 size worth stealing. Through the hickory brush, six or 
 seven feet high, we {tould hardly make our way on the 
 southern side. With its original (perhaps still cultivable) 
 shade, and for a tenant who wanted only an idle wild^ 
 with neither grounds nor garden to trouble him, it might 
 be a most independent little snuggery — its ring fence (of 
 water) kept in repair by Nature, its stone seats moss- 
 cushioned without expense, and the fish coming of them- 
 
 3* 
 
58 The Convalescent. 
 
 selves to his front door. Aud then with yourself (at Un- 
 dercliff) within a mile or two ; Weir the painter in full 
 view ; the gifted authoress of the " Wide, Wide World," 
 two islands below ; and the Storm King and me just op- 
 posite, I think we may speak well of the " society of the 
 place." Send along a Polypso ! 
 
 You will have understood, by this chronicle of our trip, 
 that we made a safe return ; my tired wife, however, ac- 
 cepting the hospitality of her boy's sled ; and myself some- 
 what heavier at both extremities — a hat-full of evergreen 
 plants, which fair hands had plucked from the island, and 
 a bootful of water from a slip of one \Qg into an air- 
 hole. With the strong wind having full play against us 
 on the smooth ice, our headway was greatly retarded, 
 coming back, and we realized how the much lamented 
 roughness of our daily paths may have their unacknow- 
 ledged uses, after all — deadening, unseen, the sweeping 
 blast of opposition. 
 
 I may as well correct, while I think of it, a mistake in 
 the name of the centenarian — Babcock — whose applica- 
 tion for a Revolutionary pension, I commended, in one of 
 my letters to your Washington influence. I wrote it 
 " Isaac " (a mistake very natural, as that is the name of 
 his son^ who is the next oldest man in the country here- 
 abouts), but his name is William — " Billy Babcock " his 
 common desio-nation. 
 
Billy Babcock and his Hat. 59 
 
 The honors that are being paid to Billyhs hat, by the 
 way, are mournfully suggestive. You remember I got it 
 from him in a swap. He had worn it from his ninety- 
 ninth year to his one hundred and third. But though 
 thus worn, across the isthmus between two centuries, and by 
 an old head still jolly and vagrant, it had received cold 
 victuals like any previous hat, and was near being left oflf 
 — simply because used up — without even mention in story. 
 How — it is receiving visits from the clergy and sonnets 
 from the ladies ! Our hio-h-church rector has called — 
 with his white neckcloth and stately manners — to see 
 Billy's hat. A lady, hundreds of miles away, has sent me 
 a sonnet — to Billy's hat ! But how close its shave upon 
 pitiless oblivion ! What a mere thread of mention 
 (in gossip between me and the blacksmith while my pony 
 was shod) fished back that old hat's fading existence 
 (^felt as it had been) from the void of not-worth-owning- 
 ness — past nail to hang upon ! With the risk it has thus 
 run in your mind, read the sonnet to what is now (you 
 see !) a shrine of pilgrimage for the clergy and the muses : 
 
 " Strange have thy fate and wanderings been, 
 
 Old torn and tattered felt ' chapeau,' 
 
 It were a busy brain, I trow. 
 Could fancy half that thou hast seen ! 
 Now traveling merrily along. 
 
 Sheltering the gay old veteran's head, 
 
 Or pillow of his out-door bed. 
 
60 , The Convalescent. 
 
 How could a hat have greater wrong ? 
 
 But rescued by a poet's hand, x 
 
 (None but the bard hath seen thy worth), 
 Henceforth, take thou thine honored stand, 
 
 Among the mighty ones of earth ! 
 I envy thee thy place of rest. 
 At Idlewild, thou honored guest !" 
 
 A Home Journalist. 
 Bristol, Pennsylvania^ January 22, 1855. 
 
 And with this installment of myself as a gate-keeper of 
 
 immortality (send along your friends with their old hats !) 
 
 I will close my cold-February letter. 
 
 Yours. 
 
LETTER VIII. 
 
 Pleasure of doing a Thing for the First Time — Meeting of Politicians on the 
 Road, bound to a Meeting— Asked to go and make a Speech— The Disadvan- 
 tage of the Counsellor's handsome Boots— My Speech in Favor of dividing the 
 County, etc., etc. 
 
 March, 1855. 
 There are many things we like to have done just once — 
 not to die in ignorance and go to another planet where 
 there may be no such thing — and my country life is newly 
 enriched, at present, with one such experience. I may 
 mention it, for I was surprised into it, and shall probably 
 never do so any more ; and the historian, besides, may like 
 to be helped to the fact : / have made a speech at a politi- 
 cal meeting ! You will think at once of a pump giving 
 out water from the handle — my refreshment for the thirsty 
 world finding its way from the wells of thought, habitually, 
 by quite another channel — but, listen to my confession ; 
 
 With the morning's pucker of work to unkink, and an 
 hour-ago's dinner to remind of its more active duties, I was 
 galloping over the snow towards Newburgh, (three p.m., 
 February 10, 1855), as mere a republic of animals, me and 
 my horse, as ever formed themselves into " united states " — 
 
 the majority (of legs) however, as usual, not having the 
 
 fil 
 
62 The Convalescent. 
 
 upper hand. At a fork of the road, the minority (that 
 wore the spurs) came to a halt, to let pass a double sleigh. 
 In it were several of the leading Newburghers, bound to 
 the village beyond, to attend a public meeting — one that 
 had been announced for the discussion of the present vexed 
 question — whether the County should he divided. " Would 
 I go?" — "vote wanted probably, countenance certainly" — 
 " owed it to neighbors to take part in.tljeir public inter- ■! 
 ests" — " supercilious not to " — " duty to country at large" 
 — "health and exercise second to patriotic obligations." fl| 
 Well — yes, I would ! — (though I had never in my life 
 been to a political meeting, and did not know whether it f | 
 was opened with a hymn or the reading of the Declaration 
 of Independence) — for once, I would ! ^| 
 
 As I trotted alono^ after the big^ sleiofh, I took rather a 
 more general view than ever before of my dependencies as 
 a one-vote inhabitant. Equi-distant from three villages, 
 Cornwall, Canterbury and Moodna (a mile, say, from 
 Idlewild to each), we are subject, of course, to three times 
 the usual amount of "local influences," most of which, 
 thus far, have been very agreeable — including even the 
 road-labor claimed exclusively by each of the three Path- 
 masters, and amounting, all three, to no more than this 
 branch of public indiflference seems to me to require. The 
 three sets of village gossip, at whose triple mercy we are, 
 treat us tenderly, I believe — perhaps because we might 
 
Going to a Political Meeting. 68 
 
 appeal from a severe one to the other more merciful two. 
 To a coroner from either one, iu case my vicious horse 
 succeeds in his ardent endeavors, I trust I should be sadly 
 welcome. Of the two plump and popular Bonifaces of 
 Cornwall and Canterbury (for Moodna, though it has 
 three factories and a post-office, has no public house), I 
 enjoy the jolly friendship, with ungrudged use of tie- 
 post and any other stand-up-for-me that occasion may 
 require, I have every reason to suppose. The village tailor 
 of Canterbury, who has made all my clothes for the last 
 three years, is my friend, I know — and to be counted as 
 two, for he and his goose are the oracles of the neighbor- 
 hood in their showy emporium of the Fashions. With the 
 freighting interests on the river, the lumber and butter 
 interests " up back," the influential storekeepers, and the 
 spontaneous boys (who, in all three villages, have treated 
 me with affectionate familiarity from the beginning), I 
 think I have my share of political and county influence. 
 On the whole, I was rather pleased with the character of 
 the virgin vote I was about to give, and trusted that the 
 bridegroom question, under such softening power, would 
 soothe down into a spirit of love and accommodation. 
 
 The village looked quite astir around the tavern as the 
 sleigh ahead of me jingled up. There was a spare post, 
 where my horse could amuse himself with Scott's plate of 
 the Fashions in the tailor's window, while the sunshine 
 
64 The Convalescent. 
 
 added its persuasion to the tie-strap in keeping him quiet ; 
 and, leaving there this dictatable and unrepublican half 
 of my usual identity, I crossed over to my twenty-millionth 
 of duties as an unmounted republican — mentally apologiz- 
 ing to my country, of course, for the two monarchical spurs, 
 which I trusted would escape notice, and which made my 
 heels contradict the republican respect for the majority. 
 
 Public spirit was very lively among the decanters as I 
 entered the bar-room, and a large majority of those present 
 were addressing their fellow citizens. The shake of hands 
 I found quite unanimous ; and, the republic thus recognized 
 all around, we turned to the opposite door, where John 
 Synes, the rosy landlord of Cornwall, stood announcing 
 that all was ready. He led the way, and America followed 
 up two pair of stairs. The meeting was to be held in the 
 garret, that being the largest room in the house and appro- 
 priated usually to any chance overflowings of company — 
 the " double beds " beinor of indefinite accommodation, 
 either for sleepers or sitters-down. Seeing a stupendous 
 brass knocker on the inside of the door, I inquired its use, 
 and found that the garret was used also as a Freemason's 
 Lodge ; though what secret is hidden under a brass 
 knocker which communicates information only to those 
 outside, I did not very definitely understand. As the 
 crowd poured in, I found a comfortable seat for myself on 
 a wooden bench, under the corner of the roof, and the 
 
Proposed Division of the County. 65 
 
 Public being distributed about among the beds and other 
 furniture, we voted in a Chairman and Secretary, and pro- 
 ceeded to business. 
 
 The question was the proposed division of the county, 
 or the creation of a new Highland County^ which should 
 have Newburgh for its county town. Old Orange County, 
 with Goshen for its official capital, is something like many 
 an English family under the law of primogeniture, where 
 the eldest son (Goshen with fifteen hundred inhabitants) 
 has all the honor of consideration, while a younger son 
 (Newburgh with twelve thousand inhabitants) is bigger and 
 worthier. Americans-like, the people begin to fret at this 
 perpetuation of a superiority unsupported by its original 
 claim. But, besides this republicanism of the question, the 
 Highland corner of the county wants the change for conve- 
 nience. Newbursfh is on the river — Goshen twentv miles 
 back. We go to Newburgh with our produce and business 
 every day — to Goshen only when compelled as jurymen or 
 litigants at law. With courts and records at Newburgh, 
 we should save the expense and travel to that out of the 
 way town in the back country, besides having a handsomer 
 county town six times as big, and named after the green 
 Highlands that inclose us, instead of after a Prince of 
 Orange^ whose memory smelt mouldy, long ago. 
 
 Of course there was an opposition. The Goshen inter- 
 est, and the lawyers, whose fees and field are larger in pro- 
 
66 The Convalescent. 
 
 portion to the remoteness and inconvenience, Lad been 
 stirring early. Two ideas — (quite as many at a time as 
 the mind of here and there a man has room for) — had 
 been industriously whispered about — one addressed to the 
 pride, and the other to the pocket. " A bigger county- 
 town was going to cost more," and " Newburgh was trying to 
 lord it over all the little towns, and they shouldn't stand it." 
 As usual, the more reasonable side had taken the least 
 precaution ; and Newburgh had done the unwise thing to 
 send down her best dressed and most aristocratic-looking 
 lawyer to address the meeting. As counsellor Hasbrouck 
 stepped in front of the stove at the motion' " made and 
 seconded *' by my friend Synes, I was sorry that there was 
 no concealment for his boots — for they were of a super- flj 
 cilious shape and slenderness that was very little likely to 
 help the question. Of the political influence of such 
 trowsers and cravat as formed a visible portion of his 
 address, I had a similarly sad misgiving. He commenced 
 most winningly and deprecatingly, however, and, in a 
 speech of half an hour, (during which he replied cour- 
 teously to the tall stone-mason who built one of my gates, 
 and who walked up and down the room with his hat on, 
 expressing his unqualified disapprobation), he made the 
 advantages of the proposed division reasonably incontro- 
 vertible. We Storm-King-ers, particularly, I thought, 
 were shown to be the gainers by the change. 
 
 I 
 
Asked to make a Speech. 6t- 
 
 As the elegant counsellor retired once more behind the 
 stove in the corner, there was a call from the chairman for 
 any opposite-minded gentleman who might be inclined to 
 express his opinion. No one answered. Our herculean 
 stone-mason " had the floor," promenading between the 
 big bed and the front of the table, but he was only elo- 
 quent in interruption. The Cornwall butcher's fearful 
 elbow was nudged, but he was " not feeling very well." 
 All of a sudden, my friend Synes, the Secretary, up and 
 looked over to our side, and — before I could catch my 
 breath — he " moved and seconded unanimously," that I 
 should address the meeting. Oh, John Synes ! And, 
 after all my sympathy, when your tavern on the dock was 
 half washed away with that last year's water-spout ! But 
 it will not happen again — either avalanche — I trust ! 
 
 My first sensation, when the blood at my heart got upon 
 its legs again, was a staggering of my individual perman- 
 ency under so many expecting eyes. I felt going to dis- 
 appear. I had not, at that moment, the slightest intention 
 of complying with my fellow countrymen's flattering 
 thunder-clap. With a look downward, however, to collect 
 courage to express my thanks and excuses, I caught sight 
 of my boots — boots with no disparagement of another 
 man's boots in them, it struck me at a glance — and I heard 
 the call of my country ! Why had Counsellor Hasbrouck's 
 undeniable argument been received with dissent visible in 
 
68 The Coxvalescent. 
 
 all faces ? It was his boots I I had seen it ! Palriotism 
 — poured ever so glowingly over the tops of such better- 
 than-you-sirs — was not for republican acceptation. It 
 must come from other boots to be recoo-nized and trusted. 
 Mine were there — born for the crisis — twenty-shilling 
 democracy in their very look. By such as these, rescued 
 and borne aloft, the same prostrated banner might wave 
 triumphantly. I felt the mission — in toe-toe and to the 
 bottom of my soles ! 
 
 There was quite a silence as I stepped forward. Scarce 
 a man present between whom and me there was not a 
 reciprocal knowledge of the length of axle-tree, from daily 
 turnings-out, on the road — yet, accustomed as I was to see 
 most of them with their hats on, their now bare heads 
 looked unfamiliarly awful. " Ladies and Gentlemen," I 
 tried to say, but my voice did not arrive, probably from 
 not being accustomed to bring sentiments from so low 
 down — no pen to twirl for an idea, and my heart being 
 altogether in my boots. There was a second's eternity of 
 embarrassment. I looked at the big mason with his oppo- 
 sition hat on, and felt worse. Far oflf in a corner, how- 
 ever, stood my friend Hixon the Moodna blacksmith, who 
 had once devotedly jumped in among the legs of my run- 
 away horses when they brought up against the corner of 
 the bridge, and, with the sight of his tranquil face and the 
 memory of those disentangled traces, my thoughts rallied. 
 
 |i 
 
My Speech in Favor of Dividing the County. 69 
 
 He was the " all right " to my powers of speech, as to my 
 sleigh-full of children half tilted into the river. I magnetic- 
 ally took his word for it, as before, and " went ahead." 
 
 Of my speech, modesty, of course, forbids me to furnish 
 you with a report. I made one. That fact, as an 
 un-omitted experience on this planet, is enough for me. 
 Posterity should have sent a reporter if it wished to know 
 more of it. I may confess, however, to being a little sur- 
 prised, that, in the account of the meeting, in the New- 
 burgh papers, the next day, my speech was not even 
 alluded to ! Happily for my feelings, the brass knocker 
 and the mason with his hat on were also unmentioned. 
 To furnish history with the niche, however, where my 
 statue as an orator is to be placed, I will add to this letter 
 the paragraph from the Newburgh Gazette announcing 
 the occasion : 
 
 " Highland County. — Tlie Voice of the People ! — At a meeting 
 of the citizens of the town of Cornwall, held at the house of J. H. 
 Lane, pursuant to the call of the town Committee, on Saturday 
 afternoon, February 10th, 1855, for the purpose of taking into 
 consideration the expediency of creating a new county, to be 
 called Highland County, the following resolutions, offered by N. P. 
 Willis, Esq., were adopted : 
 
 " Resolved, That it is expedient, in point of economy, that the 
 town of Cornwall should be associated in the proposed new county 
 of Highland. 
 
 ** Resolved, That county lines should be so defined as to sub- 
 serve the best interests of those inhabitants included within its 
 territories, and that the proposed new county of Highland will 
 greatly facilitate the inhabitants of the town of Cornwall in trans- 
 
70 The Convalescent. 
 
 acting the regular county business, by bringing the county-seat in 
 close proximity to the inhabitants. 
 
 " J. Y. Synes, Sec'y. 
 
 ' J. 0. Adams, Ch'n." 
 
 Of course, my handing in one of those resolutions need 
 not to be mentioned in any " Ode by George P. Morris " 
 on the subject. Written on the top of a hat, they are, to 
 an editor's eye, " miscellaneous." And, indeed, as to the 
 effect of my eloquence, I should rather you would press 
 down your valve till we know whether the question is to 
 be carried. Perhaps they will have a Highland County 
 without the Highlands ; leaving us down here in a corner, 
 like a stale end of orawye-peel — the majestic Storm King 
 and Cro'nest, republican mountains as they are, namesakes 
 of a Prince of Orange ! Boots of all kinds forbid ! 
 
 Begging for any little side-influence you can bring to 
 bear, my dear General, and trusting soon to be able to 
 date from a ^^ Highland County" as well as to live in 
 one, 
 
 I remain, yours, etc. 
 
LETTER IX. 
 
 Charm of Early Spring— Philosophy of Work as Overseer — Kindling "Woods — 
 The Skunk and his Flesh and Habits — The Monument to the Czar— A curioua 
 Stump coming down with the Freshet — Quinty's Fear of it, etc., etc. 
 
 March, 1855. 
 Summer is a lady-mistress whom you city-folks marry with- 
 out a courtship — losing, as you do, the bits of summer 
 (without leaves) in early spring. Such a morning as this 
 — March the 16th — is one of those stolen tendernesses 
 before full possession — the air as soft and timidly genial as 
 an arm half put around you, and the sense of novelty and 
 unexpectedness (it seems to me), giving a thrill to some 
 inner octave of nerves that is overpowered by the 
 prodigality of June. To-morrow there will very likely be a 
 snow-storm, and you will congratulate yourself on not 
 being in the country ; but / shall have had this half-yield- 
 ing caress — a promise of Summer, which is, in itself, a 
 happiness, as it is a happiness to have the promise of 
 heaven in the incomplete beauty of a child. In one of 
 your letters, I remember, you say you are " principled alto- 
 gether against any anticipation of income '' — but there are 
 
 a few nice things, such as love, summer and money, that 
 
 n 
 
t2 The Convalescent. 
 
 owe half their value to those forbidden anticipations. How 
 about dawns — and new moons — and foretastes of heaven? 
 
 For work and exercise, this is a finer temperature than 
 that of the more admired season. I have taken advantage 
 of the moderately bracing air to join my men in the clear- 
 ing-out of dead-wood and brush, to give the trees of our 
 wild ravine a better chance. Not that I am much of a 
 hand at work. Fatigue is another word for nonentity, 
 with me. At the first sign of it, spirits and brain " up 
 shutters " and close the shop. But I love to be strong by 
 deputy — standing about (with a hatchet in my hand for 
 identity's sake) and exercising my will, at out-door labor, 
 through a couple of manly spines for which I do not, at 
 the same time, supply the marrow. Here and there a tree, 
 I do the trimming of, to keep warm — linking to it, thereby, 
 one of those comfortably-sized memories with which a 
 grove (which is to be a haunt for relaxation), should be 
 alone peopled. And I have found to-day that the mere 
 weight of my presence could be turned to account — Bell 
 calling on me, every few minutes, to " hang on " to a wild 
 grapevine, which the weight of no single Neal Dow could 
 drag down from the upper branches of the tree it was kill- 
 ing. I learned also, to my comfort, that Nature publishes 
 some volumes, with many leaves, which are not intended to 
 be of any posthumous value — " the white poplar," Beli 
 declares, " not lasting three moonlight nights after it is cut 
 
The Skunk — His Flesh and Habits. t3 
 
 down." Even with such speedy decay, however, it throws 
 a pleasant shade while it flourishes ; and so, white poplar 
 literature, recognized as a class in nature, should have its 
 brief summer of indulgence. 
 
 On our way through the woods, my 'possum-catcher 
 stepped off to take a look at his steel-trap set at a hole in a 
 rock, for a certain animal that adds " perfume to the violet." 
 With a south wind we hear from one, lately ; and fearing 
 that it betokens ammunition held in readiness for our doof, 
 Quinty (whom we love too well, since his return, to see 
 exposed to combat which involves exile, even with vic- 
 tory), we are trying the "concealed weapon" system of 
 hostilities, instead of fairer warfare ; and, to tell the truth, 
 a mere offence to the nose does not seem wholly to justify 
 it. The skunk has his good qualities. " The genus," says 
 N'atural History, " is exclusively American. He inhabits 
 most parts of North America, and, though celebrated for 
 the intolerable stench which he discharges when threatened 
 with danger, he is at other times not at all unpleasant, If 
 killed while unsuspicious of danger, the offending glands 
 being carefully removed, the flesh may be eaten, and is said 
 to be well flavored. The skunk seems to be perfectly aware 
 of its powers of defence, and takes no pains to avoid man 
 or other animals." In this character (not wholly detesta- 
 ble, it seems to me), there is stuff which deserves at least 
 open dog and gun ; and I was rather relieved when Bell 
 
 4 
 
t4 The Convalescent. 
 
 came back disappointed. By the marks on the snow, the 
 skunk had walked all round the trap, but the bit of pork 
 was still unmeddled with, and the " exclusive American " 
 unassassinated. 
 
 You will be surprised to hear, that a chance fate, almost 
 unassisted, has erected, in a beautiful cypress grove at Idle- 
 wild, a monument to the Czar. It was done the day after 
 we received the news of the emperor's death, and (obitu- 
 ary promptness, freshness of interest and all), I think I 
 may venture to describe the event rather circumstantially. 
 I should not be surprised, indeed, if, for the next twenty 
 years, this auto-cenotaph were the principal curiosity of the 
 neighborhood. Will you hear the story ? 
 
 The snow-storm which I predicted in the beginning of 
 this letter (three days ago), came duly on the morning of 
 the ]7th. It spoilt my day's ride ; for, with the moisture 
 and hail, the snow happened to be of just that clayey con- 
 sistency which comes perhaps but once in a winter, but 
 which "balls" in the horse's hoofs so as to set him on inter- 
 mittent stilts and make his footing very insecure. No 
 comfort in the saddle — but, how to get exercise and fresh 
 air ? It must be some sort of work, for the walkinsr was as 
 bad as the riding, and, in that cold mizzle of rainy east 
 wind, the blood must be kept well astir. 
 
 I told Judge Clumsy (the six-year old roses on whose 
 cheeks were interested in the question, and who stood 
 
Ugly Stump brought Down by Flood. 75 
 
 looking out of the window ver}' wistfully, after being all 
 day in doors), that it would never do to knock under to the 
 weather. It would be an admission that country-life in 
 winter had. its unhealthy imprisonments. His honor sug- 
 gested immediately that we should go out and " coast " — but 
 the only attitude he patronizes on his sled (" belly-flumps ") 
 is slightly apoplectic, at my time of life, as well as a little 
 too head-foremost, down the sides of a ravine like ours, for 
 the utter incautiousness of the Judge's general navigation. 
 His proposal, however, suggested a project. A stone-boat 
 would run glibly over such shallow snow ! That ugly stump 
 brought down by the great flood of last year and lodged in 
 the meadow — immovable on bare ground except with two 
 yoke of oxen, and then with great tearing-up of sod — what 
 a chance to get rid of it ! Boots for two ! 
 
 Our men were in the stable, taking advantage of a wet 
 day to oil harness and grind the tools ; and Miss Bell (a 
 draught mare so named as the raaid-of-all-work, and in 
 compliment to Bell's getting her — the ever-consenting 
 creature — for as little as forty-seven dollars and fifty cents) 
 was chewing up her crib, from ennui. All hands were 
 ready for even a wet job, we saw by the readiness to get 
 out of doors ; and, in a few minutes we were on our way 
 down the Simplon of the ravine, the Judge astride of one 
 of the crow-bars on the drag, and we other three pottering 
 cheerfully after through the snow. 
 
76 The Convalescent. 
 
 We trifled about, for a while, drawing off drift-logs and 
 rubbish, till Miss Bell (with His Honor on her back to 
 keep her down to her work), got warm and willing, and 
 then we made a halt before our more formidable customer. 
 It was an oak stump, that, somewhere up stream, had been 
 dug out with great labor and made the centre of a brush- 
 heap for burning. But fire had only burnt off its bark and 
 blackened it, and it had been rolled into the bed of the 
 stream, where it had lain probably for years. The unpre- 
 cedented deluge that washed away so many houses and 
 hills last year, lifted it, at last ; and coming along with 
 the flood, and tumbling over our cascades, it lodged 
 directly opposite a grove of thirty tall cedars in the centre 
 of the meadow — prophetic selection of spot for a monu- 
 ment (Nature getting up a committee of showers to do the 
 cartage of the material) which I had the usual human 
 short-sightedness not to see through at all. With the 
 Czar so uncommonly alive as he was at the time, indeed, and 
 the statue lying on the ground, tail upwards and unrecog- 
 nizable, there was excuse, perhaps, for everything but my 
 hateful resemblance to mankind in my lack of pre-explana- 
 tory faith. 
 
 Bell doubted whether we were going to move the stump ; 
 but, at any rate, he thought we had better first try to turn 
 it over, so that it would tip easy — the knee-planks of the 
 new stone-boat being a present from our aristocratic neigh- 
 
The Monument to the Czar, tt 
 
 bor Charles Morton, and the butt-end (of " Old Nic " that 
 was presently to be revealed to us) likely to come down 
 upon our friend's knees with a smash. The crowbars were 
 fixed accordingly, with a stone pry, and a heave taken. " No 
 go." Bob and I then took the levers, Bell put his shoulder 
 to it, and the Judge held his breath. Now then — muscle 
 and magnetism all together — up with him ! — and — over he 
 went. But, what? Quinty the dog was off, suddenly, 
 with his tail between his leers ! The two men burst into 
 roars of laughter ! I had not given it a second glance my- 
 self, but, turning at the noise, I looked — dropped crowbar 
 and felt a creeping sensation down my spine ! From Rus- 
 sia, straight — by all that was wonderful ! Head, mouth, 
 eyes, teeth, form, expression — with attitude exactly as seen, 
 squat on the ground, in every picture-book — the polar 
 BEAR ! I had, that morning, read the news of the Empe- 
 ror's death. The spectre was on the stump before us ! 
 
 To fulfill the manifest destiny of that funeral monument 
 was of course the pious remainder of our afternoon's work. 
 Accommodating Fate had pointed out time, place and ma- 
 terial, for the job, I walked around the grove and selected 
 the highest spot of ground for the pediment. There w^as a 
 mossy knoll on the southern side, where the Emperor 
 would first catch the eye of strangers as they cross the 
 little bridge over Funnychild brook, and where he would 
 improve on their admiring vision as the approach through 
 
78 The Convalescent. 
 
 the meadow road brings the profile into stronger relief. 
 I felt a little superstitious about the way he should look. 
 As to pointing his open mouth towards my Turkey-yard, 
 the thought distressed me. Yet to turn that Sebastopol 
 phiz towards the Stamboul of another man's barn was 
 scarcely kind. To divide the evil omen seemed best — and be- 
 tween better men than I — such as keep old Nic and his appro- 
 priating claws at a safer distance — say half that devouring 
 glare turned towards neighbor Crane, the retired clergyman 
 on the hill, and half towards Friend Sands the Quaker 
 preacher just below, both too sainted and venerable to fear 
 harm while angels are about. So, monument to a usurping 
 3mperor though it be — Peace and Prayer stand united 
 where he looks. 
 
 I trust our polar bear will frighten no good man's horse. 
 The evidence that he looks pokerishly supernatural is in the 
 trouble we had to get Quinty — the bravest of terriers and 
 brought up among stumps and logs — to go anywhere near 
 the monster. He half howled when ordered to come to 
 us as we stood in the edge of the grove, and every hair on 
 his bodv stood raised with fear. After half an hour's 
 coaxing, however, he got within smell of the wood and 
 then down went his hair and he expressed his opinion of a 
 dead emperor — as dogs, since Launcelot Gobbo's, are 
 likely to do. 
 
 To turn from sepulchral bears to living "lions," we have 
 
I 
 
 Whipple's Lecture on Cheerfulness. 79 
 
 had Whipple here ; and (after his wondering look at the 
 Czar, to whose cypress cenotaph he was the distinguished 
 first pilgrim) we followed hira to Newburgh to hear him 
 lecture on " Cheerfulness " — not an inapt subject. I think, 
 even for a funeral discourse. It was of Whipple's cast of 
 thought — breadthy and suggestive as his great Websterian 
 eyes — and a full and appreciative audience gave him 
 breathless attention. I could send you thoughts from it, but 
 he is to deliver it again, probably, and should have the 
 first use of what is so entirely his own. 
 
 Judge Clumsy's compliments to you, with this history ot 
 his first lesson in monumental honors, and I remain 
 
 Yours. 
 
LETTER X. 
 
 Visit from Old BUIy Babcock— His Breakfast and Memories— Billy's Daguerreo- 
 type — Honoring Gift of a Coat to him — Sam B. Kuggles's Impulse, etc. etc. 
 
 July, 1855. 
 An old slouched hat, with a twine around it, hangs on the 
 gilt peak of our dining-roora mirror, as you doubtless 
 renaeniber. It is a venerable relic of longevity — old Billy 
 Babcoct havino- worn it across the threshold of a second 
 century — cost thirty-seven and a half cents, and in constant 
 use from his ninety-ninth to his one hundred and third 
 year. To obtain this brain-bridge between two centuries 
 as a relic, I made an even "sw^op " with him, last summer, 
 (as I described in one of these Idlewild letters), little 
 expecting to see again, in this world, either the grey old 
 head or my own promoted hat. 
 
 We were lino-erinn' over our breakfast, vesterdav morn- 
 ing (July 3d), the two or three pleasant friends who are 
 with us having run their gossip deep into the forenoon, 
 when a shout from the children drew our attention to the 
 window, and there came old Billy, stumping along through 
 the pme grove with his peeled stick — his rags and perpetual 
 smile in happy contradiction as before, but his prominent 
 
 80 
 
Visit from Old Billy Babcock. 81 
 
 chin covered with a snow-while beard, which gleamed with 
 a very new and becoming splendor from the confusion of 
 his unwashed perpetuities. The announcement of who was 
 coming was at once understood — the very bad hat on its 
 gilt peak effectually dally-fying the mention and memory 
 of the old man — and the first to run and welcome him at 
 the door was a fair lady in most amusing contrast to his 
 build and belongings, the elegant " La Penserosa," in the 
 prettiest of French caps and tiowing negliges^ her morning 
 toilette as eloquent of the Present as he and his toggery of 
 the Past. 
 
 Billy had walked twelve miles that morning (in his one 
 hundred and third year, remember !) and had had no break- 
 fast. He was soon fed and made comfortable, and then we 
 ensconced him in an easy-chair and gathered around him 
 — one of our friends, fortunately, being a walking hydraulic 
 of History and Statistics, and pumping the far-down mem- 
 ory of the old man with the pipe and valve of well-adjusted 
 question and data. His memories of "Washington and the 
 military operations on the Hudson, of the battle of Stony 
 Point and of the hanging of Andre, and his impressions of 
 the various great men who figured before his eyes in the days 
 now passed over to History, were skillfully drawn up. Our 
 friend (Sam. B. Ruggles) was delighted with the old vet- 
 eran's pertinacious and simple truthfulness, never allowing 
 a question to lead him into an admission of what was not 
 
 4* 
 
82 The Convalescent. 
 
 perfectly clear in his own mind, and denying many supposi- 
 tions of knowledofe whicli were made for him and which 
 it would have added to his consequence to be possessed of. 
 He was honest and direct as if he had never thouo-ht of 
 being anything else — a saving of trouble which was per- 
 haps among the reasons for his lasting so long. 
 
 Mr. Ruggles proposed, after a while, that we should ask 
 the Sun, that had shone so long upon Billy, to oblige us 
 with his likeness ; and, on explaining to the veteran what 
 his old friend Daylight had learned to do, of late years, he 
 consented at once, though with an amusing expression of 
 reserved faith in the matter. Up in the mountains, where 
 Billy is a vagrant, daguerreotypes were probably never 
 heard of; and he evidently thought that he had seen his 
 own shadow lonor enousfh to know all the sun could do in 
 that line ! 
 
 We soon had the ponies at the door, and hoisted in the 
 old man — his peeled stick and tattered shirt in alto relievo 
 on the back seat, and about a century's difference between 
 his age and that of my boy, who sat beside him. The day 
 was not too warm, and the drive along the river to New- 
 burgh was very delightful. Billy, probably (riding along 
 so respectably now), was not even remembering my agoniz- 
 ing encounter with him, a year ago, on the same road — 
 the old sinner staggering home drunk, in my virtuous 
 trowsers, given him the day before ! I should mention, by 
 
Billy's Daguerreotype. 83 
 
 the way, that my last summer's hat, which came back upon 
 the old man's head yesterday, after a year's wear, has a 
 considerably altered expression. He had, as usual, slept 
 out of doors occasionally, and the hat, which is his pillow, 
 serves him also for a cold-victual basket, and a cushion in 
 wet places ; but the wear of this trying variety of service 
 was not all. He had found the crown " too high to go 
 through the woods with ;" and, cutting off the lower half, 
 he had reduced it to the proportions of a soup-plate — more 
 convenient than becoming. I mention it to protect myself 
 from its doing me injustice (as I am told the trowsers are 
 doing) in a collection of autographs. 
 
 Miracle as the taking of likenesses by daguerreotype cer- 
 tainly is, the process — especially on the scale practised in 
 rural villages — has no very startling aspect of sublimity. 
 The alchemistic hierophant of the sun's great mystery — 
 (the man who daguerreotypes you) — goes about it with a 
 commonplaceness tedious to endure, ludicrous to remember. 
 Billy was simply acquiescent. His business was to oblige 
 the friend who was to give him a dinner and some old 
 clothes after the job was over ; but as to understanding or 
 believing in likenesses painted that way, he was not going 
 even to try. The look of funny incredulity which this feel- 
 ing of mere acquiescence naturally gave to his features, 
 was faithfully copied, of course, in the daguerreotype. It 
 adds to the effectiveness of it as a picture, though it 
 
84 The Convalescent. 
 
 impairs somewhat the character of frank simplicity of his 
 every-day expression. 
 
 The daguerreotypist was somewhat embarrassed with a 
 subject in shirt-sleeves, the unusual prevalence of white 
 disturbing his experience in light and shade. The various 
 trials, before he could satisfy himself, occupied nearly an 
 hour, during the whole of which tiresome period and pro- 
 cess, Billy sat patient and motionless — wide awake, but 
 with not a nerve restless or discomposed. The man 
 expressed his w^onder at the self-command of his old sitter 
 and at the steadiness with which he looked straio-ht at him 
 as directed while the plate was under the action of the 
 light. Indeed, that the tough system of the centenarian 
 has had no experience of neuralgic wear — that he is a man 
 born without nerves — is, I fancy, one of the secrets of his 
 longevity. To this and his inexhaustible good-humor may 
 mainly be attributed, I have no doubt, his duration under 
 all sorts of hard usage by poverty and exposure. 
 
 A man one hundred and three years old, seeing his own 
 likeness for the first time, was a dramatic moment, I 
 thought — but Billy evidently did not feel the poetry of it. 
 I held up the naked plate to him, and he said, " Why, it is 
 like me T' with a sort of reluctant acknowledgment of sur- 
 prise, but immediately felt about for his hat, " to be going," 
 glad it was over. He was not up to giving his mind the 
 trouble to comprehend it, and if I was pleased he was very 
 
Honoring Gift of a Coat to Billy. 85 
 
 glad, and I was very welcome. This was what his manner 
 said, as we hobbled him down-stairs to the street and got 
 once more under way for home. 
 
 But the sun's taking Billy's likeness was not to be his only 
 honor for that day. We had brought him safely back and 
 refreshed his inner man and given him his expected bundle. 
 The ladies and children were about taking; leave of him — 
 his long stick in hand and his face turned towards the 
 mountains where he is to vagrantize for the summer — when 
 it occurred to him to turn and inquire, whether, in that 
 closely-tied and yet unexamined bundle, there happened 
 to be a coat. The old chap's sagacity had smelt out the 
 weak spot in my charity. There was no coat. The fact 
 was, I had looked over my slender remainders of that 
 article, in making up the parcel, and there was nothing 1 
 could well spare except a dress coat, for which I have no 
 further occasion in my hermit life, but which would scarce 
 be " a fit " for Billy, besides the proba-Billy-ty of his swop- 
 ping it for grog at the first wood-chopper's shanty in the 
 mountains. No ! I had it to confess to the old man that 
 his feel of the weight of the bundle had told him truly. It 
 was composed only of the light-weighing articles of nether 
 and under wear. But his expression of disappointment 
 was overheard. " Is it a coat he wants ?" exclaimed the 
 Hon. S. B. R., stepping forward and pulling off his 
 own (a new summer frock of the latest fashion), and 
 
86 ThP CONVALESCENI. 
 
 insisting on drawing it over the cotton tatters of the vete- 
 ran's dirty shirt. 
 
 And so walked oft' a man of a hundred years ago, in the 
 coat of a man of a hundred years ahead. Mr. Ruggles, as 
 we all know, is the look-out at the mast-head of the Age 
 — giving to Public Progress, in many ways, his far-seeings 
 into the next century to mark its charts by, and know its 
 channels and dangers — and, of all men's coats in the world, 
 old Billy Babcock were most drolly clad in his ! It 
 was a fossil of the Past in the shell of an embryo of 
 the Future — two centuries at least between the vibrations 
 (^forward') of the pulse which the coat covered at morning, 
 and the vibrations {backward) of the pulse which it cov- 
 ered at night ! 
 
 How long this remarkable old vagrant is likely to live, 
 I should scarcely venture to guess. He " loafs," to and 
 fro, between here and Jersey, his four or five generations 
 of descendants (one hundred and sixty-five of them, he says, 
 and all poor) scattered along through the mountains, and 
 he looks still vigorous enough to outlive the half of them, 
 and some of us. Die when he will now, however, we have 
 his likeness — and his hat ! Come and see how the two 
 explain each other, my dear Morris, and believe me 
 
 Yours. 
 
LETTER XI. 
 
 Visit to a Valley Uninhabited — Johnny Kronk's Fisherman Hut— Hubbard the 
 Boatman— Discovery of a Spring, and Naming it Font Anna — An Eagle — Pic- 
 Nic in Dell-Monell— The Baptism by that Name— Snakes not found, etc., etc. 
 
 July, 1855. 
 We made a pic-nic excursion yesterday, to a stream un- 
 lived upon, a valley uninhabited — the stream a mountain 
 torrent most romantically beautiful, and the valley one 
 of Nature's most exquisite caprices of loveliness found 
 nowhere else ; and, in what out-of-the-way spot, remote 
 and difficult of access, do you suppose this Tempe to exist 
 — unfound, unappropriated, and unvisited by the daily 
 mail ? Why — 
 
 Half way between your house and mine — three miles 
 from Idlewild and three from Undercliff — two miles from 
 West Point and in the heart's core of the Hio-hlands — the 
 hem of the valley's skirt kissed by the Hudson, and the 
 two most lofty and famous of our mountains, Storm -King 
 and Cro'nest, sentinelled on either side, to keep guard over 
 her beauty ! 
 
 Now and then a proud woman goes unloved because 
 
 none dare break the ice of her outer mystery of disdain; 
 
 87 
 
88 The Convalescent. 
 
 and the nymph of this Highland Tempe must be one of 
 these. Across her proud mountain brow, and upon the 
 rich foliage drapery of her breast, falls the eye of every 
 traveller up the Hudson. " How beautiful !" say the 
 pleasure-passengers of every steamer to Albany, as they 
 glide past — " how beautiful I" exclaim the business-passen- 
 gers of every rail-train to the city, as they fly by. To be 
 ever-admired, never-approached, has been the strange des- 
 tiny, hitherto, of this Highland Tempe. 
 
 I should mention that there is a deserted house tum- 
 bling to ruin in the northern corner of the valley, on the 
 river-beach — built, years ago, with some design of a 
 quarry at the base of the mountain — and that there is an 
 irregular resident at the southern corner, known as " old 
 Johnny Kronk," a Dutch fisherman with a title-deed to 
 *some of the eagle-eyries over his head. And I should 
 mention, also, that the valley was once held by a Quaker 
 lady, the sister of my venerable neighbor, Friend S., and 
 that this lady, Mrs. Hope Newbold (once the owner also of 
 Idlewild), designed its Alp-walled seclusions as the resi- 
 dence of a certain sect of peculiarists. I may anticipate 
 my narrative, also, by mentioning, that, while seated 
 around our sandwiches on the grass, yesterday, in a grove 
 near the river, the venerable pair (Mrs. Hope and her 
 brother), on a chance visit to the valley, dropped in upon 
 us and joined our festivities in the shade, for the noon hour. 
 
Hubbard, the Boatman. 89 
 
 With her noble features and plain cap and bonnet, the tall 
 and erect old lady looked as if the nymph of the valley 
 might have sent her, as a chaperon mamma, to keep an 
 eye on our familiarities; though, with her genial smile, and 
 clear kind eye, her breaking of bread with us was welcome, 
 as if from the spirit of the spot. 
 
 Our boatman was Hubbard, the renowned ferryman be- 
 tween Cornwall and Cold Spring and the indispensable 
 guide to the Highlands and their histories and mysteries. 
 The friends who were to join us came down in the Alida 
 from Newburgh, on her morning trip, and we and our bas- 
 kets were soon gliding along under the rocky shore, Hub- 
 bard telling us something we wanted to know at every dip 
 of his oar, and facts, fun and the fairies,, struggling for the 
 embarrassed attention of the eio:ht sfentlemen and ladies. 
 Downing's friend, Counsellor Monell, and his wife ; a young- 
 lady of very remarkable beauty, from the city ; Headley, 
 the author, Addison Richards, the artist (our guest just 
 now) ; my wife and my daughter Imogen, with my own 
 hundred and odd pounds avoirdupois ("troy weight" for 
 the ladies only, of course) were the freight of the long- 
 shallop for the day. 
 
 Clinging close to the shore, we came upon a little sur- 
 prise, in the first half mile — a spring I had never chanced 
 to see, bursting from the side of the cliff and filling a curi- 
 ously formed rock-basin before it falls into the river. This 
 
90 The Convalescent. 
 
 1 
 
 basin, (size of a mirror in a lady's dressing-room j with the 
 cold clear water forever running over its edge, is like a cup 
 held out to you, its rim being just about at lip level as 
 you sit in your boat. A more wondrous bettering of na- 
 ture's ordinary works I never saw — in that quality of beauty 
 so like the lovelv marvel who was with us that we ao-reed to 
 call the fountain by her name — Font- Anna, the sweet word 
 to be heard hereafter, as men ferry past and catch the mur- 
 mur of its music. 
 
 Hubbard pointed out a fine eagle, swooping around the 
 shoulder of the Storm-King, as we glided slowly through 
 the water at the monarch's feet, and he says there are 
 many nests of them on the precipitous cliffs of this tallest 
 mountain, constant to their homes, winter and summer. 
 He caught an eaglet, last year, which ventured out of its 
 eyrie-cradle (as young America is apt to do) a little too 
 early, and it was an ugly customer as it grew up in cap- 
 tivity. Hubbard, as you know, has been the pilot on the 
 river amid trying scenes, and he knows the look of what is 
 brave as well as what is terrible ; but he spoke of this 
 adolescent cloud-loafer with evident respect for what he 
 was born to be " up to." 
 
 We landed on the meadow-edo-e of the vallev, and hunof 
 our baskets in the trees, to be returned to with such ape- 
 tites as we might find in our rambles. Certain glass 
 resemblances to notes of admiration, with elastic stoppers 
 
Pic-NIC in Dell-Monell. 91 
 
 not to be named in general society at present, were com- 
 mitted to the cool keeping of a spring which Hubbard 
 knew of. The ravine which led away from the meadow 
 to the fork between the two mountain-tops, opened before 
 us, heavily cushioned with foliage — every swelling mound 
 looking rich and soft in its " velvet of three pile" and down 
 upon the soft southern wind came the music of the brook 
 out of sight, a thread which we could follow and trust to 
 bring us back through the labyrinth. 
 
 Nothing comes down-stairs with the beauty of water. 
 There is a staircase of rocks, long and winding, from the 
 summit level to the Hudson, through this vale of Tempe; 
 and from step to step, leap the released mountain springs, 
 like a king's daughters let out to play, and scattering 
 pearls and diamonds as they dance down with music and 
 laughter to the gardens below. You stop at every stair, 
 as vou go up, to see a princess's foot alight upon it, with 
 bent instep and slipper of crystal. Each one seems a pic- 
 ture to stay and be left alone with. There are spots at 
 every turn of this romantic brook — dim-lighted, spray- 
 curtained, pearl-floored and roofed with emeralds — where 
 the vague life-dream (you wildly feel) might show itself 
 fitly, if ever — spots to remember with the Ideal — the 
 longed for and dream-weary Ideal — met there amid 
 enchantments of music, and seen once and once only. 
 
 There are said to be snakes here. The ladies each 
 
92 The Convalescent. 
 
 walked with a stick borrowed from Johnny Kronk's wood- 
 pile down below. But we saw nothing to kill or run away 
 from. It was a forenoon of surprises of beauty — a long 
 climb and loiter, from lovely wonder to lovely wonder — 
 each differing from the last. At one green dell, rimmed 
 round and overhung with shade and carpeted with soft 
 grass — a parlor with a water-fall at its window and lakelet 
 of crystal like a nymph's bath trembling in the sun-flecks 
 below — we gathered for a halt. It was perhaps the point 
 of the whole scenery of the brook most likely to be remem- 
 bered. The ladies, with their flowing dresses, made lovely 
 pictures on the grass ; and, while we lounged and chatted 
 to the music of the brook, our artist friend was busy with 
 his pencil. We were grouped around the charming queen 
 of our party, and it was proposed to name the dell in her 
 honor. What should the word be ? The brook was list- 
 ened to, and it seemed to murmur articulately, like a silver 
 bell — Dell-Monell. And Richards wrote it under his 
 visrnette sketch, to be eno-raved and remembered — Dell- 
 Monell. You will find it by the echo, when you go there. 
 " Dell-Monell " it kept saying as we came away, and will 
 keep saying, I am sure, longer than we shall have summers 
 to go back and listen. 
 
 We found a cool grove near the boat and our baskets, 
 where we reclined upon the ground, radiating from our 
 centre of sandwiches, to while away the less lovely noon 
 
We Dip our Oar Homeward. 93 
 
 ■witli its shadows of Bloomer shortness — this part of our 
 day, perhaps, more inerrj than poetical. As the shadows 
 trailed on the ground again, we started for Cro'nest, a pull 
 along the base of which, with a look into its coves and 
 grottoes, formed the half of our day's errand. Of this 
 I shall not write to you, now. I wish to go there again, 
 and find the "wild witch-hazel tree" and "chick-weed 
 bower" of the Culprit Fay — the "elfin-court" of the 
 " monarch," and " the palace of the Sylphid queen." They 
 are all there. That exquisite dream — America's one fairy 
 poem — has a mountain to itself. It must be told of alone. 
 We must have a long loiter and search there, and dip our 
 oar homeward around its base in the light of a full moon. 
 I will stop, for now, with the Vale of Tempe. 
 
 Yours. 
 
LETTER XII. 
 
 Rights of Boys— Natural Freedom of Chestnut-trees— A Chestnut-Saturday — 
 Curious party of Strangers visiting Idlewild— Tying Horses to Trees in Pri- 
 vate Grounds — Low Standard of general Politeness. 
 
 October, 1855. 
 I am a little unhappy to-day, and upon a point which, 
 in its general bearings, is of sufficient interest to the Rural 
 Public, to excuse the putting my sorrows into print. It 
 involves the delicate question of " Love thy neighbor as 
 thyself" — the human relation, that is to say, which one 
 holds to the boys of the neighborhood independent of law, 
 as brought home to my particular feeling just now in the 
 matter of chestnuts. The burs are just breaking, you 
 know, and the urchins, with tails and without — the boys 
 and the better-behaved squirrels — are at their liveliest time 
 of year. Pardon me if I take a fresh paragraph and go 
 into particulars on the subject. 
 
 I became tenant of this wooded glen, I am free to 
 admit, with a full understanding that it was a sort of nut- 
 municipality — an indifferently fenced wilderness, equi-dis- 
 tant from the villages of Cornwall, Moodna and Canter- 
 bury, and free to all three for courtships and flower-hunt- 
 
A Chestnut-Saturday. 95 
 
 ing, the year round, but particularly for chestnuts and but- 
 ternuts in October. The republic included squirrels ; and 
 the earliest opportunities were seized to give these little 
 never-sad quadrupeds, and their fellow-citizens, the lovers 
 and children, to understand, that the new fences were for 
 no abridgment of their liberties. As a previous letter of 
 mine has been approved for stating — I was rather obliged 
 to them, on the contrary (the biped portion), for adding 
 God's sixth day charm to my little Eden, and, by walking 
 and looking happy here and there, completing what were 
 else, for either poet or painter, a tame Paradise. 
 
 But I have been refining upon our mere wilderness, this 
 summer. Borrowing an idea from my friend Sargent, over 
 the river, I have been trimming the trees into frames for 
 the scenery-pictures around. Half a dozen landscapes, vis- 
 ible in different directions from turns in the walks and roads, 
 have been set in leafy circles or pointed arches, by care- 
 fully lopping the limbs of trees between which they were seen. 
 The chestnuts, more particularly, with their far-spread limbs, 
 had been made into massive frames for the distant moun- 
 tains ; and under one of the largest of them, (and here 
 comes my grievance), I had the bold promontory which 
 forms the lordly estate of my neighbor Verplank, in- 
 closed like a Salvator Rosa of great price. Now what do 
 you think ? A chestnut- Saturday comes round, during 
 my absence from home, and on my return, I find the 
 
96 The Convalescent. 
 
 walks and roads littered with leaves, burs and broken sticks, 
 my picture-frames all more or less battered out of shape 
 with the long poles, but the sweeping branch that so mag- 
 nificently arched over my Verplank landscape chopped 
 short off! The gem of the gallery destroyed to get at a 
 handful of chestnuts ! 
 
 But, before moralizing on this, let me mention a more 
 grown-up grievance which involves the same question — an 
 accident of a week or two ago. Our grounds, as I have 
 already mentioned to you, are graced and enlivened by a 
 large frequentation of strangers in the summer months. 
 They come from all directions — many carriage-loads a day 
 — and stroll about throuofh the tanked recesses of wood 
 and stream, embellishing greatly the groves and meadows, 
 along which we get glimpses of their gay dresses as they 
 come and go, but brightening my summer's day, besides, 
 with the sight of happiness in which my open gate has 
 given me a share. We were driving out on the afternoon 
 I refer to, just as a gay private equipage with a party of 
 four, drove in. "We exchanged bows with the strangers, as 
 usual, and as my nephew Harry, one of the handsomest 
 and most courteous little fellows in the world, held open 
 the gate for them to pass, they complimented me by in- 
 quiring if he was my son and saying some civil things to 
 him for his politeness. They were well dressed and fashion- 
 able-looking ladies and gentlemen — and, yet, see what 
 
Tying Horses to Trees in Private Grounds. 9t 
 
 they could do ! They tied their horses to a beautiful cedar 
 tree on the lawn, directly in front of our drawing-room 
 windows, and left them there while they took an hour's 
 stroll through the glen, the horses (just in the worst of fly- 
 time) pawing and kicking up a square yard of the smooth 
 velvet grass, and gnawing off half the hark of this invalu- 
 able cedar. There were the stable and sheds within a few 
 feet, and a long tie-post which they had passed directly by, 
 placed on purpose so that no one could miss it. The tree 
 which they have probably destroyed (it stands swathed and 
 poulticed with sad disfigurement of our lawn, at present), 
 took at least twenty years to grow, and the site of our 
 house was chosen with reference to this and three or four 
 otber superb evergreens which, if similarly made tie-posts 
 of, could not be replaced in a life-time. 
 
 Now, these visitors meant no harm — though 'I do not 
 believe they would have tied their horses just there, if they 
 had not known us to be off the premises. It was merely a 
 hurried thoughtlessness of other people's rights, and a 
 want of the habitual politeness which keeps people gentle- 
 men when not likely to be observed. I should mention 
 that the party rung at the door and requested to be shown 
 over the house, mentioning that they had just passed me 
 at the gate. The female servant thus being led to suppose 
 they were our friends, and feeling delicate about requesting 
 them to find another place for their horses. 
 
 6 
 
98 The Convalescent. 
 
 The fact is, the standard of general politeness and regard 
 for the thoroughfare and ivaydde rights of nan acquaint- 
 ances^ is humiliating]}' low, in our country. We are a rude 
 and impolite people in little things, though as chivalric and 
 disinterested as any nation on earth when there is any par- 
 ticular call for it. Our primer and catechism of civilities 
 want looking to — the better education of children and 
 the working-classes in tSese trifling points of national man- 
 ners. 
 
 And this brings me to the question, the asking of which 
 was the main purpose of my letter. Is it not possible — 
 would it not be patriotic to think seriously of it as a re- 
 publicanism — to so far correct the evil, as to avoid the 
 otherwise inevitable alternative? Must our American 
 imhlic be excluded from the parks, grounds, gardens, and 
 cultivated rural retreats of private persons, and excluded 
 simply because they do not behave civilly when admitted ? 
 Ours should be, above all other lands, the one where there 
 is the freest sharing of what is innocent, natural and beauti- 
 ful. And, so little a difference of education and general 
 attention to the matter would make it so ! The material 
 is in us — the kindness and generosity in the natural ore, 
 which only needs coining into pennyworths. 
 
 But, for myself, I am still going to believe in mankind 
 and strangers — or, rather, I am not going to exclude the 
 ninety-nine kindly and gentle for the incivility and brutality 
 
A Welcome to All. 99 
 
 of the hundredth. It will be long before I shall be willin<T 
 to see the smile of nature in a beautiful tree disfigured by 
 " Beware of dogs and spring-guns " in a signboard on the 
 trunk. So, for the present, come boys for the chestnuts ! 
 and come strangers for the walks and the water-falls ! Only, 
 (once more) climb carefully for what will come down with 
 shaking, and please not to tie your horses to my trees ! 
 And with this little sermon I will close my letter. 
 
 Yours. 
 
LETTER XIII. 
 
 My Crumb-family of Winter-birds— The Kingfisher and Blue Jay— the Red 
 Squirrel — A Quadruped Chicken — A Chicken half Duck — A StuflFed Bantam 
 Hen — Interview between Stuffed Hen and Living Bantam Cock, Jake, etc. 
 
 May, 1856. 
 With the usual seasonable rejoicing over spring, I am 
 mourning over the break-up of a new class of society into 
 whicb I had found winter admittance. I will describe it, 
 for I believe its history contains a lesson as to what ought 
 to be done, at least whenever the winter is severe. 
 
 In obedience to a newspaper paragraph (which had 
 given me a hint as to the probable famine among the 
 birds, with the unusual continuance of the snow), I sprin- 
 kled crumbs, after two or three successive snow-storms, 
 upon the roof of a piazza under my study window. The 
 first day the little bits of crust were unnoticed, and buried 
 with the fresh fallen flakes. On the second day, the discov- 
 ery of the " spread " was made, apparently, by a single 
 snow-bird — a little fellow with grey coat and white breast 
 who communicated it to a very numerous family. Almost 
 immediately after the coming of the second bird, a flock of 
 from ten to twenty took up their perch on the hemlock 
 
 100 
 
The Kixg-fisher and Blue Jay. 101 
 
 aud cedar trees upon the neiglaboring lawn ; and these 
 kept watch while two or three at a time descended and 
 pecked lustily at the luxuries scattered on their snow-white 
 table. Not to be seen myself, at my broad window which 
 was on a level with the roof, I pinned up a muslin curtain 
 — opaque, of course, from the outside — and through this I 
 could watch them very closely and without giving alarm. 
 
 I had entertained these little grey and white guests for a 
 week or two, when I discovered two additions to our soci- 
 ety, a high-crested king-fisher almost as large as a pigeon, 
 and a very superb blue jay. These more coy customers, 
 however, would not eat like the smaller birds on the prem- 
 ises. They pounced upon what they wanted and flew with 
 it to some tree in the adjoining wood, to feast in more pri- 
 vacy and security. I wondered at these two lordly birds 
 coming so constantly unaccompanied by their mates, till I 
 found, by reference to natural history, that the males pre- 
 cede the females a week or two, in migration — a law of 
 nature which contains a chivalry toward the weaker sex. 
 
 And, last not least, my " daily bread " was discovered 
 by a red squirrel, between whom and the birds there took 
 place regularly, not a fight, but a very active competition 
 of scramble. By increasing the dispensation, however, and 
 watching to make a fresh spread after the squirrel had 
 cleared the field, I succeeded in maintaining the apparent 
 plenty. 
 
102 The Convalescent. 
 
 For two montlis or more, I had this lively society around 
 rae as I sat at my daily work ; and it can hardly be con- 
 ceived, without trial of the experiment, how interested one 
 becomes in such a little family of dependents. Birds are 
 very beautiful creatures. My two aristocrats, particularly — 
 the king-fisher with his crown and the blue jay with his bril- 
 liant plumage — were supremely handsome. And to know 
 that one had found the "way to these wild memories and 
 attachments, and, by those few crumbs, to minister like a 
 daily Providence to such a troop of bright innocents, was 
 very softening to the heart. I felt as if I had established a 
 new relationship of existence. To my children, who came 
 daily to watch them through the muslin curtain, it was, prob- 
 ably, evidence, of course that " Papa " had the same myste- 
 rious control over the little live feathers as over the grown- 
 up quills in the inkstand — but it was new quill-driving to 
 me. And (to be considered ?) as we lessen our intercourse 
 with the more busy world of mankind, might not the culti- 
 tivating of these simpler and less exacting relationships, 
 with what is around us, prevent the feeling of isolation and 
 disseverance so often complained of in retirement ? 
 
 But with April disappeared the snow ; and with it my 
 early birds and squirrel. Day after day I have tried in 
 vain to tempt them back with an array of fresh crumbs. 
 In the colder North (strangely enough !) the little twit- 
 terers find more attraction than in our springing grass and 
 
 4 
 
A Quadruped Chicken 103 
 
 flowers and budding trees ; but I do not despair of winning 
 gradually upon the notice of the later birds, who are now 
 multiplying in our woods in great variety. The wildly 
 wooded precipices of the glen immediately under my win- 
 dow offer charming accommodations for the new acquain- 
 tance I am ambitious of cultivatius:. 
 
 I should not do justice to all the birds of our neighbor- 
 hood, however, without mentioning, that, on an adjoining 
 farm, was born, last week, a quadruped chicken ! Whether 
 such caprices of nature occur very often, unchronicled, I 
 know not — but my neighbor thinks his four-legged fowl 
 quite a miracle. The nearest approach we have made to 
 it, in our own hennery, was a chicken half duck (we called 
 it the " Culprit Fay by Drake ") which waddled about in a 
 newly-hatched brood at Idlewild for a week or two ; and, 
 of its paternal resemblance, the poor thing was evidently 
 very much ashamed. It made for a bush and hid its 
 webbed feet and horizontal tail whenever it was looked at 
 — a genealogical sensibility which was curious, at least, in 
 one of that family. 
 
 While speaking of fowls, by the way, I may as well 
 record, for our friends the spiritualists, some evidence that 
 has turned up at Idlewild within a few days, on the subject 
 o^ posthumous recognition. It may be rememberd, that, in 
 a letter of two or three months since, I mentioned a demon- 
 stration of remarkable attachment and constancy between 
 
104 The Convalescent. 
 
 a bantam cock and his hen Polly. Polly died, as I patheti- 
 cally narrated the particulars. But, from the almost 
 human interest which she had excited among the children, 
 it was thought best to confer upon her the nearest ap- 
 proach we could make to human immortality — sending 
 her to the city, that is to say, to be stuffed for what 
 Future there might be in salts and spices. 
 
 Polly's purgatory was unexpectedly long (so long, in 
 fact, that we had almost forgotten all about her) but, a day 
 or two since, she reappeared — purified and no more to die, 
 looking as natural as life, though in the blessed ornithology 
 of a glass case. She was set upon the dinner-table (though 
 stuffed, not to be eaten but admired) ; but presently there 
 was an acclamation among the children,. a "table-moving" 
 of the liveliest kind, to introduce this apparition to Jake. 
 What would he say to her ? Would he recognize her ? 
 In three months had he foro-otten her ? 
 
 The glass cover was removed, and Polly was taken out 
 upon the lawn, where (with the square block to which her 
 feet were nailed, hidden in the grass, she stood erect and 
 apparentl}^ in fall feather of life and beauty. They went 
 to the stable for the widower — but, meantime, I had my 
 doubts, I confess. The experiment involved curious ques- 
 tions : — is there natural magnetism after death ? — can 
 there be sympathy without reciprocity of bowels? — what 
 is the length of fowl memory? — how about affectionateness 
 
Stuffed Hex axd Litikg BA>rcAM Cock. 105 
 
 post mortem ? — is reoogmtion instinctive without m^ 
 don or exchange of loots? etc, ete. It wjk to be Xature's 
 bare and. blunt decision on tbese tender points ; and, for 
 me, there oonld scarcely have been contrived a five-min- 
 utes' more anxious anticipation. 
 
 In the habit of being taken into the hand to be fed, Jake 
 ■wa? easily enough caught and brought up for the inter- 
 view ; and, with the household standing round in expectant 
 wonder, he w^ set down suddenly in the disembowelled 
 presence of his Polly. 
 
 He stood a moment — expecting, evidently, the usual 
 Polly-syllable of welcome — but, no cluck, no stir ! The 
 doubt, or delay, was only for a moment, however. The semi- 
 circular repetitions of trot and the extension of the wings to 
 the ground, the firet signs of bantam aJJectionateness, were 
 most busily gone into ; and then followed the most voluble 
 utterance of rooster sentiments, peckings with the bill,crow- 
 inofs and caressingcs — ^Pollv beingr several times knocked 
 over, but her irresponave prostrations and the evident set- 
 ting of her up again, by the children, producing, on the be- 
 lieving Jake, no beginning of incredulity or mistrust. In 
 dread, at last, of damage to the personal appearance of the 
 over-caressed Polly, we removed her once more from his 
 mortal sight and sent him back, with refreshed memory, 
 to the stable — a widower once more. 
 
 And, with these precious facts for deduction and theory, 
 
106 The Convalescent. 
 
 perhaps our clairvoyant friends will be assisted to a revela- 
 tion. 
 
 Our daily boat between Newburgh and New York 
 
 has beo-un to pass under my windows morning and evening, 
 and it quite seems to connect us with the world again — 
 though, with my invalid seclusion of nearly eight months, 
 (so long, I believe, since I have been in the city) New 
 York had grown to seem very far off. The unusually early 
 and busy stir of strangers, looking up lodgings for the 
 summer in our Highland neighborhood, gives proof of the 
 apprehension as to the city's healthiness for the coming 
 season and our green hills certainly look most wholesomely 
 
 tempting and beautiful at present. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
L E T T E R X I V. 
 
 Late Freshet— Pond washed out and Boat gone— Death of two favorite Dogs- 
 Charming Habits of the lost ones— Jake's other Name— His History etc., etc. 
 
 September, 1856. 
 Of the damage by the late freshet, "five hundred thou- 
 sand dollars on Hudson River Valley alone," as reported 
 in the newspapers, Idlewild has had its share — of the three 
 foot bridges in the ravine, (logs felled across and worth, at 
 least; each one dollar and fifty cents), neither chip nor 
 splinter remaining since the torrent of Thursday. The 
 boat also, on the Loiter-water (a sort of broad-stair pond 
 between the upper and lower staircases of rapids), was 
 swept over the clifi's and dashed to pieces ; and this we 
 reckon at five still more melancholy dollars — the naviga- 
 tion of the Loiter-water (that dark and deep-down lake, in 
 the depths of the glen never visited by the sun), being the 
 untiring hot-w^eather amusement of all the school-boys in 
 the neighborhood. And it would be an obituary injustice 
 to the memory of that same flat-bottomed boat, if we 
 were not to mention, that it was built and painted on the 
 premises — a piece of rainy-day work by which our faith- 
 ful omni-up-to-things, Sam Bell, after showing his knack at 
 
 107 
 
108 The Convalescent. 
 
 everything that was ever done by most folks, proved also 
 that he could have got oJBf the island if he had been Robin- 
 son Crusoe. 
 
 The last week, freshet and all, has been crowded with 
 calamities for us. Two dogs, who, by the gradual promo- 
 tion of affection and intimacy, had arrived at the undis- 
 puted grade and valuation of human beings — our bull-ter- 
 rier QuiNTY (Quintessence of Ugliness), find the hand- 
 somest of possible spaniels, Jake (Jacob Faithful, alias 
 Numa Pompilius) — are suddenly seen at Idlewild no more. 
 Quinty died, alas, too, for so little ! We should have been 
 so glad to have furnished horse and wagon for the water- 
 melons and cucumbers in the way of whose travels by 
 night the poor poisoned dog was some night-walker's obsta- 
 cle ! And Jake ! What are the half-dozen turkeys (in 
 defence of whom he died fighting the dogs of our neigh- 
 bor the butcher), to his value even as a picture on the par- 
 lor floor ! For such trifles of inadequacy and needlessness, 
 are fought some of life's desperate battles, after all ! 
 
 My very walking-stick seenis widowed, since the death , 
 of Jake and Quinty. They both knew the difference 
 between my taking of that from its corner, and all other 
 preparations for going out. Forbidden to follow me 
 on horseback, they lay motionless as I passed out of the 
 door with the riding-whip in hand. With hat and 
 gloves only, they knew it was the equally forbidden drive. 
 
Charming Habits of the Lost Ones. 109 
 
 But, for the daily ramble through the glen, the stick was 
 the blessed and unmistakable announcement ; and if ever 
 joy was at its utmost of expressive demonstration, it was 
 in the start by these two dogs for that hour or more of 
 constitutional stroll and scramble. The hunting of squir- 
 rels, the leaping of cascades, the swimming of pools, the 
 chasing of each other through the w^ood, and (on Jake's 
 part), the diving for eels in still-water, really made up, for 
 them, a happiness it was contagious to witness — a happi- 
 ness I found myself many a time buoyantly afloat upon, 
 when I should otherwise have been aground in my dullness 
 and depression, and by which (I feel thick in my throat 
 now to remember) I am to be made happy no more. It 
 would be profane to mark a cross on the rock at the foot 
 of which these two beloved dogs lie buried — but there are 
 thousands for whom the Saviour perhaps died, at whose 
 graves there will be no mourning such as the whole house- 
 hold of Idlewild feels now for Jake and Quinty— thou- 
 sands who would thank God if even the holy crosses on 
 their gravestones were to be wet with such tears as our 
 children shed over these poor brute-playmates. It is hard 
 to believe that two races so spliced together, as the canine 
 and human, do not lap over — hard to feel that some dogs 
 are not better worth saving than some men, some men 
 more fit to rot in unhallowed ground and be forever for- 
 gotten than some dogs. Creatures so intelligent, and yet 
 
110 The Convalescent. 
 
 so patient of our neglect — so sensitive and yet so forgiving 
 of our roughness and our ingratitude ! So gentle when we 
 do not seem to love them, so overjoyed when we do ! So 
 uncomplaining, even of hunger, if we are not ready to feed 
 theui — even of storm and cold, when turned out from the 
 bright fire on the winter's night, to watch for us while we 
 sleep warm in our beds ! So ready to fight and die, for us 
 and our poorest belongings ! Surely, for qualities like 
 these, though they go upon four legs — qualities that would 
 grace a Christian or a hero — there should be some outer 
 vestibule in religion. We might even let a child pray, it 
 seems to me, that, through the open door of heaven for 
 the humble, where he is taught that the beggar that takes 
 alms from his hand may sit above him, his faithful dog 
 may be permitted to look in. 
 
 Without any manner of belief in the theory that dog- 
 life is the purgatory of departed souls (previously known 
 sinners, still among us, that is to say, with no power beyond 
 tlie wagging of inarticulate tails to tell us who they are), 
 I must confess to a superstitious feeling as to Jake — shared 
 by the whole family, indeed, on the night before his death. 
 He behaved very unaccountably, that night ! A lady had 
 been passing a week or two with us, by whose voluntaries 
 upon the piano Gottschalk himself has been often wonder- 
 ingly inspired ; and she was sealed at the instrument, hold- 
 ing us in a breathless spell as usual, with all windows open 
 
Charming Habits of the Lost Ones. Ill 
 
 to the summer twilight. Ugliness is apt to be more 
 demonstrative than beauty, and Quinty had his habit of 
 walking around when the music made him aflfectionate, 
 and putting his ugly mug into everybody's lap ; but Jake, 
 with his raven silkiness of proportions spread into a pic- 
 ture on the grey ground of the gravel walk, enjoyed the 
 music also, apparently, though with no expressions of his 
 sympathy beyond lingering where he could listen in silence. 
 Our friend came to the air of a low, melancholy vesper- 
 chant, which she had heard from the boatmen, while row- 
 inof out in the moonlio-ht at Amalfi — an air we were all 
 exceedino'ly fond of, and which found its wav usually 
 unsummoned, floating dreamily forth upon the full flow of 
 melody from her unguided fingers. With the first few 
 notes of it upon the lightly-touched keys, Jake entered 
 by the low window into the drawing-room, walked across 
 with a thoughtful grace and deliberateness which drew all 
 eyes upon him, placed his fore-paws upon my knees, and, 
 with his great brown eyes on a level with mine, gave a 
 shrill sharp cry. He then went to the side of the piano, 
 crouched with his breast upon his fore-feet, and fixed his 
 steady gaze upon the face of the player till she concluded. 
 With the close of the music he began the round of the 
 family, and in a subdued and wholly unfrolicksome way, 
 sought the caresses of those to whom he had hitherto 
 seemed insensible. It was a marvel to all of us what a 
 
113 The Convalescent. 
 
 sad and uncharacteristic tenderness had suddenly coma 
 over him. We talked of it, the last thing before separat- 
 ing, that night, and, in the morning, he was found dead at 
 the gate. A vile dog was dead beside him, one of a pack 
 of night-marauding hounds who are the pest of the neigh- 
 borhood, and by whom the brave and beautiful creature 
 had been literally torn in pieces. Is it strange that we 
 should remember, even superstitiously, so tender and timely 
 a leave-taking, seeing in it, soulless animal though he was, 
 a spirit-presentiment of his death ! 
 
 We love those most who flatter us by a preference — 
 there is no denying ; and, with all possible appreciation of 
 the perhaps superior intelligence of ugly Quinty, his 
 equally unconquerable spunk and good humor, and his 
 thoughtful singling out of my only son for his friend and 
 master, I must confess to a weakness of partiality for the 
 less gifted Numa. With no accomplishments except for 
 his own pleasure — no rat-catcher, no cow-driver, no pig- 
 chaser — he loved me ! From his first day at Idle wild, the 
 choice was evident and the constancy unwavering after- 
 wards. It is due to his dear memory that I should record 
 one proof of it — the quadruped poetry of this eventless 
 period of my life — his attempt at an impossibility, to over- 
 take and accompany me. When I started for an excursion 
 in the steam-skiS", the other day, he followed me at a dis- 
 tance, and, though repeatedly driven back, stood on the 
 
Jake's other Name, 113 
 
 wharf as the swift little boat left the shore. In a new and 
 strange-looking craft, gaudily painted, and, with foaming 
 wheels, we were going from him at ten miles an hour — 
 already a hundred yards of troubled water between us — 
 when, with a longing howl, he sprung into the river, and 
 started to overtake us ! The captain of the little " Alida," 
 delighted with the brave devotion of the handsome doir, 
 put back his wheels, unrequested, and himself dragged him 
 into the boat. But it was proof piled preciously on proof. 
 To follow me to the river side, spite of all orders to the 
 contrary, was love against obstacles. But, to attempt to 
 overtake me in a steamboat, and with only his own courage 
 for a propeller, water-dog though he was, amounted to love 
 against impossibilities. The romance endeared Jake to me 
 — outweighing the disobedience. 
 
 It just occurs to me, that I may have lessened the 
 respect due to the memory of Jake, by mentioning him 
 with an " alias"" to his name. Sino-le-minded as the honest 
 creature was, the being called after both Jacob Faith- 
 ful and the Roman Emperor may require some pos- 
 thumous explanation. A model of fidelity, he was fairlj 
 enough (by his first lady mistress who gave him to the 
 mistress of Idlewild), called after the faithful Jacob of the 
 story ; but I am fastidious about names ; and as he was 
 exceedingly handsome, it occurred to me that, with his 
 new home, he might with propriety receive some new 
 
114 The Convalescent. 
 
 name — one, at least, that should be more complimentarily 
 descriptive. His previous home was a singularly beautiful 
 spot, a country-seat, the special feature of whose grounds — 
 a fountain wonderfully hidden in a deep-down dell — gives 
 it the obviously fitting designation of Font Egeria ; and, 
 with the Fountain of Egeria in the Roman story, Numa 
 Pompilius is the name, of course, always remembered. I 
 was somewhat hesitating upon this (as it runs not very 
 trippingly on the tongue), when T overheard one of the 
 children talking to the strange dog of the new ^ma he was 
 now to be obedient to ; and this double fitness of the word 
 — complimentary both to his previous and present mistress 
 — struck me at once as overruling. Numa was pronounced 
 to be his name ; though, to the word "Jake " (to his dying- 
 day we were forced to confess) he wagged the splendid 
 fringes of his tail with much the more approving recogni- 
 tion — of the tender and sweet voice of his first kind mis- 
 tress, retaining, thus, to the last, a grateful remembrance. 
 
 To return to the " five hundred thousand dollar freshet," 
 however. 
 
 We keep forgetting, from year to year, how powerful 
 and desolatino- are these occasional floods, and I had been 
 all summer at work, bridging the chasms of our wild 
 ravine and making walks along the crags — many a beauti- 
 ful point of view thus gained which has been heretofore 
 inaccessible, and all now swept clean and impassable again, 
 
The Freshet. 115 
 
 with this devastating torrent. But we shall begin anew 
 probably, when the waters get gentle-voiced, and soothe us 
 into believing them once naore ; and such is the story of 
 our trust in what may be dew, or it may be freshet — 
 
 "To love again and be again undone !" 
 
 though Bell says that we might hitch these objects of 
 our affection (the planks at the crossing places, that is to 
 say) with a rope stout enough to resist the momentary 
 surprises of temptation. And, where there are principles 
 still within reach (trees not yet up-rooted by the torrent, 
 that is to say), it will be certainly worth while to try the 
 strength of any such possibility of a make-fast. We are 
 sorry, only, for one unforeseen trouble. The storm, on 
 which came these rains, was doubtless the "September 
 gale," though in August, and we are to have no more low 
 waters — consequently no getting of our usual quantity of 
 fine gravel for the roads from the beds of the brook, and 
 no dry footing to repair walks and build dams. We are 
 to wait till next year for conveiliencies thus dependent on 
 the omitted drouorht. 
 
 o 
 Pp ^c 3|s yj^ ^f« ifp 
 
LETTER XV. 
 
 Letter to Morris about a previous Letter torn-up — Temptingness of the topic- 
 Pleasure of writing confidentially — Tired look at the Letter — Discontent 
 with it — Tearing up— Reason why, and reconsideration — Irving's Abbotsford 
 — Fragments of torn Letter re-gathered— Trip to Irvington — Breakfast with 
 an old Friend in a same old place — Railway ride to Irvington — Wolfert's- 
 dell— Mr. Grinnell's yacht, the " Haze " — Sunnyside and Mr. Irving, etc., 
 etc. 
 
 July 29, 1857 
 I HAVE been trying to put into shape again, the pieces of 
 a torn-up letter which I wrote to you last week ; and, spite 
 of a lost corner (swept irrecoverably from under my 
 table, I believe, with yesterday's broom), I think I can 
 copy or re-write, what seems to me, with this after-reading, 
 too precious to be lost. It was written "at a heat" — a 
 description of the day before, passed with Washington 
 Irvino- at Sunnyside, and. of a drive with him in the 
 afternoon through " Sleepy Hollow " — and I destroyed 
 it : — but I must be at some little pains to tell you why, 
 and with what encouragement I now venture to reproduce 
 it. 
 
 To us, who are in the habit, each day, of jotting down 
 for" our own private public, some one or other of those 
 
 116 
 
Temptingness of the Topic. lit 
 
 more common incidents " written," otherwise, " only in tlie 
 sand," it is an event — not only " to be chronicled in red 
 letters," but with eager zest and excitement — the one told 
 of in these re-gathered fragments. So seldom are the two 
 things thus united — what we have the most pleasure in 
 ourselves, and what every reader of our Journal would be 
 most pleased to hear us tell of! Mr. Irving — ^by far the 
 most honored man in our country — is, curiously enough, 
 even less honored than loved. He is a marvel, if only by 
 that diflference from other men of genius — whose destiny 
 it seeras to be to have their last days sad. The setting of 
 his sun is mellow, the clouds behind and around him rosier 
 as he goes. There is another summer-day beauty, too, in 
 his decline ; the full moon of renown after death, seen 
 clearly, even before the setting of his sun. His fame, to 
 be recognized, will undergo no change, and there will be 
 no intervening darkness before its rising — now in its place, 
 full and cloudless, waiting only till the glow of his living 
 presence, shall fade away, to show, with the same disk, 
 more lustre. You see how tempting the theme — a day of 
 sweetest summer, in company with such a man, and on 
 ground he has himself made classic ! 
 
 I wrote of it — a long happy morning of shirt-sleeves 
 and glowing spontaneity — passing the day over again in 
 the fresh memories crowding thick around my inkstand. 
 With tranquil self- approval, the lull of brain and pulse 
 
118 The Convalescent. 
 
 after successful industry, I took a walk (with a horse under 
 me) in the musing twilight. But, alas for the happiest 
 day's pre-pillow-y disenchantments ! Alas for the fancy 
 less, cold eye, with which, before getting into bed, a tired 
 writer takes sometimes a last look at his morning inspira- 
 tions ! Failing, in the first blow-out to my candle, I was 
 stooping for a renewal of the effort, when I caught sight 
 of the manuscript on the table. Stay ! thought I, let me 
 read again of my day with Irving and thus be sure of 
 some sweet stuff for dreams ! And, to the worn old work- 
 ing-chair we slid — mistaken night-shirt and I — and, in 
 three astonished minutes, the blotted leaves were in pieces 
 on the floor, the candle blown out with an emphasis, and 
 my head on the pillow of discontent ! 
 
 You will have anticipated my fault findings with that 
 letter. It was written too confidingly to you — as if on the 
 same axis revolved Morris and " the world " — you with 
 your overflowing heart and the world with its volcano of 
 misconception — and both " craters " are not equally to be 
 trusted ! I had seen Irving that day, too, with a certain 
 privilege — in the unguardedness of a holiday among rela- 
 tives — and, more delightful as of course this was to me, 
 and more valuable as it makes the description for the 
 reader, I am, in a manner, more restricted by its confiding- 
 ness. It is a question somewhat mooted, just now, you 
 now, how far may be thus used, if at all, the privileges of 
 
Irving's Abbotsford. 119 
 
 hearth, friendship, and relationship. But, with these 
 fountains of better knowledge put under seal, what 
 becomes of biography ? How is a loving world to be con- 
 tent with its idolized great men, seen only in their books, 
 in full dress, or when sitting for their pictures ? And it 
 was in spite of this last argument, you see, that I tore up 
 my careless letter about Irving ! 
 
 But I have since read " Abbotsford," over again — ■ 
 Irving's answer to the same question, for himself. He 
 took a letter of introduction to Scott, and passed days 
 with him in the intimacy of cordial hospitality ; and he 
 has given us, in that most fascinating sketch of the 
 " Mighty Minstrel " — of his home in the North, his man- 
 ners and his familiar conversation — the most precious of all 
 the pictures of Sir Walter. He used his privilege of 
 guest to share with the world his nearer view of such a 
 man ; and posterity without it, would be poorer by a much- 
 prized memorial. Who has not laid away in his heart, 
 like a sweet-scented flower, Irving's portraiture of Scott 
 at Abbotsford ? 
 
 And this gives me encouragement to wafer together 
 again ray pieces of a letter. I publish it by his own great 
 example — for, though the writers are by no means of the 
 same skill and estimation, the subjects are about equal in 
 fame and interest. Irving at Sunnyside will be a sweet 
 dream to posterity, as Scott at Abbotsford — two great 
 
120 The Convalescent. 
 
 hearts (in fact, I think) set as nearly to the same tune by 
 Nature, as their two monuments mark the same height 
 for their genius. Thank God the monument for Irving is 
 a cenotaph — built but unoccupied as yet. 
 
 Leaving out the first page of introduction, then, thus 
 run my re-tessellated fragments : 
 
 ^» ^5 ^5 ^C »}» ^C 
 
 " Wolfert's Dell, " you know, the residence of Moses 
 Grinnell, who, with his nephew, married nieces of Mr. 
 Irving, adjoins Sunnyside ; in fact, but for the invisible 
 lines of legal demarcation it is the same place — there 
 being no fences between, and the gravel-path, from door 
 to door, beiufj like a well-contrived shade-tano-le in a 
 partly wooded lawn. The Joseph Grinnells, (on their 
 way home to New Bedford after passing a week with us), 
 were to dine at their brother's, meeting Mr. Irving ; and, 
 business taking me to town the day before, I arranged 
 to join them there — the "up" and "down" morning 
 trains very nearly crossing at Irvington, How magically 
 these ex-ho7'se-isms of steam and iron cast out the " devil 
 of a distance," making it " only a step " from the two 
 ends of sixty miles to the middle ! 
 
 I went down to breakfast, at the same old " seven 
 o'clock, " at the Astor, and found my old friend Lyman in 
 the same old chair, at the same old end of the table ; 
 and I joined him round the same old corner, and took a bit 
 
Trip to Irvington. 121 
 
 of ) it seemed to me ! the same old tender steak and 
 fried potatoes — twelve years and its steaks and potatoes 
 vanishing from our two old memories, apparently, like yes- 
 terday's spots from the table-cloth — and, at eight, (praying 
 God that I might be left alone with my small allowance 
 of lungs, by any fellow-passenger who might wish me to 
 scream to him about " Fernando Wood " and the " warm 
 weather") I took my seat in the cars for "up the river. " 
 
 We were at Irvington in an hour — a panoramic hour, 
 — the Palisades and the Tappan Sea gliding scenically 
 past — and blessed (I say) is a, long forenoon that can be 
 thus pleasurably preceded I To the opera of a summer's 
 day it was an overture of beauty ! 
 
 The "down party" had arrived before me, and were 
 enjoying the river from the uncommon out-doors of Mr. 
 Grinnell's broad prairies, (or piazzas, if you are too " But- 
 ter- Hill-y " to call things bigger than common by uncom- 
 mon names;) and, off the lawn, lay the "Haze," that 
 albatross of yaohts, which we have since seen among our 
 coarser waterfowl in Highlands Bay. Mr. Irving, (who 
 with his present serial historic labors, is rather a " night- 
 blooming-^me-s " than a "morning glory, ") was as yet 
 invisible ; and our host, taking advantage of the cooler 
 temperature of the hour, made signal for his row-boat. We 
 pulled off to the yacht and got a view of Sunnyside from 
 her deck — just the point of view that an artist would have 
 
122 The Convalescent. 
 
 chosen — and that picture of its coy architecture, nearly 
 hidden in the close woods, but still temptingly suggestive 
 by what peeped demurely though the leaves, will remain in 
 my memory. A dip into the Admiral's daintily contrived 
 cabin, and an introduction to his well-furnished locker and 
 larder, completed our water-party. 
 
 Returning to the grounds, we took the gravei-walk to 
 Mr. Irving's. The quaint problem of his house unfolded 
 as we approached it — the gables, pinnacles and porches, 
 with their climbing ivy, the single tower with its dormer 
 windows, and the deep shade covering it all with an 
 atmosphere contemplatively mellow — though it had a 
 charm for me (and one which, with all his eager interest 
 the chance visitor must bring away), that the structure is 
 not wholly comprehensible. Walked in and around the 
 house, as you most welcomely and freely are, there are 
 still shrubbery- hid ins and unexplainable oiits, covert peeps 
 of windows and surprises of nooks and angles, leaving 
 (what every hospitable house should be provided with, I 
 think), the spare room for the imagination ! 
 
 Under the small portico at the entrance we found sea- 
 ted, with their books and work, a group of Mr. Irving's 
 household of nieces, one of w^hom, at present an invalid, 
 on a visit to her former home, is the wife of my own wife's 
 brother — the nearer link with the beloved and honored 
 master of Sunnvside, which, as makino- me a larger 
 
Mr. Irving. 123 
 
 shareholder in what whole countries so covet for their own, 
 is, as you remember, both pride and happinesj. to me. Mr. 
 Irving himself made his appearance at the door, as we 
 
 approached it 
 
 I shall have to re-write that lost fragment of my letter, 
 dear Morris ! It helped boil the teakettle, this morning, 
 probably — Irving's very self, as I am sure you would have 
 said, if you had read it — and, though there is no getting 
 back departed Irvings (as I hope it wall be long before we 
 are called upon to realize) we can at least do our best to 
 copy them. Next week, you shall have the lost leaf, as 
 nearly as I can remember it, with the remaining fragments 
 of the Letter about that most pleasurable day. And, mean- 
 time. Yours faithfully. 
 
- LETTER XVI. 
 
 Continuance of Letter to Morris descriptive of a Day with Washington Irving — 
 Impression of his Appearance — Visit to his Library — His Desk and Blotting- 
 sheet — Conversation for a half hour — Literary habits — Motley'd " Dutch Repub- 
 lic" — Feeling as to his own New Books before they were reviewed — History of 
 the first Conception of the Sketch-Book— Pictures on the Walls — The Grounds 
 of Sunnyside — Comparison of Climates — Tulip-trees in triplets — Squirrels and 
 two-legged Tree-destroyers — Humorous Reason for Growth of Trees — Incident 
 at starting on our Drive to Sleepy Hollow, etc., etc. 
 
 August 4, 1857. 
 With so attractive a theme as the one I am to resume in 
 this letter, the shorter my preface, the better, I suppose ; 
 so (stopping only to express the content which one natur- 
 ally feels when his listeners are more eager than usual) I 
 come at once to the spot where you were left at the close 
 of ray letter of last week : — the threshold of Sunnyside. 
 
 Mr. Irving came out while we were exchanging saluta- 
 tions with the group under the porch — his true and easy 
 step, pliant motion, admirable spontaneousness of good 
 spirits and quiet simplicity of address, giving him the pre- 
 sence of a man of half his age. This impression was somewhat 
 corroborated, no doubt, by the summer airiness of his dress 
 and a certain juvenescence that there will always be about 
 
 124 
 
Visit to Irving's Library. 125 
 
 lif^ht walkinfj shoes and a low-crowned straw hat — some- 
 what, too, perhaps, by the unchanged erectness and com- 
 pactness of his well-proportioned figure — ^but I did not 
 realize (then, nor afterwards during the day) that there 
 was anything in his mien or appearance but the healthful- 
 ness of middle age, anything but the uncompelled prompt- 
 ness and elasticity of vigor unabated. 
 
 It was one of those morninofs when the inside of the 
 house is " the wrong side of the door ;" and, to ask us to 
 " walk in" would scarce have been a welcome. Mr. Irving 
 leaned against one of the pillars of the piazza, chatting with 
 us to the tune of soft air, foliage and sunshine ; till, the con- 
 versation turning upon the architecture of the house, he 
 took me into his library to see the drawing of it, as first 
 built. There was, of course, a spell in the atmosphere of 
 this inner sanctuary. It was on the north side ; and the 
 clustering ivy and foliage at the windows contributed to 
 the mellowed thoughtfulness of the light. At the spacious 
 writing-table in the centre stood the one comfortable arm- 
 chair, with the accustomed blotting-sheet, askew at the 
 working angle, between it and the inkstand ; and of this 
 blotting-sheet, by the way, (nothing legible upon it except 
 two or three little sums in arithmetic, ciphered out upon 
 the corners), I begged the possession I It was the first 
 time I had ever asked for an autograph, I believe ; but, 
 remembering a new volume of my daughter's, and seeing 
 
126 The Convalescent. 
 
 at once what a treasure of an addition to it this memorial 
 would be — -(the door-mat on which the thoughts of Irving's 
 last book had wiped their sandals as they went in) — I beg- 
 ged that he w^ould give it me, writing his name first upon 
 the least-specked margin. Deprecatorily insisting, for a 
 while, that the autograph should, at least, be upon a clean 
 sheet of paper, he finally complied ; giving me, meantime, 
 unsuspectingly, a priceless picture to store away in my 
 memory — himself seated writing at his table. With his 
 head a little on one side (as is his wont, and as all por- 
 traits represent him), the genial smile on his lips "holding 
 still" for a moment, and a covert look of humor in his eye, 
 it was wonderful how much, for that single unconscious 
 minute, he looked as the Sketch- Booh reads — how truthful 
 the representation was, of the Geofi'rey Crayon it conjures 
 up to our imaginations. 
 
 The drawing of the original house hung on the wall ; and 
 it represents a very simple, practical, and every-day dwell- 
 ing — poetical and even romantically beautiful as looks 
 Sunnyside now. It was commenced as Irving commences 
 his most airy fancies — with a foundation of common sense, 
 that will be worth preserving when the gayer ornament 
 shall have lost its novelty. And on the more perishable 
 exterior, by the way, the frost of the last winter made a begin- 
 ning, killing a large portion of the luxuriant ivy (the 
 original stock of which was brought from Melrose Abbey) 
 
Conversation for a Half Hour. 127 
 
 coverino- the wall and turrets on the east side. The 
 
 O 
 
 additions to the house — its wings, tower, balconied windows 
 and projections — have been the gradual pleasure-toil of Mr. 
 Irving ; in this view, being one of his " works " — built very 
 much as the Sketch-Book was written — and (more than 
 most authors' residences) to be therefore pictured and 
 remembered. , 
 
 Our conversation for the half hour that we sat in that 
 little library, turned, first, upon the habits of literary labor. 
 Mr. Irving, in reply to my inquiry (whether like Rip Van 
 Winkle, he had "arrived at that happy age when a man 
 can be idle with impunity"), said "no" — that he had some- 
 times worked even fourteen hours a day, but that he usually 
 sits in his study, occupied, from breakfast till dinner (both 
 of us agreeing, that, in literary vegetation the "do" is on in 
 the morning) ; and, that he should be sorry to have much 
 more leisure. He thought, indeed, that he should " die in 
 harness." He never had a headache — that is, his workshop 
 never gave him any trouble — but, among the changes which 
 time has wrought, one, he says, is very decided ; the desire 
 of travel is dead within him. The days are past when he 
 could sleep or eat anywhere with equal pleasure ; and he 
 goes to town as seldom as possible. 
 
 Motley's "Dutch Republic" lay open on the table, and 
 Irving said he had been employing a little vacation from 
 his own labors in the reading of it. It had interested him 
 
128 The Convalescent. 
 
 exceedingly. " How surprising" (he exclaimed, quite ener- 
 getically) " that so young a man should jump at once, full- 
 grown to feme, with a big book, so well-studied and com- 
 plete !" This turned the conversation upon the experiences 
 of authorship, and he said that he was always afraid to 
 open the first copy that reached him, of a new book of his 
 own. He sat and trembled and remembered all the weak 
 points where he had been embarrassed and perplexed, and 
 where he felt he micfht have done better — hatinor to think 
 of the book, indeed, until the reviewers had praised it. 
 Indifference to praise or censure, he thought, was not rea- 
 sonable or natural. At least, it was impossible to him. He 
 remembered how he had suffered from the opinion of a 
 Philadelphia critic, who, in reviewing the Sketch-Book, at 
 its first appearanvoe, said that " Rip Van Winkle" was a silly 
 attempt at humor, quite unworthy of the author's genius. 
 
 My mention of Rogers, the poet, and some other friends 
 of Mr. Irving's who had asked me about him in England, 
 opened a vein of bis London recollections. He was never 
 more astonished, he said, than at the success of the Sketch- 
 Book. His writing of those stories was so unlike an inspi- 
 ration — so entirely without any feeling of confidence which 
 could be prophetic of their popularity. Walking with his 
 brother, one dull, foggy Sunday, over Westminster Bridge, 
 he got to telling the old Dutch stories which he had heard 
 at Tarrytown, in his youth — when the thought suddenly 
 
Pictures on the Walls. 129 
 
 struck him: "I have it! I'll go home and make memo- 
 randa of these for a book !" x\nd, leaving his brother to 
 go to church, he went back to his lodgings, and jotted 
 down all the data; and, the next day — the dullest and 
 darkest of London fogs — he sat in his little room and 
 wrote out " Sleepy Hollow," by the light of a candle.. 
 
 I alluded to the story I had heard told at Lady Blessing- 
 ton's — of Irving going to sleep at a dinner-party, and 
 their taking him up softly and carrying him to another 
 house, where he waked up amid a large evening party — 
 but he shook his head incredulously. It was Disraeli's 
 story, he said, and was told of a party at Lady Jersey's, 
 to which he certainly went, after a dinner-party — but not 
 with the dramatic nap at the table, nor the waking up in 
 her ladyship's drawing room, as described. In fact, he 
 remembered the party, as such a "jam," that he did not 
 get, that evening, beyond the first landing of the staircase. 
 
 Among the pictures on the walls of his library, were 
 the two admirable engravings, one representing Johnson at 
 table with his friends, the other giving portraits of Scott's 
 intimates, as he read his novel to them in the library at 
 Abbotsford. " What company these are !" said Irving — 
 " how interestino- to have them !" As I walked around, I 
 found, in a corner, a small pen-and-ink sketch — an exceed- 
 ingly clever caricature of Paganini. It was done, he said, 
 by Stuart Newton, as he sat with him one day — done iu 
 
 6* 
 
130 The Convalescent. 
 
 one of that artist's dreamy, unconscious moods — and Irving 
 had taken it from under his hand, to preserve it. There 
 was another, of the English wit, Lord Somers, a famous 
 " man about town," when Irving was first in London ; and 
 another still, of a dramatist whose name does not occur to 
 me at this moment — both impromptu pencillings on waste 
 scraps of paper, but framed to hang up as memorials of 
 pleasant days. And, in a dark corner, hung Leslie's por- 
 trait of Irving himself, always allowed to be the best, and 
 well known to the world by the engravings from it. 
 
 With the horticulture and arboriculture of " Wolfert's 
 Dell," Mr. Grinnell has been singularly successful ; and, as 
 we were to make the rounds of the shrubberies and hot- 
 houses, before the sun should be fairly vertical, we were 
 now admonished that it was time — Mr. Irving at once 
 taking his straw hat to accompany us. A remark upon 
 the beauty of the verdure, near his door, drew from him a 
 most poetical outbnrst as to the happy superiority of our 
 climate. In Spain, he said, he had found it most depress- 
 ing — the lack of verdure. In England, they have the 
 most beautiful of fields and lawns, but it is so damp that 
 you can never sit down, out of doors, without taking cold. 
 In our country alone, is the grass green enough, the sun 
 bright enough, and the sward dry enough. While we 
 were still in the immediate grounds of Sunnyside, I 
 observed two remarkable triplets of the tulip-tree — superb 
 
Humorous Eeason for Growth of Trees. 131 
 
 growths of three equal shafts, tall and of arrowy straio-ht- 
 ness, from each root — and in these fine specimens of the 
 cleanest-leaved and healthiest-lookino- of trees, he said he 
 took great pleasure. A squirrel ran up one of them as we 
 approached, and, upon this race of depredators, he had 
 been obliged to make war, this summer. They were a 
 little bit more destructive than their beauty was an excuse 
 for. With another class of destructives, however, he did 
 not know so well how to contend — the visitors who drive 
 into his grounds and tie their horses to his trees. 
 
 The well-shaded ravine which has Sunnyside sitting on 
 one of its knees — (once called " Wolfert's Roost," and long 
 used by that famous Dutchman as the covert-way between 
 the river and his haunts) — is conveniently and gracefully 
 intersected with paths ; but I remarked to Mr. Irving that 
 they were somewhat of the outline character of ours at Idle- 
 wild. Yes, he said, on his side of the dell, they were 
 merely dug out and walked hard ; but, as they communi- 
 cated with those of his rich nei2:hbor, he was verv often 
 lucky enough to get the credit of the smooth gravel-walks, 
 too ! And he presently gave another of his crayonesque 
 touches to his neighbor, assuring us, very solemnly, while 
 we were wondering at the growth to which the transplanted 
 trees had attained in so short a time, that " it was done by 
 Mr. Grinnell's going round at night, himself, with a lantern 
 and water-pot, to see that the trees did not oversleep them- 
 
132 The Convalescent. 
 
 selves" — a fact (seen through Irving's spectacles), as Mr 
 Grinnell, engrossed all day with his business in the city, 
 and only at home at night, sometimes takes a look at the 
 gardener's work, by the aid of a lantern. 
 
 At the door of the hot-house, Mr. Irving said it was 
 warm enough for Am, outside. He preferred to stand 
 under a tree and wait for us — particularly as he had seen 
 the grapes before and hoped to see some of them again. 
 Astonished as my own wilderness-trained- eyes were, of 
 course, with the wonderful fecundity of those glass-covered 
 vines, I was more interested in the visit to Mr. GrinnelFs 
 sumptuous stables ; and here Mr. Irving kept us close 
 company. He loves horses. And, as the groom led out 
 one of the favorite "bloods," for us to look at, he gave us 
 a thrilling account of his being run away with, a year or 
 two ago — not by Van Tassel's horse, " Gunpowder," of 
 whose viciousness he has himself been the chronicler, 
 though it was upon the very same ground and with the 
 very same result. He and "Ichabod Crane" were both 
 thrown, at the entrance to Sleepy Hollow. 
 
 As we strolled slowly through the grounds, we came to 
 two dwarf statues — ^grotesque representations of " The 
 Spendthrift " and " The Miser " — and Mr. Irving gave us a 
 comic history of their amusing a party of friends by play- 
 ing at " tableaux," the other day — stopping in their walk, 
 and dressing these figures up with the shawls and bonnets 
 
Drive through Sleepy Hollow. 133 
 
 of the ladies. Our walk was varied with incidental ques- 
 tions of landscape-gardenino;, as we came to points which 
 commanded the river-views more or less effectively ; and 
 Mr. Irving made one remark which, I thought, embodied 
 the whole science of wood-thinning, in ornamental grounds 
 — that " a tree is only to be cut down when the picture it 
 hides is worth more than the tree." 
 
 But the event of t^e day, to me, was to be the drive 
 through Sleepy Hollow. A live ramble through Fairy- 
 land with Spenser, would hardly be a promise of more 
 pleasure, Mr. Grinnell's horses were at the door (after a 
 dinner during which I marvelled at the inexhaustible frol- 
 icsomeness of the wit and spirit of the master of Sunnyside) 
 and, though I should have preferred to take the trip, 
 mounted from the Sketch-Book (Geoffrey Crayon on Van 
 Tassel's horse " Gunpowder," and myself on the " Dare- 
 devil " of " Brora Bones "), I was very well contented, as it 
 was. With my knees interlocked with Mr. Trving's, as I 
 sat facing him in the carriage, there was at least a shorter 
 road for magnetism from him to me, than on two separate 
 horses ; and, with so energetic a millionaire on the box 
 with the driver, and a president of a railroad inside — to 
 say nothing of the beloved lady who made one of our inte- 
 rior quartette — we were likely to be treated with respect, I 
 think, by any hobgoblin with Dutch feelings in his bosom, 
 or even by the " Headless Horseman," should we be belated 
 enoua:h to meet him. 
 
134 The Convalescent. 
 
 I should not omit, here, the mention of a little merri- 
 ment at starting, which I, since, find myself remembering 
 very vividly — the sudden discovery, among the group of 
 nieces and grand nieces, that Mr. Irving was going for a 
 warm ride with a thick coat on ; and the frolicsome pull- 
 ing of him back from the carriage-door, stripping him to 
 his shirt-slevees, in spite of his remonstrances, and reclothing 
 him in an over-all of brown linen, brought meantime from 
 our host's dressing-room above. . The tender petting of the 
 genial uncle by the half-dozen young ladies, and his 
 humorous pleadings against the awkwardness of their forci- 
 ble helpings off and on of his masculine habiliments, 
 formed an exquisite picture — trifling, perhaps, in itself, but 
 valual^e as sliowing the charming reality of the tempera- 
 ment visible in his books. The playful and affectionate 
 reciprocity between Geoffrey Crayon and his readers, is the 
 kev-note of Washinixton Irvinjr's life at home. 
 
 ^ % ^ ^ ^ :ic 
 
 [On counting up ray manuscript pages, dear Morris, I 
 find that they will run, already, to the full extent of any 
 letter that is to be read in the summer solstice — even Irv- 
 ing, where it was any way possible, having given but a short 
 story at a time. " Sleepy Hollow," besides, is a picture 
 well worthy of a separate frame — so, for this week, will 
 you content yourself with Sunnyside ? Of our drive 
 through the goblin-haunted glen, my next letter shall try 
 to tell vou. Yours always. 
 
LETTER XVII. 
 
 Concluding Letter to Morrb about the Visit to Mr. Irving — Protest against 
 " Influence of the Air " of Sleepy Hollow — " Green Lane" character of the 
 Road — No living Dutch Inhabitants to be seen — House of the Dutch Family 
 who keep the Keys of the Hollow— Boy iijh Reminiscence of Mr. Irving's — 
 Monument of Andre— Haunted Bridge of Logs — Brom Bone's Pumpkin — 
 Character of Scenery— Oldest Church on the River — Family Tomb of the 
 Irvings — Passing of Underclifif in the Rail-train — Philosophy of Mr. Irving's 
 Charm of Personal Character and Manner, etc., etc. 
 
 August 12, 1857. 
 I AM to go on, I believe, with the account of my privileged 
 day passed with Mr. Irving — or, rather with a descrip- 
 tion of the drive in the afternoon through Sleepy Hollow. 
 Like the Q-av horses we did it with, however, I must* be 
 indulged in a ipre-amble before coming down to the plain 
 trot of my narrative — entering my individual protest, that 
 is to say, against the Sketch-Book's rather sweeping theory 
 as to the "influence of the air." I mean to state nothing 
 but what soberly occurred, and I dreamed no " dreams " 
 — (except while looking into Mr. Irving's dark eyes as I 
 sat opposite him in the carriage, and those dreams of inter- 
 course with a gifted spirit I could record only in verse) — 
 yet you remember what he writes, of even stray visitors to 
 
 135 
 
1?>6 The Convalescent. 
 
 Sleepy Hollow : " However wide awake they may have 
 been before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, 
 in a little time, to inhale the witching influence of the air, 
 and begin to grow imaginative — to dream di-eams and see 
 apparitions." To which, as I said before, I enter my pro- 
 test in the proper Latin of the law — non est invent-us — 
 (let us invent nothing). 
 
 We wound out from the smooth-gravelled and circling 
 avenues of " Wolfert's Dell," and took to the rougher turn- 
 pike leading to Tarrytown— following it, however, only for 
 a mile of so, and then turning abruptly off to the right, at 
 what seemed a neglected by-road to the hills. Of the 
 irregular semicircle of Sleepy Hollow, this is the Sunny- 
 side end — the other opening towards Tarrytown, which 
 lies three miles further up the river. 
 
 Our road, presently, grew very much like what in Eng- 
 land is called " a green lane," the undisturbed grass grow- 
 ing to the very edge of the single wheel-track ; and this 
 lovely carpeting, which I observed all through Sleepy Hol- 
 low, is, you know, an unusual feature for our country — the 
 " spring work " on the highways, ordinarily (under the 
 direction of the "path-master") consisting mainly in 
 ploughing up the roadsides and matting up the ruts with 
 the ass-Ass-inated greensward. For the example of this 
 charming difference I am ready to bless the bewitchment 
 of the "high German doctor," or even to thank the ghost 
 
No Living Dutch Inhabitant to be Seen. 131 
 
 of the "old Indian chief" who held his pow-wows there 
 before the country was discovered. 
 
 With what attention I could tate off from Mr. Irving's 
 conversation and his busy pointings-out of the localities 
 and beauties of the valley, I was, of course, on the look- 
 out for the " Sleepy-Hollow Boys," along the road ; but, 
 oddly enough, I did not see a living soul in the entire dis- 
 tance! For the -" Headless Horseman," it was, doubtless, 
 too early in the afternoon. We had, neither of us, any 
 expectation of being honored with an introduction to him. 
 But I did hope for a look at a "Hans Van Ripper" or a 
 " Katrina Van Tassel "—certainly, at the very least, for a 
 specimen or two of the young Mynheers, "in their square- 
 skirted coats with stupendous brass buttons," and "hair 
 cued up in an eel-skin." Mr. Irving pointed out an old 
 tumble-down farmhouse, still occupied, he said, by the 
 Dutch fomily who traditionally " keep the keys to Sleepy 
 Hollow," but there was not a soul to be seen hanging over 
 the gate, or stirring around porch or cowyard. There 
 were several other and newer houses, though still of the 
 same model— (or, to quote exactly Mr. Irving's words, in 
 reply to my remark upon it, " always built crouching low, 
 and always overlooking a little fat meadow ")— but they 
 were equally without sign of living inhabitant. Yet read 
 again what Mr. Irving says of the vegetating eternity of 
 the inhabitants, in his own account of Sleepy Hollow, and 
 
138 The Convalescent. 
 
 see how reasonable were ray disappointed expectations in 
 this particular.* 
 
 One thing impressed me very strongly — the evi- 
 dence there wa.-^, in Mr. Irving's manner from our first 
 entrance into Sleepy Hollow, that the charm of the local- 
 ity was, to him, no fiction. There was even a boyish 
 eao-erness in his delio-ht at lookiuo- around him, and 
 naming, as we drove along, the localities and their associa- 
 tions. He did not seem to remember that he had written 
 about it, but enjoyed it all as a scene of childhood, then 
 for the first time revisited. I shall never forget the sud- 
 den earnestness with which he leaned forward as we 
 passed close under a side-hill heavily wooded, and 
 exclaimed, " There ai'e the trees where I shot ray first 
 squirrels, when a boy !" And, till the turn of the road put 
 that hillside out of sight, he kept his eyes fixed with 
 absorbed e;irnesti)ess upon it, evidently forgetful of all 
 around him but the past rambles and boy-dreams which 
 the scene had vividlv recalled. You will understand, dear 
 
 * " I mention tliis peaceful spot with all possible laud ; for it is in such lit- 
 tle retired Dutch valleys, found here and there embosomed in the great State 
 of New York, that population, manners, and customs, remain fixed ; while the 
 great torrent of migration and improvement, which is making such incessant 
 changes in other parts of this restless country, sweeps by them unobserved. 
 They are like those nooks of still water which border a rapid stream ; where 
 we may see the straw and bubble rising quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving 
 in the mimic harbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing current. Though 
 many j-ears have passed since I trod the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, j'et 
 I question whether I should not still find the same trees and the same families 
 vegetating in its sheltered bosom." — Sketch Book, 
 
MoNiTMEXT OP Major Andre. 139 
 
 Morris, how this little point was wonderfully charming to 
 me — being such a literal verification, as it were, of one of 
 the passages of his description of the spot, and one of 
 those, too, of which the music lingers longest in the ear ! 
 " I recollect " (he says) " that when a stripling, my first 
 exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut- 
 trees that shades one side of the valley. I had wandered 
 into it at noon-time, when all Nature is peculiarly quiet, 
 and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke 
 the Sabbath stillness around, and was prolonged and rever- 
 berated by the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a 
 retreat whither I mio-ht steal from the v/orld and its dis- 
 tractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a 
 troubled life, I know of none more promising than this 
 little valley." And, to drive through " this little valley " 
 with the man who had so written of it, and have him 
 point out " the tall walnut-trees " with such an outburst of 
 boyish recollection — why, it was like entering with Thom- 
 son, under the very portcullis of the "Castle of Indo- 
 lence !" 
 
 I should mention, by the way, that we pulled up, for a 
 moment, opposite the monument of Major Andre, a marble 
 shaft, standing at the side of the road and designating the 
 spot (mentioned in " Sleepy Hollow ") where that unfortu- 
 nate man was captured. I could not read the whole 
 inscription, in the single minute that our impatient horses 
 
140 The Convalescent. 
 
 stood before it, but the concluding sentence, in larger let- 
 ters, stood out boldly — "History tells the rest," — 
 and it was tbrilling to read that reference to a more endur- 
 ing record than marble, and turn one's eyes upon the hand 
 by which the imperishable words had been just written ! 
 
 We rattled alonof, with a very davlis^ht disre2:ard of 
 " apparitions," past the " bridge of logs," which is such a 
 haunted spot to the school-boys, and where the mounted 
 Ichabod first felt the full terror of his pokerish ride ; but, 
 though I looked right and left for some trace of what 
 frightened old " Gunpowder," it was not, it seemed to me, 
 even a scary-looking spot — not only no footprints visible of 
 the steed of the " headless horseman," but no posterity of 
 pumpkins such as would spring naturally from the seed of 
 Brom Bone's missile. Of course I have no manner of 
 doubt of the entire veracity of the story ; but would it not 
 look better, dear Mr. Irving (assisting thus, the trembling, 
 hesitating faith of a world so unbelieving), to broider the 
 brook-sides around with a visible sio^n or two — sowino- the 
 fertile spot, I mean to say, with a supposititious family of 
 haunted pumpkins. 
 
 A more beautiful intricacy of hill and dale than that 
 winding road through Sleepy Hollow, I never saw. Every- 
 thing in it seemed so precisely of the enjoyable size — woods, 
 meadows, slopes, thickets and cornfields, all in the come-at- 
 able and cozy quantity that looks just what you want 
 
Character of Scenery. 141 
 
 though too little for care. To have such a valley within 
 horseback distance — a labyrinth to disappear into, when 
 one wishes to be lost sight of by the world and by one's 
 own troubled thoughts — is indeed a luxury of neighbor- 
 hood. Mr. Irving sighed judiciously for it when young 
 (in the sweet words just quoted), and he has enviably 
 made his home so near it now. Beautiful as Sunny side is, 
 upon the bank of the wide-awake Hudson, it has Sleepy 
 Hollow, with its tangled scenery, for a fly-net to troubled 
 thoughts, just behind it. And, that he enjoys it, as all 
 readers of the Sketch-Book — millions of them on both sides 
 the water — would fervently pray that he might do, there 
 was evidence, that afternoon, in the tranquil heart-smile so 
 Indian-summered on his countenance. 
 
 After regaining the turnpike, at the other end of Sleepy 
 Hollow, we made a call on Mr. Bartlett, at his famous 
 country-seat which is allowed to be the most successful 
 combination of taste and luxury in our country — house and 
 grounds altogether nobly magnificent and seated worthily 
 on one of the most commanding eminences of the Hudson 
 
 ^but my " well of wonder " was at ihe full. Promising 
 
 myself, some day, a tramp with saddle-bags up and down 
 the river, and take a leisurely look at all the marvels of 
 taste and luxury on both sides, I was glad, for this time, to 
 get away — ^glad to have my mind again, for its already 
 eaten feast. 
 
142 The Convalescent. 
 
 We drove rapidly towards Tarrytown, where I was to 
 take the evening train for home ; and, as we neared it, Mr. 
 Irving pointed out to me the oldest church between Albany 
 and New York, a small stone structure, whose narrow win- 
 dows look as if they might have served also the purpose of 
 embrasures — the church a citadel of retreat in the Indian 
 wars. And, not far from it, was the burying-ground, to 
 which, lately, the remains of the deceased members of the 
 Irving family have been brought, from the business-crowded 
 graveyards of the city. In a subdued tone, scarce audible, 
 as if he were unconsciously thinking, aloud during the 
 silence with which we looked upon the spot, Mr. Irving 
 said, "It is my own resting-place, and I shall soon be 
 there." And, neither in the cadence with which the words 
 fell from his lips, nor in the change of expression which 
 the stir of a deeper feeling naturally threw over the fea- 
 tures, was there either paiufulness or surprise. The utter- 
 ance he had given to it was evidently the " calling by 
 name " a familiar and welcome thought. 
 
 Our fast horses had performed their afternoon's work to 
 very nice calculation ; and, in a minute or two after arriv- 
 ing at Tarrytown, I had taken leave of our efficient host 
 and his delightful carriage-load, and was on my way to 
 Idlewild with the evening train. We ran up to Undercliff 
 in half an hour or so, and, whirling past, I tossed a vesper 
 blessing upon the echo of our wheels which of course 
 
Mr. Irving's Charm of Personal Character. 143 
 
 reached you ; and, as the evening star came out with her 
 " obituary notice " of the departed day, I was at home — 
 telling my wonderful adventures in Sleepy Hollow to the 
 children who had sat up to hear them. 
 
 Of course I had often seen Mr. Irvina* — in the turmoil of 
 the city and in the quiet of Idlewild — but I had never tried 
 to understand, till this varied and delightful day, wherein 
 lay the wondrous charm of his personal character and man- 
 ner. Like everj^body else who is so happy as to know him, 
 I have yielded to the spell without caring to analyze it ; 
 and I do not know that I can speak with better knowledge 
 of it now. I have brought away the impression, however, 
 I may venture to say, that a modesty amounting almost to 
 diffidence (a narrow escape, perhaps, of a want of suffi- 
 cient self-confidence for the world we live in), and a most 
 unusual degree of instinctive deferential courtesy^ are the 
 two natural qualities at the bottom of it. His intellectual 
 culture, and his refinement ajid knowledge of the world, 
 have, of course, given grace and ease to these sometimes 
 embarrassing restraints; and genius, of course, with its 
 intuiliveness of perception, does that finer justice with its 
 looks and words which is so agreeable in social inter- 
 course ; but, in his presence, all alike seem made happier. 
 " Mr. Irving " though it is, and far better worth expressing 
 as is his thought than your own, he would rather listen 
 than talk. And age, curiously enough, has not in the 
 
144 The Convalescent. 
 
 least diminished his susceptivity. He gives to all that 
 is said, the mood of attention which is most flattering to it 
 — playful or grave with equal willingness and skill — 
 reflecting what is offered to him, in his Claude-Lorraine 
 glass of response, so that the sayer, at its return to him, is 
 more pleased than when he said it. I noticed so often 
 during that day of most familiar gossip, that no sentence 
 of Irving's ever so lightly interrupted, was willingly resumed 
 — no expression of a thought persevered in, if the listener 
 took the thread up for himself. And yet this is the man 
 who says — (quite sincerely, too, I have no doubt) — " I pro- 
 fess not to know how women's hearts are wooed and won. 
 To me they have always been matters of riddle and admira- 
 tion." 
 
 4: ^ ^ % ^ ^ ^ 
 
 There was another leaf, my dear Morris, to the torn-up 
 letter which I have thus rescued and put together — a con- 
 cluding glance at Irving's literary career, as developed in 
 his more recent worl^, the "Life of Washington," the last 
 volume of which he told me he was about sitting down to 
 — but I will reserve that topic for a review. Closing 
 where we are, this most venturesome personal mention of 
 
 him, I remain. 
 
 Yours always. 
 
LETTER XVIII. 
 
 Ck)ntaiiimg a Curious Story of a Hard-run Squirrel and two Celebrated 
 
 Editors, 
 
 November 20. 
 With such a gloom over every fireside in tlie country, it 
 might seem unfeeling, even if it were possible, to write gaily 
 to you. The choice, however, between this apparent neces- 
 sity to be grave, and the advisableness, on the other hand, of 
 so toning our weekly music for the home circle as to change 
 the key of their oppressive monotone of sadness, is, just 
 now (for my otherwise willing pen), a most trying embar- 
 rassment. It is a common method of consolation, how- 
 ever, to show the sufferer, by parallel cases, that his calam- 
 ity is but Nature's law — borrowing the illustrations from 
 things animate or inanimate — and on this principle, I will 
 venture to tell you a story of a hard-run squirrel and 
 HIS DEPOSITS. As the two gentlemen who " made the run" 
 upon the banks in which the little stockholder was inter- 
 ested, were no less personages than two of the most cele- 
 brated journalists of New York, (Dana and De Tro- 
 briand), the fidelity of a reporter for the press will be 
 
 *l 145 
 
146 The Convalescent. 
 
 expected of me. Two other gentlemen who were witnesses 
 of the " operation," (Hicks and Kensett, artists so well 
 known to fame), are at hand, to correct any inaccuracy. 
 My narrative, therefore, I take pains thus carefully to pre- 
 mise, may be looked upon as inevitably veracious. 
 
 It was an Indian summer's day at Idlewild — ten a.m. 
 and breakfast just over. With the four gentlemen who 
 had given us a charming, quartette of brain pjay, over our 
 coffee and bannocks, I led off with thick shoes and walk- 
 ing-stick — a quiet conversation-loiter through the glen, 
 with the autumnal idleness of the air, being voted prefer- 
 able to a drive. Ladies bade adieu to, for the morning, 
 we took it leisurely from the back-door opening into the 
 many aisles of our cathedral of fir-trees — even the smoke 
 of my friends' cigars overpowered by the incense of Na- 
 ture's evergreen worship swinging fragrantly from the 
 countless censers of pine-tassels. 
 
 [Those last few lines, being rather poetical, may be omit- 
 ted in the afiidavy.] 
 
 We were bound, first, to the upper cascade ; but, more 
 at home than the others, in the wild tangles of the ravine, 
 our friend De Trobriand, (the gay " chronicler " of the 
 French journal of New York) had preferred to follow the 
 drip-rock path, under the precipices closer to the brook. 
 And I may so far anticipate my story as to record, that, in 
 consequence of this blind belief in his own better guid- 
 
A Hard-run Squirrel and Two Editors. 147 
 
 ance to the spot, the wilful Baron got a tumble over the 
 rocks — so bruising an exceedingly well developed leg (to 
 the polished plumptitude of which I admiringly called atten- 
 tion, while Dana, his brother journalist of the Tribune, 
 tenderly Florence-Nightingaled the bruises from a bottle ot 
 arnica), that he is likely to be a " better boy next time." 
 
 But, to my narrative. 
 
 You remember our upper falls, and the single plank 
 bridging the cascades at their middle leap. We had idled 
 thus far, by the crooked path along the southern slope of 
 the ravine, and, having crossed to the sunny side, were 
 waiting for the Baron to overtake us. I had wiled the 
 time by pointing out, to the two artists, the tall cliff, fifty 
 feet above, which (to my mental eye) is crowned always 
 with a tableau vivant of memory. There stands the be- 
 loved Bayard Taylor — for, as he bathed, one summer's 
 day, in the rocky basin below the fall, he was suddenly 
 seized with an adventurous desire to see the view from the 
 foam-encircled peak, so apparently inaccessible ; and, clad 
 simply in his hat (the point to which his toilet had arrived 
 when the thought occurred to him), he had dashed through 
 the spray and bounded with the agility of an antelope to 
 the summit ; and there, giddily poised, with arm uplifted, 
 he had called to me in delighted wonder at the scene — the 
 handsomest of unconscious ApoUos, as he stood relieved 
 against the sky, clad only in his happiness and his hat. 
 
148 The Convalescent. 
 
 And, to the base of the same cliflf, Hicks was now scram- 
 bling, with the intention probably to put the vision on can- 
 vas, and endeavoring to realize it, as far as was possible in 
 his broadcloth and boots. And below, on the edge of the 
 rapids, stood Kensett, his inspiring hand pulling at one 
 end of his silken moustache, while his deep brown eyes were 
 fixed dreamily on the sun-flecks in the foaming water. And 
 the two Pressditti, meantime, (Dana and myself), seated 
 on the rocks with professional decorum, were exchanging 
 in friendly gossip, the public opinion that we probably 
 should have been respectfully manufacturing, had we been 
 seated at our editorial work-benches. 
 
 Suddenly there was a flutter among the dry leaves ; and 
 along the giddy foot-path, hewn out of the slaty side of the 
 precipice below the bridge, tripped the tamest of little 
 squirrels. He took it leisurely, stopping every now and 
 then and seating himself in his auto-easy-chair of a tail ; 
 and presently, (the squirrel as we anticipated, being an 
 avant-courier,) our expected loiterer limped slowly around 
 the cliff. There was a dash of sadness over the fine-cut 
 features of the Baron ; and, in answer to our tender in- 
 quiries as to his biography for the previous fifteen minutes, 
 he entered upon the history of his decadence. 
 
 [And here commenced the panic of the dealer in corn- 
 stocks.] 
 
 Whether frightened at the liveliness of our friend's well- 
 
A Hard-run Squirrel and Two Editors. 149 
 
 known powers of description, or at tlie slight French accent 
 that still lingers in his wonderful fluency of English, the 
 squirrel, at the first rush of emphasis in the Baron's tale, 
 started from his. Down went those enviable limbs that 
 serve alike the purposes of legs or arms, and away he 
 scudded up the bank. But the bank was steep, and the 
 gesticulating arms of the tall foreigner looked formidably 
 prehensile. There was but one alternative — the bridge 
 across the chasm. But alas ! with his loss of " confidence " 
 the little corn-mono-er's usual foresio-ht had forsaken him. 
 He did not look ahead far enough to see, that, instead of 
 taking him to the safe side of the glen, that narrow bridge 
 ended in the very centre of a "large town in Cappa- 
 docia." * Dana was astride of the far end of that single 
 plank, his formidable lap presenting a toll-gate that 
 there was no manner of getting round. Two-thirds across 
 before he discovered this, the fugitive turned to go 
 back. But, with the quickness of a practised sportsman, 
 De Trobriand had closed up the retreat. Stopping in 
 his story at the sight of the squirrel's blunder, he sprung 
 to the bridge, and dropped his Parisian boots on either 
 side of the plank ; and, there sat the two — a parenthesis 
 of editors inclosing a very reasonably frightened topic of 
 discussion ! 
 
 * Dana, a large town of Cappadocia. — Classical Dictionary. 
 
150 The Convalescent. 
 
 [And now comes a phenomenon of natural history, 
 to which I beg to call the attention of Professor Agas- 
 si z.] 
 
 After running backwards and forwards, in terrified per- 
 plexity, for two or three minutes, the little victim came to 
 a stand still and proceeded coolly to reason upon it. He 
 looked first at one side and then at the other. The two 
 ends of the plank were laid on the ledges of the two oppos- 
 ite banks, and, by jumping across the barricade of the 
 Tribune on one side, or that of the Courrier des Mats Unis 
 on the other, he might, at least, land on a rocky precipice 
 wdth the danger only of slipping ofl" as he should alight, 
 and so falling into the torrent below. 
 
 And this he decided to do — but, observe the almost 
 human reason shown in his two or three subsequent expe- 
 dients ! 
 
 His two cheek-pouches (he was a ground-squirrel, you 
 understand, one of the tamias lysteri, with pockets in his 
 face), were swollen to their utmost distension with his morn- 
 ing's pick-up of provender. With a knowing alternation 
 of his sharp eyes from one desperate outlet to the other, he 
 evidently made up his mind that it would be easier to over- 
 leap the Frenchman than the Yankee ; but he came to the 
 conclusion also after carefully measuring the jump, that he 
 could not doit, and carry weight. He quietly disgorged, 
 therefore, upon the centre of the plank, eight or ten kernels 
 
A Hard-run Squirrel and Two Editors. 151 
 
 of corn, and thus lightened, run to the edge. But here a 
 new thouofht occurred to him. 
 
 You recollect the long hickory sapling which serves as 
 a balustrade to that otherwise giddy bridge over the 
 torrent. Up one of the pine cleats which support this 
 slight railing, ran the squirrel, evidently seeing that he 
 could jump to more advantage from this higher point. 
 But sitting here for a moment, to gather his courage and 
 his forces, he bethought himself, that, toith the jump thus 
 made easier, he might carry more weight ; and, descending 
 again to the bridge, he picked up one-half of his previously 
 disgorged corn, stowed it safely in his cheek-pockets, ascended 
 again to the top of the railing, and made the jump he had 
 previously projected. To my great relief, he alighted safely, 
 and, with the wreck he had saved from his threatened 
 bankruptcy, he ran up the slanting ledge of the precipice 
 and disappeared. 
 
 Here were certainly evidences of uncommon intelligence 
 in this little animal — his sudden command of coolness in 
 emergency, his deliberate choice between two evils, his 
 prudential lessening of hindrance, his reconsideration of 
 plan after a new light upon the matter, and the final proof 
 how wisely he had calculated the possible savings from his 
 first over-hasty " assignment," and how well he had mea- 
 sured his powers for the last desperate leap. It is a story 
 
 « 
 
152 The Convalescent. 
 
 ■worthy of perusal in Wall street, or of copying into 
 Thompson's Bank-note Reporter. 
 
 Our two artist friends had climbed up the cliff and were 
 spectators, like myself, of this interesting little pantomime 
 — ^five of us, as I before said, to certify to its literal veracity. 
 The great Natural Philosopher of Harvard will be safe, 
 therefore, in enriching Science with the data thus circum- 
 stantially recorded. 
 
 The squirrel drama concluded, we went on our winding 
 way through the tangles of the ravine — scrambling, loiter- 
 ing, and gossiping, amid the autumn leaves and the golden 
 sunshine, and along the rapids of the brook — and, at the 
 country dinner-time of two, reached home, happy and hun- 
 gry. As I have already mentioned, the baron's bleeding 
 abrasures were tenderly ministered to by his two brother 
 editors, before dinner, and the remainder of the day was 
 given over to a blessed forgetfulness of news, and the con- 
 sequent social spontaneities. 
 
 And thus, dear Morris, you have a true leaf from my day- 
 book at Tdlewild, and T remain 
 
 Yours as ever. 
 
LETTER XIX. 
 
 Ancient Duty of Hospitality— Chance for it at Newburgli— The Boats up and 
 down — Trip to Poughkeepsie — Passengers on the Day-boat— Missing the Down- 
 boat — Adventures in Poughkeepsie — The splendid Straw Hat for a Sign, and 
 its Eager Acquisition — A whole Child, etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild, September. 185Y. 
 
 It was an ancient duty of hospitality to see a parting 
 
 guest a mile upon his way ; and, at just about the cost and 
 
 trouble of the one farewell mile of old times, the resident 
 
 upon the Hudson can now make it a farewell of ten, twenty, 
 
 or thirty. To step on board the steamer with a friend, and 
 
 go up or down the river to the first or second landing-place 
 
 beyond, and return by the counter-boat, up or down, is not 
 
 only a matter of no trouble and of very trifling cost, but it 
 
 forms a most agreeable excursion of an hour or two — 
 
 familiarizing the eye to the beautiful scenery of the river, 
 
 and terminating a period of hospitality with the excitement 
 
 of a pleasure. 
 
 Newburgh is particularly well placed for this kind of 
 
 excursion. Taking the " morning boat'' which starts down 
 
 the river, at seven, we disembark, an hour after, at West 
 
 Point ; walk up and see the parade and hear the band ; 
 
 re-embark in the " up-boat" at ten, and land again at New- 
 
 ^ * 158 
 
164 The Convalescent. 
 
 burgh at eleven. More variety could scarcely be com- 
 pressed into four hours (all for twenty-five cents passage 
 each way !) the seeing of strangers and meeting of acquaint- 
 ances on two difierent steamers, the glide each way 
 through the magnificent pass of the Highlands, the unsur- 
 passed scenery of West Point and its military parade and 
 music — amusements so thickly crowded, and the pleasure, 
 besides, of accompanying a friend ten miles upon his 
 journey. 
 
 Or if, instead of returning to the city, the departing 
 guest is bound to Niagara or the Springs, w^e embark upon 
 the " wp-boat" which touches at eleven, and which reaches 
 Poughkeepsie (fifteen miles above) a few minutes before 
 the " down-hoa.t''^ touches at the same place to bring us back 
 to Newburgh ; an excursion of thirty miles (for the same 
 money), the scenery most lovely, the absence only three 
 hours ; and the Hudson River rail-train coming along every 
 two hours, either to expedite the return or to remedy any 
 shortcomings by delay or irregularity of boats. The cen- 
 tral position of Newburgh, between two such starting-points 
 as Albany and New York — the half-way stopping-place on 
 such a crowded and universal thorouo-hfare as the Hudson 
 River — gives it these advantages for pleasure as well as for 
 convenience, making it the most desirable neighborhood in 
 the whole country for either summer stay or permanent 
 residence. The romantic scenery, and the exceeding 
 
A Drive to Newburgh. 155 
 
 healthfulness of its mountain air, are charms which speak 
 for themselves ; and when the proposed railroad to the 
 East shall meet the line of our Erie Branch, making New- 
 burgh the centre of the largest cross of travel in this 
 western world, it is likely to be more quarrelled for, by- 
 Business and Taste, than was ever spot of earth before — 
 these two great money-spillers striving, (while Storm- 
 King and Skunnemunk look on) to see which shall sooner 
 build up or more give its own character to our mountain 
 metropolis. 
 
 This geography and these local statistics, however, are 
 altogether in spite of the intention astride this evening upon 
 my quill. I started to jot down only what personal adven- 
 tures befell us recently, in performing the duty of hospital- 
 ity specified above, viz. accompanying a party of our 
 friends as far as Poughkeepsie, on their way from our quiet 
 hermitage to Saratoga. We had a befalling or two, from 
 lack of foresight and management, the narration of which 
 may possibly be instructive, no less for the information it 
 contains than as showing the practice of a virtue under 
 difficulties. 
 
 It was a brilliant morning when our accommodating 
 " census" (the green wagon, so called, which makes a daily 
 report of our family population on the road) stood at the 
 door. We were to drive our friends to Newburgh to take 
 the Albany " day-boat up ;" and the thought of accompany- 
 
156 The Convalescent. 
 
 ing them as far as Pougbkeepsie was rather impromptu — 
 the suggestion being acceded to immediately, however, as 
 our absence (by boat) would be only three hours, and the 
 horses had stood many a time longer than that, constant to 
 a certain affectionate stone post, and with a busily thronged 
 sidewalk to amuse them. Dinner was'to wait us but an 
 hour later than usual, and, with sighs and good-byes 
 pocketed for the present, we joyously devoured the five 
 miles of summer's morning spread like a feast between 
 Idlewild and Newburgh. 
 
 The " x\.lida" came alono- rather later than usual — wind 
 and tide against her and no competition — and the admira- 
 bly arranged decks and saloons (for she is quite the most 
 luxuriously contrived as well as fastest boat on the river) 
 were comfortably thronged with passengers. The steam- 
 family of a day to which we were thus added had the " new 
 sprinkle" observable at present in all our crowds — a 
 returned Californian or two, out on excursions for pleasure 
 with their lejoined waives and children. The ready-made 
 clothes ^Yhich so faintly smart up the worn-out and 
 exhausted husband with his fierce eye and dyed beard ; the 
 unaccustomed and ill-chosen millinery of the care-worn and 
 newly fashionable mother; and the awkward-feeling child' 
 ren with their new shoes, gingerbread and candy, are 
 groups to be seen, just now, in the drawing-rooms of all 
 our hotels, and on board all our steamers and rail- cars. 
 
Trip to Poughkeepsie. 15t 
 
 Was there ever a country before, where the consciousness 
 of gentility and equality could be assumed, without a mis- 
 giving, in a day — where every man actually feels that he is 
 ''as good as anybody" with but the means to dress and 
 travel ? Awkwardly as they do it, and ill at ease as they 
 must now and then be, from a comparison which their 
 sharp eyes cannot avoid, there is a charm in the fi-eedom to 
 try it which makes America a Paradise. It will be long 
 before there will be instances of emigration back again, to 
 the lands of smock-frocks and velveteen Sunday-clothes. 
 
 As we approached Poughkeepsie, we discovered, to our 
 surprise and disappointment, that the race with the " oppo- 
 sition line " had so combined with wind and tide to hasten 
 the coming along of the "down-boat" (by which we 
 expected to return) that both steamers were leaving the 
 landing as we approached it — this unusual precedence of 
 arrival reducing us to the alternative of a passage back by 
 the earliest passing train upon the railroad. Sighs over 
 the horses we had left tied to the stone post at Newburgh, 
 and prayers for their resignation to prolonged flies and 
 hunger, were mingled with the farewells to our friends ; 
 and both were very considerably set " to music " — the 
 steam-engine of the " Glencove " gasping out Yankee 
 Doodle as she sped down the river, and the other boat 
 having a competition band in full operation as she gave 
 chase. A hasty inquiry, upon the pier, informed us that 
 
158 The Convalescent. 
 
 a " down-train " had just gone by — another not to start 
 before two hours and a half! And, for that interminable 
 time (with unfed horses tied to a post fifteen miles off), we 
 were adrift upon Poughkeepsie. 
 
 But things began presently to look better. To all four 
 of us, Poughkeepsie was entirely new. My three com- 
 panions had only passed it in steamer and rail-car, and I 
 but remembered it as the place where we used to get 
 excellent waffles, in the days of stage-coaching to Albany 
 We had stumbled on a pleasure unexpectedly — a ramble 
 in a strange place with nobody to know us ! New shops, 
 perfect liberty to look in at the windows ! New people 
 and ourselves to do the starino; and remarkino*. To one 
 of the ladies of our party more especially — a most distin- 
 guished and lovely person — it was something of a let-up to 
 have a whole town, in which, for a delightful hour or two, 
 she could be nobody in particular! Ah, what easing of 
 unobserved hats ! what loosing of prim bonnet-strings and 
 letting go of ceremonious arms ! The human soul is natu- 
 rally a vagabond — we all agreed as we gipsied, loose and 
 happy, through the streets of Poughkeepsie. 
 
 Away from home (most persons have observed,) 
 Nature's inward clock resumes its simple periodicity ; and 
 it was exactly noon when we all made a simultaneous 
 confession of appetite — stopping with desiring eyes before 
 a row of musk-melons spread on the sidewalk in front of 
 
Adventures in Poughkeepsie. 159 
 
 a vegetable shop at a prominent corner. In the portly- 
 figure and trustworthy features of the gentleman behind 
 the counter in the cellar (for it was two steps down from 
 the sidewalk, and it is curious how vegetables, like oysters, 
 seem only genuine when offered subterraneously for sale), 
 we recognized, as we supposed, both an influential citizen 
 and a responsible judge of ripe melons. We venture to 
 warn Poughkeepsie, however, that "John Brooks" (the 
 name on the sign) is, at least, not the latter. With a full 
 disavowal of our own inexperience, we trustfully and affec- 
 tionately threw ourselves on his practised knowledge ; and 
 four more melon-cholic unripenesses have not come to a pre- 
 mature end this fruitful season, than those which I carried 
 on my arm for a believing distance, through the street, 
 having faith in John Brooks and looking out for knives 
 and forks in some friendly shelter. In the back parlor of 
 an " Ice-Cream Saloon " — a snug apartment furnished with 
 a Bible and Hymn-book, four chairs, two tables and a 
 looking-glass — we finally sat down to our disappointments. 
 It was rather a " piling on of the agony " to propose ice- 
 cream and lemonade (the only articles for sale on the pre- 
 mises), as we tasted our last raw expectation ; but it will 
 show where consolation is to be found in extremity, when 
 I state, that as my eyes chanced to fall on the large family 
 Bible (to which, and the looking-glass, the good woman's 
 customers were evidently welcome free of charge), behold, 
 
160 The Coxvalescent. 
 
 upon the top of it, a loaf of bread, just left by the baker ! 
 Poughkeepsie is rich in the maker of such bread ; it is the 
 object of this paragraph to say, crisper crust and lighter 
 soft came never from a baker's oven. We sat around this 
 single loaf, thankfully and appetizingly, and made our 
 noon meal — upon it, and it only. It would be a favor to 
 our Poughkeepsie subscribers if I had thought to bring 
 away the name of such bread's baker. I can neither give 
 that, nor the name of the good woman of whom they 
 would do well to inquire it. She had no sign, if I remem- 
 ber rightly — but her shop and Bible are just above the 
 " Shampooing Saloon " of " George Grimm," and a little 
 below the milliner's window in which stands advertised the 
 " Agency for Mrs. Durno's medicines " — (the connection 
 between which two branches of business, by the way, we 
 tried in vain to conjecture), 
 
 Poughkeepsie differs from Newburgh in having its shop- 
 ping-street high on the hill instead of down by the river. 
 The shops (and we sighed for a cooler climb, in mounting 
 to them under a noonday sun), are wonderfully metropoli- 
 tan — quite ahead, indeed, of our own thriving little 
 country-town, in that gay particular. We wondered most 
 at the unprecedented preponderance of shoe-stores. How 
 can three-fourths of the business of a town (and the pjo- 
 portion is that, at least), be occupied with the supply of 
 this comparatively minor human want? There were some 
 
A Splendid Straw Hat for a Sign. 161 
 
 German shoemakers among them, and we noticed a " lager 
 bier " shop, bj the way, with a word for its sign — ^welkom- 
 MEN — (the German for welcome, I believe), which would 
 be a charming name for a hospitable man's country-seat. 
 It sounds well and means well. There was another sion 
 hung out in front of a blacksmith's shop — a live' rat sus- 
 pended by the tail to a lamp-post — but it would be follow- 
 ing the custom of too many travellers to speak of a single 
 instance of incidental cruelty as common to the place. By 
 the complete inattention of the blacksmith's boys (who 
 were hammering away at the forge without even a look at 
 their struggling victim), he had the aggravation of being 
 forgotten before death — and, of such treatment (much 
 worse than the mortal agony, for those of whom the world 
 makes examples), Poughkeepsie should at least be inca- 
 pable. 
 
 I have a tribute to offer to Poughkeepsie — let me hasten, 
 after this, qualifyingly to say. Broadway must yield to it 
 in hats ! As every gentleman knows, the type of this 
 article of man's attire had sadly degenerated, of late years 
 — ^no such thing as a covering for the head, which is in any 
 way becoming, being now, anywhere, obtainable. The 
 world's idea of the article has become confused. What 
 was the surprise of my dressy friend B. (the guest who had 
 accompanied us) and myself, therefore, to see before us, in 
 the street of Poughkeepsie — hung out upon a projecting 
 
162 The Convalescent. 
 
 wire in front of Mr. Van Kleeck, the hatter — a very 
 admirable model of a hat! We stopped suddenly and 
 silently before it. A living mastodon, unicorn, or specimen 
 of any extinct race of animals, would have been a hardly 
 less wondrous apparition. It was not a dress hat — not of 
 beaver or its imitations. It was simply of coarse straw ; 
 and (we found presently, on inquiry) made originally to 
 be hung out as a sign. To this happy accident was owing 
 its escape from the Decline of Head-coverings — (in which, 
 by the way, let us venture to remark, the heads of the 
 other sex are even further gone than our own) — and 
 though dusted and discolored by the sun and rain (for we 
 understood that it had swung three summers unrecognized 
 at the shop-door), the type of its first form was still visible. 
 In the amplitude and ease of brim, in the reciprocal pro- 
 portion of brim and crown, and in the oneness of utility 
 and grace, there was an ideal that Vandyke or Titian 
 would have conceived — supposing that either of those 
 head-honoring artists, that is to say, had been employed by 
 Beebe (with the aid of a "medium,") to take the modern 
 hat and conceive upon it a fashion for ^56. It was a hat 
 liberal without slouchiness, faultless and unsuperfluous 
 without being meanly neat, pliable enough for the head 
 and yet elastically firm enough not to caricature itself by 
 losing shape with handling or a high wind. Nobody 
 stares at it particularly (for I have worn it now a week), 
 
A Whole Child. 163 
 
 yet it would have beeu a hat to look better in, a hundred 
 years ago, or to look better in a hundred years hence. 
 Poughkeepsie's one immortal production for seventy-five 
 cents ! 
 
 A wonderfully beautiful child, sitting on Mr. Van 
 Kleeck's counter, confirmed my opinion that the Titian- 
 esque hat was not altogether a thing of accident. The 
 sense of beauty (by the two proofs of efi"ortless paternity 
 — the production of matchless hat and child), resides, 
 perhaps unconsciously, in the Poughkeepsie hatter. So 
 singular was the beauty of this little girl of six years old, 
 that my friend and I went back for our ladies (who were 
 resting at the ice-cream saloon while we took an additional 
 walk), bringing them a long distance in the hot sun rather 
 than let them lose the sight of her. Her large brown eyes 
 were glowing warmly in a face of Roman mould. Not a 
 feature was unfulfilled of its errand of development, and 
 the smile and the look upwards, as we spoke to her, were 
 noble and calmly good. Such marvels of Nature's mean- 
 ing^ all expressed^ should be set aside and kept to be the 
 mothers of our Presidents. With the human form deo-en- 
 crating on our continent (as I fear there is no denying 
 that it is-— by our overwork, hurry-feeding and base excite- 
 ments), it is worth a town's while to pride itself on its 
 exceptions — the producing and cherishing of them. How 
 much worthier of education and costly care is such a 
 
164 The Convalescent. 
 
 simply whole child, than the pale little overdressed puny- 
 isms — stunted with indigestion and spoilt temper — that 
 one sees at the hotels and watering-places ! 
 
 But our happy two hours and a half of vagabondage 
 were meantime diminishing ; and, with Mr. Van Kleeck's 
 sign in my hand (done up in a respectable newspaper bun- 
 dle till out of reach of the inhabitants to whose eyes it 
 had been long familiar), we returned down street to the 
 railway. Various brilliant shops had attracted our atten- 
 tion. In hardware and dry goods Poughkeepsie certainly 
 eclipses ISTewburgh — our streets of villas and private resi- 
 dences, however, having an abundantly compensating 
 superiority to those of Poughkeepsie. We were pleased 
 by receiving a polite bow from Mr. John Brooks, whom we 
 chanced to meet at a little distance from his cellar — a 
 recognition of our melon-cholic custom which spoke well 
 for the town's prompt eye to business. Two droll names 
 on signs attracted our attention — " EIvy Deyo,'' and " F. 
 Groscop." The steam-whistle was punctual. We took 
 our places in the cars, and in half an hour were at Fishkill 
 — in half an hour more across by Ferry to IS'ewburgh — 
 and in half an hour more (the stone post having proved 
 strong enough to hold our horses, flies and hunger notwith- 
 standing), we were within sight of our dinners at Idlewild. 
 
LETTER XX. 
 
 Jake and Quinty once more — A Poem to Jake's Memory — The Dog the Under- 
 valued of this Earth— De Trobriand's Obituary of Jake— Present of anew Dog, 
 .from a Stranger— Bell's getting him Home — Jerry's Character and his hatred 
 of a Gentleman — Bianca Raventail and Kitty Grizzle — ^Dog Friendship and 
 its Nature— Monody on Quinty, by a Distinguished Lady of Boston, etc. 
 
 October, 1857. 
 Pardon should, perhaps, be asked, of the kind and indul- 
 gent reader, for another reference to the two deceased 
 friends of whose virtues I wrote in the Home Journal 
 of a previous date. My two dogs, Jake and Quinty 
 were there mourned over ; and, (after an obituary, if not 
 before), the grass of forgetfulness upon such humble graves 
 may be left to grow. I have received, however, to-day, a 
 poem of such affectionate commemoration of Jake, my 
 favorite of the two, that I cannot resist given it to the 
 reader — thanking tenderly, at the same time, the stranger 
 thus bravely willing to own to a sympathy with a four- 
 legged sorrow. Let me premise, only, that the theory upon 
 which the poem is woven (the comfort of a refuge in 
 friendship when too old for love) was scarce applicable to 
 Jake, who died in the prime and pride of puppyism una- 
 bated — loving and spunky, I believe to his dying hour. 
 
 166 
 
166 The Convalescent. 
 
 The departed tail (I understood his previous mistress to 
 saj) had wagged but four brief years ; and his transfer to 
 Idlewild, of course, was not from superannuation. With 
 this sliQ'ht correction, the tribute to his meraorv reads 
 touchingly and truly : 
 
 "JAKE"— A REQUIEM. 
 
 Sing a requiem for Jake, 
 
 Once so beautiful and young ; 
 Sleeping now, no more to wake ; 
 
 Let a solemn dirge be sung ! 
 Weep, oh willow, o'er his head — 
 Jake is dead ! 
 
 Born to be a beauty's pet, 
 
 Nurtured in her maiden lap ; 
 Ah, methinks I see him yet, 
 
 Sipping from her palm his pap ! 
 In that paradise with her, 
 Happy cur ! 
 
 Sped the time — and how he grew ! 
 
 Pleasures, ah, how swift they move ! 
 Blissful moments, how they flew ! 
 
 Jake was soon too old to love. 
 Gentle, joyous, strong and bold. 
 But too old ! 
 
 Oh, the cheating dream of youth ! 
 
 Oh, the dreary days beyond ! 
 Dog or man how sad the truth : — 
 
 Woman's heart no more is fond 
 When the bloom of youthful years •-. 
 
 Disappears ! 
 
A Poem to Jake's Memory. 16t 
 
 Jake must find another home ; 
 
 Jake must find another heart ; 
 Wheresoever he may roam, 
 
 Now from her he must depart ! 
 Go it, Jake ! the fates have smiled — • 
 Idlewild ! 
 
 Leave a mistress — find a friend — 
 
 Find affection yb?' th^/ loorth^ 
 Lasting, till thy life shall end 1 
 
 And, beside his glowing hearth, 
 Growl defiance to despair 
 And the fair. 
 
 Up the hill and down the glen, 
 
 By the river, o'er the lea, 
 Follow him my truthful pen ! 
 
 What a happy dog was he ' 
 Ever at his master's side 
 TiU he died. 
 
 Now no guardian at the gate. 
 
 No swift herald at the door ; 
 Bower and garden desolate, 
 
 He is romping there no more ; 
 Silent, avenue and lawn — 
 Jake is gone ! 
 
 Lay him kindly by the brook, 
 
 Deep beside the resting stone. 
 In the cool secluded nook 
 
 Where he loved to muse alone ! 
 This strange legend o'er him penned 
 ' A true friend. 
 
 But with all the excuse that such charming poetry may- 
 give, for cumbering the overladen memory of the world by 
 
168 The Convalescent. 
 
 a re-mention of forgotten dogs, I have still a better apol- 
 ogy for re-ci^r-ing to Jake and Quinty. I will beg the 
 reader to let me be tediously instructive for a moment, 
 while I explain. 
 
 I have long had a feelmg that the Doa was among the 
 Cruelly Undervalued of the earth. With qualities that are, 
 every one, numbered among our rarest virtues, the mere 
 mention of him is an expression of contempt. To say 
 that any man is "a dog" vilifies him to the last extremity 
 of language, while, if this same fellow being had the vir- 
 tues of a dog he would be better thnn most men. With 
 an intention in store to w-rite, some day, upon this 
 flagrant wrong of misappreciation, (to do proper honor, 
 that is to say, to the creature who is virtuous without pres- 
 ent or future inducement — who is faithful, brave, constant, 
 unselfish, docile and affectionate, with neither a good name 
 in this world nor the promise of a heaven beyond), I at 
 last expressed my sentiments incidentally in the tribute to 
 my own two domesticated outdoers ; and of the moral ef- 
 fect of this just though tardy tribute, I have evidence which 
 rewards and delights me. A French gentleman, who had 
 read the translation of the article (for it was admirably 
 translated by our brilliant friend Baron de Trobriand? 
 and republished in the Courrier des Mats- Unis), was met 
 in Broadway with unusual eagerness in his countenance. 
 *' I am out to find a dog, he said, to the friend who in- 
 
De Trobriand's Obituary of Jake. 169 
 
 quired into his excitement and hurry. " Since reading 
 about 'Jake,' I can live no longer unblest by such a friend- 
 ship !" Perhaps it is worth while, both as a specimen of 
 the exquisite translation by our friend and as a repetition 
 of the vindicatory sentiment of which the effect was thus 
 salutary, to quote again, in its more attractive French dress, 
 the principal passage : 
 
 " Ce serait une profanation de marquer d'une croix le rocher 
 au pied duquel ces deux cWens airaes gisent enterres — et pour- 
 tant combien d'homraes pour qui le Sauveur est mort peut etre, et 
 sur la sepulture desquels il n'y aura pas de deuil pareil a celui. dans 
 Icquel tout Idle Wild est plonge pour Jake et Quinty ; — combien 
 qui remercieraient Dieu si seulenient la sainte croix de leur tombe 
 devait etre arrosee d'autaut de pleurs qu'en ont verses nos enfanta 
 sur ces pauvres animaux compagnons de leurs jeux! II est dur a 
 croire que deux races aussi liees I'une a I'autre que I'horame et le 
 chien, ne puissent pas se retrouver la haut — dur a comprendre-que 
 certains chiens ne meritent pas d'etre sauves plus que certains 
 hommes, et certains hoinmes de pourrir en terre profane et d'etre 
 oublies a jamais plus que certains chiens. Creatures si intelligentes, 
 et pourtant si soumisesanotre negligence — si sensibles et pourtant 
 si pleines de pardon pour notre rudesse et notre ingratitude ! si 
 douces quand nous ne semblons pas les aimer, si joyeuses quand 
 nous leur temoignons quelque aifection ! si resignees meme a la 
 faim quand nous ne sommes pas prets a les nourrir — merae a Forage 
 et a la pluie quand nous les renvoyous d'un foyer petillant, pendant 
 les units d'hiver, pour veiller sur notre sommeil dans des lits 
 chauds ! Si prets a combattre et a mourir pour nous et les moin- 
 dres cboses qui nous appartiennent ! Certainement, pour de pa- 
 reilles qualites, bien qu'elles clieminent a quatre pattes — qualites 
 qui honoreraient un chretien ou un heros — la religion devrait avoir 
 quelque vestibule exterieur. II me semble que nous pouvons bien 
 laisser Tenfaut prier pour que, dans ce ciel des humbles ou ou lui 
 apprend que le mendiant qui regoit IV.umone peut etre place plu3 
 
I*r0 The Convalescent. 
 
 haut que lui, il soit permis a son chien fidele de regarder au moinS 
 par la porte ouverte." 
 
 And to this sentiment of respect for Jake and Quinty 
 there was still another response — curious enough in some 
 of its particulars, perhaps to be interesting to the general 
 reader. 
 
 A gentleman, living at some distance (a stranger to us 
 but a reader of the Home Journal) touched with the man- 
 ner in which our heroic favorite had fallen a victim to a 
 pack of prowling night-dogs, sent courteously to know if 
 we would like '"'' an avenger of his death''' — he having a 
 mastiff of very retributive size and temper whom he should 
 be glad to present to us. Charmed with the idea of slee}>- 
 ing at last in undisturbed peace and poultry, as well as with 
 bringing Jake's outnumberers to speedy jaw and justice, I 
 at once gratefully accepted the gift. The steamers were 
 fixed upon by which he should be sent to New York and 
 up the river; and (after some deliberation), it was decided 
 that " Avenger " should be his name — "t/er-ry" (the last 
 syllable softened and with a tail to it) for the nickname of 
 his less terrible moments. 
 
 On the night when Avenger was to arrive, the children 
 ■were allowed to " sit up " — their curiosity to have a sight 
 at him, before going to bed, being quite too eloquent to 
 resist. It was even more tedious waiting than we had 
 anticipated, however. The evening boat had wind and 
 
Bell getting Jerry Home. Ill 
 
 tide against her, and Don Cesar ,de Bazan (our iised-up- 
 edest farm-horse who had o-one down in the lumber-wagon 
 to bring up the dog) was habitualh' noncommittal in his 
 moveuients. But the delays were not altogether in slow 
 wheels and foundered knees. It was half-past ten before 
 Bell made his appearance, looking like a man who had 
 come out of a '^ free fight," and significantly wanting to 
 know wliether there was anything more for him to do, that 
 night ! '' That critter " was tied up in the stable, and he 
 himself was " pretty nigh done." As to riding a mile 
 iu a wagon, after dark, " with a new dog of that size," 
 it had " called for what there was in him, of one sort and 
 another," and he didn't much believe he should want to do 
 it again. In fact the history of " bringing up that passen- 
 ger from the boat " (which he was " too mad to give us 
 that night," and " much as ever he could keep his dander 
 down " to do it the next morning) was full of stirring 
 event. " Jerry " was willing enough to come ashore at 
 Cornwall ; but, to mount into a strange wagon and start on 
 an unknown journey with a gentleman of rather compul- 
 sory manners, was not to be done without some expression 
 of dog reluctance. He scared everybody on the dock, 
 " the way he flew round," and, once in, he did nothing but 
 jump out and nearly upset the wagon, with his tremendous 
 strength ; and the fear that he would " chaw off the rope, 
 or hang himself" prevented the simply dragging hira be- 
 
1*12 The Convalescent. 
 
 hind. It was '• nothing but stopping every few steps, and 
 coaxino- and lifdno: him in ao;ain ;" and " an armful of dog: 
 like that, on a dark niofht, when it was half and half 
 whether he was going to let you," Bell thought "too risky 
 for pleasure." I shall long remember his story of that mile 
 of persuasion — especially since knowing more of the ani- 
 mal's very-likely-bilities. 
 
 With knowing that Avenger had come, and with hear- 
 ing his bark, down at the stable (more like a Mammoth 
 Cave with a hoarse cold than anything else), the children 
 were obliged to be contented. They went to bed to dream 
 of the monster it was not safe to go and see with only a 
 lantern's knowledge of his length of rope ; and, the next 
 morninor, lonoj before Bell had beo-un to rub down Poni- 
 atowski (my boy's black pony, for which the dog would be 
 a very feir match, in double harness) they were at the sta- 
 ble door. It was an introduction without any mutual 
 change of civility, and I must shorten this long story by 
 comins: at once to the curious characteristics that have 
 developed in a month's acquaintance, and which make the 
 animal (it has seemed to me) worthy of zoological study. 
 I have been obliged to part with him (I should meantime 
 explain) as his opinions of people were considerably at va- 
 riance with my own, and his tastes and manners (very 
 likely, any day, to eat up the wrong man, that is to say) 
 were of very improbable adaptation to Idlewild wishes. 
 
Jerry's Hatred of a Gentleman. 113 
 
 Jerry, in the first place, we soon discovered, hated a 
 gentleman. The contrary is commonly remarked of dogs, 
 I believe — most of them having an instinctive preference 
 for a well-bred and well dressed person. But, while work- 
 ing-men and the various fishermen and others, who make 
 our wooded lane a thoroughfare between the back roads 
 and the river, were allowed to pass the stable wholly unno- 
 ticed, the most hostile demonstration awaited every respect- 
 ably dressed visitor or stranger. His classifications were a 
 little curious, too, for his hatred of colored people 
 amounted to a negro-phobia. He nearly demolished the 
 dear old cook, on the first morning, though she went out 
 to cultivate his acquaintance, with a plate of cold victuals 
 in her hand ; and, as the members of our family bearing 
 this objectionable complexion amount to six, his counter 
 balancing fondness for children, of whom we have only 
 four, did not equalize the vote in his favor. I was prepared 
 for this latter avowal of his tastes, by our friend, Mr. Har- 
 per, who chanced to come up the river with him, in the 
 evening boat, and who told us it was quite a scene, on the 
 forward deck where he was was tied — his ferocious unwil- 
 lingness to be even approached by the black waiters, who 
 were sent to feed him. They were obliged to get one of the 
 white "hands" to do it, at last, and they afterwards 
 -gathered quite a crowd by their various experiments at 
 colored propitiation^ all in vain. 
 
174 The Convalescent. 
 
 It was a charm in Jerry , however, that his likings were 
 as strong as his dislikings ; and one of these, (though his 
 unconquerable aversion to myself, would scarce lead me 
 to look on him very poetically), amounted, I must own, to 
 a poem. Let me premise by explaining that we have two 
 cats in the family, of very dififerent standing and duties. 
 Miss Bianca Ravential, a snow-white lady-puss with a 
 jet-black tail, is of really magnificent beauty, and lives 
 principally in the parlor — " lapt in Elysium," if children's 
 laps can any way do it, but merely and indolently orna- 
 mental. Plain Kitty Grizzle, on the contrary, has shown 
 Qo manner of taste for society on carpets, never even 
 approaching the house, and wholly content with the stable, 
 where her mousings are invaluable — a shy, lean, ill-looking, ■I 
 unsociable, grey little utility, whom we respect if ques- 
 tioned on the subject, but for whom nobody feels any affec- 
 tion. It was the first thought of every one, on seeing the 
 cavernous jaw of the avenger, that either of the cats would ll 
 be but a mouthful to him ; and an attempt was made to 
 pre-monish him as to Bianca, by taking her in our arms 
 and introducing her, at a safe distance, to his chained-up 
 consideration and acquaintance. The savage ferocity with 
 which he recognized her, however, and her own variations 
 of ca^alepsy, while near him, satisfied us that friendly rela- 
 tions between them, were even spasmodically unlikely ; and 
 it was the continually repeated and exciting family drama, 
 
 I 
 
Dog's Friexdship and its Nature. 175 
 
 every day, as long as he stayed, to get down Miss Raventail 
 from the tree in which she had taken refuge, and at the 
 foot of which sat this devouring monster. 
 
 But now comes the poetry of the matter. The other 
 cat, whom we supposed eaten and digested on the second 
 day of his being at large, was found sitting upright on his 
 back, as he lay half-crouched on the stable floor ; and, from 
 that time, she was unwillinor to leave him for a sino-le 
 moment. Oats are said to have attachment for places 
 only — (not hi" people, that is to say, and still less for dogs) 
 — but this little creature stuck to Jerry, when he accora 
 panied Bell to his work in the ravine, far away from the 
 stable, and, (to the entire neglect of her little family of 
 mice) she followed him everywhere about the grounds, as 
 a dog follows his master. The neighbors were called in 
 as they passed, to see the curious picture, for she seemed to 
 have no resting-place but his back. He was wholly uncon- 
 cerned, while she walked about upon him — scarce larger 
 than one of his paws, and sitting on his head, his shoulders, 
 or his hips — and, invariably, when the stable door was 
 opened in the morning, she lay coiled up in the bow-knot 
 of his affectionate legs. Only once he was heard to growl 
 faintly, when she helped herself a little too freely to his 
 plateful of cold meat, but she rubbed her little back 
 against his muzzle and took no notice of it. She evidently 
 feared nothing in his company — always, before, scampering 
 
116 The Convalescent. 
 
 under the stable at the approach of any one, but, with him, 
 going anywhere through our wild ravine without alarm. 
 It is certainly a most singular case of elective-magnetism, 
 and the study of the anti-common-place reciprocities 
 between Avenger and Plain Kitty, has led me to look for 
 more variety in the character of cats and dogs. 
 
 I had almost forgotten to describe Jerry's personal 
 appearance. He was a pure mastiff, of the largest size, 
 with the fine head of his race (which is longer and more 
 intellectual than the bull-dog's,) and with full brain and 
 beautiful eyes. His forward parts, chest and legs, were 
 magnificently powerful, but his hind quarters were wiry 
 and formed only for activity. From his never wagging 
 what tail he had (not even to Bell, whom and the grey 
 kitten he seemed to " love, and love only"), and from his 
 aversion to ladies, whom he greeted always with a growl, 
 I should have thought him naturally unamiable, but that he 
 was mao^nanimous in takino^ no manner of notice of anv door 
 smaller than himself, and that he apparently felt indulgent, 
 to children. When half-couchant, he was a noble picture 
 of power in repose ; but when on his legs (from the mere- 
 ness of indispensibility of his after parts) he looked like a 
 Daniel Webster not done justice to by 2^osteri-ij. 
 
 But Jerry is gone, and Plain Kitty Grizzle is a widow 
 " the worst way." With all deference to our distant friend 
 (the kind presenter) we could not keep him, though i' 
 
Cultivation of Dog Friendship. IVt 
 
 were also to perpetuate a poem and make happy the 
 iisefullest member of our family. She runs from place 
 to place, looking for him, and makes sad mew-sia—but 
 he was a terror to gentlemen and to ladies, and Idle- 
 wild's good name was at stake. The stranger is not to 
 be frighted, either from the outer gate or inner door. 
 Kitty and we are open to another friendship, however, and 
 if any reader has a " Jake " or '^ Quinty " for us, we have 
 cold meat and tenderness in store. 
 
 It will be seen (to return for a moment to our moral) 
 that we are not insisting on the perfectability of the canine 
 species. We are ready to allow that there are not only 
 mad dogs and " sad dogs," but bad dogs. The many 
 unrewarded virtues of the animal are not universal. But 
 the good dogs are by far the majority, and it is for the 
 sake of these that we wish to suggest some elevation of the 
 dog in the scale of human estimation, and consequently bet- 
 ter treatment. The faithful watch-dog, turned out on the 
 bitterest cold night to his weary duty, solitary and unclad, 
 should at least have his box, sheltered from the wind and 
 well lined with straw. When sick, lame or wounded, he 
 should be tended and ministered to; and above all he 
 should be kindly treated and punctually fed. Keep an 
 "eye on it, for a day or two, if you wish to know how often 
 the dog's meal is entirely forgotten ! As to his education, 
 
 8* 
 
ITS The Convalescent. 
 
 it is perhaps, too soon to speak of dog alphabet and pri- 
 mer ; but bis temper (which is really a marvel, as well as 
 a model, considering the abuses and caprices to which he 
 is subject) might be better trained and more considered 
 than it is ; and as, with all his unmerited ignominy and 
 neglect, he has preserved so many of the virtues that we 
 value in a friend, let us venture, at the close of our little 
 sermon, to recommend (for all who are lonely and have 
 sympathies to spare) the cultivation of Doa friend- 
 ship. 
 
 P. S. As the ink dries upon this last sentence, the mail 
 comes in, bringing a letter from one of the most accom- 
 plished and admirable of women, (well known and 
 honored in Boston as " one of the Barclays ") and a poem 
 from her pen to the memory of " Quinty " — whom she 
 knew. She says : " I present my condolences on the death 
 of your two favorites to whom you have dedicated such an 
 affecting page in dog story. I had not the pleasure of an 
 acquaintance with ' Jake,' but ' Quinty ' was certainly 
 sufficiently ugly to be long remembered. There must be 
 a peculiar fascination in such an extreme absence of what 
 we all admire so much — beauty. How admirable is Do 
 Trobriand's translation of your article on the subject ! We 
 read it over and over again. Translations are so difficult, 
 particularly from English into French ; but this is perfect." 
 And thus run our friend's musical verses : 
 
A Monody on Quinty. It9 
 
 MONODY ON THE DEATH OF THE "QUINTESSENCE OP UGLINESS, 
 COMMONLY CALLED " QUINTY." 
 
 Of the Ugliest dog in the town 
 All mourn the unthnely decease ; 
 
 In the bloom of his fame and renown 
 Ete has fled from our presence in peace. 
 
 His ugliness, many would say, 
 
 Exalted him far above all : 
 But then every dog has his day, 
 
 And Quinty was destined to fall. 
 
 Just under the roughest of coats 
 He carried the warmest of hearts : 
 
 The longest of bodies and throats — 
 Was a dog of most excellent parts. 
 
 Devoted to master and friend. 
 
 Beloved and gentle and true — 
 Oh when would my monody end 
 
 Should I sum up his virtues to you 
 
 The moral of this my sad lay 
 
 Remember and faithfully keep ; 
 Locked up in the mind let it stay — 
 
 That beauty at best is shin deep. 
 
LETTER XXI. 
 
 Bianca Raventail's behavior to a Wild-cat Cousin— A Secret too romantic to be 
 kept— Bayard Taylor and our Friend the Judge— Taylor'a Friendship and hi3 
 fellow Traveller — His Letter — Description of his German Home— Offer of 
 Capital to Taylor, by Col. Perkins of Boston— Romance of Taylor's Life, etc. 
 
 December. 
 The thirtieth of November, and winter has closed upon 
 us (thus early !) his frosty door. The double sleigh took us 
 to church to-day, and the river, usually the lightest feature 
 in the landscape, ran, inky black, through the pass of the 
 snow-white Highlands. Church bells and sleigh-bells rang 
 the "meeting time" together. A hickory log, on the 
 library fire ! And now the heart, like the warm house, 
 feels snow-shut — cut off from its green carpet of summer 
 sympatliy with the world at large, and, with feet on the 
 hearth, snug-humored and confidential. 
 
 I must first mention to you (us-tv/o-ically trusting to 
 jour kind indulgence, dear reader!) the virtuous example, 
 set us yesterday, by Miss Bianca Raventail (our snow-white 
 parlor cat with the jet-black continuation), in the matter 
 of setting aside trifling differences aud behaving graciously 
 to country cousins. We live, as you perhaps know, within 
 
 180 
 
BlANCA RaVENTAIl's BEHAVIOR TO A WiLD-CAT. 181 
 
 a mile and a half of the mountain base which forms the 
 edge of the Highland wilderness — a desolate and almost 
 trackless region, still inhabited by most of the aboriginal 
 " varmint ;" particularly those wild-cat relatives of the feline 
 members of our family, half way between the panther and 
 the parlor puss. With the first snow, it is the sport of our 
 rustic Nimrods to "punish up the year's sheep -vStealing and 
 calf-killing" by a hunt of these depredating outsiders ; and, 
 last evening, came the first trophy of the season, as a present 
 to Idle wild. Our friend Hubbard, the ferryman, whose 
 cottage, under the front cliff of the Storm-King, is the 
 remotest human habitation towards lands unowned, sent 
 us, with his compliments, a catamount "of the worst kind." 
 He measured four feet and two inches from fore-paw to 
 hind-paw, weighed twelve and a half pounds, had a short 
 thick tail, and ears sunken quite out of sight ; and, what 
 with extent of whiskers and possibility of jaw, looked alto- 
 gether " well out of the way." 
 
 The first wish of the children was to see what Bianca 
 would think of even so faint a resemblance to herself. She 
 was out, airing her manners and coquetting with ray crumb- 
 fed family of snow-birds in front of the house, but she was 
 easily called in and trotted up to her ferocious looking rela- 
 tive in the corner. The proportions of the new comer had 
 not been materially altered by his sudden death, and, 
 spread out upon the hall floor in an attitude of repose, he 
 
182 The Convalescent. 
 
 looked, to say the least, reasonably ready for social inter- 
 course. She seemed to think so — walking straight up to 
 him and commencing that rubbing promenade, to and fro, 
 with which cats so enviably exchano-e electricity, on a new 
 acquaintance. 
 
 It is curious that dumb animals seem to have no recog- 
 nition of death. We had seen it in our bantam, Jake, who 
 (as a former Home Journal has narrated) made love to his 
 stuffed wife, three months after her decease, as believingly 
 as ever. And here was our favorite cat, a creature superior 
 to most of her kind in common perception and intelligence, 
 introduced to a dead wild-cat, and at once undertaking, by 
 every manner of friendly nudge, rub and purr, to wake 
 him fiom his slumber. His bloody skull and dead eyes 
 wide open, told no story, for her. She evidently knew no 
 difference between death and sleep. By the natural instinct, 
 it thus appears, there is no recognition of it as a calamity. 
 
 But it was in a friendly and affectionate treatment of a 
 country cousin, by one w^ho had the usual grounds for being 
 politely exclusive, that we saw the profitable lesson. The 
 shorter tail, the coarser muzzle, the rougher hair and far 
 less delicate complexion, made no difference to her. It 
 was enough, apparently, that the stranger was of the same 
 family ; and not for all the accomplishments and belong- 
 ings of a parlor cat, could the welcome have been more 
 genial and complete. In a country where most people 
 
A Secret too Romantic to be Kept. 183 
 
 have a cousin or two in the backwoods, the example of our 
 superbly beautiful Miss Raventail is worth recording. 
 
 And, with this little bit of local news having got settled 
 comfortably in our easy-chairs, we are ready (are we not, 
 dear reader?) to commence in earnest the confidential gos- 
 sip of which I spoke at starting. 
 
 To come at once to the point — there is a secret half 
 told in the Tribune of a day or two ago, of which I have 
 an irresistible inclination to tell you the rest! I could 
 have kept the whole of it — a whole secret is so much easier 
 to keep than half a one — but, with as much of it told as is 
 now given to the world by the poet and author who is him- 
 self the subject of it, a remainder of some sort (in the way 
 of a commentary or conjecture), is very sure to be added, 
 and why should I not give you the true one ? Biography 
 at least will thank us, if we are not thanked before — though 
 I am willing that this particular forgiveness of our little sin 
 of communicativeness should come late. Long live Bay- 
 ard ! 
 
 Yes — it is about Bayard Taylor and the way people love 
 him. He is now abroad, on one of his adventurous jour- 
 neys to the north of Europe; and, in his last Letter, dated 
 at Gotha, in Germany, he describes a property of his oivn, 
 (speaking of it as " my German home," " the home which 
 German friendship has provided for me," " my friend's gar- 
 den adjoins mine," "the frontier of my domain," etc., etc.) 
 
184 The Convalescent. 
 
 the mystery of which, and there is a very natural and 
 lively curiosity about it, just now) I shall solve by my pro- 
 posed explanation. Let me first copy a part of the Letter 
 giving the half of the secret which he is willing himself to 
 tell: 
 
 " For the past fifteen days I have been quietly settled in 
 my German home, dividing my time between excursions 
 into the Thuringian forest, and the preparatory studies for 
 the North. Gotha is one of the quietest towns in Ger- 
 many, but it would be difficult to find a pleasanter one. 
 It is built on the undulating table-land at the foot of the 
 ThUringian hills, one thousand feet above the sea, whence 
 its climate is rather cold for Germany, but very bracing 
 and healthy. A tourist is an unusual sight here, and 
 therefore one finds the old heartiness and simplicity of a 
 German home-life in all its purity. As it is one of the 
 court residences of the Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, there 
 is a small, but intelligent and refined circle, some of the 
 members of which have a European reputation in their 
 departments of science and art. Hansen, the astronomer, 
 and Dr. Peterraan, the geographer, both of whom reside 
 here, are also well known in America. Here came Barth, 
 last summer, to recruit from his African travels ; and most 
 of the explorers, of whose labors Perthes, the renowned 
 map-publisher, makes such good use, may be seen here 
 from time to time. Gerstacker, Bodenstedt, the author of 
 the ' Thousand and One Days in the Orient,' Gustav Frei- 
 tag, Alexander Zeigler, and other German authors, hover 
 about here through the summer ; and in the neighboring 
 village of Friedrichsroda, the brothers Grimm sometimes 
 make their abode. 
 
I 
 
 Taylor's Description of his German Home. 185 
 
 "The lioine which German friendship has provided for 
 me here, is in entire harmony with the character of the 
 place. The little garden-house (inhabited only by Braisted 
 and myself) fronts on the avenue of lindens leading into 
 the town, while the rear overlooks a garden of three or 
 four acres in extent. It was built by one of the Ministers 
 of Duke Ernest II., in 1760, when the French style 
 infected Germany, and the steep, bulging roof and quaint 
 windows of the upper half-story ftiintly reminds one of the 
 chateaux of the time of Louis XIV. The same taste 
 characterizes the garden. The house stands on a gravelled 
 terrace, bordered with flowers, whence a flight of stone steps 
 guarded by statues of laughing fauns, descends to a second 
 and broader terrace, in the centre of which is a spacious 
 basin and a fountain belter than that in the Park, for it 
 plays day and night. Beyond this, a sloping arcade of the 
 dwarf beech, trained so as to form a roof of shade, imper- 
 vious to the sun, leads down to the garden. Still beyond, 
 are flower beds open to the summer warmth, a pool edged 
 with flags and lilies, and groups of trees studding the 
 smooth sward on either side. 
 
 " An arch of vines at the end of the garden-walk ushers 
 you into the grove, where a Pomona on her pedestal offers 
 samples of fruits which you need not expect to find ; for I 
 have none other than forest trees here — fir, oak, ash, chest- 
 nut, and beech. You would not guess that the grove was 
 so small. Its winding foot-paths are led through the 
 thickest shade, and the briery undergrowth shoots up to 
 shut out the patches of garden which shimmer through 
 the lowest boughs. In the centre, under venerable firs, 
 stands a hermitage of bark, beside a fountain of delicious 
 water, which is surmounted by a triangular block of sand- 
 stone, erected by an extinct mason who once possessed the 
 
186 The Coxvalescent. 
 
 propert}^ This mason liad more money than learning ; he 
 put up the stone as a monument to his ancestors, and 
 inscribed thereon, as he supposed, ' To my Venerable Fore- 
 fathers,' but, in foct, through his mis-spelling, ' To my Ven- 
 erable Trout.' [Foixllen, instead of Vordltern). Some 
 one, however, has since then engraved on the three sides 
 of the stone the following "words of wisdom : ' Forget not 
 yesterday ' — ' Enjoy to-day ' — ' Think upon to-morrow.' 
 
 " At the end of the grove, on the frontier of my domain^ 
 which is shut in by a hedge of fir trees, is * The Duke's 
 Tree,' planted by the hand of Ernest 11. Although nearly 
 a hundred years old, the trunk is not more than a foot in 
 diameter; but the tree is branching and shady, and 
 throws its boughs over the rustic seat and stone table, 
 whereupon my friend and I sometimes lie on our backs, 
 and smoke the pipe of meditation. My friend's garden 
 adjoins mine, and there is no fence between us; so that I 
 can walk from my hermitage directly into his stables, and 
 inspect his thirty stall-fed cows, and his pens of high-born 
 English swine. Beyond our joint territory, a rich banker 
 has his garden, and his fountain (which, by the force of 
 money, spouts ten feet higher than mine) is a pretty sight 
 enough over the hedge which divides us. His garden 
 terminates in an artificial mound, covered with tall pines 
 and firs, which also has its historic interest. Here the 
 Court of Gotha, aping the grand sentimental silliness of 
 that of France, played at pastoral life ; and lords and 
 ladies, with satin ribbons on their crooks, and flowers in 
 their hair, gave themselves such names as Corydon, and 
 Doris, and Alexis, and Chloe, and tended sheep, and ate 
 curds, and played flutes, and danced, and sang, and looked 
 languishingly and amorously at each other; but always 
 returned to beer and sausages, cards and scandal, every 
 
The. Castle of Friedenstein. 181 
 
 evening. They even built a pastoral village of thirteen 
 houses, which has long since disappeared, and instituted a 
 Court of Love on the summit of the mound, where Phillis 
 was tried for slighting the passion of Amyntor, or Fiorian 
 for his faithlessness to Melissa. It is difficult, in our day, 
 to imagine the possibility of such ineffable absurdities. 
 
 "My own room, under the steep French roof of the gar- 
 den-house, was once the studio of a sculptor, to whose 
 hand, I believe, I am indebted for the six thinly-clad 
 statues whic^h stand in my garden. The laughing fauns 
 are jolly and good-humored enough, as they stand listening 
 to the^Dlash of the fountain: but Venus Anadyomene, 
 down in the grove, leaves one to infer that the artist 
 did not mingle in the most reputable society. So oddly 
 are things managed in this place, that, although I live just 
 between^the palaces of the reigning Duke and the Dowager 
 Duchess, both within a stone's throw, I hear the noises of 
 the farm-yard every morning, and am, at this moment, lis- 
 tening to the measured beat of the Hails on a threshing- 
 floor across the way. The diligence to Coburg rattles past 
 every afternoon, and the postillion blows me a merry hunt- 
 ino;-soiio' on his horn ; sometimes wagons come in from the 
 fiekls laden with turnips or potatoes, but other noises I 
 rarelv hear, and from my windows I see little except trees 
 and crarden-walks. The Duke is at present chamois-hunt- 
 ino- \n Tyrol, the theatre is not yet opened, and the only 
 recent excitement has been the arrival of four hundred 
 oysters from Ostend. They came one evening, and by 
 noon the next day they were not. 
 
 "The Castle of Friedenstein, on the summit of the hill 
 on which the town leans, is the old residence of the Dukes 
 of Gotha, before the union of this Duchy with that of 
 Coburg. It is a massive, imposing pile, forming three 
 
188 The Convalescent. 
 
 sides of a quadrangle, open to the south, and looking 
 across twelve miles of grain and turnip fields, to the wav- 
 ing blue line of the Thiiringiaii Forest. A residence no 
 more, it now contains a curious collection of pictures by 
 the old German masters, a library of one hundred and eighty 
 thousand volumes, an excellent museum of natural his- 
 tory, and one of the best collections of Chinese and Jap- 
 anese articles out of Holland. The adjoining park is a 
 noble piece of ground, just sufficiently neglected to make 
 it delightful. A few footpaths meander through its groves 
 of superb oak, fir and beech trees, and long, lazy pools of 
 dark-green water furnish swimming room for some venerable 
 swans. There is an island in the largest pool, in which 
 lies one of the Dukes, who, at his own request, was buried 
 there, in the moist earth, without shroud, coffin, or head- 
 stone. The parks and gardens are open day and night to 
 everybody, and I already feel as much right of possession 
 therein as the oldest inhabitant. 
 
 " The Jahrmarkt, or annual Fair, was held here last 
 week, and drew together crowds of the peasantry from 
 the surrounding villages. The Fair itself was insignificant, 
 compared with what I have seen in the larger German 
 cities ; but I found it interesting to watch the jolly peasants 
 who hovered around the booths, and bought glaring hand- 
 kerchiefs, immense pipes, winter caps, dreambooks, and 
 'Rinaldo Rinaldini,' or 'The Four Sons of Haymon.' 
 They are a strong, sturdy, ruddy race — a little too purely 
 animal, to be sure, but with a healthy stamina which is not 
 often seen among our restless American people. The 
 girls, in particular, are as fresh as wild roses, with teeth 
 which can masticate tougher food than blancmange, and 
 stomachs, I have no doubt, of equal digestive power. Their 
 arms and ankles are too thick and stronof, and their hands 
 
An Erntekranz. 189 
 
 too red and hard for our ideas of beauty, but they are 
 exempt from a multitude of female weaknesses, and the 
 human race is not deteriorated in their children. They are 
 an ignorant, honest, simple-hearted race, and, although so 
 industrious and economical, are generous, so far as their 
 means allow them to be. 
 
 "Lately, the field-laborers on ray friend's property 
 oommemorated the close of the season, by bringing him, 
 according to custom, an Erntekranz (harvest-wreath) of 
 ripe rye and barley-stalks, mixed with wild grasses, and 
 adorned with fantastic strips of colored and gilded papers. 
 This wreath was formally delivered to the landlord, who 
 also, according to custom, regaled the laborers with plum 
 cakes and wine. They passed the afternoon and evening 
 in one of the outer rooms, settling their accounts and par- 
 taking of the cheer, after which a gittern was brought forth, 
 and the room cleared for a dance. We had some of the old 
 Thiiringian songs, with a chorus more loud than musical, 
 and two-step waltzes danced to the tinkling gittern. I was 
 contented to be a listener and looker-on, but was soon seized 
 by the strong hands of a tall, nut-brown maiden, and 
 whirled into the ranks. Resistance was impossible, and at 
 the end of five minutes I was glad to beat a giddy retreat." 
 
 And, now to share with you the running commentary 
 which was marginal in my memory, as I read the fore- 
 going. 
 
 It was a stormy night at Idlewild, somewhere about the 
 middle of last June ; and we were seated around the supper- 
 table, with no guests, save the dark tips of the pines and 
 hemlock.'^, lighted by the evening lamp and looking in at 
 
190 The Convalescent. 
 
 the windows, when, by the rattle of wheels upon the 
 gravel path through the wood, the children knew of an 
 arrival. In another moment we were all happy with the 
 sight of two for whom we keep slippers and name trees — 
 " The Judge " who is lovingly spoken of, in our circle, by 
 his official title alone, and with the definite article which 
 precedes it pronounced always with an emphasis of affec- 
 tion, and his intimate ally and ours. Bayard Taylor — both 
 come from the city for only a midnight visit and to be oft 
 before daylight the next morning. "His Honor's" Bench 
 was to be occupied as usual at ten, and our friend the 
 Traveller had come to say farewell — bound for Europe 
 again on his projected Northern explorations, and to sail in 
 the packet of the day after. 
 
 Supper renewed upon the table, and the youngest child- 
 ren kissed off to their pillows, we circled around the lamp 
 once more, for our cheer and reciprocities. Bed-time was 
 happily indefinite — the woods silent around us and the noisy 
 city sixty miles away — and at the edge of the table-cloth 
 the doors of our hearts stood open, like tents pitched 
 around a camp-fire, and thoughts walked in and out at 
 their untrammelled pleasure. There was much for every 
 one present to look, and to say ; but unseen spirits carried 
 more freight between us — a great deal more — than passed 
 by our eyes and voices. Our friend with his back to the 
 Storm-King, however — the calm eved one on the south 
 
Taylor's Fellow Traveller. 191 
 
 side of the table — was, of all our thoughts and sympathies, 
 that night, the tacitly understood centre. He was bound 
 to Lapland and Finland, to the icebergs of Northern Seas 
 and the Steppes of Tartary, and, for a long, long time, and 
 with many a danger in the way, he was to be absent from 
 us. 
 
 I could find much, well worth giving you, of that night's 
 conversation, if it were not keeping you from what you are 
 impatient to know. It was varied and precious to remem- 
 ber. The hours went by like the wing-flappings of a sea- 
 bird — effortless, and with scarce noticed succession, yet, 
 with those even measurings, leaving so much behind I 
 We talked of the countries he was first to visit — Switzer- 
 land and Germany more particularly — and then, with a 
 stray remark of some one as to the chan(;e friendships made 
 in travel, and left like dreams incomplete, I saw a gleam 
 pass over the face of Bayard. We had touched a memory, 
 it was evident. But it was a struggle whether he would 
 voice it or no — and it was not without the stammer of a 
 modest hesitation and a slight flush of color to his honest 
 eyes, that he let us, at last, into his secret. 
 
 A few words will tell what he has not, himself, now told 
 of it in print. With a German gentleman, who had been 
 his travelling companion in the East, he had formed one 
 of these friendships of which we had been speaking — an 
 inexplicable interchange of magnetic recognition and trust. 
 
192 The Contalescent. 
 
 They were together in scenes far remote from both their 
 homes ; and their acquaintance, brief as it was, was yet 
 knit by unusual associations and by a sympathy that had 
 been reciprocally complete. They parted — each to return to 
 his own land — but without promise of correspondence; 
 and it was some time before Bayard heard from his Ger- 
 man friend. The missive, when it came, was startling, how- 
 ever. It was a formal conveyance to him of an estate, to 
 belong to him and to his heirs — a free gift, and given irrever- 
 sibly, as a pledge and token of friendship. The description 
 of it the reader has, above. The grounds were complete, 
 the house furnished. But, that it should in no way be a 
 burden to the new owner, the assurance was added, that as 
 long as the giver should live (whose estate and residence 
 were adjoining), it should be taken care of as if tenanted 
 by Bayard in person — his, and in order, whenever he should 
 come, and his, and in order, if he never came. He tells us 
 now, in his letter to the Tribune^ of his first occupancy of 
 it — though, it is easy to see, it is with a reluctant pen ; and 
 it is apparent to me, also (after hearing his account of it, 
 in the freer scope of conversation, that he has under-colored 
 his description for print. It is a " German home," all the 
 value and beauty of which he sensitively hesitated to por- 
 tray. 
 
 This is a romance; and Taylor's whole life is a romance. 
 He looks it, with his Arab physiognomy ; his thin nostrils ; 
 
Romance of Taylor's Life, 19** 
 
 his calm, untroubled 6)^6 ; his unsensuous, but decided 
 mouth ; his simply noble manners and expression of face. 
 He lives it in his course of daily life. He feels and inspires 
 it. And (curiously enough) his writings QnaJce the same 
 imp7'ession as his personal presence. Of which last inner 
 and completing corroboration, by ^Nature, of the stamp she 
 put uj)on his outer form, I have a proof still in store. 
 Though hitherto a secret, it is too significant a fact*in our 
 friend's history to conceal from a Public that loves him — 
 while, at the same time, it should be told in memory of a 
 most liberal and high-hearted gentleman since dead. 
 
 Just ten years ago, soon after the publication of Bayard's 
 first book, I received a letter from that prince among the 
 Boston merchants. Colonel Thomas H. Perkins. He wrote 
 to me as the journalist who had fortunately been the first 
 to announce the rising of the new star — expressing the 
 greatest interest in Taylor's character as seen through his 
 writings, and inquiring very frankly into his prospects and 
 present position. He apologized for the freedom of these 
 queries by stating that he wished to make the offer, to this 
 young writer, of whatever capital he might require for his 
 start in life. I have no copy of Colonel Perkins' letter, and 
 do not remember the precise terms of his proposal ; but I 
 chance to have preserved a copy of my reply, and, from it, 
 may be gathered an idea of what it was, in substance. I 
 thus wrote : 
 
 9 
 
194 The Coxvalescext. 
 
 New York, January 19, 1846, 
 
 Sir : That your letter was one which should not be 
 answered without some reflection, must be my apology for 
 the delay of this reply. Always acquainted as I have been, 
 with the unusual nobleness of your employment of wealth, 
 the bringing home an instance of it to my personal influenc- 
 ing made me feel deeply the responsibility of aiding or 
 diverting a stream so sacred. I am not prepared, even 
 now, to give a decided opinion on this proposed benevo- 
 lence. Taylor is as pure in his character as a child, and as 
 full of endurance and energy and resource as more impetu- 
 ous and antagonistic men. Nothing could corrupt him, 
 and nothing could prevent his being prosperous — or so I 
 think. He has gone to his native place, near Reading in 
 Pennsylvania, and is engaged in editing the " Phoenixville 
 Pioneer," a country newspaper which will give him a sup- 
 port. He wished to procure editorial employment in New 
 York city, but I told him his mind was too well worth 
 keeping separate to venture upon the subservient employ- 
 ment of sub-editino;, and that he would better have a coun- 
 try paper all to himself than to merge his genius in another 
 man's mind and purposes. He has followed this advice; 
 but, whether a small capital, which would enable him to 
 start for himself and use his first fresh enero^ies in the lar- 
 ger sphere which he will ultimately fill, is advisable for 
 him, you can better decide. I presume that he will never 
 return to mechanical employment, except as a master- 
 printer and editor — his pen is so much more profitable as 
 well as more advantageous a reliance. But the possession 
 of one or two thousand dollars would probably have 
 induced him to start a paper, or purchase part of one, here 
 in New York, or in Philadelphia or Boston. I will write 
 
Romance of Taylor's Life. 195 
 
 to him, to-day, and find out what his plans and wishes are, 
 and will write you the result. He is a very interesting 
 man, as you discovered by his book. The only deficiency 
 in his nature seems a singular absence of all the weaknesses 
 and unruly passions common to men of his imaginative 
 turn of mind. He has eves more like an ano-el's than a 
 human being's, and, though large, strong and healthy, is 
 curiously gentle and retiring. His poetical genius is of a 
 very high order, and, every way, I esteem him a man of 
 most uncommon promise. 
 
 I express, believe me, sir, a feeling entertained for many 
 years, when I assure you of the sincerest respect and honor- 
 ino- reofard of. Your obedient servant, 
 
 N. P. Willis. 
 Col. Thomas H. Perking. 
 
 The romance of this ofier (which Taylor did not accept) 
 forms loith the other a beautiful exponent of the whole 
 impression of the man — the one a tribute to his personal 
 character, the other to the character of his mind. There 
 is a unity between the two which it is the common draw- 
 back of genius to lack. Among poets, particularly, Bay- 
 ard Tayloj' will be remembered as the rare exception of 
 consistency and completeness. May God preserve him 
 under the inclement skies to which he has now trusted him- 
 self, and bring him back to country and friends — ^to blqss 
 us with the noon and evening of a career, of which, as yet, 
 we have seen but the energetic morning ! 
 
 And so, dear reader, ends what you must allow is a gos- 
 sip unusually confidential ! I have had twenty turns of 
 
196 The Convalescent. 
 
 thumb and finger to tear up what I have thus venture- 
 solnely written. Not for any scruple of ray own, let me 
 say, however. My experiment in literature (as you have 
 probably long ago discovered) is to portray what is present 
 and passing — to copy what is memorable, from my own 
 seeing and knowing of famous events and persons — to 
 pluck the ripe apple rather than wait for the dried fruit — 
 to have the relish of eating fresh the fish which Biography, 
 History and Fiction, are at such trouble to salt down. If I 
 shall not, now, have offended my friend Bayard (which I 
 trust, afier his first blush at the world's better acquaintance 
 with him, I shall prove not unpardonably to have done), it 
 must be admitted that I have recorded what should rightly 
 be known — rightly, that is to say, if Fame's rights to what 
 is true of a famous man are at all to be measuredby com- 
 mon Biography. And I will close by leaving a relish on 
 your palate of what a better writer says upon the subject: 
 " The best books are records of the writer's own experi- 
 ences, of what he himself has seen or known, or, best of all, 
 has done. The writing then becomes naturally concrete, 
 perspicuous, a mirror of the fact; and, whether it be a 
 book for the world and for ages, or for nations and gene- 
 rations, there is this common to them all, that they are 
 genuine records of genuine things, and throw light on the 
 subject," ***** 
 
LETTER XXII. 
 
 Previous Account by Friend Sands — Seeing with different Eyes — The raised Leg 
 of Massachusetts — His laid-off Garter and Slippers — Fossil of an Eden Day — 
 Buzzard's Bay Physiognomy — Wood's Hole — The Yacht Azalia — Edgartown, 
 and its Head Man Dr. Fisher — Indian Shell-currency of the Island — Extract 
 from an old Book about Nantucket — Quaker Character of Buildings and of 
 Scenery — Contrast between Quaker and Indian Names — Indian Legend and 
 its Poetry — Quaker superiorities — Early and easy Marriages — Whale OU Agil- 
 ity and Grace of Gait, etc., etc. 
 
 New Bedford, September 5. 
 There is a foreshadowing of heaven (I am hopeful enough 
 to believe) in the utterness, obstinate and instinctive, with 
 which I forget what I have written. Away from home, to 
 day, and with no access to files of Home Journal, and 
 memorandum-books, I am completely at a loss, for instance, 
 whether or no a most interestincr account of Nantucket, 
 which I heard from our venerable and lamented neighbor 
 at Idlewild, Friend Sands the Quaker, was ever made the 
 subject of a letter. I know that I told you about it, some- 
 how. What I have communicated I can remember; and 
 his narrative of that visit was too graphic not to be shared 
 with you ; but it is the mortal inking — the tribute taken of 
 pleasant thoughts by the curse of toil — which the instinct 
 of heavenly memory refuses to store away. Though I 
 
 19T 
 
198 The Convalescf.xt. 
 
 know, therefore, that the account of Friend Sands's visit to 
 Nantucket has passed from me to you — did or did not my 
 inkstand black its footprints as it went ? 
 
 But, with this embarrassment for my apology, perhaps 
 you will excuse a little possible repetition ; for I have now 
 been to Nantucket, myself, and should describe my visit 
 more comfortably if I had never written of it before — as 
 possibly I have not. At all events, there was a novelty in 
 seeing, through my own every-day eyes, what I had seen, 
 before, only through eyes as angel-visioned as those of that 
 sweet, good old man — eyes that were life-unclouded and 
 heaven-ready so long before he died. To proceed, then, 
 %vith my history of how Nantucket looked, yesterday, to a 
 common sinner's every-day eyes. 
 
 The motto of Massachusetts would probably be guessed 
 at, by the school-boy, as " To horse ! To horse I'' — if he 
 were called upon suddenly to give it, and trusted to his 
 impression from its picture on the map — for it looks as if 
 the old State had its leo* in the air with haulinsf on its 
 horseman's boot — (Cape Cod the lifted toe and Monomoy 
 sand-bar the upturned spur) — while under the hamstrings, 
 at Buzzard's Bay, lie the cast-off slippers, Martha's Vine- 
 yard and Nantucket, And to these secluded islands 
 (which preserved their character of slippers by remaining 
 at peace while the booted and spurred mainland fought 
 the King Philip war), it is the custom for the Buzzard's- 
 
Seeing with Different Eyes. 199 
 
 Bay steamers to make " pleasure excursions " during the 
 summer. And it was on one of these, advertised by the 
 " Eagle's Wing " for September the first, that our party pro- 
 posed to go. 
 
 It chanced to be a morning altogether Adara-and-Eve- 
 worthy — one of those fossils of Eden-weather which 
 occasionally turn up with the plough of a summer's day — 
 and we joyfully made our way through the wilderness of 
 whale-ships at New Bedford wharves, to the gaily-painted 
 little steamer rino-ino; her welcome amono- the tall masts. 
 With her decks laden with some four hundred passengers, 
 the "Eagle's Wing" cast loose at eleven a.m. and put out 
 from Acushnet River — " Wood's Hole," some fifteen miles 
 across Buzzard's Bay, being our first point of destination. 
 As the shore lessened, of course, I varied my study of the 
 somewhat unwritten sea with attention to the more plum- 
 met-able " soundings " of my fellow-passengers. They were 
 from a corner of New England, the population of which, 
 as you know, are so " awful smart " that they never have 
 stuff to look anything else with ; and I must say that their 
 physiognomy as a crowd would be improved wath here and 
 there a countenance of some little, suavity of dullness. 
 Still, there were the two usual classes — those who were 
 handsomer than they knew of, and those who thought 
 themselves handsomer than they were — and among the 
 former were some well bronzed and bearded young whale- 
 
200 The Convalescent. 
 
 men, just home from the three-years' voyage ; and among 
 the latter were tlieir sweethearts " and the other girls," all 
 "perfectly beautiful," of course, under the sharp appetite 
 for female beauty given by a long fasting on whales and 
 porpoises. 
 
 We ran to the small harbor of \Yood's Hole in about 
 an hour ; and, this being the unfastened clasp of that laid- 
 off garter of the leg of Massachusetts called the " Eliza- 
 beth Islands," it is the gap and channel by which to get 
 from Buzzard's Bay to the Atlantic without making the 
 circuit of that chain of islands. It is also the steamer's 
 landing-place for those bound to Naushon, the largest of 
 them ; and, for a very charming lady who was among our 
 passengers, the beautiful yacht " Azalia " lay anchored and 
 waiting, she l)eing the Cleopatra-served queen of that 
 island, her husband's residence. The disembarking of this 
 one passenger, and of several baskets of marketing which 
 were doubtless tributary also to her well served loveliness, 
 seemed to be our main errand at that port ; and, this 
 achieved, we kept on our way to Martha's Vineyard. And, 
 in fifteen or twenty minutes we ran under the shelter of 
 Chappequiddick, the small island which seems to have 
 been thrown out by Nature as a breakwater against the 
 Atlantic, giving shelter and safe anchorage in all weather 
 to the harbor of Edo-artown. 
 
 The main wharf of Edgartown (the metropolis of tho 
 
Dr. Fisher. 201 
 
 twenty-mile island called Martha's Vineyard), was crowded 
 with a large representation of its two thousand inhabi- 
 tants — the straw-hatted and parasolled curiosity which had 
 brought down the male and female islanders to see the 
 voyagers from the distant mainland, making a very bril- 
 liant show, among the whale-ships and oil-casks of the pier. 
 We had half an hour for a walk ; and, immediately on 
 landing, we fortunately fell in with the head Sachem of 
 the island, with whom my companion, Mr. Grinnell, 
 chanced to be acquainted ; and under whose favorable con- 
 voy we made the circuit of the principal streets. This 
 gentleman, Dr. Fisher, is the tallest, strongest-built, 
 healthiest and handsomest, as well as the wealthiest and 
 most influential inhabitant of Martha's Vineyard. He is 
 certainly a monarch to look at, and he carried the sceptre 
 of the island in his pocket — (the key of the " Martha's 
 Vineyard Bank," of which he is President) — giving us, by 
 this means, the privilege of an entrance into his palace 
 after "bankino; hours" were over, and a view of the iron 
 safes where were deposited the precious ledgers which are 
 the jewels of his crown. He did not (by the way) 
 show us a specimen of what I was curious to see, the 
 "strings of forty sun dried claras,'' which, in the primitive 
 Indian currency of the island, were equivalent to a copper. 
 This, and the weed called horse-feet or sea-spin (two hun-^ 
 dred of which, for manure, constituted the yearly tithe 
 
 9* 
 
202 The Convalescent. 
 
 paid by each master of a family for the support of the 
 clerofvman) were mv hurried omissions in that half-hour 
 of sio-ht-seeinaf. 
 
 And, by the way, it is in curious contrast with our pre- 
 sent dazzling returns from California, to look back to the 
 representatives of coin, and the slow and homely creation 
 of values in this once newly discovered corner of the world. 
 There are some excellent comments on those of Martha's 
 Vineyard and Nantucket, in an old book I have stumbled 
 upon, called "Letters from an American Farmer to a 
 friend in England," published in Philadelphia, in 1793. 
 The author discourses thus sensibly : 
 
 " It would be a task worth a speculative genius, to enter 
 intimately into the situation and characters of the people, 
 from Nova Scotia to Florida. Numberless settlements, each 
 distinguished by some peculiarities, present themselves on 
 every side ; all seem to realize the most sanguine wishes 
 that a good man could form for the happiness of his race. 
 Here, they live by fishing on the most plentiful coasts of 
 the world ; there they fell trees, by the sides of large rivers, 
 for masts and lumber ; here others convert innumerable 
 loo-s into the best boards ; there, again, others cultivate the 
 land, rear cattle and clear large fields. Yet I have a spot 
 in my view (Nantucket) where none of these operations 
 are performed, which will reward us for the trouble of 
 infection ; but, though it is barren in its soil, insignificant 
 in its extent, inconvenient in its situation, deprived of mate- 
 rials for building, it seems to have been inhabited merely to 
 prove what mankind can do, when happily governed. And 
 
Extract from an Old Book about Nantucket, 203 
 
 when we find barren spots fertilized ; grass growing where 
 none grew before ; grain gathered from fields which had 
 hitherto produced nothing but brambles ; dwellings raised 
 where no building-materials were to be found ; wealth 
 acquired "by the most uncommon means; then willingly do 
 we leave the odoriferous furrow, or the rich valley, with 
 pleasure repairing to the spot where so many difficulties 
 have been overcome ; where extraordinary exertions have 
 produced extraordinary effects, and where -every natural 
 obstacle has been remos^ed by a vigorous industry 
 
 " Would you believe that a sandy spot of about twenty- 
 three thousand acres, affording neither stones nor timber, 
 meadows nor arable land, can yet boast of a handsome 
 town consisting of more than five hundred houses, should 
 possess above two hundred sail of vessels, constantly employ 
 upwards of two thousand seamen, feed more than fifteen 
 thousand sheep, five hundred cows, two hundred horses; 
 and has several citizens (this was in 1798) worth twenty- 
 thousand poimds sterling ? Yet all these facts are uncon- 
 tro verted. 
 
 "This island was patented in 1671, by twenty-seven 
 proprietors. They found it so universally barren and so 
 unfit for cultivation that they mutually agreed not to 
 divide it, as each could neither live on, nor improve, that 
 lot which might fall to his share. They then cast their 
 eyes on the sea, and finding themselves obliged to become 
 fishermen, they looked for a harbor; and, having found 
 one, they determined to build a town in its neighborhood 
 and to dwell together. For that purpose they surveyed as 
 much ground as would afford to each what is generally 
 called here a home-lot. Forty acres were thought sufficient 
 to answer this double purpose ; for, to what end should they 
 covet more land than they could improve, or even inclose? 
 
204 The Convalescext. 
 
 not being 2)ossessed of a single tree in the whole extent of 
 their dominion. This was all the territorial property they 
 allotted ; the rest they agreed to hold in common ; and, 
 seeing that the scanty grass of the island might feed sheep, 
 they agreed that each proprietor should be entitled to feed 
 on it, if he pleased, five hundred and sixty sheep. By this 
 agreement the public flock was to consist of fifteen thou- 
 sand, one hundred and twenty ; that is, the undivided part 
 of the island, was, by such means, ideally divisible into as 
 many parts or shares, to which, nevertheless, no determin- 
 ate quantity of land was affixed. 
 
 " Further, they agreed, in case the grass should grow 
 better by feeding, that, then, four sheep should represent a 
 cow, and two cows a horse. Several hundred of sheep-pas- 
 ture titles have since been divided on those different tracts 
 which are now cultivated; the rest by inheritance and 
 intermarriages have been so subdivided, that it is very com- 
 mon for a girl to have no other portion than her outfit and 
 four sheep-pastures or the p)7'ivilege of feeding a cow. But 
 as this privilege is founded on an ideal, though real title to 
 some unknown piece of land, which, one day or another, 
 may be ascertained, these people very unwillingly sell those 
 small rights, and esteem them more than you would ima- 
 gine. They are the representation of a future freehold ; 
 they cherish in the mind of the possessor, a latent though 
 distant hope, that, hj h.\^ success in the next whale season, he 
 may be enabled to pitch on some predilected spot, and 
 there build himself a home. 
 
 .... a There is a considerable tract of even ground, 
 the best on the island, divided into seven fields, one of 
 which is planted by that part of the community which is 
 entitled to it. This is called the common plantation, a sim- 
 ple but useful expedient ; for, was each holder of this tract 
 
Extract from an Old Book about Nantucket. 205 
 
 to fence his property, it would require a prodigious quantity 
 of posts and rails, which, you must remember, are to be 
 purchased and fetched from the mainland. Instead of those 
 private subdivisions, each man's allotment of land is thrown 
 into the general field, which is fenced at the expense of the 
 parties. Within it, every one does with his own propor- 
 tion of the ground what he pleases. This apparent commu- 
 nity saves a very material expense, a great deal of labor, 
 and, perhaps, raises a sort of emulation among them, which 
 urges every one to fertilize his share with the greatest care 
 and attention. Thus, every seven years the whole of this 
 tract is under cultivation, and, enriched by manure and 
 ploughing, yields afterwards excellent pasture ; to which 
 the town coivs, amounting to five hundred, are daily led by 
 the town shepherd^ and as regularly driven back in the 
 evening. There, each animal easily finds the house to 
 which it belongs, where they are sure to be rewarded for 
 the milk they give, by a present of bran, grain, or other 
 farinaceous preparation. These are commonly called Tetou- 
 kemah lots. 
 
 " The rest of the undescribed part of the island is open, 
 and serves as a common pasture for their sheep. To the 
 west of the island, in the spring, their young cattle are 
 driven to feed. It has a few oak bushes, and two fresh- 
 water ponds, abounding with teals, brandts, and other sea- 
 fowls, brought by the proximity to their sand-banks and 
 shallows. Here, they have neither ivolves nor foxes ; those 
 inhabitants, therefore, who live out of town, raise with all 
 security as much poultry as they ivant, and their turkeys 
 are very large and excellent." 
 
 It is curious to look around in Edgartown, and see how 
 all prevalent, in its streets, structures and scenery, is tho 
 
206 The Convalescent. 
 
 spirit, type and essence of Quakerism, The buildings 
 the very simplest structures that could shut in families and 
 shut out rain — stand at all manner of ano-les to the street, 
 having quite the air of being dropped from the clouds like 
 a cluster of blocks and left where they first fell. The 
 island itself, indeed, a sand-bank without verdure or foliage, 
 seems to have been created a Quaker (a Friend Sands) by 
 Nature — with all its purity of air and invigorating health- 
 fulness of temperature, rigidly unornamented by leaf or 
 flower. To tell the truth, I looked with some astonish- 
 ment at the personal beauty of our friend the King-Fisher 
 — (the monarch of the island, who was sliowing us the new- 
 built Bank that formed his throne) — and it was a handsome- 
 ness in spite of evident intention to the contrary. Though 
 not in the Quaker costume, his ample proportions were 
 clad wholly with a view to comfort — large thick shoes, 
 ample and square tailed blue coat, loose-tied cravat, slouch 
 hat, and prairie-proportioned trowsers — all in keeping with 
 his huge plain manners and right down words. 
 
 Yet — apropos of Quaker words — look at the poetry that 
 has once inhabited these islands in the shape of the Indian 
 names, histories and legends. Compare the spots which 
 the Quakers have had the naming of — (^Further Greek, 
 Hither Creek, Narrow Creek, Broad Creek, Muddy Cove, 
 Sandy Cove, Thumb Cove, Great Thumb Cove, Squash 
 Meadow and Eel Point) — with the red man's names which 
 
An Indian Legend. 20T 
 
 have ftill lingered : — Tashmu Spring, ToochJca Pond, Sasa- 
 cacheh and Siasconset^ Nohadeer and Madequeechan Ponds, 
 Nashaquitsa and Chapaquonsett. And, what a contrast 
 between the Quaker history of these islands — simple statis- 
 tics of industry and long life — and such legends as the In- 
 dian account of the Devil's Den, a volcanic crater at the 
 southwest end of Martha's Vinevard : 
 
 " Many years before the English carae to this island, a 
 giant, named Maushope, resided in this hollow. Here he 
 broiled whales, and, not consuming all himself, he supphed 
 the Indians with fish ready-cooked, Tofacihtate the catch- 
 ing of these fish, he threw many large stones at proper 
 distances into the sea, on which he might walk with 
 greater ease to himself. (This cause-way is now called the 
 Devil's bridge.) On a time an offering was made to him 
 of all the tobacco on Martha's Vineyard ; which, having 
 smoked, he knocked the snuff out of his pipe, which formed 
 Nantucket. When the Christian religion took place in the 
 island, he told them, as light had come among them, and 
 he belonged to the Kingdom of Darkness, he must take his 
 leave. Accordingly, after metamorphosing his children 
 into fishes, and throwing his wife on Saconet Point, where 
 she still remains a misshapen rock, he went away, nobody 
 knew whither." 
 
 Poetry notwithstanding, however, the balance to be 
 btruck, in weighing the merits of these islands, is altogether 
 in their Quaker favor. And I should not leave this part of 
 the subject without mentioning that there are two import- 
 
208 The Convalescent. 
 
 ant points on which their climate and soil have an advan- 
 tage over the rest of the world, viz. — matrimony dixidi pump- 
 kins. The old writer from whom I have already quoted 
 says : 
 
 " The climate is so favorable to population that marriage 
 is the object of every man's earliest wish ; and it is a bless- 
 ing so easily obtained that great numbers are obliged to quit 
 their native land and carry their children to other coun- 
 tries for a subsistence." 
 
 And the other — the pumj^Mn superiority — is well known 
 to naturalists. A root transplanted from the mainland tc/ 
 any of these islands will produce gradually a sweeter 
 fruit, till the juice is almost of the character of molasses. 
 The pumpkin pies made here, though of a peculiarly delicious 
 flavor, are wholly without other sweetening than the fruit 
 itself. 
 
 Turning back to the old volume at my elbow, 1 find 
 still two other passages which have a bearing on the ad- 
 vantao-es of these islands : 
 
 o 
 
 "Every man here takes a wife as soon as he chooses, 
 and that is generally very early. iVb portion is required, 
 none is expected.^'' 
 
 "A man born here is distinguishable, hj/ his gait, from 
 among a hundred other men, so remarkable are they for a 
 pliabiliti/ of sinews and a peculiar agility which attends 
 them even in old age. I have heard some persons attri- 
 
Whale Oil Agility. 209 
 
 bute this to tfie effects of whale oil, with which they are so 
 copiously anointed in the various operations it must un- 
 dergo before it is fit either for the European market or the 
 candle manufactory." 
 
 You see, ray dear Morris, that the subject grows under 
 my hand. My letter has already passed the usual length, 
 and we are not yet even arrived at Nantucket. I will stop 
 for the present, and my next letter shall proceed with the 
 two days' visit to that most interesting island. 
 
 Yours always. 
 
LETTER XXIII. 
 
 Gay Reception at Edgartown— Happy Exemption from the usual Penalty of 
 the Voyage— Picnic Refreshment on the Voyage — Universal Temperance — 
 Original Price of the Island of Nantucket — Quaker Exemptions from Com- 
 mon social Evils— Curious Chapter from an Old Book, about the "Friends " 
 of Nantucket, and their Manners and Customs — Specimen of the First-borr 
 Poetry of the Island, etc. etc. 
 
 New Bedford, September. 
 With the close of my last letter, I believe, we had got as 
 far as Martha's Vineyard, on our way to Nantucket. Our 
 welcome at Edgartown (I forgot to mention) was a display 
 of some twenty flags by a revenue-cutter lying in the har- 
 bor, and of one or more flags by most of the other vessels 
 at the wharves — a public sympathy with a " pleasure 
 excursion," which spoke well for the tender sensibilities of 
 the island. There was also a salute of two guns fired by 
 the government vessel, the Revenue-Commodore, in his 
 uniform, standing on the quarter-deck ; and to this we 
 responded by several sharp sneezes from our steam-whistle, 
 while an Italian music-o-rinder who chanced to be on 
 board played vigorously at the bowsprit. Our four hun- 
 dred passengers, as a bod}^, were under the exhilaration of 
 of an agreeable disappointment; many having secretly 
 
 210 
 
Happy Exemption from the usual Penalty. 211 
 
 dreaded that the breakfast, eaten at New Bedford, would 
 
 be 
 
 " Though lost to siglit to memory dear." 
 
 and I, for one, having stopped at the apothecary's on my 
 way to the boat, and laid in that deferrer of sea-sickness, 
 (for nothing on earth will idtimately prevent it), a bottle 
 of the essence of ginger. Few go to Nantucket, I believe, 
 ordinarily, without paying, to the Atlantic, this eructatory 
 toll. It is even mentioned in a mineralogical report made 
 to the Academy of Science in 1786 — the learned Dr. 
 Baylies, who then, with a committee, made a special voy- 
 ao;e to the island, to examine its soil and strata, declarino: 
 to that scientific body : " With the constant rolling of the 
 boat I grew exceedingly sick; and nothing could alleviate 
 my disagreeable feelings but a view of Gay's Head, seen 
 through Quick's Hole at a distance of about fifteen miles." 
 So, of course, not being called upon to rely upon a view 
 through "Quick's Hole" for an "alleviation of our disa- 
 greeable feelings," we were all happier than Dr. Baylies. 
 
 We bade adieu to the crowded wharf at Edgartown, 
 about one o'clock ; and the next hour of our voyage (to 
 the remoter ibland of Nantucket) was occupied bv most of 
 the small parties on board in such refreshment as bao- or 
 basket could supply. Unlike most excursions of the kind, 
 it was on the plan of auto-provender — eaten from such laps 
 and fingers as Nature" and friendship could supply — and 
 
212 The Convalescent. 
 
 there was anotlier difference from tlie pleasure-parties on 
 our Hudson River ; not a drop of stimulating liquor to be 
 seen, either for sale at a " bar," in the boat, or as a part of 
 private lunch! Temperance prevails, without a doubt, in 
 the navigation of Buzzard's Bay. 
 
 We now began to approach that famous island, which, 
 though fourteen miles long and three broad, was bought of 
 Thomas Mayhew (its first English possessor after Lord 
 Sterling), for the small consideration of thirty pounds and 
 two beaver hats — in the words of the deed : " the aforesaid 
 to enjoy, and their heirs and assigns forever (Nantucket) 
 with all the privileges thereunto belonging, for and in 
 consideration of the sum of thirty pounds of current pay, 
 and also, two beaver hats, one for myself and one for my 
 wlfeP As there were thirty thousand acres of land, this 
 amounted, of course, to one thousand acres and two- 
 thirtieths of beaver hats, for a single pound sterling ! We 
 looked in vain, around the walls of the Nantucket Athe- 
 naeum, the next day, for any portraits of " Mr. and Mrs. 
 Mayhew " in their two "beaver hats" — and I may express 
 my surprise, by the way, at the general dearth of antiqui- 
 ties and memorials on the island. Tombstones, I know, 
 are against the principles of the Quakers, but does that 
 feeling extend to a general discouragement of historical 
 mementoes ? 
 
 This last-mentioned superfluity (a tombstone) is one of 
 
Curious Chapter from an Old Book. 213 
 
 a curious list of things which (it is recorded) the Quakers 
 of Nantucket found they could do ivithout. In the old 
 book from which I have already quoted (published in 
 1*798), it is stated that there had not been a capital pun- 
 ishment, or trial for any capital offence, on the island, for 
 over a hundred years. And — but I will quote the passage 
 or two enumerating their exemptions : 
 
 " There are but two congregations in Sherburn, (the 
 capital of Nantucket). They assemble every Sunday in 
 meeting-houses, as simple as the dwellings of the people ; 
 and there is hut one clergyman on the island (population 
 about four thousand). But one single priest to instruct a 
 whole island and to direct their consciences ! It is even so. 
 This lonely clergyman is a Presbyterian minister, who has a 
 very large and respectable congregation ; the other is com- 
 posed of Quakers, who, you know, admit of no iiarticular 
 person who, in consequence of being ordained, becomes entitled 
 to preach J catechise, and receive salary for his trovMe. And 
 these two sects live in perfect harmony with each other." 
 
 . . . . " Singular as it may appear to you, there are 
 hut two medical men on the island ; for, of what service 
 can physic be, in a primitive society, where the excesses of 
 inebriation are so rare ?" 
 
 .... " 0?2e6'm^^e ^(ii^yer has, of late years, found means 
 to live here ; but his best fortune proceeds more from 
 having married one of the wealthiest heiresses of the 
 island. He is sometimes employed in recovering money 
 lent on the mainland." 
 
 . . . . " Here, happily, unoppressed with any civil 
 bondage, this society of fishermen and merchants live, 
 without any military establishments, without governors, or 
 
214 The Convalescent. 
 
 any maulers hut the laws ; and iheir civil code is so liglit 
 that, JL is never felt." 
 
 .... "The same simplicity attends the worship 
 tiicy pay to the Divinity. Their ciders are the only 
 Icachcrs of their con<^rogations, the instructors of their 
 y<julh. They visit and comfort the sick. After death the 
 society bury thoit. with their fithois, ivlthout pomj), prayers 
 or ceremonies. Not a stone or monument is erected^ to teli 
 where any ])erson was buiied ; their memory is preserved 
 by tradition." 
 
 The temptation to copy a whole chapter of this curious 
 book is too great to bo resisted. It is little known, and, as it 
 gives a grapliic; picture of what TsTantucket was in the last 
 century, it will better pi'epare you for mv own description 
 of it, as 1 found it now. 1 will sup])Ose, therefore, that, wliilc 
 we are sailing over the twenty or thirty miles of smooth 
 sea between Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket, you are 
 reading as follows : 
 
 "The maniu^i's of tiie * Kriends ' are entirely founded ou 
 vhat simplicity which is their boast, :iiul their most distin- 
 guished cliaracteristic ; and those manners liavo acquired 
 the authority of laws. Here they are strongly attached 
 to plainness of dress, as well as to that of language; inso- 
 much that, though some part of it may be ungrammatical, 
 yet should any person who was boiii and brought up here 
 attempt to speak more correctly, he wovdd he looked upon 
 «5 rr,/bp, or an innovator. On the other liand, should a 
 stranger come liere, and adopt tlieir idiom in all its puritv, 
 (as they deem it), this accomplishment would immediately 
 
Curious Chapter from an Old Book. 215 
 
 procure him the most cordial reception, and they vvould 
 cherish him like an ancient member of their society. So 
 many impositions have they suffered on this account, that 
 they begin, now, indeed, to grow more cautious. They 
 are so tenacious 'of their ancient habits of industry and 
 frugality, that if any of them were to be seen with a long 
 coat made of English cloth, on any other than the first 
 day (Sunday) he would be greatly ridiculed and censured; 
 he would be looked upon as a careless spendthrift, whom 
 it would be unsafe to trust, and in vain to relieve. 
 
 " A few years ago, two single horse chairs were imported 
 from Boston, to the great offence of these prudent citizens ; 
 nothing appeared to them more culpable than the use of 
 such gaudy painted vehicles, in contempt of the more use- 
 ful and more simple single-horse carts of their fathers. 
 This piece of extravagant and unknown luxury almost 
 caused a schism, and set every tongue agoing. Some pre- 
 dicted the approaching ruin of those families that had 
 imported them ; others feared the dangers of example. 
 Never, since the foundation of the town, had there hap- 
 pened anything which so much alarmed this primitive com- 
 munity. One of the possessors of these profane chairs, 
 filled with repentance, wisely sent it back to the continent ; 
 the other, more obstinate and perverse, in defiance to all' 
 remonstrances, persisted in the use of his chair, until, by 
 degrees, they became reconciled to it; though I observe 
 that the wealthiest and most respectable people still go to 
 meeting, or to their farms, in a single-horse cart^ with a 
 decent awning fixed over it. Indeed, if you consider their 
 sandy soil, and the badness of the roads, these appear to 
 be the best contrived vehicles for this island. 
 
 " Idleness is the most heinous sin that can he committed 
 in Nantucket. An idle man would soon be pointed out a? 
 
216 The Convalescent. 
 
 an object of compassion ; for idleness is considered as an- 
 other ^Yord for want and hunger. This principle is so 
 thoroughly understood, and is become so universal, so prevail- 
 ing a prejudice, that, literally speaking, they are never idle. 
 Even if they go to the market-place, which is (if I may be 
 allowed the expression) the coffee-house of the town, 
 either to transact business, or to converse with their friends, 
 they always have a piece of cedar in their hands and while 
 they are talking, they will, as it were instinctively, employ 
 themselves hi converting it into something useful, either in 
 making bungs or spoyls for their oil-casks, or other useful 
 articles. I must confess that I have never seen more ina^e- 
 nuity in the use of the knife : thus the most idle moments 
 of their lives become usefully employed. In the many 
 hours of leisure which their long cruises afford them, they 
 cut and carve a variety of boxes and pretty toys, in wood, 
 adapted to different uses, which they bring home as testi- 
 monials of remembrance to their wives or sweethearts. 
 They have showed me a variety of little bowls, and other 
 implements, executed cooper-wise, with the greatest neat- 
 ness and elegance. You will be pleased to remember they 
 are all brought up to the trade of coojKrs, be their future 
 intentions or fortunes what they may ; therefore, almost 
 every man in this island has always two knives in his poc- 
 ket — one much, larger than the other : and though they 
 hold everything that is called fashion in the utmost con- 
 tempt, yet they are as difficult to please, and as extrava- 
 gant in the choice and price of their knives, as any young 
 buck in Boston would be about his hat, his buckles, or 
 coat. As soon as a knife is impaired, or superseded by a 
 more convenient one, it is carefully laid up in some corner 
 of their desk. I once saw upwards of fifty thus preserved, 
 at Mr. "s, one of the worthiest men on this island, 
 
Curious Chapter from an Old Book. 21 1 
 
 and among the whole, there was not one that perfectly 
 resembled anotlier, 
 
 " As the sea excursions are often very long, their vnves, 
 in their absence, are necessarily obliged to transact business, 
 to settle accounts, and, in short, to rule and provide for 
 their families. These circumstances, being often repeated, 
 give women the abilities as well as a taste for that kind of 
 superintendency, to which, by their prudence and good 
 management, they seem to be, in general, very equal. 
 This employment ripens their judgment, and justly entitles 
 them to a rank superior to that of other wives ; and this 
 is the principal reason why those of Nantucket, as well as 
 those of Montreal,* are so fond of society, so affable, and so 
 <3onversant with the affairs of the world. The men, at 
 their return — weary with the fatigue of the sea, and full of 
 confidence a,nd love— cheerfully give their consent to 
 every transaction that has happened during their 
 absence, and all is joy and peace. * Wife, thee hast done 
 well^ is the general approbation they receive for their appli- 
 cation and industry. What would the men do without the 
 agency of these faithful mates ? The absence of so many of 
 them at particular seasons, leaves the town quite desolate ; 
 and this mournful situation disposes the women to go to each 
 other'' s houses much oftener than when their husbands were 
 at home : hence the custom of incessant visiting has 
 infected every one, and even those whose husbands do not 
 go abroad. The house is always clean before they set out, 
 and with peculiar alacrity they pursue their intended visit, 
 which consists of a social chat, a dish of tea and a heartv 
 supper. When the good man of the house returns from 
 
 ♦ Most of the merchants and young ;nen of Montreal spend the greatest part 
 of their time in trading witli the Indians, at an amazing distance from Canada ; 
 and it often happens that they are three yeari? together absent from home. 
 
 10 
 
218 The Convalescent. 
 
 his labor, he peaceably goes after his wife, and brings her 
 home ; meanwhile, the young fellows, equally vigilant, 
 easily find out which is the most convenient house, and 
 there they assemble with the girls of the neighborhood. 
 Instead of cards, musical instruments, or songs, they relate 
 storTes of their whaling voyages, their various sea adven- 
 tures, and talk of the ditferent coasts and people they have 
 visited. ' The Island of Catherine, in the Brazils,' says 
 one, ' is a very droll island — it is inhabited by none but 
 men ; women are not permitted to come in sight of it ; not 
 a woman is there on the whole island. Who among us 
 is not 2;lad it is not so here ? The Nantucket Sfirls and 
 boys beat the world.' At this innocent sally, the titter 
 goes round ; they whisper to one another their spontaneous 
 reflections. Puddings, pies, and custards never fail to be 
 produced on such occasions ; for I believe there never were 
 any people in their circumstances who lived so well, even to 
 superabundance. As inebriation is unknown, and musics, 
 singing, and dancing are held in equal detestation, they 
 never could fill all the vacant hours of their lives without 
 the repast of the table. Thus these young people sit and 
 talk, and divert themselves as well as they can ; if any one 
 has lately returned from a cruise, he is generally the speaker 
 of the night; they often all laugh and talk together; but 
 they are happy, and would not exchange their pleasures 
 for those of the most brilliant assemblies in Europe. This 
 lasts until the father and mother return, when all retire to 
 their respective homes — the men reconducting the partners 
 of their affections. 
 
 "Thus they spend many of the youthful evenings of 
 their lives; no wonder, therefore, that they marry so early. 
 But no sooner have they undergone this ceremony, than 
 they cease to appear so cheerful and gay ; the new rank 
 
Curious Chapter from an Old Book. 219 
 
 they hold in the society impresses them with more serious 
 ideas than were entertained before. The title of master of 
 a family necessarily requires more solid behavior and 
 deportment. The new wUe follows in the trammels of 
 custom, which are as powerful as the tyranny of fashion ; 
 she gradually advises and directs. The new husband soon 
 goes to sea; he leaves her to learn and exercise the new 
 government in which she is entered. Those. who stay at 
 home are full as passive, in general at least, with regard to the 
 inferior departments of the family. But you must not ima- 
 gine, from this account, that the Nantucket wives are turbu- 
 lent, of high temper, and difficult to be ruled ; on the con- 
 trary, the wives of Sherburn, in so doing, comply only with 
 the prevailing custom of the island. The husbands, equally 
 submissive to the ancient and respectable manners of their 
 country, submit, without ever suspecting that there can be 
 any impropriety. Were they to behave otherwise, they 
 would be afraid of subverting the principles of their society 
 by altering its ancient rules. Thus both parties are per- 
 fectly satisfied, and all is peace and concord. 
 
 " The richest person now in the island owes all his present 
 prosperity and success, to the ingenuity of his wife. This 
 is a known feet, which is well recorded ; for while he was 
 performing his first cruises, she traded with pins and 
 needles, and kept a school. Afterwards, she purchased 
 more considerable articles, which she sold with so much 
 judgment that she laid the foundation of a system of busi- 
 ness, which she has ever since prosecuted with equal dex- 
 terity and success. She wrote to London, formed connec- 
 tions, and, in short, became the only ostensible instrument 
 of that house, both at home and abroad. Who is he in 
 this country, and who is a citizen of Nantucket or Boston, 
 who does not know Aunt Kesiah ? I must tell you that 
 
220 The Convalescent. 
 
 she is the wife of Mr. C n, a very respectable man 
 
 who, well pleased with all her schemes, trusts to her judg- 
 ment, and relies on her sagacit}^ with so entire a confidence 
 as to be altogether passive as to the concerns of his family. 
 They have the best country-seat on the island, at Quayes, 
 where they live with hospitality, and in perfect union. He 
 seems to be altogether the contemplative man. 
 
 "To this dexterity in managing the husband's business 
 while he is absent, the Nantucket ivives unite a great deal 
 of industry. They spin, or cause to be spun, in their 
 houses, abundance of wool and flax, and would be forever 
 disgraced, and looked upon as idlers, if all the family 
 were not clad in good, neat, and sufficient homespun cloth. 
 First days are the only seasons when it is lawful for both 
 sexes to exhibit some garments of English manufacture ; 
 even these are of the most moderate price, and of the gra- 
 vest colors. There is no kind of difference in their dress; 
 thev are all clad alike, and resemble, in that respect, the 
 members of one family. 
 
 " A singular custom prevails here, among the women, at 
 which I was greatly surprised, and am really at a loss how 
 to account for the original cause that has introduced in 
 this primitive society so remarkable a fashion, or rather so 
 extraordinary a want. They have adopted these many 
 years, the Asiatic custom of taking a dose of opium every 
 morning ; and so deeply rooted is it, that they would be at 
 a loss how to Uve without this indulgence ; they would 
 rather be deprived of any necessary than forego their favor- 
 ite luxury. This is much more prevailing among the women 
 than the men — few of the latter having caught the conta- 
 gion ; though the sheriff, whom I may call the first person 
 in the island, who is an eminent physician beside, and 
 whom I had the pleasure of being well acquainted with, 
 
Curious Chapter from an Old Book. 221 
 
 has, for many years, submitted to this custom. He takes 
 three grains of it every day, after breakfast, without the 
 effects of which, he often told me, he was not able to trans- 
 act any business. 
 
 " It is hard to conceive how a people always happy and 
 healthy, in consequence of the exercise and labor they 
 undergo, never oppressed with the vapor of idleness, yet 
 should want the factitious effects of opium to preserve that 
 cheerfulness to which their temperance, their climate, their 
 happy situation, so justly entitle them. But where is the 
 society perfectly free from error or folly ? The least imper- 
 fect is undoubtedly that where the greatest good prepon- 
 derates ; and, agreeable to this rule, I can truly say that I 
 never was acquainted with a less vicious, or a more harm- 
 less one. 
 
 " The majority of the present inhabitants are the descend- 
 ants of the twenty-seven first proprietors, who patented the 
 island : of the rest, many others have since come over 
 among them, chiefly from the Massachusetts. Here are 
 neither Scotch, Irish, nor French, as is the case in most 
 other settlements ; they are an unmixed English breed. 
 The consequence of this extended connection is, that they 
 are all in some degree related to each other. You must 
 not be surprised, therefore, when I tell you that they always 
 call each other cousin^ uncle, or aunt, which are become 
 such common appellations that no other are made use of 
 in their daily intercourse. You would be deemed stiff and 
 affected, were you to refuse conforming yourself to this 
 ancient custom, which truly depicts the image of a large 
 family. The many who reside here that have not the 
 least claim of relationship with any one in the town, yet 
 by the power of custom make use of no other address in 
 their conversation. Were you here yourself but a few 
 
222 The Convalescent. 
 
 days, you would be obliged to adopt the same phraseology, 
 which \^ far from being disagreeable^ as it implies a general 
 acquaintance and friendship^ which connects them all in 
 unity and peace. 
 
 "Their taste for fishing has been so prevailing that it 
 has engrossed all their attention, and even prevented them 
 from introducing some higher degree of perfection in their 
 agriculture. There are many useful improvements which 
 might have meliorated their soil. There are many trees 
 which, if transplanted here, would have thriven extremely 
 well, and would have served to shelter, as well as decor- 
 ate, the favorite spots they have so carefully manured. The 
 red cedar, the locust, the button-wood, I am persuaded, 
 would have grown here rapidly and to great size, with 
 many others; but their thoughts are turned altogether 
 toward the sea. The Indian corn begins to yield them 
 considerable crops ; and the wheat sown on its stocks is 
 become a very profitable grain. Rye will grow with little 
 care. They might raise, if they would, immense quantities 
 of buckwheat. 
 
 " Such an island, inhabited as I have described, is not 
 the place where gay travellers should resort, in order to 
 enjoy that variety of pleasures the more splendid towns of 
 this continent afford. Not that they are wholly deprived 
 of what we might call recreations and innocent pastimes ; 
 but opulence, instead of luxuries and extravagances, pro- 
 duces nothing more, here, than an increase of business, an 
 additional degree of hospitality, greater neatness in the 
 preparation of dishes, and better wines. They often walk 
 and converse with each other, as I have observed 'before; 
 and upon extraordinary occasions will taJce a ride to Pal- 
 pus, where there is a house of entertainment ; but these 
 rural amusements are conducted upon the same plan of 
 
Curious Chapter from an Old Book. 223 
 
 moderation as those iu town. They are so simple as 
 hardly to be described. The pleasure of g^oing and return- 
 ing together, of chatting and walking about, of throwing 
 the bar, heaving stones, etc., are the only entertainments 
 they are acquainted with. This is all they practise, and 
 all they seem to desire. 
 
 " The house at Palpus is the general resort of those who 
 possess the luxury of a horse and chaise, as well as those 
 who still retain, as the majority do, a predilection for their 
 primitive vehicle. By resorting to that place, they enjoy 
 a change of air, they taste the pleasures of exercise : per- 
 haps an exhilarating bowl, not at all improper in this cli- 
 mate, aflbrds the chief indulgence known to th^se people 
 on the days of their greatest festivity. The mounting a 
 horse must afford a most pleasing exercise to those men who 
 are so much at sea. I was once invited to that house, and 
 had the satisfaction of conducting thither one of the many 
 beauties of that island (for it abounds with handsome 
 women), dressed in all the bewitching attire of the most 
 charming simplicity. Like the rest of the company, she 
 was cheerful without loud laughs, and smiling, without 
 affectation. They all appeared gay, without levity. I had 
 never before in my life seen so much unaffected mirth 
 mixed with so much modesty. The pleasures of the day 
 were enjoyed with the greatest liveliness and the most inno- 
 cent freedom — no disgusting pruderies, no coquettish airs, 
 tarnished this enlivening assembly ; they behaved accord- 
 ing to their native dispositions, the only rules of decorum 
 with which they were acquainted. What would an Euro- 
 pean visitor have done here without a fiddle, without a 
 dance, without cards ? He would have called it an insipid 
 assembly, and ranked this among the dullest days he had 
 ever spent. This rural excursion had a very great affinity 
 
224 The Co.xvalescent. 
 
 to those practised in our province, with this difference 
 only, that we have no objection to the .sportive dance, 
 though conducted by the rough accents of some self-taught 
 African fiddler. We returned as happy as we went ; and 
 the brightness of the moon kindly lengthened a day which 
 had passed, like other agreeable ones, with singular ra- 
 pidity. 
 
 "Learned travellers, returned from seeing the paintings 
 and antiquities of Rome and Italy, still tilled with the 
 admiration and reverence they inspire, would have hardly 
 been persuaded that so contemptible a spot, which contains 
 nothing remarkable but the genius and the industry of its 
 inhabitants, could ever be an object worthy attention. But 
 I, having never seen the beauties which Europe contains, 
 cheerfully satisfy myself with attentively" examining what 
 my native country exhibits. If we have neither ancient 
 amphitheatres, gilded palaces, nor elevated spires — we 
 enjoy, in our woods, a substantial happiness, which the 
 wonders of art cannot communicate. None among us 
 suffer oppression, either from government or religion : 
 there are very few poor, except the idle ; and, fortunately, 
 the force of example, and the most ample encouragement, 
 soon create a new principle of activity, which had been 
 extinguished, perhaps, in their native country, for want of 
 those opportunities which so often compel honest Euro- 
 peans to seek shelter among ns. The means of procuring 
 subsistence in Europe are limited ; the army may be full, 
 the navy may abound wath seamen, the land, perhaps, 
 wants no additional laborers, the manufacturer is over- 
 charged with supernumerary hands ; what, then, must 
 become of the unemployed ? Here, on the contrary, human 
 industry has acquired a boundless field to exert itself in — 
 a field which will not be fully cultivated in many ages !" 
 
The ■ First-born Poetry of the Island. 225 
 
 With this charming budget of information, I have so 
 far extended my letter, that I must defer, till another week, 
 the entering fairly upon my travels in ISTantucket. If your 
 ignorance v^as at all measurable by my own, you will thank 
 me for the manner in which I have first taken pains to 
 look up authorities and instruct you as to the island's his- 
 tory and statistics. But, to make sure of your sympathies, T 
 will add still another piece of information — Nantucket has 
 produced a poet! The following verses are extracted from 
 a production called "A Looking-glass for the Times," written 
 in 1676, by Peter Folger, a citizen of Sherborne, the capi- 
 tal of the Island. 
 
 " New England for these many years 
 
 Hath had both rest and peace, 
 But now the case is otherwise ; 
 
 Our troubles do increase. 
 The plague of war is now begun 
 
 In some great colonies, 
 And many towns are desolate 
 
 We may see with our eyes. 
 The loss of many goodly men 
 
 We may lament also, 
 Who in the war have lost their lives 
 
 And fallen by our foe. 
 Our women also they have took, 
 
 And children very small, 
 Great cruelty they have used 
 
 To some, though not to all. 
 
 10* 
 
226 The Convalescent. 
 
 The cause of this their suffering 
 
 Was not for any sin, 
 But for the witness that they bare 
 
 Against babes sprinkling. 
 ***** 
 I would not have you for to think 
 
 Though I have wrote so much 
 That I hereby do throw a stone 
 
 At magistrates, as suchx 
 But that which I intend hereby 
 
 Is that they would keep bounds. 
 And meddle not with God's worship 
 
 For which they have no ground. 
 
 * * * * =;f 
 
 If we do love our brethren 
 
 And do to them, I say, 
 As we would they should do to us, 
 
 We should be quiet straightway. 
 ***** 
 
 If that you do mistake the verse 
 
 For its uncomely dress, 
 I tell thee true, I never thought 
 
 That it would pass the press. 
 
 " If any at the- matter kick 
 
 It's like he's galled at heart 
 And that's the reason why he kicks 
 Because he finds it smart. 
 
 " From Sherborne town, where now I dwell, 
 My name I do put here 
 Without offence your real friend. 
 It is Peter Folger." * 
 
 * Of this Ossian of Nantucket, we find in the history of the island, the fol- 
 lowing incidental mention :— " The first mill of which we have any record, was 
 one built in 1666, for grinding corn. During the previous year, the town voted 
 to have a mill to grind their grain, which was to go by horse power. This vote, 
 we know not for what reason, was not carried into effect. The one which 
 they erected was carried by water, and was located on Nesco Pond. Peter 
 
Peter Folger. 221 
 
 And, with this introduction, to you, of the earliest poet 
 
 of Nantucket (and the only one who has yet been heard 
 
 of, I believe), I will, ray dear Morris, close my letter for 
 
 this week. 
 
 Yours alwavs. 
 
 Folger was agreed with to keep this mill, and his toll was fixed at two quarts 
 for each bushel. This Peter Folger was an inhabitant of Martha's Vineyard. 
 He was invited to remove with his family to Nantucket, to officiate as miller, 
 weaver and interpreter of the Indian language ; his son Eleazar was to act as 
 shoemaker ; and, as a proper encouragement to their several occupations, a 
 grant of one-half of a share of land, with all the accommodations thereunto 
 belonging, was made to the father He accepted the invitation, and, in 1663, 
 remived thither. Besides laboring in the callings above mentioned, he acted 
 as surveyor of land." It will thus be seen, that, besides being a poet, Peter 
 Folger was Nantucket's smartest man — miller, weaver, interpieter, surveyor — 
 a proof of a theory of our own, as to the natural pluri-'cuteness of a poet, 
 which it is charming to put on record. 
 
 P. S. Since copying the above, we have lighted upon another historical 
 record, explaining who, (and how otherwise famous), was the mother of Peter 
 Folger's " shoemaker son " — an addition to the " Loves of the Poets " that will 
 not be uninteresting. The author of " Miiiam Coffin, or the Whale-Fisher- 
 men," says : — » 
 
 " Mary Morriel, the great-grandmothe)' of Dr. Benjamin Franklin was 
 maid-servant in the family of the Rev. Hugh Peters, one of the chaplains of 
 Cromwell, who fled from England in the year 1662. Peter Folger, the first 
 of the name who came to Nantucket, was passenger on board the same vessel, 
 and became enamored of the maid, who was a buxom sensible lass, and won 
 the heart of Feter by laughing at hin sea-sickness and betraying no fear of 
 hilge-icater. Peter admired the cheerful endurance of Mary Morriel so mucifi 
 upon the voyage, that he proffered his hand to the maid, and bargained for her 
 with the greedy old hunks, her master, and counted out to him the enormous 
 sum of twenty pounds sterling, all his worldly store, for the remaining term of 
 her servitude. He forthwith married the lass, and apparently had no cause of 
 repentance ; for "he always boasted afterward of having ' made a good bar- 
 gain.' " 
 
LETTER XXIV. 
 
 Arrival at Nantucket— Peculiar Vehicle of the Island— Ramble in the Town 
 the first Evening— Disappointment in the Physiognomy of the Place— "Msit to 
 an Old Inhabitant — The Macy Family — Picture of the last Indian Native of 
 the Island — His Pride about Shoes — Kadooda and his Laws — Band of Music 
 — Curious Nantucket Predjudices, formerly, on the Subject, etc., etc. 
 
 New Bedford, September 18. 
 Our sixty-mile voyage to Xantiicket drew to a close, some- 
 where about four in the bright and propitioiis afternoon, 
 and, with the reluctant permission of a very shallow sand- 
 bar, we scraped our way into the harbor. To the satchel- 
 shaped island, this curving bay is like the month of a con- 
 venient pocket, and it is the calamity of the place that the 
 almost innavigable sand-bar acts like too tight a button 
 upon it. The difficulty of getting in and out with their 
 whaleships, the necessity of unlading by lighters, and of 
 sending their vessels to more convenient harbors for repairs, 
 are obstacles to maritime prosperity, under which this 
 home for whalemen threatens to become desolate. 
 
 The coming of the steamer with its load of strangers, 
 was an event to the remote island, and (as at Martha's 
 Vineyard) the population was largely represented on the 
 pier. We had numerous offers of a ride, as we landed ; 
 
 228 
 
Peculiar Vehicle of the Island. 229 
 
 but, taking our way leisurely on foot, we had an opportu- 
 nity to observe the style of the private carriages in which 
 the islanders had come upon their errand to the wharf. 
 They are peculiar to Nantucket*, I believe — a sort of pew 
 upon two wheels, or a box without seats, simply to stand 
 up in, and with high sides around which runs a rope to 
 hold ou by. The steps are behind ; and the half-dozen 
 ladies who were the load for the single horse, jumped in 
 and out with wonderful alacrity, changing places and 
 stepping about, from side to side, as the animal trotted 
 away, with curious facility of accommodation. For short 
 distances, these light pew-carts are certainly comfortable 
 enough, and they are singularly " handy " and available — 
 vehicles, in fact, to take a walk in ; or two-wheeled over- 
 shoes drawn by a horse. I should not forget to mention 
 the chief economy of thus standing instead of sitting, as 
 you ride — the natural instinct of easing the jolt by bending 
 the knees, obviating, of course, the necessity of springs to 
 the cart. Every passenger carries his own springs. So 
 
 * In " Miriam Coffin," the scenes of which are laid at Nantucliet, these vehi- 
 cles are tlius mentioned : " A train of one-horse, two-wheeled, springless car- 
 riages, were got ready to the number of half a dozen, which were seen emerg- 
 ing from the outskirts of the town on a pleasant morning toward the close of 
 September, 1774. There were then no carriages with springs. It was many- 
 years after this before even a chaise was tolerated on the island; and when 
 two of these, with wooden elbow springs, were introduced by some of the 
 wealthier families, the hue and cry of persecution was set up against them ; 
 and their owners were fain to abandon the monstrosities. One chaise, however, 
 was allowed to be retained by an invalid ; but it is related that even he was 
 not permitted to keep and use it, unless upon all proper occasions he would 
 consent to lend it for the use of the sick." 
 
230 The Convalescent. 
 
 light might the vehicle be made, in fact, with its omission i 
 and substitutions, that it would answer also to be drawn 
 bj hand — a kind of hermaphrodite convenience serving 
 either as a carriage or a wheelbarrow. I intend to improve 
 the civilization of Idlewild, with one of these Nantucket 
 sensibles (for lady-visitors to take walks with, up and down 
 our long hills) immediately on my return. 
 
 With a few minutes' walk we came to a very usual sort 
 of brick hotel, and sat down with a hundred other 
 guests, summer-boarders and new arrivals, to a meal that 
 was just ready — excellent broiled fish and tea most lib- 
 erally watered — and, with the hour of daylight which still 
 remained to us " after tea," we started for a ramble. Mr, 
 Grinnell and I had rambled together, before, on stiange 
 islands ; and, in pretty strong contrast with what we now 
 saw, were our remembrances of Bermuda and Sl Thomas, 
 of Havana and Martinique. But, in the curious labyrinth 
 of Nantucket's twisted streets, mv accustomed fellow- 
 adventurer was more at home than I, and we cork-screwed 
 our way safely along a gradual ascent of sidewalks to the 
 best-built neighborhood of the town. And I must own to 
 an entire failure of my anticipations as to its character. 
 Coming with a predominant impression got from reading the 
 original bill of sale, by the Indians (" These presents witness. 
 May the tenth, 1660, that we, Wanackmamack and Nick- 
 anoose, head Sachems of Nantucket Island, do give, grant. 
 
The Macy Family. 231 
 
 bargain and sell," etc., etc.), I was disappointed to find only 
 tbe tidy respectability of a thrifty little town, with clean and 
 handsome white houses, neat fences, planted front yards, 
 window-curtains and door-bells. No sign of a wigwam, no 
 print of a moccasin, no squaw with pappoose ! Famous, 
 too, the world over, for its fisheries, and yet no whale's fin 
 to be seen for a window-Mind, no old gentleman with a 
 harpoon for a walking-stick, no front door with a shark's 
 tooth for a knocker. And even the contrast of poor folks 
 and their dwellings was nowhere to be seen. Every soul 
 whom we met seemed to be in a state of prosaically happy 
 competency, and every house looked as if its owner had all 
 that he had any taste for. Life at Nantucket looked, 
 somehow, most monotonously comfortable. 
 
 Under the porch of one of the best houses of the prin- 
 cipal street, we found an elderly Quaker gentleman and his 
 wife, enjoying the softness of the summer twilight; and in 
 the cordial greeting given by these to my companion, 1 
 was happily a sharer. Our beloved old friend Sands had 
 been a o-uest under the roof, and he had affectionately 
 remembered us (while here, just before his death) — 
 making them acquainted, by his kindly mention, with his 
 Idlewild neighbors. It was sweet to gather, so far off, a 
 flower sown for us by that dear old man ! Mr. Macy, 
 into whose house we now entered, was the son of the his- 
 torian of Nantucket, Obed Macy, and, as the lineal descen- 
 
232 The Convalescent. 
 
 dants of Thomas Macy, the first white settler on the island, 
 theirs is a prominent name. The original type of the family 
 seems to have been most faithfully handed down ; for, 
 a perfect portraiture of the manners and countenance of 
 our host is given in the spirit and dignity of the beautiful 
 letter which I will presently copy — the one written by the 
 first Thomas Macy, just before his first coming to Nan- 
 tucket, It is explanatory of what first brought him here ; 
 and, indeed, so interestingly does it read, that I will copy 
 the two or three pages of history which embody it. Chap- 
 ter two thus opens : 
 
 " The first emigration of the whites, or English, to the 
 island being one of the most interesting parts of this ac- 
 count, we shall endeavor to be as explicit on the subject as 
 the nature of the work, and the means possessed, will ad- 
 mit. Our information, however, falls far short of what is 
 necessary to form a complete history. 
 
 " Thomas Macv beinof the first settler, it will not be 
 deemed a heedless digression to state what we know of his 
 early biography. In the year 1640, being then a young 
 man, he moved with his family from the town of Chilmark, 
 in Wiltshire, England, and settled in Salisbury, county of 
 Essex, in Massachusetts, He lived here in good repute for 
 twenty years, where he acquired a good interest, consisting 
 of a tract of land of one thousand acres, a good house and 
 considerable stock. But when this part of the country 
 became more thickly settled by the English, dissensions 
 arose among the people in regard to religion and religious 
 denominations. Notwithstanding the purpose of their 
 
Letter of Thomas Macy. 233 
 
 emigration from their mother country was that they might 
 enjoy liberty of conscience in religious matters, they them- 
 selves commenced the work of persecution, and enacted 
 laws to restrain people from worshipping God according to 
 the dictates of their consciences. Among other restraints 
 a law was made, that any person who should entertain one 
 of the people called Quakers should pay a fine of five 
 pounds for every hour during which he so entertained 
 them. Thomas Macy subjected himself to the rigor of 
 this law, by giving shelter to four Quakers, who stopped at 
 his house in a rain storm. This act was soon sounded 
 abroad ; for, being influenced by a sense of duty, he had 
 used no means to conceal it, Beino; cited to answer 
 for the ofience, he addressed the following letter to the 
 court, the original of which is preserved in the cabinet of 
 the Nantucket Athenaeum : 
 
 " ' This is to entreat the honored court not to be offended 
 because of ray non-appearance. It is not from my slighting 
 the authority of the honored court, nor fear to answer the 
 case ; but have been for some weeks past very ill, and am so 
 at present ; and notwithstanding my illness, yet I, desirous 
 to appear, have done my utmost endeavor to hire a horse, 
 but cannot procure one at present. I, being at present des- 
 titute, have endeavored to purchase one, but at present 
 cannot attain it — but I shall relate the truth of the case, 
 as my answer would be to the honored court — and more 
 cannot be proved nor so much. On a rainy morning, 
 there came to my house, Edward Wharton, and three men 
 more; the said Wharton spoke to me, saying that they 
 were travelling eastward, and desired me to direct them in 
 the war to Hampton ; and never saw any of the men afore 
 except Wharton, neither did I inquire their names or what 
 
234 The Convalescent. 
 
 thev were ; but bv their carriao-e I thouafbt they mio-ht be 
 Quakers, and said I so : and therefore desired them to pass 
 on, in tbeir way — saying to them, I might possibly give 
 ofience in entertaining them, and as soon as the violence of 
 the rain ceased (for it rained hard), they went away, and I 
 never saw them since. The time that they stayed in tbe 
 house was about three-quarters of an hour ; they spoke 
 not many words, in the time, neither was I at leisure to talk 
 with them ; for I came home wet to the skin, immediately 
 afore they came to the house ; and I found my wife sick in 
 bed. If this satisfy not the honored court, I shall submit 
 to their sentence. I have not willingly offended — I am 
 ready to serve and obey you in the Lojd. 
 
 Thomas Macy. 
 
 ♦"27 0/ 8«^ mo. '59, [1659.] 
 
 " He could now live no longer in peace, and in the enjoy- 
 ment of religious freedom, among his own nation ; he chose, 
 therefore, to remove his family to a place unsettled by the 
 tvhites, to take up his abode among savages, where he could 
 safely imitate the example and obey the precepts of our 
 Saviour, and where religious zeal had not yet discovered a 
 crime in hospitality, nor the refinements of civil law a pun- 
 ishment for its practice. In the fall of 1659, he embarked 
 in an open boat, with his family and such effects as he 
 could conveniently take with him, and, with the assistance 
 of Edward Starbuck, proceeded along the shore to the 
 westward. When they came to Boston Bay, they crossed 
 it, passed round Cape Cod and extended their coarse by 
 the shore, until they were abreast of the island to the 
 northward, thence they crossed the Sound, and landed on 
 Nantucket without accident. Thus we see that the same 
 persecuting spirit that drove our forefathers from England, 
 drove Thomas Macy from our forefathers; that the same 
 
Macy Examines the Island. 235 
 
 undaunted courage which enabled them to breast the 
 storm, and dare the wave, in search of a free altar and a 
 safe home, prompted him, in search of the same blessings, 
 to meet the same dangers. He sacrificed his property and 
 his home to his religion ; he found both in a remote 
 region hitherto hardly known. His religion — we mean 
 not its name, but its spirit — has been transmitted to the 
 present generation, unsullied by the crime of persecution, 
 or by the disgrace of inhospitality. 
 
 " The first care of these strangers was to cultivate a good 
 understanding with the natives, whom they found very 
 numerous, and who flocked around them with seeming 
 amazement, having never before had an opportunity to see 
 English people on the island. The natives were kind and 
 hospitable, and readily lent their aid and assistance when- 
 ever they could make themselves useful — being fully satis- 
 fied that these new comers had not landed among them 
 with hostile intentions, but in search of a comfortable sub- 
 sistence. Macy now examined the island adjacent to the 
 place of landing, and finally chose a spot for settlement on 
 the southeast side of Madaket harbor, where he found a 
 rich soil and an excellent spring of water. The harbor 
 above mentioned was undoubtedly thought to be more con- 
 venient for navigation than the one on which the town is 
 now built ; but when the island became more peopled, the 
 present situation of the town was preferred to Madaket, and 
 the latter was accordingly abandoned. 
 
 " It being now late in the fall, the fir^t care was to build 
 a shelter for the family against the inclemency of the 
 approaching season. After this wa3 accomplished, they 
 commenced a particular examination of the character of 
 the place and of the people. They found the island covered 
 with wood, and inhabited by about fifteen hundred Indians, 
 
236 The ConvaleoCent. 
 
 who depended for subsistence on fishing, fowling, and hunt- 
 ing. Game was remarkably plenty, and continued so 
 many years afterward; and the adjacent shores and waters 
 abounded with many kinds of fish. Here they spent the 
 winter — a single family, confined on an island among 
 native Indians, of whose character and language they were 
 almost entirely ignorant. In the spring following, Edward 
 Starbuck found means to return to Salisbury, where he 
 was met with rejoicings, by his friends, who, sensible of his 
 hazardous undertaking, had felt doubtful of his safe return. 
 He was now able to give satisfactory information concern- 
 ing many important things, of which before they were 
 entirely ignorant. This information was the more interest- 
 ing because, as appears by the earliest records, a considera- 
 ble number of the people of Salisbury had it in contempla- 
 tion to remove with their families to the island, about the 
 time when Thomas Macy v/ent there. In 1G60, Edward 
 Starbuck returned to the island, accompanied by eight or 
 ten families." 
 
 A note to this chapter states that two of the four travel- 
 lers who were thus sheltered from the storm by Thomas 
 Macy, were hanged afterwards in Boston (in 1G59), "/or 
 supporting the Christian principle as believed by the people 
 called QuaJcersP Let us venture to express a wonder, 
 whether, in the soil of Boston, there still lurks any of the 
 indigenous quality, which, two centuries ago, produced 
 that foul weed of intolerance ! 
 
 Mr. Macy took us to the upper rooms of his spacious 
 house, to show us the old family portraits — all corrobora- 
 
Picture of the Last Indian Native. 237 
 
 tive of the same impression produced by his own counte- 
 nance and by the foregoing history — and, after a delight- 
 ful and most instructive hour of conversation with him, we 
 took our leave — myself enriched, additionally, by the pre- 
 sent of a copy of the History of Nantucket, written by his 
 father. 
 
 Before getting to bed, that night, we received a message 
 from another gentleman of this name — Mr. Macy, who 
 has just married the sister of Miss Mitchell, the famous 
 astronomer-ess of Nantucket — kindly inviting us over to 
 the Athenaeum, where was a picture which we had wished 
 to see. Chancing to follow upon our steps, he had heard 
 of our disappointment in finding the building closed ; and, 
 being himself the Librarian, he had most hospitably lighted 
 the rooms and sent us word. We walked over in the glow 
 of a moon which made even the angular lines of the stiff 
 architecture of the town look picturesque, and, in the new 
 structure containing the public library, found Mr. Macy 
 and his lady awaiting us. 
 
 The picture we had wished to see, hung upon the wall 
 — a full-length portrait of Abraham Quary, the last 
 Indian of Nantucket, who died but recently. Of his espe- 
 cial habits and history I omitted, in the press of conversa- 
 tion, to inform myself, but, perhaps, a mention of him 
 which I find in " Miriam CoflSn," will prepare the reader 
 to be interested in the picture. One of the characters in 
 
238 The Convalescent. 
 
 this semi-historical novel is " Quibby," an Indian murderer, 
 the only one ever executed on the island. " Tashima," an 
 Indian chief who became eminent as a schoohn aster, is an- 
 other character. And " Judith Quary," an Indian prophet- 
 ess, who figures largely in the story, is the guilty love of 
 the murderer. The concluding chapter of the novel says : 
 
 "The body of Quibby was claimed by Judith Quary, 
 who, in all his confinement, and in his last moments, ap- 
 peared to be the only friend he possessed upon the island, 
 It was yielded at her request; for the authorities believed, 
 with the celebrated John Wilkes, that a man is of no fur- 
 ther use after he is hanged. She caused it to be carried 
 to her lonely hut, where she enveloped it in decent habili- 
 ments, and dug his solitary grave with her own hands. 
 The tie that bound Judith to this Indian, was even stronger 
 than death : — crime itself could not sever it. The off- 
 spring of Quibby and the half-breed, Judith Quary, is still 
 living upon the island, and is a man quite advanced in 
 vears. As the name of Quibby was odious to the people 
 he took that of his mother, which he still bears. He is the 
 last of the Indian race that once owed allegiance to Tash- 
 ima. Without a known relative on the face of the earth, 
 he wanders about the island, an object of curiosity, possess- 
 ing all the peculiarities of the Indian, developed in his mind 
 and person. The lineaments of his face are those that a 
 painter or sculptor might choose to copy after, with the 
 certainty of transmitting to posterity an accurate and 
 strongly marked specimen of the aboriginal countenance." 
 
 Of a human relic like this, the portraiture is, of course, 
 most interesting to preserve ; and Abraham Quary is appar- 
 
Kadooda and his Laws. 239 
 
 ontly most truthfully painted. He is represented sitting in 
 the little room which was his home, and its scanty furni- 
 ture, as well as his dress and habitual posture, is faithfully 
 copied. The accustomed baskets of berries and vegetables 
 stand on the floor behind him, but, by the side of his chair 
 stand his shoes, and he is represented barefooted. Mr. 
 Macy told us that the painter had some trouble on this last 
 point — the old Indian proudly refusing to be painted with 
 naked feet, though he mo.st commonly was so seen — par- 
 ticularly as he had the shoes if he had chosen to wear 
 them. A compromise was finally made, and he consented 
 to be painted barefoot, if the shoes ivere introduced into the 
 picture. The old man's figure is somewhat bent, but his 
 head has a calm and benignant nobleness of expression. 
 He was never seen to smile, and he seemed never to 
 notice what passed around him ; but he was always kind, 
 and gentle, and it was well known that nothing escaped his 
 observation. 
 
 There was another well known Nantucket Indian, of 
 whom I regretted not to find some portraiture or histori- 
 cal relic — the one whose name has become classic in the 
 phrase " Kadooda's laws." In the hope of suggesting to 
 public opinion a little salutary Kadoodity , as to lawsuits, 
 I will copy the historical mention which is made of the 
 sensible old Indian by Obed Macy : 
 
 "This neglect (by the Indians) finally became so trouble- 
 
240 The Convalescent. 
 
 some to the white settlers, that, in process of time, it 
 became necessary to resort to some remedy. The expedient 
 adopted was this : One of the most firm and intelligent of 
 the natives, by the name of Kadooda, was selected and 
 deputized as an auxiliary justice of the peace. It was made 
 his duty to decide on such complaints for trivial offences 
 as mio-ht come before him. Neolect of tillins: the 
 ground was not one of the least crimes that came under 
 his jurisdiction. In some instances he was authorized, or 
 rather indulged, to inflict corporal punishment. His mode 
 of administering justice was, in many cases, found of real 
 benefit; yet, in some others, the legal justices found their 
 interference necessary, since Esquire Kadooda was liable 
 to extend his authority beyond the bounds of prudence. It 
 is related, we cannot say with what correctness, that, in 
 some cases brought before him, his jimt proceeding tvas to 
 order both 2Mrties to be severely/ ivhipioed. It is furthei' said 
 that this p7-ocess had the effect of lessening the number of 
 com2)laints and rendering his duties light : and that, other- 
 wise his whole time would have been taken up in the du- 
 ties of his calling. Whatever may be the truth of the 
 matter, one thing is certain, that ' Kadooda's laws ' have 
 beconie proverbial, and it is not going too far, we think, to 
 say that their adoption, even in our times, if not strictly 
 legal, would, in some instances, be morally just," 
 
 So, pass that phrase around, say we, and let it be the 
 first question in a lawsuit — isn't it a Kadooda case ?^ 
 
 * In Macy's quaint and pithy History of Nantucket, there is an instance 
 given of Kadooda's administration of justice. He says of His Indian Honor 
 " He was justice of the peace and very shai-p with them if they did not behave 
 well. He would fetch them up if they did not tend their corn well, and order 
 them to have tea stripes on their backs, and for any rogue tricks and getting 
 drunk. And if his own children played any r6gue tricks, he would serve them 
 
A Band of Music. 241 
 
 To our very great surprise, towards nine o'clock in th© 
 evening, we found a band of music playing in the town- 
 square near the hotel. This open and flagrant anti-Puri- 
 tanism was so wholly unlike all we had heard of the tone 
 and temper of Nantucket that we strolled towards it scarce 
 trusting our senses. By the light of the full moon, how 
 ever, it proved to he a veritable this world's drum, a pro- 
 fanely positive fife and French-horn, and a carnally com- 
 mon and rather overworked clarionet — bassoon and other 
 nameless instruments in the background. A hundred or 
 two of boys and sailors were crowding around, and I 
 noticed that great numbers of girls were strolling in the 
 square, apparently without any idea that an attemlant was 
 necessary. Our sex, I believe, is more of a superflu- 
 ity at Nantucket than in any other spot of the known 
 world. The band, we were told, is a native one, recently 
 organized, and that it is a very great innovation upon the 
 spirit of the place, may be seen by a passage in the chann- 
 ing book from which I have already quoted. The author 
 says : 
 
 the same sauce. An Indian was broioght up for some rogue tricks, and he 
 pleaded for an appeal to Esquire Bunker ; and the old judge (Kadooda) turned 
 round to Nathan (a white man present) and spoke in the Indian language thus : 
 ' Ohaquor keador taddator witche conichau mussoy chaquor ;' then said Nathan 
 answered thus : ' Martau couetchawidde neconne sassamiste nehote moche 
 Squire Bunker !' which, in the English tongue, is this—' What do you think about 
 this great business?' then Nathan answered: 'May be you had better whip 
 him first, then let him go to Squire Bunker !' and Judge Kadooda took Natha/rCs 
 advice. He was sure the Indian would not appeal to Esquire Bunker, for 
 fear of another whipping." 
 
 11 
 
242 The Convalescent. 
 
 "A ball — or a dance, if you will have it so — came but 
 seldom at Nantucket, Indeed we have heard (though we 
 hope the report of the result is a slander), that a concert 
 of instrumental rnusic, which is accounted not half so 
 wicked as a dance, was proposed to be given to the inhab- 
 itants of that place, not many years ago, as the best and 
 most accej)table return that could be made for hospitality 
 shown to a numerous cargo of fashionables, who had been 
 landed by one of our floating castles or steamers, and was 
 defeated by the stiff-necked perversity of the Selectmen. 
 A celebrated musical band accompanied the steamer, and 
 they proffered a display of their talents at the town-house 
 for the gratification of the townspeople. It is related that 
 the town-crier had sounded his bell, and cried his ' oyez ' 
 three times at the corners of the streets, to warn the good 
 people (we give his identical words) that 'A celebrated 
 consort of vocal and instrumental music would be given by 
 the celebrated Bostin band at the town-house ; and the 
 ladies and gentlemen were invited to attend punctually, 
 free-gratis-for-nothin' at six o'clock, p.m., in the afternoon I 
 Again came the ' oyez'' three times at the next corner, until 
 all the town was duly notified. Hearts beat high with 
 expectations, and dresses and ribbons, bonnets and curls, 
 were in a pretty considerable state of readiness to make a 
 due degree of display at the town-house. But — alas ! — the 
 town-crier, with sadness in his heart, and bitterness in his 
 speech, was obliged to retrace his steps, and tinkle his bell 
 again, and cry his ' oyez ' to another tune. ' Ladies and 
 gentlemen,' cried he, ' I am sorry to inform you that the 
 celebrated consort by the celebrated Bostin band, which 
 was to be given free-gratis-for-nothin', at the town-house at 
 six o'clock, P.M., in the afternoon, is postponed ! — because, 
 ladies and gentlemen, the S'lackraen will not open the 
 
We Retire to Rest. 243 
 
 town-house — unless the Bostin band pays them ten dol- 
 tors/ . . . Dancing and music, then, may be set down as 
 abominations at Nantucket." 
 
 Pretty well tired with our very various experiences of 
 the day, we inquired the roa,d to dream-land, towards ten 
 o'clock — my boy, Grinnell (who was of our party) having 
 gone thither before us, and he and his papa and grandpapa 
 being considered by the landlord a natural triplet, and bil- 
 leted in one room with two beds. The three generations, 
 I believe, for the remainder of the night, left the waking 
 to the moon. 
 
 Our journey of the next day, over the sand-prairies to 
 Siasconset (the Nantucket Saratoga), must be the theme 
 of still another letter, I believe, dear Morris, so 
 
 Yours, thus far, at least. 
 
LETTER XXV. 
 
 Mounting a Nantucket Steeple — Sensations in the Belfry — Curious Spanish Bell — 
 Ti-ip to 'Sconset— Funny Laws of the Place— Queer Poem — Arrival at the Ar- 
 cadian Village — Hour on the Beach before Dinner— Sea-Mockery of Life's 
 Story — Meeting with Ladies — Chowder-Time and Entrance to the Inn — The 
 Manly Landlady — Excellent Dinner — Puppet-show of Whale-ships — Sharks on 
 the Beach — Whittling-Room— Philosophy of Whittling — Heturn to Nantucket, 
 etc., etc. 
 
 New Bedford, September. 
 I COME now, I believe, to my own travels and adventures 
 in the far-away island of Nantucket. 
 
 Sea-air is drowsy, I always find, and we awoke late, on 
 our first morning in the sperm-city. Of course we break- 
 fasted on that wonder of nature, perfectly fresh fish 
 caught in perfectly salt water ; and with the spare hour 
 which we then had, before our day's expedition across the 
 island, we started for a stroll. My guide and companion, 
 Mr. Grinnell, is famous, as you know, for approaching 
 every subject by first getting a clear look at the horizon ; 
 and, selecting the tallest steeple in the place, he was suc- 
 cessful in borrowing the key, and we mounted to the belfry 
 for the circumscopic view which should enable us to enter 
 upon our day's travels understandingly. To me, the extent 
 thus gained, however instructive, was too monotonous to be 
 
 244 
 
Curious Spanish Bell, 245 
 
 very inviting. I am no enthusiast about the sea (Nature, 
 with her smiles and wrinkles all smoothed expressionlessly 
 away !) and, though my eyes were not out of breath (as the 
 rest of me certainly was, with the climb up those inter- 
 minable stairs), I looked around with more curiosity than 
 pleasure — Kantucket roofs, you understand, being the very 
 tame foreground, and the middle ground of the landscape 
 being nothing but an island of sand. 
 
 I was more interested myself, in what was nearer — the 
 hell hanging in the belfry we stood in. It had the sign of 
 the cross upon it, and an inscription in Spanish, and was 
 among the " spoils of war " — a whaling captain, who had 
 chanced to put into Lisbon when Napoleon was upsetting 
 thrones and churches in that quarter of the world, having 
 purchased this Catholic relic for a few dollars and brought 
 it home to do service (as the church would phrase it) " for 
 the devil." It is of remarkably sweet tone, and rings Yan- 
 kee heretics to their breakfast and dinner, I am inclined to 
 believe, quite as musically as it ever called Portuguese 
 saints to their matins and vespers — (and it is listened for 
 as devoutly, perhaps, by the friers of cod, as it used to be 
 by \h.Q friars of souls /) 
 
 But, all this while, the town clock was ticking audibly at 
 our elbow — and, do you know the sensation of getting thus, 
 as it were, inside the brain of old Time while he is think- 
 ing out the minutes? It was queer to me, somehow, to 
 
24 G The Convalescent. 
 
 stand in that cogitating belfry ! I felt as if I had got the 
 start of the hand upon the dial — " in," at the conception of 
 moments, instead of being "in at their death." And then 
 — startlino-lv enouQ-h — it " struck nine " while we were 
 there ! Nine awful strokes upon the very drum of my 
 mortal ear, and none the less awful for our previous inti- 
 macy (yours and mine, my dear sinner and song-writer !) 
 with the "tuneful Nine." I was quite as much struck as the 
 bell, by that terrible clock hammer — however little the 
 public weathercock over our heads {iha.t vane reliance!) 
 may have vibrated sympathizingly with the shock. 
 
 We were to start, at ten, for our excursion to Siasconset ; 
 and, on reaching the hotel, we found our pew-cart (the 
 native vehicle described in my last letter) already at the 
 door. Though built to carry passengers standing, this one 
 had an accommodation in the shape of a couple of cross 
 seats, for the use of strangers. Mr. Grinnell was to be our 
 driver ; and with a snug little horse to draw us the eight 
 miles, we went off upon our journey at a round trot. The 
 street, of course, lasted very little way. We were soon 
 out in the unfenced prairie of sand — a slightly undulating 
 surface of treeless and shirtless -looking country, so like to 
 the desert I remembered on the route to Sardis in Asia, 
 that T almost looked to see the turbaned traveller in the 
 distance, approaching on his camel. It was difficult to 
 believe that this waste was once covered with wood. Yet 
 
Funny Laws of 'Sconset. 247 
 
 so tradition tells us. The pine trees were sacrificed with- 
 out thouD-ht or foresio-ht, and the thin soil had not the 
 strength to reproduce them. I should not omit to mention 
 that we saw, here and there, patches of young pines, a 
 foot or so in height, growing vigorously from the simply 
 planted cones — a recent enterprise, for the rescue of the 
 island from its unshaded barenness, which promises well. 
 
 But, while we are ploughing our way through this 
 deep sand, let me be giving you an idea of the shrine to 
 which it was a pilgrimage. 
 
 Siasconset, (whither we were bound) is the only spot 
 in the world where a certain Arcadian Idea — the Idea of 
 utter social equality — has ever taken up its definite abode. 
 The sober Quaker historian, Obed Macy, says of it : " At 
 Siasconset, all are on a level, or rather on an equal eleva- 
 tion. Useless forms and ceremonies are laid aside, and the 
 little community, for the time being, indulge in a recipro- 
 city and interchange of good feeling, which can be found 
 in no place but in one situated precisely like Siasconset, 
 and no other such place exists in the known world." In 
 the preface to a humorous poem called " Laws of Siascon- 
 set," we read : " A remarkable simplicity and plain deal- 
 ing distinguish the moral character of the place, insomuch 
 that it amounts to a political phenomenon. The laconism 
 ^Sconset Lo.ws has so much obtained, as a proverb, (denot- 
 in'^ an entire freedom given to a friend, in all things 
 
248 The Convalescent. 
 
 with decency), that it is frequently used at tea-tables in 
 Europe." 
 
 At the remote end of the remotest and most peculiar 
 island of our country — a toilsome and unfenced wilderness 
 separating it even from what metropolitauism there is the 
 harbor town of Nantucket — on a far-out bluff, which is 
 fairly the jumping-off place into the Atlantic, stands this 
 famous villao'e of 'Sconset. Let me enumerate a few of its 
 peculiarities of laws and manners, as commonly understood : 
 
 1st. Fashion wholly excluded. 
 
 2d. Introductions wholly unnecessary, all acquaintance 
 mutualized on arrival. 
 
 3d. The water of the pump being Lethean, every error, 
 fault and misfortune of previous lives reciprocally forgotten. 
 
 4th. Lawyers walk about, innocuous and professionally 
 unemployed, as, for any and every misdemeanor, the 
 " 'Sconset Court " consists of a friend for Jury, Reason 
 for a Judge, and Conscience to plead both sides of the case. 
 
 5th. No distinctions of religion whatever. 
 
 6th. No flirts and no coxcombs. 
 
 Vth. No scolding, by wife or husband, whatever the pro- 
 vocation. 
 
 8th. No manner of 'evil speaking. 
 
 9th. Leap-year perpetual, and unmarried ladies at liberty 
 to make such emotional advances as they feel naturally 
 called upon to give way to. 
 
Queer Poem. 249 
 
 10th. Entire equality of condition, position, and moral 
 and pecuniary estimation, no man's betterness than an- 
 other being in any way recognized. 
 
 These principles are pretty much all laid down in the 
 pamphlet poem called " Laws of 'Sconset," and I will give 
 you the ring of its metal by a verse or two : 
 
 " The song, the jest, the smile serene 
 Amuse the friend that haunts it ; 
 Here old simplicity is seen, 
 In ancient dress, at 'Sconset. 
 
 " When erring virtue asks excuse 
 'Tis free good-nature grants it, 
 And that which else would be abuse 
 Is winked by laws of 'Sconset. 
 
 " The court guards well our dearest rights, 
 And when the country owns it. 
 Lawyers wiU starve with all their wits 
 And curse the Laws of 'Sconset. 
 
 *' The wight in town who swells with pride 
 Or like Clesippus vaunts it. 
 The paltry coxcomb lays aside 
 And wears the man^ at 'Sconset. 
 
 " Here the fond maid shall find excuse 
 If first she make the onset; 
 Her soul's elect her hand may choose 
 By Laws of Siasconset." 
 
 etc., etc., etc. And this pithy ballad, of which these are 
 a few scattered stanzas, is thus dedicated : *' To the True 
 Republicans of Siasconset, and to all who wish well to the 
 
 11* 
 
260 The Convalescent. 
 
 cause of Simplicity and Plain-dealing in Society, one with 
 another, as in the Golden Age of the Ancients, this 
 humble tribute is respectfully inscribed, by Philo-Sirapli- 
 citas." 
 
 It was somewhere about noon when our long pilgrimage 
 of sand drew to a close, and we began to see the chimneys 
 of this famous village. On the two sides of a very broad 
 street, as we drove in, were twenty or thirty neat little 
 white cottages, no one more pretentious than another. The 
 street opened apparently upon the Atlantic Ocean, the surf 
 upon the beach closing its broad avenue at the end like a 
 park-gate ; and, with the unfenced desert behind us and 
 the ocean beyond, we fully realized the impression made 
 upon the man's mind who described 'Sconset as " the most 
 out-doors looking spot on the face of the earth." 
 
 By inquiry at the comfortable low-roofed cottage that 
 serves for an inn, we found it was still an hour to " chow- 
 der-time ;" and as the bracing sea air made the noon sun 
 comparatively powerless, I left my friend to see that his 
 tired horse was tenderly cared for, and went down for a 
 stroll upon the beach. It was exceedingly beautiful. The 
 surf-chase of the calm and idle ocean was long and slow ; 
 and, while my boy amused himself with following out 
 the retreating wave, to write his name on the tempting 
 tablet of sand and see the return-wave wash it utterly 
 away, (life's sad story, told thus mockingly by the sea) ! 
 
Chowder-time and Entrance to the Inn. 251 
 
 I gave myself quite up to the enchantuaents for eye aud 
 ear. Seated beyond reach of the breaking wave, I was 
 listening- with suspended thought to the monotone of the 
 great anthem of the ocean when voices mingled with the 
 music. A bevv of verv charmino; looking: women 
 approached, accompanied by one gentleman, who ('Scon- 
 set-wise) immediately gave me their names and his own 
 (chancing to know mine from having previously fallen in 
 with my companion), and we entered into conversation, 
 commencing acquaintance of course, at once, " at the 
 second volume." It was curiously agreeable not to find 
 oneself a stranger in a strange place ! The sensation 
 was new — something like finding it down hill to go up a 
 a ladder. I shall never see a lovely woman again, I am 
 quite sure, without a sigh for the privilege of 'Sconset ! 
 
 Our clock of appetite brought us punctually to the vil- 
 lao-e inn at "chowder-time" — thouo-h, bv the wav, I call it 
 an "inn," simply for lack of a better word. It had no 
 *' sign," no look whatever of a public-house. In fact, but 
 for the forty or fifty nice-looking people lounging about 
 the parlor, the porticoes and the entries, waiting for dinner, 
 I should have scarce selected so private-looking a cottage 
 for the house of entertainment of which I was in search. 
 About the low-roofed and spacious white building with its 
 green blinds, and, indeed, in the postures, groupings and 
 countenances of the company, there was the genial and 
 
252 The Convalescent. 
 
 simple air of a plain home and a family gathering — every 
 individual present seeming to feel absolutely and uncon- 
 sciously at ease. I made my way in, getting a frank look 
 of greeting from one person and a passing remark from 
 another ; and, somewhere near the kitchen door, I met the 
 tall and strong landlady (the word landlady would hardly 
 be true to the character of the soil), and in her frauk, vigor- 
 ous, and sensible face, I saw the full type of the celebrated 
 manly women of Nantucket. Mrs. Parker (and I was 
 pleased to find that my own middle name designated so 
 fine a specimen of humanity) gave me a most sea-captain 
 shake of the hand and a cordial welcome to 'Sconset. 
 The bell, just then, rung for dinner; and she made use of 
 the pull she already had upon my hand to lead me to a 
 spare seat at the table, making some kind remark as to 
 being one of our Home Journal parish ; and, in further 
 recognition of me as a stray editor, giving me and my 
 hungry son, presently, the early plates of chowder for 
 which we were so sea-sidedly ready. 
 
 And I must take a separate paragraph to say that that 
 same chowder was among the most delicious compounds of 
 savory nutriment that had ever been thankfully spoonfuUed 
 to my somewhat largely travelled lips. Among the things 
 of which it is a pity to die in ignorance (I should say) 
 is the effect of a 'Sconset chowder on the emotional 
 nerve. 
 
Puppet-show of, Whale-ships. 253 
 
 Mrs. Parker herself waited on table, with kindly words 
 and most magical activity, and the conversation, among 
 the fifty closely packed guests, was free and lively. I 
 should say they were mostly strangers in Nantucket — from 
 Boston, New Bedford, and the northern cities — and, 
 though all of the class called " first " or " fashionable " at 
 home, they were most effectively 'Sconset-ized by the 
 atmosphere of the place. One very beautiful girl, with the 
 hair, eyes, and complexion of Spain or Italy, looked, some- 
 how, a little too stylish ; but it was so evidently because 
 she could not help it, that she was generally forgiven. As 
 there was Do wine on the table, dinner was soon over, and, 
 with that pressing desire satisfied, for the time being, we 
 betook ourselves promiscuously out-doors. 
 
 And there were two 'Sconset sights to see, towards which 
 the contented company now made, leisurely, a spontaneous 
 lounge. In a small building, not far from the front door, a 
 retired whaleman had constructed a miniature puppet-show 
 of his craft — several completely rigged whale-ships in the 
 various processes of capturing and cutting up their whales. 
 These miniature vessels were afloat in reservoirs of water, 
 and the boats and their men and monsters were all in place 
 and apparently in action. It pictured the interesting 
 drama of Nantucket life so efiectively that the spectator's 
 idea of it must be afterwards perfect. I looked around for 
 the ingenious constructor of so curious a show, and he was 
 
254 The Convalescent. 
 
 pointed out to me, at work in the adjoining barn-yard, a 
 sexagenarian and intelligent-looking sailor. No price was 
 asked for our admission ; but one of the gentlemen present 
 suggested that it was but reasonable to " pass round the hat," 
 and he accordingly made a collection for the old tar, and left 
 it with some of the " women-folks" in his cottao-e kitchen. 
 The other show was a phalanx of sharks — nineteen of 
 these unmitio-ated monsters Ivino- in a row, on the beach 
 above the village. They had been caught in a shark-chase, 
 by the 'Sconset fishermetf, a day or two before. To a 
 "coof'like myself (all persons who have the misfortune 
 not to have been born on Nantucket, are contemptuously 
 called coofs by the happier islanders), a score of sharks, 
 thus Iving on the sea beach — in their natural element, as it 
 were, and yet harmless and approachable — was a great 
 curiosity. They averaged about six or seven feet in length, 
 and were of the bulk and proportions of Amodio, the basso 
 at the Academy of Music — weighing, each of them, about 
 four hundred pounds. Hideous, destructive and uneatable, 
 these devils of the sea have still one redeeming point — the 
 oil of their livers pays for catching and killing them. They 
 are hooked and drawn to the surface of the water, to be 
 knocked on the head with a club, then towed home and 
 de-livered to the " old woman's kettle." I tried, in vain, 
 while lookinor at their monstrous mouths, to see the shark- 
 osophy of their creation. If made to swallow sinners (as 
 
Whittling Room. 255 
 
 the Nantucket primer, I believe, tells warningly to the 
 fishermen's naughlj children), it is proof that impenitent 
 fat folks are equally made room for. A retired whale-cap- 
 taiii, who happened to be one of our party, told us of catch- 
 ing a female shark in the South Sea and hoisting her by a 
 tackle to the side of his ship. She was then cut open, and 
 forty-five little sharks wriggled from her into the water and 
 swam away 1 It sounds like a "fish-story," but such, I was 
 assured, is the easy fecundity of these mothers of devils, 
 and such the precocity of their young — nature, apparently, 
 omitting the infancy of Ljuch diabolical existences. 
 
 We saw one other peculiarity of 'Sconset — a whittling 
 room ; or the Nantucket substitute for billiards or bowling- 
 alley. Along on the beach, at certain distances, are rows 
 of huts, for the shelter of the islanders in rough weather, 
 called " fishing-stages ;" and of the fishing-stage nearest to 
 'Sconset, one apartment is devoted to the social .jack-knife. 
 1 went in, with the two or three gentlemen who had ram- 
 bled wdth me thus far ; but, chancing to have no pen-knife 
 in my pocket, T could not try my own hand at the cutlery 
 of conversation ; but I was told that to talk and whittle 
 was unquestionably a duet of nature. The wooden frame- 
 work of the little room, and the dozen wooden stools which 
 vserved for seats, were carved with all manner of jack-nifiana 
 — nothing wanting but a " medium" to re-conjure the long 
 rainy days of talk of which these whittlings had been the 
 
256 The Convalescent 
 
 accompaniments and the memoranda. Dexterity with the 
 pocket-knife is part of a Nantucket education ; but I am 
 inclined to think the projDensity is national. Americans 
 must and will whittle, I know, at least, that the trees at 
 Idlewild have a hard struggle with the admiring pen-knives 
 of our summer visitors, and I am thinking now of building 
 a pine shanty in the glen, with a sign over the door 
 requesting strangers to do their whittling inside. 
 
 But the blesseder the Paradise (T have always found) 
 the shorter the visit ; and around came the inevitable 
 4 P.M. and the pitiless pew-cart to bear us back again to 
 the world. I was sorry to leave the place. I like its laws 
 to live under. I was charmed with the spontaneity of 
 acquaintance — delighted with the chat and the chowder. 
 It may not be in our age that 'Sconset principles, desirable 
 as their promulgation might be, will become any way 
 general ; but, for the breathing-spell of the heart and soul 
 that has become form-and-fashion-weary — for an interreg- 
 num of suspicion of sin, and a calm of belief in mankind — 
 try a week of this world-forgetting 'Sconset ! 
 
 I have still a theme to discourse upon — the part of what 
 I learned in this excursion, which interested me most, in 
 fact — but my pen has already outrun its limits. In 
 another letter, I may possibly get home from the Whale- 
 man's Isle ; and, meantime. 
 
 Yours (with a 'Sconset flavor to it). 
 
LETTER XXVI. 
 
 A 'Sconset Acquaintance— A Talk with a Sea-Captain Forty Years after he 
 was chewed up by a Whale — The Harpooning and the turn of the Angry 
 Monster upon his Enemies — The Marks of his Four Teeth— The After-History 
 of the Crushed Mouthful — Six days to Port — Arrival at Peru— The Emperor's 
 Physician — The Back-Couutry Doctor — Captain Gardiner's Invention of a 
 Tandem Hammock — Ride over the Mountains between two Mules — Recov- 
 ery after Six AVeeks— Command resumed and Voyage prosecuted — Import- 
 ant Considerations as to the American Whale Fishery, etc., etc. 
 
 New Bedford, September. 
 At 'Sconset, once more, if you please ; though, at the close 
 of my last letter, we were taking our leave of that agree, 
 able spot — for I find that I have written four long letters 
 about the cradle of our country's sea-captains without illus- 
 trating my subject by the mention of a single living speci- 
 men. 
 
 My most interesting acquaintance, at 'Sconset, was a 
 Nantucket " skipper," who had once been chewed up by a 
 whale — his surviving to tell the story, of course, being 
 simply because the dainty leviathan, not liking the taste ol 
 him, had dropped the willing mouthful out again upon the 
 clean table-cloth of the ocean. This was forty years ago ; 
 and it is a rare instance, you will allow, of a morsel's prov- 
 
 25T 
 
258 The Convalescent. 
 
 ing pleasant company so long after being rejected by a 
 reluctant stomach at sea ! 
 
 I should ask pardon, however, for speaking thus fami- 
 liarly of one of the best specimens of manhood that I ever 
 had the happiness to meet — a sea-captain now in his seventy- 
 third year, as tall, straight, vigorous and cheerful, at this 
 advanced age, as when " a mate " at twenty-five — one of 
 the most respectable citizens of New Bedford at present, and 
 enjoying a comfortable independence from the capture of 
 the whale that wouldn't eat him and of other whales who 
 similarly left him uuswallowed. But I must give you the 
 particulars of the half-?nast[R(iSition of Captain Gardiner 
 — who, by the way, m addition to his singular experience 
 as a mouthful, has the peculiarity of being the son of the 
 first white male child horn on Nantucket. 
 
 Newly arrived at the honors of captaincy, our Nantucket 
 skipper was cruising along the coast of South America — just 
 off Peru — when there was a cry from the mast-head — " A 
 whale ho !" The direction was given, the sails trimmed for 
 the overtaking of the monster, and when within a mile, the 
 boats were lowered, each with a crew of six, the cap- 
 tain himself taking the harpoon of the advancing boat 
 which was to make the assault. 
 
 Quietly afloat lay the amphibious Shylock of the sea 
 (the Zeyi-athan, I take it, is of the tribe of Levi), and, as 
 the swift boat came within harpooning distance, the inevit- 
 
Marks of the Four Teeth. 259 
 
 able iron, hurled by that strong arm, penetrated to his 
 vitals. Not as usual, however, did the struck monster dive 
 out of sight ; but turning and making straight for his ene- 
 mies, he rolled over his huge bulk to get a fairer gripe, and 
 brought his jaws together upon the boat's prow — the for- 
 ward half of that slight structure, captain and all, disap- 
 pearing like the best part of an apple-tart in the munch of 
 a hungry school-boy. The remainder of the crew, the 
 helmsman and four oarsmen, had jumped overboard; and, 
 as the whale with another roll, dived down to die out of 
 sight, he threw up the unswallowed captain — the relief- 
 boat pulling instantly to the spot and taking the crushed 
 morsel and the five swimmers safely from the water. 
 
 It was the chewed-up right hand of the captain, as he 
 sat by me at table, which at first excited my curiosity — 
 (stimulating the inquiries which drew from him, at last, this 
 thrilling story) — the stump, or what was visible below the 
 coat-sleeve, looking like a twisted rope's end, but still re- 
 taining clutch enough to carry the chowder-spoon to his 
 mouth. Four of the whale's teeth were driven into him ; 
 one entering his skull, a second breaking his collar-bone, a 
 third breaking his arm, and the fourth crushing his hand 
 — the remainder of his body being simply squeezed into a 
 jelly. The healing of the wound in the head left a cavity 
 like the inside of an egg-shell ; and though the hair has 
 grown over it (hair still brown and thick, with the stub- 
 
260 The Convalescent. 
 
 born vitality of the un-kill-able Nantucketer) it tells 
 after forty years, the size of the tooth that did it. I laid 
 the ends of my three fingers very comfortably in the 
 hollow. 
 
 But the after-history of this perilous adventure seems 
 to me the most remarkable part of it. With a crew com- 
 posed almost* entirely of well-grown boys, and the ship 
 lying becalmed in mid-ocean — six days' sail from any port, 
 even with a fair wind — how was this crushed and manorled 
 sufierer to be doctored and cared for ? Captain Gardiner, 
 providentially, though so nearly eaten up, retained full 
 possession of his senses. His first mate was young, but a very 
 smart lad, possessed, fortunately, of Yankee aptitude — good 
 at everything; and, witli the aid of the sufferer's directions, 
 he did the work of a surgeon. The captain ordered him 
 first to make splints, and then to set his broken arm — the 
 collar-bone being left to heal itself, unset (as it remains 
 to this day, without perceptibly affecting his erect shape 
 or the action of his chest), and the other wounds being ban- 
 dao^ed in the usual wav. He was then laid on the cabin 
 floor, and, with fans made of the leaves of the log-book, he 
 was kept as cool as was any way possible — for it was the 
 hottest of South-Sea weather. Feeling, however that his 
 life depended on the exercise of his strong will, he gave 
 orders that he should, by no possibility, be allowed to sleep 
 over five minutes at a time. And, with this vigilant watch 
 
The Emperor's Physician. 261 
 
 kept up for six days, the ship (navigated by his directions,' 
 as he lay on the cabin-floor), entered the port of Peru. 
 
 A boat, sent immediately on shore, brought off the empe- 
 ror's physician, who, on looking at the prostrate man and 
 examining his wounds, advised only that they should send 
 for a confessor. Other prescription, the^ medical man 
 thought, would be useless, as death was evidently so close 
 at hand. But the captain was of a different opinion. " A 
 physician for the soul is very well, at proper time and place,' 
 said he ; " but, at present, I want one for the body — and I 
 happen to know of one who will cure me !'' 
 
 It so happened, that — in a previous touch at that same 
 port — Captain Gardiner had heard of the sick mate of an 
 American vessel who had been left behind by his shipmates, 
 and to whom, as a charity to a suffering countryman, he 
 then offered a passage home. The man's message of reply 
 was, that he fortunately stood in no need of the kindness, 
 as he was under the care of a Spanish doctor who lived 
 at Pura (a village back in the mountains), and who had 
 taken him to his house and treated him like his own child. 
 And for this kind old doctor Captain Gardiner, now sent, 
 with all convenient haste — dispensing at once, with any 
 further attendance by the physician of the emperor. 
 
 Early on the second morning arrived the " good Samar- 
 itan,'' and there was comfort in his first look and encourage- 
 ment in his first words. He could cure the crushed man if 
 
262 The Convalescent. 
 
 "he only had him at his house in the mountains. But, how 
 to get him there ? There was no road— only a mule path 
 along the edges of precipices, climbing wild cliffs, and scram- 
 bling through tangled ravines — forty miles of footpath, pene- 
 trating the depths of a wilderness. 
 
 But the captain's Yankee ingenuity seconded the good-will 
 of the doctor. He constructed a new vehicle, as he lay 
 (in the other physician's opinion) dying on the floor. A 
 couple of long lithe spars were brought, by his orders, and 
 a hammock was rigged to swing suspended from their 
 centre. His friend had two mules, and, with the spars fast- 
 ened to their sides, they were to walk, like the bearers of 
 a palanquin, one before, the other behind him — a tandem 
 hammock, in which he could ride, he was sure, quite as 
 comfortably as men could carry him. 
 
 And of the two days' journey which he thus made over 
 the mountains. Captain Gardiner's description was one of 
 glowing remembrance. By the elasticity of the spars 
 which supported him, he was borne without jolting ; and, 
 part of the time, he slept most refreshingly. But the path 
 was a giddy one, to a sailor's eye — along the edges of cliffs 
 where a single false step would have dashed him and his 
 mules " into grease-spots," and now and then turning where 
 his two spars formed a bridge from mule to mule, over a 
 chasm — hundreds of feet of jagged rocks nearly perpen- 
 dicular, stretching away below (he still thrillingly remem- 
 
Recovery after Six Weeks. 263 
 
 bers), as he looked occasionally over the side of his mat- 
 tress. 
 
 They arrived safely at the mountain home of the old 
 Spaniard, however ; and, here, all was comfort and kind 
 care. They only differed on one point. The doctor 
 thought the broken collar-bone should still be set ; but the 
 captain resisted. He had felt the broken ends knit where 
 they were, he said, and nature's mending would do for 
 him. And he was right ; for, after forty years, he opened 
 his shirt-bosom and showed me the ridgy projection of the 
 broken bone, stronof and healthv and doinfy as o^ood service 
 as a whole one, that very day at 'Sconset. 
 
 It took six weeks of kind nursing to put him on his legs 
 again ; and then, with a grateful farewell to the kind old 
 doctor of Pura, Captain Gardiner returned to his ship — 
 taking command, and once more pursuing the object of his 
 voyage. And, soon harpooning the requisite number of 
 unsuspecting whales (who, for lack of a newspaper, had 
 not the slightest idea, probably, that it was the very same 
 man whom one of their number had chewed up, boat and 
 all, three months before !) he returned prosperously home. 
 For an instance of indomitable energy, this can hardly 
 be outdone, I should think ; and, to see the erect, noble- 
 looking and hearty old man of seventy-three, as I saw him, 
 an hour or two asro — walkinof home to his dinner, with a 
 light step and a good appetite, in New Bedford, forty yeara 
 
264 The Convalescent. 
 
 after being eaten up by a whale in the South-Sea — is to 
 get a fine idea of the stuflf of a Nantucket whaleman ! 
 
 I have given this narrative at full length, partly, of 
 course, for its personal interest as an adventure of his own, 
 chance told to rae, by a fellow visitor at 'Sconset (the 
 captain himself), but more for its significancy as an ex- 
 ponent of a vein in American character. Our most valu- 
 able class of citizens, beyond all question, is our present 
 complement of twenty thousand whale fishermen — our 
 noblest national fleet, the six hundred and fifty-five whale- 
 ships now afloat — our proudest American victory, the 
 original Nantucket conquest of the whale. Yet it is not 
 alone the ten millions and a half — (the value * which they 
 annually create) — which makes these hardy sons of Nan- 
 tucket of importance to their country. It is the nursery 
 for seamen, which is thus kept active and in constant dis- 
 cipline — a reserve guard, in fact, of our rights upon the sea 
 amounting to at least a thousand of the ablest sea-captains 
 
 * Mr. Grinnell, when Member of Congess, ten years ago, made a report to 
 government as to the whale fishery ; and he now gives me a corrected sum- 
 mary of this — with its present condition after the ten years of additional pro- 
 gress, which I here subjoin : 
 
 1857.— 655 vessels (ships, brigs, barques, and schooners), amounting to 
 204,209 tons of tonnage, and manned with over 20,000 men and officers. 
 
 Imports, in the year 1S56, of oil and whalebone and the value thereof, being 
 the catch or produce of the whale fishery : — 2,549, 641 gallons of sperm oil, at 
 $1 62i per gallon, the average price, $4,143,166 63 
 
 6,233,535 gallons whale oil, at 79i^ cts 4,955,660 32 
 
 2,592,700 lbs. whalebone, 5S cts 1,503,760 00 
 
 $10,602,586 96 
 
Nantucket, the Nursery for Seamen. 265 
 
 in the world, ready, at a call, to command ships and do 
 battle for us. Looking at these thousand captains, and 
 taking Captain Gardiner as a specimen of them (our 
 actual Navy quite out of the question) what reasonable 
 political economist would deny us the mastery of the sea ? 
 
 I find, under my hand (accumulating as I have written, 
 with the New Bedford library and well-informed friends 
 within reach), a mass of facts as to the whale fisheries, 
 for which it will take still another letter to find room. 
 You will not think me too prolix, when you remember 
 how scanty is the general knowledge as to this little island 
 of Nantucket — the real key to ov.r respect among na- 
 tions — and, venturing to say, upon the strength of this, 
 that I shall once more return to the subject, I will here 
 
 write my present adieu. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 N. R W. 
 
 12 
 
LETTER XXVII . 
 
 Visit to the Light-house of Sancoty's Head — View of a Curious Lake — Sugges- 
 tion as to a new Revenue for Nantucket — Aquatic Cow-yard to Milk the 
 Whale— History of the first Whale ever captured — The Spermaceti Aristo- 
 crat of the Ocean — Process of Killing and Preparing— Poetry of Indian life 
 on the Island— Recent Connection of Nantucket with the Mainland by Tele- 
 graph, etc., etc 
 
 Idlewild, October. 
 To your national j)nde in !N'an tucket — the little island 
 that is the jewel-casket of our country's Ocean-value — 
 I address myself once more. Come with me to our Cradle 
 of Sea-captains. 
 
 On leaving that very curious Utopia which I described 
 in my last — ('Sconset) — Mr. Grinnell turned his pony's 
 head a little to the north of our course ; and with a half 
 hour's driving through the unfenced sand, we came to one 
 of the model light-houses of the coast, " Sancoty's Head." 
 On this far out bluff of the Atlantic shore, stands a struc- 
 ture, which for scientific contrivance and mechanical com- 
 pleteness, is worthy to be named the Pharos of Alexan- 
 diia ; and my companion, in his Congressional life, having 
 been the champion of this class of public improvements, 
 
 we were cordially welcomed by the intelligent old sea-cap- 
 see 
 
View of a Curious Lake, 267 
 
 tain who now trims the lamp for his brother sailors. With 
 the mysteries of lenses and burners, catoptrics and dioptrics, 
 I will not trouble your unwilling brain — but you will be 
 interested to know how far this light can be seen ; and the 
 old skipper said that sailors had repeatedly assured him of 
 their seeing it at forty-five miles distance — (the Alexandrian 
 Pharos being recorded as visible at forty-two.) 
 
 From the summit of this tali beacon we got a fine view 
 of the Sesacacha Lake — a shoe-shaped pond, that is a curi- 
 ous type of alternation between private and public life — 
 being so slightly separated from the ocean, that in tem- 
 pestuous weather, the sand-bar is broken over by the surf, 
 and the fresh-water lake becomes a stormy and salt bay of 
 the Atlantic, How truly a public man's country home is 
 a Sesacacha! 
 
 But you will pardon my farmer's eye for seeing a rural 
 capahility in this singular pond ; and one which in these 
 days of scarcity of milk (particularily since the frail Lola's 
 revelation of milk-baths as a preservative of beauty), 
 might be turned to profitable account. Let me preface my 
 suggestion by a passage from Macy's history of the 
 whale : 
 
 " The different species of whale nurse their young as 
 cows do their calves. The age at which the young are 
 weaned is probably twelve months. When attacked by a 
 Bchool of killers (a species of whale not larger than a sperm- 
 
268 The Convalescent. 
 
 whale two months old), they stop entirely, and lay like 
 logs on the water ; then the calves collect between the cows 
 and run their heads as far out of the water as they can. 
 When whales are frightened, they go as fast as their calves 
 can swim and no faster. Cows and calves associate very 
 freely together." 
 
 Now, this Sesacacha pond — a mile or two square, and 
 with only a sand-bar, like a shut gate, to divide it from the 
 sea — what is it but a most natural and manifest aquatic cow- 
 yard, made on purpose for the Nantucket dairyman to milk 
 his whale ? As to any very great difficulty in driving 
 home a herd of the " cows " whose habits of gregarious 
 maternity are described above, a Yankee skipper would 
 smile at the idea. And — once get them there, with their 
 spacious dugs full of milk worth (say) twelve cents and a 
 half a quart — who would imagine, for a moment, that the 
 Nantucket women would not find a way to milk them ! Or 
 to enlarge the speculation, 'Sconset and Sesacacha might be- 
 come Beauty-Baths — the whales milked into the pond, and 
 the summer visitors taking their embellishing immersions on 
 the spot — a local attraction that would add handsomely to 
 the home revenues of Nantucket. (The annuity, expected 
 from the island for this suggestion, might be moderate for 
 the first year or two.) 
 
 But — ^joking aside — how much do you know of the his- 
 tory and habits of whales and whalers ? Did you ever 
 hear of the first capturing of the great Leviathan — the 
 
History of the First Whale ever Captured. 269 
 
 present sea-slave of the Yankee ? Considering the impor- 
 tance of the animal as a national commodity, it will, at least, 
 add usefully to general information (and your information, 
 my dear General, is not likely to be better than mine was 
 on the subject before going to Nantucket) if I give an out- 
 line of whale-catching — its rise and progress. 
 
 The first thought of capturing the great fish, who had 
 hitherto been seen only at what was considered a safe dis- 
 tance, was at the coming of one of them — of the kind called 
 the "scragg" — into Nantucket harbor. The island was 
 but recently inhabited by white men ; and, their curiosity 
 being excited by the apparition of this new " native," they 
 set about contriving how they should induce the floundering 
 aboriginal to prolong his visit. The first harpoon was then 
 invented, and, armed with this weapon, they went out in 
 their boats, and assaulted and killed the whale. The va- 
 rious kinds of the animal beinof then numerous alono- the 
 shore, the successful harpooners turned their attention to 
 the killing of them, as a regular business. The govern- 
 ment of the island gave it every encouragement, making 
 presents of land to skilful men who would come and engage 
 in it, and sending for information as to the best method of 
 extracting the oil, etc., etc. 
 
 " It is remarkable (says Macy), that, notwithstanding 
 the people had to learn the business of whaling, and carry 
 it on under many hazardous circumstances, yet not a single 
 
270 The Convalescent. 
 
 white person was killed or drowned in the pursuit, in the 
 course of seventy years." "The Indians, ever manifesting 
 a disposition for fishing of every kind, readily joined with 
 the whites in this new pursuit, and willingly submitted to 
 any station assigned them. By their assistance, the whites 
 were enabled to fit out and man a far greater number of 
 boats than they could have done of themselves. Nearly 
 every boat was manned, in part — many almost entirely — by 
 natives : some of the most active of them were made 
 steersmen, and some were allowed even to head the boats : 
 thus encouraged they soon became experienced whalemen 
 and capable of conducting any part of the business.'* 
 " Whales being plenty near the shores, people were led to 
 conclude that they should find them still more numerous 
 were they to pursue them with vessels into the deep. Tn 
 the year 1690,* some persons were on a high hill, observ- 
 
 * One of the public experiences of the island, about this time, records rather 
 a curious fact as to what is considered the highest crime by the Indians : 
 
 " King Philip, Sachem of Mount Hope, in the year 1665, very soon after the 
 settlement of the island by the whites, came there with a number of canoes in 
 pursuit of an Indian to punish him for some heinous crime. There being but 
 a small number of Englisli at that time, they had everything to fear. Philip's 
 hostile appearance and preparations made them apprehensive that he would 
 destroy them, if any measures were taken to arrest his progress in pursuit of 
 the delinquent. On the other hand, if they assisted to search after him, they 
 dreaded the revenge of the island natives. They therefore declined lending 
 their aid in any respect. Philip then went with his party in pursuit of the 
 criminal, and at length found him on the southeast part of the island. His 
 name wa? John Gibbs ; Ids crime rcas the, mentioiiing of the name of FhiUp^s 
 father. Eehearsing the name of the dead, if it should lie that of a distin- 
 gui-sfied person, was decreed by the natives a very high crime, for which 
 nothing but the life of the culprit could atone, Philip, having now "the poor 
 criminal in possession, made preparations to execute vengeance upon him, Avhen 
 the English spectators commiserated his condition, and made offers of money 
 to ransom his life. Philip listened to these offers and mentioned a sum which 
 would satisfy him : but so much could not be collected. He was informed of 
 this, but refused to lessen his demand. The whites, however, collected all they 
 
The Spermaceti Aristocrat of the Ocean, 2tl 
 
 ing the whales spouting and sporting with each other, when 
 one observed (pointing to the sea), "there is a pasture 
 where our children's grandchildren will go for bread." 
 But of the era of first taking the most valuable kind of 
 whale^ Macy thus gives an account : 
 
 " The first spermaceti wkale taken by the Nantucket 
 whalers was killed by Christopher Hussey. He was 
 cruising near the shore for right whales, and was blown off 
 some distance from the land by a strong northerly wind, 
 where he fell in with a school of that species of whales, 
 and killed one and brought it home. At what date this 
 adventure took place is not fully ascertained, but it is sup- 
 posed to be not far from 1712. This event gave new life 
 to the business, for they immediately began with vessels of 
 about thirty tons to whale out in the 'deep,' as it was then 
 called, to distinguish it from shore whaling. They fitted 
 out for cruises of about six weeks, carried a few hogsheads, 
 enough probably to contain the blubber of one whale, 
 with which, after obtaining it, they returned home. The 
 owners then took charge of the blubber, and tried out the 
 oil, and immediately sent the vessel out again. 
 
 " As the whalino; business was found to answer their 
 
 could in the short time allowed them, in hopes that he would be satisfied, when 
 assured that more could not be found ; but instead of this, he persisted in his 
 demand with threatening language, pronounced with an emphasis which fore- 
 boded no good. This very much provoked the English, so that they concluded 
 among themselves to make no further offers, but try to frighten him away 
 without giving him any more money. The sum raised, which was all that the 
 inhabitants possessed, was eleven pounds ; this had already been paid to him, 
 and could not be required back again. Philip had surrounded and taken pos- 
 session of one or two houses, to the gi-eat terror of the inmates ; in this di- 
 lemma, they concluded to put all to risk ; they told him that if he did not imme- 
 diately leave the island they would rally the inhabitants, and fall upon him and 
 cut him off to a man. Not knowing their defenceless condition, he happily 
 took the alarm, and left the island as soon as possible. The prisoner was 
 then set at liberty." 
 
272 The Convalescent. 
 
 expectations, they were encouraged to increase the number 
 and size of their vessels. Sloops and schooners, of from 
 forty to fifty tons, were put into the business. Vessels of 
 this size being supposed to be best adapted to whaling, 
 near the coast, no larger ones were employed for many 
 years. At length, whales began to be scarce near the shore, 
 and some enterprising persons procured larger vessels and 
 sent them out to the southward, as it was called, where 
 they cruised until about the first of the seventh month, 
 when thev came in and refitted, and went to the eastward of 
 the Grand Bank, where they continued through the whaling 
 season, unless they completed their lading sooner, which 
 frequently happened. The vessels that went on these 
 voyages were generally sloops, of sixty or seventy tons ; 
 their crews were made up in part of Indians, there being 
 usually from four to eight in each vessel. 
 
 "At the close of the whaling season, the vessels were 
 mostly drawn on shore for the winter, being considered 
 safer and less expensive in that situation, than at the wharves. 
 The boats were placed on the beach, bottom upward, and 
 tied together, to prevent disasters in gales of wind ; and all 
 the whaling gear v/as put into the warehouses." 
 f 
 
 The whale is a great traveller, and instances have been 
 
 known of the striking of a whale in the Atlantic, and after- 
 wards taking hira in the Pacific — the head of the harpoon 
 found buried in the carcass, being marked with the name 
 of the ship which first fell in with him. The sagacity of 
 the sperm whale, more particularly the Leviathan aristo- 
 crat, is very remarkable — the instantaneous knowledge 
 they have, of one of their number being killed or wounded 
 
Process of Killing the Whale. 213 
 
 even at a distance of three or four miles, beino- like the 
 electric telegraph. "When a whale is struck, those around 
 who were feeding or floating undisturbed, with one accord 
 make their way to the wounded whale ; or occasionally 
 they collect in a body and go off in the contrary direction 
 with the greatest speed. 
 
 And now, let us come to our Nantucket historian once 
 more, for an account of the process of whale-taking: 
 
 "As soon as a whale is discovered by the men at mast- 
 head, the first inquiry from deck is, ' In what direction V 
 That answered, the sails are trimmed according to dis- 
 tance, and the ship made to head as directly for the 
 object as possible. It is not desirable to approach the 
 whale nearer than within about one mile. When at about 
 that distance, the ship is stopped, and the boats are lowered 
 into the water. If the whale is down, each boat takes the 
 station where the officer commanding her believes the 
 whale will come up, A large sperm whale remains under 
 water from fortv-five minutes to an hour and fifteen mi- 
 nutes.* Their usual rate of going, when undisturbed, is 
 about two and a half miles an hour. Beinof satisfied 
 which way the M'hale was headed, when it went down, 
 each one exercises his judgment as to where he thinks it 
 will come up. There they anxiously wait ; when it does 
 appear, the nearest boat pulls on (the other boats take a 
 position near by), and strikes as soon as possible, which is 
 done by the officer in the head of the boat, who daits two 
 
 * My 'Sconset friend, Captain Gardiner, told me that, by his experience, a 
 whale would yield just as many barrels of oil as he would stay minutes 
 under water. 
 
 12* 
 
2^4 The Convalescent, 
 
 harpoons into the whale. These harpoons, or, as we term 
 them, whale irons, are attached to aline of two hundred and 
 eio-hty or three hundred fathoms, coiled in a tub, 
 
 '' The effect produced by the harpoon is various. Some- 
 tiiues it penetrates a vital part, and kills the whale in a 
 lew minutes. This, however, is not often the case. The 
 irons are not so much intended to kill the whale as to 
 fasten to her. A more proper instrument, called a lance, is 
 used to dispatch the whale ; its head is much like the 
 centre-piece in an eel-spear, the shank is about three feet 
 long-, with a socket, in which is fixed a pole of about eight 
 feet. It is easily darted six or eight fathoms. It has a 
 line or warp attached to it, by which it can be drawn back 
 after being thrown. But it is better not to use the warp, 
 but to go to the whale's side, and with your hand set the 
 lance to the whale's life, and the work is done. Some- 
 times, immediately after the whale is struck, it stops, being 
 severely hurt, and rolls, threshes, and tumbles about at a 
 ffreat rate, makinof the water flv in all directions. It is 
 best to keep close to the suds, but not quite in it, and 
 when she straightens out on the water, after her paroxysm, 
 it is a good time to pull up, and throw in a lance. Some- 
 times, on being struck, they descend with great rapidity, 
 taking three, or four, or even five hundred fathoms of line. 
 If another boat is near by, and the line is likely to be run 
 from the first boat, it is knotted to a second, and some- 
 times to a third, making in all eight hundred fathoms in 
 one continued string. We do not think that whales descend 
 to that depth ; considerable line is taken out when they 
 are coming up. 
 
 "When the whale is dead, it is taken to the ship, which 
 keeps at a proper distance during the action. The work of 
 taking off the blubber — that part from which the oil is 
 
Process of Preparing the Whale. 275 
 
 extracted — then commences. This is done by putting 
 heavy tackles at the mainmast head. An aperture near 
 the tin is made in the bhibber, sufficiently large to 
 admit a strong hook, which is attached to the winding 
 tackles before mentioned, and the purchase is brought to a 
 windlass. This is what is called raising a piece. After 
 cutting what is necessary upon the head, as the men heave, 
 the blubber is peeled or separated from the body or carcass 
 by a sharp instrument made for the purpose, called a 
 spade. When the blanket-piece, as it is (railed, is hove 
 up to the mast head, another hole is made, and the strap 
 of the other tackle is put through, toggled and hove tight, 
 and the piece above cut off, and lowered into the ship's 
 hold between decks. The second tackle, now having its 
 piece, is hove till that is at mast-head, and is relieved. 
 Thus the whale is kept rojling until it is rolled out of its 
 jacket, just as a person would haul a piece of tape from a 
 cane, if it were wound around it spirally from end to end. 
 After the whale is once turned round, the head is sepa- 
 rated from the body, and taken on board according to 
 convenience : it generally produces about one-third of the 
 oil taken from the whale, which is much more valuable 
 than that taken from the blubber of the body as most of 
 the spermaceti used in making candles comes from it, 
 
 " Sperm whales vary much in size. The cows and calves 
 are generally found in shoals. Ten, twenty, and sometimes 
 hundreds, constitute a school ; and, when discovered, some 
 of them are constantly on the surface of the water, spout- 
 ino-, jumping, plaving, etc. The cows make from eight to 
 forty barrels of oil. The male a:rows much laro-er: and 
 what is termed a large whale will yield from sixty to a 
 hundred barrels. It is thought, by some, that the males, or 
 at least the most of them, about the third year of their age, 
 
276 The Convalescent, 
 
 leave the cows and calves, and gang togetlier : and it i% 
 not uncommon to see a school of forty barrel whales, and 
 so on to sixties. Sometimes single whales are seen of a 
 large size. To what depth a sperm whale descends in 
 search of food (which is always squid), no person, what- 
 ever his experience may have been, can tell. One thing is 
 certain — that the larger the whale, the longer it stops 
 under water. 
 
 " After the blubber is hoisted on board, the ship's com- 
 pany immediately proceed to boil it out, while it is sweet. 
 Before sailing, there is built on deck a solid, substantial 
 brick-work, called a camboose, with a water course beneath 
 it, in which are set two, and sometimes three pots, holding 
 from one hundred and forty to two hundred gallons each, 
 for the purpose of trying out the oil. The blubber, now 
 in the ship's hold, called blanket-pieces, is cut into smaller 
 parts, about five inches wide, and from twelve to eighteen 
 long, called horse-pieces, from a plank bearing that name. 
 It is then minced by a tool shaped something like a 
 scythe, with a handle on each end, and is now prepared for 
 the pot. After the oil is tried from the blubber, it is put 
 into a large copper cooler, and thence into casks. When 
 the oil is as cool as the climate will make it, the casks, 
 having shrunk considerably, are coopered again, and put 
 away in the hold, not to be moved again, unless they 
 should leak, until the termination of the voyage. 
 
 " A stranorer to the business may ask, what these mon- 
 sters of the deep live upon, to grow to such an enormous 
 size ? Their principal food is an animal of the fish kind^ 
 not bigger than a sptider, which it resembles somewhat in 
 shape : the color is of a reddish cast. It is called bret, 
 and is frequently seen on the surface of the water in such 
 quantities as to make a reddish appearance of several acres. 
 
Description of the Whale. 271 
 
 « These the whales take into their mouths in large quan- 
 tities, and the slabs of bone serve as strainers to discharge 
 the water and retain the food. 
 
 "The eyes being prominent, the whale is enabled to pur- 
 sue his prey in a direct line, and by inclining his head a 
 little to the right or left, he can see his enemy astern. 
 There is one row of teeth in the lower jaw, and sockets 
 in the upper, to receive them. The number of teeth de- 
 pends on the age of the animal. When the sperm whale 
 spouts, he throws the water forward and not upward, like 
 other whales, except when he is enraged. . , . „ . 
 
 " The tail is horizontal ; with it he does much mischiet m 
 defending himself. The ambergris is generally discovered 
 by probing the intestines with a long pole, when the fish is 
 
 cut in two. ^' f 
 
 "There is a marked difference in the spoutmgs ot 
 different species of whales. A sperm whale has but one 
 spout hole, and throws the spout forward at an elevation o 
 about forty-five degrees. It is much thicker, and does not 
 ^0 as hio'h as that of most other whales. A right-whale 
 has two spout holes about eighteen feet from the nose, and 
 consequently much nearer the lungs ; the spout is thrown 
 nearly perpendicularly, widening as it rises. The finback 
 has two spout holes ; yet the spout often rises in one jet so 
 as to cause it to be sometimes mistaken for the spout of a 
 spermaceti ; and the same may be observed of the hump- 
 back. Some whales appear more vicious than others, it 
 rarely occurs that they show a disposition to act on the 
 defensive. No rules can be given for the manage^nent of a 
 whale which shows a disposition to attack a boat. AH 
 must be left to the judgment and courage of the officer. 
 
 So much for the poetry of industry and energy that fairly 
 
278 The Convalescent. 
 
 impregnates the atmosphere of this little island. But 
 there is also a poetry of Indian life, for which Nantu-cket 
 will one day be curiously visited ; and, of the " warp and 
 woof" of this side of its history, we find a specimen in a 
 Report made some time ago to the Historical Society. 
 Thus quaintly wrote Zaccheus Macy, (an ancestor of Obed 
 Macy, already quoted), of the Indians of Nantucket : 
 
 '' Waunohmanock was the first Sachem, when the Eng- 
 lish first came Next came the old Sachem 
 
 called Wauwinet. And the said Wauwinet had two sons, 
 the oldest son was named Isaac, but was mostly called 
 Nicornoose, which signifies, in English, to suck the fore 
 teat; and his second son was named Wawpordonggo, which 
 in English is white face, for his face was one side white, 
 and the other side brown or Indian color. And the said 
 Nicornoose married, and had one son named Isaac, and 
 one daughter ; and then he turned away his proper wife, 
 and took another woman, and had two sons, named Wat 
 and Paul Noose ; and when his true son Isaac grew up to 
 be a man, he resented his father's behavior so much that 
 he went off" and left them for the space of near fifty years, 
 it was not known where. And in that time his true sister 
 married to one Daniel Spotsor, and he reigned sachem, by his 
 wife, near at)Out forty years; and we made large purchases 
 of the said Spotsors. And then about sixty years past or 
 more, there (;ame an Indian man from Nauset, called 
 Great Jethro, and he brought Judah Paddack and one 
 Hause with him, and he challenged the sachem-right by 
 being son to the said true son of Nicornoose ; and when 
 they first opened the matter to our old proprietors, they 
 
Poetry of Indian Life on the Island. 2T9 
 
 contrived to keep the said Jethro close, until they could 
 send some good committee to find out by our old Indians, 
 whether they ever knew or heard of the said Nicornoose 
 having such a son gone, and they soon found out by the 
 old Indians that he had, but they had not heard what was 
 become of him. So they soon found they should lose all 
 they had bought of the said Spotsor, then thev held a 
 parley with him said Jethro, and agreed to buy all his 
 right, title and property that he owned on said island, as 
 appears on our records. And the said Nicornoose gave 
 deeds to his two bastard sons, Paul and Wat Noose, forty 
 acres each, a little to the eastward of Podpis village. 
 
 " The first sachem at the southwest part of the said 
 Island. His bounds were at the said Weweder Ponds, 
 and his name was Autapeeot. Next to him was his son 
 called Harry Poritain. Next to him was Peter Mausauquit. 
 Next to him was Isaac Peter. Next to him was lame Isaac? 
 of whom we bought the last and all that sachem-right : and 
 their habitation was Moyaucomet, which signifies a meet- 
 ing-place, and their meeting-house they call Moyaucomor. 
 And the said Autapeeot was called a great warrior, and 
 got his land by his bow. ... I have been at their 
 meetings many times and seen their devotion; and it was 
 remarkably solid ; and I could understand the most of 
 what was said ; and they always placed us in a suitable 
 seat to sit ; and they were not put by, by our coming in, 
 but rather appeared glad to see us come in. And a min- 
 ister is called cooutaumuchary. And when the meeting 
 was done, they would take their tinder-box and strike fire 
 and light their pipes, and, may be, would draw three or 
 four whiffs and swallow the smoke, and then blow it out of 
 their noses, and so hand their pipes to their next neighbor. 
 And one pipe of tobacco would serve ten or a dozen of 
 
280 The Convalescent. 
 
 them. And tliey would say ' tawpoot,' which is, 'I thank ye.' 
 It seemed to be done in a w-ay of kindness to each other. 
 
 " The most noted Indians in Autapscot's bounds were 
 Benjamin Tashama, a minister of the Gospel, and a school- 
 master to teach the children to read and write. He was 
 grandson to the old sachem, But there was an old Indian, 
 named Zacchary Hoite, a minister before this said Tashama, 
 but he did not behave so well. He told his hearers they 
 must do as he said, but not as he did. 
 
 What material for the novelist, the poet and the politi- 
 cal economist, is accumulated in the history of this little 
 island ! And what an advance upon the island-news of a 
 single day, when first settled, is the paragraph in the news- 
 paper of this very morning, announcing that " the Telegraph 
 cable " — by which intelligence will pass, in a second, be- 
 tween Nantucket and the mainland — "was successfully laid." 
 AVhat would " Waunochmanock the first Sachem " have 
 said, had a prophet foretold, that, in two hundred years, 
 such a miracle would be in daily use by the white man ? 
 
 But the bottom of my page reminds me that I am again 
 outrunning epistolary limits; and I must close — leaving- 
 however, very many most interesting points of Nantucket 
 history untouched upon. It is stuff for a most valuable 
 book, in fact ; and for him who has time and taste to write 
 it, I can conceive no pleasanter befiilling than a summer so- 
 journ at 'Sconset, with pen, ink, and gossip, or idleness at 
 will. I sigh, myself, to say adieu to it, here ! 
 
 Yours, at Idlewild again. 
 
LETTER XXVIII. 
 
 To Invalid Morris— Morning at Brady's — His Reason for moving further up 
 Broadway — Photograph of Dana and its uses— Bancroft, Dr. Potts, Russell 
 Lowell, etc — Likeness of Lord Napier — Description of "Imperial Photo- 
 graph " — Comments on Photography and Portrait Painting — A true Likeness 
 and its Injustice — Suggestion of an Inquiry for Artistic Philosophy, etc. etc. 
 etc. 
 
 Idlewild, March. 
 
 Your very upright body, like your very downright word, 
 is so habitually valid^ that, to look upon you as an in-valid 
 has a certain relish of variety. On your weary road of 
 recuperation, with diet and the doctors, you are, for the 
 present, at least, among those to whom a letter of wile- 
 time may be tenderly addressed — a word of sympathy or 
 so, to make you forget the grim pill of your pilgrimage. 
 Fortunately, on the mantel-piece before me stands a pale 
 face — your photographic portrait, in which the color, more 
 or less, is left to the imagination — and, to amuse that re- 
 duced and U2>hrady''d Morris, therefore, shall be the sym- 
 pathizing aim of this present " Letter for Invalids." 
 
 And, speaking of Brady and his photographs, it may amuse 
 you if I describe my chance morning among his novelties 
 when last in town. My walk down Broadway was in search 
 of things less written of already, but I was cauo;ht. as other 
 
 281 
 
282 The Convalescent. 
 
 birds are, in going by — and let rae tell you how "the salt 
 was put on." 
 
 Everybody, as you know, walks very slowly for a few steps 
 after passing Williams-and-Stevens' — the mental struggle 
 as to whether one is rich enouo-h to p'o back and buv the new 
 engraving in their seductive window, diminishing the walk- 
 ing-pace of the passers-by (I have generally observed) to 
 about one-half of its previous speed. Of this peculiarity 
 of that particular spot of sidewalk, Brady, with his philoso- 
 phical tact, has wisely availed himself — removing from down- 
 town, where the promenaders walk very fast (in sight of 
 the halls of justice and the city clock), to this higher 
 number of Broadway, where, as I have just stated, they 
 come under a daily renewed fascination and, with slackened 
 pace, look more leisurely around them. 
 
 Loitering past Brady's door, therefore, with the strug- 
 gling deliberateness of the rest of the crowd, my eye fell upon 
 what seemed to rae a mezzotint likeness of Dana — a por- 
 trait it seemed to me, most effectively artistic, while, at the 
 same time, it had the lifelike verisimilitude of daguerreo- 
 type. I was unprepared to see a photograph so large as 
 this (it jjave the fisrure at two-thirds lenijth, and was of the 
 size called "imperial" in engraving), and, to my eye, it 
 was the utmost perfection of a likeness. Dana's face is a 
 very strong and handsome one, as everybody knows ; but 
 this, of course, was a secondary reason with sagacious 
 
Likeness of Lord Napier. 283 
 
 Brady, for making him the bene--pu\\ at his door — that 
 name as we all remember {vide " Dana-e," and " Dana- 
 ides" in the Classical Dictionary) having great attraction 
 for the " showers of gold," and marriageable young gentle- 
 men. 
 
 To make an inquiry as to this new stride in perfection of 
 portraiture, T mounted to the sunshine-shop above, where, 
 as I expected, our old friend Wandesford and my previous 
 acquaintance, " the god of day," were busily at work — 
 the latter making the pictures with his usual rapidity of 
 literalness, and the better educated artist supplying after- 
 wards the god's inappreciative and unflattering omissions. 
 Quite a crowd of ladies, as usual, were in attendance ; and 
 the especial object of interest, at the moment, v.'as a photo- 
 graphic portrait of Lord Napier, just completed. The new 
 English Minister had made a visit to Brady, on his way to 
 Washington, and the likeness he thus left behind him 
 represents very much " the right man for his work." It is 
 of the tvpe which is found, as a class, only in England — 
 imperturbably observing and intellectual, but so undemon- 
 stratively well-bred as to be within a hair-line of bare 
 plainness and common placeness — and, over and above what 
 education and position have done for the face, there is in it 
 a look of reliable worthiness and integrity, which it is 
 comforting to know will be one of the " copy-books," at 
 Washington, for a while. 
 
284 The Convalescext. 
 
 Among other portraits in this same style there was a won- 
 derfully successful one of Bancroft, the historian ; a very fine 
 copy of the majestic frame and face of the eminent clergyman, 
 Dr. Potts ; au excellent one of James Russell Lowell, and a 
 faithful one of Bryant — though Lawrence's portrait of our 
 great poet is better, inasmuch as that artist, who is daguer- 
 reotypically true to nature, could still shade off the abrupt 
 line with which Thanatopsis decapitates his beard. This is 
 one of the few faces that would look quite as well if kept 
 " severely beardless," but the expression is unfavorably 
 fragmented by the covering of only two-thirds of the chin. 
 On a temple of fame like your inspired lips, Mr. Bryant, 
 the admiring eye looks for the natural eaves — unless the 
 facial architecture be that of the " pyramid proper," and 
 chin, mouth and nose, be left bare from pinnacle to base. 
 
 For the improvement of mechanism, by which so much 
 larger a UJcmess can now be taken, Mr, Brady, I believe, is 
 to have the credit ; thouo-h I think the other secret of the 
 matter — the knowing how sunbeam, pose and pencil, should 
 be Brady'd together — shows more the perseverance of the 
 man. He has employed thirty or forty artists to experi- 
 ment upon this. The photograph, as you understand, is 
 first taken by the machine, with artistic directions as to 
 the choice of look and posture. A sitting of fifteen min- 
 utes is then given to an accomplished crayonist, who thus 
 makes his memoranda for &tij[>'pling the otherwise imperfect 
 
Comments on Photography and Portrait Painting. 285 
 
 picture — supplying, with the pencil, that is to say, the life 
 or expression left wanting by the photograph's soul-omitting 
 fidelity to mere matter, and removing the mechanical 
 blemishes, such as the deep black with which the photo- 
 graph copies light eyebrows, and similar defects in shading, 
 which are easily corrected. To do this judiciously — to add 
 life to the dead photograph without altering its type and 
 truth — requires, of course, practical skill and the best 
 judgment. 
 
 There are portraits, of course, which the photograph can 
 never supersede — those in which the artist combines num- 
 berless fleeting expressions into a single look, or a variety 
 of graces of movement into single posture — but, for men, 
 and particularly for those whose characters are to be read 
 by a single glance at their outward form and feature (as 
 all certainly are not), the photograph, with its recent 
 improvements, is by far the best likeness taken. Even as a 
 saving of labor for the artist — doing nineteen-twentieths 
 of his work with infallible accuracy of proportion, and 
 leaving, for his hand, only the last touch, which is always 
 the main call upon his genius — it is an invaluble discovery. 
 We thus speak of the best artists — but all artists are not 
 "the best," and the photograph may well supersede the 
 inferior ones altogether. Though, still, even good artists 
 have not the courage of the photograph. Cromwell was 
 obliged to insist that the wart upon his nose should be 
 
286 The Convalescent. 
 
 painted, and there is many a departure from beauty, which 
 a too flattering pencil will slight over, but which, at the 
 same time, is indispensable even to an ideal of the face's 
 character. 
 
 All kinds of people are not equally fortunate, in being 
 well taken by the daguerreotype, nor are all kinds of looks, 
 beauty and expression, equally good subjects for the instru- 
 ment. Some of us know better than others how to put on 
 the best look ; some are handsome only when talking, 
 some only when the features are in repose ; some have 
 most character in the full face, some in the profile ; some 
 do the writhings of life's agonies with their hearts and 
 wear smooth faces, some do the same work with their 
 mouths, and the muscles of the cheeks, eyes and nostrils, 
 A portrait-painter usually takes all those matters into 
 account, and, with his dozen or more long sittings, has time 
 enouo-h to make a careful study of how the character is 
 worked out in the physiognomy, and to paint accordingly. 
 But in daguerreotyping, the sitter has to employ this know- 
 ledge and exercise this judgment for himself. And he 
 should give time to it, and take advice upon it. An artis- 
 tic eye, either professional or of natural good taste, is within 
 consulting reach of most people, and, with the aid of such 
 a counsellor's familiar knowledge of the face, the best look, 
 costume and posture, should be settled upon before coming 
 to the instrument. Fortunately, the process is brief and 
 
A True Likeness and its Injustice. 28 T 
 
 the cost small, so that a dozen experiments can be made 
 in the time which an artist would take for a single sitting. 
 It would be hard, if, in twelve different views of the face, 
 the best look should not be tolerably approached. 
 
 But I was not forgetful of yow, my dear invalid, while 
 discoursing upon all these points with Brady's upper-chara- 
 ber-lain, Evans (for the photographer himself was away), 
 and yieldinof o-raduallv — as you know I did at last — to be 
 led to that same fatal upper chamber. You had sent me 
 your photograph, I remembered. It stood affectionately, 
 with its breast in a cloud, on my mantel-piece at home. 
 Well — yes — I would send you mine — in tender reciprocity 
 of bust. 
 
 And, they did me ! 
 
 But I protest — now, and while I last, and trusting you 
 will remember it in my obituary — against the misrepre- 
 sentation of my natural temper in that ferocious photo- 
 graph. What ! that cross-looking chap — that to pass for 
 the likeness of a dweller among the cows, who could get 
 the unanimous vote, this day, of the County of sweet milk 
 in which he lives, as its most good-natured inhabitant. 
 "Taken from life," it is true — but my habitual expres- 
 sion of unwilling industry is made to look like bad temper ! 
 And, let me linger a moment to explain how, in this (as 
 probably in many another man's likeness) photography 
 errs. While, to a stranger's eye, there stands the picture 
 
288 The Convalescent. 
 
 of a man who is savagely saying " What's that to you ?" it 
 is (with my consciousness of the look) simply a man say- 
 ing to himself, "Let me look a little closer into this!" 
 To compel the reluctant powers of attention (suflSciently to 
 write for a living), has been the one hard effort of the life 
 there chronicled. Concentration of mind upon a para- 
 graph sounds easy ; but it requires (for me) an effort 
 which crowds jaw and forehead together with the sensation 
 of a pair of pincers — makes the eyes pucker, and the lips 
 tighten and the nostrils strain excitedly open. Of course 
 it is editorial attention, of which I speak so feelingly ; for, 
 little do those know, who have the luxury of but one thing 
 to think of — clergymen, men of business, lawyers, inventors 
 and mathematicians — what it is, twenty times a day, to 
 take off the undivided attention from one subject and put 
 it as undividedly upon another. Most thinkers change 
 horses, as it were — travelling with renewed freshness as 
 they apply different powers of the mind to the different 
 phases of their one vehicle of a subject — but, to an editor, 
 it is a frequent change of vehicle, and forever the same old 
 horse ! 
 
 And now (to forget you, while I call mother nature to 
 account, my dear Morris), is virtuous industry to be thus 
 chronicled on the drudge's exemplary face as ill temper ? 
 With the loss of youth, of freshness, of strength, of joyful- 
 ness, it is easy to be content. Decay is not always forbid- 
 
An Inquiry for Artistic Philosophy. 289 
 
 ding, and I have a butterfly willingness to be rid of the 
 worm I am weary of — but there are those to whom I would 
 (am look unforbidding while I am here, and (I could ask it 
 tearfully, sometimes) — in proportion as I " work hard " am 
 I to " look cross " to the child upon my knee ? 
 
 It is a question which I wish our philosophically artistic 
 brother editor of The Crayon would take under discus- 
 sion — just how far idealized likenesses of authors are desir- 
 able or proper. Here, on my library wall, for instance* 
 hangs Richmond's portrait of Prescott — an exceedingly 
 beautiful face, which it is delightful to look up and feast 
 the eye upon, when under the spell of one of his historic 
 anthems of description. But I have never seen Mr. Pres- 
 cott ; and this probably idealized picture of what the real 
 face tells of the mind beneath, may be about as like (judg- 
 ing by other engraved portraits of originals I know), as an 
 elegiac poem is like the undertaker's bill for the same 
 event. But, would I prefer, in that case, a veracious 
 daguerreotype of Prescott, to rest my eyes upon ? Cer- 
 tainly not I would take some trouble, on the contrary, 
 not to see such a daguerreotype at all. It takes an artist 
 of very high genius, however, to give a characteristically 
 idealized portraiture of a great mind. And why should 
 not this constitute a higher and separate department of art 
 — portraits of authors as seen in their books, but true only 
 to the original native type of tl^eir actual features ? Such 
 
 13 
 
290 The Convalescent. 
 
 ftre our likenesses of Byron, Shelley, and Tennyson, I pre- 
 sume. And there is many a balloon of portrait-fame 
 gracefully afloat for immortality, which would be left 
 behind if collapsed by daguerreotype into a bundle of 
 raofs. 
 
 And so, my dear invalid, I have sung you my ditty! 
 You have gone to sleep while it was singing, perhaps, but 
 at any rate, it is long enough, for this time. Strength and 
 patience to you in your confinement at home ; and, that 
 you may live to reach 107 (Fulton street^J is the earnest 
 
 prayer of 
 
 Yours always. 
 
LETTER XXIX. 
 
 To Morris at Mobile — Out-door Luxury of Southern Climate—" Tiff's Ex- 
 change " — Southern Noon-ing — New Orleans and its Chaotic Marvels — Shirt- 
 sleeve Promenade — Recommendation to Transplant a New Orleans Fashion 
 to Broadway — Invalid Advice — Caution as to Trifles, etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild, April. 
 Where are you, this April noon ? Out of doors with 
 the mocking-birds and the magnolias, I am very sure ; 
 for, that is a luxury of the South which should be sung like 
 Italy's " dolce far niente " — it has no imprisonment for the 
 invalid! And, what a difference this makes! When I 
 saw you in New York, the other day, your warm parlor 
 was your world. To-day (at Mobile, most likely) you fee 
 as if the warm world was your parlor ! Open air is your 
 sick-chamber. Sunshine is your dressing-gown and blanket. 
 You are at large on a planet — not pent up in a sick-room ! 
 And this, I say, is much. Let them deny, if they please, 
 the abstractly curative properties of southern air. It has a 
 "charmed ring" — the horizon — whose spell of limitless 
 luxury is a medicine to the mind. 
 
 Suppose you at Mobile, then — tenth of April and twelve 
 o'clock — nostrils expanded, pores unanim-open-ous, and 
 
 291 
 
292 The Convalescent. 
 
 lungs with DO possible objection. And now, after perhaps 
 a drive out upon the " shell road," you have stepped into 
 " Tiff's Exchange," to see the men and " take a cracker." 
 
 I deliberately perpetrate the iniquity of expressing my 
 most delightful memory of having enjoyed at Mobile what 
 is commonly understood by the phrase just quoted ! Yes 
 — at Mobile and at New Orleans. And so will you, my 
 dear Morris ! But, will the " Maine Liquor Law," before it 
 opens upon us, allow me to say one little explanatory word 
 as to the southern Noon-ing that I speak of? 
 
 The northern midnight (socially) answers to the south- 
 ern noon. The daily meeting, that is to say, for the chat 
 over the genial glass, is at the other " twelve." It sounds 
 wrong, of course, to speak of resorting to a " bar-room " in 
 the middle of the day. " A julep and a straw " — as I see 
 them written in this virtuous ink — are fearful words ! But 
 the bar-room, in that latitude, is not what it is in ours. 
 Or, if drinking-places for rowdies are to be found at the 
 South, there are others for gentlemen. To step in and 
 " take a cracker," as you are asked to do, at the lunch- 
 hour of noon, is to meet the most distinguished men of the 
 place where you are — and to meet them with a freedom 
 from previous inconvenience, present trouble or subsequent 
 obligation, which is even Utopian in its advantages over a 
 midnight and invited party. One of the finest collections 
 of intrinsically superior men that I ever saw, was in that 
 
Southern Noon-ing. 293 
 
 very bar-room of " Tiffs," at Mobile, the chance noon that 
 I was there — judges, counsellors, planters, merchants, 
 editors — all assembled, apparently according to habit, to 
 have an hour's chat over the optional glass and cracker. 
 The conversation was genial, quiet, high-bred, and at every- 
 body's absolute ease 1 And, really, how could individual 
 independence in society be better contrived ? Each man 
 was intrusted with the safe-keeping of his own temperance 
 — each man wore what he pleased — sat or stood as he 
 pleased — came or went as he pleased — talked, or was silent, 
 or read the papers, or smoked his cigar, as he pleased. 
 Everybody was there with whom he was likely to have 
 occasion or wish to speak particularly, and no one man was 
 put under obligation by the trouble which any other man 
 had taken in coming. There was no exclusiveness in those 
 present except by self-selectiveness of group — no presence 
 or absence except of a man's own choosing, or by the natu- 
 ral crystallization of character and manners. What could 
 be more admirably convenient ? — what more agreeable ? — 
 what of a more elevated social tone, at the same time that 
 it was economical and impartially equal ? I do not think 
 we sufficiently admire the southern Noon-ing — built, though 
 perhaps it partly is, upon southern qualities, their auto- 
 responsibility, auto-protectableness, auto-dignity and auto- 
 contentedness of position and estimation. But, if the 
 " spirituous liquor " be the only objection, could we not get 
 
294 The Convalescent. 
 
 it np at the North, over crackers and tea ? Suppose Wall 
 street had its tea-pot for brokers — Williaras-and-Stevens, 
 or Goupil & Co. their tea-pot for artists — Union Square 
 its tea-pot for men of leisure — and the Astor its tea-pot 
 for editors and lawyers. It is a little Turkish, of course, to 
 thus leave out the ladies — but we will come to their tea- 
 pots when they invite us. Besides, men require a social 
 daily Exchange — a recess from work, and a gathering 
 between twelve and one — or some time and place with 
 facilities for courteous and incidental converse with such, 
 male company as they choose. There is enough of the 
 schoolboy left, in all of us, to need the " intermission." 
 
 While I have been thus spinning my cobweb for the 
 improvement of our favorite world, my dear Morris, your 
 " noon-ing" at Tiff's is over, and you are calling on some of 
 our family, (driven round, very likely, by the charming 
 women we know of). I say " our family ;" for it is the hap- 
 piness of addressing the level that we do — the homes of the 
 refined and the cultivated — that our subscription list is a 
 chronicle of friends. Wherever the Home Journal is wel- 
 comed, we rejoice to have the privilege to follow. You 
 are realizing this now, as, probably (with your unmigra- 
 tory habits) you never did before. And there is a differ- 
 ence in subscription-lists, in this respect. As a catalogue 
 of homes — such homes as it is delightful for the traveller 
 to be recognized and welcomed in — I am sure that the 
 
New Orleans and its Chaotic Marvels. 295 
 
 subscription-list of the Home Journal is unequalled. Your 
 name, as its editor, as you corae home through the South 
 and West, will be a magnet to draw the best people to your 
 side, to open the best houses to you, to set a chair for you 
 at the pleasantest firesides and tables. Find one of our 
 habitual readers, and you find a person of taste, home- 
 culture and refinement, I believe it is everywhere under- 
 stood. And of our many thousands, picked and reached 
 constantly in every quarter of the country, there are likely to 
 be always some near you and around you — a Home Jour- 
 nalist everywhere, and charming to discover and claim a 
 friend in. I write always, as you very well know, with 
 this consciousness at the point of my pen. It is the key 
 to a tone and style which were else, perhaps, sometimes, too 
 personal and familiar. But, that it is felt reciprocally and 
 equally at the outermost limits of our electric circle, the 
 genial phrase or postscript in almost every letter that 
 comes to us abundantly shows. Our Fifty-thousand Public 
 is our cordial friend. 
 
 * Hs * * * * 
 
 Thus far had I written, two days ago ; and now, while I 
 wind up my letter to you, dear Morris, you are perhaps 
 luxuriating along to New Orleans — (I hope, with Captain 
 Ensign and his splendid boat, which I so pleasantly re- 
 member) — or, you are fairly at the mocking-bird city, eat- 
 ing strawberries to strange accompaniments of sight and 
 
296 The Convalescent. 
 
 sound, and wondering, in the very feco of previous cer- 
 tainty on the subject, as to where you geographically are ! 
 Languages, physiognomies, costumes, buildings, vehicles, in 
 every possible variety — temple-domes of bar-rooms by the 
 side of Parisian shops ; cafes over oyster-cellars ; one-story 
 French houses and three-story Mississippi steamers — 
 femmes a la mode and tow-clad negroes ; Creole dandies 
 and Quadroon belles ; flower-girls and Sisters-of-Mercy ; 
 well-dressed gentlemen promenading in their shirt-sleeves, 
 and a mighty river flowing awfully above the level of the 
 streets — I fancy you (with your 107-Ful ton-street eyes) 
 walking abroad in such a metropolis of marvels ! 
 
 But, pray bring home with you (and this warm day of 
 April pictures it vividly to my memory) that New Orleans 
 fashion of shirt-sleeve promenade I You will be expected 
 to have altered a little with your travels, you knov>^ ; and, 
 to walk Broadway with your coat off, the first hot day 
 after you get back, will scarce be " going it too strong," in 
 the way of a novelty, I think. For was there ever fashion 
 more sensible and becoming ? The French gentlemen 
 whom I saw in this cool array, the hot May noon that I 
 was strolling to the levee, (and I was told that it was com- 
 toon, among this class alone of the I^ew Orleans popula- 
 tion) were otherwise in unexceptionable promenade dress 
 — well-brushed black hats, straw-colored gloves, white 
 pantaloons and black-satin cravats — but, to all this and 
 
Caution as to Trifles. 297 
 
 their walking-sticks, the loose white linen of the bust and 
 arms added a spaciousness and freedom which amounted to 
 positive magnificence. Every artist will understand the 
 effect of it. It £:ave an oriental abandon to our disfio-urino: 
 angularity of street dress. They looked twice as handsome 
 fellows, I venture to say, as they would have done in tight 
 coats, and they were, at least, four times as comfortable. 
 Try it while you are there, and lead off the fashion for 
 us on your return ! Brady will photograph you — Morris in 
 his summer solstice of shirt sleeves — and we will give it to 
 our readers in a wood-cut. 
 
 It is upon the strength of the better news of your health 
 that I am writing to you so gaily, of course. The para- 
 graphs in the Southern papers read cheeringly — not colorea 
 at all with the low spirits in which you left us. To be out 
 of harness was the main medicine that you wanted, and 
 the delicious clime and its incidental surroundings will do 
 the rest. But there is still a caution to be given to you — 
 (one that every invalid of long experience has wished he 
 had been earlier made to feel the importance of) — be care- 
 ful about trifles ! The stomach's just-enough-and-not-too 
 much, requires nerve, calculation and precaution. To in- 
 sist upon sleep enough ; to prevent good-natured friends 
 from fatiguing you ; to let nothing interfere with exercise 
 enough ; to force nothing upon nature, but, with generous 
 care, to give her all she clearly wants, of stimulus, variety, 
 
 13* 
 
298 The Convalescent. 
 
 amusement and relaxation ; to turn the overworked mind 
 out to pasture, and look only on the bright side — all this 
 is like a chemical experiment with multitudinous elements, 
 which a single inattention to a trifle will wholly defeat. 
 Habitually healthy, you will be apt, like most other un- 
 practised invalids, while following the best general advice, 
 to let some little trifle upset it all. Play the martinet 
 with those loell-man carelessnesses, my dear Morris, and so 
 drill yourself into speedy convalescence, and return to 
 
 Yours alwavs. 
 
LETTER XXX. 
 
 Pleasure of having a Friend at a Distance — Trip to Town and first Call for New- 
 est Gossip— Bridal Reception, and re-beautiful-ness of a Retired Widow— 
 Omnibus-Drive down Broadway — Petticoats doing Penance — New Fashion of 
 Coat-Collars- Throats dressed differently— Beards— Boots— Hats— Dinner at 
 Dietz's— Mrs. Hatch at the Tabernacle— Morris in Florida, etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild, April. 
 It is a luxury to have j^ou so far off, that we who are 
 left behind, are now seen in the "good light" of for- 
 eign places and people. Distance (lovers seldom confess) 
 lends enchantment to the view 1 When, before, would you 
 have been interested in a description of the dear old New 
 York that holds you so habitually in her every-day bosom ? 
 News from us, now, will have a relish for you, like news 
 from London or Paris. It is worth managing for — this 
 perspective effect — got only by absence! Candles burn 
 darkest nearest the wick, and oh the similar ^^;^V^-edness, 
 sometimes, of those we live with ! Let me take advantage 
 of this (our temporary looming up, and brightening in 
 your far-away eyes), by gossiping to you of my yesterday's 
 New York experiences — or rather of a trifle or two among 
 
 the thousand things I saw and heard when I ran down to 
 
 29a 
 
300 The Convalescent. 
 
 read proof-sheets, and look a little to the office- matters that 
 so miss you. 
 
 From the steaming tea-pot of the railway I was poured 
 as usual, into an omnibus-cup at Thirty-first street; and 
 (needing sweetening, of course, before going down the 
 dainty throat of Broadway), I stopped at charming Mrs. 
 
 's up town, to abate my country flavor by a lump 
 
 or two of undiluted news. With the bridal reception of 
 the day before, I found that our fastidious friend's mind was 
 mainly occupied. The bride was a daughter of one of 
 those eccentric and dashing sisters, who, with infalliblo 
 supremacy of taste and dress, aided by the finest of figures 
 and the darkest of eyes, fairly " walked the course " of New 
 York fashion for a decade of years gone by, defiant alike of 
 control and competition. Oddly enough, the bride and her 
 bridesmaids — a lovely constellation of young creatures, 
 whose dresses were both faultlessly stylish and elegantly 
 worn — were entirely eclipsed in interest by the toilette of 
 the widowed aunt, whom we all remember as the absolute 
 Empress of Saratoga a quarter of a century ago. In the 
 dazzling crowd of up-town beauties she, yesterday, stood 
 alone. The startling novelty, and, at the same time, abso- 
 lute suitableness of her dress, was the general wonder. I 
 cannot give you, -without risk of incorrectness, at second 
 hand, a report of its materials ; but our friend describes it 
 as a most bewitchingly becoming combination of bridal 
 
Omnibus-drive down Broadway. 301 
 
 whiteness and of widow's weeds, such as had never before 
 been conceived possible. With stately physique^ still of 
 magnificent fullness and proportion, and with eyes as lam- 
 ben tly Vesuvian as when the wild bloods of the South were 
 her enthusiastically unanimous subjects, tall and beautiful, 
 once more, stood the widow ! It was a renaissance, like a 
 long-set star mounting backward to its place again ; and, 
 for our land of ephemeral and speedily forgotten beauty, a 
 refreshingly startling phenomenon. 
 
 So discoursed to me, in reply to my question for up- 
 town news, the lips that are my Oracle of Taste in 
 town. 
 
 On my way down town, I looked out of the west win- 
 dow of the omnibus, as usual — happy indeed to see two 
 miles of belles and beaux for so little money ! What a 
 sixpence- worth from Union Square to the Battery I The 
 sidewalks, of course, were religiously clean — even the to- 
 bacco-juice wiped with pious penance from the pavement, 
 by the sacred inside hem of the garments of lovely sin- 
 ners (thus making public confession ?) It was the middle 
 of the afternoon and Broadway was florescent, as daily at 
 that hour. The dandies, I observed, wore vanishingly nar- 
 row collars to their coats (the newest tailor-contrived 
 novelty to compel them to get new ones), and (would you 
 believe it ?) that time honored antiquity, a linen shirt-collar, 
 has become unfashionable ; something in its place of which I 
 
302 The Convalescent. 
 
 could not make out the texture, a sort of upright edge of 
 dull white buckram or crinoline, now performs the shirt- 
 collar's office (outer demonstration of the cleanliness be- 
 neath). — worn, however, down low on the thoracic glands 
 instead of high upon the jaw (probably so as not to come 
 in contact with the oil upon the beard), and, by the lift and 
 freedom thus given to the head, a fashion that chances to 
 be artistic. Beards are worn with a prairie freedom of 
 law or limit — every man, apparently, bent on knowing into 
 what sort of a walking wilderness he would naturally run 
 riot. Fashionable promenade boots are made with patches 
 on the toes ! The sleeve holes of all manner of coats are 
 now spaciously large — a ventilation of that hitherto tight- 
 fitted angle of a gentleman, which will give general relief. 
 Hats have become auto-biographic — the narrower the brim 
 the younger a man proclaims himself to be. 
 
 And that is all I observed of novelty in my passing look 
 at the promenaders of Broadway. 
 
 I was disappointed in the luxury I had allotted to myself 
 for the evening. The promised opera was interrupted by 
 the illness of the prima donna ; and so my three hours of 
 eflfortless recipiency — that deliciously reversed process to 
 the day's weary givings-out of thought, talk and action — 
 were to be otherwise disposed of. I looked at the paper. 
 It must be some place where I could sit silent and idle, 
 with the doors of heart and brain simply ajar. And the 
 
Dinner at Dietz's. 303 
 
 best thing I could see advertised was " Mrs. Hatch at the 
 Tabernacle." 
 
 First, with iny brother, to eat a German dinner at Dietz's 
 six o'clock table, however, and refresh our memory of the 
 land of myth and music over a bottle of Stein-wein. And 
 here again, by the way, is a luxury for overworked powers 
 of attention. Every meat, every vegetable, every sauce or 
 salad, is handed in turn to every guest. Of the well carved 
 dish you are the easy chooser of the part you prefer. 
 There is is no studying of carte^ no telescoping of 
 far-away desirables, no watching or compelling of 
 willful waiters. Things come with Christian leisure and 
 courteous certainty of procession. And the strange '■'■fad- 
 erland " cooking ! Why, it is to the sameness-worn pal- 
 ate what foreign travel is to drudgery of mind. Dietz is 
 a master in his art, and luxurious foreigners fondly frequent 
 his epicurean table. If necessary, one would encounter 
 difficulties and dark corners to find what he offers. But, 
 with his present sumptuous location in the "Prescott 
 House " — princely architecture and costly elaborate- 
 ness of splendor all around — the delicious dinner is indeed 
 a dollar's-worth that speaks well for this life and its oppor- 
 tunities. 
 
 Mrs. Hatch was introduced to the audience a few min- 
 utes after we took our seats in a pew of the Tabernacle— 
 a delicate-featured blonde, of seventeen or eighteen, with 
 
304 The Convalescent 
 
 flaxen ringlets falling over her shoulders, movements delib- 
 erate and self-possessed, voice calm and deep, and eyes and 
 fingers no way nervous. The subject being given to her 
 by a gentleman in the crowd (" whether man is a part of 
 God"), she commenced with a prayer — and very curious 
 it was, to see a long-haired young woman standing alone 
 in the pulpit, her face turned upward, her delicate bare 
 arms raised in a clergyman's attitude of devotion, and a 
 church-full of people listening attentively while she prayed ! 
 A passage in the Bible occurred to me : 
 
 [Let your women keep silence in the churches ; for it is not per- 
 mitted unto them to speak. 
 
 And if they will learn anything, let them ask their husbands at 
 home: for it is a shame for women to speak in 'the church.] — 
 Corinthians xiv. 34, 35. 
 
 But my instinctive feeling, I must own, made no objec- 
 tion to the propriety of the performance. The tone and 
 manner were of an absolute sincerity of devoutness which 
 compelled respect ; and, before she closed, I was prepared 
 to believe her an exception^-either that a male spirit was 
 speaking through her lips, or that the relative position of 
 the sexes is not the same as in the days of St. Paul. How 
 was it with the Corinthians ? Women are certainly better 
 than we, in these latter days, and, as standing far nearer to 
 God, may properly speak for us, even in holy places — or 
 BO it seemed to me while listenino^ to Mrs. Hatch. 
 
Mrs. Hatch at the Tabernacle. 305 
 
 Upon the platform, in the rear of the pulpit, sat three 
 reporters ; and the daily papers have given outlines of the 
 argument between the fair "medium" and an antagonistic 
 clergyman who w^as present. No report can give any fair 
 idea of the " spirit presence," however — I mean, of the self- 
 possessed dignity, clearness, promptness, and undeniable 
 superiority of the female reasoner. Believe what you will 
 of Mrs. Hatch's source of inspiration — whether she speaks 
 her owm thoughts or those of other spirits — it is as nearly 
 supernatural eloquence as the most hesitating faith could 
 reasonably require. I am, perhaps, from long study and 
 practice, as good a judge of fitness in the use of language 
 as most men ; and, in a full hour of close attention, I could 
 detect no word that could be altered for the better — none, 
 indeed (and this surprised me still more), which was not 
 used with strict fidelity to its derivative meaning. The 
 practised scholarship which this last point usually requires, 
 and the curiously unhesitating and confident fluency with 
 which the beautiful language was delivered, was (critically) 
 wonderful. It would have astonished me, in an extempore 
 speech by the most accomplished orator in the world. 
 
 The argument was long, and, on the clergyman's part, a 
 warm and sarcastic one. The reverend gentleman (what 
 is commonly described as a " smart man," with high 
 health, a remarkably large and high forehead, and a law- 
 yer's subtlety of logic), alternated speeches with the 
 
306 The Convalescent. 
 
 " medium," for an hour and a half — leaving the audience, I 
 thought, unanimously on the lady's side. But, what was 
 very curious and amusing, was the difference of scope and 
 dignity in the operation of the two minds. She looked at 
 the subject through an open window, and he through a key- 
 hole. She was severe, by the courage, skill and calm good 
 temper with which she met his objections in the full face of 
 their meaning only, disregarding their sneers; and he 
 was severe, bv twistinjy her words into constructions not 
 intended, and by feathering the sarcasms thereupon with 
 religious commonplaces. Instead of the sonorous obscurity 
 and rhapsody of which the spiritualists are commonly ac- 
 cused, her argument was the directest and coolest possible 
 specimen (my brother and I thought) of fair and clear 
 reasoning. 
 
 If you recollect our conversations on this subject, my 
 experience in spiritualism has been always unsatisfactory. 
 The "Fox girls" and others have tried their spells upon 
 me in vain. It has seemed to me that I was one of those to 
 whom was not "given " (as the Bible says) "the discerning 
 of spirits." But it would be very bigoted and blind not to 
 see and acknowledge the wonderful intellectual demonstra- 
 tion made by Mrs. Hatch ; and how to explain it, with her 
 age, habits and education, is the true point at issue. 1 
 think we should at least look at it seriously — if only in 
 obedience to the Scripture exhortation which closes the 
 
Morris in Florida. 301 
 
 chapter on this very subject : — " Covet earnestly the best 
 gifts." 
 
 We do not hear from you, ray dear invalid — at least, 
 not since the lightning mail told us of your departure for 
 Florida. You are up to the knees in flov^ers, probably, 
 and I (on this twenty-first of April) am up to the knees in 
 snow ! The month of buds, blossoms, and violets is the 
 year's volume turned back to mid-winter. Summer your- 
 self enough for us both, dear Morris, and come back with 
 
 June in your warm eyes, to 
 
 Yours, cold or warm. 
 
LETTER XXXI. 
 
 starting of the Summer Boat on the Hudson— Forbidding a Neighbor the Prem- 
 ises—Caprices of Climate, etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild, May. 
 While I have been nibbing my pen for this letter, the 
 graceful Alida has glided across the squares of my window- 
 pane — the first voyage down, of our daily steamer for 
 the summer. Do you suppose you can imagine the event 
 this is, in our Highland neighborhood ? The bell, ringing 
 at this moment, with the first approach of the beautiful 
 boat to our Cornwall landing, says a great number of plea- 
 sant things to every ear that hears it. Broadway has very 
 little idea of the charming tales told of it, by those silvery 
 echoes ! Operas, pictures, toys, equipages — wondrous 
 dresses with ladies in them, and wondrous beards with men 
 walking behind — omnibuses in such blissful readiness and 
 shops with such enchanting looks of welcome — new kinds 
 of children beautifully dressed, strange fruits, dazzling 
 flowers, wonderful dogs and all manner of foreigners and 
 frights and funny faces — the world that New York is, and 
 all brought suddenly within ferry-reach by the starting of 
 the Alida ! Why, the taking down of the poor man's cot- 
 
 008 
 
Spring. 309 
 
 tage wall and letting it open into a palace — as the fairies 
 do, in the old story-books — was but small magic to the 
 Alida's opening the south side of the Highlands into New 
 York. 
 
 May is full of those wonders for one — exquisite beauties 
 of the coyly awaking spring which you must not only be 
 alone to see perfectly, but in which you can interest no 
 second person by description. Nature's exclusiveness 
 seems to be enforced by this compulsory silence. Her 
 sweetest charms are forbidden to profaning literature and 
 kept for eye-witnesses only. Our glen, just now, oflfers 
 many of these tetes-d-tetes with nature — lovely temptations 
 for solitary climb and ramble. And, by the way, the 
 mocking-birds are in unusual abundance this spring;. and 
 they, too — as they never sing twice alike — are singers for 
 one or few. I drew bridle and listened for ten minutes to 
 a song, yesterday, by a little brown troubadour on one of 
 our trees, and it was wonderfully like an imitation of the 
 same thing by Grisi, which I once heard at a merry supper 
 of opera-singers in London. It takes the highest art to 
 complete the circle and come round to nature — in most 
 things. 
 
 And, apropos of exclusiveness, I have been compelled, 
 for the first time, to an exercise of this unpopular quality — 
 driven, very unwillingly, to forbid my premises to a neigh- 
 bor. In self-justification, I must record the circumstances, 
 
310 The Convalescent. 
 
 I believe, for the act was a violation of my favorite princi- 
 ple — social crystallization. Instinct and preference should 
 be the only society fences around us. But Uncle Ben 
 Smith was "borne with" a great while — as my simple 
 story, I trust, will justificatorily show. 
 
 The old man was a favorite of mine. He had been 
 " smart," before epilepsy staggered his reason, and in all 
 his talk, as we daily exchanged gossip on the road, there 
 was a quaint habit of pitiless directness that was amusingly 
 unpoetical and corrective. He had a daily tramp of two 
 or three miles after " the cow," that picked up her living on 
 the highway, and as I generally knew which way she had 
 gone, getting sight of her in my roundabout ride through 
 the green lanes, I was a sort of neighborly sign-post, saving 
 him many a trudge. We always stopped to chat, and I 
 seldom came home without one of Uncle Ben's facts 
 " broken short oflf," to amuse the table with. The greater 
 part of his day was employed in a sort of half conscious and 
 habitual picking up of sticks along the roads and riverside, 
 laying them into bundles till he could come with a string 
 and carry home a load on his back. Finding him peeling 
 the chestnut posts of one of my fences, one day, for the 
 small profit of the bark, I asked him why he did not go up 
 the brook, where the drift wood was plenty. 
 
 " Glad enough, if the boss says so," said Uncle Ben, 
 looking up inquiringly. 
 
Forbidding a Neighbor the Premises. 311 
 
 So " the boss " gave him a welcome to free range 
 through the meadows and all the brush and sticks he 
 could pick up along the brook and in the woods — adding 
 the promise that his loads should be taken home for him 
 in a wagon. 
 
 But the meadow, as I look down upon it, two hundred 
 feet from my study window, is one of the household pic- 
 tures ; and, in two or three days, I began to discover that 
 its beautiful evergreens and shrubs were, somehow, getting 
 to look very unsightly. In dread of a mysterious blight, 
 such as nearly exterminated the sycamores a few years 
 ago, I went down to take a closer look. The cypresses and 
 hemlocks were full of dead wood ! By the way of drying 
 his sticks, or indicating that they were appropriated, Uncle 
 Ben had stuffed them in among the close foliage of these 
 low-branched evergreens, and there was scarce one of those 
 beautiful cones and pyramids that did not look rotten at 
 the base. They were heaps of fire-wood with the green of 
 the weighed-down branches scarce perceptible ! The old 
 man's mind being quite gone except upon very habitual 
 subjects, it was very hard to convince him that this was 
 wrong ; but, though he forgot my scolding, and persisted 
 in loading down the evergreens, I still left him the range 
 of the premises. 
 
 "With our three gates opening upon different directions 
 of road, I had not chanced to go out through the meadow 
 
312 The Convalescent. 
 
 for several days, when, as I wound down through the ravine, 
 one afternoon, several glaring white spots caught my eye, 
 new features altogether in the familiar landscape. As I 
 got nearer the horror revealed itself. A half dozen old 
 stumps which had been scarce observable on the other side 
 of the brook — unsightly objects originally, but toned down 
 by the embrowning of age and the partial covering with 
 moss and creepers — now stood in staring horror, monsters 
 of raw-colored beheadedness, and skinned into the bargain. 
 Uncle Ben had brought his axe and peeled them, all round, 
 for the dry wood outside ! Why, the meadow and hillside 
 were made suddenly horrible ! To eradicate the stumps 
 wholly would be a herculean job, and a part of them must 
 be still left, as young trees had started from the same roots. 
 What friendship, that was not wholly sainted, could stand 
 such a trial ? But still I did not altogether break with 
 Uncle Ben. 
 
 A month or so, and we exchanged greetings as usual, 
 but I was far from supposing the old man to be the author 
 of another trouble of mine. The tips of the branches of a 
 beautiful clump of hemlocks, near one of the gates, were 
 constantly broken off and strewn upon the ground — an 
 objectless barbarism which I took to be wholly mischiev- 
 ous, and for which 1 had looked savage at various boys 
 seen loitering thereabouts. But Uncle Ben was the cul- 
 prit. And what do you suppose was his virtuous object ? 
 
Caprices of Climate. 313 
 
 Oaught in tlie act, he said he was " only going to clean the 
 mud off his shoes "• — he " didn't know such good-for-nothing 
 brush was of any consequence, anyhow " — but " it was 
 muddy weather, and the boss was awful neat and particu- 
 lar about his gravel-walks, and he thought he'd better wipe 
 his shoes before he camp in ! So there were the raw 
 stumps of a hundred broken branches that had been used 
 for shoe-brushes — an effect, like three-days' beard, in the 
 first object which caught the visitor's eye on entering the 
 gate — and my own " awful neatness " the avowed occasion 
 for it ! I could stand it no longer. 
 
 Still, I feel a kind of half reproach when I see Uncle 
 Ben hobbling along the road and looking wistfully over 
 the wall. With his imperfect memory he does not half 
 comprehend the reason why he is " never to put foot inside 
 that gate again," and of course I seem to him tyrannical 
 and uncharitable. I must make it up to him some other 
 way — but his disjointed mind will never put the two things 
 together. I am sorry any man should be going so soon to 
 Heaven with a wrong impression of me. But I trust I 
 shall be forgiven, for my thus-explained first sin of exclu- 
 siveness, by the other neighbors. 
 
 My letter, thus far written, has lain by, for two or three 
 days, and now — May the ninth — there is snow on the hills 
 opposite. What caprices of climate ! The streams are all 
 swollen with a flood, however, and the deep-down springs 
 
 14 
 
314 The Convalescent. 
 
 that have so long wanted it, are as happy as the hills are 
 uncomfortable. The frost-nipped trees will get conapen- 
 sated at the roots. So goes Nature's distributive alterna- 
 tion ! Complain of no unhappiness, my dear Morris, if it 
 is your turn / 
 
 Yours ever. 
 
LETTER XXXII. 
 
 Prodigality of Spring— Blight of Evergreens — Pleasure of living in the country 
 — Hog Liberty, etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild, June. 
 I AM ashamed of mj want of faith in the prodigalities 
 of nature. The last year's droughts, unredeemed by 
 corresponding deluges as yet, are smothered out of sight 
 and sign by the overburdening leaf stacks of this second 
 week of June — the woods dark as cathedrals and the 
 shadows falling like thunder clouds under every tree. God 
 be praised for a Providence altogether immeasurable ! 
 The sense of a limit to " the hollow of bis hand " — blind- 
 ness only though it was, to foresee it in the dispensation of 
 The Seasons — shuts the soul in like a wall. 
 
 Yet the quantity of dead wood, now buried up in this 
 overwhelmingness of foliage, was a majority of the held- 
 up hands out-of-doors. Through April and May, I be- 
 lieved it would take years for our groves and woods to 
 recover from the simoon that had passed over them. The 
 dry sticks, and withered tops and branches, alone caught 
 the eye. Particular kinds of trees, the sycamore and the 
 
 815 
 
31G The Convalescent. 
 
 flat cedar especially, are nearly annihilated, as it is. It 
 would make you melancholy to walk around Downing's 
 sacred home, and see the once imperviously inclosing wall of 
 this latter tree, blasted as if by a plague. But the hem- 
 locks have put on their gold thimbles with the profuseness 
 of the first glow of a sunset, and the nut-trees are beyond 
 all squirrel-prophecy of famine, I venture to say — the tulip- 
 trees out-flowering any remembered precedent, and the 
 beeches and maples and oaks joyously overladen. You 
 are to be pitied that your bricks in the city have no June ! 
 
 Amid all this sumptuousness of fulfilment on the part of 
 nature, however, I have been vexed beyond endurance, to- 
 day, by the lag of civilization around us. The neighbor- 
 hood has an incqrrigible barbarism. I must write about it 
 — for, after three years of patience, I have suffered as much 
 from it to day as ever before, and a protesting pen may 
 possibly do some good besides being an escape-valve of 
 temper. Most reforms have been first written about. 
 
 As a general thing (to premise a little) I do not regret 
 having been born in the present age. There will be pleas- 
 ant people and things in the next century, no doubt — well 
 worth waiting for, if one's birth had chanced to be put off. 
 But the nineteenth century is very fair, and I am content, 
 for instance, with the prospect of rotting in your charming 
 company, my dear Morris! There is only one thing 
 which, at Idlewild, makes me feel born rather too early. 
 
Hog Liberty. 317 
 
 Civilization has a barbarism still to outlive in this neioh- 
 borhood, and, for the sake of being subsequent to that (if 
 I had been consulted), I should probably have expressed a 
 desire to have it postponed. Hogs^ here, still run loose. 
 The laW forbids it, but public opinion has not yet overtaken 
 the law. 
 
 One more preliminary remark, to prevent an inference that 
 would fall unjustly, if by " public opinion " I were supposed 
 to meau only the opinion of the poor. It is my wealth- 
 iest and most exemplarily Christian neighbor, of whose 
 habitually stray sow I have a story to tell. That fact 
 is the stumbling block to the whole progress of civil- 
 ization on the subject. It is pointed to at once, by every 
 poor man hereabouts, as a justification and example to his 
 humbler pig. Friend S. is our acknowledged best Christ- 
 ian and most lovable and benevolent neighbor. Honor 
 and blessing follow his white locks wherever he goes. But, 
 of his eighty-two years, seventy-six have passed in unques- 
 tioning toleration of hog liberty. It is too late to persuade 
 hira, now, that the birds are not to fly through the air nor 
 his sow to have the freedom of the highway. Show him 
 the print of the animal's back on your new-painted gate, 
 and he says " poor thing ! it itched 1" or, if you remon- 
 strate, he kindly yields to your prejudice, and promises to 
 shut her up— but she is out ngain, in a day or two, all the 
 same. It seemed cruel to Lim to confine her, and he 
 
318 The Convalescent. 
 
 hoped you had forgotten your whim, and she mightn't ran 
 that way again. Hogs, too, had been permitted to have 
 the freedom of that road when Georfje Washinirton rode 
 over it, and with his own cherished memories of daily 
 meeting the two, how could he be harsh upon the survivor ? 
 And, by this historic stronghold of sow liberty I should 
 feel effectually Sebastopoled, but that the memory of Na- 
 poleon comes to my aid. A week ago my friend Monell, 
 of Newburgh, had given me a slip of weeping willow, 
 grown from a branch of the one which hangs over the 
 tomb of the Emperor at St. Helena. (Monell was one 
 of Downing's intimate friends, and the tree was one of 
 that admirable man's most cherished horticultural trea- 
 sures.) To preserve this was a point of tender interest with 
 me, and I had chosen for its sanctuary the moist bosom of a 
 wooded dell, opening up from the meadow and clumped 
 otherwise most beautifully and appropriately with cedars. 
 It had never occurred to me to so dispose the plant that it 
 would not lie in the natural path of a sow under pressure 
 of pursuit — but such was its destiny. As I rode down the 
 glen this morning, I spied the snouted invader rooting 
 busily in the velvet sward of the meadow — a kind of dana- 
 age, where floods overflow, particularly irreparable and un- 
 sightly. My first impulse was to drive her into the high- 
 way : and without stopping to open the gate (Friend S. 's 
 particular sow being a cross of the caterpillar, and crawl- 
 
The Snouted Invader. 319 
 
 ing over a wall in preference to going out by any gate you 
 can open,) I put spurs and gave chase. Sir Archy was the 
 faster animal of the two ; and, after being jumped over and 
 tyrodden down several times in the open meadow, the hard- 
 run sow took to the thicket on the hill-side, leaving me to 
 ride around and head her off by the carriage-road above. 
 And with the first stone thrown from the terrace, she took 
 the groove of the hollow at a walloping trot and tumble, wip- 
 ing her milky way over the prostrated willow, and stripping 
 the new buds from its delicate stem as neatly as a wipe 
 with a patent corn-sheller ! Now what think you of an 
 age in which the most cherished friendship can keep that 
 sow to forgive ? I must frankly own, that, with all my 
 
 affectionate admiration for Friend S , I could better 
 
 enjoy an epoch that had outlived his views on the sub- 
 ject. God bless the old man — but, for his sow, vice 
 verscL ! 
 
 I fear I should not send ray letter if T were to give it a 
 morning's re-perusal, my dear Morris — this country life 
 and my troublesome cough making it hard to say prayers 
 over even a stray pig unforgiven — and I will sign and seal 
 while I can, with ray wrath and the candle both burning. 
 Good niffht. 
 
 , Yours always. 
 
 & 
 
LETTER XXXIII. 
 
 Discovery of a New Spring— Employment for Idle Day— Digging out a Hanging 
 Rock— A Discovery — A Visit, etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild. 
 We have discovered so many new poets and poetesses 
 in our time — founts of Helicon that have run for the 
 world's refreshment thenceforward, by their own natural 
 hydraulic pressure — that it will, perhaps, be a pleasant 
 variety to our readers if I chronicle a first drink at a Grace 
 Greenwood of Nature's own — a bright, cool, sparkling spring, 
 which burst its unforetold and unexpected way to light 
 under my pioneering spade and pickaxe, ten days ago. 
 You remember my playing of truant — succumbing to the 
 inveiglements of a June morning — with an inkstand and a 
 Monday's task left beckoning in vain. I found the new 
 treasure, the pure new spring, that day — a reward of idle- 
 ness which is so certain, in some shape, for me, that I 
 began to think " the Leviathan " and I have the same errand 
 in life, made only, as the Psalmist says, " to take pastime 
 therein." 
 
 Head idleness, of course, must have some little job for 
 the hands. The brains will not let their own tools alone, 
 
 820 
 
Employment for Idle Day. 321 
 
 unless to look on while the duller faculties do somelhi:^ 
 
 with theirs — a scholar's necessity, for which a countryjife 
 coraes charmingly into play. Thera is always some' plea- 
 sant work on hand, a blemish to remove, a path to clear 
 or a wild beauty to develop or heighten. My proniinent 
 enterprise for the moment was the cfearance of an §^iio&t' 
 impenetrable dell, which had been the rubbish hole^^d 
 stump-pit of our glen from time immemorial ; and thita.er, 
 with Bell and Robert, and the axes and pickaxes^ turned 
 a joyous face for that forenoon of summer idlepess. 
 
 You may have noticed, in descenditig the windmg road 
 through the ravine, that a superb clump of heinlocks rests 
 like a bunch of emeralds on the breast of <!tie opposite hill. 
 You could not see, however, that, in behind th^r trunks, 
 held like a bowling-ball in the player's hand, restg. one of 
 those hanging rocks (" bowlder-stones," the geologists call 
 them) which show, by their rounded edges, that they have 
 travelled ; and which are strangers to the^ strata around, 
 though they made their stop where they are, probably, on 
 the last day of the deluge. In Idkwild^len there are 
 four of these — ^each one large enough fipr a cathedral dome ; 
 and two of them, indeed, so archite<ituralfy upheld and 
 roofed over by columns of large trees that they have always 
 seemed to me like dark cathedral chapels with pulpits of 
 stone. It was the largest of these chapels of whose floor 
 and galleries we were to make a clearing. The sustained 
 
 14* 
 
322 The Convalescent. 
 
 rock projects ftir out from the side-hill, and we had often 
 sat under the rock itself, with its dark roof of hemlocks, 
 looking down on the small lake below ; but, around and 
 behind, was an impenetrable thicket of logs and tangle- 
 wood, in which, as we have always supposed, the foxes and 
 possums, skunks, rabbits and wild-cats, had their original 
 and respected shelter. 
 
 To chop out the logs, and, by rolling them upon the 
 brush we had first heaped in, to make some sort of footing 
 in the swampy lap of the hollow, was the work of my two 
 men for the day. The digging into the upper bank, as we 
 began to do, towards evening, for gravel to cover this, 
 brought us upon our discovery. Running my hoe into a 
 sort of grotto which wound away out of sight under some 
 roots at the level of my head, I noticed that I had sud- 
 denly made a channel for a stream of bright pure water. 
 I caught a handful of it, and my exclamation of its exces- 
 sive coldness brought up Bell, who peeled a hemlock twig, 
 fixed a spout at the outlet, and took a drink — pronouncing it 
 at once (with one of his expressions of private emphasis), 
 the best spring within twenty miles. It was a crystalline, 
 ready-ised stream, running out over clean white gravel, 
 and with about the steady abundance of a Croton faucet. 
 Its elevation, forty or fifty feet above the brook, suits it for 
 the action of the hydraulic ram, and, to the lovely home 
 that must some day be built, opposite Idlewild, on the 
 
A Beautiful Scene. 323 
 
 promontory above, it will doubtless be the prized messen- 
 ger of daily healtb and luxury. 
 
 At present we should have a fairy child to baptize — for 
 never was there sylvan chapel, with roof, pulpit and bap- 
 tismal font more wildly beautiful. It overhangs our little 
 lake and its shore of drip-rock and wooded cliffs — a three- 
 sided grotto opening to the south — and, though somewhat 
 muddy and dirty now, in another year it will be carpeted 
 with moss, and draped with water-plants and vines, worthy 
 of druid consecration. It is the nature of new-found 
 springs to strengthen with flowing and coming to light; 
 and this, by its icy coldness, comes from deep-down, where 
 earth is constant. It will run many a day after its first 
 finder is forgotten — but it will be among two or three spots 
 which I shall wish to revisit again, remembered there or 
 not ; and please think of me, when you drink at this chapel- 
 spring, by and by, with the chance of my being there to be 
 
 pleased. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Receive my felicitations at your being present at this 
 point of eternity. June, as we have it to-day, is a luxury 
 in which the vet unborn (amono; whom vou mis^ht have 
 been kept waiting, you know) have a decided loss. Every- 
 thing is alive with fragrance, beauty and music — every- 
 thing happy that can isolate itself in to-day and forget 
 yesterdays and to-w.orrows. Nature is a little behind the 
 
324 The Convalescent. 
 
 time, I think, in " not advertising." It was by merest acci- 
 dent I discovered that one of her finest performances came 
 off in our ravine, last night — a freshet and a full moon 
 coming together, accompanied by such an atmosphere, for 
 temperature, transparency and fragrancy, as is only " turned 
 on" (like the roof gas at the Academy) for "star bene- 
 fits." It was too beautiful a night to go to bed ; and I 
 had strolled down into the ravine, led insensibly by the 
 roar of the torrent and thinking^ more of other matters than 
 of finding anything particular going on, when, suddenly, I 
 stood motionless with astonishment. I had stepped out of 
 the darkness of the woods into an illumination. The turn 
 of the path had brought me to the edge of the precipice 
 overlooking the cascades, and, with the thunder-storms we 
 had been having all day, the stream was swollen to a 
 cataract — a cataract, apparently, of burning silver. It was 
 close upon midnight, and the nearly full moon chanced to 
 be directly over the ravine, the almost vertical rays throw- 
 ing the overhanging precipices into shadow, and thus 
 (curiously enough) illuminating only the stream. It was 
 a thunder-torrent of gleaming and molten light breaking 
 its way down through crowding darkness. In my whole 
 life, I had really seen no sight more sublime. After stand- 
 ing a moment or two on the foot-bridge overhanging the 
 cascades, I hurried home and got my people out of their 
 beds, stumbled back through the woods with the little 
 
A Splendid Spectacle 325 
 
 slippered feet making their astonished way after me, and — 
 the performance had its proper audience ! My wife and 
 daughter could hardly be got home again, so fascinated 
 were they with the strange splendor of the spectacle. As 
 they stood on the slender bridge with their white dresses 
 and kerchiefed heads, I scrambled down the cliffs below, and 
 saw them, high up between me and the moon, half draped 
 in the clouds of silvery mist — sprite-like figures in a pic- 
 ture of certainly most wonderful beauty. I shall never 
 forget it. But you see how easily we might have gone to 
 bed, never suspecting the wonders so near by. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " The commonest incident of life is romantic enough, if 
 truly told," says some great writer, and, with this encour- 
 agement, I think I will describe a call that I had yesterday, 
 from a fair stranger, at Idlewild. I can thus embody, also, 
 a request of the lady that I would name a little want of 
 hers, in print. It is pleasant, in this indolent weather, to 
 make even the slight labor of the pen serve two purposes. 
 
 Some weeks ago (to preface a word or two) I had re- 
 ceived a letter expressing a wish which was too natura 
 and simple not to be rather extraordinary, and which, 
 therefore, I did not exactly see the way to fully realize. 
 The writer described herself, in very graceful language, as 
 a lady residing in the very depths of the country ; but she 
 had become enamored of the two of her own sex who had 
 
32,6 The Convalescext. 
 
 shone so brilliantly in the columns of the Home Journal 
 (''La Penserosa" and "La Moqueuse"), and wished to pro- 
 pose to one of them the opening of a private and confi- 
 dential exchange of sister minds — rural enthusiasms for city 
 experiences. Certain that it would be very useless to pro- 
 pose, to either of the gifted ladies in question, the under- 
 taking of confidential reciprocities with an unknown of 
 whom I could tell so little, I laid aside the well-expressed 
 and daintily written letter — intending to answer it when I 
 should find the leisure, or to hand it personally to the 
 admired '• La Penserosa," when she should visit us in 
 June. 
 
 It was with this little mystery in the egg that I received, 
 yesterday, what I took to be one of the ordinary and daily 
 visits of strano^ers to Idlewild — a sfcntleman sendino^ in his 
 card after rambling through the glen, and wishing to 
 express his pleasure in the scenery, with the usual polite 
 acknowledgment of membership in our literary parish. 
 He was a young physician of twenty-five or thirty, and 
 accompanied by a lady, whom I incidentally discovered, 
 after a few minutes' conversation, to be a bride of three 
 days — a revelation which brought a very attractive blush 
 into a very lovely face; though indeed, I had already 
 recognized, by the indescribable betrayal which nature 
 breathes through the mere presence of the work she is 
 proud of, that it was beauty even better tenanted than 
 
My Unknown Applicant for Correspondence. 321 
 
 built. There was a charming mind looking out of the win- 
 dows of those large brown eyes. 
 
 And this proved to be my unknown applicant for a cor- 
 respondence with a sister-spirit. And she still expressed 
 herself with timid perseverance in the request. 
 
 1 ventured to suggest, with a glance at the good-looking 
 and gentlemanly young doctor, who listened with bride- 
 groom unobjectingness, that, with her new duties, she might 
 not continue to find the electricity to spare ; but she seemed 
 to have anticipated no such economy of a heart she probably 
 felt to be overcharged, and the warmth for a friendship 
 ihat would enlarge her knowledge, she thought, would 
 never be missed. She was quite ready to date from the 
 honeymoon with her first letter ; and, if I could not other- 
 wise find the metropolized sister-spirit, perhaps the 7nention 
 of the want in print might vibrate upon some hidden chord 
 in tune. 
 
 I thus lay the matter before the ladies. My word for it, 
 simply, that the applicant is of nature's rarity of choice 
 work — a violet of the wild-wood wishing to exchange frag- 
 rance with a japonica of the green-house. A letter 
 inclosed to me, addressed — say "Violet" — will be duly 
 forwarded to her, and, therefore, the sister flowers can 
 exchange real addresses, if mutually content, and carry 
 on the correspondence at their own pleasure and discre- 
 tion. 
 
328 The Convalescent. 
 
 My history of a morning call is not very eventful, dear 
 Morris, but it is, at least, true. And then, though simple 
 to read of, it is new to follow up and think of. High- 
 ipiced fiction, besides, may be needing the relish of plainer 
 liet, just now. So be content. 
 
 Yours. 
 
LETTER XXXIV. 
 
 Answer to many Inquiries — Corroboration of Experience — Mental Effect of 
 Horseback-Riding— Unstableness of a Stable — Exercise with or without 
 Fatigue — Insufficiency of Pedestrian Exercise — Philosophy of Uses of a Horse 
 — Importance of the Use of a Saddle-Horse to Old Age— How much it affects 
 Brain-work in all Professions — Advice to Convalescents, etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild, January, 
 This letter may be made to discharge two errands — (a 
 favorite double-barrel-ism in my e-pistol-SiTj practice, if you 
 have chanced to observe) — in the first place, explaining to 
 you why you are receiving less " copy " than usual from 
 my faithful pen ; and, in the second place, answering the 
 questions of numerous correspondents, on a subject upon 
 which my previous hints have proved more suggestive than 
 was anticipated. In addition to the methods of best aiding 
 the physician in combating with diseases of the lungs, I 
 find there is a curiosity as to the means of sustaining and 
 reinforcing convalescence. The invalids among our readers 
 form so large a class (in this country of overwork and 
 hurry, where health is so culpably neglected), that, even at 
 the risk of reputation, I will enlarge a little upon the points 
 which have particularly stirred inquiry. First, let me give 
 a portion of a letter I have just received, which corrobo- 
 
330 The Convalescent. 
 
 rates an important further reach in my own experience. 
 A gentleman writes me from New York : 
 
 " While enterinor an extract from that valuable work, 
 ' Helps,' in my commonplace-book, the other day, it occur- 
 red to me that it was a valuable extension of your own 
 remark on the same subject. You may remember, that, in 
 the Home Journal of January 17, 1857, you suggested the 
 importance of ' exercise, with the legs of a horse to do the 
 work.'' The physical advantage of this was the main bur- 
 den of your argument. But the extrect from 'Helps' 
 advocates its effect upon the mind. He says ; 
 
 " ' It is difficult for a man, unless he is a perfect horse- 
 man, to think connectedly during a ride; which is the 
 vefy reason why horse-exercise is so good for the studious 
 and busy ; but the inspiriting nature of the exercise may 
 still enable the rider to overcome special points of difficulty 
 in any subject he is thinking over. There is all the differ- 
 ence between the thoughts of a man who is plodding home- 
 wards on his own legs under an umbrella, and those of the 
 same man who on horseback is springing over the elastic 
 turf, careless whether wind or rain drives against him or 
 not, that there was between the after-dinner and the next 
 morning: counsels of the ancient Germans.' " 
 
 Now, to show how exactly this tallies with my own recent 
 experience, may not be uninstructive. 
 
 For the last two or three weeks, by a concurrence of 
 events in the stable (that most unstable department of a 
 man's household) I have been reduced to my own legs ; 
 
Exercise with or without Fatigue. 331 
 
 feeling, probably, with the difference of locomotion with or 
 without a horse under me, very much as Satan did when 
 deprived of legs and wings by the mandate, " Upon thy 
 belly shalt thou go." My one good horse and my two poor 
 ones gave out together. With a " thrush in his foot," I 
 was obliged to send the Black Prince to our friend Dis- 
 brow, who kindly offered to cure and exercise him on the 
 tan-bark floor of his riding-school ; Lady Jane is so far 
 advanced in her family wax that she is only useful in the 
 family wain ; and old Sir Archy's knees, being " past pray- 
 ing for," have so taken to praying for themselves, that 
 (with this frozen ground and its sharp points to stumble 
 over and fall upon) the mounting of him insures you at 
 least two knee-pans of mince piety. 
 
 For the one un-omit-able necessity of convalescence, 
 therefore — the perspirative conquest over the open air once 
 a day — I am reduced to the exertion of my own muscles. 
 I am obliged to walk myself into a perspiration, instead of 
 riding into one. And, may I be excused if I explain the 
 difference with some particularity ? 
 
 Medical books tell us (as I have already quoted) that 
 pedestrianism pulls upon those forces of the loins and 
 the spine which directly sustain the brain ; and that is the 
 kind of exercise, therefore, which the weary intellectual 
 laborer can least afford. But, besides the sj^aring of the 
 muscles of the back and the spinal marrow, there are 
 
332 The Convalescent. 
 
 others of less tangible " let-ups," which are still more neces- 
 sary for mental relaxation, and to all of which pedestrian- 
 ism is, to say the least, very unfavorable. First, the mind 
 should be unhitched from the particular subject, of the 
 burden of which it is weary. Second, the will should 
 be unpivoted, so that it is no longer called upon for con- 
 tinued effort. Third, the scenery, or surrounding objects, 
 should be changed in sufficiently quick succession to cap- 
 tivate and employ the eye. And, fourth, the animal spirit 
 should be enlivened, by some natural, healthful and easy 
 exhilaration. 
 
 In the reading of the last paragraph, the reader of course 
 has been mentally running a parallel between the two 
 kinds of exercise. It is, in fact, a correct list, both of the 
 disadvantages of walking and the advantages of riding. 
 The loins and spine are the portions of the frame least 
 called upon for exertion when a man is on horseback. 
 The entire contrast of motion and occupation, with the act 
 of mounting, changes at once the character and current of 
 the thoughts. As the horse does the work, and his legs 
 go on, whether they are remembered at every step or 
 not, it is no continued exercise of the rider's will to keep 
 moving. With four times as great velocity, and going 
 four times as far, the eye, during the ride, is an effortless 
 kaleidoscope, amusing the tired brain in spite of itself. 
 Then, who that has ever ridden sufiSciently to identify him- 
 
Philosophy of Uses of a Horse. 333 
 
 self with a horse — what man who can assume at will the 
 consciousness of a centaur — need be told of the exhilara- 
 tion of feeling that his natural strength and swiftness are 
 ten times multiplied ? 
 
 And I may (or may not, according to who is the reader 
 just now), be called imaginative for another -value that I 
 long ago discovered in the possession of a horse — a value 
 which cannot be realized by riding in a carriage, or by any 
 other conveyance than the daily bestriding of the animal 
 and so incorporating him with the habitual consciousness 
 of personal motion. I refer to the amount of space which 
 constitutes one^s occupancy of the face of the earth. To 
 him who walks but two miles a day and back again, the 
 room he inhabits on this planet is an orbit with a radius of 
 two miles. To him who rides five or ten miles a day and 
 back again, it is an orbit with a radius of five or ten miles. 
 I insist upon it, that the instinct of breadth or extent in a 
 man's share of the world, and consequently, in some degree, 
 his sense of the dignity and capacity of his existence, is in 
 proportion to this difference in his personal habits. It 
 may help to excuse my second mention of this equestrian 
 philosophy, if I suggest another and graver advantage in 
 the same habit, viz. — the supply it is to the failing strength 
 and activity of old age^ and the invigorating countercheck 
 which it maintains to that narrowing of the circle of life 
 and that feeling of desertedness which comes with lessened 
 
334 The Convalescent. 
 
 converse and observation. " The old gentleman's cob," as 
 it is called — a stout, gentle and sure-footed roadster brought 
 every morning to the door — is an essential portion of the 
 daily consciousness and enjoyment of every venerable 
 grandsire among the parks and manor-houses of England. 
 
 To return to ray present tribulation, however, for the 
 sake of contributing its painful and actual experience to the 
 ever valuable data of science ! 
 
 With no horse to ride, my daily exercise, of course, has 
 been taken on foot ; but, this, I find, besides the demeaning 
 effect of its heavy shoeing, muddiness and drudgery, and 
 l)esides its lack of proper shaking up for that ^anndice-box 
 which is called the liver, is so fatiguing as to deprive me 
 of one of the most valuable portions of my literary day. 
 The far better exercise of the saddle — that healthful inward 
 agitation of the vital organs, expansion of chest and lungs, 
 and lively distribution of the heat and juices of the system 
 — is done, on the contrary, not only without fatigue, 
 but with actual refreshing and strengthening. Returning 
 from my afternoon ride, usually at dusk, I have three hours 
 — from five to eight o'clock — of the most enjoyable and 
 efficient use of my mental powers. You can fancy what an 
 addition, to each day's morning work, is this evening ses- 
 sion ! But, after a long walk — when the labor of getting 
 up a perspirative glow out of doors has been done by my 
 own consciously weary legs and loins instead of the put- 
 
Advice to Invalids. 335 
 
 away and forgotten ones of Lady Jane or the Black Prince 
 — what a ditference in my condition ! I am incapable of 
 mental effort altogether ! Brain dulled and animal spirits 
 deadened by fatigue, I am one-horse-power less of a man 
 than I should otherwise be. And pray tell me whether 
 this extra one-horse-power is not worth adding to the daily 
 capacity of any man — lawyer, preacher, merchant or states- 
 man, as Well as author or editor ? Is it not the most 
 obvious economy (of the bodily and mental strength which 
 constitutes the " stock in trade " of most men) to make a 
 habit of horse- back riding ? 
 
 On the lesser points of the art and mystery of convales- 
 cence — those which are matters of inquiry by the " con- 
 sumptives " among our correspondents — I have nothing 
 new to urge. Every man has his variety of diseases and 
 of constitution, and, with the aid of a judicious physician, 
 it is easy for him to become the absolute master of his own 
 symptoms and their best treatment. An invalid may often, 
 by judgment and self-control, enjoy a degree of" high con- 
 dition," of which few men with unshattered constitutions 
 know the luxury. It is the sensation of the race-horse in 
 high training, and with the nerves and susceptibilities made 
 more delicate by disease. But, for this, a" most systematic 
 and unvarying attention to trijies is required. The stomach 
 is to be controlled and watched like an experiment in 
 chemistry. Exercise, sleep, perspiration, temper, cleanli- 
 
336 The Convalescent. 
 
 ness, amusement, and a clear conscience, are to be persever- 
 ingly and unexceptionably looked to. And most of those 
 who can never again be carelessly well, may live out 
 quite their natural length of days, and with their full share 
 Df usefuness and enjoyment, by consenting to so attend 
 to those trifles of self-government that they are always 
 carefidly well, 
 
 I have thus written you quite a chapter of dietetics — so 
 grave a one, indeed, that any lighter gossip at the close 
 would, I am sure, be out of tune. I'will conclude with 
 begging you (a convalescent, yourself), to ponder well 
 the precepts herein inculcated, and to see also, in this 
 letter, the reason of my industrial shortcomings, remember- 
 ing that Black Prince, wno usually does half my daily 
 labor, is lame at Disbrow's, and that I am, therefore, only 
 
 Yours afoot. 
 
LETTER XXXV. 
 
 ADVICE FOR I N V A L I D S , E T C, 
 
 Idlewild, April, 
 If I write to you, this morning, with my pen held loosely 
 in my fingers — very much as I should think aloud, if you 
 occupied the other chair at this river-side window of my 
 sick-room — it will not be a letter for all readers. I shall 
 gossip to you of what floats uppermost in a brain at the 
 ebb ; and, to those only who are invalids, with the tide of 
 life run down for the moment, like mine, is this likely to 
 to be interesting. And how many are these ? Among our 
 great multitude of friends and readers, are there inva- 
 lids enough to be separately written for ? If I mistake in 
 thinking so, it is an error upon which to thank Providence ; 
 but, upon the somewhat sad possibility, I will at least take 
 an invalid key for the tone of this present letter. 
 
 I see Spring — ^budding, flowering, leaf- starting and ver- 
 dure brightening, in wondrous beauty out of doors — but, 
 without me ! I am left behind while this gay procession is 
 gliding past. And this is a part of a conscious feeling 
 which has lately given me a groat deal of thought. The 
 
 16 88T 
 
338 The Convalescent. 
 
 sense of isolation, in sickness, seems to be such an inevit- 
 able law of our nature ; and we are no less islanded, on 
 our sick bed, because we are tenderly watched and kindly 
 ministered to. It is across a gulf that they reach to us — 
 they with whom we no longer sit down to eat, or go forth to 
 walk, or converse carelessly and gaily. The mail comes 
 in as usual with its news, but from a world with which ray 
 pulses are not in tune. The sun rises over familiar river 
 and mountain that T cannot now visit — on roads that I 
 cannot now travel — on well remembered labor and pleas- 
 ure that I cannot now share. Children come in to see me, 
 but not with their usual frolicsomeness and freedom. 
 Their voices are subdued with a vague awe of the paler 
 face and the invalid surroundings. Even the birds that 
 fly past the window seem to have less thought of me than 
 usual — building their nests for the summer just as well, 
 though T am not out under the trees, as I was wont to be, 
 guarding their innocent homes from the sportsman's gun 
 and the boy's mischief. Of what I know as " the world," 
 I am no longer a part — no longer necessary to its present 
 day's doings and completeness. 
 
 And — strangely enough — there is no pain in this con- 
 scious dismemberment from the life around ? As to the 
 mere instinct, it is like undressing for sleep when weary — 
 laying off the clothes, that, to wear with comfort, we must 
 be strong and wakeful. But it is mainly for the sore need 
 
Advice for Invalids. 339 
 
 of the mind^ probably, that, by the wise Providence of 
 God, with the probable approach of Death, comes the 
 weaning from the world we are to leave. Upon the reli- 
 gious bearing of this provision of our nature — the being 
 left alone with the heart within us that it may kneel in 
 solitude to its Maker — I need not touch. It is a self 
 preaching sermon from the text. But it is wonderful, also, 
 how it makes easy and natural — as if no other pathway 
 would do so well — the long-dreaded and dark steps down- 
 ward — how it makes for the first time comprehensible and 
 sweet, the strange words of the Preacher, in Ecclesiastes, 
 that " the day of death is better than the day of one's 
 birth." Something beyond, that is better than life, and to 
 which the grave is the threshold, has been approached — 
 recognized and felt, even though the sickness be but a com- 
 ing near to Death's gate from which we are once more to 
 turn back. If only as a sweet memory with which to re- 
 turn to life and health, the invalid's isolation is a blessing. 
 It is like the mist of the departing day — separated from 
 earth, but islanded in the sunset cloud which brightens as 
 it sails away to be forgotten. 
 
 4c ¥r 4: H: ^ ^ 
 
 I have thought of suggesting to our very eloquent pas- 
 tor, Mr. Wyatt, the preaching of a sermon on the care of 
 one's own health as a religious responsibility. Most human 
 illnesses, no doubt, could, with timely and easy precautions, 
 
340 The Convalescent. 
 
 have been avoided. Nature gives her warnings which we 
 willfully disregard — " first symptoms," of which every one 
 knows the import and the remedy. Is not this trifling 
 with the health which is the most precious of God's tem- 
 poral gifts? Nay, more; is it not an almost universal 
 shortening of the lives that have been sacredly intrusted to 
 us, and do we not thus — remotely and indirectly, but still in 
 some positive degree — come under the same reprobation, 
 as the suicide ? Might it not, on this ground, be most use- 
 fully and properly numbered among the child's moral les- 
 sons at school, to pay a minute and ever watchful attention 
 to health, as a duty no less to himself than to his God ? 
 
 It may be instructive to invalids if I make confession 
 how I am myself thus culpable — this recent illness being 
 but the inevitable sequent of a neglected warning. I had 
 been " moping" for a day or two when a slight engage- 
 ment called me to New York. Instead of going to the 
 city, I should have put myself on diet, doubled my exer- 
 cise in the saddle, given my pen a holiday, and (with an 
 alternation of nux vomica and berberis) gone early to bed. 
 There are medicines, of course, which will defer sickness, 
 temporary stimulants by which the laggard system is made 
 to outrun disease for the moment ; and, to these, I trusted 
 for my three days of irregularities. Close upon this, how- 
 ever, followed a more imperative engagement which kept 
 me three days longer in the city; and, redoubling my 
 
Advice for Invalids. 341 
 
 drugs of procrastination, I kept up — to come home to the 
 struggle with suppressed ailments which had meantime 
 accumulated to a crisis. To pulmonary patients (of whom 
 I have the honor to be, I believe, the convalescent oracle), 
 this penalty for the disregard of first symptoms is espe- 
 cially a warning — the tendency of all fevers to inflammation 
 of the lungs making it almost a certainty that the severest 
 part of the attack will be upon the already weakened and 
 most susceptible portion of the system. 
 
 May ^th. — I have been out, since the date of the fore- 
 going (written propped up in bed, a week or ten days 
 since), and there is one pleasure of convalescence which I 
 felt rather more vividly than ever before, and which I will 
 record as a suggestion to brother invalids ; at the same 
 time that it may be an added mite, perhaps, to the philo- 
 sophy of human consciousness. 
 
 Like as it is, to the emergence from a chrysalis, to get 
 abroad again after the confinement of a sick-room — the 
 trees and fields seeming a beautiful world which we have 
 lived in before in some different shape — there is yet, in the 
 weakness of limbs and the faint unwillingness for exer- 
 tion, a sense of not belonging as yet to what is around us. 
 Our sluggish pulse does not keep time with the fresher and 
 faster life of Nature out of doors. 
 
 It was with this feelinor that I climbed, with some diffi- 
 
342 The Convalescent. 
 
 culty, into the saddle, on one of the most lovely mornings 
 of this inspiring adolescence of the year — a balmy fore- 
 noon of bloomino^ and exultino^ Mav. I took the bridle in 
 my hand, a feeble but admiring looker-on — grateful to God 
 for only the privilege to inhale the intoxicating air, and be 
 out where I could more nearly and realizingly marvel and 
 adore. Once in my seat, however, and fairly loitered 
 forth from the steep tangle of our hemlock woods, my 
 familiar horse, to whose step and motion I was as much used 
 as to the lifting of my own limbs, became a part of me 
 again. I galloped off — suddenly restored to the fall con- 
 sciousness of health and its vigor of movement. It was as 
 if the half of me only had been ill. With the natural in- 
 corporation of that daily-ridden animal into my identity 
 — the invariable feeling, I believe, of the habitual rider — 
 bis limbs were as my own. I was like a centaur, whose 
 head and lungs might have their human ailments, but 
 whose body and legs under him would retain their brute 
 speed and vigor — ready to be fleet and strong again at the 
 first re-venturing forth of the rallying and predominating 
 intellect. 
 
 Is not this a noteworthy hint of how to quicken the 
 convalescent's retarded life ? Is it not an ad(iition to the 
 phenomena of possible sensation — to be numbered with 
 the first sense of swimming, or the aeronaut's half-conscious- 
 ness of wings ? 
 
Advice for Invalids. 343 
 
 But, what a thrilling luxury was the hour-or-two abroad, 
 on the fragrant and bright May morning ! My first 
 thought was to track again the five streams whose banks I 
 follow oftenest in my home rambles — down Idlewild Brook 
 to the Hudson ; along the Moodna from its junction with 
 the Hudson to Mortonville Creek ; up the wild bank of 
 this precipitous stream to the turnpike ; then by a mile of 
 road through English scenery to Rock-ladder Brook, and 
 down this lovely rivulet by the sweetest of green lanes till 
 it brinors me back ao;ain to *the Moodna — a four-mile dia- 
 gram of the picturesque, drawn by the running water of 
 wholly different streams, and each with its valley of char- 
 acteristic and peculiar beauty. It is the wealth of Idle- 
 wild that these four lesser water-nymphs (beside the 
 queenly Hudson) dwell within reach of an hour's ramble 
 from the gate ; and I do not love them any the less poeti- 
 cally because they turn the water-wheels of flour-mills and 
 factories instead of being haunted by fairies. They will be 
 Wheeler-and-Wilsoned into their natural idleness of beauty 
 in due time ! 
 
 But what a well-bestowed law of Providence it is, that 
 all thino-s are not beautiful tosjether ! With the abundant 
 waters of the early spring, these wild streams are now in their 
 glory. To ride through the valleys with their foam and 
 sparkle to look upon, we are scarce conscious how bare are 
 the trees, how tardy are the belated blossoms, how coy tho 
 
344 The Convalescent. 
 
 wild-flowers. And it is as well, perhaps, to remind the 
 stranger, who may ramble through these same wild roads 
 in summer, that the shrubs and foliage, the vines and ver- 
 dure, will be then taking their turn — our water-nymphs of 
 April and May less lovely in their retirement and undress, 
 and content to be outshone when less wanted. But, for the 
 present, how inspiriting they are ! What magnetizing music 
 in their dance over the rocks — what electrifying of the 
 blood in their swift sparkle — what inspiriting of the dull 
 heart in their bright scorn of hindrance, and in their 
 turning all obstacles into beauty. I was sure that the 
 horse under me felt the excitement of it, for, as the wild 
 waters sprung dancing and prancing along the road-side, 
 he moved his fine legs to the same merry tune, overflowing 
 with spring spirits and keeping his more quiet paces for 
 the languor of " leafy June." 
 
 But this is dream-weaving, dear Morris ! Though we 
 never tire of nature, others tire to hear us talk of it ; and 
 I will close here my chance letter of thinkings- aloud. To 
 the invalids, whom alone I have thought of as my readers, 
 while writing it, T will send thanks for the pleasure I have 
 Lad in opening my heart to them, and T remain 
 
 Yours as ever. 
 
LETTER XXXVI. 
 
 EXPERIEfTCES OF FRIENDSHIPS, ETC. 
 
 Idlewild, May, 
 You have a rival in Torrey, our village blacksmith. Like 
 yourself, he is my beloved friend, tried and trusted. But 
 as he performs his kindly duties towards me on a difierent 
 principle from yours — you denying me nothing, and Torrey 
 resolutely refusing me everything which he thinks is " not 
 best for me on the whole" — I have been led to look to 
 the results, as facts which might help us to arrive at the true 
 philosophy of the matter. Few questions in life are more 
 important than Friendship and its duties. I shall not be 
 considered tedious, I hope, if I record what few statistics I 
 am sure of in my own personal experience, as a contribu- 
 tion to this branch of the Science of the Affections — 
 premising, only, (as is but honest to the reader,) that my 
 preference is altogether for Morris-ism. By long expe- 
 rience and to my consequently sweet and serious conviction, 
 the absolute indulo-ence of a Willis's everv-imao-ined wish 
 — his whims, caprices, changes, contradictions and myster- 
 
 15* 345 
 
346 The Convalescent. 
 
 ies — " turns out best." On this side of the question, the 
 imperishable hyphen between our two names is argument 
 enough. My present object is to give confirmatory proof 
 of the evils of the opposite principle — Torrey-cism and its 
 exceedingly risky consequences being the theme of the fol- 
 lowinor letter. 
 
 To fairly explain my stand-point in the argument — the 
 aggravating extent of Torrey's well intentioned but obsti- 
 nate resistance to my wishes — I must come to the confess- 
 ional, for a moment. 
 
 For every hard-working man, I believe, it is necessary to 
 have a foible. Nature demands it as an escape-valve — 
 nothing being such a let-up to over-tasked wisdom and ex- 
 emplariness as some habitual point upon which to be daily 
 silly or unreasonable. To those who live with me, or in 
 ray immediate neighborhood, this confession is intelligible 
 at a glance. I atn irreproachably industrious — (that much 
 I think, may be borrowed from my often prepared tomb- 
 stone) — but the silly sensitiveness of which I wish to 
 " make a clean breast," is not in my profession. What the 
 critics may have found to disapprove never gave me a second 
 thought, nor did I ever wish praised or spoken of, read or 
 remembered, by friend, relative or neighbor, the pen-work 
 '' so laboriously achieve. In fact, I do not believe that I 
 ehould ever be thought of as an editor, either by my own 
 family or in the three villages from which Idlewild is equi- 
 
Experiences of Friendships. 347 
 
 distant, if it were not for the never-ending inquiries of the 
 way hither by a procession of young poets and poetesses 
 seeking to be god- fathered, or the rise in the demand for 
 building-lots, hereabouts, and the mention of the Home 
 Journal by all the customers. 
 
 No — it is upon a more recent accomplishment than 
 nuthorsliip that I am nervously susceptible. Knowledge 
 of horse — his value and his paces, but especially his treat- 
 ment and his ailments — is my weakness!" Between my 
 study and my stable.. I keep up the balance of existence — 
 too faultlessly diligent (for the belief of posterity) in the 
 one, if it were not for the time and temper obstinately 
 wasted on the other. And I began my betrayal of this 
 hobby vi^ith what the neighbors, here (particularly those 
 who had horses to sell) called "nonsense;" though it 
 was based upon the Bible. I had read in two books of the 
 Old Testament, that King Solomon paid only seventy-five 
 dollars apiece for his horses ; and upon the strength of this 
 twice-recorded example, I determined, that, for what ani- 
 mals a poor man like me could any way want, more could 
 not properly be paid. I have contrived, hitherto— buying 
 some cheaper and some dearer — that, of the eight or ten 
 horses I have owned for the last five years, this should be 
 
 * 1 Kings X. 29, and 2 Chronicles i. IT, it is recorded that Solomon paid, for 
 each of his horses, brought out of Egypt, "one hundred and fifty shekels of sil- 
 ver "—a shekel (according to the Bible Dictionary), being equal in value to an 
 English half crown, or fifty cents of our money. 
 
348 The Convalescent. 
 
 the average cost ; though the Black Prince (the colt, of 
 which I have the story to tell) was beyond Solomon con- 
 siderably — balanced pretty fairly, however, by a twenty- 
 three-dollar mare, which Lady Jane killed with a jealous 
 kick on the third day of my owning her. 
 
 You will see, at once — remembering how the village 
 blacksmith is not only the horse-doctor, but the judge and 
 umpire of all questions as to the use, value and proper 
 treatment of the animal — that Torrey's friendship occupies 
 delicate ground ! He is little aware, in fact, when I drop 
 in, every day or two, at his old tumble-down shanty, for a 
 chat, how much ray rather varied experience of the sweet 
 hypocrisies of polite life is called upon, to preserve a placid 
 smile while he hammers out his contradictions on that 
 opinionated old anvil. We so strangely disagree, on my 
 weak points ! From the six Agricultural Journals which 
 I receive every Wednesday, I can always pick some beauti- 
 ful new theory of horse knowledge ; and, crammed secretly 
 with this, I lounge in, quite accidentally, to astonish Torrey 
 with my superior wisdom. But though the only veterinary 
 reading he has ever done in his life has been his forty 
 years' experience, he invariably " knows better." I will 
 suspend my principal narrative for a moment, to give a re- 
 cent instance of this downright obstinacy. 
 
 In the " N'ew-England Farmer " I had seen a suggestion 
 that the inserting of a piece of sole-leather, between the 
 
Experiences of Friendships. 349 
 
 hoof and the shoe, would materially soften the shock of 
 hard roads to a tender-footed horse, besides preventing the 
 access of an occasional sharp stone to the unprotected hol- 
 low of the foot. Now, of my two bay Solomons (kept 
 for farm- work, but, with a change of harness, drawing the 
 family to church very equipagestically on Sunday), the 
 " nigh one " has a set of legs that should long ago have 
 been given over to the " unrecorded past." The poor old 
 horse is "used up" without knowing it! All pluck, and 
 with unwavering faith in the joints and muscles that have 
 served him so long, he answers the chirrup, at starting, 
 with a loftily arched neck (the beauty of which gave him 
 his name of "Sir Archy "), and puts out his unreliable old 
 fore-legs with the high and lively action of a colt un- 
 doubted. To meet him on the road, you would take him 
 for a spirited young horse — while, the moment the harness 
 is off, at the stable door, he goes hobbling off to his stall, 
 like a gouty old gentleman crawling to bed without his 
 crutches. 
 
 " The very thing for poor tender-footed Sir Archy !" I 
 exclaimed, as I read of the protective shock-softener ; and, 
 in a very few minutes, he was on his way to the black- 
 smith, with orders that he should be entirely reshod, and 
 express directions as to the leather soles, which were to be 
 got at the harness-maker's on the other side of the street. 
 
 Of course, after dinner, the first thing was to go out to 
 
350 The Convalescent. 
 
 the stable and have a look at the old steed in his soft 
 moccasins. But — what was my astonishment ! There he 
 stood, in his new shoes, the edges all bright with the fresh 
 filing and hammering, but no sign of the leather sole ! I 
 called for the stupid Irishman to give him a fui'ious scold- 
 ing about the orders which I took for granted he had 
 Hibernianistically neglected to give to Torrey ; but he anti- 
 cipated the outbreak, hurrying out the explanation while I 
 stood with trembling finger pointing to the shoes. 
 
 " 'Twas no use, sir ! He said he wouldnH do no such 
 thing ! It would only dry up the inside of the old critter's 
 hoofs so that he couldn't put foot to the ground !" 
 
 Between me and the blacksmith's shop — a little over a 
 mile — there was fortunately no electric wire ; so I bottled 
 up ray anger till the next day, thinking I would drive 
 the horse to the village myself and insist on the job 
 being done. But, I slept upon it. In the cool light of the 
 next morning, I thought it possible that Torrey might be 
 right, and — submitted. And, with the reader's mind thus 
 somewhat prepared for a Torrey-cism, still more difficult to 
 bear, I proc^eed with my narrative. 
 
 Between me and my friend the blacksmith there has 
 been, for some time, a very irritating bone of contention — 
 the treatment of a certain black colt, which I bought half 
 broken, and which I piqued myself on keeping in the high- 
 est possible condition, while I trained him for perfection 
 
Experiences op Friendships. 351 
 
 under the saddle. I had a theory as to the possibility of 
 an animaVs retaining always the completeness of his natural 
 beauty — tlie original type and model of the full-developed 
 boily and limbs carefully preserved. I did not believe that 
 either man, woman, or horse must necessarily grow 
 unsightly, during the fulfillment of its natural life, any more 
 than the unshot bird, or the uncaught fish, or the un fallen 
 fruit, or the unplucked flower. So, for that long summer, 
 I looked faithfully to the grooming and feeding of the 
 handsome creature, riding him every day, and getting credit 
 from all the farmers around for having the best-condi- 
 tioned and finest colt in the county. But so thought not 
 Torrey ! " Entirely over-fed !" " Young blood must be 
 kept more down 1" " Mash and carrots instead of all that 
 grain!" " Flesh ain't' sound, I tell ye!" These were the 
 aggravating phrases with which I was greeted, every time 
 I rode up to the shop to have a nail filel down or a shoe 
 looked to. And he wound up so provokingly, always, as 
 he shoved back his old remnant of a straw hat from his 
 needlesslv hiq-h forehead, with that sio-nificant " You'll see !" 
 But, in the autumn, my proud colt began to step lame. 
 He flinched a little with the left fore-foot, and — of course 
 — was to be taken to Torrey ! And, the cool way in 
 which that tall blacksmith backed his long body under 
 the horse, hoisted the troubled foot between his knees, 
 wrenched ofi" the shoe and showed me the diseased crack 
 
352 The Convalescent. 
 
 in the hoof, \vi:h a " Didn't I tell ye ?" would have pro- 
 voked a Palmerston ! There it was — bad blood finding; a 
 vent in a suppurating sore (which they commonly call a 
 "Thrush"), and only to be cured with a six weets' purging 
 and reducing — the fine creature to be made ill-looking and 
 bony, in spite of all my systematic exercise and feeding ! 
 
 As I have previously mentioned in the Home Journal 
 (by way of making known to the public the utility of 
 Disbrow's Arena for the winter exercise of the saddle- 
 horses), I accepted a very kind offer for the lame Prince 
 — that of taking him into the stud of the Riding-school, 
 to be exercised on the soft floor of tan-bark till his foot 
 should recover — all against Torrey's vehement protest, who 
 declared that it was " perfect nonsense " to send the horse 
 to the close stables of the city, and that he ought to be 
 kept where he could get pure air enough and be let alone. 
 And the wise blacksmith was riofht, ao-ain — confound it! — 
 for the Prince fell immediately ill of the " distemper " on 
 getting to the city, and liked to have died. 
 
 But— to hurry to the climax. 
 
 With Disbrow's kind care and skillful doctoring, mv colt 
 came back to me in very good spirits in the latter part of 
 March. Doubtful how much of his brief summer of early 
 education he might have forgotten, and wishing, at any 
 rate, to drill him back to ray own handling and my favor- 
 ite gait, "while the nonsense was out of him," I sent hiju 
 
Experiences of Friendships. 353 
 
 to " tlie shop," to have the temporary shoes, in which he had 
 come home, replaced by new and strong ones — receiving 
 him again, in an hour, with no shoes at all I " The horse 
 was not ready for shoes, Mr. Torrey said." Straight back 
 he was furiously and immediately sent, with express orders 
 to have him shod ! ! And straight hack again, directly, he 
 came once more, with a little more explanatory refusal. 
 "That colt needed a month's pasture, and soft ground for 
 the hoof that was just healed to spread and grow out natu- 
 ral ; and, shoe him noiv, he would not ! For most cus- 
 tomers he was in the habit of obeying orders and letting 
 'em run their own risk ; but he was Mr. Willis's friend, and 
 he wasn't ao-oino- to let him ruin a nice colt, if he could 
 help it !" 
 
 No appeal from a decision so peremp -Torrey, of course; 
 and into the large green meadow below my study window, 
 the delighted colt was let loose every morning for his day's 
 run — the thoughtful eye that looked off from a quiet ink- 
 stand to see his caracolling and plunging, as he coursed 
 around perfectly frantic with spirits, wondering very natu- 
 rally whether there was anything still to " grow out 
 natural " in the hoof that could stand that ! And the colt, 
 meantime, getting so wild, that he would have to be 
 * broke "all over again! Torry's obstinate wisdom had 
 over-shot the mark, this time, I was secretly certain — and, 
 if I could only catch him at it, for once ! 
 
354 The Convalescent. 
 
 Well, there came a certain sunny afternoon of a May 
 day — a week after Torrey had himself sent for the Prince 
 to shoe him. A debilitating fever and hemorrhage at the 
 lungs had had their three weeks' will of me ; but, having 
 been twice " out," upon the smart grey roadster that I had 
 ridden all winter, I felt, for that afternoon at least, as iuex- 
 horse-tible as ever; and the inspiriting air of such a deli- 
 cious jubilee of spring was more in tune with the move- 
 ments of the gay colt in the meadow. He was caught and 
 saddled ; and (with some diflBculty, from his impatient 
 fretting and ray weak limbs), I succeeded in mounting and 
 getting away. Most exhilarating movement, as he pranced 
 on, over the smooth windings of the road down the glen ! 
 But, lo ! a bother unforeseen ! How was I to open that 
 " pig'^'g''^^'' gate" — half a mile from the house and nobody 
 within call ? I had usually, and with the same horse, 
 leaned over and lifted the latch ; or, at any rate, in health, 
 it was nothing to dismount for it — but how, noio to get it 
 open? It was an exultingly satisfactory offset to my 
 embargo, as I sat perplexed upon that fretting and dancing 
 horse, that it was all owing to Torrey ! But for Torrey, I 
 should have had the restless and impatient creature in 
 training, six weeks ago, and could have opened the gate 
 easily enough, sitting in my saddle ! 
 
 There was nothing for it but to dismount, open the gate 
 and let myself out, and then get on again — and this T did 
 
Experiences of Friendships. 355 
 
 with no small calling upon dormant agilities and improbable 
 dexterities, and a mental piling on of tbe emphasis with 
 which I should overwhelm that mistaken blacksmith with 
 my (for once) unanswerable reproaches! 
 
 Not quite safe again in the saddle (remember that, oh, 
 Torrey) ! I was leaning far over to adjust the stirrup to my 
 still tremulous foot, when a man in an adjoining field 
 (whom I had not observed, and who was gathering dry 
 sticks in a thicket of sumachs), suddenly made a move with 
 his crackling bundle. The Prince's head was towards the 
 gate at the moment, but he sprang, as if he had been dis- 
 charged fi'om a catapult — not an inch backwards or for- 
 wards, but directly to one side, and /rom the side over 
 which my whole weight was weakly and unguardedly bend- 
 ing — and I was thrown to the ground in an instant. Away 
 went the frightened creature, at a furious pace down the 
 stony hill of tlie public road, dragging me after him by the 
 right foot held tightly in the stirrup, and, fortunately before 
 reaching the bridge, my twisted foot found its release — the 
 impression with which I started from home, as to the light- 
 footedness of the colt considerably changed ! With four 
 imprints of his galloping hoofs on my legs and body, he had 
 trod that mistaken idea quite out of me ! 
 
 Of Torrey-ism and its consequences, I but copy the 
 melancholy bandages around my legs, as I write down, for 
 the student of the Science of Friendship, these actual statis- 
 
356 The Convalescent. 
 
 tics. jy/5-Torrey-cal they deserve to be ! But contrast 
 the tenderness (!) of such strains and bruises, for a moment 
 with the very diflferent tenderness of my indulgent Morris ! 
 When did any act of complying Morris-ism ever hitch me 
 to a black horse and use me as a ploughshare on the public 
 road ? My preference is, I think, justified — no offence, 
 however, to my still valued and respected (though philoso- 
 phically disparaged) Torrey ! I am more fortunate than 
 most men in having two such tap-roots to my tree of 
 friendship (a hy-two-men-ow^ nourishment which keeps me 
 evergreen, of course) ! and, though I hope, myself, to con- 
 tinue to profit by both indulgence and contradiction, I may 
 have instructively recorded the contrast for those who can 
 but choose between the two. And so, my dear Preference, 
 
 I remain 
 
 Yours as ever. 
 
 Note. — The New York T-bnes, copying from the Newhurgh 
 
 JVeivs a descriptive mention of this accident, adds a very courteous 
 
 remark, to which (for the sake of making the public wiser upon a 
 
 very important point of personal safety), I must make a somewhat 
 
 • 
 definite reply. The Times says : 
 
 " Mr. Willis has given a good deal of very good public advice 
 about riding, based on his own experience. We propose to return 
 the service by advising him to procure and use a pair of Neil's 
 Safety Stirrups, which would have rendered such an accident as he 
 has now sustained impossible. The arrangement is very simple, 
 effective, and ornamental. The moment the foot is caught, the 
 pressure upon a lever of which the upper part of the stirrup forma 
 
' The Safety Stirrups. 35 1 
 
 an arm, draws the pin, and drops the stirrup from the strap. Of 
 course no horseman expects to be thrown — but Mr. Willis's expe- 
 rience shows that such things may happen, and it is always best to 
 be provided for contingencies. The safety stirrup is a very valu- 
 able invention." 
 
 I had a pair of these very stirrups on my saddle, when thrown, 
 and though dragged some distance by the running horse, the stir- 
 rup which held my right foot did not even finally give way. 
 Though I thought my ankle was dislocated with the wrench, I was 
 under the impression that the patent lever must have acted at last; 
 and, while I sat at the road-side, I sent my daughter (who in tak- 
 ing her afternoon walk, had chanced to see the accident, and assisted 
 in picking me up), to go and look for the lost stirrup, feeling that 
 it was impossible to use my trampled limbs, and that I must con- 
 trive to get once more into the saddle, to reach home. The horse 
 was by this time caught and brought back (by the neighbor whose 
 bundle of sticks had frightened him), and, looking first to the two 
 " safety stirrups," which were both firm in their places, I was 
 assisted to remount my horse, and so reascended the long hill 
 agaiin to my house. The fault of the invention (it seems to me) is, 
 that the orifice of the stirrup is made smaller than usual (so that 
 the lever shall be brought within reach of the falling rider's up- 
 turning toe), and, if the foot, instead of upsetting vertically, turns 
 ever so slightly cross-wise (as mine did, and as a falling man's foot 
 is very likely to do), tJie toe catches the side, and is thus prevented 
 from reaching the lever. A stirrup simply made so large that no 
 twist of the forward part of the rider^s foot could get a hold upon 
 the two sides at once, would, in my opinion, be a much safer 
 thing. 
 
358 The Convalescent. 
 
 With other editors I received a pair of "Neil's safety stirrups," 
 and duly complimented the apparently excellent invention in the 
 Home Joicrnal. I regret to unsay ray praises ; but, as I am 
 probably the only editor who has made a fair experiment of the 
 article, I have felt bound in duty to thus publish the result. 
 
LETTER XXXVII. 
 
 Mouth made up for a Week's Feast on Physical Beauty— Journey to Springfield 
 for the " Fair"— Miracles sold for cheap Tickets— Physiognomy of rural Mas- 
 sachusetts — Energetic improvement of Springfield Street and Houses — Male 
 Passions for Horse-talk— Promotion of Horse-dignity at Springfield— Descrip- 
 tion of Races deferred, etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild, September, 
 I LEFT home on the eleventh, as you know, for a week's pil- 
 grimage to the shrine of physical beauty. It was a Mon- 
 day morning of ripe and relishing September ; and, till the 
 next Saturday night, my mouth was made up — the mouth 
 of my outer eye, that is to say — for what banquets of flesh 
 and blood I could find to feast upon. The Horse-Fair at 
 Springfield, to be sure, was my main and nominal er- 
 rand ; Chester Harding, the best painter of manly beauty 
 as well as the noblest specimen of it, having bidden me to 
 come and take a look with him at what Nature meant 
 should be next below us in comeliness, the make and 
 
 movement of 
 
 " the noblest of the train 
 
 That wait on man ;" 
 
 but it was for physical perfection — beauty in all that is 
 warm and breathing — that my eye was to be open — for 
 
 859 
 
360 The Convalescent. 
 
 the handsome man, who ought to be handsomer than his 
 horse, and even for the degree still higher, the handsome 
 woman, who should be handsomer than the man. Fancy 
 and fiction I had shut up in my study closet. Intellectual- 
 ities I had left to dry up with my inkstand. To sun my 
 two open and idle eyes in animal beauty, was to be the 
 carnival of the week — to find out what the real Hive worldy 
 at its present day and hour, had beautiful to see. 
 
 But, a word or two of my journey. 
 
 There are few finer shows, I suppose, in the way of 
 scenery, than the first twenty miles down the Sound, after 
 roundino- Castle Garden in a Fall River steamboat. The 
 receding city and the two shores of villas and gardens 
 bathed in the glory of a sunset — seen, as it all is, from the 
 swiftly floating palace in which you are borne like Jupiter 
 in his cloud — comes nigh (if passengers did but know it) 
 to an experience of the sublime. To be able to glide 
 over just that magnificent track, at just that felicitous hour, 
 by the " Fall-River Line," is, for the scenery hunter, a hap- 
 py accident ; and the splendid comet that lighted us on 
 our way was part of the performance, I suppose, though 
 they did not (as for our gratuitous music on board the 
 Powell in the morning) " pass round the hat." It was 
 curious (I could not but mournfully remark) that, of the 
 hundreds of passengers on board, not five seemed to see 
 either the sunset scenery or the comet. For any better 
 
Miracles Sold for Cheap Tickets. 361 
 
 heaven than the evening papers and their supper, those 
 many fellow travellers of mine, I was sorry to be made 
 sure, were in no way on the look-out. 
 
 We slept through that still night, the moon and I, per- 
 forming our respective journeys with as punctual swiftness 
 as if we were awake ; and, at the breakfast hour, I found 
 myself with the two hundred miles put magically behind 
 me, safe in Boston by the operation of the miracles of 
 steam and rail. And what miracles they are ! I must be 
 excused for continuing to wonder at what we mortals get 
 done for us by the purchase of a cheap little ticket at an 
 office window ! 
 
 Meaning to return, the day after the Fair, to the " city 
 of notions," I passed but an hour or two in it, with a few 
 whom I love ; and, early in the afternoon was on the rail 
 for Springfield. The collections of tidy pill-boxes, on the 
 way — each town with its sprinkling of painfully clean and 
 square houses set up like stools of repentance in the mid- 
 dle of the close-shaven farms — looked as agonizingly vir- 
 tuous as they used to do when I saw them from the win- 
 dows of the stage-coach on my way to college. The 
 worldly railroad, as yet, had let in no corruptions of milder 
 paint and more varied architecture. To go over the same 
 pious ground so much faster was the only wonder. How 
 is it that the held up forefingers of Massachusetts, those 
 iwfully white meeting-house ste<^ples, give no monitory 
 
 16 
 
362 The Convalescent. 
 
 shake as sinners go by at such a profane, whipped-up-itude 
 of speed — thirty headlong miles an hour instead of the 
 well-considered five ? 
 
 In driving from the railway station to my friend's 
 house, I was quite puzzled with the new geography of 
 Springfield. The graceful acclivities in the neighborhood 
 of the old town are wound around with irregular streets, 
 or rather with well-wooded serpentine avenues of tasteful 
 cottages and villas ; the effect being very much that of a 
 drive through Richmond, the prettiest suburban town in 
 England. That some well directing spirit of great energy 
 and good taste has been at work here, is visible also in 
 the beauty of the grounds around the Public Armory, and 
 particularly in the exquisite arrangement of the picturesque 
 Cemetery near by. Springfield has some liberal and en- 
 lightened hearts beating in its midst — anybody would say 
 on simply driving through the town. How blest some 
 places are in the influence of one or two of their inhab- 
 itants ! 
 
 Mr. King (Mr. Harding's son-in-law, who was to be ray 
 more especial host) had collected around his table some 
 of the well-informed strangers invited to the " Fair " from 
 a distance ; and, as I found them over their coffee after 
 dinner, I was soon an eager listener to the glowing themes 
 of the place and the occasion. It is a bewitching yn-intel- 
 lectuality — horse-talk ! The ladies must pardon us, but, 
 
Male Passion for Horse-talk. 363 
 
 next to the adoring discussion of themselves, the most 
 fascinating topic between gentlemen is horse-flesh. The 
 points and performances of favorites; the experiences 
 with driving-rein and saddle; the secrets of blood- crossing 
 and quality-giving ; the choice in stock, action and color ; 
 the bettering of grace and fleetness by union with endur- 
 ance and strength — how charming are these game-y inter- 
 changes of knowledge and observation ! Even if there 
 are to be no horses in eternity (which I do not believe) 
 the influence of this preponderating passion of mankind, 
 even if it were only for its perfecting and elevating the 
 abstract standard of beauty, would abundantly redeem it. 
 Devotion to woman will make better angels of us, and 
 devotion to horse will not be thrown away. 
 
 It is the recognition of this last-mentioned principle 
 which gave the impulse to the Horse Festival at Spring- 
 field, The core of the movement is a philosophic wish to 
 take a rational and exciting open-air pursuit from the 
 hands of jockeys and gamblers, and elevate it to its proper 
 level — to the healthful and inspiriting enjoyment of it by 
 gentlemen and ladies. The starting-point — what the horse 
 has been unjustly degraded to — is well expressed by a 
 writer in the Boston Courier : 
 
 " The name of the horse has, in America, become so in- 
 timately associated with ever so much that is disreputable 
 
364 The Convalescent. 
 
 and vulgar — horse-fanciers being popularly esteemed uni- 
 versal scoundrels and black-legs, and horse-gatherings be- 
 ing looked upon as invariable scenes of ' vice compacted, 
 — that the innocent animal himself begins to be regarded 
 with a sort of suspicion, by reason of his involuntary con- 
 nection with so many human beasts of a lower order, and 
 even the best regulated horse-fair fails to receive the atten- 
 tion which the importance of its objects and its intrinsic 
 interest should insure it." 
 
 The horse's true rank in the scale of existence has now, 
 at Springfield, received its first American recognition. 
 But the subject is inex-horse-tible, I fear, or at any rate, 
 too long for a single letter. I must defer, till next week, 
 the description of my day at the races, and my look at all 
 the beauties on the Course. And, meantime, dear Morris, 
 
 Yours. 
 
LETTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Second Letter— Taking the Opportunity to look through a "Wiser Man's Eyes — 
 Drive to the Hippodrome — Visits to the Horses in their Stalls — Company of 
 Good Observers — Horse " Hard-Times " and his Card— Beauty of the Peter- 
 sham Morgan— Style of the Black Horse, " Lone Star "—Suitableness of Horse 
 to his Rider — Perfecting of the Quadruped and Deteriorating of the Biped — 
 Need of Reformation in the Shape and Condition of American Man — One 
 Exception, etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild, September. 
 Mr letter of last week gave you an outline of the journey- 
 to Springfield, with a statement of the new and noble pur- 
 pose of the Horse Festival, to be there held, and some 
 hints as to why it promised to be especially memorable and 
 interesting. I meant to have followed up this introductory 
 letter with a full and detailed description of the whole 
 afi'air ; but the newspapers have so completely anticipated 
 me — treating it with cordial recognition as one of the 
 leading topics of the day, reporting the very eloquent 
 speeches at the banquet, and devoting column after column 
 to the descriptive letters of their correspondents — that I 
 follow, now, but as the sorry gleaner after the jolly harvest. 
 Leaving the general features of the show, therefore, with 
 which you are already familiar, I will gossip a little of 
 
 865 
 
366 The Convalescent. 
 
 what, during its celebration, I chanced personally to " hap- 
 pen near." 
 
 Under the same hospitable roof with myself, were 
 several of the Committee's invited guests; and, among 
 them a Canadian delegate, who, I soon saw, had a better 
 eye than most men for a horse. Wishing to find precisely 
 this — somebody's eye better than my own through which 
 to look more wisely at the day's wonders of four-legged 
 beauty — I made known my aching void to this gentleman, 
 boldly proposing myself as his companion for the day. 
 With the privilege of an official ribbon in his button-hole, 
 he was to make the rounds of the stalls and stables — 
 examining the beauties in their boudoirs at his lordly lei- 
 sure, and without hindrance or contradiction from the 
 duenna-grooms. As each horse had a separate apartment, 
 with a lock on his door, and as grooms have not tho 
 smoothest set of answers for those whom they are not par- 
 ticularly bound to respect, I was very considerably 
 enriched by Mr. W. 's acceptance of my proposition 
 
 Early after breakfast we drove down to the Hippodrome. 
 This fine Olympia (finer probably than the old one near 
 Athens), is about a mile from Springfield, and has been 
 purchased for the horse-movement, at a cost of near thirty 
 thousand dollars. There is one course, of a mile, around 
 its sixty acres of velvet turf, and on the outside of this, 
 stand the stalls for two or three hundred horses, while, on 
 
Company of good Observers. 36t 
 
 the opposite side are raised scaffoldings for many thousands 
 of spectators. If it were only as a standard by which to 
 measure the enterprise, the first impression which the stran- 
 ger gets, on looking down upon this spacious and well laid 
 arena, is very inspiring. 
 
 As we passed in at the barrier, it was still an hour to 
 the opening of the day's formal programme, and the long 
 lines of stalls, with the grooms at the doors, looked partic- 
 ularly inviting. My friend bent his steps that way, of 
 course ; and, his ribbon being duly respected, we took the 
 outer line of the forbidden beauties, and commenced our 
 unblanketed beholdings. With the skillful eye of the Can- 
 adian, and the well-practised eye of Harding the artist, 
 who made one of our company; with the knowing com- 
 ments of two or three other well-informed gentlemen who 
 had joined us, and with my own most glowing admiration, 
 the superb creatures were, for once in their lives, at least, 
 duly appreciated. They should have been pleased with 
 our visit, if beauty, lovingly approached and critically and 
 glowingly analyzed and declared wonderful, could give 
 pleasure to the animal who stood listening, and who, of 
 course, was, at least, animally conscious of the strength, 
 fire and proportion so admired. If it were a horse that 
 had by chance learned to rejid, he might be staggered a 
 little, it is true, by the card nailed upon his chamber door 
 — a large lettered account of his age, pedigree and perform- 
 
368 The Convalescent. 
 
 ances, of which each privileged admirer was allowed to 
 carry away a printed copy. Thus runs one of these cards 
 of beauty-biography, for instance, which I begged of the 
 groom, after some ten minutes' study of a noble horse : 
 
 V " Thorough-bred stallion, Hard-Times. Seven years old. 
 ^ired by Stavely, thorough-bred, out of imported mare- 
 Favorite ; Favorite by English thorough-bred horse Eclipse ; 
 Eclipse by Diomed, (see English Stud-book). Stavely 
 was sired by Old Cock of the Rock, imported. 
 
 "The dam of Hard-Times has trotted in 2.38. Hard- 
 Times is thoroughly broken to every harness, and his speed 
 when trained, will be very great. His style, beauty and 
 action will speak for him better than words. 
 " For sale and warranted in every respect." 
 
 We walked into stall after stall, of the horses thus 
 showily labelled, following up the promise of their noble 
 haunches, measuring the knit of the loins and the lift of 
 the forehand, feeling for the hard spot over the withers, 
 (which is the certificate of blood), patting their proud 
 necks and looking into their eyes and forehead for the 
 intellect which should be there ; and I could not but feel 
 that it was indeed — brute beasts though they were — a 
 "feast of beauty." Even when standing still in the stall, 
 the perfect creatures were beautiful enough ; but, when 
 one was occasionally led out and put to his paces on the 
 green turf, to show how he would move, it was, in most 
 cases, worthy of sculpture. There was one particularly, 
 
Style of the Black Horse " Lone Star." 369 
 
 in the efifervescence of completeness and youth, whose beauty, 
 for that peculiar type, I had never seen equalled. His 
 groom was leading him about by the bridle, and restrained 
 hira with difficulty in the sight of the course. They 
 called him the " Petersham Morgan " He was a richly 
 dappled chestnut or dark bay, of a glossy coat, that, in its 
 degree of silky fineness, was new to me ; and only unlike 
 the horses of the Elgin Marbles in being far beyond what 
 the sculptor of those antiques ever dreamed of. With the 
 profuse mane and tail of the breed he belonged to, every 
 hair on his body seemed to express pride, strength and fire ; 
 and, with it all, was an eftbrtless and strange lightness of 
 step, a sort of unnatural agility, which made the sward 
 seem to be an electric battery tossing him off as his feet 
 touched it. He was small, but a handsomer creature, of 
 that style and weight, could scarce be imagined. 
 
 A slender black horse, called " Lone Star," was also 
 wonderfully perfect in his paces and proportions — the 
 living prototype of disdainful and graceful beauty — and, 
 for a woman to be lovely upon (leaving the horse to do 
 the pride, in effective contrast with the gracious gentleness 
 of his rider), " Lone Star " would be the model. In every 
 different style of those superb animals, by the way, I saw 
 the want of a particular size and style of rider ; and it is 
 curious how little attention is paid commonly, by gentle- 
 men, to the suitableness of the horses they ride — not only 
 
 16* 
 
3*r0 The Convalescent. 
 
 in proportionateness of height and weight, but in color and 
 character of action. Brown, the equestrian sculptor, 
 should give us a little manual on this subject. 
 
 In this hour of stall-visiting and unblanketing, we found, 
 of course, excellent stuff for comparison and discussion. 
 The art of removing defects and ingrafting excellences was 
 fullv discussed — " with illustrations " But the unaccount- 
 able wonder is (to repeat a remark I have elsewhere made), 
 that, with such an example under our own hand of what 
 can be done to perfect one family of Nature, the horse, 
 we are not stimulated to extend the experiment to another 
 and more important family, that of man. I could not 
 help looking round uj^on the crowd, in coming out from 
 the stalls and stables of the carefully perfected quadruped, 
 and lamenting exceedingly the undeveloped and carelessly 
 neglected frame and health of his master the biped. Of 
 the hundreds on the field, within sight, there was scarce 
 one who would not have been pronounced, by a jockey, an 
 animal out of condition. They all looked as if they would 
 need two or three generations of crossing with other quali- 
 ties and complexions, and years of more careful training, 
 feeding and exercising, for the restoration even of their 
 own original type. Is not our country fatally degenerat- 
 ing on this point? And, since it is of the condescending 
 bounty of God that we are " made in his own image," 
 would it not partake of the character of a religious reforma- 
 
Driving of a Fast Hoese by a Child. 3U 
 
 tion, to restore to its proper dignity the image of God — in 
 ourselves ? Conversing- with Governor Banks on tlie sub- 
 ject, that evening (himself a capital specimen of the 
 Morgan build, pluck and endurance), I inquired whether 
 it could not be made a matter of State encourao-ement — 
 premiums to be offered for the finest formed and best con- 
 ditioned families of boys and girls, among the mechanics 
 and farmers. It might, at least, make health a consideration, 
 if not a condition, in wedlock and its perpetuating of races. 
 
 I should be unjust to a very striking exception, if I did 
 not mention here, that, quite the finest horseman on the 
 ground, that day, was a white-haired gentleman, apparently 
 of seventy years of age, mounted upon a very handsome 
 bay, and sitting as upright and riding about the field as 
 actively and securely as a man of twenty. I did not hear 
 who he was, but he was a fine picture to look at, and the 
 admiration of him, among the crowd, was universal. 
 
 And I may as well record that the next most admired 
 performance on the ground, that da}'', was the driving of a 
 fast horse by a child ! The animal (a mare, called 
 "Belle") was among the competitors for the trotting pre- 
 mium, and quite the most showy and fiery-looking of the 
 dozen brought up at the start. The first mile was for a 
 display of the " teams ;" and Mr. Ellis, the father of the 
 lad, accompanied him on this circuit — to the exceeding 
 terror of all the ladies on the stand, dismounting at the 
 
372 The Convalescent. 
 
 close of it, and leaving the handsome little fellow alone in 
 the trottinsr-waofon, for the round which was to be a trial 
 of speed. And away they all went, at a slashing pace ; 
 the "Belle" gallantly holding her own, and probably every 
 eye among the twenty thousand spectators fixed on her 
 infant driver. With his little hands stretched forward to 
 the reins, his feet braced against the dash-board, his head 
 laid far back to the cushion, and his cap pulled knowingly 
 on one side, he looked more like one of Titania's mischiev- 
 ous elves than the honest thing he was — a live young gen 
 tleman of Cambridge, ten years old ! But his coming in 
 was the excitement ; for, to all appearance, the superb ani- 
 mal was wholly beyond control ; and, as he reached the 
 Judges'-stand, among the foremost though not the first, the 
 multitude was quite breathless. It seemed inevitable that, 
 in the endeavor to stop her, she would break up and run. 
 But the little driver began bravely to saw upon the bit, 
 pulling with his whole strength upon one rein and the 
 other, and to the screaming delight of the ladies, the 
 " Belle " was pulled up ! Young Ellis turned and came 
 back to the stand — received with the most enthusiastic 
 hurrahs by his twenty thousand admirers. And — charm- 
 ing to add — the little hero stood up on his feet, as he 
 dropped the reins, took off his hat, and made a circular 
 bow to the crowd with a grace that would have done credit 
 to a courtier. 
 
Young America a little too " Fast." 3t3 
 
 But for the fact that the best horseman on the field was an 
 old gentleman of seventy — (showing the possibility of vigor 
 and skill at the other extreme as well) — this might have 
 been called Young America a little too " fast !" 
 
 But I must have the room of another letter, I believe, to 
 tell you of the trotting-races and cavalcades, with the lady- 
 riders and driving-teams, etc., etc., so adieu for the pre- 
 sent. Yours. 
 
LETTER XXXIX. 
 
 The Hippodrome on the Second Day — The Trotting-match — The Aspect of the 
 Crowd on the Course— Ethan Allen and Iliram Drew — Philosophy of fast Trot- 
 ting — Portrait of a famous Yankee Jockey — Cavalcade of Gentlemen's equip- 
 ages — Lack of Style in American Driving — Society on Wheels and Beauty of a 
 Park Drive — The Equestrian Cavalcade with Lady-riders — Unsuitableness of 
 Crinoline to the Side-saddle, etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild, October. 
 You are willing now, perhaps, to leave the private stalls 
 of horse-beaut}', and cross with me to the other side of the 
 Couise for a performance or two by the celebrated trot- 
 ters. The ribbon of my Canadian friend and guide took 
 me (on the way) within the folds of a certain privileged 
 tent, pitched on the greensward within the ring, where, 
 for committee and guests, was spread an inviting array of 
 dry crackers and their naturally suggested lubrications ; 
 and having thus administered a tonic to our emulous an- 
 tagonist, we passed on to the contest. 
 
 Twenty thousand people out of doors are a beautiful 
 show, anywhere ! And when you remember that the 
 superb hippodrome of Springfield is in the lap of a velvet 
 meadow, on the banks of the Connecticut and with Mount 
 
 S74 
 
Ethan Allen and Hiram Drew. 315 
 
 Tom and its wavy outline of horizon forming the back- 
 ground, you will easily picture to yourself the beauty of 
 " Hampden Park " and its gay multitude. It was the pe- 
 culiarity of this gathering, you understand, that ladies and 
 the clergy were fully represented ; and, as the large pro- 
 portion of two-thirds of the immense length of scaffoldings 
 was alive with the glitter of gay ribbons and parasols, 
 while, upon the judges' stand, the white cravats of New 
 England's ministers gleamed thickly bright, the impres- 
 sion — splendid horses and showy equipages included — 
 was brilliantly new. I was, for one, charmed to see the 
 best quality of horse in such fitting quality of service — vir- 
 tue and religion, for once, equipaged beseemingly. 
 
 The excitement of the morning, I soon found, was to be 
 the trotting-match between Ethan Allen and Hiram 
 Drew — the " knowing ones" predicting that the latter 
 would win, though the former was more famous for pre- 
 vious victories. Hating the build of a trotting-sulky (with 
 a driver looking as if his spine was screwed into the axle- 
 tree — a man with wheels put to him), I saw the start with 
 no particular interest. The fast trot, too, has always 
 seemed to me an unnatural gait. Most horses do it with- 
 out grace, and the most famous winners, in this particular 
 kind of pace, are those whose instinct — that of breaking 
 into a gallop with the increase of speed — has been most 
 artificially untaught. Its superiority, besides, depends 
 
376 The Convalescent. 
 
 mucli on what amounts to a deformity — the down-hill 
 slope of the hind quarters, and an unnatural spread 
 of the thighs so that the hinder hoofs will fling past 
 with greater length of step — and a fast trotter, conse- 
 quently, is, in most cases, neither graceful nor naturally 
 stylish. 
 
 To all this, Ethan Allen, to my very great surprise, 
 proved to be an exception. He was a gracefully formed, 
 dark bay ; and, instead of making a double effort, as most 
 trotting-horses do (as if the hind quarters were worked by 
 different volitions of the nervous system), he strode it off 
 with a most beautiful oneness of movement, his head up, 
 like a creature unpressed and taking it easy, and his whole 
 form and action, when he was at top speed, suitable 
 for a graceful ideal. The papers have recorded how fine- 
 ly he was the winner, in this well-contested race, and I 
 thought he was a horse to be admired altogether. 
 
 Trotting (as Louis Napoleon seems admiringly to have 
 discovered) is an Americanism; and though, in Ethan 
 Allen, as a fine specimen of it, a foreigner would have been 
 very much interested, he would have been still more curi- 
 ously interested, I am inclined to think, in the utter Ameri- 
 canism of his driver ! I had studied this man with some 
 curiosity at the stables, where he was superintending the 
 preparation of the one or two horses under his gockeysliip 
 for the dav, and I must venture to wonder that Mr. Ten- 
 
Portrait of a famous Yankee Jockey. 37 T 
 
 Broeck should have entered upon the arena of the English 
 Turf, without Hiram Mace (this jockey's name, I believe) 
 for rider and right-hand man. As everybody knov^s, the 
 most common and every-day type of Yankee (the solemn 
 and painful sharp) is not the smartest. Mr. Mace, though 
 of a vigilant wide-awake-ness that could never be taken by 
 surprise, was apparently of the most merry and careless oflf- 
 handedness. One of the gentlemen of our party chanced 
 to be a man of fortune and distinguished family, from the 
 same town, and an acquaintance of Hiram's ; and I could 
 not but be struck with the hair-line suitableness with 
 which the jockey responded to the salutation of one who 
 was a man of his own age, and whom he had the daily 
 habit, at home, of considering an aristocrat. With abso- 
 lute self-possession, and with the smile of his merry good- 
 humor hardly interrupted for those around, he was still 
 courteous in his manner to this gentleman, and, in his 
 replies to one or two professional questions, most pithily 
 frank and sensible. His features are very finely cut, and, 
 but for the exceeding keenness and resoluteness of his 
 small grey eye, he would be ahnost too handsome and 
 delicate to look formidable either in fight or bargain — but 
 he is anybody's match, as is well known, in either. With a 
 frame very slight, he is closely knit and symmetrica], and 
 of a wiry vigor of activity, shown most admirably in the 
 races which he rode afterwards in the saddle. I must 
 
378 The Convalescent. 
 
 own that I took a great fancy to " Hiram Mace." He is 
 one of the few instances I have seen of that incongruous 
 mixture, the natural nobleman and the keenest kind of 
 Yankee. 
 
 After the trotting-match, followed the portion of the 
 day's show which was newest, and which I thought par- 
 ticularly commendable — the cavalcade of gentleinen's equi- 
 pages around the course. There were not so many as 
 there will be when this competition for a premium is better 
 understood, and when the facility of sending horses and 
 vehicles by railroad to distant points is a little improved 
 upon ; but the display was still creditable. One four-in- 
 hand excited considerable interest, the whole team — (their 
 united ages amounting to one hundred and five years) — 
 being: a remarkable instance of handsome carriao^e-horses 
 kindly and carefully preserved. It was a timely and 
 expressive exponent of Rarey's new principle of mercy to 
 the animal ; and, aptly enough, the name of the owner 
 seated upon the driving-box, was Cordis — making it in 
 hearsay as well as in fact the team of the heart. There 
 were several superb pairs of horses in private vehicles ; yet 
 I could not but lament the drawback which the gentleman 
 commonly made to his own " turn-out," the beauty and 
 performance of the animals put sadly out of harmony by 
 the lack of style in the driver ! Those of our young men 
 who go abroad would do well to pass an occasional after- 
 
Society on Wheels. 3T9 
 
 noon in Hyde Park, where they will see, by the driving of 
 the phaeton, the curricle and the hunting-wagon, by the 
 well-bred owners, that to be a stylish " whip " is a part of 
 a gentleman's accomplishments. The posture, the holding 
 of the whip and reins, and the nice control of the horses, 
 mouths by the well-fingered " ribbons," are all matters of 
 tasteful study ; and the style of an equipage is often much 
 more indebted to the way it is driven than to the costliness 
 of vehicle or harness. I am lookinor forward to the inauo-u- 
 ration of our new Park in New York, as the introduction 
 to America of that society on wheels which is so delightful 
 in London, and which, of course, will call attention to the 
 accomplishment of well-bred driving. For the many who 
 have equipages, this kisd of daily resort is a most agree- 
 able blending of the luxury of fresh air and change of scene 
 with the social intercourse of exchanged greetings and 
 inquiries, the refreshing of memories and the making of 
 engagements. The few minutes of conversation from one ve- 
 hicle to another, as they meet and stopped; the riding along- 
 side of the ladies' carriages by gentlemen on horseback ; 
 the opportunity for well-appointed and well-attended dis- 
 plays of out-door toilette and style ; these are attractive 
 additions to social convenience and social refinement. 
 Every city would be more agreeable for some such well- 
 frequented drive, handsomely laid out, where the stranger 
 would be sure, at certain hours, to meet the equipages of 
 
380 The Convalescent. 
 
 the wealthier classes. As luxury is inevitable in our pros- 
 perous land, let us, at least, do it in becoming style and 
 taste ! 
 
 The equestrian cavalcade, graced by the company and 
 spirited riding of two young ladies, was another most 
 attractive feature of the day's show. As the band was 
 playing very delightfully for the twenty thousand specta- 
 tors meantime, it was not wonderful that the performance 
 of one beautiful little palfrey, who pranced and kept time 
 exactly to the music, should have received the greatest por- 
 tion of the applause. But oh, the unsuitableness of every 
 degree of petticoat balloonification to the action of a horse ! 
 Will the ladies pardon me if I venture to suggest that all 
 equestrian drapery, for tliem, should follow the figure, in 
 unrestrained fold and flow ? Nothing could well produce 
 an effect more inelegant than the inharmonious jerking up 
 of a separately elastic inflation of the lady's dress, out of 
 all time with the rise and fall of her own fissure and move- 
 raent. Prettier on horseback than in any other exercise, 
 as woman certainly is, it seems a pity that her costume and 
 equipment for the saddle should not continue to be artisti- 
 cally graceful — unafi"ected by the caprices of dress for 
 other times and places. The bewitchingly becoming " Die 
 Vernon hat and plume" still hold their place, I am happy 
 to see. 
 
 Anticipating another day of these charming exhibitions, 
 
I TAKE THE RaIL-CAR BOUND TO BoSTON. 381 
 
 I left the ground early — saving strength and spirits, too, 
 for the committee's evening hospitalities — but it was the 
 last of the show for me. A rain set in at midnight, which 
 turned, the next day, into a flood ; and I exchanged the 
 very wet out-door promises of Springfield for the dry inside 
 of the rail-car bound to Boston. The dear old town 
 received me with one of the most glowing and beautiful 
 of the old-fashioned sunsets I so well remembered in my 
 boyhood, and — but it would take another letter to tell you 
 of my next day's pleasures. 
 
 Yours as always. 
 
TRIP TO THE RAPPAIIAl^NOCK. 
 
 LETTER I . 
 
 Unceremonious Departure — The Journey South — Glimpse of the Susquehanna 
 — Cloudless Welcome to Virginia — Digression to narrate a Story — Saw-Mill in 
 the Woods — A Hoist into the Air unexpectedly — The Miller and the Interior 
 of his Hut — His Death, that Night — The Scene of his Laying-out — Who he was 
 etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild, November. 
 My sudden acceptance of a proposal to make one in a 
 party bound on a ten-days' trip to Virginia, and my flitting 
 off without saying good bye to you (except by lifting my 
 hat for your blessing as I flew past Undercliff in the cars), 
 was, if you please, less considerate than usual. Before 
 leaving you alone to " abide the issue," (of two numbers of 
 the Home Journal), I should have waited till the alternate 
 day, when, by your coming to town, we could have sat in 
 council over our mutual inkstand. The " copy-drawer " is a 
 sacred obligation ! .But, for a like offence, you had oft for- 
 given me before. And, remember the tempting rareness 
 of the occasion — Virginia in the distance, and such fitting 
 
 888 
 
384 The Convalescent. 
 
 companionship as two of the old-school gentlemen, for a 
 first sight of the Old Dominion ! Then summer, you 
 know, like a superior woman, is often loveliest when a little 
 passe^ and I longed to fellow it southward in its decline — 
 to see the home of Pocahontas (as it should be seen), 
 steeped in the thoughtful and calm beauty of the " Indian 
 Summer." 
 
 Our journey, by steam and rail, to the mouth of the 
 Rappahannock, was a very interesting one to me ; but the 
 mention of its agreeable points — of Philadelphia and Bal- 
 timore particularly, which I us&i to know so well, but 
 which I had not visited for ten or twelve years — I will 
 defer, till, in another letter, I come to our return. The 
 most unchanged things, of course, were the rivers that we 
 crossed ; and it was not without the tearful greeting of a 
 look at an old friend, that I gave a glance, in passing, at 
 the memory-freighted course of the Susquehanna — the be- 
 loved stream on whose windings I had once enjoyed a few 
 world-forgetting years, blest in what would have been 
 called, by the Barons of the Middle Ages, " the truce of 
 God." Tell me, dear old river ! — run all your tributaries 
 yet? — and of the bright waves that I saw, was there per- 
 chance a drop, that as it passed under the bridge at Glen- 
 mary, had helped make the music I once knew ? 
 
 We found the Chesapeake rather stormy, and in crossing 
 the mouth of the Potomac, there was so high a sea, by the 
 
Tkip to the Rappahannock. 385 
 
 meeting of strong wind and strong tide in opposition, that 
 our little steamer might have believed herself in mid-ocean. 
 Fortunately it was in the night, and there was (for me at 
 least) a lullab}'' in the rocking ; and as we rounded into 
 the entrance of the Rappahannock, the next morning, I 
 was rejoiced to see from the window of my state-room, 
 that Virginia gave us the welcome that we wanted — a bright 
 sun and a sky without a cloud. 
 
 As this is to be another of my " one-leg letters " written 
 sians in una pede, or with one wet of the pen — I will re- 
 serve my first impression of the " Old Dominion " till I 
 can limn it more carefully, and give you instead, an iso- 
 lated incident of our second day's travel in the inte- 
 rior. It may prove, very possibly, the first news of the 
 death of one you knew ; for, of our large parish of the be- 
 paragraphed, he was one of whom I havo many a time 
 made mention, and your own kind quill, I venture to say, 
 has, ere now, called the public to admire him. 
 
 But, to my story. 
 
 Driving through the pine forest, some eight or ten miles 
 back from the landing-place of Urbana — a spot made his- 
 torical by its neighborhood to the burial-place of Wash- 
 in niton's mother and her kin — we came to a stream called 
 Moratico Creek, on which stood a saw-mill, of which my 
 practical companions wished to see the operation. More in- 
 terested, myself, iu a problem of negro contrivance, which I 
 
 It 
 
386 The Convalescent. 
 
 saw about to be performed — the unloading of an immense 
 trunk of a tree from a cumbrous ox-drag — T stayed by the 
 road-side to look on. The wheels were very high, and as 
 the enormous oak was to be pried first from the hinder axle 
 when the forward one should be drawn away by the cat- 
 tle, the small negro lad who applied the lever looked unequal 
 to the task. In fact, the long end of the pry-stick was 
 beginning to quiver with the first stir of the oxen, when, 
 remembering that ray own one hundred and forty-five 
 pounds stood by unemployed, T jumped upon the pole as 
 near as possible to the clutch of the slender negro, 
 and, with the weight of the fallen log, was immediately 
 hoisted with him into the air — coming safely down again, 
 with a slight tumble in the sand ; but, as I looked at the 
 lad's innocent black face, hoping I might never leave the 
 earth in worse company ! He thanked me very politely, 
 as he scratched his head over our mutual escape, and, as 
 the other end of the timber was dislodged by the move- 
 ment forward, he followed the loosened oxen up the road. 
 
 I mention this as the probable prompting to a civility on 
 the part of the miller — a very sickly, grave, incommu- 
 nicative-looking man, who crossed over from the tumble- 
 down shanty under which his rough machinery was doing 
 its work, and, applying a key to the padlock of a stone 
 hut near by, invited me in. The single room was of wig- 
 wam size and proportions, and the furnitnre consisted of 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 887 
 
 one long rude bench, a few ragged bed-clothes bundled up 
 in the corner, a tea-kettle, one plate, knife and fork, and a 
 broken frying-pan. A gun stood in the corner, and on the 
 floor lay a wild duck, which had been shot that morning 
 on the mill-pond. A question as to the number of kinds 
 of this bird so plentiful in the region round about (of 
 which he said there were thirty, naminof, amonof others, 
 the blue-wing, the canvas-back, the dipper, the black- 
 duck, the ball-coot, the butter-duck, the summer-duck, the 
 red-head, and the mallard), led to a conversation as to the 
 climate, etc., etc., and I was very much struck with the 
 quiet justness of his remarks, and their phraseology, and 
 "withal, a knowledge of the world which is only got com- 
 monly by much travel and observation. Under his 
 slouched hat was a physiognomy very nobly cut ; and his 
 frame, spite of his heavy and tattered clothes, showed the 
 very finest of herculean proportions. I took a very great 
 fancy to my new friend as we sat over the smouldering logs 
 of his huge fireplace, and speculated not a little as to his 
 probable history. And who do you suppose he was? No 
 less a person than McKnight, the once famous Hercules of 
 "Turner's Circus," who, some years ago, used to astonish 
 the world by resisting with his own legs and arms the pull 
 of four horses, letting a forty-two pounder be discharged 
 upon his breast, lifting unheard-of weights, and many sim- 
 ilar wonders of skill and strength. In one of these horse- 
 
388 The Convalescent. 
 
 encounters he had strained some vital portion of his loins, 
 and bad come to Virginia to go into sickly retirement as 
 the overseer of a saw-mill. 
 
 But the sight of that magnificently moulded man, as he 
 lay stretched, the next morning, on the rough bench where 
 we had sat and conversed (for as we passed, on our return, 
 we learned that he had died, a few hours after we had left 
 him), was the impressive picture in which these introduc- 
 tory remarks will explain my peculiar interest. 
 
 Think a moment of the poetry — I may even say the sub- 
 limity — of such a scene ! 
 
 The saw-mill, half in ruins, stood in the heart of an over- 
 grown pine wilderness ; the winding road, for miles on 
 either side, seeming, to the traveller, like the interminable 
 aisles of a tall-columned and dim-lio^hted cathedral. With 
 the death of the miller the wheel had stopped, and the 
 absolute hush was deepened by the unruffled stillness of the 
 large pond, which reflected, like the reality itself, the over- 
 hanging woods inclosing it — one single sign of life alone 
 visible, the pull of a caught fish upon the dead man's pole, 
 which, with its baited hook and line, he had left stuck in 
 the timbers of the bridge ! It was a day of Indian sum- 
 mer, without a cloud in the sky or a breath of wind ; and 
 the intense light which struggled down through the tops of 
 the immense trees, looked, amid the deep shade, like the 
 sharp edged fragments of a broken mirror. 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 389 
 
 And amid these eflfective surroundings stood the old 
 stone hut, with its door open and its fire gone out, and, on 
 its long slender bench of rough plank, the body of the one 
 hermit-like tenant — his teams and their black drivers 
 remaining for that day at their more remote homes, and he 
 lying cold and alone in the solitude of the wilderness ! 
 
 My friends, like myself, were struck with the exceeding 
 nobleness and beauty of the dead man's features as he lay 
 asleep. The clear sallovvness of the skin gave the face the 
 aspect of ancient marble, and the projecting forehead, the 
 finely chiselled nose with its expanded nostrils, and the firm 
 and well-cut lips below, aided in producing the efiect of 
 some admirable conception of statuary — the homely circum- 
 stances of the laying out, in that rude and desolate-looking 
 hut, added not a little to its impressiveness. And then the 
 heisfht and breadth of the enormous chest of the dead man, 
 as he lay on his back, clad only in his torn shirt and rough 
 trowsers, his feet tied together with a coarse rope, and 
 his hands crossed carelessly upon his breast, completed a 
 picture, which, accidentally as it formed part of the sights 
 upon the road in a day's journey, will hereafter be one of 
 the most vivid in my recollection. 
 
 McKnight, if I was rightly informed, was a Rhode Island 
 man, and has left a wife from whom he had been separated 
 some years. As he was living here in apparently forgotten 
 obscurity and seclusion, it is possible that this may carry, 
 
390 The Convalescent. 
 
 to his family also, the first news of his death — the result, I 
 
 should state, of suffocation in the congestion of fever). And 
 
 so ended the life of a man who was gifted with points of 
 
 superiority, which, to a knight in the days of chivalry, 
 
 would have been an inheritance no gold could outweigh. 
 
 That he was well endowed, also, in disposition and natural 
 
 powers of mind, I should presume, from his countenance, 
 
 the formation of his head, and his conversation. Peace to 
 
 his manes ! 
 
 My letter, with this chance story, has attained its length, 
 
 I believe. 
 
 Yours always. 
 
LETTER II. 
 
 First Experience of eating a Persimmon— Suggestion as to Nature's Symbol for 
 Secrecy— Chance for Cheap Living in " Ole Virginny "—Instance of Oblivious 
 Life— What Good Blood may stagnate down to— Fight with the Guardian 
 Dog— Interior of a Reduced Gentleman's Residence— Dried Apples produced 
 — Mrs. X. as seen through her Dirt— Virginia Lack of Yankee Curiosity, etc. 
 
 Idlewild, December. 
 Of the few days we passed in Virginia I can give no very 
 connected chronicle. The especial errand of my compan- 
 ions being a business visit to various extensive woodlands 
 in the interior, we necessarily turned often upon our path, 
 and zigzagged from the beaten track very irregularly. With, 
 fortunately, the very finest of autumnal weather, we were 
 continually on the move — drove about a great deal and 
 saw a great deal. Of course the least interesting things to 
 write about are the splendors and prosperities of a country ; 
 so, of the noble old mansions and cultivated estates which 
 were pointed out to us on the distant hills, and on the 
 eminences along the banks of the river, I shall say nothing. 
 My pencilled notes are only of the exceptions and eccentri- 
 cities we were called to see or fall in with, and of the differ- 
 ences of character and manner consequent upon differences 
 of latitude, habits and means of life. Please have your 
 
 891 
 
392 The Convalescent. 
 
 indulgence ready, therefore, for only a mosaic of discon- 
 nected fragments. 
 
 One of the first of my Virginia experiences was the 
 very new sensation of eating a persimmon. By its frequent 
 mention in negro songs, this fruit has become classic, and I 
 was as interested, in tasting it, as the traveller of Italy 
 with his first pluck at a ripe fig. It resembles a small 
 apple, as seen hanging upon the leafless twig, though the 
 tree grows taller and with more spready branches than an 
 apple-tree. There were plenty of them in the fields, as we 
 drove past the corn-plantations in the open country, and 
 our friend and conductor kindly jumped over the rail fence 
 and brought me a handful. What this fruit can especially 
 be intended for, by nature, I am a little embarrassed to 
 understand — possibly to close the gate after enough has 
 entered — for, of all the contractile agents, this seems to me 
 the most pucker-y and unrelaxing. The mouth and lips 
 are drawn so obstinately together, by eating a persimmon, 
 that it would be difficult to follow it, even with " a drink ;" 
 though I am not sure that all its efiects are so preventive, 
 as the traveller, for the next mile or two after the taste of 
 it, looks very much as if getting ready for a kiss — a kiss, 
 however, of which, till the lips relax, the secret is very sure 
 to be kept ! Now, why would not a persimmon-tree 
 stamped upon note paper, or graven on a seal, be a pretty 
 hieroglyphic for secrecy ? x\nd why would not a persim- 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 393 
 
 mon-kiss (so called from this sweet lesson of nature to " kiss 
 but never tell "), be a very bandy phrase for common 
 usage ? 
 
 According to the statistics we incidentally picked up, 
 this part of the Old Dominion which is most famous in his- 
 tory may now be the cheapest spot of the world to live in. 
 It is common to let a log house to a man for eight dollars 
 a year, with " as much land as he likes " thrown in to the 
 bargain. Wood is so over abundant that there is, to a cer- 
 tain degree, no property in it, any man feeling at liberty to 
 take, anywhere, what he requires for his own fuel. Of deer 
 and wild game of all kinds there is great plenty. The 
 highest price for a fat turkey or goose is fifty cents, of a 
 wild duck one shilling, of corn meal but a trifle more than 
 the cost of graining. Oysters thrive so plentifully in the 
 creeks and bays that the poorest man can have his fill of 
 them. Cows sell for five dollars apiece. Land can be 
 bou2:ht for from one to three dollars an acre. With the 
 half century of swoon or syncope which the State industry 
 has had (from the general impression that the soil was 
 exhausted), nature has had time to relift her primitive 
 woods and repeople them with what is wild, and to repro- 
 duce such luxuries as come without the art of man. The 
 trees, meantime, have been making their yearly returns of 
 vegetative matter — the wilderness covered thick with a 
 compost of pine-tassels and dead leaves. The climate 
 
 n* 
 
394 The Convalescent. 
 
 (with proper precautions against intermiltents where the 
 land lies low), is very healthy, the scenery beautifully 
 varied, and picturesque, and — the associations are of his 
 spirit whose home it was ! Washhigton lived there. Con- 
 sidering how near such a region is to New York, and 
 how accessible it is by water and railway, it is wonderful 
 that it is not overrun and settled again by a general stam- 
 pede of the great army of the unemployed in our large 
 cities. 
 
 But, let me add, by way of contrast, to this tempting 
 picture, a passing view that I chanced to get, of what 
 " good blood " may stagnate down to, in corners where 
 enterprise and progress have been long forgotten. 
 
 In conversation with a gentleman whom we met, as to 
 the decay of families with great names, he mentioned a 
 neighbor of his, byway of illustration ; and, on my express- 
 ing a curiosity to see so marked an instance of oblivious 
 life, he kindly offered, while my companions were called 
 elsewhere, to be my guide as well as to furnish the excuse 
 for a visit. Of course, in describing an incident of this 
 kind, I can give neither place nor name, so I will merely 
 designate the object of our curiosity as Mr. X., and my 
 obliging guide as Mr. A. 
 
 Furnishing ourselves with sticks as a defence against the 
 savage dogs that were known to guard the premises, wo 
 left the public road and took our way across several 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 395 
 
 rudely fenced lots, the only access to his dwelling being by 
 
 thus climbinof the rails and strikino- a bee-line for the dis- 
 cs o 
 
 tant chimney. Of the old family estate we were thus 
 crossing, and which consisted of a hundred acres or more, 
 no reasonable sum would probably buy any portion. The 
 present tenant and holder of the name (one of the most 
 aristocratic) manages, after his fashion, to live upon it ; and 
 all he wants, of the remainder of creation, is to sell just so 
 much, of the yearly produce of the estate, as will furnish 
 him with what he requires of the un-get-for-nothing-ables 
 of life — coffee, sugar, whisky, etc., etc. 
 
 Coming first to a tottering old moss-covered barn, we 
 rounded one of its leaning corners, and, in the cow-yard 
 beyond, stood a ragged little dried-up man, of perhaps fifty 
 years of age, with his hands in his pockets, looking on 
 while a couple of negroes counted out some potatoes. He 
 hardly gave us a glance over his shoulder as he sluggishly 
 returned our salutation ; but, on Mr. A.'s inquiring whether 
 Mrs. X. had any dried apples to spare (which my friend 
 knew was her bank of pin-money, and which he had made 
 our ostensible errand, so as to get a sight of the interior), 
 we were briefly told that we should find her at the house ; 
 the slow eyes, perfectly satisfied with this half-look at his 
 neighbor, returning them to the potato-heap. 
 
 There had once been a mansion on the place, if I under- 
 stood rightly, but it had long ago tumbled down and 
 
396 The Convalescent. 
 
 served for " kindling." There were no signs of it remaining 
 — or none, at any rate, that our fight with a large, black 
 dog, as we neared the smoking chimney, allowed us time to 
 observe. The hut that we were now approaching was one 
 of three or four, standing together, and built of logs, plas- 
 tered in the crevices with mud. It was originally, proba- 
 bly, one of the slave-cabins of the estate. The door was 
 open, and, as it served also for the only window, the 
 picture within was at first rather imperfect. I could see, 
 however, that a woman sat upon her heels in the middle 
 of the floor, and, as my friend reached the threshold, she 
 said " walk in," — not rising, however, and going quietly on 
 with her task of sorting a heap of vegetables which lay 
 before her. 
 
 By the time I had looked around for a seat (for, from 
 the lowness of the roof, I could not stand upright), the old 
 man had followed us in ; and, as he stirred up the smoulder- 
 ing logs, in a fireplace which occupied one whole side of 
 the hut, I began to see more clearly. An old-fashioned 
 brass-mounted cabinet bureau, with a sloping top, two or 
 three remainders of chairs, and a cofiee-mill nailed on to 
 the inside of the fireplace, were all the furniture visible ; 
 the double-bed in the corner being only a bundle of rags, 
 and a rough board bench near the door, holding a most 
 unclean variety of cooking utensils. Up against the wall, 
 near the head of the bed, was a pile of cabbages, and there 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 39T 
 
 were two or three separate heaps of potatoes and turnips 
 Ivino: around, from which it seemed to be the old woman's 
 task of the afternoon to make an assortment. One lifted 
 board of the floor showed a hole, two or three feet deep, 
 and into this she emptied her basket from time to time, 
 without rising from her squatting posture. Hers seemed to 
 be all the energy of the establishment ; for, as she repeated 
 her commands to the old man to go out and bring in an 
 armful of pine-tassels to overlay the vegetables in the hole, 
 his remonstrative "look year child !" (the word here, south 
 of a certain latitude, being commonly pronounced like 
 year), and his lingering unwillingness to leave the fire 
 were very expressive. " You never was year before ?" 
 he said to me, as he gave me a most uninquisitive look, in 
 passing out upon his errand. 
 
 With the opening of the subject of dried apples, Mrs. X. 
 rose for the first time to her feet, and I saw that she was 
 quite a tall, straight woman, of perhaps forty years of age. 
 She walked to the bed and pulled up' the coverlet, drew 
 out a long, dirty meal-bag, untied the mouth of it, and, 
 producing a handful of the commodity, offered us a taste. 
 Had the first apple been presented by so unclean a hand, 
 our first parent, I venture to say, would never have fallen ! 
 Yet, as she held out the dirty fingers to me, she stood 
 facing the door, where I could see her very distinctly, and 
 I was surprised to see how fine were her features and how 
 
398 The Convalescent. 
 
 large and really beautiful were her eyes. The look of a 
 " born lady " was unmistakable. But the dirt on that 
 well-moulded face was in cracks and seams, and it was evi- 
 dent that water was habitually a stranger to it ! She had 
 a quilted hood of greasy-looking brown calico tied under 
 ber chin, and a high-necked dress made of a sort of tow- 
 cloth, which looked as if it might have been for years the 
 cold-victual bag of a beggar. And with all this disfiguring 
 drapery and dirt, I could not but be impressed with the 
 entire absence of plebeianism in her air. Taken and un- 
 Herculaneumed from her dirt, put through a Turkish sham- 
 pooning or two, dressed like a duchess, and standing just 
 as she stood when handing me those dried apples, she 
 would have looked the title 1 The withered face of the 
 dry little old man, also, showed features that had once been 
 regular and delicate, though they were ludicrously carica- 
 tured by the narrow-rimmed hat which he wore — a dress 
 beaver which had been gradually razeed till it was about 
 the depth of a soup-plate, while the top, sewed in with 
 coarse thread, let his hair through at the cracks. His 
 other clothes seemed to have been condemned to be worn 
 till they should rot off, and were very near the end of 
 their purgatory. 
 
 We left the hovel at the close of a bargain, between my 
 friend and the old woman, for "a bushel and a half — all 
 she thought she could spare," though she hailed us before 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 399 
 
 we had got out of hearing, to say that she " didn't know 
 but she could make up her mind to two bushels if he 
 would send for them the next morning." And so live two 
 well-born human beings, who by no means think them- 
 selves poor, but who have gradually forgotten the world 
 and its artificial wants and usuages, till they positively 
 prefer to thus burrow in the dirt — perfectly contented, too, 
 with their worse than brute animal condition ! As I said 
 before, it is a picture of what " good blood " can stagnate 
 down to, which is worth recording for the philosophy on 
 human life. 
 
 One other sign we saw of this opiate in Virginia air — 
 (the lotus-eating effect, perhaps, of the tobacco principle on 
 its native soil) — and I mention it as a curious contrast to 
 our Yankee wide-awakeness and curiosity. Soon after the 
 steamer's entrance into the Rappahannock, somewhere 
 about eio'ht o'clock in the mornina;, we came to the first 
 landing — a solitary pier running out from a very lonely 
 spot on the river bank, and with only one shanty in sight 
 and one human being. There were some goods to be 
 landed and a passenger or two ; and, as a steamboat makes 
 its appearance at that point but twice a week, one would 
 naturally suppose its arrival to be something of an event. 
 Yet the one visible inhabitant, a white man at work on the 
 beach near by, hewing at a " dug-out," or log canoe, with 
 his axe, never looked around ! I watched him for a few 
 
400 The Convalescent. 
 
 minutes at first, for I was interested in seeing a piece of 
 work so new to me ; and when one of my companions 
 remarked the man's lack of rustic curiosity, I waited to 
 see whether he would not give us at least a parting look. 
 As the rope was cast ofi*, a boy came to the edge of the 
 sand bank and called him to breakfast ; upon which he 
 quietly laid down his axe and walked slowly up the road, 
 turning his back to the departing boat without even a look 
 over his shoulder. Such 2.poco curante, I presume, could 
 hardly be found, at any steamboat-landing on the Hudson. 
 With my delay over these eccentricities, of our chance 
 picking up, I have not yet got fairly into my subject; but 
 I hope to find myself in *' Ole Virgiuny," in my next 
 letter — trusting, too, that, on my pen, as in the negro's 
 banjo and heels, it will " never tire." 
 
 Yours meantime. 
 
LETTER III. 
 
 Drive through the Pine Woods — An old Chapel— The Craves of the Family of 
 Washington's Mother— Copy of an Epitaph— The Blind Preacher— Female 
 seclusion in Virginia — Disappointment as to their Horses — Excellent way of 
 hitching Horses — Tandem of Cows — Carelessness of personal appearance 
 in Virginia Gentlemen — Mistaken impression of a Fellow-traveller, etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild, December. 
 The first long drive that I took, into tlie wilderness 
 stretcMng back from the shores of the Rappahannock, 
 seemed to me (as I have before remarked), like a day's 
 journey through the aisles of an interminable cathedral. 
 Tbe effect was added to by tbe noiselessness of the wheels 
 over a road carpeted with pine tassels and of a sandy soil 
 in which, for miles there is not a pebble, as well as by the 
 absolute solitude of a country in which there did not seem 
 to be a human being astir. Nature alone, the great High 
 Priest, seemed swinging the censers of the tree-tops and 
 filling the air with the exhaustless incense of the pines. 
 But, how wonderfully straight and tall grow the tree shafts 
 that sustain the roof of this vast temple ! No underbrush 
 — for it is forbidden to grow, by the eternal shade of the 
 evergreen foliage. Nothing but a wilderness of countless 
 columns which the eye stops in following upwards to such 
 
 401 
 
402 The Convalescent. 
 
 unaccustomed heights, just as it returns bewildered from 
 the immeasurable aisles winding on every side away. 
 They who are born and reared in such a home, or whose 
 daily thoroughfare it is, from school to dwelling, or from 
 the farmhouse to field, would scarce fail, one would think, 
 to have reverence for God ingrained in their habitual 
 thought. The dim light, the atmosphere, the silence and 
 the majestic grandeur of all around, seem irresistibly hal- 
 lowing and contemplative. 
 
 Riding slowly along, in the very midst of this great 
 priory of the wild-wood, we came to a small brick chapel, 
 surrounded with massive tombs. It looked like a for- 
 gotten place, for the immense trees grew irregularly about, 
 close to the mould-incrusted walls, and the very heavy sup- 
 ports of some of the moss-covered entablatures were caving 
 in — one of them which had originally been most solidly 
 built, being quite in ruins. And these were the graves of 
 the family of Washington's mother ! The well-engraved 
 slabs of freestone were all brought from England, as were 
 the bricks of which the chapel was built. The name of 
 the family was Ball, * and this is the name upon all these 
 
 * In Washington's family history, as given in Bishop Meade's excellent work, 
 is a letter from one of his uncles on the maternal side, who resided in England. 
 It reads thus: 
 
 ''Stratford, Uh of Sept., 1755. 
 
 " Good Cousin, — It is a sensible pleasure to me to learn that you have be- 
 haved yourself with such a martial spirit, in all your engagements with the 
 French, nigh Ohio. Go on as you have begun, and God prosper you. We 
 have heard of General Braddock's defeat. Everybody blames his rash conduct. 
 Everybody commends the courage of the Virginians and Carolina men, which 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 403 
 
 tottering gravestones. I copied the inscription of one of 
 them — an uncle of Washington's who died when the 
 nephew, who was to be the world's greatest man, was 
 eight months old. It read thus : 
 
 " Here lies interred the body of Mr. David Ball, a twin 
 and seventh son of Captain William Ball, gent., born 26th 
 of September, 1686, departed this life 14th December, 
 1732.'^ 
 
 It was but a few miles from this, on the bank of the 
 Rappahannock, that the cottage stood where Mary Wash- 
 ington, the widowed mother, reared her six children — lit- 
 tle dreaming, probably, of her first-born's destiny and 
 fame ! But, what a mother she was ! And liow precious 
 is every memorial of the blood that was such a fountain of 
 mingled greatness and goodness ! Should not these tombs 
 of her kindred be included in the Mount Vernon Restora- 
 tion and Consecration, to be held sacred under their 
 Nature-reared chancel-roof of towering pines, as the home 
 of what was once dearest to Washington — the spot where 
 
 is very agreeable to me. I desire you, as you may have opportunity, to give 
 me a short account of how you proceed. I am your mother's brother. I 
 hope you will not deny my request. I heartily wish you success, and am 
 
 " Your loving uncle, Joseph Ball." 
 
 " To Major George Washington, at the Falls of the Rappahannock, in Virginia, 
 or elsewhere. 
 
 " Please direct to me at Stratford, by Bow, near London." 
 
 (Bishop Meade adds that the writer of this letter was married to a Miss Ra- 
 venscroft, and settled in London as a practitioner at law.) 
 
404 The Convalescent. 
 
 clustered the family memories of the one American mother 
 to whom the world is most grateful ? * 
 
 The secluded place of worship which hallows this bur- 
 ial-place (called White Chapel Church, Lancaster county), 
 has probably often heard the eloquence of " the Blind 
 Preacher," so feelingly descried by Mr. Wirt, the parish of 
 this Mr. Waddle, as I afterwards understood, being at Lan- 
 caster, a few miles distant. There is little need, however, 
 of accumulating interest in the memories of such a spot. 
 We climbed up and looked in at the dim windows of the 
 old chapel, and saw the walls and ceiling on which her 
 eyes and her sons had often rested during the worship of 
 God. There was, to me, a strange nearness and newness 
 of realization, in thus coining upon what had been so fa- 
 
 * It will aid here and there a reader, perhaps, in recalling the picture of this 
 most eminent of women, if I copy, from Mrs. Kirkland's " Memoir of Washing- 
 ton," the mention of her death. She states that soon after his Inauguration as 
 President, he was seized with a violent illness which confined him for six 
 weeks. " Before the President had entirely recovered, he received intelligence 
 of the illness and death of his aged mother, of whom he had taken a tender 
 leave when he set out to assume the presidency, feeling that he should proba- 
 bly never see her more. It is said that at this last parting, Washington, em- 
 bracing his mother, bowed his head upon her shoulder and wept, murmur- 
 ing at the same time, something of a hope that they should meet again. ' No, 
 George,' she replied, ' this is our last parting; my days to come are few. But go, 
 fulfill your high duties, and may God bless and keep you.' His mother was 
 then dying of a cancer which at last put a painful end to her life at the age of 
 eighty-two. Honored as she deserved to be, and showing to the last the 
 resolution and fortitude which had distinguished her through life, she descend- 
 ed to the grave with dignity, and left a name far above all titles. To have 
 been the mother of Washington was enough. The world has agreed to con- 
 sider some of his noblest traits as derived from her ; and to her steadiness of 
 character, her sound, common-sense views, her high and stern morality, and 
 her deep sense of religious responsibiUty, are undoubtedly due a large part of 
 the illustrious virtues which made her son what he was." 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 405 
 
 miliarly associated with his childhood — with the more 
 religious and graver of the youthful thoughts of the boy, 
 brought hither as he undoubtedly was, by his mother, in 
 attending divine service near the graves of her kindred. I 
 felt, somehow, as if I had more possibly " touched the hem 
 of his garment," here than at the " Head Quarters " where 
 he was commander-in-chief. 
 
 We could not well avoid, while travelling through a 
 neighborhood which had been thus inhabited, the looking 
 around for those on whom Mrs. Washington's mantle had 
 perhaps fallen. When Lafayette came hither to pay his 
 respects to the mother of his friend, " he found her," (says 
 Mrs. Kirkland), " at work in her garden with an old sun- 
 bonnet on." " I have seen a portrait of her," says the 
 Memoir again, " when she was still the fair Mary Ball, 
 and I could not help fancying that the lofty forehead, deter- 
 mined brow, and cool calm eye of the picture, prefigured 
 well the high-spirited and keen matron, who, in her old 
 ao-e, replied to her son-in-law's kind offer to manage her 
 business for her : You may keep my accounts. Fielding, 
 for your eyesight is better than mine, but I can manage 
 my affairs myself." It was, I say, a contrast to this which 
 we could not help recording, that, in all our wanderings of 
 three or four days over the neighborhood where she lived 
 we did not meet a single white woman out of doors ! It 
 chanced to be dry under foot, the finest of weather for 
 
406 The Convalescent 
 
 riding, driving, or any manner of exercise in the open air, 
 and we passed scores of plantations and fine residences, yet 
 neither in vehicle nor on horseback, in garden or road, did we 
 meet or see damsel or lady ! This might have been chance , 
 but it looks a little as if the habits of exercise, brought 
 over by the Fairfaxes and Washingtons, and so necessary 
 to the perpetuation of the type, are fallen into disuse. 
 
 I went to Virginia with one other expectation, based 
 upon its ancient renown — that of meeting gentlemen riders 
 upon the road, mounted upon the finest of horses. In all 
 stories of the Old Dominion, the horsemanship of her sons 
 is made much of, and in Irving's Life of Washington, he 
 says : " The great number of fine horses in the stables of 
 the Virginia gentlemen, who are noted for their love of the 
 noble animal, had enabled Cornwallis to mount many of 
 his troops in first-rate style. These he employed in scour- 
 ing the country, and destroying public stores. Tarleton 
 and his legion, it is said, were mounted on race-horses." 
 With a vision thus sharpened, and my own " special weak- 
 ness " for the animal, I naturally had my eye set for a well- 
 mounted horseman at every turn of the road ; and horse- 
 men in great numbers we saw — many more, in proportion 
 to the number of passers-by, than would have been met in 
 any rural neighborhood of the North — but on very poor 
 nao-s indeed ! One only I chanced to see, with any look 
 of blood in him, and I could not resist the impulse to go 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 401 
 
 up and pat his arched neck — very much the feeling with 
 which, as a traveller on the Nile, I should pick up ever so 
 modern a paddle that chanced to be adrift, sure that it was 
 a remnant of Cleopatra's barge. The master, who was on 
 him, and who stood at the edge of a wood, waiting for the 
 dogs to turn out a fox, was very coucteous in his response 
 to my stirrup-sympathy, but he did not seem to think 
 much of the horses of the neio-hborhood. 
 
 I noticed one equestrian habit, in Virginia, however, 
 which I most heartily wish might be copied by our less 
 courteous population at the North. In passing a country 
 post-office, where several gentlemen had dismounted, wait- 
 ing for the arrival of the mail, I noticed that they tied their 
 horses, not to the trunks of the trees, where the impatient 
 animals would gnaw off the bark, but to the branches out 
 of reach over their heads. With the number of beautiful 
 trees that we have lost at Idlewild by the less thoughtful 
 hitching of the teams of strangers to our elms and hem- 
 locks, I could not but mention this Virginia politeness, with 
 a hope of its northern imitation. 
 
 And, talking of hitching, I must mention one other Vir- 
 ginia excellence in this line. With no fences at the sidea 
 of the roads, it is an economy of course to have the cows of 
 one mind, when being driven from place to place. They 
 secure this by arranging them in a long tandem, the 
 horns of one hitched to the tail of another, and so on. 
 
408 The Convalescent. 
 
 The only trouble being, then, to keep the head one in the 
 right way, and any pluribus-unum-iraity of a scamper into 
 the woods being stopped by the first tree, it requires but a 
 small boy to drive a herd. I have so often seen my man 
 out of breath, from the cows having diflerent geographical 
 tastes, in the tangled paths of Idlewild, that I thanked Old 
 Dominion for the idea. 
 
 I had made up my mind, after the first day or two of 
 observation, that I would venture to record, in print, my 
 disappointment as to Virginia gentlemen, in the matter of 
 •personal exterior. As they came cantering along with 
 their loose bridles through the woods — pointed out by our 
 guides as the high named owners of estates in the neigh- 
 borhood — I could not but be struck with a slovenlv care- 
 lessness of dress, such as could alone come from a con- 
 firmed indifference to the public eye. I say I had intended 
 to remark upon this prevailing degeneracy from the Fairfax 
 and Washington standard, and I had selected one Virginia 
 gentleman to " sit for his picture " — a fellow-traveller in 
 one of the boats on the Rappahannock. He certainly was 
 a marked instance of it, and what with the tobacco-juice 
 oozing from the corners of his mouth, dirty linen, and 
 coat out at the elbows, I could hardlv understand what I 
 saw, by his conversation with those around, to be his posi- 
 tion and condition. I was concludins: that he was either a 
 ruined gambler or a prodigal son of some well known and 
 
 / 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 409 
 
 respected family, when I saw him do something which nt 
 once redeemed him in ray estimation. Previous to retir- 
 ing to his berth for the night, he left his half dozen com- 
 panions around the cabin stove, took the Bible which lay 
 on the shelf by the mirror, and sitting down by the candle 
 in the corner, read for a few minutes, in apparently com- 
 plete abstraction. Then, closing the book, he sat for a few 
 moments with his hand over his eyes — ^his face, as he rose 
 and came towards us, looking so different from what I had 
 before thought it, that I saw I had mistaken my man ! 
 Though a sloven in his exterior, he was neither ashamed 
 nor afraid to honor God openly. And thus I will believe 
 that the neglect of the outer man, with which I had been 
 disposed to find fault, is often, in Virginia, but a thin crust 
 over hearts kept right, and qualities inherited from better 
 days. 
 
 In my next letter I may take you a little further into the 
 interior of the State. Meantime, 
 
 Yours in a Highland snow-storm. 
 
 18 
 
LETTER IV. 
 
 Negro Happiness in Virginia — Persevering Politeness against Discouragemeirt — 
 Family's Slaves Moving West — Evening View of a Negro Cabin — Aunt Fanny, 
 the Centenarian and the Black Baby— New kind of Negro Music — Pig-matins 
 at Daylight — Chats with Negro "Woodsmen — Virginia Supply of Black Walnut 
 for Coffins — Adroit Negro Compliment — Family Graves on Plantation — Visit 
 to the Hut of a Murderer's Widow. 
 
 Idle WILD, December. 
 Did it ever occur to jon to speculate upon the diflference 
 it would make, in the minds, moods and manners of the 
 throngs in our streets, if that monster and nightmare of 
 life, commonly understood by the phrase " care for a 
 livelihood," were removed ? I cannot explain in any other 
 way, the prompt and good-humored politeness, the ready 
 wit, the really almost universal apparent gaiety and con- 
 tent, of the negroes of Virginia. We were all very much |i 
 struck with this, in our few days' ramble through the Old 
 Dominion. The smile and service were so ready, the reply J|l 
 was so invariably and often so ingeniously courteous, the look 
 of easy, care-for-nothing happiness was so habitual upon the 
 countenances of all ages, that, for the first time, I realized 
 what I had been alvvays used to, as the contrary — how 
 haunted are our working-classes at home by the spectre of 
 
 410 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 411 
 
 responsibility in want. What a smile-killer it is ! What 
 a darapener of spontaneousness of tongue and brain! 
 What a spoiler of the general sunshine of human faces is 
 this care for a livelihood ! Truly, the mere doing the work 
 is the least part of earning a living. 
 
 The perseverance of the southern negro's politeness — 
 however you may account for it — is a very agreeable dif- 
 ference between him and his brethren at the North. On 
 board the different steamboats on the Potomac and Rap- 
 pahannock, where many of the passengers were of the 
 rougher classes of white men, we saw it very thoroughly 
 tested. Nothing could well be more repelling than the 
 surly heave of the shoulder or the curt monosyllable with 
 which the best-phrased civilities of the waiters on table 
 were oftenest received — yet it made no difference I Their 
 ino'enuity to suggest or invent a want, if there was none 
 waiting to be supplied, was wholly indefatigable. The 
 smile was easy, and most submissively appealing. The 
 manner and the words were well chosen and graceful. 
 How is all this persevered in, against so much discourage- 
 ment ? 
 
 On the forward deck of one of the boats ascending tbe 
 Rappahannock was a bevy of some twenty slaves, whose 
 master was taking them to his new residence in Arkansas. 
 As they had come from an old Virginia plantation, in the 
 interior, we watched them with some interest. They were of 
 
412 The Convalescent. 
 
 all ages, men, women and children, and a better conditioned 
 or more contented company of working-people I never saw. 
 I looked in vain for any sulkiness, or abstraction, or other 
 sign of brooding over a hidden paiu or sorrow. Whatever 
 care any one of them might have had, personal or condi- 
 tional, it seemed overbalanced by the blessed consciousness 
 that the cares of the day were no business of his — he " was 
 only a passenger." 
 
 At one of the plantations where we passed the night, the 
 master of the house kindly assented to my wish for an 
 inside view of one of the log-cabins. Somewhere about 
 eight o'clock, in company with the young man whom he 
 gave me for a guide, I crossed the courtyard to a low hut, 
 from the cracks and crevices of which streamed the light 
 of a bricrht fire within. It was the domicil often or twelve 
 " haulers and steady cutters," who, after their work all day 
 in the pine woods, came here to cook their supper and 
 sleep. The scene as we opened the door was very pictur- 
 esque. One whole side of the hut, according to the pro- 
 portions of backwoods architecture, was fireplace ; and, 
 in front of a glowing heap of pine logs, sat the two who 
 had charge of the cooking — a most tempting looking corn 
 cake in one frying-pan and a mess of pork in another. A 
 boy of fourteen or fifteen years of age, sat with a jack-knife 
 by a large heap of oysters, on one side, opening for the 
 company ; and around, in all possible attitudes, on the 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 413 
 
 floor and up against the wall, lay the laborers, with their 
 feet to the fire. I saw no beds. They seemed to lie down 
 with their clothes on. One or two were asleep — probably to 
 be waked up when supper should be ready. From one old 
 fellow in the corner came the only approach to an uncivil 
 speech which I heard while in Virginia. " Hullo, dar !" he 
 roared out, very gruffly, to the boy who was sitting with 
 his jack-knife by the heap of shells, " keep digging out 
 dera oysters, and don't be looking roun' at noting at all I" 
 Though perhaps this was intended as a correction of the 
 lad's freedom in lookinfj at the strano^er. 
 
 On another plantation where we were most kindly enter- 
 tained, there was a curiosity in the shape of a negro woman 
 of great age ; and, the little son of our host undertaking 
 willingly to show me the way to " old Aunt Fanny's," we 
 started for our visit after breakfast. There were several 
 huts close together ; and, at the half open door of one of 
 them, the little fellow stood for a moment, calling to Aunt 
 Fanny to make her appearance. And she came presently, 
 with quite a lively step, a neatly-dressed little old mummy, 
 as nearly dried up as skin and bones would any way permit, 
 and most politely invited us in. It was a log-cabin, and 
 the interior was exceedingly neat and comfortable. A 
 bright fire burned on the hearth, the floor was cleanly 
 swept, the bed in the corner with its patch- work quilt 
 looked very inviting, and, on one side of the chimney, sat 
 
414 The Convalescent. 
 
 a handsome young woman of perhaps twenty-five years of 
 age, rocking a cradle in which lay a black infant asleep. 
 These were descendants of Aunt Fanny ; and, with her, 
 they had lately fallen to their present master by inherit- 
 ance — a comfortable home for the old woman, while she 
 shall live, being thus provided by law. And to " the insti- 
 tution," it appeared also that the young mother was some- 
 what indebted, for the lad who was now her husband having 
 fallen in love with her, his master had bought her from 
 a neighboring planter and seen them happily married. In 
 the ten minutes' conversation which I had with the old 
 woman, she expressed herself very religiously, and seemed 
 patiently " biding her time " to go to a better world. It 
 ■was apparently as happy an old age as is often seen. 
 
 I was a little mystified, at one of our sleeping-places, 
 with a new specimen of negro music. Just before day- 
 light, a sort of half melodious, half painful scream com- 
 menced making the circuit of the house — something 
 which I, at first, took to be the incoherent wail of a mad- 
 man, but which, by long repetition, grew at last into a con- 
 certed tune ; aided also by a gradually strengthening 
 accompaniment of something like the stamping of feet. 
 Straining my eyes in all directions, I at last discovered a 
 radiation, towards the house, of innumerable little black 
 pigs, coming from every quarter across the fields and at 
 all sorts of paces. The chanter of the pig-matin revolved 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 415 
 
 presently around, a tall old negro with a slouched hat and 
 his arms folded so gs to ffct his hands out of the cold, and 
 past him scampered his light-footed parish to their 
 morning devorations — the song continuing vigorously, to 
 make sure that they were all called in. It appeared that 
 the little sinners have the run of the woods all day and 
 eight, fed, in the morning only, at the trough ; and it is 
 this healthful exercise, probably, with perhaps some little 
 flavor from their nut-eating and rooting, which gives the 
 fame to the " Vira^inia ham." But the established music 
 which summons them home is certainly a very penitential 
 (Combination of notes, and, as the overture to a peccavimus 
 omnes, to be chanted before daylight in Lent, is worthy of 
 Catholic notice and analysis. 
 
 As much of the time of ray companions was occupied in 
 verifying the surveys of land where the felling of timber 
 was going on, I had plenty of opportunity for chat with 
 the negro wood-choppers ; and I found them as amusing as 
 they were universally good-humored and polite. The 
 " stint" of work, I found, was but the cutting of one cord 
 of pine wood a day — scarcely the half of what is " piled 
 up " by any regular woodsman in our neighborhood. For 
 this (where the slave is hired of his master), the wages 
 are from ten to twelve dollars a month, besides food, lodg- 
 ing and clothing — somewhat more than a laborer gets for 
 his winter work, with us. One very intellisfent fellow, who 
 
416 The Convalescent. 
 
 handled bis axe quite beautifully, inquired of me whether 
 the fashion for coffins was likely to change at the North. 
 I was a little puzzled with his question, till he explained 
 that the present demand of black-walnut^ for that final con- 
 venience, afifected his class of chopping very considerably. 
 The supply of the obituary staple from Virginia was new to 
 me ; and I could not tell him, of course, how soon the dead 
 might return to their mahogany. Curious twin products 
 for which to be indebted to the good old State — coffins 
 and tobacco ! 
 
 I was amused at the adroitness with which another 
 young fellow contrived to turn a reply into a bantering 
 compliment. He happened to have a remarkably hand- 
 some beard ; and, in talking of the way coal was now 
 superseding wood, so that the trees would soon be left to 
 stand, not paying to cut and send away, I said : " So, this 
 fine timber will be like that long beard of yours, very 
 handsome where it grows, but not worth paying taxes 
 upon, for want of a market." " Ah," said he, " massa ! 
 you and I too young to be berry anxious what dey'U tax us 
 for our beards quite yet !" As the handsome rascal stood 
 showing his teeth, and stroking down the silky black floss 
 upon his chin, I wondered whether he knew how much of 
 a courtier he was — coupling his own age and beard with 
 those of a gentleman past fifty ! 
 
 Our host, for one night, was but a temporary tenant 
 
 I 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. ill 
 
 occupying wliat was once the mansion-house of an old 
 plantation. The graves of the family were in one corner 
 of the garden, and those of the slaves in the field outside, 
 separated only by the wooden paling. The last proprietor 
 had sold out and moved to Alabama ; but he had lately 
 sent to know whether he could take the liberty to come 
 and inclose the whole graveyard with a handsome paling, 
 and plant it with evergreens, to be kept sacred. There 
 seemed to me a very precious privacy in this old Virginia 
 usao-e of burying within the limits of the home estate, and, 
 if it were not for the uncertainty of tenure, how preferable 
 it would always be to the kind of disowning that there is 
 in the putting away of beloved remains to the common 
 graveyard ! 
 
 There was one home that we saw, .upon our third day's 
 tramp into the interior, of which I can scarce hope to 
 describe to you the unutterable sadness. It was a log- 
 cabin in the very heart of the wilderness, far removed from 
 any other human dwelling ; and here lived the widow and 
 children of Tasco Adams, the free negro who, a few 
 months ago, was hanged for murder. The mother was 
 away — gone probably to some distant house to beg food 
 for her children — and we went in to see what might be 
 the refuge of the affrighted little ones who had lied from 
 the door at our approach. Over the embers of a nearly 
 extinct fire, stood shivering a little sickly girl of six or 
 
 18* 
 
418 The Convalescent. 
 
 seven years, holding in her arms an infant of perhaps ten 
 or twelve months, bundled in rags, while an almost naked 
 child of two or three years clung to the tattered petticoat 
 hanmnof in slrinofs around her. A doo:, as nearly starved 
 as an animal could well be, crouched in behind the last 
 brand in the chimney. There was no fuel around the 
 entrance, and no sign of food within. The floor was of har- 
 dened mud, and a few rags in the corner were all that looked 
 like a bed. For a picture of squalor and starvation, I had 
 never seen the equal of that hovel's interior ! And what a 
 place to be left alone in, with such a memory ! Yet a 
 smile could be born, even here. As we gave the little 
 wasted girl three pieces of money, one for each, she evi- 
 dently remembered her mother, and looked up to me with 
 a gleam over her dark face : " If you please, sir, one 
 more !" she said. And a more beautiful smile than 
 received that " one more " piece of money, never was born 
 in a palace ! 
 
 It were too long a step to pass from this entail of shame 
 and want to the mention of the largest of human inherit- 
 ances — the memory left behind by Washington — so, of our 
 next day's approach to the childhood's home of the Father 
 of his Country, I will reserve the description for another 
 
 letter. 
 
 Yours always. 
 
LETTER V. 
 
 Caught asleep — General Mint-julep before Breakfast— Virginian Refinements 
 of good Eating — Reembarkation on the Rappahannock, for Fredericksburg — 
 The River, along through King George County — Country-seats of the Car- 
 ters, Tayloes and other well-known Names — Scene of George Washington's 
 Boyhood— His Mother and her humble Cottage — His every-day Appearance 
 .and Character at Fredericksburg, when a Boy — Difference of the Boy-ideal 
 from that of a Man — A second Picture of the adolescent Washington, from 
 sixteen to twenty— His first Visit to Belvoir and Intimacy with the Fairfaxes 
 — Wish that a gifted Descendant of this Family would give us their Remem- 
 brances of Washington — Fredericksburg itself and its Tomb and Chapel- 
 Snow, and Journey across to the Potomac, etc., etc., etc.. 
 
 Idle WILD, December. 
 TuE steara-whistle of the boat that was to take us to 
 Fredericksburg (one day's passage higher up the Rappa- 
 hannock), caught us asleep — the State which is famous in 
 history for its " heroes and hunts, its hams and hominy, 
 its handsome handmaidens and hearty hospitalities," hav- 
 ing cast its spells over us ! I had gone to bed after 
 watching, by the light of the full moon, the picturesque 
 galloping away from our host's door, of some bold riders 
 and most agreeable fellows, with whom we had made mer- 
 ry from noon almost till midnight ; and good fun (I have 
 always found) is, of all night-caps, the most dreamless and 
 
 solid. The awaking whistle, however, which so took us 
 
 4ia 
 
420 The Convalescent. 
 
 bj surprise, was blown at the landing below ; and, between 
 that and the wharf where we w-ere to embark, there was a 
 circumbendibus of the crooked river to be performed by 
 the boat — so that, for a hasty toilette and a hastier break- 
 fast, we had, still, something like railway time. 
 
 I am indirectly apologizing, by this explanation of 
 haste, for the very inadequate notice with which I am 
 compelled to pass by a certain Virginia " institution" — the 
 MATUTINAL MINT-JULEP, OF anti-febrile stomach-nudger — 
 served to the male guests on their first rising in the morn- 
 ing, and previous to their introduction to the ladies. This 
 most appetizing potation is prepared in a family tankard, 
 of the size which it takes two hands to lift ; and it was 
 most gravely passed around like a solemn and savory 
 "good morning," as we entered the drawing-room before 
 breakfast, each guest burying his head successively in the 
 thicket of the fragrant herb, and subtracting his own 
 " tithe of mint," with a measure of breath wholly discre- 
 tionary. As a sanitary precaution (in a locality where 
 the morning air is to be dreaded on an empty stomach) 
 this breakfast courage is doubtless very expedient ; but one 
 can scarce help rejoicing also in a certain secondary efiect 
 — the social fusion, or the dispelling of morning's natural 
 moodiness, consequent upon this passing around of a cor- 
 dial for all lips. In fact, of the full enjoyment of this Virgi- 
 nia " institution," as beginning to be felt by the merry party 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 421 
 
 assembled immediately afterwards around the table, the 
 too early coming of the boat was felt by all to be a trying 
 interruption. 
 
 I may as well mention here, apropos of the art of nour- 
 ishment as perfected in different latitudes, one or two 
 other assistances of Nature, which I had not met with in 
 previous travel, and which may help to account for fhe 
 larger stature, greater fecundity of language, and other 
 generous exuberances characteristic of Virginians. The 
 dinner is commonly at one o'clock, the day's hungriest 
 hour ; but, at twelve, there is a first summons to the side- 
 board, and, at half-past twelve, another, for the sake of 
 confirming, by a little " something and water," the prepar- 
 atory condition of the stomach. The dinner itself, of 
 course, is of that profusion of meats and game for which the 
 State is famous; but its final culmination was new to me 
 — the passing around of a tray of raw oysters, to be eaten 
 from the shell, and, by the liquescent insinuation, and un- 
 cloying succulence of which any omitted crevice or forgot- 
 ten pore or vesicle of the careless or inattentive stomach 
 might be securely reached. On leaving the table, after 
 this oyster climax, the stranger would naturally suppose 
 dinner to be over ; but, with a brief hour of cigars and 
 conversation in the drawing-room, the folding-doors were 
 again thrown open, and lo ! in the centre of the table, a 
 vast punch-bowl oV^ egg-nog'''' — an appetizing digestive, by 
 
422 The Convalescent. 
 
 which any tardiness or torpor of the reluctant stomach 
 might be encouragingly overtaken. This golden liquor 
 was dispensed with a long silver ladle, by our host, as we 
 stood around with expectant tumblers ; after which, of 
 course, we returned more cheerfully to our double labors 
 of digestion and conversation. Tea with the ladies follow- 
 ed naturally at six; and supper at nine; with hot toddies 
 indefinitely thereafter. But it will be seen, that, in 
 modern Virginia, they " live well." 
 
 Our steamei' (which makes this trip but once a week) 
 took all the rest of a short autumnal day for the tracing of 
 the remainder of the Rappahannock up to Fredericksburg. 
 But it was a voyage of great beauty. The river soon be- 
 came very narrow, and very serpentine in its course, and 
 the wooded banks, brought so near, were of course made 
 much more bold and picturesque. With the suddenness 
 of the turns it often seemed as if the bow of the boat were 
 carving out a new river as it went along. This has al- 
 ways been the wealthiest part of Virginia; and, on the 
 eminences a little back from the shore, stood the spacious 
 mansions, which, when named to us by our conversible 
 captain, we recognized, at once, as the homes of distin- 
 guished families long heard of. We took a good look, 
 among others, at " Mount Airy," the country-seat of the 
 Tayloe family, to whose hospitalities at Washington 
 stranorers are so much indebted. Then there was " Sabin 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 423 
 
 Hall," where lived the Carters, and *' Sandfield Lodge," 
 and " Gaymont," and a score of others which have been 
 the cradles of the Past-days' "beautiful and brave." 
 We saw but one new building, of any pretension, and that 
 was a most sumptuous residence, close to the bank of the 
 river, just completed by Mr. Pratt of Camden. Over all 
 the rest were gathering (what is painfully unusual in most 
 of the landscapes of our land of fresh paint and white- 
 wash) the middle tints of walls and angles long let alone. 
 But, as we came nearer to Fredericksburg, there was a 
 "spell of the Past," which (for me at least) essentially dis- 
 placed the Present. A cloudy twilight was falling upon 
 the banks of the river, as we glided along where it used to 
 be known that " George Washington was the only boy 
 who could throw a stone across it." Here used to play the 
 lad, of whom history now records what an old gentleman 
 of the neighborhood chanced to say of him : "Egad he 
 ran wonderfully ! We had nobody hereabouts that could 
 come near him. There was young Langhorn Dade, of 
 Westmoreland, a confounded clean-made, tight young fel- 
 low, and a mighty swift runner, too, but he was no match 
 for George." And let me quote from history another pic- 
 ture of what came back, as we neared Fredericksburg, 
 with the vividness of a walking dream — the early days, in 
 this valley, of him for whose memory as he was when a 
 child, its horizon of bold mountains is now proud to be the 
 
424 The Convalescent. 
 
 honoring sarcophagus. Thus records Mr. Weems, the 
 clergyman of the parish — giving the story as he heard it 
 from an old lady who was a relative of the Washingtons 
 and had spent much time in the family : 
 
 "On a fine morning m the fall of 1737, Mr. Washing- 
 ton, having little George by the hand, came to the door, 
 and asked my cousin Washington and myself to walk with 
 him to the orchard, promising he would show us a fine 
 sight. On arriving at the orchard, we were presented 
 *¥ith a fine sight indeed. The whole earth, as far as we 
 could see, was strewed with fruit, and yet the trees were 
 bending under the weight of apples which hung in clusters 
 like grapes. 
 
 " * Now, George,' said his father, ' look here, my son ! 
 Don't you remember when this good cousin of yours 
 brought you that fine large apple, last spring, how hardly 
 I could prevail on you to divide with your brothers and sis- 
 ters ; though I promised you, if you would but do it, God 
 Almighty would give you plenty of apples this fall V 
 Poor George couldn't say a word ; but, hanging down his 
 head, looked quite confused, while, with bis little naked 
 toes, he scratched in the soft ground. 
 
 "'Now look up, my son! look up, George!' continued 
 his father, 'and see there, how richly the blessed God has 
 made good my promise to you. Wherever you turn your 
 eyes you see the trees loaded with fine fruit, many of them 
 indeed breaking down ; while the ground is covered with 
 mellow apples, more than you could eat in your whole life, 
 my son !' 
 
 " George looked in silence on the wide wilderness of 
 fruit. He marked the busv hummino; bees, and heard the 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 425 
 
 gay notes of birds ; then, lifting his eyes, filled with shin- 
 ing moisture to his father, he softly said : 
 
 " ' Well, pa ! only forgive me this time, and see if I ever 
 be so stingy any more 1' " 
 
 Of his mother, as she appeared at that time, Mrs. Kirk- 
 land gives us a picture : 
 
 " There is, at this day, an old lady at Fredericksburg 
 who remembers her mother saying that Mrs. Washington 
 often came there to drink tea, riding in what is called in 
 Virginia a 'stick chair' — i. e., an old-fashioned unstufFed 
 chaise without a top — bringing little George on a stool at 
 her feet." 
 
 Of his birthplace, the sketch is also very precious : 
 
 "There, in that old farm-house, which was so old-fash- 
 ioned and dilapidated, that the family (at the time of their 
 removal to the more immediate vicinity of Fredericks- 
 burg) did not think it worth preserving many years 
 longer — a four-roomed house with a chimney at each end, 
 which chimney was carried up on the outside ; at teij 
 o'clock in the morning, was born a little boy, fair-haired and 
 long-limbed, but so much like other boys that it is hardly 
 probable even the most sagacious of the neighbors thought 
 him likely to become one of the greatest powers of the 
 earth." . . . "The family lived very plainly, and the 
 new-comer opened his dark blue eyes on a scene no grander 
 than may be found in the plainest Virginia or Vermont 
 farm-house of our own day. There was, we may be sure, a 
 low ceiling ; a great wide brick or tile fireplace ; a well 
 saved carpet, with a few straw-bottomed chairs, and a tall 
 
42d The Convalescent. 
 
 old bedstead with posts like sloop-masts — such a one as 
 Washington slept in to the end of his life." . . . . "It was 
 one of the preparatory blessings of George Washington's 
 happy lot, that he was bred in this plain and simple way. 
 It made him easy to please, fond of wholesome and inno- 
 cent pleasures, and satisfied with plain things for his own 
 use, all his days, although he had taste, and knew how 
 to conform to fashion in matters which concerned other 
 people. He was most at home in a farmer's plain clothes, 
 roving the woods with his gun, watching the performance 
 of the plough and the liarrow." 
 
 " Mr, Washington (his father) left the old farm on Pope's 
 Creek when George was very young ; indeed, some say, 
 soon after he was born ; but only to exchange it for ano- 
 ther, probably a better one, on the Rappahannock, opposite 
 Fredericksburg." ..." The same plain style of liv- 
 ing continued ; and George now old enough to go to 
 school, was sent to a schoolmaster, rough as the pines that 
 nestled about the poor old school-house — an old fellow 
 named Hobby, one of Mr. Washington's tenants — who 
 used to boast, in after times, when he had become superan- 
 nuated and somewhat addicted to strong potations, that it 
 was he, old Hobby, who between his knees had laid the 
 foundations of Washington's greatness." 
 
 Of the Fi'ederickshurg every-day picture of the boy 
 George Washington, another touch or two may well be 
 recalled : 
 
 " Among the items of Washington's early training we 
 must not omit to mention the robust physical exercises to 
 which he subjected himself, prompted naturally by his 
 sense of great bodily power, and incited still more by the 
 
 I 
 
 II 
 
 •I 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 427 
 
 pleasure of companionship ; for it seems to have been 
 much the fashion to tr}^ strength in running, leaping, 
 pitching the bar, wrestling, etc. An old governor of Vir- 
 ginia, Nicholson, had, long before, instituted public games, 
 and distributed prizes for proficiency in all these athletic 
 sports. Washington was early able to manage a fiery horse, 
 and to use and confirm his own sinews by feats that none of 
 his companions could equal. Whatever stirred his blood, 
 and brought his muscles into vigorous exercise, was his 
 delight. His young lady companions complained some- 
 times, we are told, that George cared nothing for their com- 
 pany, but would always be out of doors. There is a story 
 of his having ridden to death a fiery colt of his mother's, 
 which nobody else dared to back. It is said that the 
 good lady was very much provoked, but said, * 1 can forgive 
 you, because you came at once and confessed it. If you 
 had skulked I should have despised you.'" .... "All 
 his life long he was at home on horseback. He was pop- 
 ularly called the best rider in Virginia, where all are 
 riders." .... " He inherited from his mother a love of 
 good horses, for this was one of her characteristic traits. 
 We should judge, from his life and letters, that he spent 
 at least half of his threescore and eight years on horseback. 
 This could not have favored his being a graceful walker, 
 and, accordingly we hear that he was not such ; but his 
 great length of limb preserved him from being like the 
 jockey, who 'always walked as if he had a horse 
 under him.' He had a direct business-like manner of 
 walking — Mr. Custis says, ' a straight, methodical, Indian 
 walk ;' but as an Indian walks with his toes turned in, it 
 seems hardly pi'obable that Washington's appearance 
 would have been as we know it to have been, if he had 
 allowed this strikinolv ungraceful fault in his carriage to 
 
428 The Convalescent. 
 
 become habitual. He was very careful of his appearance, 
 being a person of great natural taste ; and one who had a 
 just estimate of its importance in regard to the impression 
 we make on strangers." 
 
 Thus was outlined — (from the marked passages in the 
 books I had read, descriptive of Washington's early life) — 
 the shadow that now filled the twilight air, as we landed 
 on the spot which was, in those days, most familiar to him. 
 Washington had been a boy here ! And I could not 
 but remember, as I stood on the river bank, to which he 
 alone, of the school-boys on the opposite side, could throw 
 a stone — where he was daily seen and known as the lad 
 who was the best rider of young colts and the best runner 
 «Df boy-races — how different is the ideal, that is thus por- 
 trayed to the imagination, from the one which, at Mount 
 Vernon, is, at this moment, the object of the nation's 
 thoughts ! Between us and that Washington — the sage, 
 the statesman, the saviour of his country — the gulf of sepa- 
 ration is one only to be spanned by revering awe. Of his 
 apotheosis before death (for his fullness of a renown, that 
 may well be called superhuman, was complete, long before 
 the grave set its seal upon it), Mount Vernon is the thresh- 
 old — the place where repose the ashes now held sacred as 
 "the mantle that fell from him as he rose." And hallowed 
 forever be it ! But, if possible, we loould come nearer to 
 him than this ! There is a secret yearning in every human 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 429 
 
 heart to " touch the hem " of the prophet's garment. We 
 want the more familiar knowledge of the great man which 
 enables us to feel that he was not altoo^ether unlike our- 
 selves — that he has walked on the same ground, and 
 might have known and talked with us. And how admira- 
 bly does it meet this sympathetic yearning of the heart — 
 how cheeringly and satisfyingly — to picture forth the boy 
 Washington of the Rappahannock ! 
 
 The few hours that we passed in Fredericksburg, were 
 thus, for me, irresistibly spell-bound. I felt the " spirit of 
 the spot" — the presence of the fine, brave school-boy, 
 George Washington — as I never had done in reading of 
 him, as I probably never should do without walking on the 
 ground where he had played. Strange ! how the spot of 
 earth that has been the cradle of a great soul will thus 
 stay enchanted with the promise elsewhere fulfilled ! 
 
 And yet there is still another George Washington^ the 
 haunt of whose spirit is to be sought at Fredericksburg — 
 the George Washington of sixteen years of age — the "tall, 
 handsome lad, by no means considered a prodigy, but 
 thought highly of by the neighbors"— just leaving school, 
 " with an education very incomplete," and coming home to 
 his widowed mother, who, in her low-roofed cottage, had 
 now her second and sorer travail, her son's launch upon 
 the world, laboring at her heart ! And how would the 
 picture of him as he then walked through the streets of 
 
430 The Convalescent. 
 
 Fredericksburg, on the daily errands for his mother — 
 exactly as he appeared to the neighbors who were then 
 familiar with his form and features, with his habitual gait 
 and his recognitions of acquaintances and friends, his 
 dress, manners and mien — compare with the George 
 Washino-ton of our Mount Vernon ideal ? How inestima- 
 bly precious, to inquisitive though still idolizing posterity, 
 would be that every-day picture of " young George," could 
 it be re-conjured from those neighbors' eyes ! 
 
 Perhaps, of this same period of his life, however, there 
 would be a more poetic picture in his look as he seemed 
 to the Fairfaxes at Belvoir, on his first modest visits to 
 those great people. History records.for us that it was con- 
 sidered the especial good fortune of George, that his elder 
 half-brother, Lawrence, who was very fond of him and 
 who had married Anne Fairfax, made him familiar with 
 these new connections, then the wealthiest and most influ- 
 ential people on this side the water. Let me copy a pas- 
 sage or two, as the palette whereon the colors for this 
 adolescent portrait of Washington are ready mixed : 
 
 " Lawrence had been sent, as was the fashion of the 
 times, to seek in England the education which this country 
 did not then afford, and he had afterwards been induced to 
 join the armament sent by Great Britain, in 1740, to the 
 West Indies. Here he distinguished himself and won the 
 confidence and respect of the British commanders, Admiral 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 431 
 
 Vernon and General Wentworth. He intended to go to 
 England and to remain and seek a promotion in the army, 
 in which he had already held a captain's commission ; but 
 having fallen in love with Miss Anne Fairfax, daughter of 
 William Fairfax, a near relation to the eccentric lord of 
 that name, he stayed at home to be married, and soon after, 
 settled down on the farm in Fairfax county allotted to him 
 by his father, which he afterwards named Mount Vernon, 
 in honor of the gallant adiniral. 
 
 " George's mother seems to have limited her ambition 
 for her boy to making him an intelligent, honest and thriv- 
 ing planter, able to survey his own land and other people's, 
 to keep accounts with exactness, and to be proficient in 
 country business, in which was included of course the prac- 
 tice of hunting and fishing. 
 
 "Lawrence had him often at Mount Vernon, where was 
 to be found the best society in the country, and particularly 
 that of the Fairfax family, who were well-bred though 
 somewhat eccentric people, William Fairfax, the father- 
 in-law of Lawrence, and the owner of a fine seat on the 
 Potomac, a few miles below Mount Vernon, was a cousin 
 of Thomas Lord Fairfax of Greenway Court, the proprie- 
 tor, by grant from the crown, of the whole immense tract 
 of land between the Potomac and Rappahannock rivers. 
 The acquaintance with these men of wealth and distinction, 
 then made at Mount Vernon, proved of immense and con- 
 trollino; influence to Georo^e Washinorton." . . . '' Mr. 
 Fairfax writes of him, at the time, to Lawrence : * George 
 has been with us, and says he will be steady, and thank- 
 fully follow your advice as his best friend.' " 
 
 . . . " It was in March, 1748, that Washington set out, 
 in company with Mr. George Fairfax and a small party, to 
 explore immense tracts of wild woodlands in the Alleghany 
 
432 The Convalescent. 
 
 Mountains. ... It was very serious earnest, involving 
 both fatigue and danger, and there must have been some- 
 thing very remarkable about a hoy of sixteen, whom Lord 
 Fairfax, shrewd and keen-eyed as he was, intrusted with it. 
 The young surveyer was accompanied by William Fairfax, 
 brother of Mrs. Lawrence Washington, but Washington 
 himself was the responsible person." 
 
 • • • " The intimacy of the Fairfaxes was, in all re- 
 spects, particularly important to Washington, and, for its 
 solid benefit to his fortunes and its shaping power over his 
 manners, deserves to be counted among the providential 
 preparations for what -was to be required of him. His 
 early training had certainly been of the homeliest sort. 
 His father's landed possessions had brought work rathei* 
 than money ; his mother was the declared enemy of all 
 superfluity, and she counted as superfluity whatever had no 
 reference to business. The traditions of her neighbor- 
 hood represent her as contemning the softer arts, and 
 viewing with more than misgiving the mere graces of 
 society." 
 
 • • • " But the Fairfaxes undoubtedly did him great 
 aesthetic as well as other service. Thev were hisfh-bred 
 people, wealthy and living in the exercise of a liberal hos- 
 pitality, as well as in constant intercourse with the 
 mother- country, to whom alone we looked for social exam- 
 ple before the Revolution. Lord Fairfax, besides the ad- 
 vantages resulting from his rank, was of University educa- 
 tion, a man of the world, and moreover a thinker, an in- 
 dependent character, and remarkable for his sagacity and 
 discernment. His nephew, William Fairfax, was rich, and 
 held a high position in the colony. His seat of Belvoir 
 continued for many years to be the resort of all that was 
 to be had of well-bred and highly polished society. The 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 433 
 
 family was altogether the first in the district where they 
 lived, and one such family must do much towards raising 
 the standard of manners and ideas in the neighborhood. 
 They intermaj'ried several times with the Washingtons, 
 and had done so in England, before either stock was 
 transferred to America. 
 
 "A young man must be dull indeed, if the society of 
 gentlemen and elegant women have no inspiration for him. 
 Such a one was not George Washington, certainly ! When 
 we read his ' Rules of Civility and Decent Behavior in 
 Company and Conversation, we need not be assured that 
 no grace of mannner, refinement of expression or conversa- 
 tional improvement that came under his observation at 
 Belvoir or Greenway Court, passed without notice from 
 him." 
 
 Mrs. Kirkland (from whose captivating Memoir, of 
 Washington in his youthful days, I have made these ex- 
 tracts) strengthens one of the side lights for the picture — 
 thouo-h with a concludino; remark that is somewhat at the 
 expense of j5oetic dignity. She says : 
 
 " It is curious to note how considerable a portion of 
 Washington's private correspondence is with ladies 
 With those to whom he was in no way bound except by 
 friendship it was very large. This does not bespeak the 
 stern business machine, which it has been the fashion to 
 consider him, and we can imagine that few volumes would 
 astonish the world more than a complete collection of 
 the letters of friendship written by Washington to 
 ladies." ..." Young as he was, the letters referring 
 to a hopeless passion for some * lowland beauty * are sup- 
 
 19 
 
434 The Contalescent. 
 
 posed to have been written at this time. There is the be- 
 ginning of an acrostic on the beloved name of ' Miss 
 Frances Alexander,' which may perhaps have been the 
 production of the same time of life ; but it is only a 
 beginning, atrociously bad in point of poetical execution, 
 and evidently given up (after the X) by the author him- 
 self. The effort to express passionate thoughts in verse 
 is common to all ardent minds, but his education had 
 not been that which can render such expression easy 
 or graceful. We must congratulate ourselves on the 
 failure, for who knows where we might have been now, 
 if Washington had turned out a poet ^^ 
 
 By these chance records in history, it is easy to see that 
 the youthful George — (with all his latent Washingtonian 
 superiorities of inevitable good sense, far foresight, cool 
 judgment, calm courage and sound principle) — was, most 
 probably, to the eyes of common observers, at this time, 
 only a handsome and promising stripling, very like many 
 another in the neighborhood. The influence of the Fair- 
 fax patronage upon his fortunes (particularly his being 
 sent out, at the age of sixteen, by Lord Fairfax, as sur- 
 veyor of his vast estates between the Rappahannock and 
 Potomac) was doubtless looked upon, by all his mother's 
 neighbors and by his own youthful friends, as a bit of 
 wonderful good luck, which would be the whole key to 
 anything unusual in his career. But how charming it 
 would be, to see him, as he then presented himself at Bel- 
 yoir, and as he seemed to the "Mrs. Fairfax," to whom 
 
 1 
 
Tkip to the Rappahannock. 435 
 
 was addressed, nearly at this time, one of the most charac- 
 teristic and beautiful of his preserved letters ! Why- 
 should not the Fairfaxes (of whose descendants I chance 
 to know that there is one now resident in Viro-inia, whose 
 fair hand holds a most dainty and gifted pen) give us, 
 from their family records, the many photographic memo- 
 ries they must contain of Washington, from the age of 
 sixteen to twenty? 
 
 But, to return to Fredericksburg. 
 
 Of the town itself I saw but little. The evenino- was 
 dark and stormy, and various local visits, that we had 
 proposed, were prevented by the cheerless aspect of a 
 ground covered with snow. We had wished to see the 
 tomb of Washington's mother ; and I wished, particularly, 
 to go to that wild chapel of rocks and trees, near her cot- 
 tage, to which (as is recorded) she was in the habit of 
 repairing every day, for her devotions — the spot where 
 rested the ladder to heaven of that mother's prayers for 
 that son ! With a look at the sky and a little consultation 
 with my companions, we concluded to defer these pilgrim- 
 ages ; and, for a future visit to Belvoir, and to other inter- 
 esting spots in Virginia, to bring saddle-bags and mount 
 horse, at some more genial season. A glimpse of the for- 
 saken streets was all that was to be obtained before the 
 departure of the train ; and, with an hour of railway 
 (shorter time than the boy George Washington, who so 
 
436 The Convalescent. 
 
 often rode it in the saddle, ever dreamed it would be done 
 
 in) we crossed from the Rappahannock to the Potomac. 
 
 In re-reading my letter, dear Morris, I find that it is of 
 
 rather a mingled yarn ! But so is life — and so, especially, 
 
 i& travel — and I weave it for you as Fate tangled it 
 
 for me. 
 
 Yours, unrevisingly. 
 
LETTER VI. 
 
 Valley between the Potomac and Rappahannock — ^Washington's Frequent Ride 
 across the " Neck of Virginia " — His Personal Appearance, when a Young 
 Man — ^Young "Washington the Surveyor — A Chance Tableau of Contrasted 
 Fairfaxes and Planters — The Young Englishman on Board the Boat, and our 
 Virginia Captain — The Captain's Outer Man compared with his Passenger's 
 — His New Invention — The Reading of his Application for a Patent — ^The 
 Young Englishman's Self-sacrifice for Friendship — Parting of the well-trim- 
 med Plant of a London Gentleman, and the George Washington " Run to 
 Seed," etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild, Christmas Eve. 
 My last letter closed with our trip across from tlie Rappa- 
 hannock to the Potomac — the start for our return home. 
 As this " Neck of Virginia," as it is called, however, 
 chanced to be the fifteen or twenty miles which the promis- 
 ino- lad, Georo-e Washino-ton at sixteen, oftenest rode over 
 on horseback (the route between his mother's cottage at 
 Fredericksburg and the Fairfax mansion at Belvoir) you 
 will not object to retrace it with me. In the wavy outline 
 of the horizon, at least, whatever may be the changes in 
 the details of the scenery, the traveller still sees the frame 
 on which the handsome young horseman broidered his 
 thoughts as he rode along ; and, in resting my eye on the 
 same mountain eminences which were the signal posts of 
 
 437 
 
438 The Convalescent. 
 
 his early survey of tliat very tract of land (the important 
 first commission from Lord Fairfax, of which his precocious 
 manhood must have been so proud), I once more found 
 myself picturing him as he then looked. And it was easy 
 to do it ! Try, yourself, as you now mentally traverse that 
 romantic wilderness with me, the making younger, by a 
 few years only, of the portrait left us by the historian — 
 George Wasliington as he seemed when he first took the 
 command of the Army of tiie Revolution. Let me refresh 
 your memory with the stirring passage to which I refer : 
 
 " On the morning of July third, the troops were arrayed 
 on the Common at Cambridge, to receive their general. 
 The cortege from Watertown was anxiously watched for. 
 Though Washington was not then the Washington of our 
 memories, yet enough had been said of him, of his bravery, 
 his patriotism, his talents and his gallant bearing, to excite 
 unusual interest in the troops. At length the trampling of 
 horse amid a cloud of dust, ushered in the commander-in- 
 chief and his suite^ all picked men and finely mounted. 
 As they approached the line, the eye sought and easily 
 recosfnized him in whose bearino^ should shine forth the 
 right to rule. At the same moment the central figure gal- 
 loped forward, and, wheeling his charger beneath the great 
 elm which still adorns the spot, drew his sword, and flash- 
 ing it in the air, took command, in form, of the armies of 
 the United Colonies. 
 
 " It was not difficult to distinguish him from all others, 
 says Thacher. ' He is tall and well proportioned, and his 
 personal appearance truly noble and majestic' 
 
 " That this was not mere outward appearance, or even 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 439 
 
 efiect of mental traits only, we are assured from various 
 anecdotes showing the great physical power of Washington 
 at the time. One in particular recounted by an eye-wit- 
 ness is quoted by Mr. Irving. It occurred on the green at 
 Cambridge. It happened that some dispute among the 
 soldiers had brought on a fight, and, as blows bring blows, 
 the mischief spread until a great number of men were 
 engaged, and there was a general and dangerous melee. 
 
 "In the midst of it, says the narrator, the commander-in- 
 chief galloped up, I know not from what quarter; but, 
 quick as lightning he sprang from his horse, threw the 
 bridle to his servant, and dashed in among the combatants. 
 Seizing two great powerful fellows by the collar, one in each 
 hand, he shook them soundly, talking to them all the while, 
 and them mounted his horse again and rode quietly off, 
 the crowd having dispersed at once, requiring no further 
 hint. 
 
 "Mrs. Adams says, of the impression made on her by 
 Washington, at first sight : ' Dignity, ease and compla- 
 cency, the gentleman and the soldier, look agreeably 
 blended in him. Modesty marks every line and feature of 
 his face.' These lines of Dryden instantly occurred to 
 
 her: 
 
 " ' Mark his majestic fabric ! He's a temple, 
 Sacred by birth and built by hands divine , 
 His soul's the deity that lodges there ; 
 Nor is the pile unworthy of the God.' " 
 
 But this same godlike man, but a few years before, was 
 only " young Washington of Fredericksburg," newly known 
 as a " surveyor " — the one who often rode across the penin- 
 sula between those two rivers, and, as he drew bridle at the 
 far-apart doors upon his way, exchanged salutations with 
 
440 The Convalescent. 
 
 the inhabitants, and sought employment in his profession. 
 History thus sketches George Washington the surveyor : 
 
 " The business of surveying, at that early day very profit- 
 able, had the further advantage of introducing Washington 
 to the favorable notice of land-holders and men of influence, 
 whom his merits very naturally made his fast friends, and 
 under whose auspices he found all the employment his health 
 and strength allowed him to undertake. These acquaint- 
 ances were first his employers, then his friends, afterwards 
 his advocates with those in authority when office was in 
 question ; further on, when the great struggle began, his 
 admiring companions and colleagues ; and thence onward, 
 to the end of his career, his firm adherents and supporters, 
 feeling only too much honored in being counted among his 
 neighbors and compatriots, when he had become known 
 as one of the master-spirits of the world." 
 
 And so, having told you which of the " George Wash- 
 ingtons," of progressive history, was present to our thoughts 
 as we crossed from the Rappahannock, come back with me 
 once more to that beautiful river, and let me pick up a 
 jotting or two, which, in my last hurried letter, I had 
 overlooked. 
 
 On board the steamer, as we made our last day's 
 approach to Fredericksburg, we had a fellow-passenger, who, 
 in connection with the captain of the boat, seemed to me 
 to form a curious tableau vivant of Virginia in the time of 
 Washington. It was a young Fairfax, fresh from the well- 
 appointed and careful niceness of high-bred English life, 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 441 
 
 and making his first acquaintance witli the free and easy 
 planters of the Old Dominion. Whether or not a true 
 picture of that period, it was, to rae, a most amusingly vivid 
 
 contrast of character, as seen in that light ; and I must try, 
 
 ♦ 
 
 at least, to give you a look into the same magic mirror, 
 though the flesh and blood "spirits," still alive .and kick- 
 ing, may not prove altogether subject to the waving of a 
 goose-quill wand. 
 
 With the young Englishman's appearance we were all 
 very favorably impressed, in coming on board in the morn- 
 ing — finding him almost alone in the cabin, but very well 
 established and at home, as he had been a passenger since 
 the boat's leaving Baltimore, the night before. He was 
 the perfection of an animal in high condition. Middle- 
 sized, straight, compact and athletic, he looked so uncom- 
 monly well taken care of! In his clearest of complexions 
 the white and red were as well distributed as in the cheeks 
 and lips of a rigidly be-governessed young lady of sixteen . 
 his teeth looked as lustrous and cool as the edge of a snow- 
 bank ; his pink and pearl finger-nails terminated fingers of 
 the daintiest action. A little too close cutting of his light 
 hair took away from the grace of his head but added to 
 the air of neatness; and a silky blond whisker on each 
 cheek showed what the upper lip might have done, please 
 God, in the way of a moustache, if he had " gone into the 
 
 19* 
 
442 The Convalescent. 
 
 Horse-guards." His thick, sensible shoes and gaiters were 
 well brushed, and his shooting-jacket, waistcoat and trow- 
 sers, though of the coarse grey material which is now the 
 fashion, were of the cut and fittingness beyond suspicion of 
 " ready-made." 
 
 Unconscious of our presence, of course, for a while, the 
 indignantly clean stranger studied his map and looked at 
 his pocket compass, watching the scenery and evidently 
 perplexed a little with what the magnetic needle told him 
 of the boat's variations of north and south in following the 
 windings of the river ; but the captain, after a little while, 
 hippopotamized his huge limbs into an easy-chair, near 
 by, and the conversation became general. 
 
 You see such men as the captain occasionally, in Broad- 
 way, but seldom with the same amplitude of manners and 
 costume. He was naturally a magnificent man, " Continen- 
 tal " in all his proportions ; very tall, very broad-shouldered 
 and of very large noble features, and with a most good- 
 natured, careless courtesy of address ; but — in his Dismal- 
 Swampiness of a beard three days old, in his linen of many 
 a neutral tint, his wisp of a black cravat tied under his left 
 ear, his dress-hat which was " as well as could be 
 expected " after much unforeseen experience, his blue body- 
 coat with brass buttons (it and the black trowsers immemo- 
 rially virgin of brush), his untied shoes and revelation of 
 brawny chest by a general open sesame of shirt-bosom— « 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 443 
 
 forming, altogether, as striking a contrast to the tidy 
 vouno; Eno'lishman beside hirn as could well be iinao-ined. 
 
 But the two were very great friends ! Rappahannock 
 had not the smallest possible misgiving of his own United 
 IStates'-worth of condescending agreeability ; and Fairfax, 
 to all appearance, credited him with the amount. It was 
 only a little embarrassing to the young Englishman, I soon 
 observed, that the same unmitigated intimacy, which had 
 been all very well while he was the only passenger in the 
 upper cabin, and so alone with his new friend, was now to be 
 sustained in the presence of three new comers who might 
 possibly " think it a little odd." His own most studious use 
 of the plainest and simplest language (like the proper " St. 
 James St. Man " that he was), had no manner of effect on 
 his friend's four-story adjectives and six-horse figures of 
 speech ! And, presently, his ability " to stand any more " was 
 put to a test, out of which he came, I thought, quite glori- 
 ously — a charming illustration, in fact, of Sir Philip Sidney's 
 beautiful rule of friendship : " There is nothing so great 
 that I fear to do for my friend, nor nothing so small that I 
 will disdain to do it for him." 
 
 The captain was a candidate for fame. On the upper- 
 deck stood an apparatus, of his construction, for turning 
 salt water into fresh — tin pail and two stone jugs connected 
 by a lead pipe, amounting to an impromptu distillery to be 
 worked by tea-kettle application of steam — and, of this 
 
444 The Convalescent. 
 
 valuable invention, he expected the formal recognition of 
 Government, or, in other words, a patent and a " suitable 
 appropriation." To show this wonder of ingenuity to us, 
 individually, was the speedy inventor's easily accomplished 
 wish, soon after our coming on board ; but that was not 
 enough. He had prepared a manuscript essay, of about 
 ten or twelve closely written sheets, on the science of auto- 
 hydrostatics with common utensils, as illustrated by his 
 arrangement of every-day jugs and pail ; and of this he 
 wished to have a formal reading to the company. 
 
 The speech with which this most formidable-looking 
 manuscript was brought to light, was certainly very stag- 
 gering. The captain's conscious thought was evidently 
 that of a High Contracting Power introducing a miracle 
 of invention to the attention of Queen Victoria — of whom, 
 as "Our Royal Sister," he made half-a-dozen different 
 mentions before he got through. But he wound up at the 
 close with a formal request to the stylish young Fairfax 
 that he would read the document aloud ! And of the 
 embarrassed gentleman's compliance — considering the 
 place, the presence of none but strangers, the half-ludicrous 
 aspect of the whole affair, and the very doubtful complex- 
 ion of the rumpled and ill-written manuscript — I had not 
 the slightest expectation. 
 
 But he did it ! 
 
 With a stammer or two — a few London exclamations, 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 445 
 
 such as "really!" "'pen my word!" "I positively fear !" 
 " you'll excuse me," etc., etc., — he manfully swallowed 
 something that was rising in his throat, buttoned his coat, 
 pulled up his shirt-collar, gave one deprecating look at the 
 company, and went bravely at it ! The punctuation and 
 spelling were, of course, at the reader's own expense ; but 
 the extent of sesquipedalian processionizing of the solemn 
 superlatives and scientific phrases was most tryingly 
 beyond the modern English supply of wind and utterance. 
 A harder call upon the elocution of a well-educated and 
 modest youth was probably never made. And, for the 
 twenty minutes that it took to bring it to a close, the lis- 
 tening and spacious captain sat back in his chair with his 
 hands crossed on his stomach, and his large features in a 
 satisfied glow of authorship, presenting (as I started with 
 saying) a specimen of outer man, which, in contrast with 
 the other specimen of the article (gentleman) from the 
 original garden over the water, was very suggestive. 
 Probably a similar contrast was presented, on the same 
 river, a hundred years ago — the athletic and large-featured 
 Rappahannocks of that day (of whom George Washington 
 was one), comparing, in the same overgrown manner, with 
 the newly arrived young Englishman who came over to 
 " settle." It was hard to realize that the two who sat 
 before us were plants from the same original stock, though 
 they undoubtedly were so, as were the Fairfaxes and Vir- 
 ginians of old time — our majestic captain (perhans it 
 
446 The Convalescent. 
 
 should be allowed, however !) being the " George Wash- 
 ington " a little run to seed ! 
 
 At one of the landing-places on the river, the well- 
 appointed young Englishman gathered his " traps " to- 
 gether — his snug valise, his nicely boxed and strapped gun 
 and shooting-bag, his map and guide-book, his stick and 
 iinibiella — and, with a most affectionate leave of the cap- 
 tain (with whom he had evidently been exceedingly 
 amused, and to whom he had taken a great fancy), he was 
 set ashore. In conversation with him I learned that he 
 had chanced to fall in with a very delightful family from 
 Virginia, in his travels abroad, and that he was now on 
 his way to visit them ; with the primary object, however, 
 of seeing how the country looked, thinking that he might 
 possibly transplant hither that " younger son's portion " 
 which thrives better in new soil. When I expressed a fear 
 that he would find it lonely in these pine woods so far 
 away from his London " club," he said : " Oh, I should go 
 home every year, you know, of course !" So that Virginia 
 woods do not seem so far off from London as they used to 
 do, probably. 
 
 Of the half-dozen omitted memoranda which I took you 
 back to the Rappahannock to pick up, the enlarging upon 
 only one has engrossed all the room of a reasonable letter. 
 Possibly I may give you the other " stray waifs " hereafter. 
 For the present, a merry Christmas to you ! 
 
 Yours always. 
 
LETTER VII. 
 
 Charm of the Number Seven — The Nile among Periodicals — Virginia Tea-table 
 Peculiarity — Virginia Fashion of Ornamental Trees — Talk with a Physician 
 About Intermittents and Negroes — Fever and Ague something of a Bugbear 
 — Prescription — A Neglected Bird — Superiority of wild Geese to tame— Cu- 
 rious Restoration of a Virginia Church — Former and Present Standard of 
 Manners — Mount Vei'non from a Historical Point of View — Curious Docu- 
 ment, etc., etc. 
 
 Idlewild, January. 
 I WILL try to get home in this seventh letter. I expected 
 to do SO in the sixth; but, somehow, seven seems always 
 to be the charmed number ! Of healthy parents, seven 
 children, I believe, is about the average — then there are 
 the "Seven Pleiades" and the "Seven Ionian Isles," the 
 " Seven Wise Men of Greece " and the " Seven Sleepers," 
 the "Seven Wonders of the World," the " Seven Gates of 
 Thebes," and the "Seven Devils," which, we find (by their 
 having been once " cast out "), is the number that inhabit 
 a man. Then as to the Home JournaVs appetite for a 
 seventh Virginia Letter, we have the precedent that there 
 were just " Seven Mouths to the Nile " a name, by the way, 
 in which we may well typify our beloved Journal — calling 
 it the Nile among Periodicals, and woman, our queen, its 
 Cleopatra ? 
 
 But, to mv seventh letter. 
 
448 The Convalescent. 
 
 There was a point of Virginia dietetics upon which I 
 brought away an unsatisfied curiosity, viz., their manner 
 of serving tea. In all other parts of the world, the lady 
 at the head of the table puts the milk into the full cup 
 which she serves out, setting the sugar upon the servant's 
 tray, that the guest may sweeten it to suit himself. Now 
 in Virginia, it is exactly the reverse. The lady herself puts 
 in the sugar, but sends round the milk by the servant. 
 And how should this difference be interpreted? Is 
 there not a certain sovereignty of woman in it — showing 
 that all sweetness is to be at her gracious disposal ? Or, 
 as milk is proverbially " for babes," is it a courteous inti- 
 mation that perhaps the guest is too much of a man to use 
 it? There should be a philosophy somewhere, for the Old 
 Dominion's differing from the rest of the world as to so 
 essential a first principle of tea-table law ? 
 
 And there is one point of Virginia cesthetics upon which 
 I will venture to make a remark. All through the region 
 which we traversed, in our excursions back from the Rap- 
 pahannock, we observed a custom of whitewasJiing the 
 trunks of the trees around the house. Now, while taste 
 rejoices that they leave their old houses to the harmonious 
 middle-tints of time — (not subject to the paint-mania 
 which blotches the landscape with staring white villas and 
 cottages at the North) — we cannot but find fault with 
 these tall spectres on white stilts which surround the Vir- 
 
Trip to the Eappahannock. 449 
 
 ginia mansions. We were told that a house was consid- 
 ered healthier where the miasma was thus corrected ; but 
 T should think the same quantity of lime might be distri- 
 buted around the premises less conspicuously — laid in 
 trenches or strewn upon the grass. Against the dark 
 walls of the houses those whitewashed trees are in such 
 unescapably strong relief! 
 
 Apropos of the " miasma " just spoken of. At one of 
 the houses where we were so hospitably entertained, I was 
 fortunate enough to find, in an excellent conversationist 
 who was my next neighbor at table, the most eminent 
 physician of that part of the country. He was about 
 retiring from the profession iu which he had passed his life, 
 and, being a man of the world and a philosopher as well 
 as a scientific observer, his comparison of the qualities of 
 the two races (black and white), their difierent capabili- 
 ties and relative adaptedness, was very instructive. From 
 a question as to the natural exemption of the negro blood 
 from the intermittent fevers so troublesome to the whites, 
 arose the other Doints of the discussion. I wish I could 
 tell all that this keen discriminator expressed of knowledge 
 thus gathered by his own eyes and brain. I can scarce 
 venture upon it, however — partly because I could not trust 
 my memory to do full justice to all his statistics and nice 
 distinctions, and partly because it is a subject difiicult to 
 enlarge upon without misapprehension. 
 
450 The Convalescent. 
 
 I may simply state ray conviction after listening to his 
 eloquent array of reasonings, moral, physical and medical, 
 that ncgroso]ihy is a science in which those two great 
 authorities, Common Impression and General Knowledge, 
 are very deficient. 
 
 As to the " fever and ague," for which the climate of some 
 parts of Virginia has had a bad name, the doctor thought 
 it was a good deal of a bugbear. New-comers are liable to 
 it, as a natural acclimation ; but, in all cases, it could be 
 promptly cured, and, with a little care, always afterwards 
 avoided. It is moreover a preventive of other diseases, 
 leaves the patient a good appetite, and is no injury to the 
 constitution. The treatment of it should be very decided : 
 ten grains of quinine, mustard plasters on the chest, bottles 
 of warm water to the feet, every possible aid to the action 
 of the intestines, and as much whisky and water as could 
 safely be given. After first discovery, to live generously, 
 and never to inhale the morning or evening out-door air 
 on an empty stomach. The truth is (thought my medical 
 friend) that the half-educated and slenderly supported 
 country doctors find it for their interest to prolong the dis- 
 ease, and thus it is naturally much more heard of. But, as 
 a whole, the climate of Virginia is one of the most enjoy- 
 able and healthful in the world. 
 
 And, by the way, I came very near bringing away from 
 Virginia a curious proof of the superiority of the wild bird 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 451 
 
 to the tame. In the yard of one of the plantations, I 
 noticed a large flock of geese, who seemed singularly led 
 and commanded by two much handsomer ones, nearly of 
 their own kind. On inquiry, I found that this pair of 
 acknowledged monarchs were wild geese, that had been 
 caught in a trap and turned into the yard with their wings 
 clipped. The fifteen or twenty domestic ones had imme- 
 diately allowed the two strangers to take the lead, following 
 them everywhere in their walks over the fields; and the 
 difference of gait and of voice was quite remarkable. While 
 nothino; could well be more uno-raceful than the waddle of 
 the barn-yard goose, or more unmusical than its utterances, 
 the aboriginals of the wild-wood were most majestic in 
 movement, and, to say the least, very endurable in the key 
 of their voices. With their black backs and necks, white 
 breasts and variegated necks, they performed a certain 
 undeniable parade of nobility at the head of the ignoble of 
 their kind. I was very much tempted to avail myself of 
 our host's kind otfer to cage and send them to take com- 
 mand of the goese of Idlewild — only that the season was 
 too far advanced for the journey. But what a comment of 
 nature is the goose, thus ignobled by civilization, upon the 
 misnomer of stigmatizing the untamed felcon as a " buz- 
 zard 1" 
 
 At a little village in Lancaster county, by the way, 
 (Farnham), we saw an instance of buzzard-lapse and falcon- 
 
452 The Convalescent. 
 
 « 
 
 restoration — a very pretty brick cliurcli, which, falling into 
 disuse some years ago, had been first let for a stable, then 
 used as a distillery, but now is reconsecrated as a place of 
 worship. (And, of how many a human soul is this the his- 
 tory!) 
 
 There would seem to be a contrast, too, between the 
 present and the former standards of manners and behavior 
 in this neighborhood. On board the Rappahannock steamer, 
 which brought us hither, the largest placard, in gilt letters, 
 thus reads : " Gentlemen respectfully requested not to 
 get into their berths with their boots on." Yet Bishop 
 Meade informs us that, in the records of this Lancaster 
 county, for 1685, it is written, that "one John Chilton was 
 fined and required to appear four times on his bended 
 knees, and ask pardon each time, for a misdemeanor 
 committed in respectable presence ; and that another man 
 was fined five thousand pounds of tobacco for profane 
 swearing." 
 
 Of modern retrogression, however (and probable retrieval, 
 too — thanks to the ladies!) what stronger instance 
 could there possibly be, than the neglect of the tomb of 
 Mount Vernon ! Taken from the cradle of Washington, as 
 are all the incidents of this letter, it will not be amiss, per- 
 haps, to close my correspondence from hence, by contrast- 
 ing the first honors paid to his sacred ashes, with the sub- 
 sequent half century of oblivious dilapidation. A relic 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 463 
 
 of '99, lying at present on my table (and which enables 
 me to present the contrast very effectively), will be inter- 
 esting to the Mount Vernon spirit of restoration, now gen- 
 eral throughout the land. It is a copy of the Funeral Hon- 
 ors to George Washington, as performed at New York, on 
 first hearing of his death. Thus reads the published pro- 
 gramme : 
 
 " FUNERAL PROCESSION. 
 
 ^^Regulations, relative to the procession for rendering funeral 
 honors to the deceased General Washington^ as agreed to 
 hy the committee of arrangements. 
 
 " 1. The day to be observed as a day of solemnity and 
 cessation from all business. 
 
 " 2. That no carts, carriages, or persons on horseback 
 (except such as are connected with the procession), appear 
 in the streets through which the procession is to move, 
 from ten o'clock in the forenoon until the procession shall 
 be terminated. 
 
 " 3. The line of procession will be formed in Broadway — ■ 
 the left, which is to be composed of the military, in front 
 of the Park. The other incorporations and societies, in 
 the order determined on by the committee, which will be 
 published on the day of procession, and which General 
 Hughes will order to be carried into effect. 
 
 " 4. The procession will move by the left, in front of the 
 Alms-house, to the head of Beekman street ; down Beek- 
 man street to Pearl street ; along Pearl street to Wall 
 street; up Wall street to the City Hall; down Broad 
 street to Beaver street; through Beaver street to the 
 
454 The Convalescent. 
 
 Bowling-Green ; round the Bowling-Green, in front of 
 the Government House ; up Broadway to St. Paul's 
 Church. 
 
 " 5, It is recommended to the citizens, in those streets 
 through which the procession is going to pass, to cause them 
 to be cleaned, and every obstruction to be removed that 
 might impede the procession. 
 
 " On the arrival of the front at the church, on a signal 
 given, the whole will halt, and open to the right and left. 
 
 " The bier, preceded by the music, Anacreontic and Phil- 
 harmonic Societies, clergy, and girls in white robes, will 
 pass through the procession, into the church ; the remainder 
 of the procession moving after the bier in reversed order, 
 when the procession shall have entered the church, on a 
 signal given, the minute-guns will cease firing and the 
 bells cease tolling. 
 
 " The ceremonies in the church will bo opened with 
 prayer by the Reverend Bishop Provoost, which will be 
 succeeded by the first part of sacred music. 
 
 " An oration will then be pronounced by G. Morris, Esq., 
 which will be followed by the second part of Sacred 
 music. 
 
 " The urn, etc., will then be conveyed into the cemetery ; 
 and three volleys fired by the troops under arms over the 
 urn which will close the ceremonies of the day. 
 
 " During the movement of the procession, minute-guns 
 will be fired from the Battery, and the bells of the difier- 
 ent churches will be tolled muffled. 
 
 " Masters of vessels are requested to cause their colors to 
 be hoisted half-mast during the day. 
 
 "It is also earnestly recommended to the difi*erentmcorpo- 
 rations, societies, and all others who join in the procession, to 
 be punctual on the occasion. And to all citizens to observe 
 
 1 
 
Trip to the Rappahannock. 455 
 
 a profound silence, as well during the procession, as during 
 the ceremonies in the church. 
 
 " Signals will be given, by firing from a twenty-four 
 pounder in the Park. 
 
 " First gun — between nine and ten o'clock — for the differ- 
 ent incorporations and societies lo meet at the respective 
 places of rendezvous, 
 
 " Second gun, for the formation of the line of procession. 
 
 " Third gun, for the procession to move. 
 
 " Fourth gun, for the procession to halt, and open to the 
 right and left. 
 
 " Fifth gun, for the minute-guns and bells to cease firing 
 and tollinof. 
 
 J. M. Hughes, ^ 
 
 Ebenezer Stevens, | cornmittee 
 
 Jacob Morton, )■ of 
 
 Arrangements. 
 
 James Farlie, 
 John Stagg, Jr., J 
 
 New York, 29^A December^ '99." 
 
 Who, on that solemn day — witnessing the total suspen- 
 sion of all business in the city, the procession with its dig- 
 nitaries and its " girls in white robes ;" following the urn, 
 the flags of all vessels at half-mast, the cleansing of all 
 the streets through which the funeral procession was to 
 pass, the firing of the minute-guns and tolling of muffled 
 bells, the eulogy, the public order for the citizens to ob- 
 serve a profound silence during the ceremonies, the pray- 
 ers, the chants — who on that solemn day, let us ask, 
 
456 The Convalescent. 
 
 would have believed a true prophecy of the next jBfty 
 years' national neglectfulness of Mount Vernon ! 
 
 Thank God that the Ladies and Edward Everett are 
 once more training that buzzard of memory into a soaring 
 falcon. 
 
 And so home from the Rappahannock and its lessons 
 
 comes 
 
 Yours. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 3477-9