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 THE LETTERS OF 
 
 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 
 VOLUME I
 
 THE LETTERS OF 
 
 HORACE HOWARD 
 FURNESS 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 H. H. F. J. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 VOLUAIE I 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 1922 
 
 > • > >
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY HORACE HOWARD FURNESS JAYNB 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 CAMBRIDGE • MASSACHUSETTS 
 PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. 
 
 4. ».t it »^.l.ct^t
 
 f: 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 The work of editing these volumes was left un- 
 finished by Horace Howard Furness's youngest 
 son. Late in 1913 William Henry Furness, 3rd, 
 had begun to collect his father's letters, and, when 
 the war prevented further progress, he had already 
 selected many desirable for publication. But from 
 1916 forward he gave unsparingly his time and skill 
 and energy to the cause in the justness of which he 
 had such unwavering faith. At first, volunteering 
 his services to the French War Relief of Philadel- 
 phia, he went to France as special agent to facil- 
 itate the distribution of supplies to the less acces- 
 sible military hospitals; later, when this country 
 entered the war, he received a commission as cap- 
 tain in the Medical Corps, and for two years he 
 served in a manner truly worthy of his father and 
 his forebears. Though peace brought with it lei- 
 sure, his strength, of which he had been too lavish 
 since the summer in France, was no longer equal 
 to the task, and illness came and forbade the com- 
 pletion of this work. Despite a brave resistance 
 through many months of suffering, on August li, 
 1920, he died. And so it came about that the priv- 
 ilege of editing the letters of Horace Howard Fur- 
 ness descended, in an unhappy and untimely way, 
 from a son to a grandson. The younger hands 
 
 '^mw
 
 vi PREFACE 
 
 are far less worthy of the task than those which 
 started it. 
 
 Certain views on editing collections of letters 
 which Dr. Furness expressed have determined the 
 manner in which his correspondence is here ar- 
 ranged and presented. He was impatient of the 
 ofQciousness of editors who interrupted the course 
 of the letters with critical comment, and he said 
 that "reticence and persistent retreat into the back- 
 ground is the perfection of editorial duty." Hence 
 explanatory paragraphs will be found only in the 
 earlier chapters where it was necessary to bridge 
 the gaps in the letters. Elsewhere editorial infor- 
 mation is compressed to the smallest measure, or 
 completely omitted in the belief that any reader, 
 if he cares to trouble himself, can reach an expla- 
 nation as lucid and as satisfactory as any a meagre 
 footnote could supply. 
 
 Again, in the Introduction to "Records of a 
 Lifelong Friendship" he said: "Lack of punctu- 
 ation or of question marks, abbreviations or even 
 mis-spellings, it is, I think, no part of an editor 
 to correct. They are evidences of haste or of char- 
 acter, or of familiarity, and, as such, should be pre- 
 served." This opinion has been followed as closely 
 as possible in these volumes. 
 
 1 would that my uncle were here to thank for 
 himself all those who aided him in this work. Above 
 all he would have wished to express his gratitude
 
 PREFACE vli 
 
 to Mrs. Morris Jastrow and Mr. Owen WIster for 
 their assistance and advice in selecting from the 
 great number of letters originally gathered. My 
 poor thanks, Inadequate for my own debts to them, 
 must, most unfortunately, suffice, as well as my 
 sincere acknowledgments to each and every one 
 who sent the letters written by my grandfather. 
 Almost every page bears witness to the extent to 
 which the contents of this work depended on their 
 kindly Interest. 
 
 I wish to thank also the J. B. LIppIncott Com- 
 pany for permission to Include the extracts from the 
 "Preliminary Report of the Seybert Commission." 
 
 Finally, I cannot close without saying how very 
 much I owe to Horace Howard Furness, Jr., under 
 whose hand the Variorum continues to advance 
 so excellently, adding to the dignity of the name he 
 bears. His constant counsel, wisdom, and kindness 
 have been Inestimable aids to one who will be ever 
 proud to call him uncle. 
 
 Horace Howard Furness Jayne 
 
 " LiNDENSHADE " 
 
 March, 1922
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Introduction xili 
 
 I. Years at Harvard: 1851-1854 i 
 
 II. Years of Travel: 1854-1856 36 
 
 III. The Sanitary Commission: 1856-1866 102 
 
 IV. 1867-1885 159 
 
 V. The Seybert Commission: 1883-1887 198 
 
 VI. 1884-1892 222 
 
 VII. 1893-1898 281
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Horace Howard Furness in 1855 
 
 Photogravure Frontispiece 
 
 From a portrait painted in Munich by his brother, 
 William Henry Furness, Jr. 
 
 Helen Kate Furness 196 
 
 Photograph by Gutekunst, Philadelphia 
 
 Lindenshade 224 
 
 Photograph by J. E. Green, Chester, Pa. 
 
 Facsimile of Letter of H. H. Furness to 
 
 W. Alois Wright 288
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Horace Howard Furness lived almost four- 
 score years, yet might he well have exclaimed, as 
 did Charles Lamb, "Deduct out of them the hours 
 I have lived to other people and not to myself and 
 you will find me still a young fellow." For he de- 
 voted a vast part of his life to Shakespeare and the 
 rest to his fellows and to his friends, so till the very 
 end he preserved an imperishable spirit of youth- 
 fulness which added to his scholarship and fulfilled 
 his exquisite personality. Gentle, tolerant, char- 
 itable, his fifty years spent upon the Variorum 
 Edition will long stand as the highest attainment 
 in American letters; no taint of any literary quarrel 
 sullies the grandeur of his labour, no ostentatious 
 vanity detracts from its dignity. He belonged to an 
 age that is vanished — "an age more favourable to 
 vigour of intellect than the present in which a dread 
 of being thought pedantic dispirits and flattens the 
 energies of original minds." In the midst of the 
 world-wide lament that followed his death in 1912, 
 there was heard the deep undertone of sorrow for 
 the loss of that breed of scholars of which he was 
 the last, the perfect type; scholars who were una- 
 fraid to spend a lifetime in unremitting labour upon 
 a single inexhaustible subject, who were willing to 
 forego personal gain in the greater cause of litera-
 
 xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 ture, and lastly, scholars who venerated their work 
 as the artists of old venerated the Muses. 
 
 The fountain-head of Horace Howard Furness's 
 genius was a true and perfect sympathy with the 
 hearts of all mankind. Picture him upon an even- 
 ing when he read "Antony and Cleopatra" to a 
 gathering of friends in Cambridge — a deaf old 
 man, beautiful of countenance, immaculate in 
 trim, old-fashioned clothes, with snow-white hair 
 and a wondrous silvery voice — and then read 
 these words in which he spoke of the evening: 
 "What a tribute to the power of the imagination 
 under the hand of Shakespeare that the fascinating 
 Egyptian Queen should be presented not only by 
 a white-haired man, but a man more than ordi- 
 narily dull and plain of feature, and that when he 
 applies to his shirt-front an imaginary asp and 
 says, 'Dost thou not see my baby at my breast 
 that sucks the nurse asleep?' the hearers' eyes 
 should fill with emotion. . . . Charles Norton said, 
 *My dear Furness, you make us cry.'" These, his 
 own unaffected words, unconsciously sound the 
 keynote of his character. Yes, he could bring tears 
 to the eyes or laughter to the lips, and such power 
 is given only to those who possess an all-encircling 
 sympathy. When he read Shakespeare — when 
 the myriad tones of his voice made Rosalind or 
 Beatrice live again and love, made Autolycus sing 
 with heart-easing Elizabethan charm, or made 
 Macbeth shudder before the ghost of Banquo — 
 then perhaps was this sympathy most evident.
 
 INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 Yet it lay behind his every action, behind his 
 spoken and his written words; It found expression 
 in his love of flowers and trees and birds and ani- 
 mals, in his countless kindnesses to people of every 
 sort and every station, in his full and ready under- 
 standing of the host of Shakespearean commenta- 
 tors of every age and every nationality; and finally 
 it endowed him with that rare insight Into the 
 meaning of Shakespeare's words which often made 
 it seem as if his nature was in tune with Shake- 
 speare's very heart. Truly, even as this sympathy 
 was the essence of his personality, it was also the 
 mark of his genius. And none who knew him, none 
 who have looked into the Variorum, can doubt 
 that he had genius, not of the spectacular sort 
 which lights the heavens with a single flare, con- 
 sumes Itself, and dies, but such that simmers gently 
 and quietly through a long, long life, ever consum- 
 ing dross, ever maintaining a constant flow of 
 pure and refined metal. 
 
 The span of his life was Indeed great; measured 
 not so much by the number of his years as rather 
 by the events with which these years were crowded 
 — by the wide panorama which his eyes had 
 looked upon. And In its length the gods were not 
 always kind. Locked in his heart for thirty years 
 was sorrow, deep and abiding sorrow, cloaked from 
 his nearest and his dearest friends by his indom- 
 itable optimism; and towards his gentle end (too 
 peaceful It was to call It by the harsh name of 
 Death) even deeper shadows came, and Grief, the
 
 xvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 sombre heritage of age, stood every hour by his 
 side; yet still he turned to the world that same 
 gallant front which dignified his entire life. To us 
 of a later generation his early years seem rooted in 
 history; he was born while Andrew Jackson was 
 President and before Victoria had come to the 
 English throne. He saw the troops march off for 
 the war with Mexico; he saw the first sparks of the 
 Rebellion kindled, strove with his brothers through 
 its bitter years, and lived on for half a century and 
 saw even the ashes of its prejudices scattered, for- 
 gotten. He began his work upon the Variorum 
 when such critics as Dyce and Harness, Knight 
 and Collier, Halliwell and Staunton, were alive and 
 eager in their study of the plays; he lived to see 
 them drop off" one by one, to find himself at length 
 the sole survivor of the great Shakespearean 
 scholars of the past. 
 
 In 1825, eight years before Horace was born, his 
 father, William Henry Furness, had come to Phila- 
 delphia from Boston to assume the pastorate of the 
 First Unitarian Church in Philadelphia. The Fur- 
 ness family were of good New England stock; Wil- 
 liam Henry had been born and bred in Boston, grad- 
 uated from Harvard College and the Divinity 
 School, and married, in the same year in which he 
 came to Philadelphia, to Miss Annis Pulling Jenks, 
 of Salem. The young couple found instant and cor- 
 dial welcome in the city of their adoption; they 
 brought with them all that was best of Puritan 
 respect for truth and for right without its austerity,
 
 INTRODUCTION , xvii 
 
 all that was most admirable of staunch New Eng- 
 land love of learning and refinement. William 
 Henry Furness was a preacher of exceeding prom- 
 ise which every year eloquently fulfilled. A truth- 
 ful exposition of Christianity was his undeviating 
 purpose during his pastorate of fifty years; he kept 
 aloof from all petty and unfortunate doctrinal dis- 
 cussions which involved many of the Unitarians of 
 his early days. This rare conception of a minister's 
 duty combined with his personal charm — in the 
 words of Emerson he had " a face like a benedic- 
 tion, and a speech like a benefaction" — led his 
 small congregation upon a prosperous course. He 
 was also a writer of talent with a finished, lucid 
 style; his hymns and his studies of the life of Jesus 
 are still well known. His wife proved no less popu- 
 lar in Philadelphia: beautiful, reserved, cultured, 
 with a pleasant sense of humour, she quickly won a 
 wide circle of friends. Their house became a gath- 
 ering-place for the learned and the witty; men and 
 women in public life visited them, strangers from 
 other cities and foreign countries were brought to 
 meet them. Though never affluent, their circum- 
 stances were comfortable, and they knew how to 
 enjoy their modest means to the fullest measure. 
 In their four children they were greatly blest; both 
 parents lived "to set their rest in their kind nurs- 
 ery" — lived to see all four children loved, hon- 
 oured, and admired. 
 
 Horace Howard Furness was born November 
 2, 1833. He had an elder brother and an elder
 
 xviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 sister. William Henry Furness, Jr., was six years 
 his senior; an artist of great talent, whose death 
 in 1867 was tragically untimely, but before he 
 died he had already an established reputation as 
 one of the most skilful, one of the most finished 
 portrait-painters of his day. Horace's only sister, 
 Annis Lee Furness, was born in 1830. With only a 
 scant difference in their ages, these two preserved 
 the closest bonds of affection from their earliest 
 days; their predilections were ever similar, their 
 natures were cast in the same admirable mold. 
 Annis Lee Wister — in 1854 she married Dr. Cas- 
 par Wister, of Philadelphia — was not only widely 
 known for her many English adaptations of Ger- 
 man novels, but was famous everywhere for her 
 appreciation of all the arts, for her gift of language, 
 for her magically beautiful voice, for her own dis- 
 tinctive charm. It was peculiarly fitting that 
 Horace Howard Furness should have had such a 
 lovely lady for his sister. Frank Furness, the 
 youngest child, was born in 1837. During the Civil 
 War he served gallantly as a captain of cavalry; 
 upon him was bestowed that signal distinction, the 
 Congressional Medal of Honour, for "Conspicuous 
 bravery under Fire." He later became one of Phila- 
 delphia's most distinguished architects. 
 
 These were the characters that peopled Horace 
 Howard Furness's early stage. About his youth 
 there was nothing strongly distinctive, no trait to 
 which we can point and say " there was the starting- 
 point of all his future fame." As a boy he had red
 
 INTRODUCTION xix 
 
 hair and a vivid imagination. In later years he 
 told how once, when he was very young and still 
 at a Dame's school, he astonished his fellow stu- 
 dents by telling them that in the garret of his 
 father's house he had a remarkable blue dog, an 
 intensely blue dog. With no thought of guile (he 
 was convinced himself of the animal's mundane 
 existence) he whetted their appetites with daily 
 accounts of the dog's health and activities, till the 
 edge of youthful curiosity could bear the strain no 
 longer, and an exhibition of the dog was insisted 
 upon. After school he led them home with him and 
 left the expectant group at the foot of the stairs 
 while he ascended to discover if the dog were 
 amenable to a visit. Ah, the indescribable, sudden, 
 sickening realization that there was no remarkable 
 blue dog, that it had never been anything but a 
 phantom of his brain! The words with which he 
 related his feelings of the moment were inimitable. 
 In the full tide of his horror and chagrin at being 
 self-deceived, he gave a few feeble imitative yelps 
 and returned to his companions with the dishearten- 
 ing news that the animal was far too vicious to 
 receive guests. The group filed slowly down the 
 staircase, followed by the chastened Horace who 
 planned an early but painless demise for his mythi- 
 cal blue pet. Those who are pleased to see pro- 
 phetic glints in details of the past would delight in 
 a little newspaper issued during 1846 which bore 
 the imprint "H. H. Furness, Editor, Proprietor, 
 Printer, Publisher, and Carrier." This was un-
 
 XX INTRODUCTION 
 
 doubtedly Horace Howard Furness's first step on 
 the editorial path — a minute, four-page weekly, 
 entitled the *' Tom-Tit" — and the work of type- 
 setting and printing as well as editing was entirely 
 his own. "We mean to dedicate it to /wn, to 
 which no one can object," so runs the first editori- 
 al. "We mean to hurrah for Clay, and shout for 
 Polk; to denounce the War, and stick up for the 
 volunteers. We think, we know the present age is 
 greatly in need of Fun, that best of all sciences." 
 Thus we may think of his boyhood, dedicated to 
 fun, as every boy's should be, studying at home 
 and at school, filled with all the pleasant, absorb- 
 ing trivialities of youth. He must have heard much 
 interesting talk at his parents' house, much that 
 moulded his early opinions and laid the founda- 
 tions for his far-reaching knowledge. Here Emer- 
 son was a frequent visitor, with his enlightening 
 conversation on every topic; thither came Chan- 
 ning and William Lloyd Garrison filled with Aboli- 
 tion talk. 
 
 And there was Fanny Kemble. She who moth- 
 ered Horace Howard Furness's love of Shake- 
 speare, who first threw wide for him the magic case- 
 ment on the fairyland of the plays. It would be 
 hard, it would be well-nigh impossible to magnify 
 the harvest which he reaped from listening to her 
 Shakespearean readings. Even as Mrs. Kemble 
 herself loved the elder Furness (she was his parish- 
 ioner for many years, and was wont to call him 
 "her dear and venerated spiritual pastor and
 
 INTRODUCTION xxi 
 
 master"), so did his son love and venerate her. 
 When Horace Furness was but fifteen, she began 
 her public readings. This was in 1849. In later 
 years he was proud to say that he believed he had 
 not missed a single one. Combined with a rich and 
 wonderful voice, wherein she had all the depths 
 and tones so essential to render Shakespeare's 
 meaning to the full, were all the dramatic instincts 
 of a great actress, all the best traditions of the Eng- 
 lish stage. She read, moreover, with an extensive 
 knowledge of the meaning of the text, an impor- 
 tant attribute which gave her readings great lit- 
 erary and aesthetic value. In the happy combin- 
 ation of these charms lay the secret of her fame 
 and popularity as a Shakespearean reader and of 
 her inspiring sway over young Furness. Yet in 
 him she had plastic clay to mould: if he responded 
 to her inspiration, it was because his nature was 
 more than ordinarily sympathetic to the appeal of 
 the poet and dramatist; if he, too, in later years 
 followed in her footsteps and read Shakespeare in 
 public with an equal art, with an almost surpassing 
 grace, it was because he inherited the rich and 
 mellow voice that was his father's and because he 
 had been bred in a kindly atmosphere of refine- 
 ment. The effect of her readings upon him was 
 to awaken and, when awakened, to intensify his 
 appreciation and love for Shakespeare. It was not 
 until fifteen years later that he started his first 
 work upon the New Variorum under the auspices 
 and with the encouragement of the "Shakspere
 
 xxil INTRODUCTION 
 
 Society of Philadelphia," whereof he was the 
 youngest member. Then it was Mrs. Kemble's 
 turn to admire the breadth and depth of knowledge, 
 the meticulous labour, and the high standard of 
 scholarship which the first volume, "Romeo and 
 Juliet," revealed. And she paid her tribute in the 
 fullest possible measure. In her " Further Records" 
 she says: "I was so much pleased with the en- 
 thusiastic devotion to his laborious task of his 
 Variorum Shakespeare that I gave him the pair 
 of Shakespeare's gloves Cecilia Combe left me 
 in her will, and which had come to her mother, 
 Mrs. Siddons, from Mrs. Garrick." The gift of 
 these priceless, priceless treasures was the earli- 
 est, as it was the greatest, personal tribute to 
 the work of Horace Howard Furness; and how 
 wondrously well he proved himself worthy of the 
 possession! 
 
 Even while young Furness was busy with his 
 fonts of type and editing the "Tom-Tit," while 
 he was going to Fanny Kemble's readings, while he 
 was preparing himself to enter Harvard, there was 
 one subject ever present in his mind, one word 
 which was ever ringing in his ears — Abolition. 
 Were we to omit this solemn cloud from any picture 
 of his youth, the picture were but half-painted; 
 it darkened the best years of his father's life, it 
 dulled the brightness of his own boyhood. He 
 could scarcely remember the days when it was not 
 the chief topic in his parents' house. As early as 
 1836 the elder Furness preached his first Abolition
 
 INTRODUCTION xxiil 
 
 sermon, and it was but a few years later that he 
 became identified, heart and soul, with the Aboli- 
 tionists. It was small wonder that Horace Furness 
 assimilated to the full the spirit of the times, this 
 dynamic movement that shook the Nation to 
 the foundations and culminated in the Civil War. 
 As a boy his daily life was shot with incidents 
 that revealed the most shocking aspects of slav- 
 ery and unpleasant events that tested the courage 
 of the Abolitionists to the utmost. For his father 
 did not confine himself to preaching vigorous ser- 
 mons for the cause he so passionately espoused: 
 his house on Pine Street was a haven for fugitive 
 slaves. Here Horace witnessed the opening of 
 boxes containing unfortunate negroes who had 
 been shipped from the South on their way to free- 
 dom. Walking upon the streets of Philadelphia 
 with his father, he would watch former friends 
 pass with angry looks or averted gaze, hear threats 
 thrown after them, threats of persecution and even 
 death, from former parishioners or wrathful slave- 
 owners. In those early days only a courageous man 
 dared tread the path of the Abolitionists, but Wil- 
 liam Henry Furness did not lack the necessary 
 courage by a jot; all his eloquence, all his time, all 
 his sympathy were given unreservedly for the 
 cause, even though he suffered mental anguish as 
 he saw the trouble and the pain his course of action 
 brought upon his family. There can be no doubt 
 that these years, lived in the gathering shadow, 
 left their stamp upon Horace Howard Furness's
 
 xxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 later life, and in a measure his close view of the 
 national trouble, his youthful association with 
 men and women who were filled with a great desire, 
 brought him to maturity earlier than if he had 
 passed his boyhood amid only tranquil scenes. 
 When he entered Harvard in 1850, his outlook 
 upon life was riper than that of a boy of sixteen. 
 Not only did he go to Cambridge self-prepared in 
 all subjects save mathematics, but also (further 
 proof of his self-reliance, as well as his Industry) 
 while at Harvard he employed many of his spare 
 hours tutoring less proficient students, and by this 
 means relieved his father of a great part of the 
 financial burden of his college course. To this end, 
 also, he taught school in New York during the last 
 term of his Freshman year, a privilege accorded to 
 meritorious students who sought to support them- 
 selves at the University. 
 
 In i860 he married Helen Kate Rogers. Hap- 
 piness, such as graced the marriage of these two, 
 is vouchsafed to few on earth; companions were 
 they in every deed of every day. To Literature she 
 contributed "The Concordance to Shakespeare's 
 Poems," to his work unending advice and encour- 
 agement. And when, after but twenty-three years 
 of married life, Death stepped between them, her 
 presence like a benediction was beside him and, 
 though imperishable grief was ever present, yet the 
 memories of the past enabled him to face with 
 courage a life of loneliness for twenty-nine years. 
 They had four children: Walter Rogers Furness,
 
 INTRODUCTION xxv 
 
 bom in 1861, later an architect; Horace Howard 
 Furness, Jr., born in 1865, who chose to follow in 
 his father's footsteps as an editor of the Vario- 
 rum and of whose work the elder editor has said, 
 "Surely, the instances are not many where a liter- 
 ary task begun by a father is taken up and carried 
 forward by a son; still fewer are they where the 
 father can retire within the shadow with such con- 
 viction as is now mine, that the younger hands are 
 the better hands." The youngest son, William 
 Henry Furness, 3rd, was born in 1866, explorer and 
 ethnologist, author of two books, "The Home Life 
 of the Borneo Headhunters" and "The Island of 
 Stone Money"; and an only daughter, born in 
 1873, Caroline Augusta Furness, who married Dr. 
 Horace Jayne, and in whom the father saw each 
 year expand all the charm and talent, all the 
 beauty and grace of her mother, till he was for a 
 second time struck to the heart by her early death 
 in 1909. 
 
 The letters that follow, beginning as they do 
 with Furness's years at Harvard, preserve sufficient 
 continuity to mark the events of his crowded life. 
 But they are far more than mere milestones along 
 the road; they reveal the expansion of his mind, 
 the subtleties of his nature, the ineffable comeli- 
 ness of his scholarly life, his rare good-humour, 
 and his kindly sympathy. He devoted much time 
 to his correspondence, especially in his later years, 
 and he always looked upon letter-writing as an art. 
 He infused the merest note of acknowledgment
 
 xxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 with a twinkle of wit or a beguiling touch of his 
 personality. His longer letters, written in his 
 flawless, charming English and in his smooth, dis- 
 tinguished hand, are veritable mines for sparkling 
 gems of observation and reflection; and they 
 chronicle a vast array of deeds which made his 
 life so full, so admirable. He was fond of saying, 
 "one touch of Shakespeare makes the whole world 
 kin," and if ever any one bore out the spirit of this 
 phrase, it was he. There are a legion of men and 
 women, who never reckoned with his scholarship, 
 who, perhaps, never knew his name, but whose 
 lives have been made the happier by his broad- 
 hearted smile as they passed his vigourous, old- 
 fashioned figure on the streets. His very presence 
 seemed to breath an air of friendliness. Never did 
 he allow his deafness — that sorry affliction which 
 kept him from active service in the army during 
 the Civil War, which smothered his desires to 
 practice law, which deprived him of the sound of 
 music and the keen pleasures of the theatre — 
 never did he permit it or his long hours spent col- 
 lating dusty texts to cut him off from his fellows. 
 The services he gave so freely, the hours he spent 
 so zealously working on the committees of libra- 
 ries and hospitals and upon the Board of Trustees 
 of the University of Pennsylvania, were of ines- 
 timable benefit to his city. His association with 
 gentle and learned men in such clubs as the "Trip- 
 lets," the "Franklin Inn," and the "Shakspere 
 Society" endeared him, the gentlest and most
 
 INTRODUCTION xxvii 
 
 learned, to every member who came in touch with 
 him. Never were his ears deaf to the appeals of 
 charity; hundreds of times he read Shakespeare in 
 pubHc, deHghting in the knowledge that all who 
 came so eagerly to hear him read were, through 
 him, bestowing their money on some worthy cause. 
 "I do not think I am vainglorious when I say that 
 I fervently thank heaven that it lies in my power 
 to do this much for charity." In addition to the 
 sixteen stout volumes of the Variorum, he pro- 
 duced a store of other works, widely divers? in 
 subject, but bearing, none the less, the marks of 
 his particular skill — the polished translation of 
 the Psalms in the Polychrome Bible, an author- 
 itative article on homoeopathy in the American 
 edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, a volume 
 containing the lifelong correspondence between 
 his father and Emerson, and a score of iridescent 
 speeches and addresses. To have crowded all 
 these activities into a single lifetime, albeit long, 
 seems to us of a less potent age almost miraculous. 
 His capacity for work was, however, prodigious: 
 every hour of his long day (he seldom went to bed 
 before two o'clock, often it was three or four when 
 he turned down the lights) was completely filled, 
 yet he was never hurried. He found ample time to 
 devote to his beloved garden, to the homely and 
 engrossing affairs of his farm at Wallingford, to his 
 countless friends the world over, and, above all, to 
 his family — children, grandchildren, and great- 
 grandchildren — whose daily interests he abun-
 
 xxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 dantly shared in, whose lives he watched grow 
 and flourish with such a glad heart. 
 
 All these facets of his nature Horace Howard 
 Furness revealed in his letters. And yet, for all 
 their fulness, for all their brilliance, they cannot 
 give the perfect picture of his life. For he was the 
 most modest of great men. Not only was there 
 scant room in his make-up where self-appreciation 
 might be lodged, but that same feeling which made 
 him "dismiss with frigid tranquillity" each vol- 
 ume of the Variorum as it fell from the press, 
 made any mention of his achievements repellent to 
 him. For his family, for his friends, for his city and 
 its institutions, his pride was illimitable, but for 
 himself it did not exist. He loathed notoriety. He 
 never even sought Fame; when she came to him 
 from every part of this country, from England and 
 from Germany, bearing splendid recognition of 
 his scholarship, he met her in his kindly fashion, 
 received her gifts with a full heart, but reverently 
 laid the wreaths aside. Although the spirit of this 
 modesty pervades his letters, veiling to a large 
 degree his attainments, it is materialized in his 
 work upon the Variorum. Search as you may for 
 Horace Howard Furness amid the plethora of 
 notes, you must not hope to see his character 
 completely limned; here or there you may catch a 
 gleam of his sprightly humour peering from some 
 long review of dry commentary, or a satisfying 
 touch of his sagacity rounding off a procession of 
 critical paragraphs. But only so much will you
 
 INTRODUCTION xxix 
 
 see; for that was his style, that was his character. 
 For instance, after all the commentators had shed 
 ink and blood to no purpose in discussing the 
 proper metrical division of the opening lines of the 
 second scene of "Twelfth Night," and after the 
 editor had shown that every suggested emenda- 
 tion was honeycombed with flaws, he closes with, 
 "Thus encircled by a lurid horizon, with no chance 
 of escape, our only course is to imitate the scorpion, 
 retire to the centre and die. The truth is, I think, 
 that in a dialogue, where fragments of lines are in 
 themselves metrical, it is folly to cut them up into 
 orthodox pentameters which can never be appreci- 
 ated on the stage." His volumes, from their nature, 
 show plainly (and often pitifully) enough how all 
 the commentators since the dawn of Shakespearean 
 criticism have been only too ready to voice their 
 own prejudices and opinions noisily. Nowhere, 
 however, does Furness join this rather too-mortal 
 chorus. Throughout each play he seems to sit 
 above the court of criticism, hearing alike the 
 learned and the foolish tell their tale, then with a 
 deft turn or shrewd remark he gives life to the 
 inert mass of evidence and lays the whole case 
 clearly before the reader. And although regretting 
 that he should have hidden the light of his own 
 opinions beneath so many dusty bushels, yet the 
 reader of the Variorum and the student of Shake- 
 speare is forced unconsciously into a position of 
 admiration — admiration that, as he laboured in 
 garnering and threshing the mountainous crop of
 
 XXX INTRODUCnON 
 
 Shakespeareana from all the English, all the for- 
 eign fields, in picking the sound kernels from the 
 mass of chaff, he was able to keep his own con- 
 ceptions or misgivings from intruding, and, may- 
 hap, bruising by editorial partiality the fruits of 
 his labour. This position he could maintain because 
 he loved Shakespeare. Though he listened patiently 
 to every syllable every critic uttered, Shakespeare's 
 own music was ringing through his brain all the 
 while. He believed implicitly in the divine right 
 of Shakespeare; he delighted in that sonorous title 
 for the poet, "Emperor, by the Grace of God, 
 of all literature." He once said, "It is a fatal mis- 
 take, I think, which many critics (and especially 
 the Germans) make, that they measure Shake- 
 speare by themselves, instead of remembering that 
 he is a law unto himself." When a passage was 
 obscure, he was content to leave it so, and to ob- 
 serve that "a little obscurity is now and then 
 nourishing"; when critics had discussed endlessly 
 the questionable use of a certain word, he rejected 
 the whole cabal and preferred to "admit that 
 after Shakespeare had used a word twice in an 
 intelligible though illogical meaning, the word 
 might as well be adopted into the language. . . . 
 It would have a paternity which many a perfectly 
 legitimate word might be content to own." And 
 finally he could never enjoy the zeal and the curi- 
 osity of those who tried to unearth from stray 
 allusions or from the order in which the plays were 
 composed facts about the life of Shakespeare —
 
 INTRODUCTION xxxi 
 
 "What mortal life, filled as all our lives are, with 
 low-thoughted care, can ever come up to our 
 picture of the myriad-minded creator of these 
 plays! He speaks to us from a higher world, and 
 far, far better is it to leave him there, a bright and 
 aerial spirit, living ensphered in regions mild of 
 calm and serene air ... . Can we not fervently 
 reecho: 'Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear. To 
 touch the dust enclosed here ' ! " Yet it must not be 
 thought that he considered Shakespeare faultless; 
 rather could he, in the vastness of his devotion, 
 forgive the faults and love the more. So deep- 
 seated, indeed, was this love that as he worked on 
 each successive play he lived with the characters 
 in it; he selected "Romeo and Juliet" for the first 
 play to edit merely because he was enamoured with 
 its beauty; he almost vowed, when he had com- 
 pleted "Othello," that he would never touch 
 another tragedy, since living for two years in the 
 dark and unrelieved tragic atmosphere was 
 scarcely to be borne; and at the close of "Antony 
 and Cleopatra" he confessed to a hopeless love for 
 "the fascinating Egyptian Queen." It is pleasant 
 to think of him in his hours of work living with 
 these children of the master's brain. And, ah, 
 what phantoms, real and fantastical, peopled that 
 book-walled library, that workshop of a scholar 
 at "Lindcnshade." Here were enshrined the 
 memories of great actors and actresses, of Garrick, 
 Kean, Macready, Forrest, and the Kembles, of 
 Mrs. Siddons, Lady Martin, Ellen Terry, and a
 
 xxxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 host of others whom Furness had known or whose 
 memory he cherished because they had brought 
 further honour to the name of Shakespeare. Here 
 were the ghosts of all Shakespearean critics whose 
 fine old volumes were gathered on the commodious 
 shelves. Here were the spirits of all Shakespeare- 
 lovers the world over, humble and mighty alike, 
 and with all these, swelling the number to a legion, 
 were all the characters from all the plays — "an- 
 cient Greeks and ancient Romans and ancient 
 Britons, kings and dukes and lords of France, and 
 kings and dukes and lords of England; soldiers, 
 sailors, doctors, and lawyers, sages of profound 
 wisdom and clowns of profound stupidity, vener- 
 able priests and horrid cut-throats; hoary age and 
 prattling infancy; learned magicians and drunken 
 tinkers; women of, every rank and every station — 
 women who make the world the fairer for their 
 ideal lives, and women who should be palled in 
 the dunnest smoke of hell"; and in the midst of 
 all this ghostly throng sat the deaf, white-haired, 
 kindly editor after all the house was hushed, save 
 for the jarring of the clock, bending over his page, 
 turning now and again to consult some volume at 
 his side, but always working, working on silently 
 into the night with that full-sensed enjoyment of 
 his task that only the devoted labourer can know. 
 Let this be the portrait of him at his midnight 
 work, surrounded by his truest friends. 
 
 Yet to those who knew the hospitable path to 
 "Lindenshade" there will remain other well-
 
 INTRODUCTION xxxlii 
 
 remembered pictures of Horace Howard Furness. 
 Pictures of his sparkling dinners, those miraculous 
 symposia of wit and wisdom, at which the spotless 
 linen and bright silver plates, the old-fashioned 
 dishes and smooth wines were rivalled in their 
 charm only by the talk; at which dulness found no 
 place and to be ill at ease was quite unknown; 
 dinners of linked sweetness long drawn out, over 
 which the master of the house presided with such 
 bountiful, courteous grace, smiling expectantly 
 with hand upon his silver ear-trumpet as some 
 joke started the laughter of his guests, or telling 
 some droll tale himself with his own inimitable 
 humour which left the listeners weak from laughing, 
 or taking from his memory some anecdote of days 
 long dead — how Lincoln wrinkled up his nose 
 when he laughed, how Walt Whitman argued with 
 Emerson or how "Fidelio" was sung in Munich 
 fifty years syne. Truly the mind as well as the 
 body dined well at those buxom feasts. Then there 
 would be the glimpse of him in his greenhouse 
 amid aromatic odours, repotting with tender care 
 some prized tropical plant, while all about him 
 pots loaded the benches with their greenery and 
 crowded on the sills against the sweated glass; or of 
 his sturdy figure walking in the garden, preceded 
 perhaps by a scholarly cat, bending here to ex- 
 amine some exotic blossom or there to tend some 
 humbler flowerof the field. And there would linger, 
 too, the memory of the last picture of him, in the 
 calm hour before he ascended to his midnight work,
 
 xxxiV INTRODUCTION 
 
 seated upon the box-edged terrace in front of the 
 kindly old house, after dinner on a warm summer 
 evening, with the gleam of his cigar lighting and 
 dwindling in the darkness, while the breeze stirred 
 in the outstretched branches of the century lin- 
 dens and the sound of his silver voice wove an 
 exquisite charm. 
 
 But these, alas, are only fragile memories, for 
 he is gone, and we shall not look upon his like 
 again!
 
 THE LETTERS OF 
 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS
 
 THE LETTERS OF 
 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 YEARS AT HARVARD 
 
 1851-1854 
 
 Two delightful addresses ^ which Horace Howard 
 Furness made to the Philadelphia Harvard Club, 
 in which he described the appearances and cus- 
 toms of the University as he knew it in the early 
 fifties, enable us to visualize a background for the 
 letters he wrote to his family during his college 
 course. The roots of his life struck so deeply into 
 Cambridge soil that even during half a century his 
 affection for Harvard never wavered, his admira- 
 tion for Dr. James Walker, the President of Har- 
 vard in his day, never waned, and the friendships 
 there established never died. He said: 
 
 "When I entered College in 1850, the grounds 
 presented an appearance very, very different from 
 what they are at present: there was a clump of fine 
 large trees, just about, I should think, where Rob- 
 inson Hall now stands, and among the trees a 
 little pool of surface water stood, possibly eight or 
 
 » Addresses of the President of the Philadelphia Harvard Club, 
 1905 and 1906.
 
 2 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 ten feet In diameter, In which the Reverend Wil- 
 liam Ware, who entered College In 1812, told me 
 that he and his classmates were wont to go In bath- 
 ing. Where Memorial Hall now stands was the 
 Delta where, after supper, football was always 
 played in autumn twilights. 
 
 "The 'Officers of Instruction and Government,' 
 including of course the Faculties of the Law, Medi- 
 cal, Scientific, and Divinity Schools, numbered all 
 told forty-two; of these five were Tutors, and two 
 were Instructors, one In German and the other in 
 French, and three were Proctors. ... In 1850 the 
 total number of sucklings at the fair founts of our 
 Alma Mater was six hundred and four. . . . 
 
 "When I entered, our class numbered sixty-five, 
 but when we graduated, owing to additions from 
 a South Carolina College, which broke up, the 
 number was ninety-one — the largest class that 
 had ever been graduated. . . . 
 
 "In my Freshman and Sophomore years there 
 were three recitations a day, one In the morning, 
 from seven to eight in the summer term, and eight 
 to nine In the winter, one at noon, and one before 
 supper, from five to six. In the Junior and Senior 
 years there were four or five courses that were 
 obligatory, and then there were courses in Greek, 
 Latin, Mathematics, Spanish, German, Italian, 
 and Hebrew, from which each student could select 
 one which he must retain throughout the year. . . . 
 
 "Attendance at Prayers was obligatory, and 
 they were held, In the morning, at six In summer
 
 HARVARD IN THE FIFTIES 3 
 
 arxd at seven in winter, and In the evening at six; 
 attendance on Saturday afternoon prayers might 
 be omitted, but he who omitted the ceremony 
 must, before nine o'clock in the evening, show him- 
 self and give his name to a tutor in some stated 
 room. . . . 
 
 *'The number of Societies was not many. The 
 first to come In the Sophomore year was 'The 
 Institute of 1770.' Inasmuch as this had a good 
 library, it was thought rather illiberal not to take 
 into its membership as many as possible — about 
 half the class, therefore, belonged to it. There was 
 no initiation, merely the notification of election 
 stamped, with a beautiful large agate seal, In red 
 wax. I was the Secretary, and the care of this seal 
 fell to me, and I remember how zealously I emu- 
 lated the busy little bee when how neat he spreads 
 his wax. . . . 
 
 "Then there was *The Hasty Pudding Club,' 
 in whose records I had the infinite pleasure of 
 reading some of the minutes of meetings written 
 in my father's boyish hand. . . . The initiation was 
 certainly admirable fooling. One great feature was 
 the tossing in a blanket in the College yard, of 
 course at night. This truly delightful function be- 
 gan two classes before me at the initiation of a dear 
 good fellow, named Waring, from Brooklyn, New 
 York. He was tossed, sorrowful man, in a blanket 
 from his own bed, and since he was unusually stout, 
 the blanket gave way and Waring went through the 
 rent. Thereupon it was decided to have a blanket
 
 4 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 made in the most substantial manner, and this took 
 shape in a piece of very stout canvas about ten 
 feet square, with continuous rope handles all about 
 its four sides. Oh, the ecstasy of it all! when the 
 blanket was spread on the ground and on it was 
 gently laid the neophyte, all unconscious of what 
 was in store for him, until after two soothing, 
 gentle heavings came the cry, 'Now, fellows, pull 
 taut!' and up the victim soared, in full evening 
 dress and with a tall silk hat on, and such antics 
 and sprawlings, and gyrations aloft! I shall never 
 forget Phillips Brooks, he was so very big and rose 
 so very high, with arms and legs wide spread — ■ 
 I remember we tossed him until for laughing we 
 could not lift the blanket. Twenty-five years later, 
 he and I happened to meet in Cambridge and he 
 spoke with enthusiasm of old days and with what 
 delight he would return to them. 'What!' I said, 
 'and be tossed in a blanket.^' 'Yes, indeed,' he 
 instantly replied with sparkling eyes, 'in a minute!' 
 'Ah, dear Brooks,' I rejoined, 'you soared above 
 our heads then, as you have done ever since.' . . . 
 "I wish I could paint for you our great Harvard 
 President ^ as his figure rises before me through 
 the vista of fifty-six years: tall, active, slim, alert, 
 with dark waving hair, no spectacles, with a smile 
 that has never yet lost its charm, and already giv- 
 ing promise of that granitic firmness on the side 
 of truth and honour and high morality which has 
 characterized his manhood and his age. Who can 
 
 * Charles W. Eliot; he was one class ahead of H. H. F.
 
 PROFESSOR LONGFELLOW 5 
 
 measure the ever-widening circles of honour and of 
 earnestness, enlarging as they roll, until they touch 
 the confines of this continent, which took their 
 first impulse from this honourable, earnest, manly 
 life? . . . 
 
 "I will give you two or three verses, all I can 
 remember, which were irreverently made on Long- 
 fellow, premising merely that the Professor, as he 
 was then, was extremely neat, and precise and 
 fashionable in his attire, and wont to wear English 
 low splatterdashes, or gaiters, as we called them, 
 and a gay necktie. And I would not be thus irrev- 
 erent to his memory, were it not that it was well 
 understood at the time that the poet had heard the 
 verses and had a hearty laugh over them. 
 
 Just twig the Professor, dressed out in his best, 
 Yellow kids and buff gaiters, green breeches, blue vest. 
 
 Chorus: Longfellow, Longfellow, Longfellow, fellow, fellow, 
 
 The man who wrote Evangeline, his name is Long- 
 fellow. 
 
 With his hat on one whisker, with an air that says 'go 
 
 it!' 
 Here, boys, is your great North American Poet. 
 
 Evangeline's his best; 'tis a tale of Acady, 
 
 'Tis the sorrowful tale of a love-sick young lady. 
 
 Longfellow, Longfellow, Longfellow, fellow, fellow, 
 etc." 
 
 These pleasant scraps of recollection, then, must 
 suffice as an introduction to the letters that follow, 
 and, indeed, they are more sufficient than any
 
 6 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 words we might write. If the reader cannot In 
 some small measure feel the Harvard atmosphere 
 that Furness knew in the fifties, then no facts, 
 dates, or anecdotes gathered and sifted by younger 
 hands can make it apparent; to add more were to 
 step intrusively into an age whereof we are no part. 
 
 To his Father 
 
 Cambridge, June ^th, 1852 
 If perchance, my dear Father, you should ever 
 in future miss my letter on Tuesday or even 
 Wednesday, set it down either to the failure of the 
 mail or to some accident of putting it into the mail, 
 but be assured that I shall never forget or neglect 
 to write as usual upon Sunday. . . . 
 
 You accuse me of not telling you about the 
 Abolition fuss here in Cambridge. I should have 
 been very happy to have done so had I known 
 anything about it myself, & until you mentioned 
 it in your letter I didn't know that a "fuss" had 
 occurred. I remember some one's telling me that 
 a Southern Law student had threatened to challenge 
 a New Yorker because of certain remarks on Slav- 
 ery, but that the quarrel had there ceased. . . . The 
 true state of the case, however, I believe to be this: 
 there has been a debate on Slavery in the Law 
 School Debating Society, in the course of which a 
 New Yorker made use of some strong expressions 
 about the South, when a Southern rowdie said 
 he'd take up the cause of the South & challenge 
 the Northerner, whereat the Northerner (when it
 
 CHARLES RUSSELL LOWELL 7 
 
 was reported to him) coolly remarked that the 
 only notice he should take of the challenge was to 
 hand the sender of it over to the constable, it being 
 not only against the laws, but against his principles 
 to fight a duel. This coming to the Southerner's 
 ears he wisely neglected to perform his threat, and 
 so the matter ended. The New York Herald, how- 
 ever, got hold of it and blazoned it in exaggerated 
 terms far and wide. . . . 
 
 I, insignificant I, was never so homesick before, 
 as now. What to do with the rest of the term I 
 don't know. There has been quite a panic in the 
 high scholars in our class in consequence of Dr. 
 Walker's saying five Fresh-Juniors were going to 
 come into the first eight & one of them was go- 
 ing to stand ahead of Lowell.^ It is the greatest 
 outrage I ever heard of. I am sure if such is the 
 case, if Lowell doesn't have the Valedictory at 
 Commencement, there will be little short of rebel- 
 
 ' Charles Russell Lowell, 1835-1864, Captain Sixth U.S. Cavalry, 
 Colonel Second Massachusetts Cavalry, Brigadier-General U.S. Vol- 
 unteers. This brilliant classmate of H. H. F.'s served gallantly 
 from the very beginning of the War of the Rebellion until he fell, mor- 
 tally wounded, at Cedar Creek in the Shenandoah Valley Campaign, 
 while leading his brigade in a charge upon the enemy's position, 
 October 19, 1864. H. H. F. in a letter to Edward Emerson wrote of 
 his recollections of Lowell at Harvard : " Charlie Lowell was the young- 
 est member of our Class, I think, and during the First Term, Fresh- 
 man, wore a roundabout jacket. ... Of all the rest of us he won his 
 way into my good graces by his vivacity, his thoroughly boyish 
 open-heartedness, his eagerness for fun and frolic, and his indiffer- 
 ence to the high rank to which he at once attained by easy strides and 
 maintained. ... I doubt that any scholar ever held that position 
 with more unwavering acquiescence on the part of his classmates in 
 his right to it than LowelL"
 
 8 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 Hon. I for one won't speak on that day & I doubt 
 whether another single fellow of the first thirty- 
 five would, in fact I know they wouldn't. . . . 
 My love to all as loves me, & believe me 
 
 Yours 
 ,. , Horace 
 
 To his Father 
 
 Cambridge, October 31, 1852 
 I KEPT on the even tenor of my way from the 
 time you left till last Thursday, when it was an- 
 nounced that we should have no recitations the 
 next day, the day of Mr. [Daniel] Webster's Fu- 
 neral. I had previously determined to go to Marsh- 
 field at all hazards, & from that moment Fortune 
 seemed to smile on my endeavors. 
 
 The nearest route to Marshfield is to take the 
 cars to Kingston, about thirty-three miles, & then 
 take a carriage, & ride seven miles to Mr. W.'s 
 farm. A classmate residing in Kingston, yclept 
 Holmes (a nevy of Dr. Holmes), invited me to 
 come to his house & he w'ld then take me over to 
 Marshfield in his own carriage. In order to go in 
 the early train, a quarter before eight, I went to 
 Boston & spent the night. In this early train there 
 were eight cars averaging sixty persons in a car; 
 notwithstanding I was lucky enough to get a good 
 seat near the window & hugely enjoyed the splen- 
 did autumn day and foliage. At Kingston I found 
 my classmate waiting for me, & was by him put in- 
 to a carriage, & was soon on the way to Marshfield
 
 FUNERAL OF DANIEL WEBSTER 9 
 
 over a road wonderfully like those at Cape May, 
 yellow sand a foot deep, & low stunted pine trees 
 on both sides of the way. And, Lord bless me! 
 what numbers of carriages! Their name.was legion, 
 that is, about two thousand, as near as I can guess. 
 . . . Each little road, from some neighboring vil- 
 lage or town, mustered its crowd as we pass, & even 
 at the distance of three or four miles the scene par- 
 took of solemnity. There was no gayety or un- 
 seemly mirth. Every one was silent and seemed In 
 earnest. 
 
 When I reached Marshfield, I found Mr. Web- 
 ster's body was laid out under a tree, & that a 
 queue of considerable length had formed; the men 
 walked two by two up to the coffin, then separated, 
 one on each side of it, after passing it again joined 
 & then marched through his house. When I got 
 there, as I said, the queue was quite long, & as 
 waiting was not very consonant with my mood, I 
 coolly went and stood alongside one of the men a 
 few feet from the coffin; the man could not say a 
 word, for I interfered with no one. Whether Mr. 
 Webster looked natural or not I cannot say, never 
 having seen him when alive, but he certainly 
 looked very haggard, careworn, & black. He was 
 dressed, I believe, in his usual style, for the whole 
 lid of the coffin being off, the entire man could be 
 seen. There were flowers in profusion in his coffin, 
 & I stooped over and plucked an ivy leaf from a 
 wreath of the same placed near his head. . . . In- 
 stead of joining my companion & going through
 
 10 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 the house, I simply stepped aside & took my sta- 
 tion near one of the undertakers, from whence I 
 could look to my heart's content & endeavored to 
 impress Mr. Webster's features on my mind. 
 
 After standing there about half an hour I went 
 through his house & over his grounds. The latter 
 are splendid. Everything is on the grandest scale. 
 It is a farm of eighteen hundred acres. The num- 
 ber of people at his funeral was immense. The 
 various estimates are from seven thousand to 
 twenty thousand, of which the former appears 
 nearer the truth. 
 
 It was really a very impressive scene. The coffin 
 was under a tree, whose leaves appeared to have 
 been spared by the autumn, & the sun (for it was 
 a most heavenly day) shimmered down through 
 them, right upon his very face. Every one was 
 silent or else spoke in whispers. But not always — 
 one man (a brute) came up eating an apple, & just 
 before he came to the coffin took an extra-ordina- 
 rily large bite, so that his eating might not be in- 
 terrupted. 
 
 I returned with Holmes & partook of a grand 
 country dinner at his house & returned in the after- 
 noon train, & reached Cambridge at six o'clock, 
 having passed an eventful day. I have nothing 
 else to tell; the above has been the thing of the 
 week, & there is nothing new — xcept that Wil- 
 liam ^ is not going to start till Friday. 
 Love to all. Yours 
 
 Horace 
 
 * H. H. F.'s elder brother, William Henry Furness, Jr.
 
 A JOLLIFICATION ix 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Cambridge, January g, 1853 
 Will is with you again, my dear kiths and kins, 
 and has undoubtedly told you all about me that 
 was tellable, and there is little left for me. How 
 soon we shall see each other! — one week from 
 next Wednesday is "the last of examinations, I 
 am content." Hurree! I spose very few letters 
 more will be written on either side. 
 
 This week has been a comparatively easy one — 
 no Theme nor Forensic. And I have consequently 
 enjoyed a splendid "otium" "cum" delightfullest 
 "dignitate." Last Thursday, Twelfth Night, I 
 was invited to a jollification in Putnam's room, 
 to meet some half a dozen fellows, all Alpha Delta 
 Phi-men, and that one title implies everything 
 that's fine. We had a royal time. Steaming hot 
 punch circulated freely, though not in my veins. 
 I carried my baccy-box & smoked and sang for 
 the benefit of the rest. About eleven o'clock there 
 was an alarm of fire: the omnibus stable at the 
 'Port. An omnibus came up to spread the alarm. 
 Instantly greatcoats and india-rubbers were flung 
 on, & we sallied forth. You know I have a pen- 
 chant for improving my lungs — there was a good 
 deal of noise. I caught the omnibus just as it was 
 returning, jumped on, several followed my ex- 
 ample, & we rode every step of the way to the 
 fire in great style. When there I excited great 
 wrath from the firemen by repeating in a stento- 
 rian voice any orders which I might perchance hear.
 
 12 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 such as "Play on, No. 3!" "Stop playing, No. 
 6!" & the like. To a disinterested spectator I 
 was the "factotum" of the fire. Especially since 
 as soon as I left the place it broke out with re- 
 doubled fury. I returned to the room after half an 
 hour's pleasing excitement. This I believe is the 
 only incident of the week. 
 
 On Friday even'g, I was elected Vice President 
 of the Natural History Society, an oihce in which 
 there is little or nothing to be done as long as the 
 President does his duty, else I would not have 
 accepted it. The Prex is always a Senior. It is 
 a fine society & never more flourishing than at 
 present; the other day the Curators of the different 
 departments in it (myself among the rest. Curator 
 of Entomology) collected together and made up a 
 very neat document, setting forth the great value 
 of the society & requesting aid of the Corporation 
 of the College for the furtherance of its interests, 
 fitting up the room and the like. The result was 
 a cool hundred dollars, and fuel and oil whenever 
 we wanted it. Wasn't it munificent? .... 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Cambridge, May Day, 1853 ' 
 
 Dear Father, Mother, and Annis ("lastum 
 sed non leastum," as Binney used to say), the 
 four letters that I have this week received have 
 been sweeter to me than the happy ending of a 
 tale — even Villette. I hardly expect greater pleas- 
 ure when I go to Paradise all popilated with houris
 
 ELECTED TO PHI BETA KAPPA 13 
 
 and ballet dancers. I always read letters from 
 home with that keen relish and intense interest, 
 which is so distressing to a disinterested spectator 
 to observe without being able to share in it. As 
 the event of this week has been the receipt of these 
 letters, I feel very much inclined to write about 
 them — perhaps give extracts from them, only 
 I am afraid that to you it would be rather stale. 
 Did I say the event? how could I forget, even for 
 an instant, my election into that renowned society, 
 the Phi Beta Kappa? a society which keeps so con- 
 stantly in view the improvement of its members, 
 meeting as it does once a year, & offering the splen- 
 did advantage of a Library of twenty or thirty 
 volumes. Had it not been for that opportune fif- 
 teen dollars, I should have been compelled to refuse 
 joining, for the initiation fee is {horribile dictu!) 
 seven dollars. I am uncertain whether I did right 
 to join as it is, but then I reflected that it is the 
 highest literary society in the United States & that 
 it is a good deal of an honor to belong to it, so I con- 
 sented. The fact that Father had belonged to it 
 made it in my eyes more of an honor than any- 
 thing else; besides, the seven dollars (in which a 
 medal is included) is the only money I shall ever 
 have to pay. We are to have a grand supper next 
 Thursday eve'g at Porter's, but whether I go or not 
 is uncertain. Much against my will I was made 
 Chairman of the Committee of Arrangements for 
 the dinner on the Thursday after Commencement, 
 but whether I go to that also or not is uncertain.
 
 14 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 For besides having to stay away from home one 
 day longer (which is the greatest objection) my 
 duties would be somewhat onerous; I should have 
 to take care of Mr. R. C. Winthrop, the pres't of ye 
 society, & the Orator & the Poet, & come all man- 
 ner of dodges. . . . 
 
 My lessons go on so so. I am beginning to feel 
 somewhat dismal about my rank, but of that more 
 hereafter; I miss the encouragement of Tutor 
 Chase. The other day a funny incident occurred 
 in ye Latin Recitation. You must know, of course, 
 my reputation of being an incorrigible "dig." 
 Well, I was scanning some Iambic Trimeters in 
 Professor Lane's room the other afternoon; the 
 words were — tu dignu's qui sies (Plautinian 
 Latin). I accordingly commenced "tu dig — 
 Iamb" (I am) and there was a general symptom of 
 concealed laughter. I luckily kept my countenance 
 and on . . . 
 
 It is growing late and I must bid you all Good- 
 night, 
 
 Yours 
 
 Horace 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Cambridge, May 15, 1853 
 ... I AM very glad that you are all pleased with 
 what you call my "clustering honors.*^ But I am 
 afraid you attach too much importance to them. 
 To get into the Phi Beta is a natural consequence 
 of high rank (for the choice generally falls upon the
 
 "DIGGING" IS 
 
 first eight or nine) unless you are especially dis- 
 liked or unpopular, which was unfortunately the 
 case with two of our high scholars, so that there 
 were but seven elected from our class. We were 
 all of us quite vexed that it should be so. It was 
 giving needless pain. For it was not so much the 
 honor of getting in, as it is the dishonor of being 
 left out. ... As you say I have gotten to the end of 
 clubs, there are no more left, and it is perhaps on 
 some accounts a little of a satisfaction that I have 
 always been among the first elected into each. 
 You ask me to talk to you just as though I were 
 talking to myself. I am not what would be called 
 a "popular fellow." And I have no ambition to be 
 such. The popularity that I possess is the kind I 
 do care for. 
 
 To a large number of every class the epithet of 
 "dig" is a reproach, & I deservedly have that 
 title, but I have been so consistent throughout in 
 "digging," that my classmates cannot but feel a 
 respect for me & think that I deserve every inch 
 of the rank that I have acquired, & would feel 
 quite sorry to see me seriously lose it; that I have 
 lost some of it there is no doubt; I believe I am now 
 the fourth. There is another thing that I might 
 have done in order to gain so-called "popularity," 
 that is, visiting & associating more generally with 
 my class. This I have never done, for I always 
 have considered it & always shall look upon it as 
 a great waste of valuable time; if any desire my 
 company they must seek it, and I assure you I
 
 i6 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 have enough seekers, almost too many, for I am 
 sometimes obliged to act quite rudely, such as 
 keeping on studying with almost the same attention 
 after the entrance of company as before. This, 
 however, I do only to my most intimate friends, 
 & they always understand it. So much for the 
 present about myself. . . . 
 
 Forgive this plaguey nonsense in this silly letter 
 and believe me 
 
 Yours 
 
 Horace 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Cambridge, May 29, 1853 
 This week has passed most delightfully. I felt 
 perfectly free, & mingled study & recreation in the 
 most delicious confusion. As time by no means 
 hung heavy on my hands I was under no sort of 
 obligations to teach the orphan girl to read or the 
 orphan boy to sew. I read, wrote, slept, and 
 smoked to my heart's content. Yesterday after- 
 noon I read a "History of the Inquisition" & 
 gradually dreamed off & awoke maintaining that 
 some one or other, I couldn't remember the name, 
 would make a most capital General Inquisitor. 
 The event of the week, however, was the Inaugura- 
 tion of Pres't Walker. There was none of the pomp 
 and magnificence of preceding years, yet it was 
 still quite imposing. The first ceremony was the 
 planting of a young tree, which ever after bears 
 Dr. Walker's nam^e. This is a time-honored custom
 
 INAUGURATION OF DR. WALKER 17 
 
 and Is performed as follows. In the morning about 
 ten o'clock the Senior class marched in a body to 
 Pres't Sparks' ^ & presented a handsome bouquet 
 to Lady S.; thence to Dr. Walker's & gave a similar 
 bouquet to Lady W. Retiring from Dr. Walker's, 
 the President-elect accompanied them and was 
 escorted into the College yard to where a hole had 
 been dug, into which was placed a fine young pine 
 tree; the Chief Marshal then steps forward and 
 addresses a flowery, spooney speech to Dr. Walker, 
 who replies somewhat similarly, about children's 
 children (i.e., grandchildren) sitting under the 
 shade of It & reflecting with pleasure upon its plant- 
 ing. (Now if there are the same laws in force then, 
 as now, they will be very quickly dispersed as a 
 "parietal group." Dr. Walker then advances & 
 throws in the first shovelful of earth, & is followed 
 by each member of the class, doing the same in 
 turn; "and now," said the Doctor as he threw 
 down the shovel, "where are your 'digs'?" What 
 hand-clapping and what laughter! (But between 
 you and me, I think it was a joke that he heard 
 among the bystanders at President Sparks' or 
 Everett's Inauguration.) The worthy Doctor was 
 then accompanied home and the crowd dispersed 
 to celebrate the day in uproarious carousals. And 
 upon my word, I never saw such almost universal, 
 what shall I call It — intoxication Is too gross a 
 term to apply to such good fellows & yet it was 
 
 * Jared Sparks, LL.D., President of Harvard from 1849 until 1853 
 when he resigned on account of ill health.
 
 1 8 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 nothing more nor less. One of my classmates was 
 not far from the truth, when he said that "there 
 were not more than fifteen fellows out of our class, 
 who were not 'tight' that day"; and what was true 
 of our class was true of the other three also. You 
 know my penchant for such scenes, & I assure you 
 that that day I saw some rich ones. I hate to have 
 any one get "tight," but if he must & will do so, 
 why, pray let me see him, & when he is getting 
 over it I will administer soda water & good advice 
 to his heart's content. On the day in question, at 
 about eleven o'clock I was lying reading on my 
 sofa, now and then interrupted by bursts of merri- 
 ment, when a real good friend of mine, who is, how- 
 ever rather fond of getting elevated semioccasion- 
 ally & then comes & confesses to me, so to speak, 
 rushed into my room, bawling out: "Furness, you 
 old fool you! get up! come round to D.'s; you must 
 come; all the fellows are round there & we're 
 having a glorious time!" This speech was inter- 
 spersed with adjectives "immentionable to ears 
 perlite." I complied, & truly it was the most ludi- 
 crous sight I ever witnessed. There were about 
 fifteen or twenty fellows scarcely conscious of what 
 they were about, & in shaking hands with them I 
 was obliged to dodge the wine & punch which they 
 would otherwise have spilt over me. I could fill 
 sheets with description of the ridiculous scenes; 
 one, however, will suffice. One of the company 
 happening to find himself in front of a looking- 
 glass inquired "who was that spooney fellow look-
 
 CAROUSALS 19 
 
 ing at him"; receiving no reply he aimed a blow & 
 shivered the glass to atoms, & turning around with 
 a satisfied look said, he "thought that rather 
 knocked him!" 
 
 So much for the forenoon; in the afternoon we 
 were marshalled class by class & joined in the 
 grand procession which escorted Dr. Walker to the 
 church. Here the Governor (Clifford) made a very 
 neat speech & delivered to Dr. W. the old Charter 
 & the seal & large silver keys of the College. Dr. 
 W. replied, & there was an oration in Latin by Car- 
 roll, the first scholar of the Senior class. After that 
 followed Dr. Walker's address, & a splendid one it 
 was; it answered all the charges which of late have 
 been brought against colleges. Its length was its 
 only fault; it will be printed & will I think make 
 quite a sensation. After the address followed the 
 Doxology. And you'd better believe I put in vig- 
 orously. Every one joined & it did sound grandly. 
 After that we again marched round Cambridge & 
 finally dispersed, & night & carousals began to 
 thicken. In the eve'g W. & myself went up to 
 the H. P. C. room and he read the last number of 
 "Bleak House" to me, & we came to the con- 
 clusion that it was a fine one — splenndid. . . . 
 
 My desire to see you all is inexpressible. . . . 
 Oceans of love to Father & Mother, & continents 
 for yourself, & believe me, darling sister, 
 
 Yours 
 
 Horace
 
 20 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Cambridge, October 2, 1853 
 My dear Relatives, considerably dearer than 
 the light that visits these sad eyes, I have had a 
 jolly week, & hoping that you have had the same, 
 I will proceed to unfold to you some of the causes 
 of this pleasure. In the first place, I have been 
 terribly busy, a thing I always enjoy. I had to 
 hand In a Forensic on Thursday in which the ques- 
 tion whether it was just that a person should be 
 taxed by law for the support of religious forms & 
 ordinances, was to be forever settled. Wednesday 
 afternoon not a word of it had been written, partly 
 through lack of time, but mostly because I 
 couldn't arrive at any decision about it. Finally 
 I decided in the affirmative & wrote it Wednesday 
 eve'g. The second cause of my pleasure (but I for- 
 got to mention that Thursday, after I was through 
 with that Forensic, Christian's joys after he was 
 released from his uncomfortable burden wasn't a 
 circumstance to mine) was the meeting of the 
 Natural History Society. I had invited Professor 
 Agasslz with hardly a hope that he would come, 
 but to my great delight he made his appearance 
 at the beginning of the meeting, accompanied by 
 his son ^ who is a member of the society. I did the 
 honors of the occasion & conducted him to a seat. 
 The order of performance in that society is that 
 members read papers on various subjects supplied 
 to them by the President, and It very often happens 
 * Alexander Agassiz, of the Class of 1855.
 
 NATURAL HISTORY SOCIETY 21 
 
 that members neglect this duty, so that sometimes, 
 when there ought to be four papers every meeting, 
 there are only three, two, & sometimes only one. 
 This was unfortunately the case that even'g. 
 There was only one paper, but that was luckily on 
 Geology, on the "Mauvaises Terres"; & after it 
 was concluded I expressed my regret at there being 
 so few performances, but said that the society 
 would feel highly honored if Professor Agassiz 
 would favor it with any remarks on any subject 
 that he might feel inclined. So taking up the sub- 
 ject of "Mauvaises Terres" he told us all about 
 them, drew diagrams on the blackboard & spoke 
 about twenty minutes in the most interesting 
 style. After the meeting was over I showed him 
 our collection, & he expressed himself greatly 
 pleased & said he should certainly come again & 
 bring with him Dr. Leidy's report on these "Bad 
 Lands." Not only was it exceedingly pleasant to 
 have him there, but it will prove the greatest bene- 
 fit to the society. All the members who were 
 present were perfectly delighted with the meeting 
 & were terribly chagrined that there were no more 
 papers, so that we could not make a better show 
 before the distinguished guest, a feeling which the 
 Professor's presence only could have caused; all 
 the members who were absent were disappointed 
 at not being present & I've no doubt, secretly 
 vowed never to miss another meeting. So you see 
 it has given the society a grand start at the very 
 beginning of the term.
 
 22 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 The third & best reason why I have passed a 
 pleasant week was yesterday. It was a splendid 
 day, and at ten o'clock we started with Professor 
 Agassiz to walk over to Roxbury to make geo- 
 logical examinations of the Pudding Stone there. 
 There were about forty of us, mostly scientific 
 students, however, yet that was another cause of 
 pleasure. For these scientifics are a most stupid 
 set & there has been a great complaint, on former 
 occasions, that these sumphs have monopolised 
 the Professor, asking him the most stupid ques- 
 tions; for instance, one of them yesterday asked 
 him the difTerence between a boulder and a pudding 
 stone. I was accordingly determined that when 
 I went, it should not be so. So, soon after we 
 started I ousted one of his scientific bodyguard & 
 kept my position by his side during the rest of the 
 walk & it was a walk of six miles. We reached 
 Roxbury at about twelve o'clock, & examined the 
 Pudding Stone to our satisfaction; while there one 
 of the scientifics capped the climax of stupidity by 
 bringing Professor Agassiz a piece of an old clinker 
 & wanted to know what singular mineral it was. 
 When told that it was a piece of old coal he 
 dropped it as though it had been a live one. We 
 rode into Boston In the omnibus, went to Parker's, 
 that is four of us, & had a capital dinner, to which 
 Blight ^ treated. We reached Cambridge at about 
 
 ' Atherton Blight, of Philadelphia, with whom H. H. F. roomed 
 during his last three years at Harvard. Always a dear and devoted 
 friend for whom H. H. F. had a deep affection, and owing to whose 
 generosity he was able to make the extended European trip in 1854- 
 1856.
 
 A NIGHT HORSEBACK RIDE 23 
 
 four, &, for my part, having passed the pleasantest 
 day this term. . . . 
 
 So adoo. 
 
 Yrs. H. 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Cambridge, October l6, 1 853 
 And so, my dear Father, Nan's desoleCy is she, 
 because she hasn't written to me? Well, I should 
 think she would be, decidedly, if not more so. Oh, 
 the bage creature & bragian serpiant! To think of 
 the sweet, tender affection, with which I penned 
 that last epistle & then in return for it she tells 
 me she is some French thing or other, I don't 
 know what. ... If Brothers are to be treated thus 
 at the very outset, what will become of them in 
 the course of a year? I might as well at once make 
 myself a demd moist uncomfortable body. . . . 
 
 I went into Boston yesterday afternoon and 
 returned to Cambridge too late for tea, so I con- 
 tented myself with munching some crackers, 
 building a fire, & smoking a pipe. At half-past 
 nine o'clock, a classmate, yhight Wyeth, came in. 
 It was such a glorious night that he had invited me 
 to ride on horseback with him. So off we started, 
 he on a bay horse & I on a white. What a glori- 
 ous night it was! The moon was full & shone as 
 bright as day, not a cloud was to be seen. We 
 dashed up to Waltham at full speed, & scoured 
 the country roundabout on a gallop. I never in all 
 my life enjoyed any ride so much as this. The
 
 24 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 moonlight was so clear that the different colors of 
 the autumn foliage could be distinguished. When 
 we reached the top of Wellington Hill, at about 
 eleven, a mist was just rising in the valley below. 
 Upon my word, it was tolerably pretty. Our in- 
 tention was to get into Boston about twelve, take 
 a sound supper at Parker's and ride comfortably 
 out to Cambridge, but just as we were in sight of 
 the lights on the Mill Dam we came to a railroad 
 bridge not yet finished; as we couldn't pass & as 
 it would take too long to go around, we turned our 
 horses' heads homewards & reached Cambridge 
 at half-past twelve, purchased a couple of bottles 
 of ale at the Oyster Saloon, & some crackers, came 
 to my room, woke up Blight who was sleeping 
 in my chair, & we three then dispatched the ale 
 & the crackers, & then retired to bed, it being 
 acknowledged on both sides that it was the pleas- 
 antest evening that we had passed this term. To- 
 day I have felt as fresh as ever, & were it not for 
 the vivid recollection, should not be conscious that 
 during three hours last night I was dashing over 
 the country on horseback. . . . 
 
 Wednesday I suppose will bring letters from my 
 parent of the sterner sex & from the fond object 
 of me affections. Meantime 
 
 Yours 
 
 Horace
 
 HASTY PUDDING CLUB 25 
 
 To his Father 
 
 Cambridge, December i8, 1853 
 I CAN scarcely realise, vay dear Father, that this 
 is only a week before Christmas & that I am 
 sitting here with my windows open & with the 
 air as balmy as a day of May. Heigho! it makes 
 me very homesick. I am consoled with the thought 
 that in a little more than four weeks I shall be in 
 the arms of a loved and loving family, . . . 
 
 I anxiously expected the silk stockings till the 
 last moment, but as they didn't come I bought 
 the longest pair of cotton that I could find, and 
 made my debut in the dancing world as a Ballet 
 girl last Friday night [at the Hasty Pudding Club]. 
 For lack of anything better to tell you I will for 
 your edification describe my dress. In the first 
 place, I purchased a pair of satin slippers, (perfect 
 loves!) sewed thereon two "pcnk" rosettes. I then 
 bought eight yards of muslin & with the aid of 
 Wadleigh in a very short time it was transformed 
 into a pair of voluminous drawers & three very 
 full skirts, reaching almost to my knees. This was 
 all that I did in the making of my dress; the rest 
 was gotten up by Miss Sallie Colburn & com- 
 prised a most charming penk boddice turreted 
 round the waist, in short, its toute ensemble was 
 somehow thus: [Here is inserted a little sketch of 
 the costume] together with a very full skirt of 
 white muslin trimmed with penk ribbons. On my 
 head I had a black wig with a double row of curls 
 & on that a diminutive hat trimmed with black &
 
 26 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 artificial flowers, also the handiwork of Miss C. 
 When the curtain drew up two fellows made their 
 appearance at the back of the stage, with white 
 waistcoats & cravats, & walked solemnly down to 
 the front with Jew's-harps in their hands &, seated 
 on opposite sides of the stage, after tuning their 
 instruments struck up a popular air, by way of 
 overture, & then at a preconcerted signal, as the 
 bill announced, Signorita Phurnessi made her 
 appearance & tripped down to the footlights amid 
 peals upon peals of the most tremendous, deafen- 
 ing, & prolonged applause. Everything that she 
 did, from her languishing & unvarying smile down 
 to her walking on the points of her toes, brought 
 down the house & at the close she was vociferously 
 encored. It was a great hit. It occurred to me that 
 if you desire it I would try to bring the dress home 
 and would persuade the signorita sometime or 
 other to favor you with a pas seul. 
 
 For mercy sake, keep hush about this or my 
 character for dignity and sedateness would be 
 forever blasted. . . . 
 
 In the words of gentle Chaucer "there n'is ne 
 more to say." Of course love pressed down and 
 overflowing to Mother and Annis and to thae gude 
 folk next door. 
 
 Good-bye, my dear Father. 
 
 ' Yours 
 
 Horace
 
 JAMES SAVAGE, JR. 27 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Cambridge, January I, 1854 
 
 A HAPPY New Year to you all, my dear Father, & 
 Mother, and Annis, which I 've no doubt a large 
 portion of it will be from the present prospects of 
 it.^ Gude save us! how soon I shall see you! A 
 fortnight from Wednesday I shall start for home, 
 the eighteenth of January, stop a forenoon in New 
 York to view with critic's eye the Crystal Palace, 
 & reach Philadelphia at nine o'clock in the eve'g, 
 when I hope to shake hands with you all. This 
 week, as you must have heard, we have had a 
 stunning snowstorm. All the snow I ever saw in 
 my life put together wouldn't make the half of 
 what is now on the ground. ... I had a present 
 last Monday which I haven't had a chance to men- 
 tion to you. Lockhart's "Life of Scott," hand- 
 somely bound in one volume was left on my table, 
 "For Signorita Phurnessi from J. Savage, Jr.," ' 
 
 * Referring to the marriage of Annis Lee Furness to Dr. Caspar 
 Wister of Philadelpliia which was planned for the spring. It took 
 place in June, 1854. 
 
 * James Savage, Jr., of Boston, Lieutenant-Colonel, Second Reg- 
 iment, Massachusetts Volunteers, died of wounds received in the 
 battle of Cedar Mountain, August 9, 1862. 
 
 Savage, together with Wilder Dwight, '53, also a friend and com- 
 panion of H. H. F.'s, were leaders in organizing the regiment which 
 was afterwards recognized as the Second Massachusetts Volunteers. 
 In this regiment he served gallantly from the beginning of the war, 
 being quickly promoted from Captain to Lieutenant-Colonel, until, 
 in a spirited advance, being wounded in three places, he was made a 
 prisoner and taken to the rear of the enemy lines, where, in spite of 
 all medical aid, he died of his wounds and of exhaustion on the 2d 
 of October. 
 
 Savage was also with Athcrton Blight and H. H. F. in Europe in 
 1854-1856. and mention of him will be found in subsequent letters.
 
 28 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 a present which gratified me more than I can tell 
 you. For Savage's discrimination of character is 
 universally acknowledged. And the present case, 
 ahem! affords conclusive proof of it. 
 
 Recitations drag their weary length along. 
 Nothing new ever occurs. Greek & Latin occupy 
 a good deal of my time. . . . Oh, the other day I 
 was quite amused at a little incident which oc- 
 curred to me in the Bookstore. Father Hooper (so 
 called from his having been a Proctor, time out of 
 mind, & who is now Tutor in Greek while Pro- 
 fessor Felton is in Europe) came to me & told 
 me with a great deal of palaver that Mr. Sophocles 
 had told him that I had an excellent pronunciation 
 in Greek, according to the correct European theory. 
 This pronunciation, it appears, the Father is very 
 desirous of acquiring. Accordingly he asked me 
 to do him the favor to come sometime to his 
 room & read Greek to him that he might acquire 
 from me the style in which the bird of Maeonian 
 Song was wont to "receete" his epos. Of course I 
 was only too "grattered & flatified," and "only 
 too happy," & all sorts of bowing, blushing; se- 
 riously, I was gratified to have Mr. S. say so of 
 me, for it is really a thing on which I have spent 
 no little pains. . . . 
 
 There, Good-bye now. 
 
 Yours 
 
 Horace
 
 DINNER WITH MR. EMERSON 29 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Cambridge, May 7, 1854 
 
 Last Saturday, as you know, I was to spend at 
 Concord. Mr. Emerson ^ had invited Bancroft, 
 Lowell, & Sanborn (a Junior) to come up at the 
 same time & had also advised us to come in the 
 twelve o'clock train from Boston. Accordingly 
 L., S., & myself went up to Porter's at twelve to 
 wait for the train; it soon came whizzing by & we 
 jumped in without asking any questions. When we 
 came to pay the conductor, "How much is it to 
 Concord?" "We don't go to Concord, Sir, this is 
 the Lexington train," our jaws fell as we exchanged 
 glances. The twelve o'clock train had been dis- 
 continued. There was nothing to be done but to 
 make the best of it & go on to Lexington and 
 then walk over from Lexington to Concord, six 
 miles. This we accordingly did. We reached Lex- 
 ington at 12.30 & Mr. Emerson at a quarter past 
 two, which, considering that his dinner hour was 
 one, was somewhat late. However, he had dis- 
 covered his mistake with regard to the trains & 
 had waited dinner for us. Seldom, if ever, have I 
 passed a plcasanter afternoon. The cheerfulness 
 inside atoned for the dreariness without; the tem- 
 perature had fallen below freezing point. It was 
 refreshing & delicious to hear him (Mr. E.) talk 
 about Father. Altogether his manners won me 
 
 ^ Ralph Waldo Emerson. W. H. Furness, the elder, and Mr. 
 Emerson were close friends from their earliest boyhood days. A col- 
 lection of their letters was published by H. H. F. in 1910 — "Records 
 of a Lifelong Friendship." (Houghton Mifflin Company.)
 
 30 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 completely. He almost Insisted that I should 
 come very soon again with my valise & spend 
 Saturday & Sunday with him. We left there at 
 6.30 to go in a 6.45 train which Mr. E. said left at 
 that time. When we reached the depot we asked 
 the ticket-master at what time the next train 
 started. "Ten o'clock, Sir!" We all three fell 
 a-laughing for about five minutes. To cut a long 
 story short, Lowell & Sanborn concluded to walk 
 to Cambridge — fourteen miles — & I determined 
 to go to the tavern, buy some cigars, & meditate 
 there until half-past eight, at which time the man 
 said that there was the merest chance that the 
 train might come along. I parted with Lowell & 
 S. & went to the tavern and passed two dismal 
 hours in a barroom without any fire in it; that is to 
 say the time would have been dismal to any one 
 else, but I rather enjoyed it. At 8.30 I sallied forth 
 & had not gone ten steps before I heard the car 
 whistle. You'd better believe I ran. I reached the 
 cars just as they were starting off, jumped on, was 
 set down at Porter's at nine, & was snugly fixed in 
 my own room before a cosy fire at a quarter past. 
 Poor L. & S. didn't reach Cambridge till eleven. 
 Thus terminated the eventful day, A pleasanter 
 I have not passed in this term. 
 Pray let me hear soon again. 
 
 Yours 
 
 Horace ^
 
 THE ANTHONY BURNS AFFAIR 31 
 
 To his Father 
 
 Cambridge, May 28, 1854^ 
 . . . My blood has been boiling & my chief en- 
 deavors yesterday were to keep cool, for wh. pur- 
 pose I was all day long humming "From Green- 
 
 ^ This letter and the one following refer to the disturbances in 
 Boston arising from the seizure, trial, and return of Anthony Burns, 
 under the Kansas-Nebraska Act, which had just passed on the 23d 
 of May, 1854, setting aside the Missouri Compromise. This unfortu- 
 nate negro had escaped from his owner in Virginia, and had, by the aid 
 of the Underground Railroad, reached Boston when, on the 24th of 
 May, he was arrested under the Fugitive Slave Law, and taken to 
 the Boston Court-House to be held under an armed guard for a hearing. 
 News of his arrest was known to all Boston the next day, and the ex- 
 citement that this intelligence created was widespread and intense. 
 In the afternoon (of the 25th) there was a fiery gathering in Meio- 
 nian Hall where many were in favour of an immediate attack upon 
 the Court-House for the rescue of the fugitive, but it was not until the 
 evening, when an immense meeting was held in Faneuil Hall, that any 
 move was taken. Here, after Wendell Phillips, Theodore Parker, 
 George R. Russell, and other prominent Abolitionists had voiced their 
 indignation, a large part of those present, headed by T. W. Higgin- 
 son, Seth Webb, Jr., and Lewis Hayden, rushed to the Court-House 
 where they found an assault upon the western door already in prog- 
 ress. But the door was well guarded, and, although the attack lacked 
 nothing in spirit and the door was battered in, the few who gained 
 entrance were quickly driven out by the armed marshal-guard who 
 stood within. When one of these guards was accidentally killed, the 
 assault fell back. The attempted rescue was a failure. 
 
 The following day Burns was tried before Commissioner Loring, and 
 it was ordered that the fugitive should be surrendered to his claimant 
 and to the horrors of recapture. On the 2d of June, guarded by a 
 large armed police and military force, the negro was marched through 
 the streets of Boston to the revenue cutter ordered by President Pierce 
 to take him to Virginia. The march through the streets was the "fu- 
 neral" referred to in the second of these letters. 
 
 We have included these two letters not only for the vivid and ab- 
 sorbing descriptions of the events, but also to show with what in- 
 tense hatred Horace Howard Furness, even in his college days, looked 
 upon Slavery, and how fervently he supported the cause of the negro. 
 Nor is this feeling surprising: with his father standing at the very 
 head of the Abolitionists of Pennsylvania, to have felt otherwise would 
 have been to deny his parentage.
 
 32 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 land's icy mountains," getting no further than the 
 first line. When I went by the Court-House in 
 Boston yesterday, the Cadets were marching 
 around it to break the crowd wh. was very great, 
 & just as they came near where I was standing 
 hootings and hissings arose on all sides, together 
 with the cry of "the Governor's babies!" It did 
 me good & I chuckled immensely, but not con- 
 tent with a passive demonstration of my pleasure 
 I clenched my teeth & pronounced the sibilant 
 letter in our alphabet with considerable vigor, 
 which was by no means diminished by the sight 
 of some of my own classmates among their num- 
 ber. The particulars of the whole case you will 
 know before this letter reaches you, by telegraphic 
 despatches in the newspapers, so that anything I 
 can tell you about it (& it would be precious 
 little) would be stale by Tuesday. About twenty- 
 five of our class went in this morning to hear 
 Mr. Theodore Parker preach. If they went with 
 hearts open to conviction, one might take en- 
 couragement from such a demonstration, but I 
 fear they were prompted solely by idle curiosity. 
 However, some good seed may be sown, & though 
 they go to laugh they may stay to pray. There 
 is the greatest excitement throughout College. I 
 had no idea that anything could so arouse sluggish 
 student nature. For myself, I've knocked off all 
 discussion & all my self-control is needed to force 
 myself to hold my tongue. 
 
 The Chapel bell is ringing & my time is up. Next
 
 THE FUNERAL OF LIBERTY 33 
 
 week comes the May Recess & my next letter will 
 consequently be full of it. 
 Me love to ye all, m'dears. 
 
 Yours 
 
 Horace 
 
 To his Father 
 
 Cambridge, June 4, 1854 
 I don't know, my dear Father, how to begin this 
 letter, or what to say first. You know what sub- 
 ject is uppermost in my mind, & probably have 
 some conception of what my feelings are. The 
 facts that have transpired during the past week 
 you already know through the papers, I can add 
 but little. I went into Boston on Friday to see 
 the "Funeral" as it was called, & returned in an 
 excited state of mind & with a raging headache, & 
 with a voice hoarse with groaning & hissing. How- 
 ever, ril tell you how I passed the day. In the 
 morn'g by nine o'clock I was in the Court Square 
 & found it somewhat crowded, police guarding 
 the entrance to the Court-House. After searching 
 in vain for some place from which I could view 
 the whole scene, finally we (Potter, Starr, & my- 
 self) determined to try our luck in the "Common- 
 wealth Building" at the corner of State & Wash- 
 ington Streets. By strange good fortune we found 
 an empty room in the third story, & from that 
 room we saw the whole proceeding. At about 
 eleven the "Lancers" rode full gallop down the 
 street, effectually breaking the crowd; as they
 
 34 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 passed, for the first time in my life I heard the 
 howls of an enraged populace. It was horrible, 
 and so loud were the groans & hisses & cries of 
 "Shame!" & "Bloodhounds!" that the clattering 
 of the horses' hoofs was almost inaudible. The 
 instant that they had passed, some men, right 
 underneath our window, lifted up a black coffin 
 with "Liberty" on it. It was received with clap- 
 ping of hands & cheers. Then it was that I 
 thought I should see a man torn to pieces by the 
 mob, for one bold Irishman rushed up to it & 
 struck it a heavy blow with his fist; it toppled 
 over, but was instantly raised again & the mob 
 rushed at the man; the fellow ran for his life, the 
 crowd after him plucking at him in the most blood- 
 thirsty style; the police finally came to his rescue 
 & protected him, but a man more thoroughly 
 frightened I never saw, he was whiter than this 
 paper. The coffin was subsequently suspended 
 from a window in the very room where we were. 
 The man who superintended this operation I after- 
 wards observed very busy in one corner of the 
 room, pouring some red stuff into little loose paper 
 parcels. I went up to him & asked what that 
 was for. "Well," said he, "some folks are in favor 
 of the Thompsonian practice and I want to see 
 whether the soldiers down below belong to that 
 class." The red stuff was Cayenne pepper. At 
 about twelve o'clock the street beginning near Mr. 
 Lothrop's house was cleared by the police; not a 
 man was allowed to remain; a most singular effect;
 
 THE LAST OF ANTHONY BURNS 35 
 
 not a creature to be seen in the street at noonday. 
 From that time till near two they were occupied 
 in stationing soldiers in every single street, alley, 
 or court that led into State Street. In fact a rescue 
 would have been perfectly impossible. At aboutr 
 two the procession came by, the "Lancers" first, 
 then four or five hundred United States troops, 
 & then a hollow square, of policemen three deep, 
 with drawn swords, & poor Anthony Burns in 
 the centre with four or five keepers around him. 
 The hissings, hootings, & groanings were deafen- 
 ing. My friend of the Cayenne pepper threw his 
 missiles many of which took effect on the heads, 
 shoulders, & backs of the police; in spite of the 
 horror of the scene I couldn't help laughing; hand- 
 kerchiefs were instantly in demand & the police 
 & deputy marshals were seized with irrepressible 
 fits of sneezing. The procession passed & I saw 
 the last of poor Burns. The effect of the whole 
 proceeding has been & will be productive of the 
 very best consequences. Everybody is turning 
 Abolitionist. The voice of the people on that day 
 was unmistakable. This morning I heard Mr. 
 Parker; the sermon as fine as the congregation, 
 which was at least four thousand. 
 
 I could write passages more, but my time is up 
 & I shall so soon see you that I can easily reserve 
 the rest till then. 
 
 Yours TT 
 
 Horace 
 
 Many thanks for the "Pennsylvania Freeman." 
 Were the Boston papers acceptable.''
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 YEARS OF TRAVEL 
 
 1854-1856 
 
 Upon receiving his degree from Harvard in June, 
 1854, Furness returned to Philadelphia from Cam- 
 bridge somewhat concerned for the future and 
 doubtful of what vocation he would follow. His 
 strongest inclination at that time seemed to be 
 towards some position connected with Harvard, 
 either as an instructor in the College or as a libra- 
 rian at the Law School; in either case he would 
 have ample opportunity to broaden his education 
 on any line of study to which he might eventually 
 turn. Such a position was to a certain extent dis- 
 tasteful, however, since it required further absence 
 from Philadelphia and separation from his family 
 for an indefinite time. In the circumstances, there- 
 fore, an invitation from Atherton Blight, his room- 
 mate and devoted friend at Cambridge, to accom- 
 pany him to Europe proved most welcome. The 
 journey, as Blight suggested, was to be not wholly 
 for pleasure; in their plans they included a number 
 of months in both France and Germany where, 
 living simply and quietly, they might acquire 
 thorough knowledge of the languages. After that 
 England, Spain, Italy, and perhaps the Orient, were 
 to be visited, where, as Furness said, they in- 
 tended to "slay all the lions."
 
 EUROPEAN TRIP 37 
 
 Such a trip could not fail to be tempting, inas- 
 much as it combined pleasure — and European 
 travel was a rare pleasure to Americans in the 
 middle of the last century — with a distinct addi- 
 tion to his education. Furness was not yet twenty- 
 one; at this time the vexing question of the future 
 could be deferred a year or so, and though he did 
 not anticipate leaving his family with anything 
 but regret, the manifold advantages to be gained 
 from the journey outweighed all objections. He 
 accepted Atherton Blight's offer, and together 
 they sailed from Boston early in October, 1854. 
 
 The letters that make up this chapter are se- 
 lected from those Furness wrote to his family dur- 
 ing this two-year journey; selected indeed from a 
 voluminous and detailed series, written practically 
 in the form of a daily record. Much of this, per- 
 force, is here omitted; a host of detail, of interest 
 at the time to his mother and father, would prove 
 tedious reading to-day. All that is left is the thread 
 of correspondence upon which are strung such in- 
 cidents or such descriptions that are of permanent 
 interest, and a few paragraphs characteristic of 
 Furness's daily occupations when settled or of his 
 enthusiasm on the road. And throughout this en- 
 tire correspondence from abroad there is a vast 
 amount that is refreshing on account of the keen 
 appreciation of every detail. No lovely scene, no 
 odd turn of foreign character, no sight of some 
 world-famous spot but is here reflected and en- 
 joyed to the last measure; nor is there any hard-
 
 38 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 ship of travel, any annoying hitch in well-laid plans, 
 that is not treated with rare good-humour and 
 passed over with a laugh. 
 
 Landing in Liverpool after a fortnight on the 
 steamer America, Furness and Blight went to Lon- 
 don, where the first of these letters is dated. After 
 a week in London, and two weeks in Paris, they 
 planned to proceed to Munich, which was the city 
 selected for their winter quarters. The choice fell 
 to Munich partly because it was possible to live 
 there economically and studiously, but mainly 
 because Furness's elder brother, William Henry 
 Furness, Jr., had settled there in an atelier to 
 spend the winter painting and studying art. Here 
 in congenial circumstances the young Phlladelphi- 
 ans believed that they could gain a satisfactory 
 knowledge of the German language and literature 
 during the winter months. Plans for the spring 
 and summer of 1855 were left undecided; the win- 
 ter would probably crystallize whatever tentative 
 arrangements they had made. 
 
 To his Family 
 
 London! October 26, '54 
 
 Please observe where this is dated from. Can you 
 realise It.'' If you can it is more than I can do. . . . 
 Our journey to London was delightful, although 
 the weather was quite foggy. It cleared off some- 
 what during the morn'g, revealing to us glimpses 
 of the most exquisite English cottages on the most 
 splendid English lawns — so that although the
 
 LONDON 39 
 
 journey Is about six hours, we were none of us 
 tired. As for London, to attempt to describe its 
 immense size would be perfectly silly. . . . This 
 morning we all strolled out to go to the bankers. 
 We went up Pall Mall, the Strand & Fleet Street 
 & passed under Temple Bar. Hevings! I had to 
 shut my eyes & pinch my legs & bite my lips to be 
 convinced that I was not dreaming. And really 
 I'm not quite convinced of it now. We loafed by 
 the Horse Guards, the Marlborough House & 
 Trafalgar Square. But St. James's Palace has come 
 nearest to thoroughly convincing me that I am in 
 England. I can't tell what it is in particular, it 
 is only the general effect. A turret & tower here 
 and a tower & turret there, just where you least 
 expect it, which, added to the soldiery on guard 
 all around it, gives it the most feudal appearance 
 imaginable. . . . 
 
 On Monday we leave for Paris, stay there for a 
 week, leave the next Monday, pass that and Tues- 
 day in Strasbourg, & then reach Munich & the arms 
 of my beloved brother on Wednesday, November 
 8th. But 
 
 Good-night 
 
 Yours H. 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Munich, November 20, '54 
 
 Dear Father & Mother &: Annis, & all of them 
 & all of them — centuries untold seemed to have 
 passed, not since I left home only, but since I last
 
 40 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS j 
 
 wrote. I seem to have grown old & grey, & feel as | 
 
 though I had already seen all Europe. However, I 
 
 this is the business part of my letter & I must re- \ 
 
 serve sentiment & poetry for the tapering off. ... 
 
 . . . The ride to that city [Strasbourg] was per- 
 fectly great, right through the claret and cham- , 
 pagne countries, mountains on both sides of the ' 
 road covered with vineyards to the very summit i 
 . . . By way of a dinner at Chateau Thierry we got 
 a bottle of the claret that had been made from 
 those selfsame vineyards. . . . We got to Stras- ' 
 bourg that eve'g & found excellent rooms at the 
 "Maison Rouge." Strasbourg, you know, is noth- ' 
 ing but an immense garrison with a cathedral in 
 the middle of it, & with every house (as far as ; 
 geese are concerned) supplied with the requisites ; 
 for making "pate de foie gras." . . . The next day | 
 we went to the cathedral. Heavens, what a place ; 
 it is! The steeple is the highest thing that has been 
 raised upon this earth by mortal hands, higher 
 even than the pyramids. Up we went, & oh! such 
 a dizzy height, & oh! such a glorious view. Way 
 off in the distance we could see — just imagine it 
 — the Black Forest. I wonder I didn't lose my | 
 senses on the spot. ... 
 
 . . . The next morning we started for Stuttgardt; 
 at Kehl I telegraphed William telling him that I J 
 
 should spend a night in Stuttgardt & reach Munich 
 the next day. ... j 
 
 , . . The day was cold & cheerless & I was the ' 
 
 sole second-class passenger, so that it was dismal ;
 
 ARRIVAL AT MUNICH ' 41 
 
 enough. At Goepingen I saw, oh, Hevings! an 
 Alp. The so-called Rauhe Alp — whew! what a 
 sight it was. On one side of the road three high 
 mountains with ruins of old feudal castles on the 
 summits, & on the other a deep valley, and at the 
 bottom a little stream, & then across the stream 
 rose the glorious Rauhe Alp. If American autaitm 
 foliage could only be transferred to those moun- 
 tains, it would be a sight that angels only ought 
 to look upon. Whew! Whew! 
 
 Will was not at the depot. For which I was not 
 sorry, for he would have felt bound to take care of 
 my baggage & all that sort of thing & it was 
 much better that I should do that myself, so I 
 drove very comfortably to the Bayerischer Hof, 
 took capital rooms for Blight & Savage,^ and then 
 got into a "fiacre" (heathen for dirty cab) & drove 
 round to Will's lodgings, rang the bell, & Will 
 came rushing five steps at a time downstairs, & 
 then took place that scene which Father with true 
 prophetic hand so admirably portrayed. After we 
 had ceased from sheer exhaustion to hug & grin 
 over each other's shoulders, I saw before me as 
 my brother, the following object: [a thumbnail 
 caricature is here inserted.] Ah, well, it do look 
 like, and "there's no deniging of it, I^ord forbid!" 
 I then made Will get into the cab & drive back to 
 the hotel with me — & of all the quantity I had 
 to tell him the only item that I could possibly 
 
 * James Savage joined thein in Paris. A footnote concerning him 
 will be found in the preceding chapter.
 
 42 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 think of, was that two kittens had been left in 
 our cellar window!! However, we at last found our 
 tongues & made a night of it. I made him stay 
 that night at the hotel & share my room. Didn't we 
 talk even after we were in bed & the lights put out! 
 
 The next day I spent with Will gaping into shop 
 windows & looking about me. My first impression, 
 which experience has since confirmed, was that 
 Munich is a most gorgeous place. Will had not 
 been long here & had hardly got settled & at work. 
 But he is now working vigorously & is in capital 
 spirits. He has not a single one of his pictures 
 here, so I can tell you nothing about them. The 
 only productions of his pencil that I have seen 
 are his anatomical studies. By George! they are 
 splendid. 
 
 Dear Father, when you write please address me 
 individually, otherwise William with his well- 
 known rapacity will seize & claim the letter. Of-a- 
 course I send the devotion of my heart & soul to 
 my sister & her spouse. 
 
 - Yours 
 
 Horace H. Furness 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Munchen, December, '54 
 Dear Father & Mother & Annis: . . . Will, 
 sometime ago, told Professor Wertheim that he 
 would be glad to take the likeness of any one who 
 would consider the portrait a sufficient recompense 
 for sitting. Accordingly the Professor immedi-
 
 A GERMAN DINNER 43 
 
 ately brought to him a young Karl Bayer, son of 
 a gentleman very widely known here in Miinchen. 
 Will, by the way, is going to get a most excellent 
 likeness, but that is nothing to the point, which is 
 that last Sunday Mr. Bayer invited Will and my- 
 self to dinner. It was immensely interesting. My 
 mouth was so wide open with astonishment at the 
 queer dodges which the whole family came, that it 
 interfered with the proper mastication of my vic- 
 tuals. For instance, the young ladies, his daughters, 
 about seventeen & eighteen years old, waited on 
 the table, one didn't even sit down at all, & the 
 other only periodically; there were no dishes of 
 meat or vegetables whatsoever placed upon the 
 table. Everything was handed around, & the meat 
 & the vegetables were on the same dish. We drank 
 various healths, "Absent friends & relations," 
 "America," & the like, and we all had to rise and 
 clink our glasses. By way of dessert we had some 
 condiment, which we had to eat with our knives. 
 I rather held from performing the operation, until 
 I saw the Mistress of the house thrust her knife 
 nearly down her throat & then I went at it. . . . 
 The sacrifices which I have at present to oifer 
 up on the altar of fraternal affection are tremendous 
 drains upon my time. Yesterday, for instance, I 
 stood to Will for three mortal hours; and that he 
 gave me to understand was but a small foretaste 
 of my future agonies.^ Will seems to enjoy him- 
 
 ' This refers to the full-length portrait of H. H. F. which his brother 
 was painting at this time. It is reproduced as the frontispiece to 
 vol. II.
 
 44 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 self and his profession immensely; he is as happy 
 as the day is long & fully as industrious. I never 
 saw him work with such diligence. The infantile 
 "busy bee" is a perfect fool to him. He has two 
 or three charming little models & at times grows 
 perfectly savage with delight. . . . Everything here 
 in Munich seems to be arranged in a simple- 
 hearted, primitive fashion; the hour for breakfast 
 is nine, dinner one, & tea at six. The opera & all 
 the concerts begin quite punctually at half-past 
 six, & end about nine. Two or three times I 
 have got out of the opera at a quarter before 
 nine. . . . 
 
 My love to all who ask after me. Will sends as 
 much love as you can receive & I send more. 
 
 Horace 
 
 This uneventful life in Munich progressed at 
 even pace from week to week, with little occurring 
 to disturb their daily studies of German or their 
 nightly visits to the opera or to the theatre. Many 
 of the impressions made upon Furness during 
 these months lasted through life; certainly his 
 appreciation of German literature was built upon 
 all that he read or experienced in Munich at this 
 time, and his love of music, already keen, was more 
 firmly established. The details of these six quiet 
 months in Bavaria must unfortunately be sacri- 
 ficed for the important letters telling of their ac- 
 tivity upon the road, so the paragraphs that fol- 
 low, written after a short holiday in Paris, must be 
 the last glimpse of Furness in Munich.
 
 LIFE IN MUNICH 45 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Munich, April 2, 1855 
 
 Dearest Father, Mother, & Annis, once more 
 we are settled comfortably in Theresien Strasse, 
 after our week of jollification in Paris. My last 
 letter was dated from Stuttgardt, that charm- 
 ingest of little towns. It is the holiest ground that 
 I have seen yet in Germany. Schiller, you know, 
 lived there so many years, & in the square in which 
 he was particularly fond of walking, there is a fine 
 colossal bronze statue of him. We took a little 
 stroll through the town, — you can see the whole 
 of it in an hour, — & the people appeared happier, 
 better dressed, and better looking than anywheres 
 else that I have been. The next morning we left 
 for Munich & reached our destination in the after- 
 noon. All seemed glad to see us and Will I found 
 hard at work in his atelier. That eve'g there was 
 a great concert, at which was exhibited for the first 
 time the bronze statue of Beethoven which has 
 been made here, for the Music Hall in Boston. . . . 
 ... I have nothing in the world to write about. 
 I live the quietest life imaginable. I get up every 
 morning at half-past six and breakfast at half-past 
 seven, read all day long till I go round to Will's 
 room at half-past four or five, talk with him & 
 see how he is getting along or chat bad German 
 with his little model if she's there. Then we go to 
 dinner, and after dinner I prance about for an 
 hour or so by way of a constitutional, & then Will 
 usually spends his eve'g with us & we chat and
 
 46 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 read, while sometimes Jim plays on the piano, till we 
 break up for the night. " Und so fliegen unsere Tage." 
 The only earthly thing of interest that has oc- 
 curred this week has been a bow that I gave to 
 the old King Ludwig & one that I received from 
 him in return. Fortunately the old gentleman has 
 entirely recovered from his late dangerous illness 
 & returned to Munich. I was walking along the 
 streets & saw a rather seedy-looking old gentle- 
 man coming towards me & noticed that a lady 
 & gentleman in front of me immediately stepped 
 aside, the lady making a most profound curtsey 
 & the Herr a correspondingly low bow; the old 
 gentleman returned the compliment by taking off 
 his hat also. I instantly concluded that it was King 
 Ludwig, & followed the example of my predeces- 
 sors, stepped aside, stood still, & took off my hat, 
 very low, indeed; he returned my delicate atten- 
 tion by waving his hat & then passed on. 
 
 If you are anxious to know how royalty looks I 
 can only tell you that in this specimen it was very 
 scrubby; the coat the King had on wasn't half as 
 good as mine & I have worn mine three winters; his 
 hair, which was rather sparse, wasn't a bit nicely 
 ' combed & was flying all about his head, & he has 
 a lump the size of a hazelnut right in the middle 
 of his forehead, & he walks along with his eyes 
 cast on the ground (except when he sees a pretty 
 girl coming) & takes steps a yard & a quarter apart. 
 Sech was majesty, a thing which the Americans, 
 poor fools, refused, refused with scorn!
 
 BERLIN, DRESDEN, AND VIENNA 47 
 
 But I must stop & give Will a chance. Please 
 give my love to the very same dear friends that I 
 enumerated in my last letter, and believe me 
 
 Yours 
 
 Horace 
 
 Towards the end of May, Furness and Blight 
 had been able to "pad around with flesh and fat" 
 the skeleton of their plan for the summer, and 
 amid the tears of their landlady and the regrets of 
 their Munich friends they left for Leipsic, Weimar, 
 and Berlin. In the Prussian capital they spent a 
 fortnight visiting the palaces and picture galleries, 
 listening to the operas and concerts, and in fact 
 thoroughly absorbing all the pleasures of Berlin. 
 Thence they went to Dresden where they were 
 joined by James Savage. These three together 
 visited Saxon Switzerland on foot, passed into 
 Austria and reached Vienna, "that hotbed, as I 
 have always been led to believe, of everything that 
 is despotic & tyrannical in government & blun- 
 dering in political economy. Yet nothing would 
 indicate such a state of affairs from external ap- 
 pearances. The people look contented & happy, 
 the shops are brilliant & life seems full of activity 
 & bustle, & the cabs drive fearfully fast, and as 
 there is no sidewalk very definitely laid down a 
 heedless foot passenger runs an imminent risk of 
 having his toes mashed. . . ." 
 
 They left Vienna early in July, 1855, for Zurich. 
 This part of their travels — a large measure of the 
 journey was done on foot — was one of unalloyed 
 pleasure. Every scene, every view, every incident 
 is described in Furness's letters with vividness and
 
 48 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 enthusiasm. So fresh, indeed, does all this appear 
 after sixty-five years that this same freshness 
 sorely tempts us to reprint many paragraphs relat- 
 ing to the Danube and the salt mines, the rugged 
 alpine paths, and the quaint villages and villagers 
 they came across on this trip. Yet as a whole this 
 journey was not remarkable; given like oppor- 
 tunities any one possessed with ease of description 
 could reproduce to-day these pages, and, though 
 Furness always remembered the places and the 
 people visited in these weeks, they cannot be said 
 to have left any imprint on his life, nor do they 
 give us a keener perception of his character. For 
 these reasons only this scant insertion about Vienna 
 is made of the weeks that intervened between 
 Austria in July and Paris in November, so that 
 the continuity of the year's advances may not be 
 lost. 
 
 In Zurich, Furness, Savage, and Blight remained 
 a week, and then by easy stages set out for Paris 
 where they planned to remain for some months 
 studying French. But upon arriving in Paris they 
 found their plans upset by unhappy news: word 
 reached Atherton Blight that his sister, long an 
 invalid, had died in America, and so his family, who 
 had intended paying him a visit when Furness and 
 he were settled in Paris, could not leave Philadel- 
 phia for five or six months. They suggested that 
 in the meantime the two young men should make 
 a trip through Spain and the Near East and return 
 to Paris in the early summer where Blight might 
 join his family. Although Furness was naturally 
 reluctant to relinquish the opportunity of studying 
 French, consideration for his friend, combined with
 
 PARIS 49 
 
 the desire for a trip so unusual and so valuable, 
 made him decide it was the better course to take. 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Paris, November 29, 1855 
 This time, dear darlings, my letter must be really 
 short. In a few hours we start for Bordeaux, en 
 route for Madrid; we reach the former place to- 
 morrow morn'g, stay there a day & leave the 
 next for Bayonne (of Bayonet memory), remain 
 quiet Sunday & leave early Monday morning for 
 Madrid, travel three days in the Diligence, and on 
 Wednesday eve'g receive the embrace of Dwight 
 & be ravished by the sound of the castanet beat- 
 ing time to bounding feet. Ah ! was there ever any- 
 thing so sublime as the idea, & its realization, of 
 going to Spain! It makes me perfectly wild when 
 I think of it. I'm afraid that I shall be wofully 
 disappointed if we are not robbed. It is exces- 
 sively provoking that robberies seldom or never 
 take place nowadays. From Madrid we go to 
 Seville, then Cadiz, Gibraltar, & so on round the 
 coast to Marseilles. It's an excellent route, em- 
 bracing all that is worth seeing. 
 
 During the past week Paris has been gay enough 
 & we quiet enough. Both my inclination & con- 
 sideration for A.'s feelings keep me perfectly still. 
 We read, talk, walk, & eat. The King of Sardinia 
 has been here & all Paris is fluttering with flags. 
 The day before yesterday we went to a grand 
 review held on the Champs de Mars. By ignoring
 
 so HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 the existence of sentinels we marched boldly, as If 
 we had a right, into the Ecole Militaire & got an 
 excellent position at one of the windows. It was 
 one of the finest sights I ever beheld. The day was 
 splendid, & the sunlight danced & flickered & was 
 reflected from thousands of helmets & bayonets. 
 At one o'clock rank & file were all drawn up and 
 motionless as statues. Then the Emperor comes & 
 the banners wave & the eagles o'er him bending — 
 the bands immediately struck up "Partant pour 
 la Syrie," & the Emperor rode down one column & 
 up another managing his horse magnificently & 
 looking every inch an Emperor; by his side rode 
 the King of Sardinia looking conscious, pleased, 
 & insignificant. A cavalcade of officers followed 
 & then came a barouche containing the Empress & 
 her Maid of Honor. She looked paler than when 
 I last saw her, but still exquisitely beautiful. As I 
 looked on those forty thousand troops & reflected 
 how much Washington accomplished with barely 
 half that number, I ceased wondering that Napo- 
 leon HI sits so firmly on his throne. Growing rather 
 fatigues and tired, we descended to the courtyard & 
 waited a few minutes till the barouche containing 
 the Empress drove In. We were only five or six feet 
 from her when she alighted & so had a perfectly 
 satisfactory stare. She got down just like any other 
 person; I've seen women get out of an omnibus In 
 the same way; and she blows her nose just like 
 Sally Twig. The Maid of Honor tripped In rich 
 green velvet that was spread for Her iVlajesty &
 
 THE EMPEROR AND EMPRESS 51 
 
 herself to protect their dainty little feet from the 
 cold marble steps, & came nigh falling, but recov- 
 ered herself & laughing sweetly — oh! so sweetly — 
 tore after the Empress, two steps at a time. As we 
 were returning we reached the Place de la Concorde 
 just as the Emperor & the cavalcade rode past on 
 their way home. So we had another excellent view 
 of them, & reached home hungry and tired, but 
 deeming ourselves as excessively lucky. This has 
 been the only event of the week. 
 
 I shall write again next Sunday & shall continue 
 to do so every Sunday for the future; but whether 
 you receive my letters as regularly is another ques- 
 tion, so don't be worried if you don't hear from me 
 for three or four weeks. My best love to all. 
 Heaven guard you all 
 dear ones 
 
 Yours ever 
 
 Horace 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Madrid, Dec. Sth, 1855 
 We all went to bed pretty early Sunday eve'g, in 
 preparation for the ordeal through wh. we were 
 so soon to pass. The next morn'g early, at four 
 o'clock, pitch dark, the clumsy lumbering Basque 
 servant awakened us & we hurried as fast as possi- 
 ble to be in time for the Diligence which left at five. 
 It was dark, chilly, & raining, but youth was at the 
 prow & pleasure at the helm so we didn't care a 
 fig but ensconced ourselves, a cold roast chicken,
 
 52 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 bread & a bottle of wine snugly in the coupe of the 
 Diligence, which was to be our home for several 
 days, & left Bayonne on a full gallop. Here then 
 was a prospect for us, thrown entirely on our re- 
 sources, for although we had books we found that 
 reading hurt our eyes, we were to keep up our good 
 spirits, good-humor & health for certainly three 
 days & three nights & perhaps an indefinite period, 
 for before we left Bayonne there were vague & dark 
 hints of being blocked up in snowbanks. However 
 we joked, quizzed & sang till we reached the fron- 
 tier town, Irun; here our luggage was examined & 
 passed without any comment. Back to the dili- 
 gence & away we rattled, up hill & down dale, find- 
 ing excitement every three or four hours in the 
 relays of horses & speculating on the various char- 
 acters of the drivers from the style in which they 
 beat the poor animals. We dined at our first Span- 
 ish town, San Sebastian, on the Bay of Biscay-o! & 
 tasted our first puchero — wh. is boiled beef buried 
 In gigantic boiled peas. After leaving San Sebas- 
 tian we began to cross the Pyrenees, more exciting 
 than one would suppose, for having the coupe, 
 here called the berliner, we could look right out 
 upon the horses, & as there were usually ten or 
 twelve, sometimes fourteen & a pair of oxen, they 
 were constant sources of interest to us; & then the 
 driving — I never heard, saw or read of anything 
 like it. We would go uphill on a trot & down hill 
 on a tearing gallop; the lumbering, unwieldy Dili- 
 gence would fly along as though on a race-course &
 
 A SPANISH DILIGENCE 53 
 
 woe, unutterable woe, betide any poor luckless 
 mule or horse that should happen to stumble & 
 fall on this Devil-catch-the-hindmost pace — or 
 rather Driver-catch-the-hindmost pace. This hap- 
 pened once or twice to our great distress; once one 
 of the leaders, as we were whirling down hill, 
 stumbled & fell, tripping up the one behind him, 
 & these two tripping up a third, all three in a jum- 
 bled mass kicking & struggling were dragged along 
 for a moment by the rest before the Diligence 
 could be stopped & for a second or two we were in 
 great danger of either upsetting or of mashing all 
 three poor animals into one indistinguishable mass; 
 when at last they were disengaged from their 
 harness & the unfortunate cause of all the trouble 
 arose gashed & bleeding, his bruised sides were 
 belabored by butt end of the driver's whip till the 
 arm of the latter was exhausted. Such pleasing lit- 
 tle incidents served to ward off ennui throughout 
 the journey & we drove bravely on till night began 
 to close in around us & large flakes of snow floated 
 slowly down. One by one we dropt off to sleep & 
 still the Diligence thundered on. About one o'clock 
 at night we all happened to find ourselves awake & 
 bethought ourselves of our chicken. We immedi- 
 ately proceeded to discuss it. I, sitting in the mid- 
 dle, tore it to bits & distributed it as impartially aa 
 I could in the dark; it was pronounced capital & 
 the wine & bread were also duly appreciated. Up- 
 ham & myself then smoked a social cigar & we 
 gradually fell asleep again till towards dawn we
 
 54 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 were awakened by the most fiendish sounds that 
 ever fell on my ears. We peered out into the grey 
 light & found that we had gotten fast stuck In a 
 deep rut, in ascending a steep mountain. The fear- 
 ful sounds proceeded from some four or five drivers 
 who were endeavoring in perfectly good & gram- 
 matical Basque to encourage as many pair of oxen 
 to show their pluck & extricate us bravely from our 
 predicament. But in vain did the oxen strain every 
 nerve & in vain did the drivers goad them & howl 
 "Elthar" into their ears; budge the Diligence 
 would not; nay, it even showed signs of backing 
 down the mountain & over a steep bank to certain 
 destruction, whereupon Blight & Upham precipi- 
 tately dismounted & I followed. Whew! what a 
 dreary scene met our gaze, perfectly hemmed in by 
 the lofty Pyrenees, many of whose snowcapped 
 summits were barely discernible in the gray dawn, 
 not a human habitation to be seen & all around us 
 the black rocks made gray by the slight covering of 
 snow that had fallen during the night. At length 
 more oxen were procured & it was only with seven 
 yoke of oxen that the diligence could be so much as 
 got stirred. We again took our seats & descending 
 the mountain rattled on till we came to Vlttoria; 
 here we breakfasted & I bought some of the cele- 
 brated Vlttoria cigars. Here we laid in a stock of 
 provisions, for there was to be no other stopping- 
 place for, Eheu nos miseros, twenty-four hours. 
 The weather was pleasant enough & the country 
 sufficiently uninteresting, but then everything be-
 
 BURGOS 55 
 
 gan to look excessively Spanish. We met long 
 trains of sumpter mules, their heads decorated 
 with gaudy tassels & jingling bells, & the young 
 muleteers (not yet of Granada) so dignified with 
 their cloaks slung over the left shoulders & their 
 black sombreros; now & then we would meet a 
 sohtary horseman, his gun strapped on to his sad- 
 dle bow, for robbers, as we afterwards learned, are 
 not altogether legendary. The afternoon waned 
 and dusk found us struggling over another spur of 
 the Pyrenees. The jolting was at times fearful, but 
 for all that we slept soundly enough, regahng our- 
 selves again at midnight with bread, cold chicken, 
 and wine. The dawn was glorious, the air clear as 
 crystal, & with the moon & Venus retiring together 
 arm in arm from their mighty watch. Just as the 
 sun was tingeing the summits of the hill, we came 
 in sight of Burgos. Can you believe it.? I couldn't. 
 To think that I was going to enter the very town 
 perhaps by the very gate & over the same pave- 
 ment, through whose streets the Cid led his gallant 
 Marriage procession, with its bulls & little boys & 
 the very Devil himself with hoofs & horns to terrify 
 the ladies, & last of all his bride, the fair but foolish 
 Ximenes. Why didn't I learn every one of Lock- 
 hart's ballads by heart when I read them years ago 
 as a small hoy^ We have used every endeavor to 
 procure a copy, but have been unsuccessful. We 
 thundered into Burgos & had but very little time 
 for sentimentalism. Here we were to have an 
 hour's rest so we hurried off to the cathedral. And
 
 56 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 here I'll stop & not write another word if you don't 
 all promise not to consider what I am about to say 
 as snobbish. For you know I think it sounds disgust- 
 ingly snobbish to light upon one particular thing 
 which comparatively but few travellers see & im- 
 mediately proclaim it as infinitely superior to any- 
 thing else that nearly every one sees & admires in 
 the ordinary course of travel. Well do you promise 
 it.'* Thank you for your confidence in me. Now 
 then I must confess to you that I think Burgos 
 Cathedral immensely superior to everything else 
 in the style of a cathedral that I have seen in 
 Europe. 
 
 Monday afternoon 
 I LEFT off here last night to go to bed & this after- 
 noon I rec'd your dear letters of Nov. 19 Nan's 
 Will's Father's & Mother's. How can I thank you. 
 Let's have a hug all around. Way off here in Ma- 
 drid to be brought so near home, it's too splendid. 
 But I'll particularise at the end of my letter — In 
 the meantime, let's all visit this gorgeous Cathe- 
 dral of Burgos. We haven't got much time, so it 
 must be only a glimpse. As we enter the door 
 there is a notice posted up to the effect that no one 
 must joke or laugh when approaching the sacred 
 portal. And then the doorway! No door to any 
 church in Germany is so covered with sculptured 
 symbols & images of saints, saints too of the most 
 graceful form & chiselled in the very finest style 
 of Gothic art. As we entered the morning sun
 
 ARRIVAL AT MADRID 57 
 
 was just breaking in through the stained glass 
 & illuminating the sculptures, glorified them all. 
 Every square foot of the whole Cathedral appeared 
 to be carved & chiselled into the most exquisite 
 forms of Gothic beauty. The innumerable host of 
 exquisite carvings and traceries it would take a 
 year & a day to thoroughly examine. After we had 
 left it, seeing it as we did in such a hurry, it left 
 upon our minds a blaze of light & beauty un- 
 equalled by any other structure that we ever saw. 
 Alas! that we had to leave it so soon, but go we 
 must & so not long after we were thundering on 
 towards Madrid. 
 
 The sunset was magnificent & we slept com- 
 fortably enough till the dawn shone in upon our 
 home, the Berliner. That day we crossed the 
 Quaderama mountains & rapidly neared our des- 
 tination. The country was dull & desolate; not a 
 tree was to be seen & now and then we passed 
 through dirty, filthy villages, although the villagers, 
 for the most part beggars, had a certain air of dig- 
 nity about them that was quite remarkable; it 
 seemed as if they considered themselves gentlemen, 
 if they could only get a piece of cloth, ragged or not 
 it little mattered, & sling it over their left shoulder. 
 We stopped at a little place called Aranda de Duero 
 for supper & saw a splendid Catalonian damsel. 
 At about half-past six, just after the sun had set, 
 we could dimly discern the lights of Madrid twin- 
 kling in the horizon. Soon after we rattled onto the 
 stone pavements & were ushered into one of the
 
 58 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 gayest & liveliest streets that I had ever seen in 
 Europe. The scene was as gay as the Boulevards 
 of Paris. The shops brilliantly lighted & crowds of 
 well-dressed men & women passing, and repassing; 
 the men, many of them smoking cigarillos, & the 
 women with, Oh Hevings! the Spanish Mantilla. 
 We hadn't much time for reflection for we soon 
 stopped at the Diligence Office & dismounted & 
 left that place that had been our smoking, reading, 
 eating, sleeping room, In short our home, for four 
 days & three nights. I must say I left it with some 
 feelings of regret. We had had an exceedingly 
 pleasant time in it & were not by any means so 
 tired as we had feared. 
 
 I met the Queen one afternoon & had a good 
 look at her. She appeared to be, as she really Is, a 
 dear good-natured sort of a body & Inordinately 
 fat; she is very popular with the people, she is so 
 benevolent & means so well; she'd forgive every 
 body everything & give everybody something, if 
 she could, so they say. 
 
 We leave tomorrow (Thursday) for a visit of a 
 day to the Escurial, shall return on Friday, & then 
 leave on Saturday morn'g for Toledo — leave 
 there Monday morn'g for Seville, which appears to 
 be really after all the city of Spain. 
 
 A most happy New Year to you all. 
 
 Yours 
 
 Horace
 
 THE ESCURIAL 59 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Toledo, Dec. i6, 1855 
 
 Dating as I do from Toledo you may, perhaps, 
 my darlings, expect a letter both brilliant & pun- 
 gent, but having written to you, as it seems to me, 
 only yesterday I have very little either racey or 
 cutting to say. The next day after sending off my 
 letter to you (Thursday), we all took the Diligence 
 for a ride of about four hours to the Escurial. We 
 reached there late in the afternoon & went to a, or 
 rather the hotel, where the landlady's two daugh- 
 ters were of the most crushing description, tall, 
 graceful, magnificent hair, brilliant eyes & splendid 
 brunette complexion. Forgive this passing tribute 
 to the charms of the lovely Maraquita &Cayetana! 
 The bright blaze of their kitchen fire warmed our 
 chilled bodies & the languishing glances of their 
 dark eyes warmed our souls! After eating vile pu- 
 chero (alas! that the charms of Maraquita did not 
 extend to her cooking!) we sent for the guide of the 
 place & an old man, blind & with hair as white as 
 snow, made his appearance; he had become blind 
 nigh thirty years ago from a stroke of the sun, but 
 had learned to know by heart all the corners, pil- 
 lars & passages of the immense building we were 
 about to visit, & strange enough could point out 
 the best views. With old Cornelio we accordingly 
 started out to find Padre Arevelo, one of the monks 
 to whom one of the attaches of the American le- 
 gation in Madrid had given us a letter of introduc- 
 tion. We soon found the old Padre in his cell,
 
 6o HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 apparently comfortable enough, considering his 
 bachelordom, smoking a cigarette. He received us 
 very kindly, but in so far as he could neither speak 
 English nor we French, we got along rather lamely 
 . . . and we hobbled along with a few set phrases 
 of Spanish when I asked him if he couldn't speak 
 Latin. The idea caught & away we went compar- 
 atively swimmingly down the stream of conver- 
 sation, racking up all our old Latin idioms until 
 at last we became Ciceronian . . . from him we 
 learned the history of the Escurial, which, in a few 
 words, is that it was founded by Philip H as a 
 Mausoleum for the Royal family of Spain. 
 
 The next day we went over it — it is an enor- 
 mous mass of granite buildings, forming both a pal- 
 ace and a monastery & since it was founded in 
 honor of St. Lawrence it is built in the shape of a 
 gridiron, the Royal Residence forming the handle. 
 . . . Our old friend, the Padre, took us to the library 
 & a fine place it is, but where, it seemed to me, the 
 books were dying a slow death; no one to read them 
 or at least to make their contents useful to the 
 world, there they stand on their shelves from year's 
 end to year's end. Some magnificent illuminated 
 MSS. were shown to us, some perfectly gorgeous, but 
 the most interesting was a Missal that had belonged 
 to Isabella the Catholic. . . . After we had seen 
 everything and were lunching preparatory to re- 
 turning to Madrid the good old Padre came to bid 
 us good-bye (in Latin). We thanked him kindly & on 
 parting he gave me (quite a distinction) an old book
 
 A WILD DRIVE TO TOLEDO 6i 
 
 of Monkish Latin, a sort of Breviary. I got him to 
 write his name in it & it will be for me an excellent 
 souvenir of my visit. We reached Madrid in safety 
 & the next day (Saturday) started for this place. 
 We went on the railroad through Aranjuez to a 
 wretched little place called Villasequillas; here we 
 had to wait some two mortal hours till the arrival 
 of a still more wretched diligence, into which we 
 scrambled & proceeded immediately on our way 
 rejoicing. Our companions were two hideous old 
 women & a little girl. Our rejoicing was of short 
 duration & soon changed to anxiety; for the road 
 was horrible & the ruts fearful. In that Diligence 
 we sat or rather clung five horridly uncomfortable 
 hours during the whole distance of about fifteen 
 miles, expecting every moment to upset, first on 
 one side & then on another. Once we were driven 
 deliberately down a steep bank at least seven feet 
 high and nearly perpendicular, right into a stream 
 so deep that the water oozed through the bottom of 
 the waggon. One of the old women clung to D wight's 
 arm like a vampire & shrieked "Madre mia " & con- 
 tinued saying her prayers until we were safe on the 
 opposite bank. At one time we drove through a 
 swamp, with no sign of a road either before or be- 
 hind us, for after we had passed the mud & slime 
 closed together again, & left scarcely any traces of 
 the wheels or horses' feet. However, at last we saw 
 the bright beams of the moon reflected from the 
 shining rooves of Toledo & we dragged our long 
 length of mules and diligence slowly up the hill &
 
 62 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 through the Moorish gateway & into the winding 
 narrow streets of this old town whose hand, unlike 
 thatof Nuremburghas gone with unfriendly efficacy 
 through every land. 
 
 This morning the sun was shining brightly on 
 the spire of the fine old Cathedral as we entered 
 its magnificent doorway. Of course I couldn't 
 so describe it as to give you any adequate idea 
 of its magnificence. Its exterior is not so fine 
 as that of Burgos, but the interior is much richer. 
 In short, just multiply your ideas of Gothic arch- 
 itecture, its grotesqueness, its rich traceries, its 
 grace, everything that makes it Gothic & there- 
 fore makes it superior to all other architecture, 
 I say multiply all this by the wildest stretch 
 of your imagination & you begin to have a faint 
 idea of the stupendous structure. . . . But I must 
 stop. Tomorrow we leave for Seville. From which 
 city my next letter will be dated. My best love to 
 all. Good-bye, dear ones. 
 
 Heaven keep us all! 
 
 H. H. F. 
 
 From Seville Furness and Blight, by this time 
 hardened to discomforts of the diligence, pushed 
 on to Cadiz: "passing by fields white with daisies 
 & long hedges of cacti & aloes, now & then a group 
 of slender palms nodding their tuft of plumes at 
 each other & at us as we gallopped by. We saw the 
 red roofs & white walls of a little village in the dis- 
 tance, & the fields all around covered with vine- 
 yards, & as we looked we gazed upon the home of
 
 FROM SPAIN TO CAIRO 63 
 
 sherry wine, the far-famed village of Xeres. ..." 
 In Cadiz they were held up for a week by a ter- 
 rific storm that raged all along the coast, closed the 
 harbor of Cadiz, and prevented the sailing of the 
 Gibraltar steamer. Here again we are forced to 
 omit Furness's description of the incidents of the 
 month passed in travelling from Gibraltar to Cairo, 
 which included Tangiers, the Alhambra, Granada, 
 Malaga, Marseilles, and Malta. And we again 
 pick up the thread of the narration at Cairo when 
 they are setting out — now a party of six — for 
 Palestine and the Holy Land. 
 
 In the following paragraphs, extracts from a 
 single letter-diary of forty closely written pages, the 
 most striking incidents are left; from Jaffa to Bey- 
 rout the only mode of travel was horseback through 
 deserts and mountains where squalid Arab villages 
 or Bedouin encampments were the only marks of 
 civilization, save for the larger towns; hence tents, 
 bedding, and provisions had to accompany the 
 travellers all the way. Furness enjoyed this rough 
 life immensely, and as will be seen, nothing could 
 dampen his spirits or lessen his keen enjoyment of 
 all the new sights. 
 
 If dates appear to be lost in the extracts that 
 follow, it is of small moment; suffice it that the 
 party left Cairo on February 27, 1856, and arrived 
 at Beyrout about April ist. 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Cairo, Feb. 27th, 1856 
 
 Oh, you dearest dearest darlings, how can I thank 
 
 you sufficiently for the splendid letters that I got 
 
 a day or two ago in Alexandria! How I read &
 
 64 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 re-read them, backwards & forwards & down the 
 middle & up again. I have felt like a new man ever 
 since & am no longer the perfect Ishmael that I was 
 beginning to believe myself to be. And now for an 
 apology for the brevity of this little scrawl. Don't 
 think that I have by any means neglected you. You 
 will be In the end the gainers, or perhaps the suffer- 
 ers, by it, for the next letter that you receive will 
 be a very long one. It will contain flowery & ex- 
 quisite descriptions of the Alhambra, the return to 
 Malaga, our third visit to Gibraltar, our sail to 
 Malta (of the Maltese cat species) our sail to Alex- 
 andria, our railroad ride to Cairo (ha! ha! ha!) our 
 donkey rides, our visits to the Pyramids, Sakara, 
 Memphis, tombs of the Memlook Kings, Maham- 
 med Ali, the Caliphs & It will wind up with a grand 
 flourish about Turkish Bazaars! There! hadn't you 
 rather have such a fearful dose as that all at once 
 & have It over than to receive It by driblets.'' In 
 Malta we met four quite pleasant Americans Mr. 
 Jewett of Buffalo who has been travelling with Mr. 
 Fillmore, a young fellow named Corning from New 
 York & two Presbyterian clergymen, Mr. Bullions 
 from Albany, & a Mr. Huntington, from New York; 
 the last two are not much like ministers of that 
 ilk except as far as gentlemanlyness Is concerned. 
 With them we came to Alexandria; they were on 
 their way to Palestine & were very desirous that 
 we should join their party, which Blight at last 
 determined to do. So that at present our plans are 
 to leave here tomorrow & take the Austrian steamer
 
 THE PYRAMIDS 65 
 
 on Friday morning from Alexandria for Jaffa the 
 port of Jerusalem, get to J. in two days, then from 
 thence, after tarrying in the region round about & 
 visiting the Dead Sea to journey to Damascus in 
 eleven days, thro' Nazareth & by Mt. Carmel, from 
 Damascus to Beyrout & thence to Smyrna. From 
 Smyrna we may go to Constantinople & we may 
 not. As yet we can't tell. 
 
 But my trunks must be off by daylight tomorrow 
 & the hours are waxing small. (Ought it not be 
 waning instead of waxing small.'') & these same so 
 truly named by the Romans "impedimenta" are 
 not yet packed so I must e'en stop & knowing how 
 inexpressibly I love you all & how I hate a scene, 
 you will not be offended if I say simply, 
 
 Good-bye 
 
 Horace 
 
 To his Family 
 
 In my last letter, my darlings, I broke off just 
 as we were leaving the Pyramids, & before I had 
 time to say the half of what I wished to about 
 them. And now that some days have elapsed since 
 I saw them, I can feel what a gigantic impression 
 they have left upon my mind. How everything 
 else raised by human hands sinks into the humblest 
 insignificance beside them! The stones of which 
 they are composed fairly take your breath away 
 by their colossal size. . . . After all the Sphinx is 
 the great attraction. The expression of the face 
 is perfectly godlike & then, when you let your
 
 66 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 imagination fill up the whole scene, & luxuriant 
 gardens spring up on every side & this noble face 
 towering grandly above the tops of the tallest 
 palms, while around its feet is all the splendor of 
 a barbaric ritual, — when you think of all this, why, 
 the thunders of Olympian Jove subside into harm- 
 less squibs & all the gods and goddesses of Rome 
 & Greece seem as pygmies. . . . 
 
 . . . The next day we went to Alexandria, slept 
 there one night & the next morn'g embarked for 
 Jaffa. . . . The next day (Sunday) at about ten we 
 saw Jaffa distinctly on the shore. It was our first 
 glimpse of Palestine & looked as I had always im- 
 agined Palestine. The houses were low & white- 
 washed, with thick walls & small grated windows, & 
 nearly all were flat-roofed with a high parapet. . . . 
 It was with no small feelings of thankfulness that I 
 first stepped foot on the Holy Land, here at the 
 very end of the Mediterranean whose whole length 
 we had thus crossed in safety. . . . Jaffa is, as you 
 know, the Joppa of the Bible, so the first thing to 
 be seen is the house where Peter saw the vision. 
 After winding through the narrow dirty streets, 
 past donkies & dromedaries, veiled Mussulwomen 
 & unveiled Jewesses, we ascended some steps 
 & stood upon the housetop of one Simon a Tanner 
 who lodged by the seaside. The roofs of the houses, 
 being all flat as I before mentioned, it is the custom 
 still, as it was undoubtedly in Peter's time, for the 
 family to sit there in the cool of the afternoon. . . . 
 From thence we took a walk passing through the
 
 JONAH AND ANDROMEDA ^ dj 
 
 Bazaar, similar in style, but by no means so splen- 
 did in quality as those of Cairo & going through the 
 gate, guarded by two Egyptian soldiers, walked 
 along the road till we came to a high bank over- 
 looking a part of the town & the sea, with the black 
 rocks near the shore. Here spreading my large 
 Grenadine Blanket on the ground we all lay down 
 & Bullions, taking out a Bible & I a sketchbook, he 
 read about Jonah & I sketched these same wicked 
 looking rocks whereon it is said the Prophet was 
 ejected by the whale. I confess that at times my 
 thoughts would wander from the probably bald 
 & most certainly moist, uncomfortable looking 
 prophet to the lovely face & fair proportions of 
 Andromeda & thought of her sweet blush with 
 which she amply rewarded Perseus for his very 
 timely rescue. For these selfsame rocks were also 
 the scene of this piece of disinterested gallantry. 
 
 The next morning we were stirring by four 
 o'clock & at half-past five we were all mounted on 
 pretty good horses & passed out of the gate, our 
 faces towards Jerusalem. ... In two or three hours 
 we reached Ramlah, formerly Arimethea, where 
 Joseph lived. It is now a wretched Arab village 
 where the filth within the houses vies with the filth 
 without. 
 
 . . .The road soon became stony and all signs of 
 cultivation ceased & high hills surrounded us on 
 both sides, which really seemed as though they 
 could be nothing but huge piles of cobblestones. 
 ... I never before saw such utter desolation, such
 
 68 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 unmitigated sterility, such perfect barrenness in 
 the abstract. Our road at times was the dried-up 
 bed of some mountain stream, at times a goat path 
 winding and twisting over the endless hills. The 
 stones were all of a very white chalky color, for 
 which I accounted from the fact that the land for- 
 merly flowed with milk and honey. Dusk began to 
 close in around us & at last it was so dark that our 
 horses were left to their own discretion. At last 
 after turning at right angles we saw in the darkness 
 the happy sight of the lights of Jerusalem; in a 
 quarter of an hour we were riding along the walls 
 to the Damascus gate, for in the dark we had 
 missed the road leading to the Jaffa gate & so we 
 were obliged to enter on the North side. Not a 
 word was spoken, & I must confess it was very 
 solemn, the high black wall with its towers & bat- 
 tlements frowning down upon us in the darkness. 
 The gates are closed at sundown, but Ibraim had 
 sent a man in advance to order a Janissary to be 
 in attendance to open them for us when we should 
 arrive. We rode up to the gate, Ibraim pounded 
 on the heavy iron doors, & spoke something in 
 Arabic, answer was returned from within, the gates 
 swung slowly open & we all rode in. Simple as this 
 incident was, to me it was very impressive, — 
 although all my associations at the time were con- 
 nected with modern Jerusalem, & I thought of 
 Godfrey of Boulogne & the Crusades. 
 
 We rode in silence through the dark, narrow 
 streets, with low houses on each side, & here & there
 
 JERUSALEM 69 
 
 seeing a man threading his way along with a lan- 
 tern that threw a flickering glare on the houses as 
 he passed along. In about ten minutes we reached 
 a doorway & dismounting entered a little courtyard 
 & were in the "English Hotel." We were immedi- 
 ately shown into comfortable rooms with nice clean 
 bed and iron bedsteads, which looked indeed invit- 
 ing after our fourteen hours' ride. Ablutions per- 
 formed, & we sat down to an excellent dinner, and 
 after that nature's balmy came without much 
 wooing. 
 
 The next morn'g we took a commisionaire & went 
 out. Our hotel is in the Via Dolorosa, so of course 
 we walked through that first. This is the street 
 through which the procession passed when Christ 
 was taken to Calvary. Here, if I record my feelings 
 truly, I must say that although I knew that there 
 was probably not a single house, nay not even a 
 single stone, now standing as it was at that time, & 
 the very road itself doubtful, yet notwithstanding 
 all this. It made that whole sickening scene so real 
 & brought up before me so vividly that fierce, 
 cruel mob & that suffering, divine face, that I felt 
 perfectly sick at heart & wanted to turn around & go 
 right back to the Hotel & shut myself up in a dark 
 room. Never in my life have I been so impressed; 
 it was a sensation so new to me & so unexpected. 
 We approached the house of Pilate & passed un- 
 der a high arch from which Christ crowned with 
 thorns was shown to the mob beneath; the "Ecce 
 Homo." The rest laughed at it but I couldn't re-
 
 70 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 strain a shudder. And here I might as well say be- 
 forehand that I shall always speak of these local- 
 ities as genuine & of the traditions as true. Where 
 a locality is disputed jl go with tradition in default 
 of better authority. To me it is by far the wiser & 
 better course to visit the Holy Land prepared to 
 believe its tradition & trust in the localities already 
 sanctioned by ages & thereby derive a grand quick- 
 ening impulse to your Faith, rather than go through 
 the country cavilling at everything and trusting 
 nothing, & leaving Palestine fifty times more of 
 an ass than when you entered. . . . To me such 
 conduct is too offensively disgusting. If such wise- 
 acres come to pull down everything, what do they 
 get by coming & why the deil don't they stay at 
 home! . . . 
 
 The next morning at about eight we were all 
 on horseback & passed in along cavalcade out of 
 the St. Stephen's gate. There were seven horses & 
 as many mules with our luggage, tents, canteen, 
 &c. &c. We descended to the bed of the Kedron & 
 then winding around the Mt. of Olives took the 
 road so often trod by our Savior to Bethany. 
 
 . . . We were under the guidance and protection 
 of some villainous-looking Bedouins, with gigantic 
 pistols stuck in their belts & guns five or six feet 
 long & apparently perfectly harmless to judge from 
 the state of the locks, but which nevertheless made 
 a terrible show. This guard is considered necessary 
 for the road to Jericho, whither we were now go- 
 ing, is to this day as in the time of the parable
 
 JORDAN AND THE DEAD SEA 71 
 
 of the good Samaritan, noted for its robbers. . . . 
 The day wore on. I was always on the lookout for 
 something I might conjure into the shape of a 
 robber. But in vain; the only human beings were 
 ragged Arab shepherd boys, if indeed they can be 
 called human, so nearly do they appear to assimi- 
 late to the brutes they tend. The road wound up 
 hill & down dale, but invariably stoney and rough, 
 when on coming to the edge of a hill we saw at our 
 feet the valley of the Jordan & on our right a small 
 part of the Dead Sea, on the other side of the 
 Jordan were the mountains of Moab, and directly 
 in front of us, Pizgah, the mountain from whence 
 Moses obtained his view of the promised land. 
 We ourselves were riding through the wilderness 
 that was the scene of the Lord's temptation & in 
 the color and size of the stones that were lying 
 everywhere around nothing would be more readily 
 suggested than loaves of bread. A neighboring 
 mountain was the one to which the Devil leadeth 
 Him & shewed him all the kingdoms of the earth. 
 For at that time this immense valley at our feet, 
 now so sterile and deserted, was blooming like 
 a garden &, with the Jordan winding like a silver 
 thread through it, it must have been a scene of 
 exquisite loveliness. We descended gradually at 
 times losing and at times regaining our glimpse 
 of the Dead Sea, till at last we were fairly in 
 Canaan. . . . We passed under an old Saracenic 
 aquaduct, and a few minutes after we could dis- 
 tinguish the mud hovels of Jericho, then, turning
 
 72 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 a little, the pleasant sight of our white tents met 
 our eyes; we rode up on a furious gallop. It was a 
 most picturesque scene; Hamed the cook had got- 
 ten his tent pitched and our dinner was already 
 simmering on the charcoal embers, the muleteers 
 were busy picketing the horses & mules for the 
 night, our valiant Bedouin guardsmen were in a 
 circle on the ground lazily smoking, while Abdel 
 Malak was busy spreading the table & making up 
 our beds within the tents. In the background was 
 a group of dirty Arab children, their heads be- 
 decked with strings of silver Turkish coins & their 
 little hands begrimed with dirt and henna. Our 
 tent looked the perfection of neatness within & 
 without ... so that 'way off in Jericho we were as 
 comfortable as though we were in the Revere 
 House. I took a little walk through Jericho, with 
 Abdel Malak who went to buy some eggs. There 
 were not more than twenty-five houses in the 
 place, & these were all built of mud & consist of 
 but one room, which supplies all daily & nightly 
 comforts to the whole family, goats, & donkeys. 
 ... In fact filth & indolence was the order of the 
 day, & I came away with the conviction that I 
 must in future be careful of uttering such Anath- 
 ema as to wish a person in Jericho. . . . 
 
 The next morn'g (Monday ye 17th) we left 
 Jerusalem after the usual amount of confusion, 
 hurry, & delay. Muleteers quarrelling, servants 
 doing the heavy standing around with mouths 
 wreathed in smiles & watering for bakshiesh, the
 
 LEAVING JERUSALEM 73 
 
 landlord bowing and scraping, supported by his 
 half a good deal better in size, with his blushing 
 little daughter lurking coyly in the background. 
 Outside in the street Ibraim & his minions fly 
 around like maniacs in his desire "to make every- 
 thing quite comfortable for the six gentlemen al- 
 together." Large bundles of white linen, answer- 
 ing, I suppose, in the domestic circle to the name 
 of Fatima, stopped their shuffling gait in the 
 ugly yellow papooshes & stared at the cavalcade 
 through their dark cotton handkerchiefs. . . . We 
 passed out the Damascus gate, & wound along to- 
 wards the north, & in a few minutes vanished the 
 last link but that of memory that bound us to the 
 Holy City. How false that name is! If there is a 
 city on God's earth that least deserves that epithet, 
 it is Jerusalem. Is there a single deed that Jerusa- 
 lem as a city has ever done that is holy,'' Is not 
 its history from the time of Saul a series of black 
 crimes, until the one Great Crime stands forth, 
 making all other foul crimes or murders pale & in- 
 nocent before it.'* Ah! me! but a visit to Jerusalem 
 is an event in one's lifetime. . . . 
 
 The wind drove the rain directly in our faces & 
 as the road was excessively rough, hilly, & muddy, 
 the day was anything but comfortable. My view 
 of the surrounding landscape was confined to an 
 occasional peep out of the breathing hole I left in 
 my blanket. To me the whole thing was exceed- 
 ingly jolly but some of us grumbled furiously & 
 at last relinquished all efforts to keep dry & rode
 
 74 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 along as though it were warm, genial sunshine. 
 Lunch was out of the question, so hunger increased 
 our peevishness as the day wore on & we were still 
 a long distance from Kuhnetra. Ibraim proposed 
 that we should spend the night in a Bedouin en- 
 campment, where we should at least be sure of a 
 blazing fire whereby we could dry our clothes. To 
 this proposition we acceded, & turning off the main 
 road in about an hour we saw before us the "tents 
 of Kedar" five or six in number; we rode up amid 
 a furious barking of dogs, . . . and an old venerable 
 Arab came out of his tent to see what was the mat- 
 ter; to him we stated our piteous plight, & without 
 saying a word he motioned to us to alight & by a 
 wave of the hand signified that all his was ours. 
 In a minute we were inside his tent & crying bit- 
 terly. Allow me to be a little statistical for your 
 edification. The tent into which we entered was 
 about twelve or thirteen feet long, no it was 
 about twenty feet long, & ten or twelve feet wide, 
 and built of bamboo reeds about four feet long, 
 tied together with bits of grass & being placed on 
 end & supported by stakes they form a very good 
 though slightly airy & chinky wall; so much for 
 the walls & now for the roof; this is composed 
 of very coarse goat's-hair cloth, stretched across 
 arched willow saplings, whose ends are tied to the 
 opposite sides of the reed wall; place inside this 
 half a dozen sheepskins (well infested) a small pen 
 about three feet square for calves & a large log of 
 damp wood smoking & smouldering in the centre
 
 IN A BEDOUIN TENT 75 
 
 & you have a perfect idea of a Bedawee's realiza- 
 tion of an elegant mansion with all modern con- 
 veniences. Such was the abode into which we were 
 ushered but of which at first we couldn't take the 
 slightest note; there being no chimney the hut was 
 filled with dense, pungent smoke, & immediately, 
 though not without a good many tears, we adopted 
 Ibraim's advice of getting as near the surface of 
 the ground as a sitting posture would admit. 
 The hospitable old Bedawee who was rather badly 
 off for pantaloons immediately in our honor put 
 a large wet log on the fire & we gathered around & 
 pulling off our wet boots were soon as comfortable 
 & dry as circumstances would admit. The domestic 
 circle of our host we found to be two wives & two 
 children. One of the wives, as we found when the 
 happy family gathered around the social hearth, 
 was very old & skinny; the other was quite bloom- 
 ing & buxom but her otherwise pretty nose was 
 disgustingly disfigured by a custom the Bedawee 
 women have of boring a hole in the right nostril & 
 inserting a gold star-shaped stud, sometimes with a 
 turquoise set in it, as in the present instance. The 
 wives, as far as we could see, harmonized very well 
 except that the elder appeared to have the "whop- 
 ping" of the younger. . . . For the night the rest of 
 the party spread their blankets & shawls & sheep- 
 skins on the ground up in one corner of the tent 
 and lay four abreast as tight as they could pack, 
 like mackerel In pickle. Bullions lay at their feet 
 nigher the fire, & I was to sleep in the other tent 
 with Ibraim & the muleteers.
 
 n^i HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 But when I went to the other tent & saw & tried 
 my quarters, I gave up in despair. The tent was 
 even more full of smoke than the other, & my bed 
 was the top of two canteen chests which couldn't 
 be made to meet so that there were six inches of my 
 back that had no support at all. I stayed for about 
 a quarter of an hour & feeling vastly more uncom- 
 fortable than when I lay down I determined to re- 
 turn to the other tent; this I did & I found that my 
 only hope there was about three feet directly front- 
 ing the fire; this was better than the canteen so I 
 rolled myself up in my stout Grenadine "Capa Mon- 
 tana " & prepared myself for a slow roast. The old 
 wife when she saw me come in grumbled like thunder 
 for she didn't like to have barbarians so monopo- 
 lising her home but her husband, hospitable soul, 
 said not a word but tried to make a little more 
 room for me. Two or three sacks of wheat sepa- 
 rated my companions from the family & I slept at 
 the termination of those sacks, my head literally 
 under Atherton's heel & within a foot of the fire. I 
 remained as long as I could huddled up chin & 
 knees, till at last human nature could endure it no 
 longer so feigning sleep I extended myself full 
 length & went smash into the collection of feet & 
 legs on the family side of the tent. The old gen- 
 tleman thus aroused simply arose & stirred the 
 fire but the old lady raised the old Harry & said all 
 manner of wicked things at me, I suppose, in Turk- 
 ish. But I lay perfectly motionless & snoring deeply, 
 though feeling in my inmost heart that she had
 
 QUELLING A REBELLION T] 
 
 right on her side. Scarcely was this incident over 
 & quiet restored when there was a great scratching 
 at the door of the tent & in walked a cow, the 
 mother of one of the four calves that were confined 
 in the little pen in the tent. The old gentleman sat 
 up and looked at her quite composedly. A few min- 
 utes after a donkey seeing the cheerful blaze, fol- 
 lowed the cow's lead & also walked in out of the 
 rain. . . . Yet after all I slept soundly & refresh- 
 ingly, & awoke in the morning as bright as a but- 
 ton that has been scrubbed with dirt. It had ceased 
 raining, although the clouds still looked loweringly. 
 Ibraim came in after breakfast with a complaint 
 that the muleteers had rebelled and vowed that 
 they would not budge a single step that day in con- 
 sequence of a report that some streams in our road 
 were so swollen as to be impassable. I went out to 
 see what was the matter, & there sat the head mule- 
 teer as obstinate as possible; through Ibraim he 
 informed me that though I were to pull him limb 
 from limb he wouldn't move that day. I rushed 
 right up to him looking as bloodthirsty as I could & 
 bawled at him in good Saxon that if he didn't "get 
 up in one minute and attend to his business, by 
 Allah & the beard o' the Prophet! I'd twist his in- 
 fidel nose off his pagan face & throw him & all his 
 tribe to the dogs. Wullah! Mashallah!!" Ibraim 
 was like to burst with laughter, but it had a great 
 effect on the man, for the wind of my fist, as I flour- 
 ished it within a hair's breadth of the man's nose, 
 blew out the flame of rebellion & he got up &
 
 78 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 called his men together & they commenced their 
 work. . . . 
 
 . . . We soon began to ascend the mountains, the 
 road roughened & the air chilled; here & there we 
 saw the whitened skeleton of a luckless camel or of a 
 woeful donkey. . . . The road under our feet was a 
 mixture of mud & slush. After we had reached the 
 highest point we wound along for some time round 
 the peak of a mountain; when at last, we reached 
 the corner we caught our first glimpse for more than 
 a month of the blue Mediterranean. Ah! how we 
 dwelt upon the sight; a delicate haze overspread it 
 & it looked as though it extended a quarter of the 
 way up the vault of the sky & the few white specks 
 of sails that we could see looked like little balloons 
 floating in this blue, blue ether. It was a glorious 
 sight & I felt a spark of the enthusiasm of the ten 
 thousand & could scarce repress the shout of 
 @aXarra! ©aXarra! . . . 
 
 At nigh nine o'clock, we halted in front of the 
 gates of Beyrout, slowly filed through & found our- 
 selves on its slippery stone pavement. As far as we 
 could make out in the darkness, it appeared to be 
 an odd mixture of European & Oriental. We passed 
 through narrow low bazaars & by high, narrow 
 stone stores, by low mud houses & neat stone 
 dwellings. We passed through the town & out at 
 the other end to our Hotel situated directly on the 
 seashore. If our souls had not been in discord 
 through fatigue, we should have enjoyed this ride 
 of fifteen minutes. We rode along the very edge of
 
 ARRIVAL AT BEYROUT 79 
 
 the rocks that line the shores & the black water 
 was surging & seething below in a thousand break- 
 ers here & there loomed up the blazing torches of 
 the fishermen, revealing the naked bodies of the 
 bearers climbing out among the black & jagged 
 rocks, the lurid light dancing & frolicking on the 
 ruddy crests of the waves that were dashing & 
 boiling all around. You know how wicked the 
 water always seems at night — well, this water of 
 Beyrout, as I saw it in the pitchy darkness almost 
 under my very feet, & illumined here & there by 
 the' ruddy flare of the torches looked blacker & 
 wickeder than any water that I have ever seen. But 
 here we are in the Courtyard of our hotel, in the 
 embrace of our good host, Demetri & the orders for 
 water, towels, dinner & beds flying from our mouths 
 faster than tongue can wag or breath sustain. . . . 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Constantinople, May $th, '56 
 I AM ashamed, my dear Father & Mother, to send 
 you such a driblet, but you know that it is neither 
 because the flesh is weak nor the spirit unwilling. 
 It is a continuation of my last. . . . This past week 
 we have been to the Crimea & today we leave for 
 Athens. , . . 
 
 Tuesday we awoke at anchor oflf Rhodes & I 
 rushed up on deck. There it was before me; look- 
 ing as quaint, old fashioned, & out of date as helm 
 & hauberks & twisted mail would appear at an 
 eve'g party, of the present day. After breakfast we
 
 8o HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 went on shore. Here I might be sentimental to any 
 extent; in fact it is difficult to avoid it. Leaving 
 the busy trafficking world of a Levantine port be- 
 hind us, we entered at once upon a scene Euro- 
 pean & mediaeval in all its aspects, & the lessons 
 of centuries were imparted to us in a few seconds. 
 The houses on each side were Gothic in character 
 & adorned with rich carvings & ornaments. . . . 
 Everything wore an air of perfect desolation & 
 told the sad story of departed magnificence; from 
 the chinks of some armorial bearing waved richly 
 flowering weeds, or from the sculptured crest of 
 some noble name nodded a gorgeous plume of 
 scarlet poppies & green lizards basked undisturbed 
 on the lintel of the window from which fair eyes 
 had looked upon noble forms in burnished armor 
 dight. . . . No one but ourselves & a few children 
 playing around an old doorway were to be seen on 
 the whole street & so the place has stood for more 
 than three hundred years, looking as it did when 
 on the 1st of January 1523 L'Isle Adam, at the 
 head of his gallant band, surrendered it into the 
 hands of the Turks who lost in admiration for his 
 bravery refrained from despoiling & have preserved 
 it almost intact to the present day. . . . 
 
 While some of our party went to obtain permis- 
 sion to enter the castle, the rest of us sat down 
 under the shade of some trees in an old Turkish 
 burial-ground. Permission was soon obtained & 
 we mounted the high tower at the entrance of the 
 harbor. Here was pointed out to us the spot where
 
 RHODES AND THE DARDANELLES 8i 
 
 the Colossus once planted his giant feet, & "with 
 his head struck the stars." The fine harbor over 
 which he once presided has been almost wholly 
 filled up & part of it is occupied by the town. 
 Rhodes tells a double story, the location of the 
 Colossus recalls a time when the city surpassed 
 Rome in splendor & the Street of the Knights tells 
 the glories of the middle ages. I bought a little 
 ancient coin of Rhodes with a rose on the obverse & 
 we reluctantly returned to the steamer; they were 
 already lighting the fires and we were soon off. . . . 
 The next morning when I went on deck after 
 breakfast we were just entering the Dardanelles & 
 about nine we stopped for a few minutes at the vil- 
 lage & fort of that name & soon after the straits 
 narrowed & became more picturesque though not 
 particularly noticeable by any means for preemi- 
 nent beauty. At last the stream appeared as though 
 it had been dammed up & at the base of the hills 
 appeared two white towers; as we approached we 
 found that the stream turned at right angles, that 
 the towers were on opposite sides; in short, that 
 the white washed tower on our right was Abydos & 
 on the left Sestos. The current was apparently 
 very swift & I thought that I could dimly discern 
 the shadowy forms of Steinhaiiser's group on the 
 left shore, the Turkish minaret there was undoubt- 
 edly the tower to which Hero being a priestess had 
 access & from which she waved the torch. . . . Here 
 too Xerxes who did die, so the Primer tells us, built 
 his bridge of boats. But the steamer curled up his
 
 82 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 smoke at all sentiment & puffed and snorted on 
 regardless of poor Leander's corpse or the mighty 
 bridge of boats. In a short time we reached 
 Gallipoli, which looked like a French settlement, 
 French troops were lolling about on the shore & 
 the French flag waved over everything. In the 
 afternoon we were on the sea of Marmora. 
 
 The next morn'g, Saturday (April 19th), when we 
 went on deck we were already entering the Golden 
 Horn. Whew! what a vast amount of lies have 
 been told of this self same Golden Horn. From all 
 that I have ever read, I expected to be perfectly 
 overwhelmed by a blaze of glory, a vision of ineffable 
 splendor; there were to be a perfect wilderness of 
 graceful tapering minarets, & golden domes ex- 
 quisitely rounded were to almost hang suspended 
 in mid air. The sultans' palaces were to glow with 
 sparkling beauty like the fairest gems. In short, 
 every description that I have ever read led me to 
 suppose that I should be stunned & crushed be- 
 neath the effulgent radiance all around! What, 
 then, think you did I see.? Why nothing but an im- 
 mense dirty, smoky, dingy, foggy, tawdry, shackley, 
 tumble down city; here and there minarets as 
 graceful & imposing as bean poles & domes as 
 exquisitely rounded as the bottom of a wash basin 
 & about as much gilded. It looked to me in the 
 fog and dirt very much like London from the 
 Thames. . . . 
 
 The Crimean War had ended but a month before
 
 THE CRIMEAN WAR 83 
 
 Furness and Blight landed at Constantinople — 
 peace was signed on the 30th of March — so a 
 journey to the scenes of the war was more than de- 
 sirable. After visiting all the important sights of 
 Constantinople, they arranged to cross the Black 
 Sea on a French vessel and land in the Crimea, 
 from which the troops had not yet withdrawn, and 
 see for themselves Alma, Balaclava, the MalakofF, 
 and Sebastopol. 
 
 . . . After dinner I entered into conversation with 
 several English Officers on the all-engaging subject 
 of the Crimea. Their opinions were curious to hear 
 & withal perfectly consistent with that English 
 intense national conceit. One of them, a Captain 
 in the Polish legion, said to me, "why, don't you 
 see, we've gained Alma, Inkermann & Balaclava, 
 & what have the French done.? — taken the Mala- 
 koflF; we've gained three quarters of the war & we 
 certainly can afford to let the French have the re- 
 maining quarter.". . . 
 
 The next morn'g when I awoke the ship had 
 ceased from creaking & the engines were at rest; 
 impatient for the first glimpse of the Crimea I 
 dressed and rushed on deck, but not a speck of 
 land could I anywhere behold, except it were the 
 dirt on the hands & faces of the engineers; all around 
 above & below, there was nothing but the masts 
 & pipes of ships & steamers, the sky even was fairly 
 obliterated with rigging. Taking the existence of 
 the Crimea on trust, as the Captain had given us 
 his word of honor that this was Kamiesh, our
 
 84 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 plans were quickly matured & ... we went ashore 
 in the ship's gig & stepped our first on Russian 
 soil; everything around us was an odd mixture of 
 French & oriental; the names of the streets were 
 French, but the shops were oriental booths; there 
 were boxes of French goods, but they were borne 
 on the backs of Turkish Hamals; there were French 
 men smoking nargeeleys & Turks smoking cigars. 
 The houses are all of wood, one story high & every 
 one a store, in whose large open windows, every con- 
 ceivable variety of goods Is displayed, from tobacco 
 to calico & from loaf sugar to herrings. The streets 
 were filled with a busy trafficking throng, mostly 
 soldiers, not in such gay, unsullied attire, as on the 
 Champs Elysees, but a good deal dusty & toil worn; 
 there was no lack of horsemen on the hard macad- 
 amised walk & now & then a smart, trig, jaunty lit- 
 tle vivandiere would dash by sitting astride of her 
 horse with as much ease & spirit as a cavalry cap- 
 tain. We walked up the Rue Napoleon till we came 
 to the Hotel des Colonnies & here we got three 
 horses, which proved to be by no means despicable, 
 & mounting these we rode out of Kamiesh on a good 
 round gallop, & turning to our left, we made a bee- 
 line for Sebastopol. The roads were all splendid, 
 for at times there were very many of them branch- 
 ing out in all directions; the ground was more un- 
 dulating than hilly, & had that yellow, parched 
 look of Syrian desolation of which lately I have had 
 a little too much; cultivation appeared to have been 
 checked & nature was at a dead stand & there was
 
 DESOLATION IN THE CRIMEA 85 
 
 no need of the cannon balls which were here & 
 there lying along the roadside to tell you that War 
 had passed his scathing hand over these once fair 
 vineyards. (Whew!) But seriously & setting aside 
 all false sentimentality, if you had been dropped 
 out of the moon into the Crimea, you would know 
 that it had been the scene of some dreadful history 
 — not a bush or tree was to be seen, scarcely a blade 
 of grass & here & there the whitening skull or 
 ribs of some poor horse were protruding above the 
 surface of the ground. Everything appeared dead 
 even the very air. There was no song of birds or 
 hum of insects; everything was sombre gloomy & 
 dead. We passed by a farmhouse that looked as 
 though it might have been a cheerful, pleasant home 
 but the walls were battered down by huge cannon 
 balls that still lay among their work of destruc- 
 tion; two or three of the walls that still remained 
 standing were perfectly covered with huge bruises 
 & here & there holes like windows. After riding 
 about an hour we got our first glimpse of the city, 
 this so engaged our attention that we scarcely 
 heeded the multitudes of gabions & trenches that 
 were thickly strewn on each side of the road; from 
 some of them the French soldiers were busily re- 
 moving cannon. The first sight of Sebastopol dis- 
 appointed me. I expected it to stand on a hill rather 
 than in a valley, & to see it surrounded by high, 
 massive stone walls, instead of basket & earth work 
 & I have become so accustomed in Syria to see cit- 
 ies & villages of the same color as the soil on which
 
 86 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 they are built that I was not at all impressed by the 
 size. My first impression was that of an immense 
 graveyard; the white walls that are left standing 
 look precisely like so many crumbly tombstone^, 
 while here & there rose the spire of a church to 
 complete the illusion. This impression passed off 
 in a minute or two as we approached nearer & ob- 
 jects began to define themselves more clearly. . . . 
 
 On our right as we entered was the Theatre, 
 originally a fine stone building but now a perfect 
 ruin; the tragedy of which it was the witness had 
 been enacted not within but without its walls; on 
 the opposite side of the street some low houses had 
 been repaired & now served as comfortable barracks 
 for some French soldiers, the guard of the city. . . . 
 
 The whole place looked like an immense Fort; 
 everything looked fierce & bristling; as you looked 
 you felt yourself instinctively becoming pugilis- 
 tic. The ground was literally covered with cannon 
 balls, grape shot & pieces of exploded shell. There 
 were plenty of old Russian coats & caps lying around 
 & numberless cartouche boxes & ruined knapsacks. 
 
 The custom house was built in the style of a 
 Grecian portico with Doric fluted columns & where 
 it wasn't in ruins was really a very fine structure. 
 We rode up the wide street that runs parallel with 
 the one by which we entered. Its appearance seemed 
 more aristocratic; the houses were larger & better 
 finished. Some were really very handsome build- 
 ings, the houses I suppose of the Generals & higher 
 officers. But the effects of cannon were everywhere
 
 SEBASTOPOL 87 
 
 terrible; many of the trees were completely shiv- 
 ered to splinters & door posts & window jambs 
 wholly knocked awry, big jagged windows made 
 in the sides of parlors; masses of stone encum- 
 bered the sidewalks, while in the midst the cause 
 of all this destruction & fearful devastation was 
 lying as big & round & shining & black and as inno- 
 cent-looking as you please. Through the vacant 
 windows the sun shone bright & clear into what 
 might once have been the luxurious boudoir of 
 some delicate lady. The houses, inside, were 
 many of them a heap of stones & ruins. Every- 
 thing told of ruin & desolation & as I rode through 
 the long street it seemed as though the world had 
 gone to ruin, as if the sun would set on ruins & 
 would rise on ruins & everything would be ruins 
 ever after; we halted at the door of a church whose 
 single handsome dome resembled a gigantic pepper 
 box; it had been left half finished & the scaffolding 
 of the plasterers was still suspended inside. 
 
 From thence we soon arrived at the Malakoff but 
 as we. approached it from the Russian side we had 
 entered it almost before we were aware. It covers 
 over a large space of ground & is a perfect labyrinth 
 of gabions or basket work, sand bags, curtains & 
 ditches, the ground perfectly paved with grape 
 cannister & shell. . . . 
 
 As we were riding towards the principal spot or 
 centre of the place, we came upon a long grave some 
 fifty feet long by twenty wide. It was one of those 
 immense pits where two hundred men all shared
 
 88 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 the same grave. A black wooden cross stood at the 
 head, a cannon ball on each arm & others round 
 the base, bearing this, to me, sad inscription: 
 
 Unis pour la victoire, 
 Reunis par la mort, 
 Du soldat c'est la gloire, 
 Des braves c'est la sort! . . . 
 
 A French corporal of the 21st of the line, the 
 same regiment that first planted the flag on the 
 tower, immediately came up to us & most politely 
 offered to show us around. We ascended at once to 
 the embankment above the tower, mounting by 
 the same path that the French had made when 
 they stormed it. On the top still waved the identical 
 French tricolor where it was originally planted. 
 It can hardly be called a tricolor, for it is so torn 
 to shreds that not much more than a strip of the 
 blue remains. Another theme for commonplace. 
 From this spot we got our notions of things in gen- 
 eral. Behind us in the Malakoff, it was, as I have 
 said, a perfect labyrinth of fortifications and maze 
 of mounds, so that if the French had not taken the 
 Russians by surprise when they were all at dinner, 
 they would have been no better off after they had 
 entered the place than they were before & might 
 have still found it impossible to dislodge their en- 
 emies. In front of us at our feet was the ditch 
 where so many brave fellows lost their lives on 
 that memorable 8th Sept. It was about twenty 
 feet wide & about as many deep & across it were 
 lying the ladders which the French used on that
 
 FRENCH AND ENGLISH SOLDIERS 89 
 
 day. The ditch was by no means as deep even as it 
 was originally. The mass of dead was so deep in it 
 that it would have been too great a task to remove 
 them, so dirt was just shovelled in on top. About 
 fifty or sixty feet off were the advanced line of 
 French trenches extending in zigzag courses from 
 the base of the Mamelan Vert, a slight mound 
 about half a mile distant. Although they are now 
 all filled up, yet they could be very readily traced. 
 On our right as we faced the Mamelan Vert, sep- 
 arated from us by a ravine, was the Redan from 
 which the English flag was flying. We didn't stay 
 very long, for the day was waning. The soldiers 
 of whom there were quite a number around play- 
 ing a sort of game of marbles with grape shot, told 
 us plenty of their experiences, how they had 
 smoked out the Russians who had taken refuge in 
 the Malakoff tower, by stopping the narrow win- 
 dows with smouldering straw. . . . 
 
 From the Mamelan we went to the Redan. It 
 presented both externally & internally the same 
 general features as the Malakoff: Gabions, mounds, 
 sand bags, beams, cannon, knapsacks, iron water 
 tanks, powder cannisters everywhere in the direst 
 confusion. English soldiers were busy removing 
 the big heavy guns. The ditch in front has been 
 mostly filled up & in one place a good road made 
 over it. Here we set our wits at work to solve 
 the question why the English didn't take the Redan 
 when the French took the Malakoff. 
 
 How came it that the French trenched up to
 
 90 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 within fifty feet of the Malakoff & the English didn't 
 get within two hundred of the Redan. It's in vain 
 that Englishmen who have not been on the spot 
 say that the ground in front of the Redan was much 
 harder than in front of the Malakoff. This isn't 
 so, for this point I examined particularly. The lay 
 of the ground, not to speak of the texture of the 
 soil, was, on an average, more difficult for the 
 French than for the English; so difficult, in fact, 
 that the English refused to undertake the opera- 
 tions against the Malakoff & selected the Redan, al- 
 though in the course of events the former had fallen 
 to their share. Setting the aff"air, therefore, in its 
 most impartial light, the French proved themselves 
 to be by far the better soldiers & setting the afli^air 
 in a very partial light, giving the English every ad- 
 vantage possible, & the French soldiers still come 
 out infinitely their superiors. That the English have 
 some very fine qualities as soldiers must be admitted; 
 they really have what they so much boast of: 
 "pluck"; they'll form a line & march undaunted 
 to inevitable death up to the very cannon's mouth, 
 & die before they've even seen their enemy, but 
 as a French captain said to me, to do "une chose 
 comme ca, ce n'est pas la guerre." And herein lies 
 the answer to the question; in the open field the 
 English may do very finely, but in a siege where the 
 most refined art of war is developed & where en- 
 ergy & despatch is required of the soldiers, there the 
 English fail lamentably. But I'm afraid that I've 
 been very prosey & shouldn't have mentioned the
 
 BALACLAVA 91 
 
 subject at all, had it not been such a frequent sub- 
 ject of discussion amongst us, & if the EngHsh 
 didn't claim so much for themselves. To read the 
 English papers one would think that they had 
 fought the war in the Crimea & that they had 
 beaten the Russians! Why! it wasn't till very lately 
 that the French ceased speaking of them as "the 
 English Contingent," placing them on a par with 
 the Turks & Sardinians. . . . 
 
 We reached Balaclava shortly afterwards; signs 
 of the English were visible in soda-water bottles 
 along the road, & behind all the English encamp- 
 ments empty bottles of Barclay & Perkins, India 
 Pale Ale & Harvey Sauce were certainly as thickly 
 strewed as the cannon balls in Sebastopol. . . . 
 
 At last we entered the village of Balaclava every- 
 thing in the twinkling of an eye was changed to Eng- 
 lish manners & customs. ... As far as huge piles 
 of coal & lumber, railway tracks & the whistling of 
 locomotives were concerned, we might as well have 
 been in Liverpool as in the Crimea. Everything 
 wore an air of bustle & Anglo-Saxon activity which 
 I must confess was not unpleasant to me. Every- 
 thing connected with the army looked bright & 
 new & in perfect condition; the carts were neatly 
 painted, the horses neatly groomed, the harness 
 well adapted & complete, the chains brightly pol- 
 ished, the men well clothed & well shod, & good 
 healthy food beamed in every lineament. Indeed it 
 would be hard to conceive of a more perfect army 
 as far as equipment is concerned than that we saw
 
 92 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 at Balaclava. But at present it is more of a dis- 
 grace than an honor to England coming as it does 
 the day after the fair, when there is no longer any 
 need of it, after her finest soldiers have been sac- 
 rificed to negligence & blundering stupidity. . . . 
 
 After leaving the village on our return home we 
 visited the Battleground of the Battle of Bala- 
 clava, where took place that famous cavalry charge 
 of the light & heavy brigade. It was a long plain 
 of rich meadow land terminated by a range of 
 low hills. On two of these hills the Russians had 
 batteries taken, I believe, from the Turks. These 
 batteries that unfortunate seven hundred were or- 
 dered to re-take & on that plain, the focus of the 
 two batteries, they rode to death. As the soldiers 
 from whom we demanded information gave rather 
 contradictory statements, D. &. B. deputed me to 
 ask Information of the two officers who were rid- 
 ing towards us. Replete with brass I rode up to 
 them, bowed & asked my question but not till 
 then had I observed that one of them was a very 
 high General attended by his aide-de-camp & that 
 on the latter's face there was almost an audible 
 grin at my greenness. But when was a true Dem- 
 ocrat ever abashed.? So I didn't care a straw & 
 the General most poHtely explained everything & 
 chatted with us some time. When we got home 
 we made inquiries which placed it beyond a doubt 
 that It was no other than Sir William Codrlngton^ 
 whom we had been using as our valet de place. . . . 
 
 * Sir William Codrington was at this time Commander-in-chief of 
 the British forces in the Crimea.
 
 THE PLAINS OF TROY 93 
 
 All day April 5th we had been coasting along the 
 shore of Asia Minor & in the afternoon came within 
 sight of the plains of Troy. It was a long wide plain 
 here & there undulating with mounds; in the blue 
 distance was Mt. Ida, "many-fountained Ida," 
 lifting its summit of snow into the clouds. In a 
 little bay was the mouth of the Scamander, & a 
 large tumulus not far from the shore was the tomb 
 of Hector. On our right was the Island of Tenedos, 
 behind which the Grecian fleet hid, when it left the 
 gigantic horse behind it in the camp. The whole 
 panorama passed before me like a dream, reality & 
 fiction were so blended that I couldn't tell one from 
 the other, & had Neptune at that instant made his 
 appearance, sitting in his wreathed shell trident 
 in hand, with dazzling Amphitrite by his side & 
 drawn by dolphins, I should certainly haveexpressed 
 & probably felt, but little surprise. Not far from 
 the tomb of Hector was another mound, the tomb 
 of Achilles. I gazed & gazed & there is probably no 
 scene of my travels that is more vividly impressed 
 on my mind. , . . 
 
 The steamer brought them to Athens where every 
 street, every house, every store proved a delight 
 to Furness, "Honor bright & no fooling, it made 
 my brain whirl & I felt all but crazy with delight. 
 I wanted to shriek out the whole conjugation of 
 the verb ToyTTTO)." His enthusiasm for all of Athens 
 is embodied in the following extract: 
 
 After dinner Blight, Dwight & myself took a 
 walk to Mt. Lycabettus; this is a craggy rock some-
 
 94 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 what higher than the Acropolis, & about a quarter 
 of a mile behind Athens. We chmbed up its steep 
 sides & about half way up rested on the mossy 
 stones to watch the sun set on the bay of Salamis. 
 Ah ! Was there ever on this wide world such a sight! 
 The seat of Xerxes was glowing as it did of yore, 
 like burnished gold, Mt. Cithaeron looked like an 
 exquisite cloud on the horizon, a purple offering 
 of the earth to the deep blue heavens, while close to 
 us Mt. Hymettus, with its exquisitely moulded 
 outline, seemed a solemn sentinel over the silent 
 beauty of the landscape, & the little town of Athens 
 below us, with its white modern houses clustering 
 around the base of its rugged Acropolis & tawny 
 Parthenon. Right in the front of us stretched the 
 sea glittering with purple, blue & gold, mingling & 
 combining with each other until they were all 
 lost in the deep, unfathomable azure of the hori- 
 zon & the sky. Colors in this region can't be exag- 
 gerated, no pigments of the painter's palette can 
 equal the tints of this heavenly climate. And then 
 what a scene for sentiment, what a world of asso- 
 ciations crowded every spot! Take my word for 
 it, Greece, & nothing but Greece is the land for a 
 gentleman & a scholar. It was almost dark be- 
 fore we were again within the city, but the moon, 
 I beg the goddess's pardon, I should say Silene, 
 was jealous of the mighty glories which the sun had 
 just been scattering broadcast over the world, & 
 was just struggling up from behind Mt. Fames 
 to see what she could do in that line. Willing to
 
 THE GROVES OF ACADEME 95 
 
 encourage her we took a carriage & drove out; ye 
 Gods & the blessed nine! to the groves of Academe! 
 Before we reached there we got out & walked & 
 finally entered its sombre shadows. The acacias 
 were in full blossom & were stifling the air with their 
 delicious perfume; light hazy dew was rising from 
 the luxuriant grass; from every thicket cicalas were 
 "tuning their lyres" as in the days of Anacreon; 
 and over all the Moon was shedding its beams of 
 eyrie, uncanny lights softening all defects & height- 
 ening every charm. We wandered through the 
 long allies & thousands of old schoolboy recol- 
 lections came crowding upon us of Socrates, Plato, 
 Zeno, & Aristotle. But how everything was changed, 
 the deformed, transformed, the bugbears of col- 
 lege into the glories of Academe. Socrates was no 
 longer the eight Greek letters composing his name, 
 & we saw him right before us with his bald forehead, 
 snub nose, & piercing eyes, forever asking those still 
 more piercing questions, the accoucheur instru- 
 ments, as he used to call them, of intelligence & the 
 truth. We walked nearly all the way home, rev- 
 eling in animal spirits, & revelling in the beauty 
 of everything around us, & longing for some of 
 those robbers to attack us, with which we had heard 
 Greece was teeming. . . , 
 
 At five P.M. we bade adieu to Athens & drove 
 down to the boat which was to take Dwight to 
 Trieste & Blight & myself part of the way to Malta, 
 when we reached the Piraeus a dozen persons sur-
 
 96 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 rounded the carriage & there was an immense jab- 
 bering which was not only all Greek to us, but 
 to them too, finally Demetri put his head in the 
 carriage window & said, "the boat's gone. Sir." 
 "Where? Where?" says Blight. "Thunder!" says 
 Dwight. I rolled back in the carriage & roared with 
 laughter, for which performance I was sharply re- 
 buked by Blight & smiled upon with intense scorn 
 by Dwight. Blight was in immense trepidation; 
 an Irishman would say he was completely mul- 
 fathered, & was actually for pursuing the steamer 
 with a rowboat, which made my laughter break 
 out afresh & I was told that I always he-hawed at 
 the wrong time, which remark so far from extin- 
 guishing my laughter, sent me into perfect convul- 
 sions which at last had the desired eflFect. Blight's 
 face relaxed, Dwight smiled, Demetri grinned & 
 then we all laughed together. 
 
 The explanation of the mystery was that an 
 Austrian General was passenger on board & the 
 boat being Austrian, in their vile toadying to rank 
 & decorations, they had weighed anchor half an 
 hour sooner than the time advertised. 
 
 After expending all our French & wrath on the 
 bald head of the little agent, (whose fault it really 
 was,) & who bore it all with the most oily meek- 
 ness, we got in to our carriage & drove back to Ath- 
 ens far from displeased that the fates had given us 
 one more day in that thoroughly, unexceptionally 
 delightful city, ...
 
 RETURN TO PARIS 97 
 
 They caught the boat the following day, how- 
 ever, and coasting along between the islands of 
 Greece, reached Brindisi. From this town they 
 pushed on through Italy and France to Paris, when 
 to Furness's great joy home seemed almost within 
 realization. . . . 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Paris!! June I2th, 1 856 
 ... I FEEL like a drivelling idiot today, so over- 
 joyed am I at getting back to dear old Paris it being 
 so near home. I'm screaming all the time I write. 
 Our movements are very uncertain; we shall 
 probably make a short tour here in France, to see 
 the Gothic Cathedrals of Rouen, Chartres, Amiens, 
 Abbeville &c., then cross through England to Liver- 
 pool & I hope that I shall be able to fall down on 
 bended knee before my Lady Mother as a birthday 
 present. From this time henceforth our communica- 
 tions will be regular & I long to be making arrange- 
 ments for my return. But don't let America think 
 that I am anxious to see her; the low, dirty jade, 
 she don't deserve to have anybody look at her. 
 And yet I don't think she is half so bad as England. 
 England (to state my views epigrammatically) as 
 a nation I abhor, but individually I adore. Re- 
 verse the sentence & you have my feelings about 
 France, & when I add that I think the third Na- 
 poleon fifty times greater than ever his uncle was 
 or could have been, as we say here, in Paris, voila 
 tout (shrug your shoulders).
 
 98 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Paris, August zjth, '56 
 Returning home! Ah, what deep harmony there 
 is in those words; they are my last thoughts ai 
 night, ghde bewitchingly through all my dreams &< 
 are the one bright spot when I awake in the morn'g 
 — and my servant must think that I am of the 
 most cherubic disposition from the exquisite smile 
 with which I gaze upon him when in the morn'g 
 he stands at my bedside with the words, "Reveiller, 
 Monsieur Fournaisse, si'l vous plait, il vient de 
 sonner sept heures." "Aha, Louis," I reply, "vous 
 etes sur que la nuit est passer, & que nous avons le 
 vingt-septieme, pas the vingt-seizieme? Vous en 
 etes sur?" "Oui, oui, oui. Monsieur, c'estbien sur!" 
 "Eh bien," I reply, "that being the case I'll con- 
 sent to get up." The foregoing little scene from do- 
 mestic life raises the curtain on something different 
 than engine whistles, trunks, hotels & restaurants, 
 with which lately my life has turned, & the whole 
 thing must be as inexplicable to you as it is novel & 
 delightful to me. Blight's name doesn't figure in 
 the dramatis personse. Ain't it queer & isn't your 
 curiosity excited.^ Yes, here I am in Paris all alone, 
 & Blight's away with his family careering up & 
 down the Rhine, galloping over glaciers & sliding 
 down avalanches in Switzerland. It will require I 
 think but a few words on my part to make you see 
 the rationality of our present positions. When I 
 came abroad it was with the understanding that 
 I was to acquire German & French. With my op-
 
 VARYING PLANS 99 
 
 portunities for learning the former I am abundantly 
 satisfied, but poor French has always been a scape- 
 goat; It has been thrust into dark corners, maligned, 
 & never received more than a passing compliment 
 of three or four weeks, laggardly bestowed. This 
 has always hurt my feelings, but circumstances 
 last winter were so manifestly plain that I acqui- 
 esced in such treatment without a murmur. Well, 
 after welcoming Capt. & Mrs. Palmer, Mrs. Meade 
 and Miss Milllgan to the shores of Albion & mak- 
 ing a short tour with them in England acting the 
 part of an amiable & accomplished courier by day 
 & a fascinating entertainer in the even'g, we arrived 
 here in Paris. Here plans were determined & routes 
 laid down. The Rhine & Switzerland were to be 
 visited first, then Milan,Venice & Florence. "Hold !" 
 cried I, "I'm not a young man of ten thousand a 
 year that can aff"ord both the time & the money to 
 go where I list; my future shelves are to be stored 
 with bread & cheese earned by the toil of my 
 brain, & although I would gladly cull in such fair 
 company the flowers of the Rhine, dreamily gaze 
 with you at its vineclad hills, & ruined castles, 
 haunted with legends of hoary eld, or hand in 
 hand skip lightly o'er the summit of Mont Blanc, 
 yet duty to myself & faithfulness to the purpose 
 for which I came abroad prompts me to suggest 
 that I ought to remain in Paris & do all in my power 
 for three livelong weeks to acquire French volu- 
 bility & the Parisian accent." All eyes were wet. 
 The air was broken by Capt. Palmer's manly
 
 100 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 sobs. Mrs. Meade flung herself upon my breast 
 in a flood of passionate tears, Miss Milligan stif- 
 fened herself out in her chair & her shrieks were 
 dreadful. "Go," I at last said, endeavoring to 
 control my emotions & to steady my voice, "go, 
 & visit & enjoy your Rhines & your Switzerlands, 
 dear friends, I stay here in Paris, but I will not 
 leave you in the blackness of despair. I will rejoin 
 you in Milan!! we will look over the same Murray 
 in the galleries of Florence!! we will all float to- 
 gether by moonlight in a gondola in Venice!!!" 
 We all joined hands & in the ecstasy of our joy 
 danced wildly round the centre table, & Capt. 
 Palmer ordered up mineral water & ground nuts & 
 we had an even'g of it. / 
 
 Of course at the bottom of the foregoing well 
 you can see the glimmering of truth. My reasons 
 for the present step were all cogent & my logic 
 faultless, & all approved of it although they ex- 
 pressed most sincere regrets at having to part com- 
 pany with me even for a single day. For my part 
 I am conscious that I have made a real sacrifice 
 for a real advantage. I would give a good deal to 
 review many of the scenes which they are about to 
 see, but three good sound weeks all to myself will 
 prove of immense utility to me in my present cal- 
 low state of French. It's all very well to say, Oh, 
 you can study French any time when you get home, 
 but I know that I shan't when I get home; there 
 will be other & more urgent calls upon my time, & 
 if I don't read a quantity of French literature now,
 
 TOWARDS HOME loi 
 
 it will be a closed book to me, if not forever at 
 least for so long a time that I may have lost all 
 relish for it. 
 
 To his Family 
 
 Paris, Oct. Sth, '56 
 
 , . . My pen sticks to the paper. I hate to take 
 it off — this letter finished & Europe seems over & 
 the dream closed; already I have lost all identity 
 with the H. H. F. of Munich, & I am quite sure that 
 I have never been in College, but only heard it 
 graphically described. With regard to home alone 
 do I feel myself unchanged. There alone does my 
 foot hold firm. . . . 
 
 Dear Father, Mother, Annis, Will & Frank. 
 Good-bye till we meet in three weeks —
 
 CHAPTER III 
 THE SANITARY COMMISSION 
 
 When Furness landed in New York early in 
 November, 1856, he returned to a country less 
 tranquil than any he had visited during his two 
 years of foreign travel. Outwardly, doubtless there 
 was little to indicate the gathering storm-clouds, 
 and yet few were so oblivious to the trend of human 
 events as not to feel it brewing in the air. No- 
 where in the country could its coming have been 
 more prophetically felt than at his father's house 
 on Pine Street, Philadelphia, whither he first turned 
 his steps. To this very house, as to a haven of rest 
 and sympathy, had come Charles Sumner, earlier 
 in the year, still weak and bruised after the assault 
 upon him in the Senate Chamber; already the Uni- 
 tarians of Philadelphia had come to look upon the 
 elder Furness not only as their kindly, upright min- 
 ister, but also as an impassioned leader in the ever- 
 increasing society of Abolitionists. "Ah, that dread 
 subject of Abolition!"' wrote Horace Howard Fur- 
 ness fifty years later; "It was the touchstone of 
 this congregation! It was the fan which thoroughly 
 purged the floor, scattering the chaff and gathering 
 the wheat into a garner. How my poor father, with 
 his intense love of gentle peace and confiding re- 
 
 1 Historical Address delivered at the First Unitarian Church of 
 Philadelphia, January 12, 1908.
 
 ABOLITION 103 
 
 pose, agonized over it! . . . Even though death for 
 himself and starvation for his family were the pen- 
 alty, he must scream out,' Lo ! here am I ! ' . . . When 
 from the wording of the text the congregation be- 
 came aware that in the sermon there would be im- 
 passioned pleadings for the slave and eloquent ad- 
 jurations to guard liberty and the rights of man, 
 then would fall a pin-drop silence, then the air 
 was charged with the trembling apprehension of 
 unknown consequences, broken suddenly, at the 
 mention from the pulpit of 'African Slavery,' by 
 the opening and slamming of a pew-door, and the 
 furious stamping through the aisle to the exit, 
 sometimes followed in a few minutes by a second 
 and a third. . . . Then my poor father's face would 
 grow white to the lips, but still his voice would 
 continue to plead unfalteringly. . . . There were 
 few, very few of the early Abolitionists who had 
 not schooled themselves to await a martyr's death. 
 I know it was my father's anticipation. . . . Once his 
 peril seemed to others so nigh that one or two of his 
 devoted friends, living in Germantown, came to 
 his Church on Sunday with loaded pistols in their 
 pockets to defend him to the uttermost." To such 
 an atmosphere, charged with the threatening tem- 
 pest, Horace Howard Furness returned in 1856. 
 
 But when time throws all which is not pertinent 
 to history into a low relief beside the outstanding 
 events, it is difficult for us to realize that the hum- 
 bler course of daily life flows on. For it is not 
 vouchsafed those who live in times pregnant with
 
 I 
 
 104 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 history to stand calmly at one side and let the great 
 events pass in review; so it was upon Furness's 
 return; even while his father was from the pulpit 
 denouncing slavery, he was seeking a profession. 
 He had left for Europe with no definite plan for 
 the future: he came back with maturer judgment 
 and a determination to study law. So the year 
 1857 found him in the office of the Hon. Wil- 
 liam Meredith, the prominent Philadelphia lawyer, 
 studying for the bar during the days, tutoring and 
 giving lessons in foreign languages in the evenings 
 that he might not prove a burden financially toi 
 his parents. In May, 1858, he became engaged to 
 Helen Kate Rogers, the daughter of Evans Rog- 
 ers, a successful hardware merchant of Philadel- 
 phia, to whom he was married two years later. 
 She was a girl of infinite charm, of unaffected re- 
 finement, and between her and Horace Howard 
 Furness there existed many and strong bonds of 
 mutual sympathy and understanding and the im- 
 perishable bonds of deep love. It is not fitting that 
 our hands should throw wide the door of private 
 sanctuaries: time and grief have rendered them 
 inviolate. Some of the letters here pubHshed give 
 us glimpses within, but further than this we may 
 not trespass. Sufficient is it to know that no shadow 
 ever marred the calm tranquillity of their married 
 life; their happiness was infinite. When the great 
 shadow fell in 1883 it left the husband a memory 
 which never faded, a grief which time and work 
 never softened.
 
 CALLED TO THE BAR 105 
 
 After two years of study, Furness was called to 
 the Philadelphia Baron November 19, 1859, and 
 immediately moved into his own office where he 
 took up the profession. Even in his first month as a 
 Counsellor-at-Law great events began to crowd 
 around him; for a time the central figure was John 
 Brown. The raid at Harper's Ferry had occurred in 
 October and its leader had been tried and found 
 guilty; he was sentenced to be executed on the 
 2nd of December. Feeling ran high among the 
 Abolitionists of Philadelphia and it is reflected in 
 an entry in one of Furness's journals: 
 
 "December 2nd, 1859. John Brown's last night 
 alive. What a dreadful time. Nor can I analize my 
 feelings. My reason is a hundred times convinced 
 that he is really the man of all Americans to be 
 more envied than commiserated. . . . Where will it 
 end ? I feel that with the twelfth stroke of tonight's 
 bell this union or slavery ceases. Perhaps I may 
 never live to trace the connected chain of events, 
 but that some future Tacitus with keen-sighted 
 vision will mark the second of December as the 
 Era I have not the shadow of a doubt." 
 
 The following day a turbulent public prayer 
 meeting was held in Philadelphia at the hour when 
 in Virginia John Brown was hanged. Both Fur- 
 ness and his father took an active part in it and de- 
 spite the eff"orts of some Southern Medical students 
 to break the meeting up, it was brought to a suc- 
 cessful termination. But Furness has an even more 
 sombre event to witness in connection with the 
 hanging of John Brown:
 
 io6 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 "It was when we were awaiting the train which 
 was bearing northward the heroic martyr's body 
 after it had been cut down from the gallows at 
 Harper's Ferry. The Southern trains then entered 
 the city at Broad and Prime Streets. Traffic and 
 travel on that route from Virginia was suspended 
 during some hours to give swift passage to a freight 
 car bearing its tragic freight, with a single car at- 
 tached bearing John Brown's widow and Hector 
 Tyndale. A large and excited crowd, which the 
 police had difficulty in controlling, gathered and 
 jostled at every opening of the large station, into 
 which there was no one admitted but Mr. Miller 
 McKim, my father, and myself — these, with 
 Mayor Henry and the Chief of Police, were alone 
 in that vast, cold, silent station (there may have 
 been one or two others, but I do not remember 
 them). The train was an hour late, and that 
 weary, weary hour I walked with my poor father 
 on my arm up and down that long echoing plat- 
 form. I dared only now and then to look into his 
 blanched face. Occasionally a few words were 
 exchanged with Mr. McKim, whose face was as 
 white as my father's. . . . 
 
 "At last in the far distance we discerned the 
 train, and silently awaited its gradual drawing in to 
 the station. As soon as it came to a stop. Hector 
 Tyndale alighted. Never can I forget theexcitement 
 under which that brave, gallant fellow laboured. 
 He rushed to my father, exclaiming, and waving 
 his arms, 'A miracle has happened! Dr. Furness, a
 
 JOHN BROWN'S BODY 107 
 
 miracle has happened! The earth never opened to 
 swallow up those fiends!' 'Control yourself, my 
 boy. Calm yourself,' said my father, putting his 
 hand gently on his shoulder. Then we entered the 
 freight car, and there on the floor lay the long, rough 
 box containing John Brown's body, just as it was 
 when cut down from the gallows. A consultation was 
 held and it was decided, in view of the intense ex- 
 citement of the crowds on all sides of the station, 
 not to take the body to an undertaker's as had been 
 at first arranged. The Mayor and the Chief of Police 
 dreaded an outbreak of the mob, which might prove 
 to be with great difficulty controlled. Accordingly 
 the crowd outside were deceived by a closely 
 guarded, empty hearse which was rapidly driven 
 away. And then, when all was quiet, the box was 
 placed in a furniture car, and taken to Walnut 
 Street wharf, on the way northward to its eternal 
 rest at North Elba." . . . 
 
 All the lamentable events connected with John 
 Brown made clear the path towards right and Abo- 
 lition which hitherto the elder Furness had pointed 
 out to his congregation, blinded by ignorance and 
 prejudice. The members of his church hence- 
 forth supported him unquestioningly; no longer 
 did pew-doors slam when "African Slavery" was 
 mentioned; his stand upon Abolition became their 
 stand; his voice raised in denouncing the slave- 
 owner became their voice. Such unqualified support 
 fed the flame of William Henry Furness's opposi- 
 tion to slavery. His sermons of the early days of
 
 io8 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 elghteen-sixty showed how completely he surren- 
 dered himself, heart and soul, to the cause; they 
 were published in the newspapers of the North and 
 West; they were read wherever such denouncements 
 were tolerated. His name won high rank among the 
 prominent Abolitionists of the day; his aid was 
 given in assisting fugitive slaves to escape; his be- 
 neficent activities in connection with the Under- 
 ground Railroad drew him throughout the year 
 close to the centre of the breaking storm. 
 
 In the midst of the solemn march of the great 
 events of i860, Horace Howard Furness was 
 elected a member of The Shakspere Society of 
 Philadelphia. This incident, apparently so trivial, 
 so dwarfed in the obscurity and shadows of the 
 Rebellion, appears in the light of later years as a 
 turning-point of Furness's life. Not that his asso- 
 ciation with the "Shakspere Apostles" (for so the 
 society termed their members at that time) was 
 the sole contributing cause which inspired his in- 
 terest in the dramatist. Far earlier than this, Mrs. 
 Kemble's readings had opened for him the vista 
 of the plays. A card of hers on which she had writ- 
 ten, "Admit Mr. Furness to all readings," had been 
 an Inestimable gift; he never missed one since his 
 fourteenth year. This was the dawn of his love for 
 Shakespeare; but the Shakspere Society was the 
 fountain-head of the "New Variorum." Although 
 he did not begin the work upon the first volume, 
 Romeo Iff Juliet, until 1865, the plan of the work 
 was forming even in his first year of membership
 
 THE SHAKSPERE SOCIETY 109 
 
 in this Society. In their critical readings of the 
 plays the members used the Variorum edition 
 of 1 82 1. They found it inadequate: so much 
 Shakespearean commentary had collected since its 
 pubhcation, that a full and up-to-date study was 
 difficult. Thus was it that the necessity of the 
 Society and the zeal of one of its youngest members 
 made the happy union whereof the "New Vario- 
 rum" was born. The first step, as related in his own 
 words, is interesting: ^ "I made a mighty variorum 
 Hamlet cutting out the notes of five or six editions 
 besides the Variorum of 1821 and pasting them on 
 a page with a little rivulet of text. 'Twas a pon- 
 derous book of quarto size and eight or nine inches 
 thick. . . . But the work revealed to me that it 
 was high time to begin a new Variorum, that we 
 might start afresh. We were constantly threshing 
 old straw." So it was that this small idea through a 
 full half-century bore the fruit of his labours: the 
 chief plays of Shakespeare, in sixteen large volumes, 
 the fame whereof is acclaimed wherever Shake- 
 speare is studied. 
 
 In June, i860, having established an increasing 
 law practice, he was married by his father in the 
 Unitarian Church. The young couple spent the 
 summer on a farm at Wallingford, a quiet wayside 
 station only a dozen miles from Philadelphia. They 
 fell in love with the neighbouring country-side, so 
 that the happy days of that summer wove a charm 
 about them which turned their hearts and their 
 steps thither when the war was done. 
 
 * Extract from letter to W. J. Rolfe. See vol. ri, p. 54.
 
 no HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 The years between, however, were destined to 
 be troublous and unhappy; with the outbreak of 
 hostiHties in the spring of 1 86i , Furness volunteered 
 for the army. He was rejected, to his abiding 
 chagrin, by every branch on account of his deaf- 
 ness, an infirmity which at that time he began to 
 remark. He soon found service, nevertheless, in 
 the embryonic Sanitary Commission. There was no 
 efficient organization such as the Red Cross, then 
 in existence. The Crimean War had demonstrated 
 the need of a proper medical and nursing staff in 
 connection with the armies. But the Rebellion 
 followed too closely on the heels of the Crimean War 
 for methods to have been formulated in the United 
 States to supply this need. Whatever was accom- 
 plished was done by separate and very exclusive 
 state organizations, and their only ambition was to 
 see their own troops supplied with the few com- 
 forts which lay in their power to give. The corps 
 of army surgeons was incredibly undermanned; on 
 the eve of every large engagement volunteers were 
 called to help the doctors in ministering to the men. 
 Even the hospitals in the larger cities lacked the 
 facilities for obtaining the simplest necessities such 
 as towels, socks, blankets, and writing-paper. If 
 was in helping to reduce this chaos that Horace 
 Howard Furness found his place. The work was 
 not heroic, not spectacular, but it was none the 
 less incalculably valuable. The first year of the 
 war he spent in Philadelphia, helping to organize 
 the Sanitary Commission in that city and to effect
 
 THE SANITARY COMMISSION in 
 
 the smooth running of its complicated machinery. 
 In the autumn of 1862, however, the army sur- 
 geons attached to McClellan's army sent out a 
 call for aides at the hospitals in the towns and 
 villages near the front. Thither Furness went with 
 his friend Atherton Blight. The letters to his wife 
 that follow here tell their own story of his activities 
 from September, 1862, till the following spring: 
 how at Sharpsburg and Frederick he assisted in 
 every way in the hospitals, how the Secretary of 
 the Sanitary Commission believed he could render 
 greater service by visiting the smaller cities of the 
 North urging further contribution of money and 
 supplies to the Commission, and how he visited 
 New England, New York, and Pennsylvania for 
 this purpose, accomplishing much good. 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Sharpshoro, Sept. z<,th, 1862 
 
 I BROKE off my letter yesterday in a great hurry 
 owing to the ambulance having driven up to take 
 me to a hospital some two miles off where the Com- 
 mission want some investigations made. The road 
 lay directly in the path of the frightful battle^ of a 
 week ago. The stand was made by the rebels first 
 in a cornfield & then in a wood at the crest of a hill. 
 I came to the wood first. It was ghastly and ghostly, 
 although all the dead have been buried, yet every 
 tree & branch proclaims deadly struggle; guns, 
 bayonets, cartouche boxes, haversacks lay all 
 
 * Antietara.
 
 112 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 around in frightful confusion, huge branches of 
 trees were twisted off and hanging by sphnters, 
 while the trunks were everywhere scarred by minie 
 balls. I must reserve description for word of mouth. 
 I can only give you the barest skeleton of my day. 
 I went to the hospital & reached there as it was 
 coming on to rain, & had a furious fight with two 
 rebel women & two men for not allowing us to 
 bring the poor wounded into their house into rooms 
 unoccupied. Whew! I emptied a whole hogshead 
 of abuse & wrath on them & told them we'd take 
 the lower stories & they might go up into the sec- 
 ond story, & then if we wanted that we'd take it 
 too & they might go up on to the roof, & we'd fol- 
 low them there if need were & they might jump off 
 & they actually cried & tears rolled down their 
 cheeks at the thought of getting their bare floors 
 dirty. I told them I had never seen such monsters, 
 &c., &c. They said they were good Union until I so 
 soundly berated them, when they showed their 
 fangs & said they wished the Confederates had 
 got us all. . . . 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Frederick, Oct. $, 1862 
 . . . The first thing that I did yesterday after 
 breakfast (by the way, although I passed the night 
 on the old nubby settee I slept much better than 
 previously and only awoke three times from dreams 
 of the North Pole) was to go to the storeroom and 
 get a lot of a hundred and fifty towels and divide
 
 WORK AT FREDERICK 113 
 
 them between two hospitals that contained that 
 number of patients, and yet had but fifteen towels 
 all told In both of them. . . . 
 
 After this I went to the Storeroom & loaded the 
 wagon with the three barrels of Porter & some 
 pantaloons & coats, & started off to deliver them 
 at the three principal Hospitals; it took a great 
 deal of time because first of the difficulty in finding 
 the Chief Surgeons whose signatures it is neces- 
 sary to have on the receipt for so precious an ar- 
 ticle, and secondly, when found two out of three 
 surgeons were engaged in operations so that I had 
 to wait until they were through. At the General 
 Hospital while waiting for the surgeon I went into 
 the Dead House & there saw the body of a rebel 
 Capt. Nix of a Georgia Regiment. He was cer- 
 tainly a very handsome young man; quite a sim- 
 ple operation upon the shoulder joint had proved 
 fatal to him. The fatality among the rebels is re- 
 markable. "If," as the surgeon said to me, "you 
 don't perform a necessary operation upon them 
 they must die, and if you so much as touch them 
 with the knife they're sure to die." The Porter was 
 most thankfully received; it is far more precious 
 here than either brandy or sherry. On my return 
 from this business I went to the Storeroom to take 
 an account of stock, & no sooner had I finished than 
 on my way home past the Railroad Depot quite 
 a crowd had collected there to see Pres't Lin- 
 coln start off on his return to Washington from 
 a visit to Sharpsburg & McClellan; as my luck
 
 114 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 would have it he & I, or rather me and the Presi- 
 dent, arrived at the same spot at the same moment, 
 escorted by some fine cavalry, not one of whom but 
 was a more striking looking man than his most 
 serene Excellency. The soldiers crowded round his 
 wagon, an open chaise, shaking both his hands 
 with such enthusiasm as to almost tumble his hat 
 over his eyes; he got into the car, which stood into 
 the street (just as the Germantown cars "dump" 
 their passengers in Ninth Street) , & walking through 
 it emerged on the platform at the end, & there, in 
 answer to loud calls for a speech, spoke a few words 
 of a very fagged-out & wearied tone, with no stir- 
 ring note of freedom or Liberty in them, but that 
 we should always remember that our opponents 
 were our brothers in error, & that our descendants 
 & their descendants for a thousand generations 
 must live under that glorious old Union established 
 by Washington & his compeers. I was much disap- 
 pointed because right above his head the windows 
 of a hospital were full of pale, haggard faces of 
 men whose blood had soaked into the battlefield & 
 who should have had some few words of comfort & 
 assurance that their sufferings & agony had not 
 been in vain. At the close of his speech, some one 
 shouted out, "Now you've got little Mack, Uncle 
 Abe, stick to him. "... 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Frederick, Oct. lo, 1862 
 
 My journal is not of so interesting a character 
 
 as when I was more busily engaged at Sharps-
 
 A GERMAN MOTHER 115 
 
 burg. I say more "busily," although I am in re- 
 ality as busy here as there, but it is in a very 
 different style. I have more running about here, 
 until, when evening comes, my feet feel as though 
 they would almost drop off. . . . 
 
 Yesterday after dinner Charles, our driver, 
 came in & said that there was a poor woman sit- 
 ting on the front steps crying. I at once went out 
 & found that it was a poor heart-broken German 
 mother from New York who had come on in search 
 of her wounded son; she had just reached here 
 about an hour before & had instantly begun her 
 weary, sad task. She had only asked timidly at 
 the door of one or two hospitals, & receiving a 
 careless negative from an indifferent sentry or 
 nurse her desolation and woe seemed to overpower 
 her, & she was crying in all the bitterness of a 
 Mother's grief. I told her to cheer up & that if he 
 was in Frederick we'd find him; so I started out 
 with her, & around town we went, and after about 
 two hours, out of the twenty-one hospitals we had 
 visited twenty, & I had in my secret heart given up 
 all hopes & was trying to persuade the poor worn 
 Mother that her son had been transferred to Phila- 
 delphia, when we approached the last on the list. I 
 generally made her wait outside while I went in 
 & examined the register, & how her eyes hung 
 upon my lips when I came out & even to the very 
 last her face was full of hope until I said, "no; no 
 such name as Charles Metzger in this hospital," & 
 then she'd hurry away almost in advance of me in
 
 ii6 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 her impatience to reach the next hospital, without 
 knowing where it was. I walked fast, not only to 
 suit her eagerness, but the afternoon was waning, 
 & once I said to her, "Aren't you very tired?" 
 She had travelled night & day from New York & 
 had scarcely eaten since she left home. "Oh, no," 
 said she, "I shall not be tired when I see my son." 
 At the last hospital, the U.S. Barracks, on the 
 list among the " M's " there stood "Metzger Charles 
 4*'' N.Y." My heart really beat quickly at the 
 sight of it, and after receiving the accurate de- 
 scriptions of the tent & ward where he was to be 
 found, I came out to meet this intense yearning 
 Mother's face, which, although quite plain, had 
 already begun to assume an expression that strikes 
 feelings lying deep down in the heart; my face was 
 as impassive as hitherto, for I was really afraid of 
 the effect upon her. "Mrs. Metzger," I said, "we 
 have got to the end of our journey." Quite Del- 
 phic, you perceive, in its ambiguous meaning, but 
 my immobility of face was all lost upon her & she 
 clutched at the true meaning & seizing me right by 
 the arm, ejaculated, "where is he.? take me to 
 him!" "I shall not take you to your son until you 
 grow calmer. He lies in one of those tents, & to see 
 you so overcome as you are now might prove his 
 death." I kept the poor thing for at least three 
 minutes waiting until I thought she'd rub her eyes 
 out in trying to stop her tears & that I'd better 
 take her in with her eyes in her head instead of in 
 her pocket handkerchief. So I entered the tent &
 
 STUART'S CAVALRY 117 
 
 called out, "Is Charles Metzger here?" No an- 
 swer; I walked on a few steps & then repeated my 
 question; then there came, "Yes, I'm here." I 
 turned round for the Mother; there she stood a 
 few steps behind me, she'd caught sight of the 
 handsome face & with arms outstretched, she 
 cried, "Mein sohn, mein sohn!" "Why, mother!" 
 was all the boy could say before his mother was 
 covering his face with kisses. . . . 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Frederick, Oct. 12, 1862 
 ... I HAVE a few moments to spare while all the rest 
 have gone to Church, & the office is left in grate- 
 ful quiet. One great excitement at present is the 
 nearness of the Rebel cavalry. Mrs. Schley, the 
 Dr.'s sister, told us on her way to Church that at 
 the barracks firing could be distinctly heard & 
 that her milkman was in a terrible state of excite- 
 ment, asseverating that they passed in front of his 
 house about six or seven miles from town this 
 morning. A man named Ashton, Chief corre- 
 spondent of the N.Y. Herald came in this morn- 
 ing & said that they — that is Stuart's Cavalry 
 — had, five or six miles from town, come across a 
 company of Rush's Lancers by whom they were 
 mistaken for our own men, but when the mistake 
 was discovered both parties retired in opposite 
 directions. All unite in saying that it is Stuart's 
 Cavalry on their way home from their foraging 
 tour into Pennsylvania. . . .
 
 ii8 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 When Dr. Steiner returned the other day from 
 a visit of a few hours in Washington, he told me 
 that the Master, as we call Mr. Olmsted,^ had some 
 special design on me & had written a letter to me 
 directed to Father's care in Philadelphia. The sub- 
 stance of this letter, as far as Dr. S. could learn, is 
 that the Master wishes me "to stump" country 
 towns in reference to the wants & needs of the 
 Sanitary Commission; that is, you know, travel 
 about with big posters, hold meetings in school 
 houses & Lyceums and preach up the virtues & 
 necessities of the Sanitary Commission; such, I 
 imagine, is the purport of this letter, for it has not 
 yet come to hand, & perhaps you may have al- 
 ready read it, & this is stale news to you. Now, 
 although such a duty would be excessively dis- 
 tasteful, yet so much respect have I for the Master's 
 discrimination of character & power of organization 
 & administration that his opinion is entitled to 
 great weight with me & if he thinks that I could do 
 such a work adequately well I ought not lightly to 
 turn my back upon it. . , . 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Washington, Oct. 14, 1862 
 
 ... I PURSUED my lonely way to this wretched 
 
 place, got into the passenger cars at the station 
 
 1 Frederick Law Olmsted, Secretary and later Chief Executive 
 of the Sanitary Commission. Before his appointment to this office he 
 had been City Architect of New York and Superintendent of Central 
 Park. He was possessed of remarkable executive ability and much 
 of the success of the Sanitary Commission was due to his untiring 
 devotion.
 
 FREDERICK LAW OLMSTED 119 
 
 & alighted at Wlllard's at about half past one, 
 washed and dressed and took my dinner at two 
 o'clock for despite my dreariness I was very hun- 
 gry having had but one slice of bread for break- 
 fast, & then went around to see the Master. I 
 was lucky in securing an immediate audience, for 
 he is as hard to see as the President of the U.S. 
 He welcomed me kindly & said he was very glad that 
 I had come on for he was on the point of tele- 
 graphing me to do so, but hesitated lest it might 
 appear too peremptory. We then talked over the 
 whole matter. He In a measure assented to my 
 view of it that public meetings in the principal 
 cities is not the thing most needed at present, but 
 that conferences with the various organizations in 
 the secondary towns, & the starting of fresh or- 
 ganizations In the lesser towns were more to the 
 point at present. You see, there is an evil threaten- 
 ing the Sanitary Commission & thereby the real 
 good of our army, this is the organization of state 
 societies, for the sole relief of soldiers of one par- 
 ticular state. In the first place, it Is fostering state 
 lines, which as far as the Army is concerned should 
 all be broken down. Ours Is the Army of the United 
 States, & anything that divides It into states 
 weakens the Union. . . . 
 
 However, whatever be the ultimate object of 
 my mission, whether in big cities or in villages, 
 whether against State Societies or for them, Mr. 
 Olmsted wants me to remain here at least a week, 
 busily loafing, becoming acquainted with all the
 
 120 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 workings of this gigantic charity, studying statis- 
 tics, examining their warehouse, looking over their 
 books, boreing all its officers, tagging around after 
 medical inspectors, visiting the hospitals & the 
 invalids, which thing alone considering that there 
 are nigh twenty five thousand of them here and in 
 the vicinity is, you will imagine, no small job. . . . 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 New Haven, 4 Nov. 1862 
 ... I AM sitting in Mr. Wayland's office waiting for 
 any inquisitive ladies who may wish information in 
 regard to the San. Com. I think it highly improb- 
 able that any will come, but I announced yester- 
 day that I would thus wait here for a couple of 
 hours & here I am. I dined yesterday at Mr. 
 Peletiah Peril's. (Phoebus! what a name!) 
 
 After dinner I went to the "Temple" where 
 there were about a hundred & fifty ladles assem- 
 bled to whom I talked for about three quarters of 
 an hour. I told them what the San. Com. is & 
 what it has to do; told about the Connecticut 
 brothers, the Mass. Rebel, & Mrs. Metzger. They 
 shed tears abundantly over the two first, but over 
 the last they became melted into one conglomerate 
 mass of handkerchiefs. I broke into a most earn- 
 est appeal to them to work their fingers to the 
 bone in aid of the San. Com. and a letter having 
 been handed to me I closed by reading it to them; 
 it contained an announcement from their agent, 
 Mr. Walker, that he had just received from one
 
 TALKING FOR THE COMMISSION 121 
 
 gentleman forty dollars & from another one hun- 
 dred dollars to help start the association; it was 
 capital, so I told them, in every sense of the word, 
 & as I bowed myself out, eyes were drying & faces 
 were smiling and all seemed couleur de rose. They 
 made me promise that I would come back in three 
 or four weeks & smile upon their efforts, . . . 
 
 I leave for New York this eve'g & shall go to the 
 Brevoort House; how long I shall remain there I 
 don't know — or what will be my future move- 
 ments — I am inclined to think New Hampshire, 
 having heard from Boston that so far N. Hampshire 
 has done scarcely anything. This must be attended 
 to & I know of no one to go but myself. Alas! Alas! 
 
 To his Wije 
 
 New York, Brevoort House 
 
 Nov. s, 1862 
 
 . . . We reached New York at a quarter before ten. 
 I then went to the Sanitary Rooms, 823 Broadway, 
 & found that Mr. Olmsted had left word for me that 
 lie was called out to the Central Park, but that 
 Dr. Bellows^ wished me to come to see him at one 
 o'clock. . . . 
 
 I went back to the room of the San. Com. 
 to post my note to you where I found Olmsted, 
 my valise, & letters from Nannie & Father & 
 Mother. I immediately walked to Dr. B.'s with 
 
 ' President of the Sanitary Commission. He was a Congregational 
 clergyman of New York City with a devoted following through New 
 England and New YorL
 
 122 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 Olmsted — where as soon as we were seated the Rev. 
 Dr. read us a letter from Springfield Mass. brim 
 full of the boss devil, ^ horns & tail, full & vigorous, 
 giving notice of a public meeting to be held in his 
 honor this evening. I was for starting at once, but 
 the train left at one, & at that instant the clocks 
 struck the first hour past noon, so it was too late. 
 A telegram was substituted imploring them to take 
 no action until I could reach there & confer with 
 the Committee & lay before them most important 
 information. 
 
 I presented the latest news from New Haven, & 
 my efforts were commended in hearty phrase by 
 the Rev. B. & Olmsted. We discussed the times 
 & the Elections. O. is blue, B. is cheerful; O. sees 
 hope in the future, B. in the present. O. deals in 
 stubborn facts, B. In rhetoric. Don't let me un- 
 derrate B. (you & I, can see a prickly crown around 
 his brows) he makes a most admirable President 
 of the San. Com.; without him it would be voice- 
 less. Olmsted thinks & writes with great labor & 
 slowness. As he told me himself to-day while we 
 were lunching after our visit to the Rev. B. "others 
 write out what they have already thought; I 
 write in order to think"; then he added after a 
 pause "you have probably never read a page of 
 mine that I have not written over twenty times 
 before it went to print" — I asked him if that let- 
 
 1 When, in these letters, Furness speaks of the "boss devil," he 
 refers to such state organizations as were opposed to the Sanitary 
 Commission.
 
 A PIG-HEADED MAYOR 123 
 
 ter to Dr. Bellows (which you copied) was not the 
 first draft. " No," he replied, looking down, ashamed, 
 "it was the fifth or sixth time." Isn't such per- 
 severance & exactitude splendid.'* "Hence," he 
 said, "in order to accomplish as much as other 
 men I have to work ten times as hard." 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Massasoit House, Springfield, 
 
 Nov. 7, 1862 
 
 . . . It's half past ten & although old dirty duty 
 says that I ought to write my other letters first, 
 whock your eye for that, I'm going to have a little 
 chat with you while my fire is burning up and my 
 feet, which have been wet ever so long, are dry- 
 ing. . . . 
 
 Well, I've just got through the meeting with the 
 Mayor and some ten select men, gentlemen of 
 Springfield. The old pig-headed Mayor proved, as 
 I told you before tea, monstrous, cantankerous, 
 full of blood & fury & said shaking both fists at the 
 same time, "if his son was a-lying sick & neglected 
 in a hospital he'd march in there with a file of sol- 
 diers & take him out by main force. By Judas! he 
 would in spite of your surgeons or your army regu- 
 lations or your Sanatory Commissions or your 
 what not!" I let him talk till his red face grew a 
 few shades paler & his wind gave out & then 
 calmly floored him by asking him personally what 
 he had done to prevent all this misery by giving all 
 he could & sacrificing all his personal luxuries. As
 
 124 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 he is notoriously stingy, this utteriy wilted him & I 
 rode over him rough-shod, letting him have it hot 
 & heavy. Suffice to say, I had it quite my own way, 
 put knobs on the horns of the boss devil, pared his 
 claws, trimmed his lashing tail until he was trans- 
 formed into a very mild agent bearing his own ex- 
 penses who should visit the camps of the Spring- 
 field regiments, not the hospitals, & see if they 
 were badly off for clothes, & whether they could 
 not be supplied by the Government. , . . 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Springfield, Nov. lO, '62 
 About that meeting last eve'g — It was a stormy 
 night, or rather threatening, very wet & hugely 
 muddy, so that the Church, the largest in Spring- 
 field, was not crowded as everyone said it other- 
 wise would have been; the body of it was full the 
 galleries were empty; there must have been be- 
 tween four & five hundred present, full as many 
 men as women. The meeting was opened by a 
 hymn & a prayer, — the latter intensely orthodox 
 in style imploring blessings on every human being 
 absent & present, dead & living, beginning with 
 Adam & ending with me in particular, "whose 
 wise counsels were to enlighten them this evening." 
 Then I unfolded San. Com. banner & spoke for an 
 hour and a half. I didn't occupy the pulpit, but 
 stood at the side of the Communion Table. I told 
 them about Gilbert Cheney, the Connecticut 
 brothers, the Mass. Rebel — I ended with Mrs.
 
 PRESIDENT LINCOLN 125 
 
 Metzger whom in public I call Brauner. A great 
 many, in fact all the ladies, cried over the Connec- 
 ticut brothers, but over Mrs. Metzger, all fell to 
 work, the men as vigorously as the women — the 
 weaker sniffings from the ladies & loud uncompro- 
 mising blowings from the men almost drowned my 
 voice for several minutes. But seriously, it is grand 
 to see how one touch of nature makes the whole 
 world kin & this story of Mrs. Metzger which ends 
 in purest joy always brings tears. I always seize 
 this weak moment to implore them to strengthen 
 the arm of the San. Com. .... 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Washington, Nov. 24, 1862 
 
 Willard's, Monday 
 
 It is already half past twelve, & I know that you 
 will shake your head if this be a long letter, so I 
 will hurry on as fast as I can rattle. . . . 
 
 This morning the ladies, Mr. Olmsted, Mr. 
 Knap & myself went by invitation to the White 
 House to have a social chat with His Excellency 
 the President. I was disappointed beyond measure. 
 The invitation was not unsolicited; the ladies sent 
 the President a note saying that they would be 
 glad to have an interview with him & an answer 
 was immediately returned that he would be happy 
 to see them at half past seven. So as I have said 
 we escorted the ladies thither at the hour named, 
 we were shown into one of the parlors tawdry with 
 flaming red & gilding, & in a few minutes the
 
 126 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 President sauntered & shuffled In, a good deal bent 
 & his arms dangling. He went through the intro- 
 duction with a "How de do" & a mechanical 
 shake of his huge hand to each. He sat down & 
 entered into conversation with more style of man- 
 ner than I had from reports imagined that he was 
 capable. The ladies explained to him that they 
 belonged to the Sanitary Commission & wanted 
 from him a word of encouragement to bear to the 
 ladies of the East & West. He replied, "Supposin' 
 I do give you a word of encouragement & then 
 afterwards facts shouldn't bear out your expecta- 
 tions, you'd be more disappointed than if I hadn't," 
 & then he went right off to talk about the war & 
 the army. He said that the great difficulty was 
 that our army couldn't be got together; at the bat- 
 tle of Antietam ninety-three thousand men were 
 reported fit for duty while the Army Rolls showed 
 that those same divisions contained one hundred 
 & eighty thousand. Hence that one half of our 
 army was either sick or skulking & that the trains 
 carried away from Washington as many soldiers as 
 they brought to it. He said he couldn't find out 
 where the leakage was but there stood the fact, & 
 he then made use of the elegant illustration that 
 "it was just like trying to shovel fleas, — before 
 the shovel load fell the fleas were all gone" & 
 then he wrinkled up his nose till it was an acute 
 point & showing all his front teeth gave a very 
 wheezy catching laugh and in his glee fell to 
 scratching himself on his elbows. . . .
 
 BATTLE OF FREDERICKSBURG 127 
 
 He illustrated his remarks hy a great many ex- 
 amples, giving with great glibness numbers & 
 dates, saying with great emphasis & energy that 
 "we none of us had got our heads down to the war 
 & that each man was trying to carry it on as com- 
 fortably for himself as he could." . . . 
 
 Of course there were many other things that he 
 said, for we stayed nearly an hour & he talked 
 without ceasing, but these shall be reserved for 
 word of mouth. 
 
 Tomorrow I go to the Convalescent Camp at 
 Alexandria. . . . 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Washington, December 13, 1862 
 
 fVillard's, Saturday Eve*g 
 
 About an hour ago we received a telegram saying 
 that Rev. Mr. Fuller (Margaret's brother). Chap- 
 lain of the i6th Mass. was killed on Thursday — & 
 that a fearful battle had been raging all day.^ . . . 
 I am to start tomorrow with Dr. Brink, a Sani- 
 tary Inspector; we go by Gov't Boat, & I have been 
 provided with a horse & saddle, so that my loco- 
 motion will be independent when I get there. We 
 have this eve'g chartered a steamer which is now 
 loading with stores from our warehouse & which 
 will reach Acquia ^ tomorrow afternoon. The ex- 
 citement here is great & the atmosphere is already 
 beginning to have that stifling feeling which it 
 had as I approached Frederick. Tomorrow, it is 
 
 * At Fredericksburg. ' General Burnside's base of supplies.
 
 128 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 thought will prove the eventful day, though I 
 shouldn't be much surprised if the enemy retreated 
 & we hold off for a day or two for a breathing spell. 
 It sickens me & I shudder at the anticipations of 
 the dreadful scenes which will probably meet my 
 eyes tomorrow night. Oh, if this war were only 
 ended & I could get home to your arms & our dear 
 fireside! . . . 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Acquia, December i^th, 1862 
 San. Com. House, Sunday Eve*g 
 
 After six or seven long hours we reached the 
 wharf here at Acquia Creek & were welcomed by 
 Dr. Andrew & as it was too late to proceed with 
 any advantage we concluded to remain here to- 
 night. There is no news from the front but what is 
 rather disheartening, in fact I may say very dis- 
 heartening, as far as I can see it is a downright de- 
 feat, & our army may be here a month. I have just 
 been interrupted by a Mr. Coffin, who says that he 
 was with the Cavalry under Gen. Bayard all of 
 yesterday & that they were not in the action & 
 would probably not be. Gen. Bayard was killed by 
 a chance shot while he was sitting under a tree. 
 Mr. C. saw the Lancers frequently & believes that 
 they this morning returned to this side. I at once 
 telegraphed Father & hope that the relief counter- 
 balanced the shock of a telegram.^ It was an inex- 
 
 * Frank Furness, H. H. F.'s brother. He was at this time Lieuten- 
 ant in the Pennsylvania Cavalry. Later promoted to captain, he
 
 AFTER FREDERICKSBURG 129 
 
 pressible relief to me & so if they had not other- 
 wise heard it must be to them. 
 
 But, a train of wounded soldiers has just been 
 brought in & I ought to go & see what I can do for 
 them. This will go up tomorrow by our messenger, 
 the biggest man I ever saw not on exhibition; he is 
 six feet seven inches high. I shall go tomorrow to 
 Falmouth & try to see Frank on the way; if success- 
 ful I shall telegraph the fact to Father & Mother. 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Acquia, Tuesday, Dec. 1 6, 1862 
 Dear: I am lying flat on the ground in a little shel- 
 ter tent, writing by the light of a flaming candle 
 just to let you know that I am perfectly well. I 
 scratched off" to you last night the fact that I had 
 seen Frank, it was but for a few minutes, but he 
 was overjoyed to see me & I certainly was as glad 
 to see him & never did I see him looking so well. 
 My telegram to Father of Sunday eve'g libels the 
 Lancers, he says, for though not in the fight they 
 were under fire the whole day & stood nobly. This 
 battle has been sickening. Elliot & myself this 
 morning made out the first correct amounts of 
 killed & wounded & missing; it sums up sixteen 
 thousand. The enemy's loss can't be over five 
 thousand. So much for direct attacks and the no 
 strategy dodge. The heroism of our men has been 
 
 served throughout the War with distinguished valour, and was 
 awarded the Congressional Medal of Honour (which is a distinction 
 bestowed on very few) for marked courage under fire.
 
 130 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 glorious throughout, & their discipline unexcelled. 
 Where then does the fault lie? In Washington. 
 Every man of our army is back across this side of 
 the river: Frank, of course, with the rest, though I 
 have not seen him to-day; I tried to, but Gen. 
 Franklin having of course changed his Head Qrs. 
 from where they were yesterday & as the Lancers 
 are acting as his Body Guard they have of course 
 moved too. The men were moving all night & 
 their tramps & calls awoke me as they threw down 
 their knapsacks right outside this little tent & in 
 the morning when I awoke they were all around us 
 & we were in the midst of a retreated & defeated 
 army. Gen. Hunt, the Chief of the U.S. Artillery, 
 said to me to-day: "Nothing will be accomplished 
 before the Campaign of 1864, after people have 
 learned that War is a science." . . . 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 San. Com. Tent, near Falmouth, Fa. 
 
 Saturday Dec. 20th, 1862 
 
 . . . There is no news here. Some of the reg'ts 
 have received orders to build huts for winter quar- 
 ters, but with this exception the whole army ap- 
 pears to be moving hither & thither, last night the 
 soldiers were lying all around us, thick as the leaves 
 of Vallambrosa; this morning they have all van- 
 ished. The dissatisfaction among the Officers of 
 the army is intense, they believe beyond argument 
 that their men have been sacrificed to ignorant 
 public clamor for onward marches & "direct at-
 
 ENTHUSIASM FOR McCLELLAN 131 
 
 tacks," the men are demoralised beyond precedent 
 — dozens on dozens in different reg'ts have told me 
 that they'd never go into such a place again just to 
 be butchered to satisfy newspapers. I have yet to 
 hear a word in condemnation of McClellan from 
 Generals down to privates; on the contrary, I hear 
 nothing but praise of him & enthusiasm for him 
 without stint. Some of the very men who said that 
 they'd never go into such a battle again when I 
 asked them whether they'd go if ordered by Little 
 Mac instantly replied, "Yes, indeed; that's very 
 different; we know we'd be all right then." 
 
 Frank was over here yesterday for a couple of 
 hours, jolly-hearted & contented & glorying in his 
 present life. He sent his dear love to all at home & 
 is full of anecdote. 
 
 Willie ^ is here, which is a great comfort to me & 
 to him; he seems as happy as possible in this San. 
 Com. life & is full of energy & usefulness. It is bit- 
 terly cold here & should suffer immensely if we had 
 not plenty of quilts & blankets. We made last night 
 a glorious bed; I was the architect and builded 
 grandly. It was occupied by George Lambdin, 
 Paige, Will & Myself, & we slept soundly under 
 about six blankets. I was a little stiff yesterday by 
 having been knocked by my horse against a wagon, 
 & so did Tent duty consisting of serving out requi- 
 sitions, my old Sharpsburg work, in which I am an 
 adept. . . . 
 
 1 William Henry Furness, Jr., who was also, on account of poor 
 health, rejected by the army, and served with the Sanitary 
 Commission.
 
 132 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 New York, Brevoort House 
 
 January i8, 1863, Sunday Eve^g 
 
 After leaving the San. Com. rooms, No. 823 
 Broadway (a gentle remembrancer in case you 
 should forget the number), I went to lovely wom- 
 an's Central Relief, where Miss Schuyler relieved 
 me by handing me a list of towns to be visited as 
 soon as my engagements in the Hudson Valley are 
 completed. It embraces (horribile dictu!) Troy, 
 Schenectady, Utica, Rome, Syracuse, Rochester, 
 Penn Yan, (Phoebus, what a name!) Ithaca, 
 Binghampton & Elmira!! A month's work, which 
 with the two next weeks on the Hudson must & 
 shall complete my tour before I take a fresh start, 
 so extract all the sunshine possible out of that 
 cucumber. . . . 
 
 Mrs. Schuyler is in the city at No. 5 University 
 PI. & thither I went yesterday after' dinner, to 
 make my peace with her, for Dr. Bellows told me 
 that she was beginning to think me a myth. When 
 I saw her she denied it & was as pleasant as possi- 
 ble. She thought that the jeers at the name Fur- 
 ness with which the Hudson Valley was resounding 
 would be changed to cheers as soon as I made my 
 appearance. . , . 
 
 To his Wije 
 
 Schenectady, February 12, '63 
 
 Givens Hotel, Thursday Night 
 
 ... I HAVE no earthly news of any interest to tell 
 
 you & my pet fidelity in giving you every scrap of
 
 DISCOURAGING WORK 133 
 
 news will give this assertion credence. It's been 
 snowing all day & I have been tramping about 
 visiting dreary, fish-eyed clergymen, in dreary 
 gloomy houses. Enthusiasm for the soldiers, the 
 war, or the San. Com. is at the lowest possible ebb. 
 It is most discouraging work; there's no alacrity, 
 no vivacity, no anything except their blear-eyed 
 stupidity. I feel all the time as though (beautiful 
 simile) I were trying to lift single-handed a huge 
 outspread carpet. I can only by tugging & heaving 
 raise one spot at a time, which instantly flops down 
 the moment I leave it to go to another. I called on 
 Mrs. Judge Potter, President of the Ladies Associa- 
 tion here & sent up my graceful card; she sent 
 down word that "she must be excused, she wasn't 
 very well to-day, and she sends everything to 
 Washington & New York." Delphic response! 
 mysterious & horrible. The latter portion of the 
 sentence a key to the former: with everything sent 
 to Washington how could she appear even before 
 her own family & how much less before a stranger.'* 
 Raleigh's spirit instantly prompted me to send her 
 up my umbrella which might be something in case 
 of fire. Another lady beamingly assured me that 
 "I'd be lucky if I got forty people to come to my 
 meetin'." However, despite all discouragements & 
 lukewarmness I have made arrangements to speak 
 in Dr. Backus his church next Thursday, the first 
 unoccupied evening for Schenectady. . . .
 
 134 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Troy, February 15, 1863 
 
 Troy House, Sunday 
 
 ... I FEEL wakeful to the last degree. The excite- 
 ment of this eve'g's meeting hasn't yet died down. 
 The ministers of all the churches, with one or two 
 exceptions, gave this morning notice of my meet- 
 ing, & recommending their congregations to come 
 & hear me closed their conventicles for the eve'g. 
 The consequence was that I had the best audience 
 that I ever addressed; the church is the largest in 
 Troy & holding between eleven & twelve hundred 
 people, was perfectly crammed. The aisles & gal- 
 leries at the back all filled with men unable to find 
 seats. I condensed all into an hour and ten min- 
 utes, during which I didn*t see a person yawn, nor 
 did the boy in the gallery go out as he always does 
 at the, most interesting part; one lady fainted & 
 had to be dragged out by the arms, which was the 
 only diversion. I flatter myself that I have killed 
 the boss devil stone dead in this town & put the 
 nose of the Christian Commission considerably out 
 of joint, without making one direct allusion to it. 
 The meeting was a grand conglomeration of 
 sects. The services were opened by a Baptist Doc- 
 tor of Divinity, followed by a prayer from a Uni- 
 tarian, Rev. Mr, Buckingham; a Unitarian Lawyer 
 followed; then came some capital remarks by an 
 Episcopalian, the Rev, Potter; then was read a 
 letter of entire sympathy with the meeting & its 
 objects, from a Methodist D.D,; then a New
 
 SUCCESSFUL MEETINGS 135 
 
 School Presbyterian made some pertinent remarks 
 for a few minutes. All was carried on in an Old 
 School Presbyterian Church. So you see the San. 
 Com. does good in more ways than one. A meeting 
 was immediately held after the bulk of the audi- 
 ence had left & fifteen gentlemen appointed to 
 organize the various congregations into one society 
 & to supply this society with a steady, slated 
 monthly sum of money for the purchase of mate- 
 rials. So I got away from Troy with a good assur- 
 ance that the good work has commenced. . . . 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Syracuse, March 2, '63 
 
 Syracuse House, Monday night 
 
 Well, Syracuse is done for; the meeting tonight is 
 not what it should have been, nor would have been 
 had the weather been better yesterday & today; 
 yesterday the storm was so severe that very few 
 were at Church when the notices were read, & this 
 evening the streets were afloat with slush — how- 
 ever, there were some three hundred and fifty or 
 four hundred of excellent quality, a good energetic 
 committee was appointed by his Honor the Mayor 
 who presided, and all are sanguine of raising at 
 least two hundred dollars per month. This is now 
 the point to which I bend my strength: these 
 committees of gentlemen who canvass cities where 
 they are formed & procure what they can in sums 
 from ten cents up to as many dollars, to be given 
 each month while the war lasts to the Sanitary
 
 136 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 Commission. It's a pleasant way (this for your 
 private ear) of estimating the amount of good that 
 I accomplish. The cities from Troy to this place 
 will collectively pour at least a thousand dollars a 
 month into the San. Com. warehouses, plus the 
 labor expended in making up the garments. So, 
 let's draw a little comfort when we know that we 
 are really helping on this war. If I should stop at 
 this very point I really think that my labors have 
 not been in vain. To be the means of adding ten or 
 twelve thousand dollars per year to the San. Com. 
 is really worth a good deal of personal sacrifice — 
 isn't it.'' Mr. May is chairman of the Committee 
 appointed this evening & he assured me that the 
 money to be collected shall never be diverted from 
 the San. Com. no dollar shall go to the Boss devil 
 or his chief aide, the Christian Commission. I 
 think you'd laugh to see me perched up in a pulpit, 
 hammering the cushion & thumping the Bible. I 
 was very much tickled at Troy at what my friend 
 Dick Hall told me; after his return from my meet- 
 ing he met a young friend of his & asked him where 
 he'd been, his friend replied that he'd been to hear a 
 Mr. Furness tell about the San. Com. "Well," said 
 Dick, "What did you think of him?" "My!" re- 
 plied the young man, "ain't he gay! he was got up 
 perfectly regardless, for a clergyman," I have taken 
 the hint & I am now very particular about the 
 "Esq." to which I am entitled. . . .
 
 WORK IN ROCHESTER 137 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Rochester, March 5, '63 
 Osburn House, Thursday 
 ... I AM growing wondrous weary. It is not the 
 mere speaking that tires me, on the contrary, I 
 rather Hke it, but it is the dreadful preHminaries, 
 the running about all day, sent hither & thither by 
 lukewarm creatures anxious only to get rid of me, 
 promising cordial co-operation with their lips & 
 damning me in their hearts, having to repeat the 
 same things over & over again until it becomes 
 frightfully mechanical. I verily believe I could 
 introduce myself & the purpose of my visit & a 
 general sketch of the San. Com. in my sleep. It 
 monopolises my thoughts & invades my dreams, 
 damn it, when I want to dream of other things. 
 And the devil of it all is that I know I do it all 
 too well for me to drop it on the score of incompe- 
 tence. . . . 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Rochester, March 6, *6$ 
 
 Osburn House, Friday Night 
 
 I AM much more cheerful tonight than last night. 
 The Providence scheme is abandoned unless to- 
 morrow's mail counsel otherwise from old Bellows. 
 My hardest, dirtiest work here in Rochester is over 
 & I feel that I have gained a huge point here. The 
 city had actually pledged itself to the Boss devil & 
 his Prime minister, the Christian Commission. I 
 had a meeting of the ladies this p.m. & talked with
 
 138 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 them about two hours & completely turned them 
 round. They voted unanimously to request me to 
 deliver a public address, which I have agreed to do 
 on Monday, March i6th, a week hence; they in 
 the meantime will use every exertion to make the 
 meeting large & successful. I created quite a little 
 tempest of enthusiasm for the San. Com. & after 
 my remarks a capital incident occurred. A man 
 had come in during my preachment, & when I had 
 finished he arose & told how sixteen Rochester 
 boys would have died but for the San. Com. He 
 was a most honest, tender-hearted man, a chaplain 
 I should think, & before he got through the many 
 instances where the San. Com. had rescued his 
 Rochester boys from suffering & death, the poor 
 man broke down & the tears ran over his face, & he 
 fairly sobbed out, " I pray God to bless every man 
 connected with this blessed institution." Of course 
 this following upon my remarks, & without the 
 faintest possibility of collusion was most telling, & 
 I could scarcely keep my countenance at the sight 
 of ladies who only two weeks ago pledged all their 
 assistance first to the New York State Relief Assoc. 
 & then all the rest to the Christian Commission, now 
 throwing over both & eager to help the San. Com. 
 
 To his Wife 
 
 Bloomslurg, Pa., April 26, '63 
 
 Exchange Hotel, Sunday 
 
 . . . Doubtless God could have made a viler, dir- 
 tier, slipshodder hole than Catawissa, but doubt-
 
 A STUPID DRIVER 139 
 
 less God never did — It hasn't, more than forty 
 houses in it & they are all tumbling to bits. I had 
 my rencontre with the Post Master which I have 
 mentioned & will not repeat; the remembrance is 
 not pleasant. I instantly hired a horse & buggy to 
 drive over here to Bloomsburg, four miles. I was 
 mad, morose & murderous & had the driver been 
 one degree above the brute creation in stupidity & 
 had intruded upon me his remarks, I should in- 
 fallibly have mashed him. As it was, I listened to 
 him as I would have to the snorting of a horse. At 
 times I couldn't avoid hearing what he said nor 
 from being amused at his surprising ignorance. He 
 was a stout good-looking fellow of thirty with a 
 fine beard & moustache & had I been in any other 
 mood I could have got a good deal out of him. He 
 had been talking for some time, what about the 
 Lord only knows. I was wrapped up in my disap- 
 pointment, half longing for the huge rocks along 
 which our road wound to cover me up till next 
 Tuesday when I could crawl out & get a letter, 
 when my ears caught my Jehu saying: "I only 
 wish I had old Jeff Davis by the throat; I guess I'd 
 get a power of money if I ketched him; I'd be inde- 
 pendent; wouldn't people subscribe money for me.'* 
 I could buy up all Bloomsburg or at least half of it." 
 After a while, turning to me, he asked, "They ain't 
 taken Charleston yet, hev they.?" "No, not yet," I 
 answered. "Awful lot of people killed there, 
 wan't there ? " " Why, no," I replied, " not a dozen." 
 *'I want to know!" he replied with the most un-
 
 140 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 feigned astonishment; "everybody tells me that 
 there were two hundred thousand killed there!" 
 So we went on to Bloomsburg, the sun shining 
 brightly, the sky cloudless & the wind a hurricane 
 & the roads shocking. 
 
 I reached there just in time for dinner & immedi- 
 ately after went to work. 
 
 Rev. Waller out of town. 
 
 Mrs. Rev. Waller at home. Asked me to tea & 
 sent little George Waller round with me to hunt 
 deacons. Ferreted out three & held a consultation. 
 Concluded that the Methodist Church being larger, 
 was better than the Presbyterian. Accompanied 
 by our deacon I unearthed Methodist parson Rev. 
 John. "No right to dispose of the Church, the pre- 
 siding Elder being in town." Accompanied by 
 Rev. John, the Presiding Elder, Brother Reese, 
 was waylaid in a Grocery store & his assent gained. 
 With Rev. John I then went round to the other 
 clergymen & so on the same old weary round of 
 which I have had now such a nauseating dose for 
 the last seven months. At last it was all arranged 
 
 — I am to speak tonight in the Methodist Church 
 
 — and I went quietly to tea to Mr. Waller's who 
 had returned. . . . 
 
 I have just returned from my meeting; the 
 Church was crammed. There must have been at 
 least five or six hundred people, but as a whole it 
 was not a congenial audience. I couldn't get inter- 
 ested in them one bit. The Church was intolerably 
 hot, & in the pulpit between the astral lamps it was 
 fire itself. . . .
 
 LETTERS TO AN ENGLISHMAN 141 
 
 However, it's all over & Praise ye the Lord, it's 
 one step towards home. ... 
 
 The tour through Pennsylvania was the last ex- 
 tended trip that Furness made for the Sanitary 
 Commission. Until the close of the War his work 
 lay in Philadelphia, with only short trips to the 
 smaller towns to urge to greater activity the organ- 
 izations he had established, or to Washington to 
 consult with Mr. Olmsted so that the Philadel- 
 phia branch might be in constant touch with the 
 base of operations. Then, too, came frequent calls 
 from the front for assistants to the hospitals and 
 for agents to distribute supplies when the flood of 
 wounded after a great battle overtaxed the capac- 
 ity of those to whom such duties regularly fell. 
 
 Throughout the gloomy months of the summer 
 of 1863 it is interesting to know that his belief in 
 the ultimate triumph of right never wavered. This 
 deep note of trustfulness is sounded in a few letters 
 to an English friend which have fortunately been 
 preserved to be included here. The friend was Ed- 
 mund K. Muspratt, of Liverpool; he and Furness 
 had met and found each other congenial compan- 
 ions at Munich during the winter of 1855. Until 
 the beginning of the war they had corresponded 
 irregularly, but when hostilities began, and the at- 
 titude of the British Government was markedly in 
 favour of the Confederates, Furness allowed the cor- 
 respondence to lapse. He preferred rather to have 
 his friend believe him negligent than to break 
 the friendship by expressing his bitter opinion of 
 England's stand. As soon, however, as a letter 
 came from Muspratt assuring Furness that the
 
 142 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 position which his Government took in regard to 
 the War in America was distasteful to the majority 
 of intelligent Englishmen, that the rights of the 
 cause for which the North was fighting, had begun 
 to penetrate the barricade of lies and prejudice 
 which the press had placed between the British 
 people and the truth, then did Furness gladly re- 
 sume his correspondence with his friend of the old 
 Munich days, telling him how relieved he was to 
 hear of his sympathy and urging him to use his In- 
 fluence in spreading this sympathetic understand- 
 ing throughout Great Britain. 
 
 Furness undoubtedly trusted that other eyes than 
 Muspratt's might read these letters, or at least the 
 purport of his exposition of Northern ideals might 
 fertilize In some small measure the fallow soil of 
 British opinion and turn the press-fostered criticism 
 to commendation. 
 
 To Edmund K. Muspratt 
 
 Philadelphia, June 24, 1 863 
 
 My dear old friend: I can't tell you how glad I 
 am to hear of you once more. Your letter of 
 Jan'y 29, to my Father, I received only a few days 
 ago. I have been away from home nearly the whole 
 winter, only returning for a day or two at a time, 
 and as your letter came during one of my absences 
 it quite slipped my Father's memory. He begs me 
 to present to you his apologies, with the assurance 
 of his intention to acknowledge its receipt, but 
 which the anxiety and excitement of the times 
 caused him to forget.
 
 ENGLAND'S CONDUCT 143 
 
 Of course, you dear fellow, I was not surprised 
 to hear that you fully sympathised with us in the 
 present struggle. No true-minded man could do 
 otherwise. It is the battle of Liberty against 
 Slavery on as true an issue as the world ever saw. 
 We were slow to believe it, but every day that the 
 war is prolonged is opening our eyes. To me the 
 struggle is unspeakably grand, it has given me a 
 country. From the first uprising of the people 
 after the attack on Fort Sumter I have been joy- 
 ous, proud, happy & exhilarated. It takes a cen- 
 tury of peace to educate a nation & we have 
 gained a century's experience in two years. No 
 greater misfortune could have happened to us 
 than to have been enabled to crush this rebellion 
 at the outset. The compromises of the Constitu- 
 tion would have been reenacted with a hundred 
 fold vigour. And now every hour that the war lasts 
 diminishes, thank God! the prospect of such a ter- 
 mination. 
 
 But, my dear Muspratt, we have been grieved 
 at England's conduct. We certainly had a right to 
 expect a different course from a nation that had 
 abolished slavery & the slave trade. Madness 
 seems to have seized the rulers of England. They 
 seem to have been doing their very best to alienate 
 our respect & friendship. At times it seems to me 
 as though our feelings were not so bitter against 
 the South as against England. The Southerners 
 are so manifestly what their circumstances have 
 made them. But there is no such excuse in Eng-
 
 144 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 land & thank God for John Bright, Francis New- 
 man, John Stuart Mill & yourself. We are all now 
 in excitement over the threatened invasion of the 
 North. In me It causes no alarm. I am not so sure 
 but that the loss of Harrisburg, Philadelphia or 
 even Washington might not be the best thing for 
 us. We have not yet begun to feel the war, that 
 is, in our outward circumstances. Of course our 
 hearts have been wrung by the loss of our dear 
 friends. Did you know of poor Savage's death .»* 
 He was Lieutenant Col. of the 2nd Massachusetts, 
 and lost an arm & a leg at the battle of Antietam 
 last Sept. & died a prisoner in Richmond. He 
 fought gloriously & was idolized by his Regiment. 
 
 But, my dear Muspratt, let me know something 
 of yourself. What are you doing.'' Do you still live 
 in Seaforth Hall.'* Commend me most respectfully 
 to your wife. As for me, I have been married these 
 three years & have a little son two years old. Voila 
 tout. Blight sends you a great deal of love. Do 
 let me hear from you soon, & believe me, my dear 
 Muspratt, 
 
 With great love & regard, your old friend 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Edmund K. Muspratt 
 
 Philadelphia, Aug. 31, 1863 
 I CANNOT tell you, my dear Muspratt, how heartily 
 I welcomed your letter of Aug. 14 which reached 
 me day before yesterday. It gave me a flood of 
 light when all had been dark. It's very hard to
 
 A GLOOMY TIME 145 
 
 keep your faith alive withoiit nourishment. I knew 
 that John Bright couldn't be the popular man he 
 is without having crowds of adherents, friends, & 
 followers who think and feel as he does, but then 
 we hear so little from them, and every newspaper 
 in the United Kingdom, except the "London 
 Star," seems to have joined in the howl against us, 
 urged on by such men as Thackeray & Carlyle! I 
 declare my faith was flickering, but what you say 
 ^bout the Lancashire operatives is so grand, that 
 it inspires it anew, & I continue to hope for Eng- 
 land for their sakes & for yours. 
 
 It was indeed a gloomy time when I last wrote 
 to you. For two days before Meade's Army had 
 come up to Lee's & when the latter seemed to 
 carry everything before him, I confess I felt a little 
 depressed, not for the ultimate triumph of the 
 cause, but for the fate of this dear city of Phila. & 
 for the fate of my own family, my father a well- 
 known Abolitionist, North & South, & who would 
 not, of course, as would none of us, have left the 
 city had the Rebels entered it. But nous avons 
 change tout cela, and all things progress grandly. 
 And that Rebel invasion turned out a great bless- 
 ing — as does everything which reveals the mon- 
 strous character of the Rebellion. No greater mis- 
 fortune could have befallen this country than a 
 triumph for the United States at the first battle 
 at Bull Run two years ago. With every defeat we 
 have made an advance, & at last the first sentence 
 of the Declaration of Independence, that all men
 
 146 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 are born free & equal, Is dawning upon the minds 
 of the nation as a great truth. Had we been victo- 
 rious in our first great battle, the Rebellion would 
 have been crushed & the South restored to its old 
 position with fresh guarantees for Slavery & the 
 country would have been doomed, but, thank God! 
 it was otherwise & that same fervent ejaculation I 
 have uttered after every defeat until the eyes of 
 the North were opened to the nature of the foe that 
 had assaulted it, & it was clearly seen that it was 
 Slavery & nothing else. Then, too, the North had 
 to learn that Slavery was to be hated not only for 
 its horrible effect upon the poor slave, but for its 
 worse effect upon the Master, transforming men, 
 polished in manner, & refined in intellect, into very 
 demons and fiends. Southern chivalry is never 
 spoken of now without a sneer, & men now are be- 
 ginning to discern that Slavery works the steady 
 & sure decay of all courtesy, and morality & 
 honor & religion. For myself I can only feel pro- 
 found commiseration for the Rebels as victims of 
 circumstances. They could no more help becom- 
 ing what they are than they could stop the growth 
 of their bodies. It's a grand thing for a nation, 
 given over to matter-of-fact commerce, to begin 
 to have faith in an unmaterial idea — the idea of 
 Liberty, & to realize the truth of what Lessing 
 said that he who binds a chain round a fellow man 
 binds the heaviest end around himself. Indeed, 
 my dear Muspratt, the times to me are full of 
 cheer, & have been so from the very first; the
 
 PATRIOTISM 147 
 
 gloomiest time of my whole life was the winter pre- 
 ceding the outbreak of the rebellion when we 
 seemed to be splitting up into numberless factions 
 all of us to become the easy prey of the South. But 
 the good God was working silently, & all of a 
 sudden one cannon from Charleston turned us 
 all into one nation with a heart beating for our 
 country. Then for the first instant in my life I had 
 a country, one where I dared think & speak, & not 
 the vile mockery of a republic that we had before. 
 Could anything have turned out more grandly 
 than the New York riots ! Those poor negroes were 
 as truly martyrs for the nation as any that have 
 fallen on battle-fields; the glare of their burning 
 houses revealed the character of the mob, & showed 
 its Southern origin. Everywhere else the draft has 
 been carried out not only quietly, but in many 
 places, as for instance here in Phila. with hurrahs, 
 & with the whole crowd singing the Star-Spangled 
 Banner at the close of each day's proceeding. It is 
 said that the Army of the Potomac is reinforcing 
 with these conscripts at the rate of a thousand per 
 day. Everything looks bright. Charleston I ex- 
 pect will hold out for some time, & from Vicksburg 
 I expect we have learned patience. But my time is 
 more than up & I have a thousand things that I 
 want to talk to you about, a letter is so very unsat- 
 isfactory. My brother William is far from well. 
 His nature is very excitable & these times have 
 fairly worn him out. He has gone with his wife & 
 little girl, three years old, to Massachusetts, where
 
 148 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 in perfect quiet he hopes to restore his health. My 
 younger brother is a Captain of Cavalry & has 
 been in the field from the first. I have a little boy 
 Walter some thirty months old. Blight is not 
 married, tho' he wishes he were; he is off in Rhode 
 Island for a few weeks. I enclose you a photo which 
 tells its own story, & which you may do some good 
 with. God bless you for all you are doing. Do 
 write soon again & believe me, my dear Muspratt, 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Edmund K. Muspratt 
 
 Philadelphia, Nov. 24, 1863 
 
 I WAS very glad to receive your letter of Oct. 31st, 
 & still more glad to have you ask the questions 
 which I will do my best to answer, and which cer- 
 tainly ought not to be a difficult matter for a law- 
 yer and an American. 
 
 You say that many of you (although you are not 
 one) think that we cannot conquer the South with- 
 out the loss of our own liberty. I suppose the ac- 
 quiescence of the country in the suspension of the 
 Writ of Habeas Corpus is the best proof to which 
 you can point of what you say. Now this suspen- 
 sion is very limited in its extent; it applies only to a 
 certain class of cases; in all others it is in daily, 
 almost hourly employment. These cases wherein 
 the writ is suspended are those where the govern- 
 ment, having excellent knowledge of the plottings 
 of treason, must instantly arrest and incarcerate
 
 THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS 149 
 
 the traitor without the delay or the publicity of a 
 trial, which would compel either the discharge of 
 the prisoner, or the disclosure on the part of the 
 Government of its system of secret police at home, 
 or its espionage within the rebel lines. You are 
 very much mistaken if you think that there is no 
 investigation into the circumstances of the case. 
 This investigation is speedy & strict, & the friends 
 of the traitor are allowed full liberty to bring for- 
 ward evidence of his innocence, (but how seldom 
 is it ever attempted!) If innocence be proved im- 
 mediate liberty follows, and the citizen has then 
 his right of action against the government with 
 damages, a suit, by the way, of which I believe 
 there has been but one sohtary instance, & this has 
 fallen through. Moreover, what loyal citizen, in the 
 hour of his country's extreme peril, would not will- 
 ingly suffer temporary confinement rather than by 
 his action clog the wheels of governm't & thereby 
 aid and abet treason.'' What ninety & nine liberty- 
 loving loyal men are there who would not gladly 
 undergo momentary inconvenience rather than 
 that one traitor should escape.'' Who raises any 
 outcry against this temporary suspension of the 
 Hab. Corpus but traitors and the comforters of 
 traitors .f* For me it possesses no more terrors than 
 the Russian Knout. This suspension is expressly 
 granted in the Constitution in the cases of "foreign 
 invasion & rebellion^^^ & it requires no great flight 
 of imagination to see how utterly futile every at- 
 tempt of the Government to put down this rebel-
 
 ISO HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 lion would be without the exercise of this prerog- 
 ative. It was said by a lawyer in 1861, before the 
 suspension, that, except in procuring the muster- 
 rolls, there could, without difficulty, be drawn an 
 affidavit which any wretch might swear to, but 
 which would make it the legal duty of the Chief 
 Justice of the Supreme Court to bring the army 
 covering Washington back to Baltimore, & relin- 
 quish our Capitol to the rebels. 
 
 Moreover, this writ of Hab. Corp. is and always 
 has been in operation in cases where one might 
 almost with reason expect an appeal to martial 
 law. At this very minute there is a soldier in 
 prison in this state, who, while on duty as a sentry, 
 and acting under what he believed to be his orders, 
 shot a citizen; the regiment was on the eve of its 
 departure for Charleston, but the soldier was re- 
 moved by Hab. Corp. from the custody of his 
 Colonel & is now awaiting his trial before a civil 
 tribunal for manslaughter. Another instance oc- 
 curred at the beginning of the war when our mil- 
 itary ardor was at its height. A regiment actually 
 on its march to the field of war when a writ of 
 Hab. Corp. was served upon its Colonel by the 
 Father of a private who he alleged was under age 
 & had enlisted without his consent. The Col. 
 halted his regiment in the street outside of our 
 Court here, & entered it in full uniform to answer 
 the summons, but not one step would the Judge 
 allow him to take within the bar nor to utter one 
 word until he had laid aside his sword. Nor did
 
 A PEOPLE'S WAR 151 
 
 the Colonel hesitate one minute, but at once gave 
 his sword to an attendant outside & listened in a 
 deferential silence to the reprimand of the Judge. 
 This doesn't look very much like succumbing to 
 military despotism, does it? The soldier, by the 
 way, was delivered, on proof, to his father & the 
 regiment proceeded on its march. 
 
 You say, my dear Edmund, that war tends to 
 despotism. This is perfectly true of all wars but 
 a people's war, like ours. In the first place, this 
 war is an exception to all wars; it stands thus far 
 alone in history & is its own only parallel, it is sui 
 generis. By way of proof, where in history, in what 
 age, in what country, will you find an instance of 
 soldiers In actual service, encamped on battle- 
 fields in the midst of an active campaign, deciding 
 what principles the war shall be carried on & by 
 what policy their generals shall be guided, as was 
 the case in our army during the late "Fall Elec- 
 tions".'' In the second place, the generals control 
 the army, but the people control the generals, and 
 no single instance has occurred where a general 
 has dared to defy this powerful master. No matter 
 how popular a general may be, no matter how 
 idolised by his soldiers, the order issues from Wash- 
 ington for his removal, & he retires without a mur- 
 mur of complaint, & both his soldiers & the public 
 feel assured that it has not been done on frivolous 
 or insufficient grounds, & that the propriety of the 
 President's course will in the end be apparent to 
 all. Just look at that army of the Potomac & note
 
 152 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 by how many successive Generals it has been com- 
 manded each one more or less the idol of their 
 troops, Scott, McDowell, McClellan, Pope, Burn- 
 side, Hooker & now Meade. Each one of them 
 always within one, two. or three days march of 
 Washington and at the head of a hundred thou- 
 sand soldiers, could have taken possession of the 
 government, its buildings & archives, without a 
 blow. But never a syllable of remonstrance es- 
 caped their lips as the successive orders for their 
 removal were issued. They knew that though the 
 men they commanded were soldiers, they were also 
 citizens, and that in the suppression of the rebellion 
 the humblest drummer boy and the Major-General 
 are alike interested. I am proud of our army in the 
 hour of victory but I confess to a higher pride 
 in our soldiers when I see this sublime deference 
 to civil authority pervading every rank from the 
 highest to the lowest. 
 
 Now let me turn to what you say of our "idol- 
 atry of the Constitution." Here, my dear Edmund, 
 you are all astray, & it is probably impossible that 
 it should be otherwise. At the distance of three 
 thousand miles the cries of all parties become 
 mingled & confused. To explain myself let me go a 
 little deeper into History. When the Constitution 
 was forming the idea of introducing the word 
 "slave" into it was scouted with indignation by its 
 framers. It was considered disgraceful in itself & 
 not a man of them had the remotest idea that slav- 
 ery would survive the twenty years' lease of life
 
 THE CONSTITUTION 153 
 
 given to the African slave trade. The consequence 
 is that as the instrument now stands had it de- 
 scended to us from antiquity no man ahve could 
 imagine that it protected human slavery. The 
 very article authorising the Fugitive Slave Law, 
 declares simply in reference to "fugitives from 
 labor" which may mean nothing more nor less 
 than "apprentices." Of course a pro-slavery 
 Bench interprets this as referring to slaves, & the 
 South have therefore always been careful to have a 
 majority of the Supreme Bench composed of Slave- 
 holders. The Constitution thus held to cover Slav- 
 ery has always been the cry of the South, & now 
 when the South has rebelled it has become the 
 rallying cry of their friends, their aiders, & abet- 
 tors at the North & in their mouths means nothing 
 on God's earth but Slavery. Having been inter- 
 preted as fostering slavery, they wish no new ren- 
 dering of it which shall reverse the old hellish de- 
 cisions & the pro-slavery party at the North now 
 show their meaning when they call for "The 
 Union as it was & the Constitution as it u." One 
 needs no better proof of the shallowness of their 
 love, & that this vehemence of affection is but the 
 flimsiest cloak for their worship of slavery, than is 
 to be found in the fact that for years & years past, 
 the Constitution every letter of which they profess 
 to venerate so deeply has been systematically dis- 
 obeyed and trampled upon by Southern legisla- 
 tive enactments in one of its most precious & vital 
 articles, occurring, moreover, in the very section in
 
 154 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 which is the clause on which the Fugitive Slave 
 Law is founded, viz.: "that the citizens of each 
 state shall be entitled to all privileges & immuni- 
 ties of citizens in the several states." I needn't 
 refer to the treatment that has for years past been 
 the lot of Northern citizens who, while in the slave 
 states, were suspected of the faintest lukewarmness 
 towards slavery. To have a copy of Henry Ward 
 Beecher's Paper, "The Independent," in your 
 possession was sufficient evidence to hang you on 
 the nearest tree. The price set years ago on Wm. 
 Lloyd Garrison's head by the State of Alabama 
 was never repealed. No colored citizen of New 
 York or Massachusetts (negroes vote in these 
 states) could go in a ship to South Carolina, with- 
 out being put in prison during the stay of the ship 
 in port should he attempt to land. It would take 
 pages to rehearse the numberless ways in which 
 this clause of our Constitution was utterly scorned 
 by the very men who were most clamorous for the 
 strict observance of the whole instrument. We of 
 the North honor and obey the Constitution for all 
 its wise & beneficent provisions, the Southerners 
 & the friends of traitors at the North howl their 
 admiration for it only so far as it is interpreted to 
 protect slavery. 
 
 One thing more, my dear Edmund, & I must 
 bring this long letter to a close. You say "our 
 Constitution has one great fault, it is not progres- 
 sive." I think you must have forgotten the Fifth 
 Article which provides for its amendment, when-
 
 SLAVERY CAUSE OF THE WAR 155 
 
 ever three-fourths of the several states shall agree 
 upon any proposed revision. Three several times 
 has our Constitution been amended to suit new 
 wants as they arose. Ten amendments were adopted 
 in 1789, an eleventh in 1794, and a twelfth in 
 1803. Really this seems to me to contain at least 
 the elements of sufficient progress. It were dan- 
 gerous to admit much more. Forever remember 
 that the sole solitary cause of this war is slavery. 
 It is the Alpha & Omega of the whole matter. 
 Whenever you are in doubt in reference to past 
 springs of action, turn to slavery & note its bearing 
 & you will have the key to unlock every mystery. 
 And now, you dear old fellow, do let me hear 
 very soon again from you. I look to you to recon- 
 cile me to England — England that I have known 
 & loved all my life has treated me foully; I looked 
 to find fruit & lo! my mouth is filled with the 
 Apples of Sodom & the clusters of Gomorrah. You 
 must give me a new England. Good-bye to my 
 old love & welcome to the new. On your con- 
 science will it rest, that England has one enemy 
 the less in America. So write at once. Thank God ! 
 for Henry Ward Beecher! He has done nobly. 
 The other half of his work remains for him to do 
 here in America. By the way, I have written this 
 letter solely to you, talking in imagination right 
 into your very face, & with no thought of others, 
 but if you think that any one grain of what is here 
 written can do the faintest good if scattered 
 abroad, cast it forth for the roadside, the stony
 
 iS6 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 places or for the good ground. I sent you a photo 
 of the "Scourged Back," did I not? was it new to 
 you? I sent one also to Carlyle, simply saying, 
 over my signature: "Please observe an instance of 
 ^hiring for life.' God forgive you for your cruel 
 jest & your blindness." Wonder what he thought 
 when he saw it. 
 
 But good-bye, my dear Edmund, pray allow me 
 to send my respects to Mrs. Muspratt. Blight 
 sends his love. 
 
 Now mind you write soon and always believe me 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Edmund K. Muspratt 
 
 Philadelphia, Nov. 14, 1866 
 My dear Edmund: If you were anyone else than 
 the dear good, honest, kindly fellow that I knew & 
 loved in Munich, I should never dare to write this 
 letter, my manifold sins of omission you-wards 
 would palsy my hand and freeze my ink. But 
 under the circumstances I shall borrow some 
 London assurance and take your pardon for 
 granted since I so earnestly desire it. Why should 
 I rehearse my long catalogue of sins? Your last 
 letter unanswered. Your admirable Lecture un- 
 acknowledged. And your nephew unseen. I know 
 that I'm an abandoned wretch, but will you for- 
 give me ? . . . 
 
 And now in the revolving years this dear coun- 
 try of mine is, I fear me, approachiag another and
 
 PRESIDENT JOHNSON 157 
 
 terribly severe crisis. I have the firmest of faiths 
 that it will pass through it in safety and then 
 Republican Government will have stood the last 
 great test. The Republic has survived a gigantic 
 rebellion, the Assassination of its President, and 
 now it must withstand and counteract the plottings 
 in the Presidential Chair of as vile a traitor as ever 
 it fought in the field. There is of course talk of an 
 impeachment Sec, but I hardly think it will come 
 to that. It may, and my assurance is that Con- 
 gress will not attempt it unless sufficiently power- 
 ful to carry it through to a deposition of President 
 Johnson. The infliction of his presence in the Cap- 
 itol is, to my mind, a just punishment upon the 
 Republican party for its temporising and com- 
 promising spirit. His nomination as Vice Presi- 
 dent was a truckling to that vile Border State 
 policy which for so long hampered Pres't Lincoln. 
 Johnson's loyalty was simply hatred of slave- 
 holders, & his hatred arose simply because he was 
 not acknowledged by them as one of them, as a 
 gentleman; he had been a traitor and was con- 
 sequently only "poor white trash" in their eyes. 
 And to a man of his ambition, socially even more 
 than politically this ostracism was to him intol- 
 erable. When therefore he became President & 
 found his former superiors, the haughty gentle- 
 men whose faintest nod of approval he would have 
 given anything to v/In in years back, when he 
 found these very men on their knees before him 
 begging for life & property, courting & fawning
 
 IS8 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 upon him, flattering his every expression, it was 
 more than his egotism could bear & he has become 
 their most willing tool. 
 
 Thank God ! these last elections have given no 
 uncertain sound. The loyal party of the country 
 is firmer & stronger today than ever, and every 
 day it grows more radical, and even therefore 
 stronger. What the extreme radicals at first only 
 whisperingly hinted at, is now openly discussed, 
 and in some quarters Universal Suffrage is loudly 
 proclaimed. To that we have got to come. It is 
 our most manifest destiny. And I can see how 
 Johnson has been Heaven's means of unconsciously 
 and most unwittingly aiding in the glorious con- 
 summation. Paradoxically the South after all has 
 been the best friend to Universal Freedom. 
 
 But I must stop. My time is up. Do write me if 
 only a few lines to tell me I am forgiven. I send 
 you by this mail a copy of a speech by Carl Schurz, 
 one of our great acquisitions from Germany, a man 
 honored by Lincoln's most intimate friendship, 
 and of Johnson's too on the latter's very first ac- 
 cession to power. It is a masterly speech & will 
 give you an idea of the President's treachery far 
 better than anyth'g else I know. 
 
 Tell me all about yourself. How many children 
 have you? I have three, all boys. Can't you send 
 me your Photograph.'' or of your entire family — 
 by no one that you can think of will they be more 
 highly valued than by 
 
 Your true old friend 
 
 Horace Howard Furness
 
 CHAPTER IV - 
 
 I 867-1 885 
 
 The manifold activities of the Sanitary Commis- 
 sion did not come to a sudden stop with the cessa- 
 tion of hostihties; there were still many impor- 
 tant duties for the personnel to perform, and the 
 demobilization of the army added to the burden 
 rather than lightened it. Pensions, vital statistics, 
 relief to be rendered to the families of dead soldiers, 
 were part of the host of details which in the diffi- 
 culties of the Reconstruction fell to the lot of the 
 members of the Sanitary Commission. In these 
 circumstances Horace Howard Furness was not 
 able to pick up the threads of his law practice im- 
 mediately. Slowly his duties connected with the 
 Sanitary Commission diminished, but even as with 
 the gradual shift of affairs, he found time to return 
 to the bar, his increasing deafness made this pro- 
 fession less practicable. In the very nature of his 
 ailment active practice became impossible, and, 
 although he remained a Counsellor-at-Law until 
 1880, the duties at his office did not fulfil his capac- 
 ity for work. The study of Shakespeare proved 
 the fortuitous task for his unoccupied hours. With 
 the need of the Shakspere Society in his thoughts, 
 the experience with the voluminous "Hamlet" 
 variorum in his mind, and Fanny Kemble's fas-
 
 i6o HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 dnating readings In his heart, in 1866 he began 
 work on the New Variorum Romeo ^ Juliet. 
 
 To assume the editing of a New Variorum was, 
 for a young American (Furness was only thirty- 
 three at the time), almost a Quixotic undertaking. 
 There was only scant attention paid to Shake- 
 speare by American scholars, a fact which not only 
 made it difficult to find students to whom the editor 
 might turn for advice and counsel, but also made 
 any publisher wary of placing an edition of doubt- 
 ful popularity before the public: the risk was so 
 great that it would fall still-born from the press. 
 In addition to the difficulties which beset Furness 
 on this side of the water, there was grave doubt 
 whether such an edition would be received with 
 favour in England ; the ability of American scholars 
 was not at that time rated very high, and, more- 
 over, there were scores of English Shakespearean 
 students who were prepared to criticize severely 
 any work which they might consider encroached 
 upon their bailiwick. 
 
 These were the manifest difficulties that at- 
 tended the editing of Romeo y Juliet. Furness, nev- 
 ertheless, took up the task eagerly, and worked 
 assiduously, receiving aid and advice from the in- 
 terested members of the Shakspere Society, and 
 counsel and encouragement from such scholars as 
 W. J. Rolfe, editor of "The Rolfe Shakespeare," 
 Francis J. Child, Professor of Rhetoric at Harvard, 
 and other friends among the learned men of Cam- 
 bridge. Edwin Forrest lent his copies of the second
 
 THE VARIORUM SHAKESPEARE i6i 
 
 and third folios to the young editor and showed his 
 keen interest in the progress of the work. 
 
 So Romeo i^ Juliet prospered, and when the 
 major part of the manuscript was complete he took 
 it to J. B. Lippincott & Company, of Philadelphia, 
 and persuaded them reluctantly to undertake its 
 publication. Their consent was won not because 
 they believed that the volume was destined to be 
 a financial success, but because they desired to send 
 a volume of theirs to compete for the medal offered 
 by the Division of Printing in the Vienna Exposi- 
 tion, and they believed an edition of Shakespeare 
 would prove a fitting and suitable entry. 
 
 The mechanical work of publishing was started in 
 1870 and the publishers mailed a prospectus of the 
 forthcoming work to students of Shakespeare in 
 America and England. And thereby hangs a tale. A 
 copy of this prospectus reached the hands of Wil- 
 liam Aldis Wright, of Trinity College, Cambridge, 
 editor (in conjunction with W. G. Clark) of the 
 Cambridge Edition of Shakespeare. Certain of the 
 statements therein contained, Mr. Wright resented. 
 He wrote the following letter of protest to the Lon- 
 don Athenceum: 
 
 "I have just received from Messrs. J. B. Lippin- 
 cott & Co., of Philadelphia, a prospectus of a new 
 edition of Shakespeare, of which they announce that 
 the first volume, containing 'Romeo and Juliet,' is 
 in the press. It is to be edited by Mr. Horace How- 
 ard Furness, but I hope it is the publishers who are 
 responsible for the prospectus, and not the editor.
 
 i62 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 "The prospectus states: *The text will be that of 
 the Cambridge editors and to the textual notes of 
 that edition will be added the various readings of 
 the following editors: Singer (edd. i and 2), Knight 
 (edd. I and 2), Campbell, Cornwall, Collier (edd. I 
 and 2), Verplanck, Hazlitt, Hudson, Ulrici, Delius, 
 Staunton, Dyce (edd. I and 2), White, Chambers, 
 Halliwell, Clarke and Keightly. . . . 
 
 " 'To the literary public we beg leave to state 
 that in this work there will be found not only the 
 textual variations of the quartos and folios as 
 given in the Cambridge edition of Messrs. Clarke 
 (sic) and Wright, but also the various readings of 
 the different editions since 1821.' 
 
 "In this statement there is a misrepresentation 
 so gross that, whether intentional or not, I feel 
 bound to protest against it. To have the whole of 
 our hard work thus deliberately appropriated is of 
 itself sufficiently aggravating, but not more than 
 might have been reasonably expected. What I 
 complain of is that Messrs. Lippincott & Co. by 
 their prospectus convey the impression that the 
 Cambridge edition contains only the various read- 
 ings of the quartos and folios, and does not contain 
 the conjectural emendations of the different editors 
 since 1821, whereas it is impossible to open the 
 book at any page without seeing that our plan 
 includes all these. If they choose to print our notes 
 in full, we are powerless to prevent them, but it 
 would be better that they should say so plainly. 
 
 "William Aldis Wright"
 
 REPLY TO W. ALDIS WRIGHT 163 
 
 Upon such provocation Horace Howard Fur- 
 ness could not remain silent. He replied to Mr. 
 Wright, in the columns of the Aihenceum: 
 
 "It was with the greatest astonishment that I 
 read Mr. Wright's note, as, in my simplicity, I 
 was under the impression that the adoption of the 
 Cambridge editors' text in such a work as mine pro- 
 poses to be, and the use made therein of their notes, 
 were a tribute to that edition, which, if it received 
 any notice at all from the Cambridge editors, would 
 be courteously acknowledged. I am therefore much 
 beholden to Mr. Wright, for thus early calling my 
 attention to the matter. . . . 
 
 "I now proceed to answer the direct charge of 
 *gross misrepresentation' contained, as Mr. Wright 
 alleges, in the following statement in the prospectus 
 of the 'New Variorum' addressed 'to the literary 
 public,' to the effect that in the forthcoming work 
 'will be found, not only all the textual variations of 
 the Quartos and Folios as given in the Cambridge 
 edition, . . . but also the various readings of the 
 different editions since 1821.' This implies, accord- 
 ing to Mr. Wright, that 'the Cambridge edition 
 contains only the various readings of the Quartos 
 and Folios, and does not contain the conjectural 
 emendations of the different editors since 1821, 
 whereas it is impossible to open the book at any 
 page without seeing that our plan includes all these.' 
 The old saw of Horace comes to hand in a very mod- 
 ern instance; Brevis esse laboro, obscurus fio. I 
 cheerfully apologise to Mr. Wright for using 'to
 
 i64 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 the literary public,' a phrase which I should not 
 have employed in addressing an exact classical 
 scholar like himself, to whom the words varlae 
 lectiones convey but one meaning, and that their 
 only correct one. Had Mr. Wright waited for the 
 forthcoming volume of ' Romeo and Juliet ' he would 
 have learnt from the Preface that by readings I 
 mean the texts of the quartos, folios, and editors, 
 and that I do not bind myself to give all the con- 
 jectural emendations with which conceit and igno- 
 rance have so thickly strewn the paths of the Shake- 
 speare student. I shall never cumber my pages 
 with the nonsense of Zackery Jackson, or of his 
 'copesmate,' Beckett, except where such a con- 
 jectural emendation as 'unawares' for 'runaways' 
 has been raised to the dignity of a reading by its 
 adoption into the text by such editors as Knight 
 and Collier in their first editions. Sydney Walker 
 and Lettsom felt the force of this distinction to a 
 certain extent when they used the word 'sophis- 
 tications.' But Mr. Wright asserts that the plan 
 of the Cam. edition includes all conjectural emen- 
 dations since 1821. If such be the plan, the execu- 
 tion of it is very far from being either complete 
 or exact. . . . [There follows a long list of errors 
 which H. H. F. found in the Cambridge Edition. 
 . . . "Here I close this list of errors, omissions, 
 and shortcomings of the Cambridge Edition in the 
 single play of ' Romeo and Juliet,' and I do most 
 earnestly assure Mr. Wright that I never should 
 have gathered them together had he not intimated
 
 REPLY TO W. ALDIS WRIGHT 165 
 
 that I am about 'deliberately' to '.appropriate* 
 his 'hard work'; but I gave him credit for every 
 letter of it, claiming none for correcting the errors 
 of the Cambridge editors, and I added so much 
 more, and so much harder work of my own, that, 
 so far from ever having thought that I was doing 
 them any wrong, I supposed that I was merely ren- 
 dering more complete their defective observance of 
 the excellent rules laid down by them in their Pref- 
 ace: see vol. I, page xx. But this is now a matter 
 of the past. Indeed the textual variations which in 
 the New Variorum would be almost double in bulk 
 those of the Cambridge Edition, were I to use that 
 edition as I proposed, which now I shall not, have 
 always appeared to me to be of somewhat secondary 
 consideration in my edition, and to note and record 
 them has been far less difficult — the 'work' of 
 collating between twenty and thirty editions, far 
 less 'hard' than that of preparing a concise, ac- 
 curate, faithful digest of all of the various notes of 
 the learned editors before and since 182 1. This is 
 what I have attempted, and hie labor, etc. Add to 
 this the toil of scouring the French and German 
 fields for stray readings and conjectural emenda- 
 tions and criticisms, vague or otherwise, and then 
 let Mr. Wright talk of my robbing him of his ' hard 
 work.' In which Preface of the Cambridge vol- 
 umes is there any acknowledgment of 'Jcnnen's 
 hard work,' the first editor who ever attempted in 
 footnotes a systematic and thorough collation of 
 the quartos and folios.^ The Cambridge editors.
 
 i66 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 owing to their having access to the original copies, 
 I have all along presumed to be absolutely correct 
 in their collation of the quartos and folios. In nine 
 cases out of ten they give all the important textual 
 variations of the editors down to 182 1. But if they 
 claim more than this, as Mr. Wright does, the ef- 
 fect will be to cast an uncomfortable doubt over 
 even their collation of the quartos and folios.". . . 
 
 The Cambridge editor replied: 
 
 "My reply to Mr. Furness will be very simple. 
 Regarded as an answer to my protest, nine-tenths 
 of his letter is irrelevant; I leave you to judge 
 whether the remainder is satisfactory. Mr. Fur- 
 ness appears to answer an entirely imaginary let- 
 ter of mine. . . . Nor did I assert that the Cam- 
 bridge Shakespeare was infallible, though any one 
 would imagine from Mr. Furness's letter that I 
 had been rash enough to do so. If, with the worst 
 possible intentions, he has been unable to make out 
 any better case than he has done, the editors have 
 every reason to be satisfied with the substantial 
 accuracy of their book. . . . 
 
 . . . "Mr. Furness endeavours to use against us 
 the tu quoque argument when he accuses us of not 
 acknowledging our obligations to Jennens. But he 
 fails to perceive that the cases are not parallel. 
 In the last century (1770, 1773) Jennens issued 
 four plays of Shakespeare, with the various read- 
 ings, not by any means complete, of the quartos 
 and folios. As we collated every line of these for
 
 MR. WRIGHT REPLIES 167 
 
 ourselves, and did not transfer to our pages the 
 results of the labours of Jennens, I cannot see why 
 we should be called upon to acknowledge an obli- 
 gation which we never incurred. Mr. Furness is 
 compelled to take our work, for the simple reason 
 that he cannot do without it, and it would be much 
 more to the purpose to say so at once than to vapour 
 about repudiating the obligation. We have no wish 
 to disparage the severity of the task to which Mr. 
 Furness has set himself, because we know by ex- 
 perience what it is; but when he talks lightly of the 
 labour involved in collating twenty or thirty edi- 
 tions, we strongly suspect he does not know what 
 collating means. 
 
 "One word more, and I have done. Mr. Fur- 
 ness has entered upon a very important, a very la- 
 borious, and a very difficult work, and I doubt not 
 he will discharge his duty as editor with the most 
 scrupulous conscientiousness; but if he hopes that 
 the result of all his care will be absolute freedom 
 from error, he is more sanguine than I should ven- 
 ture to be. I sincerely wish that he may live to 
 carry out his undertaking, and with this wish I 
 leave him, only bidding him remember that ^Suum 
 cuique is our Roman justice.* 
 
 "William Aldis Wright" 
 
 Furness answered the final charges of Mr. Wright 
 in the following letter and withdrew from the duel 
 which from its very nature was distasteful to him: 
 
 "For reasons which it is needless to state, and
 
 i68 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 which could hardly be stated without further pro- 
 voking a quarrel, I decline to reply to Mr. Wright's 
 last communication in the AthencBum of the 19th 
 of March O'ust received) in reference to the New 
 Variorum, further than to say that when Mr. 
 Wright says that I am ' compelled to use the work' 
 of the Cambridge Editors for the reason that I 
 
 * cannot do without it,' he is entirely mistaken. 
 
 "I have all the editions that they had, so far as I 
 can gather from their work (except Pope's First 
 Edition, Rowe's Second and Rann's) besides others 
 that they, apparently, have not used. I have the 
 Four Folios and Mr. Halliwell's Facsimiles of the 
 Quartos. So far as being compelled to take the 
 work of the Cambridge Editors, I could not if I 
 would, with any regard to the accuracy of my edi- 
 tion, now that I have subjected theirs to a rigid 
 scrutiny. 
 
 *'So highly have I for many years past esteemed 
 the Cambridge Edition, that even at this present 
 I would gladly prefer to cloak its failings with back- 
 ward step and averted gaze. But since Mr. Wright 
 
 * strongly suspects' that I do 'not know what col- 
 lating means,' let me say that in the textual notes 
 of the Cambridge Edition, to the single play of ' Ro- 
 meo and Juliet,' I find that the Cambridge Edition 
 varies in upwards of forty instances from the 
 Second and Third Quartos in the British Museum, 
 from the Fourth and Fifth Quartos in a private 
 library in London, and from the Folios in this city. 
 
 "Although for many of these variations an ex-
 
 END OF THE TILT 169 
 
 cuse may be found in the fact that copies of Quartos 
 and Folios of the same date differ; yet this excuse 
 will hardly cover more than double the number of 
 similar shortcomings which I also find in their col- 
 lation of the different editions from Rowe to Dyce. 
 
 "A list of these Errata and Corrigenda Mr. 
 Wright can have, if he wish for it, in the columns 
 of this or any other public journal that will print 
 them. 
 
 "Life is too short to be spent in squabbling. 
 Therefore with many thanks to the Athencsum 
 for its courtesy in printing my last long letter, I 
 shall persist in my endeavours to keep the peace. 
 
 "Horace Howard Furness" 
 
 So the tilt in the Aihenceum ended, and It may 
 be here said that this was the first and last literary 
 discussion which Furness ever undertook. He had 
 a sincere repugnance for all the wranglings be- 
 tween scholars in the columns of the public jour- 
 nals. He was always impressed by their futility 
 and disgusted by their degrading influence upon 
 true literary work. But this exchange of shots 
 with Aldis Wright bore fair fruit. In the ground 
 which the criticism had harrowed was sown the 
 seed of a lifelong friendship; if, as Horace Howard 
 Furness was so fond of saying, "one touch of 
 Shakespeare makes the whole world kin," in this 
 case the touch made brothers of two devoted 
 students of the dramatist. Furness's letters to 
 Wright run through this collection like a vein of
 
 lyo HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 purest gold; when Romeo Iff Juliet finally appeared 
 it received Wright's instant commendation, and 
 ever after the learned Cambridge Editor proved 
 the staunchest of the many friends whom Horace 
 Howard Furness had in England. 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Philadelphia, April 4, 1870 
 My dear Mr. Wright: Your very kind note of 
 the 2 1 St ult. I received only a few moments ago, 
 and from it I learn that my letter has appeared in 
 "The Athenaeum" (whereof I had not the faintest 
 expectation on many accounts). 
 
 It would be difficult for me, were I to attempt 
 it, to express to you the pleasure with which I 
 read your note. All literary quarrels (and espe- 
 cially Shakespearean) are to me most odious, and 
 although my daily profession forces me to live in 
 the rank infection of an atmosphere of antagonism, 
 yet I expect a purer air in the modern world of 
 Shakespearean literature. 
 
 Of your very kind offer to verify any doubtful 
 readings of the collation of the Qq & Ff I will 
 gladly avail myself. 
 
 I have carefully collated your textual notes with 
 the original Folios, and with Mr. Halliwell's Fac- 
 similes of the Quartos, and have found some 
 twenty or thirty noteworthy discrepancies. The 
 majority of them I sent to Mr. Halliwell, fearing 
 lest, instead of finding errors in your notes, I 
 might be detecting mistakes in his Facsimiles, of
 
 HALLIWELL'S FACSIMILES 171 
 
 which it was but right that he should receive first 
 notice. 
 
 The same mail which brought me your note 
 brought one also from Mr. Halliwell, in which he 
 says that while the originals in his possession con- 
 firm his Facsimiles in all points (save one), yet un- 
 doubtedly the originals collated by you contained 
 the readings that you record. 
 
 Argal, the replication which, lawyerlike, I was 
 preparing in case you should attack me, falls to 
 the ground — and to my great relief. 
 
 With your permission, I will, in my first leisure 
 moment, send you this list which, on your verifica- 
 tion, will be simply curious as illustrating the vari- 
 ations in copies of the same edition. 
 
 With assurances of my great respect, I remain, 
 my dear Sir, in very great haste 
 Yours sincerely 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Philadelphia, April gth, '71 
 
 My DEAR Sir: Your kind letter of ever so long 
 ago acknowledging the receipt of Mrs. Furness's 
 Index to Sidney Walker duly reached us & I beg 
 you to accept her acknowledgments of the courtesy. 
 I learned from a letter of Mrs. Wister's, my Sister, 
 that she had the pleasure of meeting you & of the 
 share which her interview with you had in render- 
 ing her visit to Cambridge delightful. 
 
 I owe you many apologies for the delay in an-
 
 172 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 swering your letter, but indeed in my case the plea 
 of lack of time is not a vain one — every hour of 
 my day is crowded. 
 
 Among the early copies that I sent to England 
 of the Variorum Romeo & Juliet was one addressed 
 to yourself. I infer that it duly reached you, and 
 am I not correct in inferring that the notice of the 
 book in the Athenaeum was from you.? If I be 
 right I thank you therefor very sincerely. Our 
 paper warfare was due, I believe, solely to the dis- 
 tance between us — indeed, my dear Sir, so utterly 
 has all thought of antagonism vanished from my 
 mind that I don't hesitate to send you the en- 
 closed list which I am sure you will receive in the 
 same friendly spirit with which it is sent. I simply 
 wish that you may gather from it some idea of the 
 microscopic scrutiny with which I have collated 
 the text and that it may be of service to you in 
 preparing a second edition which I hope may 
 be speedily demanded. Some of these Corrigenda 
 (a very vile phrase, but I have to use it in default 
 of a better) may be wrong (I have not revised 
 them) and they are all of them trifling. 
 
 What a capital note that is of yours (is it yours) 
 on "one touch of Nature." I wanted to sling my 
 hat around after I read it — 
 
 Believe me, dear Sir 
 
 Sincerely & faithfully 
 
 Yrs. 
 Horace Howard Furness
 
 THE TEMPEST 173 
 
 To William J. Rolfe 
 
 Philadelphia, 27 Jpril, 1871 
 
 My dear Rolfe: Perhaps I ought to blush at 
 sending you the enclosed.^ I know how heinous 
 it is to put Shakespeare to such base uses. But 
 "use doth breed a habit in a man" — and so for- 
 give me my share in the wickedness. 
 
 How comes on "The Tempest"? 
 
 By the way, it never flashed into my mind till 
 this instant, that in our privately printed notes on 
 that play (a copy was presented to the College 
 Library in Cambridge) some labour might be 
 saved for you, in the way of parallel passages and 
 etc. and etc. There is I remember a very exhaus- 
 tive resume (I hate that word) of the various con- 
 jectures about most busy least. And I also remem- 
 ber, that an interpretation of mine was received 
 by my too-partial brothers with some favor. 
 
 I would be glad to send you a copy of these 
 "notes," but they have now become as scarce as 
 the old Folios or Quartos. 
 
 Yours very sincerely 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 Some time ago I received from a Thomas Francis, 
 Surgeon, in Acton, England, an emendation of 
 that passage which certainly has the merit of 
 
 originality — 
 
 " Most busiliest when I do it." 
 Heaven save the mark! 
 
 * A bill of fare of the annual dinner of the Shakspere Society, 
 wherein the various courses are accompanied by an appropriate 
 Shakespearean quotation.
 
 174 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Philadelphia, 8 May, '71 
 My dear Sir: Is there anything on earth better 
 calculated to teach self-distrust than the attempt 
 to collate old editions or to reprint a Quarto? I am 
 lost in wonder at the moderation of our ancestors 
 in restricting to printers' boys the soubriquet of 
 devil^ and in not applying it to every member 
 of the establishment. No one will more readily 
 than yourself credit the laborious pains with which 
 I collated Ashbee's Facsimile and your Reprint 
 (which, you rightly conjectured, I used to print 
 from). I fairly rubbed my nose over every word, 
 and glared at every comma, and repeated the 
 same process over the proof-sheets, and yet, out of 
 that list that you kindly sent me, eighteen un- 
 pruned, unlettered, untrained, unconformed mis- 
 prints seared my eyeballs! And I dare say there 
 are lots more. If it be not too much trouble I shall 
 be greatly indebted to you for any others that you 
 may find. 
 
 I confess I am much better pleased that you did 
 not write that notice in the Athenaeum. What 
 made me doubt that you were its author was that 
 it spoke of the Cam. Ed. as being "thoroughly 
 trustworthy and scholarly," which from your lips 
 might smack of self-praise, but then it asserts a 
 fact so patent and universally accepted that, like 
 Csesarem vehis, its truth is its justification. Then, 
 too, I doubted whether you would have referred 
 to our old sparring match, especially after I had
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S GRAMMAR 175 
 
 not only buried the hatchet, but smoothed the 
 ground over the grave & endeavored to obHterate 
 every trace of the fray. But then who else in the 
 world, I thought, would have taken such pains to 
 subject the book to so speedy and microscopic 
 a collation with the quartos — and the Trinity 
 Quartos at that? 
 
 I am glad that you think the belief in an Early 
 English provincial plural in "s" a heresy. Its an- 
 nouncement as a fact grated upon me harshly. 
 We are apt to forget how much Shakespeare 
 wrote by ear, and that too by an ear not trained 
 to all the refinements of Grammatical rules which 
 were to him unknown. 
 
 I write this late at night after completing my 
 preparations for moving to the country where I 
 live for six months of the year — and must there- 
 fore stop. By the way, my permanent address is 
 simply Philadelphia, the name "Lindenshade," 
 which you very naturally took from Mrs. Furness's 
 Index, is our country home, and letters so ad- 
 dressed reach me only by the wondrous accuracy 
 of the Post Office, and after much delay which 
 accounts for your letter of April 8th coming to 
 hand only a few days since. I am in daily expec- 
 tation of the receipt from you of a long, long list 
 of misprints in my edition as a Roland to my 
 Oliver. Accept in advance my hearty thanks and 
 believe me 
 
 Very sincerely yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness
 
 r/6 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 To W. J. Rolfe 
 
 Philadelphia, 12 May, 1872 
 My dear Rolfe: If any one had told me that I 
 should permit ten days to elapse without acknowl- 
 edging one of your letters accompanied by a book, 
 I should have seized the uncircumcised dog by the 
 throat and smote him repeatedly. But alas! the 
 older I grow the less pride I take in myself. I shall 
 not be surprised to wake up some morning and find 
 that I have reversed every principle by which my 
 life has been guided hitherto. 
 
 If there is an excuse for which I have a supreme 
 contempt it is that of "no time" — and yet it is 
 that excuse which I am forever pleading. My days 
 are filled with a round of trivial duties, and when 
 night comes I have to peg away at Shakespeare, 
 for these Philistines of printers are upon me and to 
 read the proof-sheets of textual notes requires the 
 same trouble as to make the original collation; I 
 verify every reading. So between correcting proof 
 and preparing fresh copy evening advances far 
 into night and my average bedtime is about two 
 
 A.M. . . . 
 
 Aha! I found two mis-citations in your Craik^s 
 English on p. 283 (Note 341) 'Cym. i. 5' should 
 be Cym. i. 4 (!!!!) Where be your Sccena 
 now.f* But don't let's tell anybody. 
 
 I'm very glad that you are going to Europe 
 and pray that smooth success be strewed before 
 your feet. Yours faithfully 
 
 Horace Howard Furness
 
 THE PUBLISHERS 177 
 
 To W. J. Rolje 
 
 Philadelphia, Sunday p.m. 1872 
 My dear Rolfe: Of what stuff is the Public 
 made that your Sh. series does not advance, with 
 each new volume, at the pas de charge victoire.'* 
 That my unworthy, bulky, overgrown, and obese 
 Variorum should be a financial failure is only what 
 a rational man might expect, but that your neat, 
 appetising, and satisfying booklets should not be 
 scintillations of success is what "no fellow can 
 understand." The publishers are your true scape- 
 goats; it's all along of Harpers and Lippincott. 
 They ought to drop every other venture & throw 
 everything into Shakespeare. Who cares for their 
 twaddling Magazines.'' The only special comfort I 
 can give you is that in your marrowbones you 
 should be grateful that you don't live within ear- 
 shot of your publisher. A man's tongue is more 
 rasping than his pen — a pen sticks deep & ink 
 festers, but the tongue lays bare whole hand- 
 breadths of quivering nerves. "Mr. Lippincott, 
 you put the price of the book too high." "Too 
 high!! the price has nothing to do with it; your 
 book wouldn't sell if I put the price at seventy-five 
 cents." As I think I once said to you, how I revere 
 the memory of Campbell who gave as a toast 
 "Napoleon Bonaparte, because he once shot a pub- 
 lisher." 
 
 Nathless, I am going on with "Macbeth" and 
 hope to dismiss it with "frigid tranquility" some- 
 time near February — you'll know when it's out,
 
 178 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 one of the very earliest copies must find its way to 
 your hands. . . . 
 
 You have never told me how you enjoyed your 
 trip across to England. Did you see any Sh. broth- 
 ers.'' Staunton is writing some articles in the Athe- 
 nseum on "unsuspected corruptions in Sh's text," 
 and writes to me that I can't do Sh'n criticism 
 more good than by a note to the editor of the Athe- 
 naeum expressing the interest felt here in such and 
 similar articles. So you see, Shakespearean whip- 
 pers-in are needed all the world over. 'Tis true, 
 'tis pity, &c. Let me hear the cheering news, dear 
 Rolfe, that you are going ahead with your booklets 
 and believe me 
 
 Ever yours 
 
 FuRNESS 
 
 Did you get a letter I wrote to your English 
 address, sometime in July, blackguarding you for 
 hanging over the fleshpots of England while I was 
 here in America .f* 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Philadelphia, 7 October, 1872 
 My dear Sir: Your copy of the Clarendon "Ham- 
 let" reached here during my absence on a sum- 
 mer trip, and since my return a short time ago 
 I have been waiting, before acknowledging my 
 thanks for your kindness, for a leisure hour to de- 
 vote to your valuable little book. 
 
 Your explanation of "tickle o' the sere" carries
 
 THE CLARENDON PRESS SERIES 179 
 
 immediate and complete conviction. Hereafter 
 let no more Christian ink be shed on that subject, 
 in secula seculorum. The same may be said of Mr. 
 Heath's explanation of "mad north northwest." 
 What a comfort 'twould be to have more such sat- 
 isfactory notes. And here let me venture the only 
 criticism I have to make on all your Clarendon 
 Press Series, it is the feeling that constantly ob- 
 trudes while studying them, that the editors are 
 cabin'd, cribb'd, confined by their limits and b)- 
 the comparatively juvenile public for whom they 
 profess to write. Scholars have a right to demand 
 the time and the learning which are here given to 
 boys. Why didn't you undertake a thorough, com- 
 plete Variorum? You had the chance in 1864 when 
 the Tercentenary enthusiasm was at its height, & 
 you could have gathered around you all the schol- 
 arship of England. Your sin of omission should be 
 dinned in your ears. I never take up one of your 
 Clarendon Series that this regret for the lost oppor- 
 tunity does not rise painfully. I shall never com- 
 plete that Variorum; one or two more plays at 
 most is all that I can expect to finish before my 
 death — But I had no thought of saying this when 
 I took up my pen. 
 
 Your theory in regard to the Quarto of 1603 is 
 very plausible; and don't you think it could be ex- 
 tended to other plays also where we find marked 
 contrasts in the earliest Quartos? How the mys- 
 tery thickens around that man, Shakespeare, the 
 more you study him! . . .
 
 i8o HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 Again thanking you for the "Hamlet," I re- 
 main, my dear Sir, very truly yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Philadelphia, 15 December, 1872 
 Dear Sir: A month or two ago I wrote you a few 
 lines of thanks for the "Hamlet" that you kindly 
 sent me, but as I keep no record whatsoever of my 
 letters I can now neither tell the date nor recall the 
 contents. I spoke of the Clarendon series in terms 
 which fell so far below my true estimate of its 
 value as to be almost depreciatory, or at least 
 negative. I sincerely hope that nothing in my letter 
 bore any other signification than that of complete 
 admiration for that invaluable series. If there were 
 any "buts allaying the good precedence" I pray 
 you ascribe them to hasty writing, one of the banes 
 of my life. 
 
 However, be that as it may, what I now desire 
 to do, for my own satisfaction solely, is to say how 
 thoroughly and heartily I admire and applaud your 
 edition of "Macbeth." And now, as my own edition 
 of this play is going through the press, each day's 
 proof-sheets impress me anew with the exhaustive 
 character of the notes of the Clarendon edition. 
 Verily, I am almost tempted at times to dash my 
 own aside, and give the whole thing up; my tex- 
 tual notes are my only stronghold, these your edi- 
 tion lacks, and now and then I don't care much for 
 them. I remember, when in London, hearing many
 
 CAPELL'S QUARTOS i8i 
 
 years ago your Albert Smith tell a story of a coun- 
 tryman of mine whom he had met who proclaimed, 
 "We Americans know 'most everything and things 
 we don't know ain't worth knowing!" Mutato 
 nomine, de Clarendon^ &c. &c. 
 
 There! my dear Sir, I've done my duty to my- 
 self, and borne my testimony, at least in part. 
 
 Wm. Goodwin, of Harvard College, wrote to me 
 lately that he had passed "a charming evening" 
 with you in Cambridge. Again, a Lieut.-Col. Med- 
 ley, of the Royal Engineers, dined with us and said 
 that not long ago he had passed a sort of a math- 
 ematical evening with your fellow-editor Mr. 
 Clark; and lastly we had the honor one evening of 
 a visit from Prof. Tyndall, who told me that he had 
 once the pleasure of looking over the Shakespeare 
 treasures in Cambridge under your guidance. So 
 that really I seem to have grown quite intimate 
 with you lately. 
 
 The mention of the Shakespeare treasures re- 
 minds me of a favour that I would ask at your 
 hands. Not long since I bought three Shakespeare 
 Quartos, said to have been once the property of 
 Edward Capell, and by him given to John Collins 
 (whom you recall as the editor of Capell's Notes) 
 in whose family they remained until the present 
 time when the grandson was obliged to part with 
 them. The volumes are full of Capell's collations 
 with other Quartos, in red and black ink, and one 
 or two MS. notes. Of course I am naturally anx- 
 ious to be assured of the genuineness of the hand-
 
 1 82 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 writing which can be done best by a comparison 
 with some of his writing known to be genuine. En- 
 closed I send you a tracing. Is it asking too much 
 to request you to compare it with some of Capell's 
 that is accessible to you & to let me know your opin- 
 ion. Of course I value the MS. notes, but I value 
 the Quartos more and they will remain to me even 
 should the former prove to be counterfeit. Pray 
 don't give yourself any trouble about this; it is, 
 as you see, merely the gratification of a more or 
 less idle curiosity — and this life time of ours is 
 precious. 
 
 Very sincerely yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 I' found the task of tracing harder than I thought; 
 what I send you is a very imperfect counterfeit 
 presentment, and will hardly serve the purpose, I 
 fear. 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Philadelphia^ 222 West Washington Square 
 
 4 August, 1873 
 
 Dear Mr. Wright: Among the very first copies 
 of "Macbeth", that I sent to England was one to 
 you. 
 
 Did it ever come to hand? 
 
 I don't write to exhort a "thank ye" if ever you 
 received it, but simply, in case of its miscarriage, 
 to send you another copy forthwith for your kind 
 acceptance, and beg you to believe that it is through
 
 TO W. J. ROLFE 183 
 
 no fault of mine that almost the very first copy that 
 reached England was not in your hands. 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W, J. Rolfe 
 
 Philadelphia, 30 November, 1873 
 Dear Rolfe : . . . I have been duller than the weed 
 that rots itself in ease on Lethe's wharf! (Confound 
 this pen!) I stagger under Hamlet and every now 
 and then I cast the load off altogether and browse 
 in strange pastures and then go back, lift a corner 
 of my old pack and say how heavy it is, and then 
 fall to pitying myself. So it goes. 
 
 Mrs. Furness puts me to shame — she is busy 
 with the proof-sheets of her Concordance. She has 
 sentimentally decided to have it of the same size 
 as my Variorum and for convenient reference the 
 Poems are to be printed at the end. 
 
 Where's your Photograph that you promised me 
 years ago.? Go right off and be took! I actually 
 succeeded in getting Collier^ to have his tooken; 
 he has a frosty but kindly face. 
 
 Now if you don't scratch me off a line sometime 
 to let me know how you are, and what you are 
 doing, you ought to have your eyes picked out 
 with a balladmaker's pen. 
 
 Yours faithfully 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 The initials on the envelope stand for D — n the 
 pen! 
 
 * Robert Paine Collier.
 
 1 84 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Philadelphia, 222 West Washington Square 
 
 7 December, 1873 
 
 My dear Sir: ... I thank you heartily for your 
 kind congratulations on the appearance of "Mac- 
 beth." Its success has been far beyond "Romeo 
 & Juliet," or my anticipations. The first edition 
 (of 500 copies) was exhausted in six weeks. It 
 seems now as though I were fairly in for it, and that 
 I must ahead with the other plays, although at 
 times I must confess my flesh quails. The manual 
 labour is so great, especially after all the excite- 
 ment of the chase is over, and the good done bears 
 so small a proportion to it, such a ha'porth of 
 bread to such an intolerable amount of sack, that 
 my heart sinks within me, and I feel "like giving 
 the whole thing up at once." And the nervousness 
 that haunts your waking and sleeping hours while 
 the sheets are going through the press cannot be 
 exaggerated. I verified in the proof-sheets every 
 reference in the textual notes (and I suppose you 
 did the same), and after all I have but little doubt 
 that my life would be in jeopardy if I were to re- 
 ceive a stroke for every misprint. 
 
 I have no special order in which to send out the 
 plays. I had fixed upon Anthony & Cleopatra, 
 simply because that serpent of old Nile charmed me 
 as deeply as ever she did Anthony, and I had the 
 collation all finished when the demand for Hamlet 
 was so emphatic that I yielded and have under- 
 taken that formidable task. It had to be done
 
 I 
 
 HAMLET 185 
 
 sometime and the sooner it's over the sooner to 
 rest, and like the little slave down South, who, 
 when asked why he so persistently kicked his 
 toes against a stone, replied that "they felt so 
 good when they had done aching," I have begun 
 Hamlet for purely selfish reasons. The worst of it 
 is that I am not sustained by the unbounded ad 
 miration of Hamlet which is so commonly expressed. 
 There are I think (but tell it not in Gath & pub 
 lish it not in the streets of Askelon), a dozen o 
 Shakespeare's plays which stand in higher rank! 
 Is it the feeling, which I cannot away with, that it 
 has been laboured over, that it is too highly fin- 
 ished? Did the consciousness creep over Shake- 
 speare that he had written an immortal work, and 
 so, like all self-consciousness, mar the performance? . 
 The more you study other characters in Shake-^ 
 speare the grander they grow — Hamlet dwindles. 
 But I am talking vile treason, or worse — nonsense. 
 I'm not sure that my judgment is unbiased — I 
 bear Hamlet a grudge for putting so much work 
 on me; when the work is finished I shall probably 
 think differently. 
 
 Mrs. Furness is diligently reading the proof- 
 sheets of her Concordance to the Poems. It will 
 take several months to finish it. For the sake of 
 easy reference she has decided to print the Poems 
 at the end. 
 
 You make me blush to the bones with the ac- 
 count of your labours in hand and prospective. By 
 contrast my life is spent in utter sloth and indo-
 
 1 86 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 lence. Never mind — it's a great consolation to 
 think that taking this life and the next we have 
 eternity before us. 
 
 Believe me, dear Mr. Wright, most sincerely 
 yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 Am I asking too much in begging you to send me 
 your Photograph.'* My mind is of that wishy- 
 washy nature that it takes great delight in the 
 outward presentment of those whom I hold in 
 choice esteem. 
 
 To Edmund K. Muspratt 
 
 29 April, 1875 
 Dear Edmund: Lo! I send you the counterfeit 
 presentment of my family, except that of my old- 
 est boy, of whom I have no photograph on hand. 
 
 I think of you and talk of you very often, and re- 
 call the dear old days in dear old Munich with un- 
 fading pleasure. How large a share in that pleas- 
 ure you occupy! 
 
 I'm a better correspondent than I used to be, 
 and it would give me great, very great pleasure to 
 hear from you. I suppose, like all your countrymen 
 of culture & intelligence, you take a great interest 
 in politics — I do not. There was nothing here to 
 keep such an interest alive except slavery. And 
 that's dead and done for, & has left no excitement 
 that will not be well managed without my help. 
 So I have given myself to the study of Shakespeare,
 
 TO EDMUND K. MUSPRATT 187 
 
 and to the education of my boys. I've become as 
 deaf as twenty-seven adders and live a most se- 
 cluded, humdrum, prosaic, and utterly happy life. 
 
 I'm at work o' evenings on Hamlet; when the 
 volume is printed next year I'll send you a copy, 
 but for the love of love don't read it if you wish to 
 remain sane. 
 
 We sometimes talk of going across to England — 
 but we can't go without the children — and to 
 take them all seems little less formidable than to 
 manoeuvre an army. If we ever should go, rest 
 assured I shall deploy their ranks in front of you 
 and we'll ha' a gude crack anent old lang syne. 
 
 Pray commend me to Mrs. Muspratt whose 
 photograph with yours & the children's holds high 
 rank among our choice ones. 
 
 Good-bye, dear old boy. 
 Yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To A. H. Dooley 
 
 Philadelphia, 222 West Washington Square 
 
 25 May, 1877 
 
 Dear Sir: Probably my letter miscarried which I 
 wrote in reply to yours of 5th February wherein 
 you ask the same question as that in yours of 24 
 May, just received, in reference to my editing all of 
 Shakespeare's Plays. I therefore repeat what I then 
 said, to the effect that I shall probably not live 
 long enough to complete the Variorum edition of 
 Shakespeare. It is purely a labour of love on my
 
 1 88 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 part. I have never received a dollar of compen- 
 sation for any of the volumes thus far published. 
 
 You ask me which edition of Shakespeare I con- 
 sider the best for "every-day reading." If by 
 "every-day reading" you mean one without notes, 
 I should recommend the Globe Edition in one small 
 volume. If you mean with notes, none surpasses 
 the Variorum of 1821, which is unfortunately 
 somewhat scarce and decidedly expensive; it is, 
 however, the basis of all other modern editions. 
 
 For the general "every-day" reader the text of 
 all the various editions does not differ enough to 
 make it any matter which edition he uses. When 
 we read the dramas for the sake of the plot and the 
 charm of the dialogue, we don't care to stop and 
 discuss a difficult passage which conveys a glim- 
 mering of sense to the hasty reader, and nearly 
 every one of the difficult passages do that. We are 
 satisfied with that glimmering of sense and we read 
 straight on. Choose, therefore, some edition in 
 good legible type and on good paper and experience 
 the "purest delight that the drama can give." If 
 you begin to discuss critical points no one edition 
 will satisfy you — but you'll want all. 
 I remain, yours truly 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 « 
 
 To Francis J. Child 
 
 Wallingford, 15 July, 1877 
 
 My alderliefest Professor: How I thank you 
 for your most delightful words of cheer, which I
 
 HAMLET AND INSANITY 189 
 
 should have acknowledged long ago but that I have 
 been very busy, following Walt Whitman's im- 
 mortal example, in "loafing and inviting my soul 
 and giving barbaric yawps over the roofs of the 
 world." 
 
 In sooth "Hamlet" left me weak; a little more 
 pressing, I think, would have made me join the 
 feast that was toward at the close of the Danish 
 tragedy. There is a terrible strain, and I ain't 
 a-going to deny it, in seeing such a book as that 
 through the press, pursued as you are all the while, 
 like a fate, by the consciousness that every puzzling 
 passage has its little devotee, lying perdu, all pre- 
 pared to burst out and rend you if you diverge a 
 hair's breadth from the direct forthright. 
 
 No words of praise can come to me from any one 
 that will be so grateful to me as yours. As to thank- 
 ing me for writing myself your pupil, why, bless 
 me! it's one of my proudest titles, and one which I 
 shall never resign. This reminds me — I saw in a 
 newspaper that Harvard College had honoured me 
 with the degree of M.A. It is excessively pleasant 
 to be 90 honoured and remembered — but what is 
 to be done with my old degree.? To be sure I can't 
 pretend too much respect for it: I have never used 
 it — but my printer's soul wonders how Sibley is 
 to "fix" the thing in the Triennial. 
 
 I am heartily glad that you scout Hamlet's in- 
 sanity. The insanity is in the critics; only tell it \ 
 not to Gath and let it not be known in Askelon 
 that this is my opinion. I'm afraid if it were known.
 
 I90 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 I couldn't go within a league of an Insane Asylum 
 without being caught and clapped in a strait 
 waistcoat. As you say, we are all of us insane in 
 one sense of the word; that is, all of us sensible 
 fellows, and very thankful to God we ought to be 
 for it too. The Quakers, who come the nearest of 
 any of us to being sane (and what a horrid "drab 
 world" they live in!) are just saved by their in- 
 sanity about dress. 
 
 Mrs. Furness sends kindest thanks for your re- 
 membrance of her — while I, as you well know, 
 am always 
 
 Affectionately yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Francis J. Child 
 
 Wallingford, 5 August, 1877 
 
 Alderliefest Professor: "My heart leaps up 
 when I behold" (your notes before me lie), "so it 
 was when my life began" (at College), "so is it now 
 I am a man, so be it when I shall grow old, or let 
 me die." And it isn't the handwriting that so de- 
 lights me, although that hath its great charms. A 
 plague on all legible letter writers, say I : you get 
 through their letters too soon — that is, if you 
 love your correspondents; there's no linked sweet- 
 ness long drawn out, whereas over your chirog- 
 raphy, which I would fain emulate but can't, I 
 pause and look and turn and twist, and reread 
 from far and near, and sometimes give up in de- 
 spair and am on the point of relegating the expla-
 
 A MYSTERIOUS DEGREE 191 
 
 nation till the day of Judgment when there is noth- 
 ing hidden that should not be revealed, when all of 
 a sudden the people that sat in darkness see a great 
 light and all the sentence is as clear as copperplate, 
 and I utter selah with a pensive and grateful mind. 
 You remember the great English Conveyancer, 
 Hayward, I think his name was, who had three dis- 
 tinct and well-defined handwritings — one no one 
 could read but himself, a second none but his con- 
 fidential clerk, and a third that no one on earth 
 could read. Don't think I complain. I love every 
 indecipherable scratch of your pen, and was really 
 touched by your last note at the thought that you 
 should have dropped your pressing work to give 
 me those explanations about the mysterious A.M. 
 In recognising your hand in it I hold the degree a 
 high honour. Eliot has explained to me that the 
 degree of A.M. now given is very different from 
 the old boughten one and I am grateful for the 
 nod of encouragement given me by my venerable 
 Mother. Critics are falling foul of me in all direc- 
 tions for saying in my Preface to Hamlet that the 
 Danish Prince was neither mad nor pretended to 
 be so. Though I have reasons as thick as blackber- 
 ries for my opinion, I think I shall take warning 
 by the Indian judge Macaulay refers to, whos^ de- 
 cisions were received with applause until on an 
 unlucky day he gave his reasons for them, and 
 I shall maintain a discreet and masterly silence. 
 
 I have begun to work on "Lear" and am read- 
 ing endless wearisome German stuff on the viola-
 
 192 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 tion of the family relations as the basis of the 
 tragedy. And with the thermometer at 90 degrees. 
 Ora pro nobis. 
 
 Ever thine always and all ways 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Francis J. Child 
 
 22 March, 1880 
 
 Alderliefest Professor: You have not often 
 done a kinder act than when you wrote the letter 
 which came to me today. 
 
 No one has ever yet said to me such an appreci- 
 ative word anent the labour and the time that lie 
 hidden sometimes in a fraction of a line. Not in- 
 frequently I have spent a whole evening in hunt- 
 ing down a single quotation — I remember that I 
 once went through every page of Ben Jonson, and 
 there are nine volumes in GifFord's edition, in 
 search of a single line — and I got it. I spent 
 nearly a whole night, till cockcrow, in search of 
 "queasie" in the Paston Letters, and four or five 
 words absorbed the whole of it. So too in Latimer's 
 Sermons after "flibberjibe." And sometimes, as 
 you truly say, after all the time and trouble is 
 spent the note is struck out. I thank thee for this 
 word. 
 
 Si tu valeas ego etiam valeo. 
 Yours always 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 Such letters as yours compensate me for every 
 hour of toil — How I thank you for it. But what
 
 THREE INSOLUBLE PROBLEMS 193 
 
 right have I to talk of toil beside yours. I shall 
 always sit most humbly at your feet — and glad to 
 be there. 
 
 To F.A. Leo^ 
 
 Philadelphia, 222 West Washington Square 
 
 Srdof May, 1881 
 
 My dear Leo: You'll not need an apology from 
 me for this long neglect of your note when I tell you 
 that my time and thoughts have been entirely ab- 
 sorbed by Mrs. Furness's ill health. I took her 
 abroad last Summer hoping to reach the Oberam- 
 mergau, but we got no farther than Heidelberg 
 when we turned around, and I brought her home 
 just before Christmas not so well as when we 
 started. Since then she has been, I trust, improv- 
 ing very slowly, but still improving. And now I 
 place great hopes in the balmy air of our country 
 seat whither we shall go in a few weeks. Squaring 
 the circle, perpetual motion, and the meaning of 
 "Vllorxa" are three problems which the mind of 
 man has not been created capable of solving. It 
 is therefore no disgrace to have failed in any one 
 of them, and you'll not bear me hard if I confess 
 that I am not convinced by your explanation of 
 the last. But this I will say, with perfect sincer- 
 ity, that I think it excessively ingenious — it bursts 
 upon one with the unexpectedness of a stroke of wit. 
 Your other emendations in the Athenaeum of 
 
 * Editor of the Shakespeare Jahrbuch, and President of the 
 -'Deutsche Shakespcare-gesellschaft " of Weimar.
 
 194 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 27 Nov. I have not seen. We were on the voyage 
 home at that date, and my back Nos are lost. But 
 I'll order another copy. But you'll never be more 
 ingenious than you are in "Vllorxa." 
 I remain, very truly yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Francis /. Child 
 
 Philadelphia, 14 February, 1882 
 
 Alderliefest Master mine, we have here on 
 the twenty-fourth of this month a "foolish banquet 
 toward," to which all the leal sons of Harvard in 
 this neighbourhood will gather. Eliot, our ad- 
 mirable President, has promised to come, and our 
 hopes are high that you may be induced to accom- 
 pany him. I cannot express to you with what gen- 
 eral joy your consent would be hailed. Do come, 
 then, and "sit by our side and let the world slip, 
 we shall ne'er be younger." 
 
 And I am unselfish in thus urging you. It is un- 
 certain whether or not I shall even see you. Mrs. 
 Furness's health for a long time past has been in- 
 firm, and although I trust that she is no worse, nay 
 even better, yet I cannot leave her even for an 
 hour without becoming horribly nervous and dis- 
 traught. In my fainness the other day I invited 
 Eliot to be my guest during his visit. But since 
 then I have seen that Mrs. Furness's health must 
 debar me from that pleasure. And you too — what 
 would I not give to have you under my roof! But 
 let me hope for brighter times when such choice 
 delights may be.
 
 DEATH OF MRS. FURNESS 195 
 
 If you come, the Committee authorizes the 
 assurance that you need take no thought of purse 
 nor scrip, nor of the "fond shekels of the tested 
 gold." You shall be housed in the same hotel in 
 which the Supper takes place, and your very bed- 
 room will be shaken by the applause which will 
 greet any words which you may speak in the 
 dining-room. 
 
 Think it over, Master dear, and under no cir- 
 cumstances forget that I am always and all ways 
 affectionately 
 
 Yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 The illness of his wife encroached farther upon 
 Furness's thoughts of Shakespeare, until in 1882 
 all work upon the Variorum was smothered by his 
 immediate concern. After their return from the 
 unavailing journey to Europe in search of re- 
 newed health for Mrs. Furness, every possible 
 means was tried to restore it, but with the summer 
 of 1883 the signs of swiftly increasing weakness 
 became, alas, unmistakable and the years of un- 
 alloyed happiness were drawing softly to their 
 pitiable close. The sombre days of autumn came, 
 and when the thirtieth of October dawned that 
 clear, matchless spirit slipped — ah, so reluctantly 
 — from her husband's arms, leaving behind a des- 
 olation in his heart that never knew alteration. 
 
 No finer, no more fitting tribute to Helen Kate 
 Furness could be written than that which appeared 
 in The German Shakespeare Yearbook for 1884: 
 
 "A wife, the faithful fellow-labourer of her
 
 196 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 husband, advances, step by step, by his side, and 
 adds not merely light subordinate aid, — no, she 
 develops into the learned companion, into the 
 elected colleague of her husband: 
 
 "Witness the volume of the Furness-edition, 
 above all witness her own concordance to the 
 Poems. 
 
 "Not many words of fame does she need! She 
 shares not only that which adorns the name of 
 Horace Howard Furness — aye, this fame she has 
 increased, and has her own good share in it, and 
 the sorrowing husband will find some consolation, 
 albeit faint, in the assurance that his wife will live 
 in men's minds so long as Shakespeare is studied." 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Philadelphia, 222 fFest Washington Square 
 
 24 January, 1884 
 
 My dear Wright: You ask what a "lone man'' 
 like yourself can say to me. Indeed you have said 
 all that can be said. A pressure of the hand speaks 
 more than any words — the pressure is warm, the 
 words are cold. And bethink you, which of us two 
 is the lonelier now? 
 
 As you say, life, a merely animated existence, 
 has to be lived out to the end. We cannot stop the 
 beating of the heart nor the heaving of the lungs. 
 These must go on, until God, in his pitying grace, 
 bid them cease for ever — and we must live, not 
 from day to day but from hour to hour. 
 
 Thanks too for this photograph with its "frosty 
 but kindly" face. Would that you could change
 
 HELEN KATE FURNESS
 
 DEATH OF MRS. FURNESS 197 
 
 years with me — though we are not so very far 
 apart, but every little would be a great gain to me. 
 
 Did I ever send you a photograph of Mrs. Fur- 
 ness? At any rate, I'll send you in a few weeks a 
 phototype which you can put in her "Concord- 
 ance." 
 
 With manifold thanks, dear Wright, for your 
 sympathy I remain 
 
 Affectionately yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE SEYBERT COMMISSION 
 
 1883-1887 
 
 With the realization that in work lay the only- 
 true nepenthe for the great sorrow that had all but 
 shattered his life, Horace Howard Furness turned 
 somewhat eagerly to the duties connected with the 
 Seybert Commission. At first he was impelled 
 merely by the anticipation of another addition to 
 "the daily round, the trivial task," but even as the 
 investigation progressed he found his interest 
 stirred by the intricacies of the problem and his 
 sense of humour awakened by the incidents of the 
 seances. So it is that, as we gain the full perspec- 
 tive of his life, this work in connection with the 
 Seybert Commission stands out as the touch which 
 overcame the inertia born of his irreparable per- 
 sonal loss, the spark which rekindled his lifeless in- 
 terest in Shakespeare and induced him to pick up 
 again the broken threads of the Variorum. Were 
 this the sole profit of these years spent in the in- 
 vestigation of Spiritualism, how immeasurably 
 were the world in debt to them for this alone. But 
 of itself his work upon the Commission is singu- 
 larly interesting; it formed a part of his life, and a 
 part by no means isolated from the rest: in after 
 years he referred frequently to his experiences 
 during the three-year search for Spiritualistic truth.
 
 THE SEYBERT COMMISSION 199 
 
 A word about the origin of the Commission. 
 Mr. Henry Seybert shortly before his death in 
 1883 endowed a chair of Philosophy at the Univer- 
 sity of Pennsylvania, in memory of his father, and 
 to the gift added a condition that the University 
 should appoint a commission to investigate the 
 truth of modern spiritualism. Mr. Seybert was 
 himself an ardent believer in the doctrine, and the 
 followers of spiritualism were at that time even 
 more numerous than they are today. The an- 
 nouncement of such a plan, therefore, aroused 
 much widespread interest. Seybert did not live to 
 see this condition complied with. Early in 1884, 
 however, the Commission was appointed by the 
 University, composed of the following Philadel- 
 phians: William Pepper, then Provost of the Uni- 
 versity and Professor of the Theory and Practice of 
 Medicine; Joseph Leidy, the eminent anatomist 
 and biologist. Professor of Zoology and Compar- 
 ative Anatomy; George A. Koenig, Professor of 
 Chemistry; George S. Fullerton, the first incum- 
 bent of the Seybert Chair of Philosophy; Robert 
 E. Thompson, Professor of History and English 
 Literature; Coleman Sellers, an Engineer of promi- 
 nence and distinction; J. William White, then 
 Physical Director of the University; Calvin B. 
 Knerr, a homeopathic physician; and Horace 
 Howard Furness. 
 
 This was an able and distinguished body of men, 
 selected from many various walks of life, and they 
 entered upon the investigations with interest and
 
 200 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 earnestness. Although Dr. Pepper, as Provost, 
 was, ex oficio, Chairman, Furness was appointed 
 Acting Chairman, and upon him in this capacity 
 rested the chief burden of the Commission's ac- 
 tivities. It is interesting to note that at the first 
 meeting, when each member declared his opinion 
 on the subject was entirely unprejudiced either to- 
 wards or against the doctrine, Furness alone ex- 
 pressed a "leaning in favour of the substantial 
 truth of Spiritualism." The entire Commission 
 affirmed its readiness to accept any conclusion 
 warranted by facts. Although at all interviews 
 and seances, every minutest condition required by 
 each medium was complied with, and although the 
 investigation was thorough, covering fully such as- 
 pects of Spiritualism as independent slate-writing, 
 spirit-rappings, reading sealed letters, materializa- 
 tion, and clairvoyance, yet was the Commission 
 forced to announce in its Preliminary Report, pub- 
 lished in May, 1887, that it had brought to light 
 no novel fact upon which a belief of Spiritualism 
 could be based. To Furness this failure was at the 
 outset a disappointment; in the Report he says, "I 
 do not hesitate to acknowledge that I have been 
 throughout sincerely and extremely anxious to be- 
 come converted to Spiritualism. In whatever direc- 
 tion my judgement is warped, it is warped in favour 
 of that belief. I cannot conceive of the texture 
 of that mind which would not welcome such an 
 indisputable proof of immortality as Spiritualism 
 professes to hold out." But his disappointment was
 
 FRAUD IN SPIRITUALISM 201 
 
 soon changed to disgust when he was confronted 
 with all the wearisome repetition of fraud, deceit, 
 and trickery which his investigations disclosed. 
 Yet his disgust was not unmixed with amusement; 
 much that was ludicrous, much that was patently 
 incongruous appealed to his keen sense of humour. 
 He took great delight in enticing the "spirits" who 
 materialized for his benefit into mazes of absurd 
 assertions; in questioning the ethereal forms of 
 eminent men who appeared before him upon 
 obscure and disputed passages of Shakespeare; 
 and his report of his painfully assiduous, albeit 
 utterly unsuccessful attempt to develop his own 
 mediumistic power is incomparably amusing. The 
 sarcastic and pointed vein which runs through all 
 his contributions to the Report created not a little 
 stir in the reviews and journals of the day. The 
 devout disciples of Spiritualism had not at the 
 beginning welcomed "these Seybert men" whom 
 one medium stigmatized as "old scoundrels who 
 should never darken her doors," and in spite of all 
 their clear and meticulous notes on every seance, 
 backed by their reputations as men of wide intel- 
 ligence and deep learning, the publication of the 
 Report brought forth much acrimonious and de- 
 famatory criticism. The levity with which Fur- 
 ness described his experiences especially could not 
 be brooked by the true believers. Yet his position 
 was unassailable: he had entered upon the investi- 
 gation with a mind willing to accept the truth of 
 Spiritualism; he had found "fraud where he looked
 
 202 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 for honesty and emptiness where he had looked for 
 fulness," and the only fact that struck him was 
 the ludicrous — pitifully ludicrous — methods by 
 which the mediums deceived an unsuspecting pub- 
 lic. This it was his duty to report, and he re- 
 ported it accurately, and truthfully, and if he 
 found nothing that merited his approval, he was 
 not bounden to repress his sense of humour or his 
 sarcasm in denouncing the deceit. 
 
 Unfortunate is it that the period covered by the 
 activities of the Commission are lean years in 
 regard to letters of Furness's which have been pre- 
 served. The only references to these investigations 
 in his correspondence are found in some dozen 
 letters to his children, written during the winter of 
 1885. The entire tale of his explorations in Spirit- 
 ualism are, however, included in the Preliminary 
 Report of the Commission. 
 
 To H. H. Fumes s^ Jr., and W. H. Furness, jrd 
 
 222 West Washington Square 
 
 2 November, 1884 
 
 . . . Last Monday, I went to New York to engage 
 Mrs. Margaret Fox Kane to come here and give 
 some seances for the Seybert Com. She agreed and 
 is to be our guest, next Wednesday, for a few days. 
 I hope the spirits will cut up no high jinks while she 
 is in this house. The raps and knockings were ex- 
 traordinarily strong and persistent all the while I 
 was talking with her about her visit. She inter- 
 preted them as manifestations of spiritual pleasure
 
 A STRONG MEDIUM 203 
 
 at her consent to come to Phila. After leaving her 
 I called on Slade, the medium acknowledged by- 
 all as being one of the very strongest ever known. 
 I had a seance with him, in the broad daylight, 
 and certainly the phenomena were extraordinary, 
 not to say uncanny. Strong, vigorous writing 
 appeared at once on the closed slates, and the 
 slate was at one time taken from Slade's hand 
 under the table, and poked up above the table at 
 the side behind Slade (who sat sideways at the 
 table that his feet might not be underneath) and 
 farthest from him. Three good blows were deliv- 
 ered on my leg, on the side away from Slade, and 
 my chair with myself in it was pulled a foot away 
 from the table! I felt creepy. I didn't know but 
 what they'd gouge out my eyes next. 
 
 I am anxious to get Slade here also, but his com- 
 ing is doubtful. His health is very poor, being very 
 weak after a stroke of paralysis. . . . 
 
 9 November, 1884 
 Well, this week we have supped oflP spirits, but 
 have not been" intoxicated. On Wednesday Mrs. 
 Margaret Fox Kane arrived. You know she is 
 historically interesting, as being, with her sister, 
 the first to start, in 1848, the vast movement of 
 modern Spiritualism. She is a small gentle little 
 woman, with a ready and sympathetic smile, 
 which greatly illuminates an otherwise plain face. 
 There is so little self-assertion about her that she 
 rather wins your favour at first sight. She has a
 
 204 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 timid air, and a little bashful catch in her breath 
 when talking, so that it seems as though a very 
 harsh, bluff manner would make her acknowledge 
 that black was white. 
 
 She came late in the p.m. only a little while be- 
 fore dinner — at which we had a pleasant sociable 
 time, with only Polly & Miss Logan present. 
 After dinner, and while Miss Logan was still at the 
 table, I thought it best to make due arrangements 
 for the Session of the Seybert Com. in the eve'g, 
 and to that end asked Mrs. Kane if she thought 
 the spirits would find the dining-room convenient. 
 Whereupon a most vigorous succession of raps be- 
 gan on the table under our very hands as an indica- 
 tion of the spirits' pleasure. Miss Logan sat un- 
 moved, until I turned to her & said, "Do you hear 
 the spirits rapping?" And then you should have 
 seen her jump. I laughed till the tears came. She 
 had thought that I was drumming on the table 
 with my fingers, but when assured that the noise 
 came from the spirits she bounded from her seat 
 with horror, & astonishment on every feature, 
 ejaculating, "Bless me! bless me!" We tried the 
 study, the parlour, and the library in succession & 
 found the raps especially loud in one corner of the 
 latter. But after all the dining-room was the best 
 and there the Committee met in the eve'g. We 
 put the spirits bravely through their paces for an 
 hour, and held another session the next evening. 
 With neither of these meetings was Mrs. Kane 
 satisfied, but we heard enough to serve as a ground-
 
 MRS. MARGARET FOX KANE 205 
 
 work for our conclusions and held no more. What 
 these conclusions were, of course I am not at lib- 
 erty to say. The next even'g, Friday, your Aunt 
 Nannie gathered a group of eight or ten friends & 
 they had a high old time with Mrs. Kane & the 
 spirits; the latter certainly showed an intimate ac- 
 quaintance with the family affairs of some of the 
 guests, but made a terrible mull of It In sending a 
 message to your uncle Frank from his father! 
 
 To George S. Fullerton 
 
 November, 1884 
 
 My DEAR Fullerton : You remember that the 
 
 members of The Seybert Commission separated 
 
 last evening with the understanding that we should 
 
 meet Mrs. Kane again this evening, If Mrs. Kane 
 
 desired it, and that they requested me to lay the 
 
 question before her for her decision. 
 
 Accordingly, I had an interview with her this 
 morning, of which the following Is as accurate an 
 account as I can remember. 
 
 I told her that the Commission had now had 
 two seances with her, and that the conclusion to 
 which they had come Is that the so-called raps are 
 confined wholly to her person, whether produced 
 by her voluntarily or Involuntarily they had not 
 attempted to decide; ^ furthermore, that although 
 
 ^ The complete explanation of Mrs. Kane's power was explained by 
 Furness in a letter to Mr. Edward H. Coates, written twenty-seven 
 years later, on December 26, 191 1. Herein he says: 
 
 "I once devoted a whole winter to the investigation of modern 
 spiritualism and saw every phenomenon in the spiritual realm except 
 levitation and the handling of red-hot glass chimneys — and I found
 
 2o6 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 thus satisfied in their own minds they were anxious 
 to treat her with all possible deference and consid- 
 eration, and accordingly had desired me to say to 
 her that if she thought another seance with her 
 would or might modify or reverse their conclusion, 
 they held themselves ready to meet her again this 
 evening and renew the investigations; at the same 
 time I felt it my duty to add that in that case 
 the examination would necessarily be of the most 
 searching description. 
 
 Mrs. Kane replied that the manifestations at 
 both seances had been of an unsatisfactory nature, 
 so unsatisfactory that she really could not blame 
 the Commission for arriving at their conclusion. 
 In her present state of health she doubted whether 
 a third meeting would prove any better than the 
 two already held. It might be even more unsatis- 
 factory, and instead of removing the present belief 
 of the Commission it might add confirmation to it. 
 In view of these considerations, she decided not 
 to hold another seance. 
 
 Afterward, during the forenoon (you know she 
 has been and still is my guest), she recurred to the 
 subject, and added that if hereafter her health im- 
 proved it would give her pleasure to make a free- 
 will offering to the Commission of a number of 
 seances for further investigations. 
 
 nothing but fraud and self-delusion. ... I have had as a guest under 
 my roof poor little Margaret Fox Kane, and detected the rappings as 
 made in her poor little ankles, and when I told her so, was met only by 
 a sad, faint smile. There was a tragedy for you! I could never have 
 shaken off the gloom and misery of it all, had there not been a humour- 
 ous side to it. But of anything like truth in it — not a shred!"
 
 MRS. PATTERSON 207 
 
 I forgot to tell you, when we last met, that yes- 
 terday morning, the 6th of November, I brought 
 away from Mrs. Patterson our sealed slate. It con- 
 tains no writing, so Mrs. Patterson says. During 
 the many months it has been in this medium's pos- 
 session I have made to her most urgent appeals, 
 both in person and by letter, to fulfil her promise 
 of causing the writing to appear in it. Her invari- 
 able excuse has been her lack of time. 
 
 I Remain Yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness' 
 
 Acting Chairman 
 
 To H. H. F. Jr. ^ W. H. F. 3rd 
 
 222 fFest Washington Square 
 
 16 November, 1884 
 
 Our own darling boys : I always like to give you 
 some account of my week so I'll begin with last 
 Monday, when in the p.m. I went to New York, 
 got a bite of dinner, and then to Slade's, the 
 "mejum's." His family is not large certainly, con- 
 sisting only of his niece, a stylish-looking girl of 
 some twenty "summers," but very deaf, almost as 
 deaf as I am, and his amanuensis, a Miss Hall, 
 quite cultivated and bright. They were expecting 
 me & received me with much cordiality, and 
 Slade too beamed upon me with a sort of malicious 
 twinkle in his eye, as though spotting a victim. 
 
 At eight, quite a company had assembled to 
 witness some materialization in the back parlor 
 by a Miss Roberts, a nice-looking young things
 
 2o8 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 quite too nice and quite too young to venture on 
 the career of deceit which she at once proceeded to 
 display as soon as the gas was extinguished. It was 
 the same old story, of which I am growing tired. 
 Spirits in white emerged a few inches & retired, &c, 
 &c. At the close I was summoned into the Cabinet 
 where the medium was seated, pretending by her 
 talk that she was an Indian Squaw: after she had 
 clasped both my hands so that I couldn't feel 
 around in the pitch dark, spirits punched me in 
 various regions of the body; from the location and 
 feel of the punch I was convinced that it was done 
 by the medium's foot or knee. After the exhibition 
 was over & the company gone, Slade, the girls, & 
 I had some crackers & ale & discussed the evening's 
 performance; to my great surprise, the whole thing 
 was pronounced by the young women (for Slade 
 discreetly held his tongue) a most barefaced fraud; 
 their terms were unmeasured in denouncing it. 
 The party broke up at about eleven-thirty and 
 then Slade & I sat talking and smoking until after 
 one o'clock. — his talk was highly interesting 
 about his early youth & his experiences abroad and 
 about the lights and shadows of his chequered 
 career; he is really a very pleasant man, not par- 
 ticularly intelligent, & by no means cultured, but 
 he has a plaintive look, & most modest retiring 
 manners, far removed from those of a blustering 
 charlatan. Well, then, what do you think.? Can 
 you conceive of it.'' — your Father actually un- 
 dressed and lay down on the very edge of the bed
 
 A NIGHT WITH SLADE 209 
 
 wherein Slade was already lying. Presto! and the 
 fun began. I can't say with Ferdinand in "The 
 Tempest" that "Hell was empty and all the devils 
 were there!" but the Devil's own tattoo was 
 begun on the footboard of the bed & then on the 
 headboard, with variations of sundry punches all 
 over my body. The room was not pitch dark, 
 some little light came from the stove, but if Slade 
 was at the bottom of all the shindy he was cer- 
 tainly very adroit. In the midst of all the bangs 
 and thwacks under which the bed was shaking, 
 plump came a big bundle full on my stomjack. I 
 enjoyed it much & begged the spirits to keep it up, 
 and they did for about half an hour when Slade 
 gradually dropped off to sleep & the racket as 
 gradually subsided. I don't think I slept a solid 
 unconscious wink all night, and at 7.30 crept out 
 of bed; this aroused Slade, whereupon the noises 
 again began. I watched my companion most 
 closely, but could not, although it was broad day- 
 light, detect the least motion on his part, nor any 
 visible cause of the alarums. 
 
 I left Slade sleeping & went out with the young 
 ladies to a neighboring restaurant, got breakfast, 
 caught the ten o'clock train for Phila., reached 
 there safely, stopped in Walnut St. & had a Turk- 
 ish bath of two hours & so home. 
 
 Although I experienced nothing that could not 
 have been done by clever legerdemain, yet I am 
 very glad that I had the physical endurance to 
 go through with it. To pass a night with Slade
 
 2IO HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 is, I suppose, next to passing one in a haunted 
 house. ^ . . . 
 
 A Memorandum for the Seyhert Commission 
 
 I CALLED this morning (Saturday, 14th Novem- 
 ber, 1885) on Mr. W. M. Keeler, and told him 
 that we were ready to investigate [his spiritual 
 photographs] if we could be allowed to watch the 
 very points where material agency ceases and spir- 
 itual begins, but these very points Mr. Keeler 
 forbade us to examine, and that the failure rested 
 with him. . . . 
 
 I endeavoured to impress him throughout the 
 interview with our utter incredulity in the spiritual 
 nature of his photographs, and yet to give him no 
 loop to hang a charge of discourteous or illiberal 
 treatment on. I asked him to give me, in my pri- 
 vate capacity, a sitting at his earliest convenience, 
 and that I should not be satisfied with less than a 
 cherub on my head, one on each shoulder, and 
 a full-blown angel on my breast. He laughingly 
 assented. 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 * Furness's last sight of Slade (as recorded in the Preliminary Re- 
 port) is interesting: 
 
 "I last saw him in Boston, when, as I was passing along Shawmut 
 Avenue, I caught sight of him at a window; he eagerly beckoned me to 
 come in, and, as I settled myself in a chair, I said to him, 'Well, and 
 how are the old Spirits coming on? ' Whereupon he laughed and replied, 
 *0 pshaw! you never believed in them, did you? '"
 
 DR. KNERR UNMASKS A MEDIUM 211 
 To H. H. F. Jr. ^ IV. H. F. 3rd 
 
 222 West Washington Square 
 
 30 November, 1884 
 
 . . , You'll think that I am absorbed with Spir- 
 itualism, but "believe me I am not." It so happens 
 that Dr. Knerr has fallen into the habit of coming 
 here every Sunday evening for an hour's chat, and 
 he has entered into the investigation with great 
 zeal, and, during this last week, with great result. 
 Now prepare yourself. Are you ready .^^ Well, Dr. 
 Knerr has unmasked the slate-writing of Mrs. Pat- 
 terson! By a long course of apparent credulity 
 Dr. K. has grown to be looked upon by Mrs. P. as 
 one of her firmest believers. So last week Dr. Knerr 
 carried with him to the seance a small hand mirror, 
 which he so adroitly manipulated under the table 
 that he had the satisfaction of seeing the medium 
 open the slate, write on it, take out the little pencil, 
 close the slate & put the bit of pencil on top. All 
 the while his attention was supposed by her to be 
 absorbed in deciphering the written communica- 
 tions from departed spirits. He watched her rep- 
 etition of the feat three times & then came away 
 without intimating to her his detection of the trick. 
 He is now anxious to have me follow his example, & 
 perhaps I shall. If I do I'll let you hear further. 
 I hate to waste so much time. What abhorrent 
 deceit is met at every turn in this Spiritualism! 
 The very name is becoming a stench in my nos- 
 trils. At the same time I'll go on with it to the very 
 end. . . .
 
 212 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 During these months, In which the Commission 
 was occupied in investigating the claims of Slade, 
 Mrs. Kane, Mrs. Patterson, and Mrs. Lord, Furness 
 was striving patiently to develop his own alleged 
 mediumistic powers. His amusing account, printed 
 in the Preliminary Report, follows: 
 
 "At my very first seance, as a member of this 
 Commission, I was told by the spirit of Elias Hicks, 
 through Mrs. Patterson, that I was gifted by nature 
 with great Mediumistic power. Another Medium, 
 with whom I had a session shortly afterwards (I 
 cannot remember his name, but he advertised him- 
 self as a great 'Australian' Medium), professed 
 himself quite unable to exert any power in the pres- 
 ence of a Medium so much stronger than himself. 
 * Father Holland,' the control of Mrs. Williams, in 
 New York, assured me that I merely needed devel- 
 opment to have Spiritualistic manifestations at my 
 own home: and Joseph CafFray was so emphatic 
 in his assertions of my extraordinary Spiritual 
 capacities, that I began to think that it was my 
 duty to quicken these dormant powers and not let 
 them 'fust in me unused,' and if successful, when 
 I had become fully 'developed,' I could offer my- 
 self to my fellow Commissioners as a corpus vile on 
 which every experiment could be made, and at a 
 great saving of expense. 
 
 "Spiritualists constantly reproach investigators 
 of Spiritualism with faint-heartedness and lack of 
 patience; they allege that at the very first rebuff all 
 investigating ardor cools, and that one failure is 
 deemed sufficient to condemn a whole system.
 
 MEDIUMISTIC DEVELOPMENT 213 
 
 "If the case be really thus, Spiritualists have a 
 show of reason for this objection, and it behooves 
 the Seybert Commission to give no ground for It. 
 
 "After much deliberation I decided to put my- 
 self In the hands of Caff ray for 'development.' I 
 preferred this Medium, first, because he was the 
 most emphatic of all in his assertions of my almost 
 unrivalled mediumistic powers, and in his confidence 
 that indications of Spiritual growth would be mani- 
 fest in three or four weeks, and at the end of six 
 weeks or of two months, I might celebrate my 
 Spiritual majority by slatefuls of messages; and, 
 secondly, Mr. Hazard assured me again and again 
 that Caffray was the 'greatest Medium In the coun- 
 try,' and did not Mr. Hazard, by way of proof, 
 show me a stoppered vial containing a card, on 
 which, through Caffray's Mediumship, a message 
 had been written while the closed vial was fast held 
 in his closed hand.'' 
 
 "The first step was the purchase of two slates 
 from Caffray, for which I gave him several dollars. 
 They were common enough to look at, but ah! they 
 had been for months in his Aiaterializlng Cabinet 
 and had absorbed Spiritual power to the point of 
 saturation, and fairly exuded it. I brought them 
 carefully from New York, and folded them in black 
 muslin, and laid them away in a dark drawer. 
 
 " Cafi"ray told me that with a beginner the Spirits 
 found it somewhat easier to write with French 
 chalk than with slate pencil. So I bought a box of 
 a dozen pieces, such as tailors use.
 
 214 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 "The instructions which I received from Caff ray 
 were to keep those slates carefully in the dark, and 
 every evening at about the same hour to sit in total 
 darkness, with my hands resting on them for about 
 a half or three quarters of an hour; to maintain a 
 calm, equable, passive state of mind, even to think 
 of any indifferent subject rather than to concentrate 
 my thoughts too intently on the slate-writing. There 
 could be no question of the result. A Medium of 
 my unusual and excessive power would find, at the 
 end of three weeks, faint zig-zag scratches within 
 the closed slates, and these scratches would grad- 
 ually assume shape, until at last messages would 
 be legible, probably at the end of six weeks, or of 
 three months at the very farthest. 
 
 "In addition to this, I must wear, night and day, 
 a piece of magnetized paper, about six inches square, 
 a fresh piece every night and morning; its magnet- 
 ism was exhausted in about twelve hours. When I 
 mentioned to Mr. Hazard the proposed use of this 
 magnetized paper, he assured me that it was a cap- 
 ital idea — that he had himself used it for a head- 
 ache, and when he put it on the top of his head ' it 
 turned all his hair backward.' I confess to dismay 
 when I heard this; Caffray had told me that I must 
 wear this paper on the top of my head under my 
 hat! But did it not behoove the Acting Chairman 
 of the Seybert Commission to yield himself a will- 
 ing victim to the cause of Psychical Research f was 
 to be, or not to be, a Medium so evenly balanced 
 that the turning of a hair, or of a whole head of
 
 JOSEPH CAFFRAY'S SLATES 215 
 
 hair was to repel me? Perish the thought! That 
 paper should be worn on the top of my head, under 
 my hat, and that hat should be worn all day long. 
 I would eat my breakfast with my hat on, eat my 
 dinner with my hat on, and sleep with that hat on, 
 and that magnetized paper should remain on the 
 top of my head, let it turn my hair to all the points 
 of the compass, if it would! 
 
 "When I received the slates from Caff ray, he 
 had no paper that was sufficiently magnetized 
 just then; he had some sheets that were about 
 half done, and promised to send them to me as soon 
 as the process was complete. 
 
 "In the meantime I began with the slates, sit- 
 ting with them in total darkness from about quar- 
 ter past eight to nine o'clock every evening, with 
 my hands resting on them lightly. 
 
 "In three or four days the paper arrived. I ex- 
 plained to my family that hereafter they must not 
 infer, from the wearing of my hat indoors and at 
 meals, either that my wits had slipped, or that I 
 had become converted to Judaism, but that my 
 conduct was to be viewed by the light of the pure 
 flame of research. In my secret soul I resolved that 
 I would go at once, that very morning, to New York 
 and plead with Caff ray for some slight easing of my 
 ordeal. The 'Spectre of the Threshold' appeared 
 to wear a silk hat, and I was afraid I never, never 
 should pass him. 
 
 "The magnetized paper I handled with awe. It 
 was, in outward semblance, ordinary white blot-
 
 2i6 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 ting-paper, and, from some faint indications of ink 
 here and there, looked as though it might on occa- 
 sion have served its original use; but had I not paid 
 a dollar a sheet for it? It must be good. 
 
 "As I started for the train I put a piece on the top 
 of my head, gave a fond, farewell look at my hair, 
 and planted my hat firmly on my brows. I reached 
 the train, and while looking for a seat caught sight 
 
 of my friend. Miss W . Of course I instantly 
 
 bowed, and instantly there came fluttering down be- 
 fore her astonished and bewildered eyes a piece of 
 blotting-paper. I snatched it hastily, and in terror 
 lest already I had broken the charm and forfeited 
 all chance of Mediumship, retired to the rear of 
 the car and furtively replaced the precious pad. 
 Decidedly I must see Caffray at once. 
 
 "Luckily, when I reached New York I found that 
 eminent Medium at home. ^Bonneted,' I rehearsed 
 to him my dread anticipations. He could not re- 
 press a grim laugh, and to my inexpressible re- 
 lief gave me permission to wear the paper sus- 
 pended round my neck next the skin. 
 
 "With these precious slates I sat every night, at 
 the same hour, in darkness. I allowed nothing to 
 interfere with this duty; no call of family, of friends, 
 of society, was heeded. At the end of three weeks I 
 searched every molecule of the slates for the in- 
 dication of a zig-zag line, but the surface was un- 
 sullied, and its black monotony returned stare for 
 stare. 
 
 'Still hopeful and trustful, I continued day by 
 
 H I
 
 JOSEPH CAFFRAY'S SLATES 217 
 
 day, and week by week. The six weeks expired. 
 Not a zig, nor a zag.- Caffray was kept busy mag- 
 netizing paper. I renewed my stock and determined 
 to push on for two months. I moved to the country 
 and carried my slates thither, wrapped in double 
 folds of black muslin. The days and weeks rolled 
 on. Two months passed. The slates were as clean 
 as when they came into my possession. I would 
 go on to three months. Does not a hen set for 
 three weeks.'' Where a hen gives a week, shall I 
 not give a month? Is not a Medium worth more 
 than a chicken.'' 'Courage!' cried Caffray with each 
 batch of paper. I went to the seashore and my 
 slates went with me. Not a single evening did I 
 break my rule. 
 
 "And so it went on. The three months became 
 four; became five; became six! 
 
 "And there an end, with absolutely virgin slates. 
 
 "I had used enough blotting-paper, it seemed 
 to me, to absorb a spot on the sun. I dare not cal- 
 culate the number of hours I had spent in dark- 
 ness. 
 
 "Let Spiritualistic reproaches of investigators 
 for lack of zeal and patience be heaped up here- 
 after till 'Ossa become a wart'; I care not; my 
 withers are unwrung. 
 
 ^^ Punch gives a receipt for making 'Gooseberry 
 Fool': 'Carefully skin your gooseberries, extract 
 the seeds and wash the pulp in three waters for six 
 hours each. Having done this with the gooseberries, 
 the Fool is perfect.' "
 
 2i8 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 To H. H. F. Jr. ^ W. H. F. 3rd 
 
 222 West Washington Square 
 
 14 December, 1884 
 
 . . . What I saw at the see-ance of the Berry sis- 
 ters on the evening of the day I left you I shall re-, 
 serve until we meet. It sufficeth to say that after 
 I left the house, for the first time in my experience, 
 I felt thoroughly outraged and indignant, & that 
 had it not been that I was in a hurry to catch my 
 train & had to run for a horse-car just passing, I 
 think I should have stopped to find a stone to 
 throw at the house in the hopes of breaking one 
 window at least. It was the most abominable fraud 
 I ever witnessed, abominable because it deceived 
 the tenderest feelings of our poor human nature!. . . 
 
 To H. H. F. Jr. y W. H. F. 3rd 
 
 15 March, 1885 
 ... I HAVE nothing new but the unmasking of a 
 wretched Boston cheat named Mansfield, who 
 pretends to send answers, obtained by spiritual 
 agency, to questions in sealed envelopes. It's a 
 long story which I will tell you at length some day; 
 suffice it now to say that when my sealed envelope 
 was returned to me, I cut it open at the back, and 
 the rents on the front caused by tearing off the 
 seals stood revealed. I am about tired out with 
 wading through this slough of lies and deceit, 
 called Spiritualism. I cannot affirm that there is 
 not firm ground of truth somewhere in it. Every 
 now and then I hear such marvellous stories, so
 
 A FLOWER-MEDIUM 219 
 
 well authenticated that I am staggered. I am de- 
 termined not to lose patience, but to go ahead 
 until I can go no farther. If there is any residuum, 
 it is in clairvoyance, and a certain amount of mind 
 reading. The mischief of it is that this clairvoyance 
 is so constantly helped out by trickery that a shade 
 of mistrust is cast over the whole of it. . . . 
 
 To H. H. F. Jr. y W. H. F. 3rd 
 
 222 West Washington Square 
 
 25 April, '86 
 
 Our darling boys: Another week has gone, 
 wherein almost each day I have resolved that I 
 would start for Boston. Since great bodies not 
 only move slowly, but start with difficulty, I have 
 come to the conclusion that I am a great body. As 
 soon as I grow less, you may entertain better hopes 
 of seeing me. I have now proclaimed my resolve to 
 start next Tuesday eve'g at halfpast six but next 
 Tuesday at halfpast five something may turn up 
 and halfpast six may see me here quietly at dinner. 
 Last Friday, I went to New York my handbag 
 packed for a two days' sojourn, but I grew so fear- 
 fully bored before the day was over that I came 
 back in the afternoon. I saw a Mrs. Thayer, very 
 celebrated in Spiritualist circles as a "flower- 
 medium." As spirits can materialize flowers only 
 once a week, and as that didn't happen to be their 
 day, I had to content myself with an exhibition of 
 "independent slatewriting." I received a message 
 from Charles Foster, a noted medium lately de-
 
 220 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 ceased, who assured me that "Marie" was present. 
 Mrs. Thayer did not know who I was, and when I 
 proposed that she should come to Philadelphia, & 
 give a seance to the Seybert Commission, she re- 
 fused point-blank and pronounced that respect- 
 able Commission a "set of noodles and scally- 
 wags!" "Not one of 'em," she said, "should ever 
 sit with her; she wouldn't let one of 'em come into 
 her room!" She was very curious to know why 
 I laughed so heartily; I told her that Mrs. Grey 
 (who lives in the same house and knows me) would 
 tell her. After the sitting was over, Mrs. Grey was 
 at once appealed to, and Mrs. Thayer's confusion 
 at learning that I was "merely the Chairman of 
 that Commission" was extreme. . . , 
 
 The words In which Furness closes the Prelim- 
 inary Report are a fitting ending to this chapter: 
 
 "Although I have been thus thwarted at every 
 turn in my investigations of Spiritualism, and 
 found fraud where I looked for honesty, and 
 emptiness where I had hoped for fulness, I cannot 
 think it right to pass a verdict, universal in its 
 application, where far less than the universe of 
 Spiritualism has been observed. My field of ex- 
 amination has been limited. There is an outlying 
 region claimed by Spiritualists which I have not 
 touched, and into which I would gladly enter, were 
 there any prospect that I should meet with more 
 success. I am too deeply imbued with the belief 
 that we are such stuff as dreams are made on, to be
 
 THE SEYBERT REPORT 221 
 
 unwilling to accept a few more shadows in my 
 sleep. Unfortunately, in my experience, Dante's 
 motto must be inscribed over an investigation of 
 Spiritualism, and all hope must be abandoned by 
 those who enter it.".
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 I 884-1 892 
 
 In the spring of 1884, after a winter spent amid 
 the distracting activities of the Seybert Commis- 
 sion, Furness again turned with heavy heart to 
 the Variorum. His labour upon the first four 
 volumes, culminating in King Lear in 1880, he 
 had characterized as "the heavenliest play." 
 Through all that busy decade he had beside him 
 one who was ever ready to encourage or to counsel, 
 to whom he could turn at all times for advice or 
 for aid, who was indeed the very inspiration of 
 his work. We can conceive, then, how reluctantly 
 he started editing Othello; each day devoted to the 
 solitary task increased the poignant sense of lone- 
 liness to which the Dedication of this, and of each 
 subsequent volume during a quarter of a century, 
 bears silent witness. 
 
 Othello was published in 1886, followed by The 
 Merchant of Venice (1888), As You Like It (1890), 
 The Tempest (1892), and the letters in this chapter 
 cover the eight years occupied in editing these 
 four plays. It should be here noted that with 
 Othello the plan of the Variorum was modified: 
 whereas in the four earlier volumes Furness 
 printed as "text" a version of each play which he 
 himself compiled from the readings adopted by
 
 THE VARIORUM OTHELLO 223 
 
 a majority of the ablest editors, with Othello he 
 abandoned this modernized version, using instead 
 an exact reproduction of the First Folio, and re- 
 cording in the notes the various emendations 
 found in other critical editions. "Who am I that 
 I should thrust myself in between the student and 
 the text, as though in me resided the power to 
 restore Shakespeare's own words? Even if a rem- 
 edy be proposed which is by all acknowledged to 
 be efficacious, it is not enough for the student 
 that he should know the remedy; he must see the 
 ailment. Let the ailment, therefore, appear in the 
 text, and let the remedies be exhibited in the notes; 
 by this means we may make a text for ourselves, 
 and thus made, it will become a part of ourselves, 
 and speak to us with more power than were it 
 made by the wisest educator of them all — it may 
 be *an ill-favoured thing, sir,' but — it will be 
 *our own.' " ^ 
 
 During these eight years Furness's life flowed 
 quietly on; little occurred to divert the course of 
 his work through the winters spent at his house on 
 Washington Square, or through the long peaceful 
 summers at "Lindenshade." With his close friends 
 and associates he still kept in touch through his 
 correspondence, and these serve as a sufficient 
 record of outward events, with here and there 
 a note appended to explain some unmentioned 
 incident. 
 
 * Preface to Othello, page vL
 
 224 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 To Francis J. Child 
 
 Wallingford, lo July, 1884 
 Alderliefest Master mine: I have just finished 
 cutting the leaves (delightful task) of Part Second.* 
 
 My sincerest congratulations to you! 
 
 This fresh instalment confirms me in the belief, 
 which I think I have already expressed to you, 
 that the final cause of these Ballads is the oppor- 
 tunities they afford you for Introductory Re- 
 marks. After listening to you the Ballads them- 
 selves fall flat. And what research! what careful- 
 ness of minutest details! what exactitude! how 
 scholarly throughout! and what a revelation you 
 unfold through them of the brotherhood of man- 
 kind — "Hoops of Gold" you show them to be 
 "to bind the" nations "in." The Juventus 
 Mundi was evidently one big nursery. 
 
 This book and Shakespeare go with me next 
 week to Cape May — Think of me then as revel- 
 ling in it. 
 
 You once wished for me a little daughter — I 
 have one just eleven years old — I am half in- 
 clined to enclose a photograph of her and her 
 greyhound "Bran." She is a dear little thing, and 
 clings to me with a sort of frantic devotion. Of 
 her growing years I can scarcely think but with 
 despair. What can a father do for a daughter over 
 a chasm of forty years' difference of ages. My 
 only solace is that time and the hour run through 
 
 ' Of English and Scottish Popular Ballads^ edited by Professor 
 Child.
 
 Q 
 < 
 
 n 
 
 CO 
 
 is 
 
 W 
 Q
 
 TO FRANCIS J. CHILD 225 
 
 the roughest day. "There is no name with what- 
 ever emphasis of passionate love repeated of which 
 the echo does not become faint at last." Thank 
 God, that we are all coming to that. Write a line 
 to me when the spirit prompts — your shortest 
 syllable is precious to me. 
 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Francis J. Child 
 
 Wallingford, 14 September, 1884 
 
 Dearest Master mine: When I get your letters 
 I seem to myself to be the most arrant knave. I 
 send you dross and you return me gold. I send you 
 humdrum twaddle and you return me sparkling 
 fun — Hereafter I cannot consent to an arrange- 
 ment so onesided. Either you must not answer my 
 letters at all, or they must accumulate until quan- 
 tity will outweigh quality and sheer bulk will de- 
 serve a simple "thank ye." 
 
 It smote me to the heart that you should be so 
 fagged out, so workworn — the labour we delight 
 in will not always physic pain — and must even 
 forgo the dinner with your Irish Marys. (How I 
 laughed over your "queebie, quaabie" — I don't 
 think I ever saw it written before.) I thought of 
 you so often during these last hot days — I hope 
 the sun didn't smite you by day, as it did us. 
 Doubtless you were in Stockbridge, a place very 
 dear to me — Years ago when the skies were blue 
 above us, we drove over from Lenox one heavenly
 
 226 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 October day, and though we didn't know a soul 
 in the little basking town, Kate and I wandered 
 around and fell in love with every house we saw. 
 
 Next week I shall take my boys to Cambridge. 
 I failed to draw rooms for them in the College 
 Buildings and have secured some at a Mrs. 
 Mooney's (also suggestive of "queebie!"). I shall 
 be busy furnishing them, etc., etc., and may 
 scarcely have time to see you — which to you can 
 be no loss. I have grown so deaf as to be intoler- 
 able. But I shall send my sister Mrs. Wister to 
 you, with perhaps Polly and her Governess, Miss 
 Logan. My sister is a most charming woman and 
 has an endless admiration for you. The back- 
 ground is my position for the rest of my days. I 
 am not always a good actor and I might break 
 down with you. 
 
 Please don't answer this — I shall reproach my- 
 self for writing it if you do. 
 
 Tou jours a toi 
 
 H. H. F. 
 
 To H. H. Furness, Jr., and W. H. Furness, ^rd 
 
 222 West Washington Square 
 
 4th Jan. 1885 
 
 Our darling boys: I don't know how I can wait 
 until next Tuesday before hearing from you. . . . 
 Edmund Gosse, Professor of English Literature 
 in Trin. Coll. Cambridge, dined here last even'g. I 
 asked Agnes Irwin to meet him. We had a quiet 
 dinner whereat Agnes & Miss Logan & Gosse did
 
 TENNYSON'S JOKE BOOK 227 
 
 all the talking. My share was not unnaturally 
 small. However, afterwards in the library I had a 
 very pleasant gossip with Gosse & experienced 
 much difficulty in refraining from interlarding my 
 discourse with, now & then, a "By Gosh." He told 
 me a good thing — that Tennyson had once con- 
 fided to him that he had intended to make his life- 
 work the collection of 100 of the very best, brightest, 
 wittiest sayings, retorts, conundrums, etc., etc., 
 but that so far he had got only three! and two oi 
 them, Gosse added, were improper to tell to ladies I 
 Of course we clamoured for what Agnes styled the 
 expurgated edition of one joke and Gosse gave it as 
 Tennyson gave it to him — viz: when William IV 
 was once riding to Brighton he met — (I cannot 
 recall the name Gosse gave) — & hailed him with 
 "I say — they tell me you're the greatest black- 
 guard in Brighton!" "I beg your Majesty," was 
 the reply, "not to go there and take away my 
 character." Which I do really think is one of the 
 neatest things ever said. 
 
 To H. H. F. Jr. and W. H. F. 3rd 
 
 222 West Washington Squart 
 
 IS Feb'y, 1885 
 
 . . . We have had stirrings in the theatrical and 
 
 necromantic world. Irving and his troupe, and 
 
 Kellar and his slate-writing. I saw the former in 
 
 the Mer. of Ven. and was greatly pleased. I went 
 
 late and saw the last three acts only. Of course, 
 
 as I couldn't hear a syllable, it was merely a dumb
 
 228 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 show, but I especially admired Shylock's bearing 
 in the Trial scene; up to the critical moment there 
 was such a calm sense of power in Shylock's bear- 
 ing; not only did he have Antonio in his power, but 
 he felt the whole power of the Venetian Law at his 
 back; he did not need to rant, or to show the least 
 vehemence; his calmness was far more terrible and 
 bloodthirsty than any emotion. And Portia was 
 too lovely, her by-play is fascinating — and Alex- 
 ander (Bassanio) is just as handsome as they make 
 'em. With the latter and his pretty little wife we 
 grew very well acquainted; they are Cheston's 
 friends and on his account I called on them. They 
 have left this noon for Boston, & stopped here on 
 their way to the cars just to bid us good-bye. If 
 they had stayed here another week, I think they 
 would have grown as much at home here as you 
 children. They begged me again and again to tell 
 you two boys to come & see them next week at the 
 Tremont House. I told them you would come on 
 Saturday, which is your only day for visiting 
 Boston, & they in turn said that if they went out to 
 Cambridge they would try & look you up. 
 
 On Miss Terry I called at the Aldine. She kept 
 me waiting an abominably long time, and I had 
 just resolved to shake the dust from my feet, when 
 she came tripping gaily into the room strumming 
 a banjo. You should have seen her look of hor- 
 ror and embarrassment at the sight of me! She 
 stammered out, "Why — I thought — it — was 
 — Horrie — your — son!" She had intended to
 
 DONNELLY'S BACONIAN THEORY 229 
 
 show you that she too could strum on the banjo. I 
 had a very pleasant chat with her; if you see her, 
 give her my very kindest regards, but don't allude 
 to her keeping me so long waiting. . . . 
 
 My visit to Boston is, I am afraid, postponed 
 until the last week in April. On the 23 rd the Shake- 
 speare Soc. here is very anxious that I should be 
 present at their annual dinner. I have omitted it 
 four or five years, and they have been so devoted 
 in their kindness to me that I think I must be 
 present now. In that case I can't leave here until 
 Friday the 24th. 
 
 Donnelly's theory about Bacon's authorship is 
 too foolish to be seriously answered. I don't think 
 he started it for any other purpose than notoriety. 
 I believe he doesn't attempt to show that Bacon 
 corrected the proof-sheets of the First Folio, and 
 no human foresight could have told how the 
 printed line would run, and have so regulated the 
 MSS. To Donnelly's theory the pagination & the 
 number of lines in a page are essential. ... 
 
 To S. Weir Mitchell 
 
 Wallingford, 31 August, 1885 
 Dear Mitchell: Won't you do me a favour.'* and 
 eke one at the same time to science and literature,'* 
 I want to gather the opinions of three or four 
 eminent physicians as to the correctness of Shake- 
 speare's representation of Desdemona's death. You 
 know that the manner of it has been considered 
 wildly improbable if not impossible. I believe in
 
 230 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 my secret soul that Shakespeare had heard or read 
 of a case exactly similar — and I have gone through 
 the great textbook of his day, "Batman Uppon 
 Bartholome," pretty thoroughly, but without suc- 
 cess. The present idea has occurred to me. Your 
 opinion with that of three or four others cannot 
 but prove, not only very interesting, but highly 
 valuable. They shall appear in a group by them- 
 selves, on this subject, in the "Othello" which is 
 now rapidly approaching completion. 
 
 Herewith are the pages containing the last scene, 
 and you can slip them into your pocket for cogi- 
 tation in some idle moment in the cars. I have 
 marked all the passages which to my ignorant eyes 
 seem to bear on the following questions: 
 
 Do you think it likely that 0th. stabs Desd. at 
 the words "So, so".? 
 
 If he stabbed her, could her smock be pa.h? 
 If she were smothered, could she be pale.'* 
 In either case, could she speak after apparent 
 death f 
 
 If she could speak, why could she not quite revive f 
 What then was really the cause of her death.'' 
 Am I asking too much.'' If I am, thrust this into 
 your waste-basket and write to me that you never 
 received my impertinent note.^ "And I will still 
 be the same as this moment I am," viz: 
 Faithfully and sincerely yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 * In his edition of Othello, H. H. F., after reviewing the historical 
 commentary on this passage, says: 
 
 "Thus far Editors and Actors, with a ground-tone from the public
 
 THE VARIORUM OTHELLO 231 
 To Edzvin Booth 
 
 Wallingford, 3 Sept. '85 
 Dear Booth: 'Tis likely that I shall finish my 
 second version of "Othello" this week. After 
 which there will be a third and the Compilation of 
 the Appendix. And there an end. 
 
 Enclosed are two or three questions for your 
 idle moments.^ 
 
 I shall probably have some more before next 
 Saturday. I have gone through only the first three 
 Acts with your notes. The question anent the first 
 
 at large to the effect that there does seem to be something not alto- 
 gether true to physiology in the subsequent revival of Desdemona; 
 yet, such is the Anglosaxon faith in Shakespeare, that, in any variance 
 between him and Nature. Shakespeare is considered quite able to hold 
 his own. It was the phrase, 'Pale as thy smock,' which first caught 
 my attention. ... To my layman's small knowledge there seemed 
 here a violation of physiological law so downright, in representing a 
 smothered person as pale, that I knew Shakespeare, who could note 
 the 'crimson drops i' the bottom of a cowslip,' never could have com- 
 mitted it. The reality before our very eyes cannot be as vivid as the 
 coinage of his brain was to Shakespeare. . . . 
 
 " For Shakespeare's credit I felt no concern, but I did feel mortified 
 for Nature on whose behalf it seemed that if ever our best medical wis- 
 dom were to be unmuzzled, this was the hour. To this trial, in which 
 Nature is the defendant (not Shakespeare, perish the thought!) I hoped 
 to summon such an array of experts that their verdict would be ac- 
 cepted as final wherever the masters of medicine are known and hon- 
 oured, or any faith exists in diagnosis. . . ." 
 
 The interesting, although somewhat dissentient, replies which he "' 
 received from the seven prominent medical authorities whom he 
 called in to consultation upon this passage may be found on pages 
 304-307 of the yarioTum edition. This incident is characteristic of the 
 exhaustive scrutiny and painstaking research which H. H. F. brought 
 to bear on every knotty point. 
 
 ' Edwin Booth, for the Variorum Othello and The Merchant of 
 Venice, supplied notes explaining both the traditional and his per- 
 sonal way of rendering the lines and executing the "business" on 
 the stage.
 
 232 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 line of Act V Is born out of due course. Grant 
 White's note occurs in his 2nd edition, and it's 
 worth your looking at. Not for its value, but as a 
 curiosity. 
 
 Don't desert Shylock. 
 
 Yours ever 
 
 H. H. F. 
 
 You say: "Do not stoop to the old stage trick of 
 displaying Des. kerchief as if by accident while 
 Othello's back is turned." Now turn to Gould's 
 book and you will find that your father did some- 
 thing so similar that if I quote both you and Gould, 
 you will immediately seem to condemn your father. 
 Why not be more explicit and say, "My Father was 
 wont to assure himself of the certainty of plot by 
 pressing his hand on the spot where Des. kerchief 
 was concealed (or by furtively looking at it, or 
 whatever was his exact business), which is good if 
 well done, but do not descend to the old stage trick 
 of displaying this kerchief with a triumphant leer," 
 &c. You can fix it up beautiful. 
 
 To Edwin Booth 
 
 WalUngford, 6 Sept. '85 
 Dearest Booth: I finished all the commentary 
 on Othello yesterday. There Is now nothing but 
 the preparation of the Appendix, of which all the 
 German part is done. 
 
 Herewith are one or two notes for your con- 
 sideration. 
 
 In the last scene of all, when Othello says, "The
 
 OTHELLO QUESTIONS 233 
 
 noise was high," you properly say that this refers 
 
 to the fighting in the street, but add, " says 
 
 it refers to EmiHa's knocking." Is the name I have 
 indicated by a dash, Irving? It looks like it, but 
 just at that point your handwriting is not copper- 
 plate & I can't quite make it out — at least not 
 with the assurance that printing it, demands. 
 
 Then, too, I have taken the liberty of changing 
 what you call an "Ottoman" into a "divan." As 
 the Cyprus war was a war against the "Ottoman," 
 I thought it might be interpreted that EmiHa 
 throws herself upon the "corp" of a Turk. 
 
 Then, too, your account of the last fight between 
 Cassio and Roderigo is not quite clear. You say 
 that lago knocks up their swords and wounds 
 Cassio in the leg trusting to Roderigo to kill him & 
 then get hanged for it. No, no, it wouldn't suit 
 lago's plans to have Roderigo survive him for a trial. 
 At all hazards Rod. must die that night. If it won't 
 bother you too much write out that fight again. 
 Fechter makes lago wound Cassio with a back- 
 handed blow just as he cuts into his own house. 
 The wounding of Cassio in the leg might have been 
 because lago overheard him say, "But that my 
 Coat is better than thou know'st, &c." But in Cin- 
 thio's odd story Cassio's leg is almost clean cut ofi" 
 — and this might have floated into Shakespeare's 
 memory. 
 
 The 20th and Edwina ^ will soon be here. Give 
 my love to the dear child when you see her. Polly 
 
 * Booth's daughter.
 
 234 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 has gone to the Warm Springs in Virginia with Miss 
 Logan, & Walter is in the Rockies after Elk. 
 
 Don't neglect Shylock, or spit upon his Jewish 
 gabardine. The minute I am through with Othello 
 I shall begin on him. 
 
 The benison of Heaven on you ! 
 
 Ever thine 
 
 H. H. F. 
 
 To 5. Weir Mitchell 
 
 Wallingford, 30 September, 1885 
 My dear Mitchell: I think that just at this mo- 
 ment dear old Walt [Whitman] is in no need. In 
 the course of a week or two I shall be able to tell 
 you more definitely, and then, be sure, you shall 
 not be debarred the privilege of coming to his aid, 
 if required. Individually I feel a debt of personal 
 gratitude to Walt for the strength which comes to 
 me from the sight of his grand imperturbable pau- 
 city amidst the frightful hurricanes of this awe-full 
 world. 
 
 I will thoughtfully consider what you say about 
 the death of the " gentle lady married to the Moor." 
 I have the opinions of Brinton, DaCosta, Hunt, and 
 yourself. I doubt whether to the estimation of the 
 public any weight can be added beyond these four 
 names. The point is to decide whether Othello 
 stabs. Temporary reaction will go far to explain 
 the few words Desdemona utters after the stifling. 
 But the stabbing is a practical point, which must 
 guide the actor, and the question cannot be dis-
 
 A COMPOSITE PHOTOGRAPH 235 
 
 cussed apart from the text. Therefore I doubt if 
 we can make out a case stated. However, I'll think 
 on't. In the meantime, as always 
 Yours faithfully 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Wallingford, l8 Oct. 1885 
 Dear Wright: I fell to wondering the other day 
 why I hadn't heard from you about the Composite 
 photographs of Shakespeare, ^ made by my boy, 
 and turned to the list of those to whom I had sent 
 that same to see the date of its dispatch, and the 
 name, which of all others I intended to head the 
 list, was not there at all. Can it really be that none 
 came to you.? Surely, surely I sent you a copy. 
 
 Well, well, I send you one by this same mail, and 
 if you have one already you can give this away. 
 
 This experiment of my boy is simply curious; 
 it isn't to be seriously discussed. The dear fellow 
 did it solely to arouse some interest in me. I saw 
 through his loving game and yielded to it, and was 
 really interested before the close. To me the first 
 composite, made of all the selected portraits, has 
 a more lifelike look than any single one of the lot. 
 And, moreover, there is a touch of humour in the 
 face that justifies the comedies. 
 
 1 [A carefully made composite photograph of all the well-known 
 portraits of Shakespeare, namely: The Chandos, the Droeshout, the 
 Jansen, the Stratford, the Felton, the Stratford Bust, Marshall's copy 
 of the Droeshout, the Ashbourne, and the Death Mask. The work 
 was done by my brother Walter Rogers Furness and the interesting 
 result published in a small volume in June, 1885 — W. H. F. 3rd.]
 
 236 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 Furnivall thinks (more suo) nought's had all's 
 spent because my boy didn't combine the Strat- 
 ford Bust and the Droeshout! Why, bless his five 
 wits, the faces don't look In the same direction! As 
 well demand the combination of a full face and a 
 profile. 
 
 After days and weeks of alternating work and in- 
 action, and all of misery, I have finished "Othello" 
 and sent it to the printers, and the First Scene is 
 stereotyped. I have taken the First Folio as text 
 and give as accurate a reprint as vigilance can 
 make, and in the Commentary I have followed no 
 rule but the whim of the passing moment, and am 
 now conscious that I am horribly obtrusive, and 
 Impertinent, and flippant, and, what I have not 
 been hitherto, censorious and ill-natured. But I am 
 referring too much to myself — I know you'll for- 
 give me, and only remember, dear Wright, that I 
 am very faithfully and affectionately 
 Yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 222 West Washington Sq., 1885 
 My dear Wright: The copy of "Twelfth Night" 
 came safely to hand. Gratias Maximas tibi ago. 
 
 I don't think I have ever half told you how much, 
 how thoroughly I admire your Clarendon Series. 
 After closing one of your books I always wonder 
 what there is left to be done or said. 
 
 As to the Death-Mask, the chiefest claim in its
 
 THE SHAKESPEARE PORTRAITS 237 
 
 favour lies in the mere fact of that claim. Just 
 as "In Arabia there is one tree," so in England 
 there was but one man who died in 1616 — all the 
 rest counted for no more than flies. Argal, if this 
 Death-Mask bears the mortuary star and 1616, it's 
 William Shakespeare's. Q.E.D. If that doesn't 
 convert you, you are in a parlous state. 
 
 My boy included that mask, as he did other por- 
 traits, not because their claims were good, but be- 
 cause they were loud. Neither he nor I place any 
 faith in any but the Stratford Bust and the Droes- 
 hout — and not much in them. I don't [think] the 
 latter resembles anything in the heavens above or 
 the earth beneath or the waters under the earth. 
 However, the experiment was worth trying, and 
 the combination of all the portraits does look, to me, 
 like something human and as though the original 
 might have written a Comedy. 
 
 You speak of my getting to "work" — pray 
 don't dignify my hours with that honourable term. 
 The days must be lived through and I try to spend 
 them in a way least harmful to myself and others. 
 I have flickerings of interest which live for a min- 
 ute. The adoption of the First Folio as my text 
 has proved the most abiding. The printers are in 
 the middle of the Second Act, and two or three 
 months should see the whole completed, if I don't 
 commit it in disgust to the flames before then. 
 
 Give my love to Gosse when you think of it. 
 
 Yours as of yore 
 
 H. H. FURNESS
 
 238 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 To H. II. F. Jr. and W. H. F. 3rd 
 
 222 West Washington Sq. 
 
 14 Feb. '86 
 
 Darling boys of ours: Somewhere In Sydney 
 Smith's Lectures on Moral Philosophy, there is a 
 most amusing speculation on the immense advan- 
 tages which the long-lived Biblical patriarchs pos- 
 sessed over us modern short-lived creatures of a 
 day. In those old days a man could think over a 
 book for a hundred years, take a hundred years to 
 see it through the press, and live to see its success 
 for a hundred and fifty years afterwards. Now, 
 although such a span is very, very far from what 
 I should desire either for writing a book or any- 
 thing else, I should like enough time to write a 
 good long letter to you. Every week the same old 
 story is retold. I have to scratch for my life, not 
 that I should sit up too late, but that I shouldn't 
 get to bed at all. However, this time it will be of 
 less importance to you at least. Walter will follow 
 these written words with his living voice so soon 
 that you won't mind. . . . 
 
 We had Frank Stockton at dinner yesterday & 
 we were all delighted with his simple, genial ways. 
 You've read his "Lady and the Tiger," haven't 
 you.'' Of course we asked him, begged him, to tell 
 us which came out of the door, the Lady or the 
 Tiger. He said, upon his soul, he didn't know, he 
 wished he did — but he thought it was the tiger. 
 I told him it wasn't — that there was a lady be- 
 hind each door — and he said he was so glad to 
 know it.
 
 OTHELLO READINGS 239 
 
 The day before we had Nettie Hooper to dinner 
 — she is to play Second Lady in Booth's com- 
 pany next year — which is a great improvement 
 I think on her present position. . . . 
 
 Yr. old 
 
 Father 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright ^ 
 
 Wallingford, 1 8 July, 1886 
 Dear Wright: I'm glad that "Othello" reached 
 you safely, and the relations between you and me 
 are not, in diplomatic phrase, strained on account 
 of my bumptiousness and flippancy. Down in my 
 inmost heart I think my best note is my parody 
 of Dr. Johnson's style in "What thought had I of 
 her stol'n hours or lust," somewhere towards the 
 close of the third Act.^ I had utterly forgotten that 
 I had written it, and when I read it in proof, I 
 laughed outright. It is good, though I say it that 
 shouldn't. 
 
 As for Judean or Indian — I still stand to my 
 guns. 2 Any allusion at such a time, it seems to 
 me, should be one more manifest to every auditor 
 
 ^ The note referred to reads, in part: "Dr. Johnson . . . , while 
 using Theobald's text to print from, sneered at him in his Preface, and 
 raised a laugh against him by saying: 'I have sometimes adopted his 
 restoration of a comma, without inserting the panegyric in which he 
 celebrated himself for this achievement.' Sir, he who accepts a text 
 to print from on the one hand, and vilifies his benefactor on the other, 
 is, on this occasion, removed aliice either from the claims of considera- 
 tion or the requirements of respect." 
 
 ' " Then must you speak ... of one whose hand 
 (Like the base Judean) threw a pearl away 
 Richer than all his tribe." 
 
 Othello, V. ii.
 
 240 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 than one of some far-away chance Indian. Think 
 over the Judas interpretation once more. Surely 
 Othello's vehemence seeks for the wildest similes, 
 and in his agony the one great black crime of all 
 the ages is the only fair parallel to his own. How- 
 ever, my work on the tragedy is done and finished 
 and I want never to hear of it again. 
 
 Sometime or other if you can, consistently with 
 all delicacy, I wish you'd let me know which of 
 the plays were collated by Mr. Clark & which by 
 you. I found the collation uneven in excellence. If, 
 for this second edition, you repeat the collation 
 throughout, I imagine that you will be not a little 
 surprised at the number of corrections you will be 
 called upon to make. Some years ago I collated 
 Ant. y Cleop. and I remember that the fourth 
 Folio was almost wholly ignored. And I have just 
 finished the Mer. of Venice, & I cannot think that 
 for the Cambridge Edition the same hand collated 
 it and Othello. I think, without exception, where 
 Capell's Errata are stated in the Cam. Ed. as 
 "corrected in MS." they will be found corrected in 
 his printed "Notes." 
 
 You see, dear Wright, on what small matters my 
 life now hinges. I am weary and tired of every- 
 thing beyond words. 
 
 The papers tell me that you have again elected 
 Gosse as your lecturer. Congratulate the dear boy 
 from me, when you see him and think of it. 
 
 Meantime and always, I am 
 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 Horace Howard Furness
 
 TABLE TALK 241 
 
 To H. H. F. Jr. 
 
 222 West Washington Square 
 
 4 November, '86 
 
 Dearest Horrie: "'Twixt the gloaming and the 
 mirk" I've time just to write you a Hne. 
 
 Have you had a chance to dip into Coleridge's 
 Table Talk? It's a most suggestive book. I don't 
 think you can open a page without Hghting on 
 something which sets you thinking. In his scold- 
 ings at the Unitarians and in his encomiums on the 
 Trinitarians, I think you must always bear in mind 
 that he was a convert & like all converts bitter 
 against his former faith, perhaps from knowing 
 how dear it once was to him & how easily in an un- 
 guarded moment he might fall back into Its arms. 
 
 There's another book of "Table Talk," Rogers's, 
 of a totally opposite character, but which I always 
 read with pleasure. It Is downright gossip pure and 
 simple, but very entertaining. Rogers's great age 
 makes all his reminiscences of old London interest- 
 ing. Don't you remember Conduit St.^ It led off 
 from Old Bond St. towards Regent St. Well, 
 Gen. Oglethorpe told Rogers that he had shot 
 snipe in the fields where Conduit St now runs. It's 
 well for you to remember that perhaps the best 
 account of Porson is to be found added at the end 
 of Rogers's Table Talk. 
 
 The mirk has come down & I can see no longer. 
 Always, dear old boy 
 
 Your devoted 
 
 Father
 
 242 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 To H, H. F. Jr. 
 
 222 fFest Washington Square 
 
 17 Nov., '86 
 
 Dearest Horrie: Whether or not Jane Eyre was 
 personally handsome, the novel Is intensely inter- 
 esting — so much is certain. Therefore one great 
 element in a story is gained. 
 
 Now it's perfectly clear that the authoress, as 
 she was human, could not have been herself in- 
 sensible to the charm of personal beauty. Why, 
 then, did she choose to make her heroine ugly.^* To 
 answer this you've got to bear in mind the time & 
 the disposition of the time, when the story was 
 written. 
 
 Since the days of Armida and Dulcinea del 
 Toboso heroines had been surpassingly fair; their 
 hair was raven-black, their eyes lustrous, their 
 necks swan-like, & their forms like a gazelle. 
 Beauty was all in all; with that a girl was a hero- 
 ine, let her be as namby-pamby as you please. The 
 case was equally true with regard to heroes, with 
 the modification that if not handsome they must 
 be manly & stalwart of form, of virile bulk and 
 thews & sinews. 
 
 Into this world of sawdust dolls with simpering 
 faces Charlotte Bronte dashed a brilliant head- 
 strong girl, plain as a pikestaff, but with every in- 
 tellectual quality that can fascinate a man — and 
 after making her marry a crippled, scarred, burnt, 
 blind man set the world screaming itself hoarse 
 with applause. It is an epoch-making book, my
 
 JANE EYRE 243 
 
 boy. The world of novels has never seen such a re- 
 vulsion: and its effects have lasted to this hour. 
 Let any writer attempt to give us another Laura 
 Matilda of the ante Jane Eyre type & vous markez 
 mes mots there'd be a tee-hee. No, no, dear boy, 
 read Jane Eyre historically, note the artistic design 
 of the authoress, & then you'll see clear enough 
 why she made her heroine ugly. Had Jane Eyre 
 been pretty you'd never have read the story — it 
 wouldn't have survived a month. 
 Dearest love to Will — 
 
 Your old most loving 
 
 Father 
 
 To H. H. F. Jr. and W. H. F. 3rd 
 
 222 West Washington Square 
 
 23 January, 1887 
 
 Dear, dear boys of ours: It's sorry indeed I am 
 to learn of your disappointment over my failure to 
 reach Boston. But it was so bitter cold, colder 
 than I have ever felt it in my life, and the night 
 journey through Massachusetts seemed so formid- 
 able that I just shirked it, and, as in all hours of 
 temptation, found the arguments for yielding too 
 cogent. And so, I just snoodled down to the Phila. 
 train with Clarke Davis & resolved I'd try Boston 
 on some warmer day. 
 
 "The Taming of a Shrew" is more gorgeous than 
 I have believed it possible for the stage to pro- 
 duce. Daly was all cordiality and Mrs. Daly, with 
 whom in her private box we sat, was all smiles &
 
 244 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 courtesy. Of course, a deaf man's criticisms are 
 worthless & I therefore freely remark that I think 
 John Drew scarcely perhaps rises to the level of 
 Shakespeairean Petruchio, in that he seemed at 
 times a little too rough with Katherlne. Any rough 
 man can subdue any rough woman by sheer brutal- 
 ity, but Petruchio, I think, subdues Katherine by 
 being rough to everybody but her. His terrible 
 rages are all for her sake — every explosion is 
 proof of his idolatry of her — Nothing is good 
 enough for her, no clothes however splendid, no 
 food however choice. And in his rages he holds the 
 mirror up to her of her own. Such I think is the 
 key to the character & John Drew fell a little short 
 of it. My! but the smacks which Katherine dealt 
 upon his face were sharp & resounding & made his 
 cheeks glow red through the rouge. And how the 
 theatre applauded and shouted at them! . . . 
 Good-night, darlings, Heaven guard you both! 
 
 Your doting old 
 
 Father 
 
 To H. H. F. Jr. 
 
 JVallingford, 14 Nov. 1887 
 Dearest HoRRiE : Your yesterday's letter has 
 reached me with unusual dispatch — and I'll hurry 
 off a line to you before I go to bed. 
 
 For the subject of your Forensic ^ I can give you 
 very little help. You ask me if I think it is an in- 
 
 ' The subject chosen was: "Is Collaboration beneficial in Dra- 
 matic Composition."
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER 245 
 
 teresting one. I am sorry to say that I must confess 
 I do not. 
 
 It will require a vast deal of reading and when 
 all is accomplished — what does it amount to.'' 
 
 Beaumont is to me an unutterably stupid dram- 
 atist. And to read through his endless plays is a 
 penance of the worst kind. You'd never read him 
 in your after life — at least I hope not. All that is 
 worth reading either of him or of Fletcher is given 
 in Lamb's Dramatic Poets — and a generous al- 
 lowance too. 
 
 You can separate his work from Fletcher's only 
 by the closest analysis of style and metre — and 
 even then your grounds are shifting and uncertain 
 
 — and someone else can say "'tisn't" after you've 
 said "'tis." You have got to assume (which I 
 think is a folly) that a man always writes exactly 
 the same — and that no one has ever imitated 
 him — not even his fellow labourer who works in 
 the composition of the same drama with him. To 
 me such questions, with their long laborious so- 
 lutions of tables and lists, are waste time. Very 
 little thought is required, it's mainly a ponderous 
 mechanical labour. You've got to lay down certain 
 rules, & they're simple enough for a child to devise, 
 and then go through the plays and tabulate. Ugh! 
 You must count up how many feminine endings 
 there are in each play, and how many lines run on 
 
 — and when your long heavy work is done, you've 
 done no good to God or man — and anyone with a 
 different crotchet in his head will upset and deny
 
 246 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 your every conclusion. No man on earth has done 
 more of that kind of work than Fleay, and there's 
 no second man on earth that accepts his conclu- 
 sions — and when he comes to apply them to 
 Shakespeare's plays, he scarcely accepts them 
 himself in different editions of his own work. 
 
 Tomorrow when I go to town I'll look up the 
 little my library has on the subject & send the 
 books on to you by express. 
 
 But my counsel is that if you can change your 
 subject, do so. If you can't you must grin and bear 
 it — but I should begrudge every minute I had to 
 devote to it. 
 
 Good-night. 
 
 Your doting old 
 
 Father 
 
 To H. E, F. Jr 
 
 222 West Washington Square 
 
 29 Jan'y, 1888 
 
 Dearest Horrie: . . . What you say about Wag- 
 ner interests me extremely. My chiefest advice to 
 you is to remember that the law of your being is 
 growth, and that in passing judgement it is always 
 best to qualify that judgement to meet the changes 
 of that growth. 
 
 The Wagner craze that you have now I had, & 
 had it quite as badly too, thirty-five years ago. 
 At that time we had only Tannhauser — He wrote 
 Lohengrin in '56, I think, and I know very little 
 of his music since that date, but I can see now that
 
 WAGNER AND HIS MUSIC 247 
 
 he has great faults, chiefest in the matter of time, 
 the capabilities whereof in Opera, he seemed to 
 neglect — and he lacks versatility. But there's no 
 question about it — he can stir the blood. 
 
 M7 first revulsion for Wagner came when I 
 learned his personal characteristics. No proper 
 criterion, I'll allow, in judging of his music. But 
 after all, a man writes his character in his music. 
 If, as Buffon said, "Le style est I'homme," very 
 much more, "La musique est I'homme." Wagner's 
 life was gnarled and twisted; he dealt in problems 
 too deep for him or for any one man; his intellec- 
 tual arrogance was illimitable, and if any questioned 
 his supremacy he fought, and bit, and swore. He 
 received endless kindness from the Emperor of 
 Austria and in return he joined the mob in 1848, 
 and with his own hand set fire to the Conservatoire 
 of Music in Vienna knowing that the conflagra- 
 tion would burn up priceless, priceless treasures of 
 music by all the old masters, which it did. It will 
 take a good deal of harmony in Wagner to ob- 
 literate the discord of that black deed. But what I 
 want you to feel, dear boy, is that no one master, no 
 one school will hold all the truth; lucky if each of 
 them can catch a wee bit of the hem of her garment. 
 "Many, for many virtues excellent; None but for 
 some and yet each different" — And we must re- 
 member that the moods of men vary, even on the 
 upward path. The earth in her annual motion has 
 a diurnal motion also. There is a time for all things. 
 Vous markez mes mots, sometime or other, in some
 
 248 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 mood or other, your demigod will be Bellini. Be- 
 cause an oak with its summer bravery and its winter 
 poverty speaks its lesson to you, are you not to 
 sympathize with Autolycus's pugging tooth when 
 daffodils begin to peer? To me, the greatest Opera 
 written by mortal hand is Fidelio — its theme is the 
 loftiest vouchsafed to man — but then I take de- 
 light, great delight, in "The Brewer of Preston" 
 and a hundred others. "Talents differ. All is well 
 and wisely put. If I can't carry forests on my back, 
 Neither can you crack a nut," says the Squirrel to 
 the Mountain in Emerson. And sometimes we 
 want to crack nuts — and jokes. Videlicet Thack- 
 eray — with his "Ho, pretty page," and, "There 
 were three sailors in Bristol City." 
 
 Wherefore, dear boy, let everything minister to 
 your growth that you can assimilate, and try your 
 very hardest to assimilate the best, & highest, and 
 purest things. 
 
 Good-bye till I see your dear smile. 
 
 Your doting old 
 
 Father 
 
 To W. H. F. 3rd 
 
 222 West Washington Square 
 
 19 February 
 
 Dearest Willie: Your letters in your compact 
 handwriting are really budgets — You always tell 
 me a heap of news, and, as regularly, I feel as though 
 I sent nothing, in that line, to you in return. 'Tis 
 always hard to know what is really news worth
 
 IRVING AND STAGE EFFECT 249 
 
 sending. One thing, however, I have found out, 
 and that is, that no incident whatever, if written 
 out, is trifling in the reading — It seems dignified, 
 and elevated into history, by the mere transcrip- 
 tion. Nathless the country whose annals are dull 
 may be very pleasant to live in, but it's a doosid 
 hard country to write letters from. . . . 
 
 With what you say about Irving I fully agree. 
 I think he's doing harm to the stage — Mais, que 
 voulez-vous.'* Crowds follow him and money piles 
 itself around him, and he has a right to think him- 
 self justified. All this stage effect and stage ma- 
 chining belong to pantomime — where speech is 
 forbidden — but where the actors speak, the less 
 we have of mere stage effect the better. Had Shake- 
 speare known that Dover Cliff was to be painted 
 on the scene, he never would have written that im- 
 mortal description that almost makes us dizzy to 
 read. The scene painter and the' poet are in 
 opposite scales; if one goes up the other goes 
 down. . . . 
 
 The printers will be on the Fifth Act of Mer. of 
 Ven. tomorrow — and they drive me hard and fast 
 — which is not perhaps what I like but what I 
 need. . . . 
 
 To George Putnam 
 
 222 West Washington Square, 1888 
 
 Dearest George: You cannot exaggerate the 
 pleasure which your letter gave me; in it I saw the 
 very same dear old boy of nigh forty years syne.
 
 250 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 My friends are always so much dearer to me than 
 I can possibly be to them, that any proof of their 
 regard strikes home. 
 
 You speak of seeing notices only of that Spir- 
 itual Report. I'll tell Lippincott to send you the 
 Report itself: if you already have a copy, you can 
 pass this one on. The Spiritualists criticize this 
 Report for its lack of scientific method, but, bless 
 you, there is no need of bringing such methods to 
 bear on nothing at all — you don't need to employ 
 scalpel and scales on froth — a puff of laughter is 
 all that's needed, and it is at my laughter that 
 Spiritualists gnash their teeth. My! what letters 
 I've had. 
 
 And I so hoped that Spiritualism was true! I 
 entered in the investigation almost a convert, and 
 at this hour I would give almost all I possess to be 
 one. But not a sound or a vibration or a thrill 
 comes from beyond the grave; there is no crevice 
 in that wall. To my infinite regret I have become 
 convinced that all the manifestations of Spiritu- 
 alism, however mysterious they may be, find their 
 cause in the unknown capacities of the mind, and 
 that they are all diesseits and not jenseits. And 
 now I've lost all interest in the subject; I can't 
 attempt to grapple with the problems of the human 
 mind — I've got so very little of it myself, that it 
 isn't enough to argue from! 
 
 Does it make you feel old to have a boy engaged ? 
 Why, George dear, I was a grandfather six months 
 ago. (But it is not grandchildren that make you
 
 FAMILY NEWS 251 
 
 aged.) My boy and his very pretty wife lead the 
 most idylHc of lives. I turned over to him the care of 
 my small farm of eighty acres, and on it he and his 
 wife live, devoted to horses, dogs, poultry, and flow- 
 ers; of the last they are passionately fond and work 
 all day side by side, potting plants, making cut- 
 tings and sowing seeds in their greenhouses. My 
 two Seniors are dear lovely good boys as ever were 
 born, but they don't study particularly hard, and 
 I don't know that they will even take a degree. 
 One is on the Advocate and the other on the Lam- 
 poon, and they are both in the Hasty Pudding, 
 and they are both as honest and as truthful as the 
 day, and have never had the first faint tinge of a 
 quarrel with each other, which, I think, tells vol- 
 umes for both. 
 
 My little girl is in her fourteenth year, almost as 
 tall as I am — a downright tomboy in Summer — 
 she plays and sings with the piano and her banjo & 
 she's a great magician. I have had her regularly 
 taught & by beginning thus early her sleight of 
 hand is remarkable. 
 
 My Father is as well as can be. His age deters 
 him from doing nothing that he wants to do. Last 
 week was the sixty-third anniversary of his set- 
 tlement here. He comes to see me nearly every day 
 & smokes his cigar while we gossip. At times he 
 grows restless and anxious to join my Mother, but 
 he represses it and subsides into a tranquil patience. 
 As I tell him he can well afi^ord to be patient — the 
 years ahead look very different to one of 86 and 
 one of 54.
 
 252 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 There, dear George, I've gabbled like a tinker & 
 I've given you a screed as unsatisfactory as "the 
 unedifying Ninth of Nehemiah." 
 
 Give my love to your wife, and thank God on 
 your knees every night that you have her by your 
 side. 
 
 Yours always and all ways 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Charles Eliot Norton 
 
 Wallingford, 24 May, 1888 
 
 Dear Norton: Ever so many thanks for this 
 highly interesting facsimile of "The Skylark." 
 
 It has made me excessively vain. Years ago I 
 suggested the change "mbodied," as necessary to 
 the idea of ethereal immortality which mortality 
 had assumed. An " embodied " joy is instantly cab- 
 ined, cribbed, confined. 
 
 Then, too, how interesting to note the erasure 
 of "blithe delight." As an adjective for "delight" 
 I think "blithe" is really better than "shrill,'* 
 but evidently to Shelley's sensitive ear the repeti- 
 tion of the two long i's was cacophonous: "blithe 
 delight," and so he preferred "shrill." 
 
 Then, again, could anything be more delicate 
 than his first expression "Music which is love^^ 
 but he had to have a which or a that follow hard 
 after, so the first "which" was sacrificed — and I 
 am not quite sure that I am content that it was. 
 I'd have been willing to accept "With music which 
 is love, that overflows her bowers." No, no — I
 
 DEAFNESS AND SILENCE 253 
 
 see; "that" would have referred to "love" whereas 
 it must refer to "music." 
 
 But 'tis almost fairy time and I must to bed. 
 Good-night. 
 
 Yours ever ' 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Mrs. Ellen Olney Kirk 
 
 Wallingford, g July, 1888 
 Dear Mrs. Kirk: Although you tell me not to 
 answer your note, how can you imagine that I 
 shall remain silent to such a kind and tender mes- 
 sage.'' The written word is all that can ever now 
 reach me; for who would think of bawling affection 
 through an ear-trumpet.'* 
 
 No, my increased deafness is due to no tempo- 
 rary or local cause. It is simply to be expected. . . . 
 By this time I have learned to disregard it for my- 
 self; I now have to learn to regard it for my friends. 
 They must not be made to bear the affliction or the 
 infliction. 
 
 However rugged the road, we do somehow man- 
 age to grow accustomed to the roughest joltings. 
 What was once my sorest misery has now grown to 
 be a comfort to me. My silence has ceased to be 
 observed, and I can now unnoticed retire into my 
 own thoughts. "Into that inner world I go from 
 this, and let the veil fall." 
 
 Thank heaven ! it is far different with you. Your 
 life is full and rich. Mine is ended, and I go on only 
 trom the impetus I received in past years, hoping,
 
 254 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 trusting, praying that it may soon cease. "God 
 lets his servants go to bed and sleep when they 
 have done their work," says old Fuller, and so I 
 suppose there is still work for me to do & I must go 
 toiling on . . . 
 
 Do pray drop me a line from the mountain 
 heights to let me know how you all fare, and 
 believe me 
 
 Very gratefully yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Wallingford, October 7th, 1888 
 Dear Wright: Your charity is quite large and I 
 am quite willing to trust to it to shield me from the 
 suspicion of meddling officiousness in what I am 
 about to say. You tell me, and I hail it with joy, 
 that you are editing Edward Fitzgerald's letters. 
 Have you ever applied to Mrs. F. A. Kemble for 
 her letters from him .? They were playmates in youth 
 and close friends in later years, and correspond- 
 ents, I believe, always. I remember that on one of 
 my last visits to Mrs. Kemble, when she was in 
 Philadelphia, she read to me a long letter from Mr. 
 Fitzgerald and showed me his photograph. At a 
 venture, I send you Mrs. Kemble's address, No. 
 26 Hereford Square, South Kensington, London, 
 S. W. , 
 
 Don't curl your lip too much at my forward- 
 ness — but never mind, do it if you choose; I can't 
 see it and I won't imagine it. I dare say you're an
 
 CRABBE AND FITZGERALD 255 
 
 old friend of Mrs. Kemble and long ago had every 
 letter Fitzgerald ever wrote to her. 
 
 Can you explain or understand why Fitzgerald 
 had such a fervent admiration for Crabbe — If the 
 style is the man, could there be men more widely 
 different than these two? The same pleasure can 
 be taken in Crabbe's poetry (rhythm rather) that 
 can be found in Tenier's pictures, not an atom more. 
 The interior with its pots and pans is marvellously 
 exact, but when all's done you look but on a stool. 
 I remember many years ago at Fitzgerald's request 
 I tried hard to make Lippincott publish some se- 
 lections from Crabbe which Fitzgerald had edited 
 or rather prepared for the press. But the hard- 
 headed publisher said there was no money in them. 
 
 Long before it was known here who translated 
 Omar Khayyam, I was fascinated by these quat- 
 rains, and sent for fifteen or twenty copies from 
 Quaritch, and distributed them among my friends. 
 They were of the 2nd edition. Not a single change 
 did Fitzgerald make in the 3rd edition which could 
 be called, I think, an improvement. What he struck 
 out at first heat was always the best. But good- 
 night & good-bye. 
 Yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W. J. Rolje 
 
 222 West Washington Square 
 
 November loth, 1888 
 Dear Rolfe: Your two books, "Lays of Ancient 
 Rome" & "Tales from English History," have
 
 2s6 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 given me real pleasure. They are delightful. Your 
 Introduction to the "Lays" is masterly, the work 
 of a genuine scholar — 'twould be hard to find any- 
 where else so much information compressed into 
 so compact a compass. Every paragraph is full 
 freighted — and the whole is a needful intro- 
 duction, in the fullest sense of the word, to the 
 Poems. . . . 
 
 Your other book, too, is charming — Of course 
 you suffered frightfully from embarrassment of 
 wealth, and your selection is most happy. I was 
 particularly glad to see Drayton's "Aglncourt" 
 — of which, I think, Longfellow's "Skeleton in 
 Armor" is really the only other noteworthy or 
 genuine imitation in this metre, although you 
 mention Scott's and Heber's pieces. We don't 
 estimate Drayton half highly enough: he was a 
 genuine poet. . . . 
 
 Tennyson's "Charge of the Light Brigade" is 
 falsetto; there's not an atom of martial strain in 
 his ludshlp and he thinks there is, so when he tries 
 he grinds out those mock heroics. "All the world 
 wondered!" What bosh! And you're wrong in 
 your notes too, my lad. No one doubts that Nolan 
 falsified his orders. He'd have been courtmar- 
 tlalled had he survived the fight. Bless you, it 
 wasn't a mile and a half that the six hundred had 
 to ride, it was a short half-mile. I have been over 
 every inch of the way, and talked with the sur- 
 vivors on the spot. Sir William Codrington 
 showed me the position of every battery — and
 
 THE LIGHT BRIGADE 257 
 
 though he didn't say it was Nolan's fault, other 
 officers did. Nolan was struck in the breast by a 
 shell & they think that he tried to undo his work 
 and tell them to go back, but it was impossible for 
 him to utter a word; he could only wave his hands 
 to the rest to retreat and died gasping. Cardigan, 
 bad as he was, was noble enough never openly to 
 blame Nolan. Dear me! how garrulous I grow. 
 Forgive & don't forget 
 
 Thine 
 
 H. H. F. 
 
 To Creston Clarke 
 
 1 
 
 222 West Washington Square 
 
 7 July, 1889 
 
 Dear Mr. Clarke: You must pardon an old man, 
 and a very busy old man, if he has neglected to 
 answer very promptly a letter which has interested 
 him very much. 
 
 If I am not mistaken the very thing which has 
 occurred to you in regard to the dramatic superi- 
 ority of the First Quarto of Hamlet occurred to the 
 Devrient brothers and they altered their acting 
 copy accordingly. If I remember rightly they fol- 
 lowed Q, quite exactly; they certainly proclaimed 
 its greatly superior qualities for the stage. (I am 
 writing away from my books and my memory will 
 not retain everything.) I remember that I gave 
 some extracts from the preface of their edition in 
 the second volume of my "Hamlet" — where, too, 
 you'll find a Reprint of the First Quarto. I think 
 
 * A nephew of Edwin Booth.
 
 2s8 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 the stage arrangement of the First Quarto was 
 brought out in London a few years ago under the 
 auspices of the *'New Shakspere Society," and the 
 popular verdict justified it. I can look the matter 
 up when I go to town, if you would Hke it. As to 
 the arrangement of Acts & Scenes about which 
 you ask me, my opinion is not worth a straw — 
 such a question you, as an actor, can decide far, 
 far better — and as for authority, I don't think 
 you need any — I should do just what my dra- 
 matic instinct told me was best, & let your popu- 
 lar success decide. If you lose your hold on your 
 audience you've failed. If it is rivetted you've 
 succeeded, and no one would nod more approv- 
 ingly than Shakespeare himself. 
 
 I don't believe you've studied that Second vol- 
 ume [of the Variorum Hamlet] as much as the First, 
 and yet I think you'll find it the more valuable 
 of the two. Do read Werder's criticism — Not 
 that I wholly agree with him, but it is very novel 
 and very brilliant. (Your Uncle Edwin had a most 
 laughable interview with Werder in Berlin — ask 
 him to describe it.) 
 
 It is quite delightful to find that Hamlet, in- 
 stead of being muddy mettled, is the very soul of 
 energy and full of dash. You'll find the Devrient 
 extract by looking for the name in the Index. 
 
 It is very pleasant to see how much in earnest 
 you are; it augurs finely for your success — which 
 is not to be measured by the applause of one or two 
 seasons, however vociferous. But you've got to
 
 THE STUDY OF HAMLET 259 
 
 make a mark and leave a deep impress on the stage 
 by your personality, & this you can do only by the 
 deepest thought and study. When Shakespeare put 
 years of thought into Hamlet is it likely that we, 
 poor little pygmy atomies, can get it out in an hour? 
 
 Don't hesitate to call on me for aid & call on me 
 personally when you are in Philadelphia. You 
 have a large claim on me for your father's sake, 
 for your Uncle's sake, & for your own sake as an 
 earnest student. 
 
 Believe me, my dear Creston Clarke 
 Yours faithfully 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To F. A. Leo 
 
 Wallingford, 24 November, 1889 
 My dear Leo : You have a right to think me a 
 most unconscionable wretch for having so long 
 delayed to thank you for this dainty little volume 
 of "Poems." The truth is I did not wish to thank 
 you in a formal way until I had read them; and 
 my chances to read them have been slim. I could 
 snatch only odd minutes now and then. But when- 
 ever and wherever I opened the book, dear Leo, I 
 always found something charming and graceful 
 and attractive. You have reason to be proud of 
 the Poems, and your fellow countrymen have 
 reason to be proud of you. I shall always prize the 
 volume for its own sake, and for yours. My heart- 
 iest thanks be yours for it. 
 
 I am in the midst of seeing "As You Like It"
 
 26o HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 through the press. You Germans have been sin- 
 gularly silent over this delightful Comedy. My 
 German extracts are very meagre in amount, and 
 not of the highest tone in quality. The tragedies 
 have attracted you far more than the comedies. 
 As far as I, personally, am concerned, I much pre- 
 fer the latter. Life itself is enough of a tragedy. 
 We need not go to the world of imagination for it 
 — it lies all around us in our daily life. 
 
 Write to me, dear Leo, when the spirit moves 
 you, and remember that I am 
 Faithfully yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Caroline A. Furness 
 
 Wallingford, 1 3 July, 1 890 
 
 A DULL, dark Sunday, with lowering skies, oc- 
 casional heavy downpours from clouds not much 
 higher than the top of Horrie's observatory, with 
 poor bedraggled robins and catbirds, hunting 
 hungry through the wet grass for a stray bit, the 
 house damp and misty with the bannisters sliddery 
 and the paper on the walls in large blisters, flies 
 persistent, with gluey feet, dulness profound every- 
 where but in the parlor, where a bright fire is 
 blazing to cheer your grandfather who inconti- 
 nently left it at noon to go over to your Aunt 
 Nannie's to have his Sunday service with her and 
 to stay to lunch — there, dear little girl, you have 
 a picture of the day and the hour wherein your 
 memory and imagination can fill up many a detail
 
 TALKING TO THE DEAF 261 
 
 — especially Dick's tail which wags fast and fu- 
 riously when he comes every now and then for a bit 
 of sympathy, as though he knew I was writing to 
 you & was anxious to send you a message. . . . 
 
 Carrie Thomas left your Aunt Nannie a day or 
 two ago. She dined and spent the evening here 
 once. Not having all you 'uns to help entertain 
 her, the task of enlivening her fell wholly upon 
 me — Your Aunt Nannie and your Grandfather 
 foregathered in the parlor and Lilly knitted si- 
 lently and steadily. Indeed I got on better than 
 I could have dared to hope, and to such an extent 
 did we warm to one another in comparing notes on 
 the subject of deafness that, by my halidome ! 'twas 
 droll to hear her confess that she much disliked to 
 talk to deaf people; nay, she even went so far as to 
 acknowledge that much as she loved me through 
 kinship and regard she still did very much reluct 
 at talking to me. Whereupon with a merry, 
 merry laugh I told her that she interpreted my 
 feelings exactly, and that I, in return, hated to 
 talk to her — This don't sound like a pleasant way 
 of entertaining your guests — but she and I kind 
 o' seemed to enjoy it. . . . 
 
 Think now and then of your loving old 
 
 Father 
 
 To C. A. F. 
 
 Wallingford, 27 July, 1890 
 
 Whenever I go to town, dearest little girl, which 
 I have to do the first three days of every week, I
 
 262 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 come back in the train which reaches here just be- 
 fore tea at seven o'clock, and I always find your 
 grandfather with his placid, benignant face, await- 
 ing me. One day last week I saw a sight which, if 
 you could have watched it unseen, would have 
 made you blush again, with pleasure. As I de- 
 scended the steps from the station your grand- 
 father came eagerly towards me, his face beaming 
 jwith delight, and holding out a fluttering page 
 which he kept fairly kissing with the devotion of a 
 lover. Ah, you little minx, are you already be- 
 ginning to blush in anticipation.? It was your letter 
 to him thanking him for his birthday present! His 
 joy was exuberant. He could not find adjectives 
 tender enough, or loving enough, or admiring 
 enough to speak of you. Indeed and indeed, in thus 
 making him happy, you have gratified me sover- 
 eignly. Dearly as I love to get your letters, I do 
 not begrudge a single sheet you write to him. ... It 
 is curious to note, and pleasant withal, how readily 
 he falls into set ways. His morning drive to Media, 
 with John, he will on no account forego. (At that 
 city of shops he will insist on buying bon-bons 
 of questionable purity, which it requires all our 
 Machiavellian diplomacy to keep from the innocent 
 mouths of little Kate and Fairman.^ Then, too, 
 after our late dinner or tea, he depends on sitting 
 at the end of the first terrace and watching for 
 Mars, which is due in the sky, over the magnolia 
 
 ^ Helen Kate Furness and Fairman Rogers Furness, H. H. F.'s 
 grandchildren, daughter and son of Walter Rogers Furness.
 
 THE CHARMS OF PARIS 263 
 
 tree. And it is a soothing custom, for two white- 
 haired old men, the younger in years much the 
 older in spirit. 
 
 . . . And so you like Paris. I don't wonder at it. 
 The gay and careless side, which is all the travel- 
 lers see, is very fascinating. Your Mother loved 
 dearly to sit o' evenings on the Boulevards and 
 sip demi-tasse, and watch the stream of life flow 
 by. Heine (to read whose writings it is alone 
 worth learning German) was enamoured of Paris, 
 German though he was, and says in one of his 
 delightful essays that, as it is well known how our 
 ghosts always haunt the spot where we have 
 buried any treasure, he intended before he died to 
 bury a small bag of francs somewhere along the 
 Boulevards so that even as a disembodied spirit 
 he might enjoy that carnival, in saecula saeculorum. 
 It is, however, always worth while to remember 
 that as far as the pendulum swings in one di- 
 rection, it swings exactly as far in the other. 
 Where there is extreme gaiety there is always, and 
 not far off either, extreme misery. What is good 
 about Paris, and I did not find it out till I went 
 there, is that in no city in the world are there more 
 charitable institutions, nowhere are the poor so 
 watched and tended. I remember how deeply I 
 was impressed by seeing a hospital "Pour les In- 
 curables," a charity we have in this city only on 
 a very small scale and within only two or three 
 years, while it was on a large scale in Paris thirty 
 years ago. Then, too, on my very first walk in that
 
 264 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 city, I passed by the magnificent buildings of the 
 Tullerles and the Louvre, just then a-bullding, and 
 saw a little frame house with "Pour les blesses" 
 over the door where a surgeon was in attendance 
 all day to care for workmen who might meet with 
 accidents. I had always had an antipathy to 
 Paris; the stories I had heard of it always dis- 
 gusted me, & I entered It with stern antagonism. 
 The sight of that beautiful provision for wounded 
 workmen gave me very serious pause, and when I 
 found that beneath all the gay frivolity there was 
 a most serious, earnest humanity I was reconciled 
 & could forgive (and enjoy) the one for the sake 
 of the other. 
 
 This Is a worthless letter — most barren of news. 
 But repentance comes too late. Pm going to write 
 to Willy. Read and accept that letter as a con- 
 tinuation of this from 
 
 Your most loving and devoted 
 
 Father 
 
 To William Pepper 
 
 Wallingford, i^th Nov. 1890 
 My dear Provost: You ask me about the cost of 
 a good working library of English and American 
 Literature. 'TIs a very hard question to answer — 
 the definition of what constitutes a "good work- 
 ing" library is as various as men's minds and 
 would extend from a single copy of an Encyclo- 
 pedia up to the British Museum. However, look- 
 ing at the needs, the absolute needs of a University
 
 A GOOD WORKING LIBRARY 265 
 
 such as ours, I should say a selection such as the 
 following would be as moderate as could be de- 
 vised. Be it here understood that I do not here 
 include any fictitiously valuable books, such as the 
 Mazarin Bible or the First Folio of Shakespeare, 
 nor any purely technical books which belong to the 
 special libraries of our technical schools. I have 
 tried to enumerate only those classes of books, 
 which would be indispensable to the students in 
 writing their college Themes or in laying the funda- 
 mental groundwork of a sound English education. 
 First and foremost must come all books of 
 Reference, such as Dictionaries (Philological, Bio- 
 graphical, Bibliographical, Technical, etc.), Ency- 
 clopedias, Grammars (Early and Late, such as 
 German Matzners and Koch's — these are not 
 German grammars, but English grammars by 
 Germans). The Early English Text Society's pub- 
 lication, The Hunterian Club (of Glasgow), The 
 Spenser Society, The Camden, Hakluyt, Rox- 
 burghe, Philoblblon Societies, etc. Arber's Re- 
 prints, Stationers' Registers, Grosart's Huth Li- 
 brary, Anglia, Englische Studien, etc., etc., es- 
 pecially the various translations of the Bible. (The 
 basis of our most learned late Prof, Dr. Knauth's 
 fame was laid on his intimate knowledge of these 
 translations.) I do not think that for the purchase 
 of these the sum' of eight thousand dollars would be 
 more than adequate. (I have lately been entrusted 
 with the expenditure of one thousand dollars in 
 this department for the Philadelphia Library and 1
 
 266 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 therefore know how very little way that sum goes 
 — ten times this sum will have to be expended 
 before that Library will stand where I think it 
 should stand in this English Department.) I am 
 therefore moderate in estimating for our Univer- 
 sity the sum I mentioned above. 
 
 Next come the books which makes the Diction- 
 aries and Grammars necessary. For the sake of es- 
 timating the cost, they can be divided into Prose 
 and Poetry. 
 
 In Prose must be included all writers from Sir 
 Thomas Malory with his Morte dArthur down to 
 Thomas Carlyle. I needn't specify; we all know 
 what a host there is. Under this head should be 
 included, perhaps, full sets of the standard maga- 
 zines such as Edinburgh, Blackwood, Gentleman's, 
 Quarterly, etc. The cost of this department would 
 amount to about five thousand dollars. This would 
 represent, say, about three thousand volumes (not 
 authors, but volumes; Dickens, for instance, runs 
 up to about fifty volumes). 
 
 For Poetry I should say, that assuredly about 
 the same amount would be required, if not more. 
 We must remember that we are here dealing with 
 not only the Elizabethan, but with the Queen 
 Anne, and the Victorian periods. Although for the 
 Elizabethan we must rely chiefly upon Reprints, 
 yet these Reprints have grown costly. Here too 
 belong the Chaucer Society's publications, and the 
 Ballad Society. 
 
 I do not forget that in all these Departments we
 
 A GOOD WORKING LIBRARY 267 
 
 have already somewhat In our present Library. 
 It is for this reason, therefore, that I am rather 
 understating than overstating our needs. 
 
 In American Literature, I'm afraid my knowl- 
 edge is very shallow. Looking at the eagerness 
 with which early Americana are now sought after 
 (and it does seem fitting that such a department 
 should be well represented in an American College), 
 I should imagine that the ground could be well 
 and adequately covered by another five thousand 
 dollars. . . . 
 
 I cannot imagine how a greater impetus can be 
 given to our University than by such a gift of 
 books. The life and soul of a University lie in its 
 Library. The larger the Library the grander, and 
 more enduring and more far-reaching the influence 
 of the University, The fact that we have now the 
 finest, most complete collection of Latin literature 
 in the Western hemisphere ought to stimulate us 
 to keep pace in a literature that is far more useful 
 to us and comes closer to our hearts and daily lives 
 than the Latin. But the prospect is too dazzling; 
 I shall sink into bathos if I keep on any longer, 
 and so, my dear Pepper, I can only sign myself 
 Your friend and servant 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Edwin Booth 
 
 222 West Washington Square 
 
 6 Dec, 1890 
 
 My dear Ned: I'm afraid you must forego, this 
 
 time, the happy eminence of an original emendcr of
 
 268 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 the divine Williams. That "eale" was supposed 
 to be ill was conjectured by Capell a hundred and 
 thirty years ago, and as such has been mumbled 
 and chewed, sometimes swallowed and sometimes 
 spat out, by various commentators ever since. 
 
 That "eale" was specifically eHl (just as you 
 have it) was proposed by one Swynfen Jervis 
 thirty years ago, and has since received the same 
 treatment as its forbear ill. 
 
 My own opinion is that you and S. J. are exactly 
 
 right, and for the rest of the sentence I adopt 
 
 Corson's interpretation which follows the original 
 
 text without the alteration of a single letter: 
 
 The dram of evil 
 Doth all the noble substance with a doubt. 
 
 I.e., a wee atom of evil will permeate whatever is 
 noble with a suspicion — "substance" is a verb: — 
 the evil substances, penetrates with its own essence 
 whatever is noble, &c. Do you take the idea? In 
 the original it reads "substance of a doubt," but 
 "with" and "of" are interchangeable; as you 
 know well enough, Shakespeare often & often uses 
 "of" where we should use "with." If you under- 
 stand this, 'tis clear that I've explained it more 
 intelligibly than Corson — for his explanation 
 broke my head before I mastered it. 
 
 Awful glad you're all right again — now don't 
 go and load its little stummie with naughty indi- 
 gestible food and you'll stay so. 
 
 Blessings on your bonnie face. 
 
 H. H. F.
 
 METHOD 269 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 222 West Washington Square 
 
 31 December, 1890 
 
 My dear Wright: What a thing it is to be me- 
 thodical! — a quality I have struggled to attain 
 all my life, and now towards the close of that life I 
 begin to mistrust and even anathematize it. "Past 
 reason hunted, and past reason hated." 
 
 As soon as I have answered a letter, I always 
 mark on it the date of my answer. 
 
 I have just found a letter of yours, of last May, 
 whereon there is no record that I ever replied to it, 
 and it contained some queries anent the readings 
 in my F, and Fj which should have had an imme- 
 diate answer. 
 
 0-hon-a-ree! did I never answer you.'' I haven't 
 the faintest recollection of so doing and I am 
 afraid I must throw myself at your feet and pray 
 for mercy. 
 
 If I did not, say but the word, and the needed 
 collation shall travel back to you as fast as winds 
 give benefit and convoy is assistant. 
 
 At this season, dear Wright, take from my lips 
 the wish of happy years — and so me totum tuo 
 amori fideique commando — 
 
 ^ Horace Howard Furness 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 222 West Washington Square, 6th FeFy, 1891 
 My dear Wright: As we have never met face to 
 face my simulacrum in your mind can suffer no loss
 
 270 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 of dignity if I beg you to picture me as swinging 
 round my hat to the utmost compass of my out- 
 stretched arm, over the arrival this morning of 
 Volume the First.^ 
 
 Albeit attached as I am to the First Edition, I 
 must acknowledge that I like the outward show of 
 this Second better — I like the snow-white paper 
 and the clear type. 
 
 'Tis a true thing, too, to reprint the Preface of 
 the First Edition, with the notes thereof, as far as 
 practicable, ipsissimis verbis. 
 
 I do most heartily congratulate you for your 
 sake, and thank you for my own. 
 
 Last summer I collated "The Tempest" and the 
 trifling oversights which I noted in the First edi- 
 tion have been, I see, nearly all corrected in 
 the present. But, Lord! (a la Pepys) who cares 
 whether the authority be Rowe ii, or Pope, Stee- 
 vens, or Singer — The variations in the Folios, 
 however, are interesting. In HI, i, 80, you record 
 in both editions ''^ seekd F3 F^." In my folio it is 
 unmistakably seekt. This, I think, is the only dis- 
 crepancy which I noted. 
 
 Again thanking you, dear Wright, for remem- 
 bering me, I remain 
 
 Yours faithfully 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 I do like your plain unlettered name on the 
 title-page. 'Tis vastly more distinguished than if 
 you had the whole alphabet after it. 
 
 ' Of the Second Edition of the Cambridge Shakespeare.
 
 INFLUENZA 271 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Wallingford, 24 June, 189 1 
 My dear Wright: I thank you over and over 
 again for these verses of Fitzgerald's — They are 
 so simple, so direct, so charming, and so full of 
 feeling. Who can read the second without emo- 
 tion ? 'Twas very good of you to remember me. 
 
 I'm woe to think that you should be suffering 
 from this wretched epidemic. I had it in the Spring, 
 but not so severely that I could not set my teeth 
 and live my daily life in spite of it. But the mental 
 prostration is the hardest to withstand. I longed 
 to become a China Mandarin and squat all day 
 long, wagging my hands and sticking my tongue 
 out. 
 
 Don't think of answering this — it bears merely 
 my thanks and my sympathy. 
 
 And e'en my thanks for the fine Vol. II — which 
 is the last to reach these shores. How vast an im- 
 provement in type over the first. Beheve me, dear 
 Wright 
 
 Cordially yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To C. A. F, 
 
 Wallingford, Jth July, '91 
 Dearest LITTLE one: This is only a wail over 
 your absence. I know you're having a lovely time, 
 and I wouldn't have you back again one minute 
 before the allotted hour, but my! how empty the 
 house seems! My footsteps echo through the
 
 272 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 vacant corridors (no houses in sentimental writing 
 have "entries"; they're always "corridors") and 
 my voice reverberates in the silent rooms. We 
 propose to banish the dining table and have the 
 table spread on the top of an umbrella. But, in- 
 deed, we do miss you! Willie is so depressed at 
 your absence that I have been obliged furtively to 
 conceal his razors. Walter & Helen try to distract 
 themselves in the excitement of filling up their lily 
 pond. But I can see that their joy is hollow. Even 
 the coon is restless and broke his chain last night, 
 evidently bent on searching for you. Walter was 
 just going into his bath when Helen — herself in 
 night apparel, brought him word. Whereupon, 
 donning dressing-gowns and slippers, the husband 
 and wife flew over Delaware County in search of 
 the truant, whom they at last found and rechained. 
 But the neighborhood is rife this morning with 
 ghost stories and children, far and near, have gone 
 quaking to bed this night. 
 
 Ah, well, this is only a little greeting to you — 
 for fear that you will clean forget 
 
 Your loving old 
 
 Father 
 
 To W. J. Rolfe 
 
 Wallingford, 2 August, 1 891 
 Dear old boy: . . . What a pleasant fraternity 
 Sh. Edd. are in private and what tigers of Anjia 
 they are in print. Howard Staunton sent me the 
 other day a handsome medallion likeness of him-
 
 SHAKESPEAREAN STUDY 273 
 
 self, and yet I suppose he'd rend me if he caught 
 me tripping editorially. Dyce asserts that a Con- 
 jecture of Dr. Ingleby's "vies in absurdity with 
 any of the misinterpretations that ignorance & 
 conceit have ever put forth and etc., etc." All of 
 which Dr. Ingleby wrote to me that he considered 
 as "perfectly allowable spice.''* Father Abraham 
 what a world! 
 
 But bye, bye — I hope you'll have a delightful 
 summer. 
 
 Yours ever 
 
 H. H. F. 
 
 To F. A. Leo 
 
 WalHngford, October 31, 1891 
 My dear Leo: I should be proud indeed to have 
 any word of mine in your Sh. Yearbooks, but that 
 pride cannot be mine for many a long day yet, if 
 ever. I really have no minute free from the work 
 to which my life is now devoted. I shall never 
 finish all the plays, but I should like to complete 
 as many as I can "while it is day, for the night 
 Cometh wherein no man can work." "The Tem- 
 pest" is finished and is now going through the 
 press, and the very day that it is published I shall 
 probably begin another. The spirit driveth me, 
 and 'tis my only nepenthe. As for Shakespearean 
 study, and, in fact, for all study, it is not the goal 
 reached that is the great gain, but it is the reaching 
 it. Just as the fox is worth nothing when it is 
 caught, but the catching it is the great thing. So
 
 274 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 of your textual criticism on Shakespeare; you may 
 not be successful, but you have gained much in the 
 process. You Germans scarcely realize how dear 
 Shakespeare is to the English heart, and for a for- 
 eigner to step in and attempt to settle any little 
 difficulty which we may have with him is exactly 
 like a stranger's interfering between husband and 
 wife, and you know it is proverbial that in this latter 
 case the stranger turns all the wrath upon himself. 
 But, dear Leo, you may amend Shakespeare from 
 The Tempest to Pericles if you will only remember 
 that I am 
 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To C. A. F. 
 
 Wallingford, lo July, 1892 
 Dearest, dearest little daughter of ours, this week 
 has been "red-lettered, eminently fair." Twice, 
 on Monday and on Thursday, the summer sun- 
 shine was made brighter by letters from you, both 
 from Dresden, and dated 22nd and 26th of June. 
 In the former you were wrath all around the horizon 
 
 — with Brown, Shipley, and with us here at home. 
 Foolish little girl, you believed your old father had 
 neglected to write to you ! Don't you remember that 
 I distinctly warned you not to fall into this error.'' 
 There is always a hitch about getting the first letters 
 
 — the silence of all voices from home seems un- 
 accountable. I told you then & I repeat it now, 
 that as regularly as the Sunday comes, I shall, if 
 I am alive, write to you. . . .
 
 F. A. LEO 275 
 
 Your letter of the 22nd, wherein you declared 
 that you "hated" Berlin, took me by surprise; 
 your first letter from that gorgeous capital was 
 full of enthusiasm over it. I, myself, never liked 
 Berlin; there was an air of cold grandeur which 
 displeased me, but then I attributed it to its Prot- 
 estantism, and missed the warmer, more emotional 
 atmosphere of the Catholic cities of South Ger- 
 many. 
 
 Good for old Leo! I'm glad he responded cor- 
 dially. I had a letter from him full of enthusiasm 
 over you. He says he "fell immediately in love. 
 What a sweet, kind, intelligent face, what a hearty, 
 good, and spiritful smile, how true-hearted in her 
 shaking the hand." 
 
 Then he adds: "But my intoxication did not 
 blind me so far that I should not have enjoyed the 
 acquaintance of the third Dr. Furness, who seems 
 rather young for a Dr. It seems to be a special dis- 
 position of the Furness family to be high-minded." 
 He regretted that you could not see Mrs. Leo, 
 who, he says, since the death of his daughter, 
 "does not thrive in society." 
 
 He's evidently a good, warmhearted soul and 
 was, I think, really gratified by your visit. . . . 
 
 It's an ideal summer Sunday afternoon. Little 
 Kate and Fairman dined with us, and chattered 
 away without let or hindrance. They have just 
 passed my window on their way home with their 
 nurse. Your Grandfather is smoking on the porch 
 with the faithful and happy Lily by his side. The
 
 276 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 warm broad sunshine bathes the whole landscape, 
 and from the warm earth the flowers are blooming 
 in profusion. The hollyhocks, somewhat maltreated 
 by the storms, are on the wane and by next Sun- 
 day there will be only a row of Ichabods. The sweet 
 peas are beyond compare, such colours, such fra- 
 grance, such abundance. Despite the enormous 
 bunches gathered daily enough have gone to seed 
 to supply the planting which awaits your loving 
 hands in October. The Poppies are the present 
 glory, an endless variety, and your Grandfather's 
 first visit every day is to this bed, and over it he 
 hangs with untiring delight. The two ends of the 
 crescent are intensely blue with heaven's own tinct. 
 The bathtub keeps up its gold and the portulaccas 
 are just beginning to blossom here and there. The 
 bignonia on the cedar post is beyond the reach of 
 my spud at arm's length. The four-o'clocks are 
 grown into bushes and covered with flowers. 
 
 Dear, take the outpourings of the heart of your 
 doting old, old 
 
 Father 
 
 To C. A. F. 
 
 Wallingford, 24 July, 1892 
 Dearest little daughter of ours, I think I shan't 
 be entirely at peace about you until I hear that you 
 are in the cooler air of Switzerland. I hope you've 
 not lingered too long in those bake-ovens, Vienna 
 and Munich. ... I wonder if you will remember, 
 when you are in Munich, how familiar all its streets
 
 MEMORIES OF MUNICH 277 
 
 were to the youthful feet of your old father — It 
 has been, however, enormously enlarged since those 
 ancient days. The statue of Bavaria is now, I be- 
 lieve, almost within the city limits or at least in the 
 suburbs. It was in a desolate meadow in my time & 
 I remember that we played a game of leap frog 
 around its base. And the dear old Frauenkirche 
 with its twin towers, under whose shadow was the 
 restaurant where I always dined. ... I think I 
 shall enjoy more than all others your account of 
 Munich. I was a full-fledged member of two of its 
 student clubs. . . . 
 
 The next important item is the extreme content 
 of your Uncle Frank over his appointment as ar- 
 chitect of the Broad Street Station. 'Tis an enor- 
 mous "job," estimated to cost about a million 
 dollars and will closely occupy him for two years 
 at least. The way in which he received the appoint- 
 ment, by a unanimous vote on the first ballot, 
 was eminently soul-satisfying. He learned the 
 good news last Monday at four o'clock. He came 
 at once to Idlewild and he and Fanny drove in- 
 stantly to tell us. We were at tea and I was sum- 
 moned to the bow window where I found Fanny 
 almost bursting with smiles and joyousness and 
 your Uncle Frank wildly waving a handkerchief 
 fastened to the whip. 
 
 Agnes Repplier paid us a two days' visit on 
 Wednesday and Thursday. She was in excellent 
 spirits and of uncommon gentleness. We chat- 
 tered both evenings and I read endlessly to them.
 
 278 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 My I but I have to pay for such evenings. My old 
 ear-trumpet do hurt afterwards a considerable bit. 
 
 She told a droll story of one of her friends, who 
 protested against wearing her scapula all the time. 
 "But don't you know," said her interlocutor, 
 "that if you do, the Virgin Mary will take you 
 out of Purgatory on the Saturday following your 
 death.?" "Ah well," she replied, "I guess I'd just 
 as leave wait till Monday." Now as fate would 
 have it, Agnes left her scapula here; Theresa 
 brought it to me after she had left. Of course I 
 sent it to her at once, and equally of course I 
 wrote her that I was sorry she'd have to " wait till 
 Monday" — the day she'll get it. 
 
 Just think when you receive this — your trip 
 will be half over — what Platonic cycles have 
 passed since you began it. 
 
 Your devoted old 
 
 Father 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Wallingford, 6 August, 1 892 
 
 My dear Wright: All hail to Volume Seventh! 
 (and if the heat is as oppressive with you as it is 
 here, you '11 appreciate the timeous coolness of the 
 greeting.) 
 
 Happy, thrice, happy you, who can look for- 
 ward to the day and hour when your shackles are 
 to fall. What will you do.'' Go to church in a gail- 
 lard and come back in a Coranto .'' Won't your very 
 walk be a jig.'' Shall you record for us the very
 
 ALLIBONE'S DICTIONARY 279 
 
 minute of the day your last proof was despatched 
 and state that you took a turn in the garden to 
 quiet your beating brains, as does our Allibone in 
 reference to the conclusion of his dictionary? What 
 a pied ninny that man was, and how he does irri- 
 tate me with his obtrusive platitudes. I suppose 
 you are too good and equable in temperament to 
 mind such trifles, but me they sting like pismires. 
 
 Well, if you won't adopt Allibone's plan, you 
 ought to have some sort of celebration. Won't 
 Macmillan give a great dinner? At any rate, your 
 slumbers will be sweet that first night — all the 
 sweeter probably without the dinner. Seasons of 
 refreshment are good after toil, who deniges of it, 
 Betsy Prig? That little darkie boy touched the 
 verities who knocked his toes against a stone, 
 "'cos they felt so good when they'd done aching!" 
 
 You ask me who Stockdale is, with his "white- 
 skirted meads," in Lear. You've probably found 
 out by this time that it is Stockdale's edition, so 
 called, printed somewhere along in 1784 or '87 (my 
 Shakespeare books are all in town). I think that it 
 is this edition that Ayscough used for his concord- 
 ance. Lord! (Pepys) how my memory begins to 
 fail me! 
 
 I have just finished the entire collation, forty 
 editions, &c, of "Mids. Night's Dream" — for 
 which relief much thanks. I could bring out a play 
 every year if I gave my whole time to it, but isn't it 
 better to spend the daylight in summer among my 
 flowers and shrubberies where my father and I go
 
 28o HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 pottering around — two old men, he the younger 
 of the two. 
 
 Tibi me totum commendo atque trado, dear 
 Wright. 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Miss Agnes Repplier 
 
 Wallingford, \$th August, 1892 
 
 Dear Miss Agnes: By this same mail I send you 
 a Birmingham paper containing a short notice of a 
 cat, which I think is not beneath your reading. 
 
 Albeit I address this to Philadelphia I suppose 
 you're philandering around with your Bostons and 
 your Cohassets and from your snug seat by the 
 flesh pots of New England, with their Yankee 
 heave shoulders and Yankee wave breasts (what- 
 ever in the world these may mean I don't know — I 
 merely want you to understand that I read my 
 Bible) you cast never a thought at humble Wal- 
 lingford and the likes of us. Well, go your ways. 
 Come and see us when you get back, and in the 
 meantime believe me, dear Miss Agnes 
 Yours faithfully 
 
 Horace Howard Furness
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 1893-1898 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Wallingford, 4 July, 1 893 
 
 My dear Wright: Half a dozen times lately I 
 have been on the point of writing to you, first, 
 just on general principles, that I might be in touch 
 with you if only for the few minutes of my writing, 
 and secondly, to make you my ghostly confessor 
 in a question of ethics, when last Saturday a book 
 reached me from Macmillan. 
 
 If "Daddy" Wordsworth confessed that his 
 "heart leaped up when he beheld a rainbow in the 
 sky," surely I may be permitted to say that my 
 heart bounded when I found that the volume was 
 your Ninth and the last of the, not magnum but, 
 maximus opus. Indeed, dear Wright, I do most 
 heartily congratulate you and envy the far and cool 
 height you have attained. You have accomplished 
 the task you set before you long years ago,^, and the 
 work Is done forever, in saecula saeculorum. 
 
 And your kind mention of me gratifies me more 
 deeply than I can express. Who cares for Sir 
 Hubert Stanley! — a word of praise from you out- 
 weighs a whole regiment of Sir Huberts. Ever 
 since you wrote me that dear, tender, sympathetic 
 letter ten years ago when the blackness first cov- 
 ered me of that shadow which has never for one
 
 282 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 instant lifted, I have been bound to you with hooks 
 of steel. You will never know, you can never 
 know, how deeply I was touched by those words of 
 yours. Ten years! ten years! But that way mad- 
 ness lies — 
 
 Now lay thy finger thus and let thy soul be in- 
 structed, go at once to a photographer and have 
 your likeness taken as you look on the completion 
 of your Shakespeare, and of course send me a copy. 
 Another purpose was to thank you for your out- 
 spoken words about the Quarto facsimiles. What 
 you say is "all truth and daylight," as Clivey Pivey 
 said. No more room — but what room would be 
 large enough to tell you how very, very much I am 
 Yours 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Wallingford, li September, 1893 
 My dear Wright: As you are not going to the 
 great Chicago Fair (neither am I), I send you for 
 your enlightenment a good substitute in the "Cos- 
 mopolitan" Magazine which goes by this post. It 
 is said to give an excellent idea of the big thing, 
 which greatly flatters my national pride in which I 
 am quite content to take on trust and look at 
 through the eyes of others. What is the use of 
 trapesing and cavorting (let me use Americanisms 
 or die) all over the world in your youth, if you can- 
 not turn down certain pages and say, "There! 
 that settles that thing forever for me — 'Tis the
 
 REST AFTER WORK 283 
 
 best the Earth can show and hereafter I'll not 
 budge a step to see a reproduction." Much com- 
 fort and lazy ease have I squeezed out of that con- 
 solation. 
 
 After your long, hard work I trust you are rest- 
 ing royally. How I envy you the feeling, which I 
 shall never share, of an accomplished task. That 
 same rest I have, in a less degree, periodically at 
 the close of each volume, and so delicious is the 
 feeling that it is worth all the previous anxiety. 
 
 But *'the night is dark, the hour is late, and 
 rain comes pelting down" (I wish it did, for we 
 have a turribel drought here, but would you have 
 me spoil a quotation.'') and I must to my truckle 
 bed. 
 
 As winds give benefit and convoy is assistant 
 let me hear from you. 
 
 Thine while this machine is to him 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 H. H. F. 
 
 (Pardon the foregoing "Thine" and "Yours" — 
 but I wouldn't erase for I would have you receive 
 from me scarce a blot in my papers.) 
 
 To Charles Eliot Norton 
 
 WalUngford, 9 November, 1893 
 Dear Norton: I write in haste to thank you 
 most warmly for this copy of "Lowell's Letters" 
 which reached me today. You are very kind to 
 remember the likes of me. But no kindness or 
 gentleness of heart in you surprises me.
 
 284 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 The duty of the hour was of no avail when the 
 books came — I dropped everything and was soon 
 lost in the charm of the letters, and in my admira- 
 tion of the excellent way in which you had mar- 
 shalled them. Dearly as I should have loved to 
 see more of your wise and benignant self, yet 
 your reticence and persistent retreat into the back- 
 ground is the perfection of editorial duty, and so 
 skilfully have you brought the letters onward that 
 as I review in my mind what I have read 'tis hard 
 to believe that I have read a continuous narrative 
 told by another. Moreover, in no other way than 
 that which you have followed could we have known 
 how rounded (totus, terres atque rotundus) was 
 Lowell's character and how to a rare and striking 
 degree the child was father to the man. And how 
 these Letters do revive the old, distressful anti- 
 slavery days! When I used to read "The Penn- 
 sylvania Freeman" and the "Standard," how 
 little I appreciated Lowell's grand work and how 
 that in it was inwrought so noble a character. Are 
 there any similar angels working nowadays unbe- 
 knownst,^ If you unearth any do let me know. 
 
 What revelations of character these letters are — 
 that one which speaks of his yearning for love, of 
 his readiness to love everyone he sees and yet has 
 no response — then too that wise, wise letter to 
 his nephew, my dear friend and classmate Charley 
 Lowell, — that inestimable injunction to observe 
 Nature. 
 
 Again, dear Norton, you have put me under
 
 AN EASY ANSWER 285 
 
 deep obligations, and it gratifies me so much to 
 find you still remember 
 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To William J. Rolfe 
 
 Wallingford, 10 May, 1894 
 My dear old boy: Your note of the 4th inst. 
 found me laid by the heels all along of the pace at 
 which I have been living for this many a long day. 
 This simply by way of apology for not answering 
 your note on the spot, especially since the answer 
 is so easy — it is the same as that given by a law 
 student who on coming away from his examina- 
 tion for admission to the Bar, said ruefully, "I an- 
 swered only one question correctly. When they 
 asked me what was an estate in fee simple, I told 
 'em I didn't know." 
 
 And so I must answer you, but when I can get 
 to town, and break this enforced rest, I'll look up 
 the point. 
 
 "Julius Caesar" will probably be my next play 
 — if ever I get the Mid. N. Dream finished, which 
 at my present rate will be never — a month's 
 steady work would do it — but that month I can't 
 get. Decidedly I must resign from the University 
 and the Phila. Library and move out here, if I am 
 ever to go on with my Shakespeare work — and I 
 must go no more philandering about giving Read- 
 ings. 'Tis no sin, Hal, to labour in one's vocation 
 but Shakespearean Reading is not my vocation.
 
 286 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 Now don't you go and say with a cruel sneer that 
 this is the pride that apes humility. For you know 
 it isn't. I have never given a Reading that I didn't 
 want to beat myself afterwards for reading wrongly 
 some phrase or other. The chiefest pleasure Lowell 
 gave me was that I got to know you and Mrs. 
 Rolfe better. But I must stop gabbling about my- 
 self — always a tiresome theme. So good-night, 
 my boy — 
 
 Yours ever 
 
 H. H. F. 
 
 To W, Aldis Wright 
 
 JVallingford, 26 August, 1 894 
 Hech! but I'm tired of writing letters! and you'd 
 believe it if you could see the pile by my side. So, 
 you dear Wright, I'm going to rest myself and 
 gabble to you for a few minutes. 
 
 I suppose you are at Beccles; I love to think of 
 you in that pretty little house, where everything 
 looks so pure and fresh with the flowers blooming 
 in front. Surely, every breath there must bring 
 you health. I'd send you a photograph of this 
 place of mine, if it were possible to have one taken 
 where a view of the house could be included. It is 
 so completely surrounded by trees that no possible 
 view can take in the house. Three gigantic lindens 
 stand directly in front, then two terraces with flower 
 beds lead down to the lawn. I take endless delight 
 in flowers whose language is always distinct to my 
 deaf ears; and my only recreation in winter is in
 
 THE LINDENSHADE GARDEN 287 
 
 my green house, where I potter among the flowers, 
 making cuttings, trying experiments, hybridising, 
 and having a real good time. I wish I could get 
 your bewitching little daisy to grow on my lawn — 
 I've sown quantities of seeds and have even had 
 dozens and dozens of plants dibbled into the sod, 
 but in vain — they'll bloom one year and then dis- 
 appear forever. 
 
 Heigho, how long it is since I heard from you, 
 mon cher. I do most fervently hope that wretched 
 numbness has yielded to treatment. You've never 
 told me whether or not the membership of the 
 Philosophical Society gratified you. I hope it did. 
 I was at my wits' end to do something to please 
 you, so I proposed your name, and had my dear 
 friend, the Treasurer of the Society, second it and 
 see it safely through the Committee, which is 
 equivalent to election. I intended to couple Lord 
 Acton's name with yours, but lord! he do act 
 queerly — so he can bide a wee. 
 
 Time and paper up, dear boy; I hope I've di- 
 verted you for one minute. 
 
 Always, dear Wright, yours affectionately 
 
 H. H. F. 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Wallingford, zSth August, 1894 
 
 Oh, joy! dear Wright, I wrote to you on Sunday 
 evening, and yesterday came your letter. In my 
 delight I could scarcely refrain from some feats of 
 ground and lofty tumbling. Honour bright, I was
 
 288 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 becoming very much worried about you. I was 
 somewhat reheved a while ago by the news in a 
 letter from Daddy Skeat, that you were not con- 
 fined to your room. (Bless my soul! what have I 
 done! I'm more than half inclined to tear up this 
 sheet. Isn't Skeat a great friend of yours? and I 
 have called him "Daddy"! but I Hke Daddies — 
 I adore Daddies — They're just too utterly lovely 
 for anything. There! you don't mind now, do you.'') 
 What a master typewriter you are! I'm tempted 
 to try the thing myself — and yet I don't like to 
 have a letter from one I love too legible. You read 
 it too quickly — I like to puzzle over words and 
 draw out the "linked sweetness." The letter lasts 
 longer and you hold your friend's hand longer in 
 your own. I've always detested my own handwrit- 
 ing — it is so vilely legible. 'Tis now nigh two 
 o'clock A.M. and I must to my truckle bed, but I 
 couldn't go without telling you the soothing com- 
 fort your letter is to me. Oh, don't you think that 
 'twas Sidney Smith who put Bungay into Thack- 
 eray's head ^ You remember how the former gave 
 an inexpressibly comic air to his remarks by always 
 repeating (in his Essay on Methodists, I think) 
 "Rev. Mr. Shufflebottom of Bungay." 
 Good-night, dear Wright 
 
 Yours ever H. H. F. 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Wallingford, October 4, 1894 
 
 My dear Wright: So ever present are you in my 
 work (when I can get at it) that I am amazed
 
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 X 
 
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 \3
 
 fItcU, JrhJ f/tcd./ ^ f^Ci/i 
 
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 MARRIAGE OF DAUGHTER 289 
 
 when I look at the date of your last letter. It 
 seems as though I were in daily communication 
 with you and yet that tell tale date is — but no, 
 I'll not remind you of it. Haply you, too, are self 
 deceived & think the date more recent than it 
 really is. 
 
 It is not altogether a cheerful letter; you were 
 saddened by the death of a dear friend at Moffat; 
 you had been working hard, too hard; you had 
 learned the hard lesson of the beauty of the law's 
 delay in a stuffy Assize Court; and worst of all had 
 dislocated your shoulder. (Whew! but that hurts!) 
 You needed petting and cossetting up, and, in- 
 grate that I am, I stirred never a finger in your 
 behalf. Ah, well, time and the hour runs through 
 the roughest day — a quotation which is forever 
 in my thoughts and almost dally on my lips. 
 
 There is a subdued bustle all around me now — 
 my daughter Is to be married in a few days — and 
 then I shall be left alone with my youngest son — 
 with whom I am more than half inclined to live out 
 here in the country all the year round. I shall, 
 build a fire proof library and therein spend my rem- 
 nant of days till death comes "a-knocking at the 
 door." My daughter marries a young Dr. Jayne, 
 who has already attained some eminence in the 
 scientific world, and is Director of a large Insti- 
 tute connected with our University, devoted to 
 original research in science, the only one of its kind 
 in this country. The young couple will go abroad 
 at once, and if they go to Cambridge and intro-
 
 290 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 duce themselves to you I shall be glad, very glad 
 to have a vicarious shake of your hand. 
 
 Amidst multitudinous distractions I have finished 
 "A Midsummer Night's Dream" and shall send It 
 to press In a few weeks. The only change that I 
 have made Is to put In the Preface what I have 
 hitherto put in the Appendix. 
 
 Do tell me how Hales has succeeded. He has 
 Gosse's position, has he not.'' Churton Collins 
 (you see the connection of thought f) was here last 
 winter — a man of prodigious memory. I think 
 you told me you had never met him — he's a man 
 worth knowing. 
 
 Have you whistled down the wind my request 
 that you should have your photograph taken.? Do 
 have one taken at once and send a copy right off 
 to 
 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Wallingford, 31 October, 1894 
 
 Dear Wright: Dr. Haupt, of Baltimore, sent me 
 'tother day your letter to him in regard to his new 
 translation of "Leviticus." 
 
 With your strictures, in the main, on this trans- 
 lation, I quite agree, and in pronouncing it "good 
 newspaper English" you characterised it, prob- 
 ably, exactly as would please Dr. H., If by that 
 term you mean that without being sedate it was 
 throughout Intelligible. As I understood him, he
 
 HAUPT'S CRITICAL BIBLE 291 
 
 wished his translation to be un-Bibllcal in phrase- 
 ology and absolutely clear. All my share in the 
 matter was to see to it that this end was attained. 
 Whether or not this end be a good one, is a sepa- 
 rate question, and grave doubts may be enter- 
 tained of its propriety. But this question was not, 
 in legal slang, "coram judice." All I had to do was 
 to make it certain that the elaborate sacrificial 
 formulas were so clear that no one could go astray, 
 and to quite disregard Jacobean English. You 
 spoke of a wrongly placed "inadvertently," I ex- 
 amined my proofs and found that I had corrected 
 it. Also you mentioned "Around" instead of 
 "about." This word I adopted with the full knowl- 
 edge that it is neither in the Bible nor in Shake- 
 speare — but the word is an excellent word for all 
 that, it expresses more than "about." I think I 
 know well enough that the three witches "go 
 about, about" the caldron. Nathless "around" 
 is extremely old and eminently respectable. As to 
 "hitching-posts," a thoroughly American word, 
 (I don't suppose you have the article in England) 
 — that word occurred in the "Notes" and over 
 them I had no jurisdiction. 
 
 What Haupt is going to do, I do not know. I 
 believe he has entrusted "Leviticus" to Prof. 
 Driver, who will, I am afraid, make a mess of it. 
 I believe he is to combine Jacobean and Victorian, 
 which mislikes me much. It grates me to read "he 
 that goes" instead of "he that goeth" or "he who 
 goes." However, I've grown so old that I don't
 
 292 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 care much about it nor about anything else except 
 that you'll believe, dear Wright, that I am 
 Yours as ever 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 WalUngford, 25 April, 1895 
 My dear Wright: Here we are again, — with 
 our Httle bilV which I trust you'll like, and as you 
 read I hope your features will relax into a smile. 
 The perversions are atrocious but comic. 
 
 It is probably the oldest Shakespeare Society in 
 existence. (I do not approve of the spelling of the 
 name, but we adopted it thirty years ago under the 
 influence of Knight, and now keep it up as a matter 
 of pride — and by no means as an indication of 
 affiliation with the New Shakspere Soc.) 
 
 Although I have been the Dean for twenty years, 
 I attend no meetings but these annual dinners. 
 
 At last "A Midsummer Night's Dream" is fin- 
 ished and a copy inscribed to you is tossing on the 
 Atlantic. If you'll turn to where Puck says, "I'll 
 lead them about a Round," you'll see why I was 
 inclined to back up Prof. Haupt in his "around," 
 and what is worse I used you as a shield, and from 
 that vantage I felt I could defy the world. 
 
 Ay Mi ! that name reminds me of what I have been 
 gone and done. Can you ever love me, can you 
 ever speak to me after I confess that that same 
 
 ' The bill of fare for the Annual Dinner of The Shakspere Society 
 of Philadelphia.
 
 HAUPT'S CRITICAL BIBLE 293 
 
 Prof. Haupt has persuaded me to supervise the 
 English of his "Critical Bible"? My main comfort 
 is that I shall make a stouter fight for Jacobean 
 English than anyone else that he could get on this 
 side of the ocean. But what can I do when Dr. 
 Driver will insist, instead of "creeping things," 
 on ^^ swarming things.^' Time has bereft me of 
 much hair, else handfuls would come out. All I 
 can do is gently and firmly "stare vestigiis" to the 
 best of my ability. And yet all the blame will light 
 o' my shoulders, and there will be no tears but of 
 my shedding. Ayez pitie de moi and let me know 
 that I may still, dear Wright, sign myself 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 Do send me your photograph if you have one. 
 To Duncan B. Macdonald ^ 
 
 Wallingford, 1 8 July, 1895 
 
 Dear Professor Macdonald: Indeed, I haven't 
 the trans, of "Kings" off my hands — and I don't 
 know what to do with it. Haupt has set his heart 
 on sending it to press, with the Psalms, next winter, 
 and Haupt must just remove his heart and set it 
 somewhere else; — that is, if he looks to me to re- 
 vise it. The Psalms will take every minute of my 
 spare time till September, and in Oct. I return to 
 my own proper work. 
 
 ^ Professor of Semitic Languages at Hartford Theological Seminary; 
 he was an associate editor of Dr. Paul Haupt's Polychrome Bible, 
 for which publication H. H. F. contributed the translation of the 
 Psalms and supervised the English used in translation.
 
 294 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 This reminds me to ask you whether or not the 
 trans, of these portions of the Bible receive any 
 remuneration from Haupt or his publishers. 
 
 I am embarrassed in regard to the " Psalms " and, 
 if you'll allow me, I'll make you my ghostly con- 
 fessor: — I cannot use the trans, which Haupt has 
 sent me. In general 'tis literal enough (albeit I do 
 not like such translations as "tabernacle" for 
 Zelte), but it is humdrum to the last degree (I trust 
 you will consider this strictly confidential) and I have 
 had to discard it entirely. Now I am perfectly will- 
 ing that my name shall in no wise appear on the 
 trans, but let the whole thing go as his trans.; this, 
 on the score of honesty he may decline, and if he has 
 been paid in shekels of the tested gold may feel un- 
 comfortably and if he be in narrow circumstances 
 be thusly much embarrassed. Were it not that the 
 work really interests me and that this is a season of 
 enforced idleness, away from my library, I'd land- 
 damn Haupt for leading me into the mess. (I 
 don't know what "land-damn" is, nor does any- 
 body else, but it sounds just right for my feelings.) 
 
 As to Prof. Prince's translation of Cornill, I 
 remember that in it I lost confidence when Haupt 
 sent the original — I sent a short list of inaccura- 
 cies to Haupt and I can't recall them — one only I 
 remember where Gotzen was translated "gods." 
 It seems to me that in translating a translation, one 
 cannot be too careful or too literal — the smallest 
 divergence from what is already a divergence may 
 send you very, very far afield from the original 
 Hebrew.
 
 HAUPT'S CRITICAL BIBLE 295 
 
 But I'll not inflict my tediousness on you any 
 longer but beg to say that I am, dear sir 
 Yours very truly 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Duncan B. Macdonald 
 
 JVallingford, 28 July, 1895 
 My dear Prof. Macdonald: Truly your sympa- 
 thy is very soothing and grateful to my feelings 
 and I heartily impeticos thy kind gratility — but 
 let me at once disabuse your mind. No such flight 
 of genius did my intelligence ever reach as to coin 
 the lovely word land-damn. It is the divine Wil- 
 liams's, in The Winter's Tale. 
 
 You say you have been revising certain notes on 
 the Psalms. Prithee what notes be there .^ Are 
 there other notes on the Psalms than those by 
 Wellhausen? which translated by a Rev. Taylor in 
 England, I nightly clasp to my bosom.'' 
 
 Indeed Haupt's Bible is an indigesta moles to me, 
 curiously wrought and very fearfully and wonder- 
 fully to be made, and I regard it as Thackeray's 
 Pliceman X regarded the Duke of Wellington: 
 "with hor." 
 
 I have discarded the English trans, of Well- 
 hausen utterly. Mark you, he translates strauch — 
 briar; besinnung — heart; schwinden — faint; 
 Mauer — fence; freunde — beloved ones, and etc., 
 and etc. In German Grammar he is perfect, 
 but his English vocabulary is small, and not of 
 Elizabethan best.
 
 296 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 It is his knowledge of Hebrew which hurts him 
 and It is my ignorance of It which ought to help 
 me, as a translator of the German. It is one of my 
 prime qualifications that I am absolute-ignorant 
 of the Hebrew original. 
 
 My conviction grows daily deeper that the suc- 
 cess of the whole book (i.e., the English share) will 
 depend on the Psalms — Haupt must not hurry, 
 now at the last minute — better a little dalay than 
 a great deal of heartbreak. I shall finish in almost 
 three weeks — and then there must be endless 
 polishing and furbishing — And there must be as 
 much as possible of a stately rhythm. 
 
 But ohe! jam satis — for you. 
 
 I remain yours faithfully 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Walling ford, 25 August, 1895 
 My dear Wright: I have of late been anxious 
 about you. I thought that I detected in your last 
 letter a faint tinge of weariness of the flesh which 
 was unwonted, and which, I trust, was very tem- 
 porary; still it has left me anxious. So just drop 
 me the merest line of reassurance. I know it's a 
 bore, but: — "e'en at the cost of thine, give me 
 repose." 
 
 As for me, I've begun "The Winter's Tale"; 
 it forms, at least in title, a pleasing antithesis to 
 "A Midsummer Night's Dream." As I can not 
 possibly live to complete all the plays, it seems to
 
 HAUPT'S CRITICAL BIBLE 297 
 
 me best to aim at finishing all the Comedies, and I 
 certainly hope I shall not live to complete even 
 those. If you are not weary, dear Wright, I am. 
 A heart shattered like mine never heals. I do so 
 deeply regret that you did not see her when we 
 were in England — but the shadows were even 
 dark then around me and I could not leave her side 
 nor take her whither I would. Ah, well, though 
 time does drag, still it passes. Thank God for that! 
 How fine and full of meaning that phrase is in the 
 Bible: "it came to pass." Nothing comes but to 
 pass. But I must not think in that direction — 
 "That way madness lies." 
 
 Good-bye, do let me hear from you. 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To Duncan B. Macdonald 
 
 ' Wallingford, 8 Sept. 1895 
 
 My dear Professor Macdonald: Many thanks 
 for the explanation for the two sets of Notes. I'll 
 now slightly modify a version of one of Well- 
 hausen's Psalms which circumstances forced me 
 to make — where David exclaims that we are 
 curiously wrought, fearfully and wonderfully made 
 — I had to substitute, instead of " we are," Haupt's 
 Bible. It sounded strange in the Psalmist's mouth, 
 but it was so true that you'll forgive it. 
 
 Well, I've done, for this year, all my Bibelwerk. 
 (By the way, are you not thankful that you can 
 accept your faith from a Bible and not from a Bcc-
 
 298 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 bel?) I closed my books last night, and this is my 
 first day of freedom, and all the time I am writing 
 I am shouting 'Ban! 'Ban! Ca-Caliban! 
 
 I have finished Ezekiel, Samuel, Daniel, Hosea, 
 and The Psalms — and Deuteronomy. The Psalms 
 have greatly interested me. Some of course would 
 not lend themselves to any sort of a rhythmical 
 treatment — but in a large majority there were 
 lines here and there which would fall into cadence 
 — enough to give the impression that the original 
 was rhythmical poetry — which I take it is all-suffi- 
 cient. If they were too rhythmical, the fidelity of 
 the translation would be questioned. I have a mind 
 to copy off for you part of the 77th which quite 
 charmed me last eve'g when I was looking them 
 over. It Is exceedingly faithful to Wellhausen's 
 German, not a word is added. Pray compare it 
 with the Authorised Version, and let me know what 
 you think of it — whether the public will stand 
 such a version. But Haupt may prefer Dr. Tay- 
 lor's translation wherein there is no semblance of 
 cadence — and I shall yield instantly. I have 
 had enough pleasure in the work and I haven't a 
 thought beyond. I turned not a little of Isaiah 
 into Rhythm and I am curious to know whether or 
 not Cheyne will accept. 
 
 But enough of myself. I meant merely to thank 
 you for clearing up for me the mystery of the two- 
 fold notes, and to assure you that I am 
 Yours cordially 
 
 Horace Howard Furness
 
 HAUPT'S CRITICAL BIBLE 299 
 
 And I wanted to tell you how I laughed over 
 your letter and its "English of Commerce." Haupt 
 (from whom I have had three or four letters) sails 
 on the 1 2th of this month. 
 
 Psalm lxxvii 
 
 1. With my voice I cried unto God — 
 
 with my voice unto God — 
 I hoped he would hear me! 
 
 2. In the hour of my need I turned to the Lord, 
 
 my hand was stretched out, in the night, without ceas- 
 ing, — 
 but my soul would allow itself no consolation. 
 
 3. I cried unto my God, and I wailed, 
 
 I prayed, but my soul was enveloped in night. 
 
 4. My eyelids thou heldest fast closed, 
 
 I was filled with unrest, and never a word could I speak. 
 
 5. I pictured old times to myself, — 
 
 the years that have long ago sped. 
 
 6. I remembered my harp, and I prayed from my heart, in 
 
 the night, 
 but my soul [fell into anguishl 
 
 7. Will then the Lord reject me forever? 
 
 and never again show himself pleased.? 
 
 8. Has then his goodness ended forever? 
 
 and his faithfulness, — is it clean gone for all time to 
 come ? 
 
 9. Has he forgotten again to be gracious? 
 
 has he withdrawn his pity, in wrath? 
 10. And I said: — "lol this is my anguish, 
 
 the right hand of God is no longer the same!" 
 
 To S. Weir Mitchell 
 
 Wallingford, 23 September, 1895 
 
 Dearest Mitchell: Don't ask me why actors do 
 this, that, or 'tother. They are the most conser- 
 vative folk alive. The thing that hath been is that
 
 300 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 which It shall be. And unless an unequivocal suc- 
 cess greets an Innovation, it Is sneered into noth- 
 ingness. 
 
 E. S. Willard did act the Fencing Scene [In Ham- 
 let] with rapier and dagger, preparing himself there- 
 for with many and laborious lessons under the best 
 teacher in London — so that his performance was 
 an artistic sight worth seeing, — and the critics 
 howled him down. 
 
 And the critics and the actors have a perfectly 
 good reason; they are entirely right in the use of 
 foils, and the whole question is merely an instance 
 added to the many others wherewith the play of 
 Hamlet is befogged — all along of Shakespeare's 
 writing over an old play. Of the skeleton which he 
 clothed with lovely flesh and bluest veins, he left 
 some of the old ribs sticking out. When Osric 
 brings the challenge to Hamlet, he distinctly says 
 that the weapons of Laertes are the rapier and 
 dagger. At the match itself, the talk is all of foils, 
 and the rapier and dagger are never mentioned. 
 This discrepancy, dating from the old play, Shake- 
 speare allowed to remain — What cared he.^* and 
 what care we when subject is fidelibus oculis.? As 
 to the change of weapons, you'll find several va- 
 rieties duly recorded in the second volume of the 
 "ad valorem" Shakespeare. (Horace Scudder 
 wrote to me that at the Boston Pub. Lib. a man 
 asked for *'an ad valorem Ophelia" and the highly 
 intelligent attendant gave him my Hamlet^ which 
 proved correct.)
 
 DEATH OF W. H. FURNESS 301 
 
 I have intended fifty times to send you my 
 congratulations on your foreign honour^ — most 
 richly deserved. The air should hurtle with them. 
 The ink wherein I send my love to you and to 
 the Empress of your heart is "Stafford's Writing 
 Fluid" — no drop today has been put to better 
 use. 
 
 Yours ever 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 The Reverend William Henry Furness died on 
 January 30, 1896, at the age of ninety-four. Letters 
 of sympathy came from all parts of the world ; none 
 more tender in its fellow feeling than that from 
 Norton. Furness's answer to this letter was: 
 
 To Charles Eliot Norton 
 
 fFalltngford, 5 February, 1896 
 
 Dearest Norton: Take my deep thanks for your 
 sympathy. You do all that man can do for man at 
 such times. No mortal lips can utter a word of con- 
 solation — there is no consolation. Nor do we 
 need any. "Nothing is here for tears, nothing to 
 wail or knock the breast." 'Tis not when "the ripe 
 fruit falls richly to the ground " that we mourn, but 
 when "the spring flowers are taken," then we have 
 a right to be rebellious, and faith in the goodness 
 of a God becomes stubble. 
 
 Nothing could have been more peaceful or 
 more gentle than the way in which my father's 
 
 ' The degree of LL.D. had recently been conferred on Dr. Mitchell 
 by Edinburgh University.
 
 302 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 sturdy grasp on life was loosened. He never fell 
 asleep so softly. 
 
 And how my memory is stored with looks, and 
 tones, and scenes, and words — these were my 
 father, and these I keep while I live. 
 
 Thus it is, I doubt not, with you, and so it will 
 be with, dear Norton, 
 
 Yours affectionately and gratefully 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 JVallingford, 19 March, 1 896 
 
 My dear Wright: 'Tis with shame and confu- 
 sion of face that I begin this note. Grant White 
 once wrote that he hailed my letters with pleasure 
 in that I "never asked a favour." Alack! alack, 
 you'll never re-echo his remark after the receipt of 
 this. 
 
 I once told you, I believe, that in an evil hour I 
 consented to supervise the English of the new 
 translation of the Bible which Dr. Haupt is to issue. 
 
 Well, it has fallen to my unhappy lot to trans- 
 late from the German Wellhausen's translations of 
 the Psalms. 
 
 Before I began my Editorial supervision, cer- 
 tain changes had been adopted and voluminous 
 translations made accordingly, such as discarding 
 the 3rd pers. sing, in eth^ the substitution of "/t^ 
 who^' for "A<? that^^ &c., so that I had to follow 
 precedents. 
 
 For the rest, all I could do was to follow slavishly
 
 WELLHAUSEN'S PSALMS 303 
 
 the German and to see to It that no word or phrase 
 be used which is not good EngHsh. To ensure this 
 I have admitted no word which is not found in the 
 A. v., the R.V., or in Shakespeare. Throughout 
 the Psalms, this rule has been violated but twelve 
 times, e.g., in "tendril," "range" (of mountains) &c. 
 
 And I have tried to give such an intimation of 
 cadence (but never at the expense of the meaning) 
 as would suggest that the original was chanted or 
 sung. 
 
 Now for my shame; by this same Post I send 
 you the proof-sheets of the first Book of Psalms. 
 Will you, for my sake, look them over and jot in 
 the margin any suggestions which may occur to 
 you.? 
 
 Bear in mind that for the meaning Wellhausen 
 is responsible; my share is solely the form of ex- 
 pression. 
 
 The Notes are translated by a countryman of 
 yours, a Rev. Dr. Taylor. In translating, I used 
 the German, and a glance at this translation makes 
 me fear some serious editorial work. 
 
 Don't let this bore you too much. In one of your 
 letters you speak of having more leisure than of 
 yore — this emboldens me. And yet Cavour, 
 you remember, said that only the busiest men had I 
 plenty of time. 
 
 However, bore or no bore, time or no time, I 
 remain, dear Wright, 
 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 Horace Howard Furness
 
 304 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 To Charles Eliot Norton 
 
 Wallingford, 29 March, 1896 
 
 Dearest Norton, — when you put your head on 
 the pillow this night you can sleep the sleep of the 
 just and the generous. The proofs have reached 
 me, and while all your suggestions are valuable, 
 some are inestimable. Of all things you have done 
 the very thing which I most wanted, but when I 
 see the minute care with which you read every line, 
 I am filled with remorse over the demand on your 
 time which I made. Do forgive and I will not 
 forget. 
 
 It greatly pleases me that you think the work 
 was "well worth doing." It happened on a time 
 when I was building a new Library here, and there 
 was no rest anywhere for a Shakespearean foot — 
 so I fell to this, which required but half a dozen 
 books and a table. I sent a set of these proofs to 
 my dear blessed Master, Child, but, I think, he 
 was a little disgusted with them — the new might 
 be good, but I imagine he thought the old were 
 better. And It does seem like sacrilege to alter a 
 syllable of the 23d Psalm. 
 
 You see, I was handicapped by the two necessi- 
 ties: a slavish adherence to the German, and of 
 giving line for line with the Hebrew. This latter 
 bars me from transposing words from one line to 
 another, as you suggested in one or two places, 
 where it would be a great improvement. 
 
 I'm glad you rebel against "inoculate." I shall 
 join you. I am afraid, however, that 'tis the very
 
 THE PSALMS 305 
 
 word needed. I shall nevertheless change it, if for 
 no other reason than to stamp even feebly on the 
 attempt of recent years to prove from this very 
 passage the antiquity of that disgraceful disease to 
 which we have so many allusions in Shakespeare. 
 
 You use a happy phrase in styling the Psalms 
 "provincial and barbaric"; it might be added that 
 there is a wearisome iteration withal. 
 
 I want you to see Cheyne's Isaiah. It will ap- 
 pear at the same time as the Psalms. It is very 
 grand. 
 
 Again, heartiest of thanks, dear Norton, from 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Wallingford, ^rd May, 1896 
 
 Dearest Wright: How can I adequately thank 
 you for the time, the pains, and the labour you 
 have bestowed on me! And when I bethink me 
 that the time was taken from your vacation I feel 
 like the scum of the earth. Not a suggestion have 
 you made that is not most valuable to me; I have 
 pondered long over your faintest "tick." That the 
 word "grand" is not heard as often here as with 
 you is probably the reason why you do not take 
 me with you in your antipathy to it. Still 'tis hack- 
 neyed enough here to be repulsive, and I am more 
 than glad of the excuse for substituting "glorious" 
 of the Prayer Book version. 
 
 For "inoculated" (which I regretted an hour
 
 3o6 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 after the proofs had left me) I have substituted 
 *' implanted" or "has its course in his veins." 
 
 But every one of your hints is golden. 
 
 Your letter came while I was a thousand miles 
 away in Florida, on a fishing trip — the very first 
 vacation I had taken winter or summer, night or 
 day, for thirteen years; my children insisted upon 
 it. I really did have, unexpectedly, a grand time. 
 The game was tarpons, a fish six feet long, weigh- 
 ing upwards of two hundred pounds. To catch 
 these with a rod and reel is something of a feat — 
 and I didn't catch any. I caught, however, lots of 
 other fish, among them ten or fifteen sharks — 
 horrible creatures, that turn their eyes and look at 
 you full of malignity, when the gaff hauls them up 
 to the side of the boat. Ah, but the beauty of the 
 scene, the soft, caressing air, the mangrove islands 
 with palms and tropical foliage, the cormorants 
 and pelicans flying hither and thither, and high up 
 in heaven the vultures sailing without a movement 
 of the wings — it was too lovely. As I lay back in 
 my boat, smoking my pipe, and overcome by the 
 Southern languor, I thought over all my frienda 
 and I wondered how you would treat my intrud- 
 ing proofs. I wasn't prepared for the thoughtful 
 care you bestowed on them and my gratitude is 
 correspondingly heightened. 
 
 Is there a man on earth who knows as well as 
 you the frightful nature of the task I have under- 
 taken.'* Perhaps I may die before it is finished. 
 There's comfort yet. And 'tis a labour of love!
 
 THE PASTON LETTERS 307 
 
 However, come what may, I am infinitely grateful 
 to you, and rejoicingly sign myself 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To W. /. Rolje 
 
 Wallingford, 8 November, 1896 
 My dear boy: I am glad to know that any one 
 hereabout is reading that fascinating book, "The 
 Paston Letters" with which when I read it, as I do 
 frequently, there is always associated a guilty feel- 
 ing that I have no right to be prying so curiously 
 into the private affairs of fellow mortals. 
 
 Any advanced studies carried on by young 
 women of the higher classes "in Shakespeare's 
 time" were pursued, I imagine, under tutors such 
 as Roger Ascham or Lady Jane Grey's Master 
 Elmer. At an earlier age, and in the lower classes, 
 both boys and girls went together to the grammar 
 schools. At least, so I infer — And to this school 
 must the friendship of Helena and Hermia be re- 
 ferred. There is a statute of Henry the Eighth (I 
 think) in which reference is made to schools for 
 boys and girls, and you'll find it where I remember 
 to have seen it in Furnivall's "Forewords" (d — n 
 that word!) to his "Babees Book" published by 
 the Early Eng. Text Soc. At any rate there is 
 where I should go to look up the subject. You 
 might look in Ascham's "Scholemaster," reprinted 
 by Arber. Though I doubt if you'll find anything 
 there. I know the book pretty thoroughly and I
 
 3o8 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 cannot recall anything to the point. Very sorry I 
 can't give you any better help. 
 
 As to reprinting what I said to you about your 
 "Shakespeare the Boy" — do it and thrice wel- 
 come if it will do you any good. I am always sin- 
 cere in what I say and am perfectly willing any- 
 body should hear it who cares to listen. What I 
 wrote was intended only for your private reading 
 and I think 'twould do no harm so to say. The 
 eulogium is thereby removed from the realm of 
 cut-and-dried stock praise, which carries no more 
 meaning or weight to me than the wind whistling 
 through the keyhole. 
 
 I am not at work on "Julius Caesar," but "The 
 Winter's Tale," and advance very slowly. This 
 wretched new translation of The Bible has con- 
 sumed an enormous amount of my time; I say 
 "wretched" only because it keeps me from Shake- 
 speare — it is in itself extremely interesting. How- 
 ever, my heaviest work, The Psalms, is over. This 
 week I read the revise for the last time. Then 
 comes "Judges." Then the three parts: Isaiah (by 
 Dr. Cheyne of Oxford), The Psalms (by Wellhau- 
 sen and by me translated from the German), and 
 Judges (by Prof, Moore of Andover), will be pub- 
 lished — possibly in January. So you see I am 
 pretty well run to earth, i.e., the grave. Neverthe- 
 less, I am always, with kind remembrances to 
 Mrs. Rolfe, 
 
 Yours 
 
 H. H. F.
 
 LETTER FROM LADY MARTIN 309 
 
 To his Sister ^ 
 
 Wallingford, 22 November, '96 
 ... I HAD a letter yesterday from Aldis Wright, full 
 of regret that he had missed you, and of hope that 
 you would let him know when you returned again 
 to England. He is a dear fellow; he thanked me so 
 tenderly for the photogravure of our father which 
 I sent him. He said he should keep it with a photo- 
 graph I sent him in '83. "They belong to my hfe 
 and will remain a part of it to the end." 
 
 I'm sorry you missed Lady Martin ; ^ from her too 
 I had an affectionate letter (written before she 
 knew of your presence in London) wherein she 
 told me of the Victorian Order lately conferred on 
 her husband. It is an order created by the Queen 
 & given by her only to her personal friends — She 
 had found out Sir Theodore's birthday and sent it 
 as a present on that day with a letter of thanks for 
 what he had done for her — kind, and graceful, 
 was it not? 
 
 On Wednesday I went to New York, accompa- 
 nied by Shylock and Portia. The Reading there for 
 discomfort and annoyance eclipsed that at Bryn 
 Mawr which has hitherto held a bad preeminence. 
 At Dr. Thomas's, you remember, I sat between 
 two parlors and had to exhort once more unto the 
 
 * Mrs. Wister was at this time travelling abroad with her grand- 
 daughter. 
 
 * Helena Faucit, the noted Shakespearean actress, and author of 
 Some of Shakespeare's Female Characters. She was the wife of Sir 
 Theodore Martin, known chiefly for his Life of the Prince Consort. 
 They were both old and valued friends of H. H. F.'s,
 
 310 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 breach the door jamb within a foot or two of my 
 nose and had to pray to It as the God of Battles. 
 
 At Columbia College, the room, the largest in 
 the Buildings, was crammed to suffocation, and 
 stifling hot. The aisles were filled with women who 
 stood the whole two long hours, and they swarmed 
 all about my feet on the platform. I do hate to 
 have any one near me when I read. Then the 
 table was a large library table, behind which I 
 felt like a pygmy, and the piano stool was so ram- 
 shackle that I expected every instant it would fall 
 to pieces & leave me impaled on the screw. Add to 
 all this, the audience were stocks and stones. For 
 an hour and a half I beat against flints. Not until 
 the last half-hour did they become human beings. 
 Ugh, I don't like to think of it at all. Yet 'tis 
 healthy every now and then to have a downright, 
 good snub. . . . 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Walling ford, 13 Dec. '96 
 Well, Willie ^ is fairly home, and his long, long ab- 
 sence is now but as a watch In the night. He Is 
 the same merryhearted, affectionate, caressing 
 fellow that he went away. Of course he dined here 
 at home, the day he arrived, but yesterday was the 
 first he has dined here with me since then. And we 
 did talk. It makes me shudder from head to heel 
 to think of the hair-breadth escapes from death 
 which he has gone through. Those Dyaks among 
 
 ^ William Henry Furness, 3rd, from his first trip to Borneo.
 
 W. H. F., 3D, IN BORNEO 311 
 
 whom he lived are perfervld in their zeal for col- 
 lecting heads. And for one whole night, it was the 
 staunchness of one man alone which kept the 
 savages from adding Willie's head to their collec- 
 tion. He was quite aware of his danger, and, 
 although he knew that resistance against four hun- 
 dred armed, infuriated savages would be utterly 
 hopeless, he resolved to sell his life as dearly as 
 possible, and kept his revolver ready — His re- 
 turn is really an event. Only two other Americans 
 have ever penetrated Borneo at all, and none as 
 far as Willie has gone. He evidently feels that his 
 present life-work is to write and compile a thorough 
 account of the island. Next Friday he is to read 
 a paper before the Philosophical Society, and as 
 soon as his collections arrive he is to hold a public 
 Reception at the University and describe the vari- 
 ous implements of Bornean life, domestic and pub- 
 lic. . . . But what do you think he has planned, not 
 only pl.inned but promised."* To return to Borneo 
 next August! I acquiesce, if so it must be. His life 
 is before him. Mine is ended. He must live from 
 step to step, and this thorough book on Borneo is, 
 in his eyes, the next obligatory step. Pepper has 
 been full of enthusiasm over his return and wishes 
 to thrust him into the forefront of public atten- 
 tion. . . . 
 
 But here Is Carrie & Horace come to dinner, 
 and here, too, ts the end of my paper — so I must 
 bid a hasty farewell. . . . 
 
 Yours always 
 
 H. H. F.
 
 312 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 17 Jan., '97 
 
 . . . On Monday I went to town as is my wont; on 
 Thursday eve'g I went again. With these two ex- 
 ceptions, I haven't stirred from the house, further 
 than to the Orchids. . . . 
 
 I was up to my eyes in proof-sheets. Two days 
 from ten to 4.30 I worked over them with Horace 
 Jayne hammering out thin anatomical definitions as 
 appHed to "the cat" ^ — Two days over "Judges" 
 — Both were very pleasant and kept the mind on 
 the alert. "Judges" I do greatly admire when told 
 in simple, everyday language. The stories are ex- 
 tremely attractive and for magic pathos and bar- 
 baric horror 'twould be hard to match "The Out- 
 rage of Gibeah," in the 19th Chap. Speaking of 
 tragedy, I'm afraid that there's a comi-tragedy 
 preparing in the financial event of this same "New 
 Bible." . . . 
 
 You know the sudden outburst of insane jeal- 
 ousy in Leontes, in A JVinter^s Tale, has been 
 considered monstrous, and, though allowable in 
 fiction, really untrue to nature. Anxious to find 
 authentic parallel cases in real Hfe I wrote to Weir 
 Mitchell for any within his knowledge or experi- 
 ence. I rehearsed the exact plot of A Wint. Tale, 
 prefacing the account with the remark that he and 
 I both knew well the parties. I never imagined 
 that he would not detect at once my object, which 
 
 * For The Anatomy of the Cat, by Horace Jayne; published, 1898, 
 by J. B. Lippincott & Co.
 
 THE JEALOUSY OF LEONTES 313 
 
 was simply to divest the drama of all distracting 
 elements & present the facts as though in a medi- 
 cal report. He replied: — "The sad case of which 
 you write is by no means unique (!). I have known 
 several, and one especially is perfectly clear in all 
 its details to my mind now. (This is because I 
 said that he & I knew the parties.) This condi- 
 tion sometimes comes to women as well as men 
 and it brings with it an element of sad regret which 
 may or may not be emphasized by death." I did 
 not reply. How could I? Vox faucibus haesit. I 
 then duplicated my note and sent it to Horatio 
 Wood, the eminent authority on Diseases of the 
 Mind. He answered at great length with the de- 
 tails of a case of simple though extreme jealousy & 
 then asked if I would "confidentially give him the 
 names of my friends." Well, well, well. And I'm 
 in a fix. I shall be accused of laying a trap for my 
 friends. But could not a tiny bit of mother wit 
 come to the aid of Weir and of Wood, leading 
 them to suspect a Shakespearean problem under 
 my very thin disguise. . . . 
 
 Thursday night I returned at midnight with 
 Haupt, who had been to the Oriental Club and 
 then we fell to work on Judges. I was drug out by 
 the Reading, refreshed by the Penn Club, and 
 tired out when I reached home. — Nathless, I 
 worked away with Haupt and got to bed at twenty- 
 five minutes of four a.m. A pretty good day's 
 work for an old man of 64. But I must stop, and 
 'tis hard. 'Tis indescribable the pleasure in thus
 
 314 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 gabbling to you, dear. Give my dear love to little 
 Annis. 
 
 Your most loving old brother 
 
 H. H. F. 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 24 Jan. '97 
 
 Dearest Sister o' mine: ... A student's life has 
 its manifest charms, but it builds many a barrier 
 to what is charming in life. No book can I read un- 
 connected with the Bible or Shakespeare but a 
 most guilty feeling creeps over me, and I feel like a 
 deserter from my post. It must be confessed that 
 those two books cover an almost boundless ex- 
 panse, but there are fair flowers growing over the 
 border & I'd like to disport among them at times. 
 At one stage of my work over any of Shakespeare's 
 plays I have a little legitimate excuse for wander- 
 ing and half playing truant. It is when I am search- 
 ing the lives of actors and actresses for stray hints 
 of interpretation. Such a stage in The Winter's 
 Tale I have reached now, and, last evening, I had 
 no feeling of guilt when I durchblattert (the only 
 German word I ever felt the need of) Macready's 
 Life and Mrs. Kemble's "Records." I found noth- 
 ing whatsoever to my purpose, but was deeply in- 
 terested in the contrasted characters of the two 
 writers. Macready evidently, in writing his volu- 
 minous Journal, thought that posterity would 
 take him at his own valuation, strangely unmind- 
 ful that others equally vivacious might undo all his
 
 MACREADY'S SELFISHNESS 315 
 
 work. Could he have surmised, think you^ that 
 all his abject prayers to God, so carefully written 
 out in his Journal, would have availed nothing, 
 however they may have affected the Throne of 
 Grace, in averting the verdict of his fellow men 
 that he was an utterly selfish cowardly bully? I 
 must ask Lady Martin about him. Only once does 
 she refer to his contemptibly selfish treatment of 
 fellow actors. To Mrs. Kemble, when she acted 
 with him, he was a perfect terror. He broke her 
 little finger, and before it was healed hurt it again, 
 in acting, so that Mrs. Kemble nearly fainted, and 
 his only apology was that she should have worn it 
 in splints. I remember how tender and sympa- 
 thetic were Edwin Booth's apologies when once in 
 Macbeth his crown struck Mad. Ristori's lip. I 
 was present, and the instant the scene was over, 
 Booth rushed to Mad. Ristori and took her hand 
 with the most contrite regrets for the accident — 
 her manner was most sweet and gracious (it was 
 rather a hard knock), and filled me with more 
 admiration for her than ever her acting on the 
 stage. . . • 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 7 March, '97 
 
 . . . Well, dear, the Boston trip is over and an 
 immense burthing off me mind. Tuesday was the 
 evening for Cambridge. I left the Parker House 
 at precisely 7.15 in a coupe which the driver as- 
 sured me would reach Sanders Theatre in half an
 
 3i6 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 hour. I sat quietly thinking of my opening re- 
 marks, &c., as is my wont and never thought of 
 the flight of time — at last I aroused myself to the 
 fact that the horse had been very balky & that we 
 were going very slowly through Cambridgeport — 
 I looked at my watch & to my infinite horror found 
 that it was five minutes before eight! I was 
 paralysed. The rest of the journey I spent with my 
 head out of the window swearing & screaming to 
 the driver to beat up his horse. 'Twas a nightmare! 
 At last we reached Sanders Theatre four minutes 
 after eight — my first experience in unpunctuality 
 — of course I had to rush to the stage in anything 
 but a placid mood. The Theatre was crowded and 
 the calm came over me as it always does when I face 
 an audience. I alluded to the death of Professor 
 Child and asked the audience to sit still in hushed 
 repose for a minute or two out of respect for his 
 memory. The Reading was quite as successful, I 
 think, as that of Henry F of the previous year. 
 The song of Autolycus, "When daffodils begin to 
 peer," &c I sang to the tune of "On thy soft bosom, 
 gentle lake," and the applause was so prolonged 
 that I think they wanted it repeated, but I thought 
 it better to disregard the appeal. Indeed, " The 
 Winter^ s Tale'*'' is excellent for a public Reading; 
 the first half is most tragic and the last half is most 
 exquisite comedy. Agnes [Irwin] and Mrs. Agassiz 
 sat in the same seats as last year, but oh, Nannie 
 Nannie, how I missed you! The shadow of your 
 absence hung over every hour of my Boston trip.
 
 READING TRIP TO BOSTON 317 
 
 My room was on the same floor, at the Parker 
 House, which we occupied last year, and the same 
 broadfaced, redhaired chambermaid had charge of 
 it, and recognized me instantly and came forward 
 with extended hand and asked after you. The 
 elevator boy, the dame du comptoir, the head 
 waiter — all asked after you by name. I basked in 
 your reflected glory, although it added to my gloom. 
 
 On Wednesday, I went to Milton, but with a 
 heavy heart, — 'Twas A Mid. Nights Dream^ and 
 how could I sing Zion's song in a strange land — 
 where you were not by my side.'' I could not shake 
 off my loneliness, and I didn't read it well. . . . 
 
 On Friday, me and Cleopatra went to Agnes, 
 where we gathered the same little choice circle of 
 last year. Norton, and Jim Thayer (who has been 
 to every one of my readings this year) & Charles 
 Eliot, his first outing after the grip. Mrs. Eliot 
 said she remonstrated with him for venturing forth, 
 but he would come. Indeed he was most cordial. 
 Norton said I brought the tears to all their eyes, 
 and verily gloom did for a few minutes seem to 
 hang over them, impossible to lift, at the close. I 
 left almost immediately. Agnes could find time 
 only to say, "Horace, it was splendid!'' 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 fVallingford, Easter Sunday 
 
 1 8 April, '97 
 
 . . . With the exception of Monday & Saturday the 
 entire week has been spent here at my table. Some
 
 3i8 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 days I did not put my nose out of doors, though all 
 Springtime, gay with its tulips and crown impe- 
 rials, was calling and beckoning to me. On the 25 
 of March I resolved that "A Winter's Tale" should 
 be completed in three months. To do this a cer- 
 tain number of pages must be done every day. It 
 is an impossible task and I knew it when I made the 
 resolution. But, don't you see, if you aim high 
 you'll be more likely to reach a good height, than 
 if you aim low. Where so much of my work is 
 drudgery I have to resort to all kinds of fictitious 
 excitements. And so I find great excitement in 
 sudden obstacles, such as the sudden development 
 of a puzzling phrase where I had expected unob- 
 structed progress. Now last evening I was two mor- 
 tal hours over, — "Do you think I am so muddy, 
 so unsettled, To appoint myself in this vexation?" 
 where I had to dissent from every editor who has 
 noticed the passage. All say it means to dress, to 
 equip myself, on the principles that a well appointed 
 man is a well equipped man; or it is used as in the 
 phrases: "wrapt in fears," "attired in beauty," &c. 
 But I maintain that it means fix, settle, establish, 
 as Milton uses it in Samson Agonistes where Sam- 
 son says to poor old Manoah: — "Appoint not 
 heav'nly disposition, father; Nothing of all these 
 evils hath befallen me But justly," &c. 
 
 Such, my dear, are my humble innocent pas- 
 times. And eager as I am to press forward I take 
 pleasure in such hindrances, which the principle of 
 devoting all my soul to the minutest point, will not
 
 DRUDGERY 319 
 
 suffer me to slight. This is poor stuff to write to 
 you, but of such poor stuff are my days composed, 
 at least those spent here at my table. . . . 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 Wallingford, 12 May, 1897 
 
 Dear Wright: ... I hope you've had a pleasant 
 winter, and that the heavens have bent serene 
 and cloudless over you. They have not over me. 
 There have been sorrow and death in my family 
 circle, and my sister has been away in search of 
 health. But I'd like to have every one else have a 
 happy time, whatever befalls me. The mere flight 
 of time is my chiefest blessing, and of that I can- 
 not be deprived. 
 
 I have been working pretty diligently at "A 
 Winter's Tale," and three or four months more will 
 see it in the printer's hand. There are three or four 
 points, about which I want to ask you, in the Cam- 
 bridge Collation — but I'll do it some other time 
 — I don't feel like looking them up now. As I grow 
 older, the drudgery of it all oppresses me, the print- 
 ing especially, the damnable iteration after all the 
 first ardour has subsided. Don't be surprised if 
 you sometime hear that I have abandoned it all, 
 and gone off to Borneo, or Sumatra, to cruise end- 
 lessly in summer seas. My children are all settled 
 in life and I have nothing but self-imposed duties 
 to keep me here. Ah, well, I fancy 'tis the soft 
 Spring weather that makes me restless, and long 
 for "Das Wandern! das Wandern!" Let a good
 
 320 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 sulphurous thunder-storm come up, and the mood 
 will pass. 
 
 My work on the Psalms is over. I have been 
 faithful to every line, and have not neglected a 
 single syllable. Having thus devoted to them the 
 full measure of my limited ability, my sense of 
 duty is complete and I dismiss them with "frigid 
 tranquility." If I am anathematised for my work 
 on them, I'll open my ears to the charm of A Win- 
 ter's Tale and hear no other sound. Isaiah^ The 
 Psalms, and Judges are all electrotyped, but for 
 business reasons will not be issued before October. 
 Leviticus J Ezekiel and Deuteronomy will speedily 
 follow. The two former are even now finished and 
 past the printer's hand. 
 
 Having been born in a Quaker city, I have Im- 
 bibed so much of its theological atmosphere as to 
 have much faith in the promptings of the spirit. 
 Argal, don't answer this unless the spirit moves 
 you. I much prefer silence to a " must write " letter. 
 My regard for you, dear Wright, goes much deeper 
 than the surface of a sheet of paper. And so, totum 
 me tibi trado et commendo. 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 25 May, '97 
 Kaloo, Kalay, O frabjous day! Three letters in one 
 week. My regular Monday one came duly, then a 
 parenthesis, containing Agnes Irwin's letter, then 
 on the evening of the 21st, the weekly, forty-eight
 
 SUCCESS OF READINGS 321 
 
 hours sooner than ordinary. Delightful thought! 
 that you are so much nearer. . . . 
 
 I think I wrote to you, but at the risk of repeti- 
 tion I must say that I was never more impressed 
 than at that [Cambridge] Reading with the power 
 of imagination, and of the utter uselessness of stage 
 scenery or even of costume. For look you, there in 
 front of me sat Charles Eliot, James Thayer, Charles 
 Norton and Mrs. Agassiz, all of them with eyes di- 
 lated with interest and eyes suffused with emotion 
 at the sight of an old white-haired homely-fea- 
 tured man who pressed his hands to his shirt front 
 over an imaginary bosom, saying: "Peace! peace! 
 dost thou not see my baby at my breast that sucks 
 the nurse asleep." Not a thought of the wild and 
 ridiculous incongruity — and Charles Norton said 
 to me afterwards — "my dear Furness, you make 
 us cry." 
 
 Agnes's letter to me was chiefly taken up with a 
 description of that same little arithmetician who 
 was absorbed in the Reading. Well, I don't care 
 particularly for the interest of little boys. I re- 
 member too well the remark of the fond mother 
 who brought her little son to our Father's one eve- 
 ning long ago. Don't you recall it? When our Mother 
 expressed surprise that he should keep so bravely 
 awake, his mother replied, oh, yes! he always keeps 
 awake at the circus and such things! I think my 
 Reading days are over. [I have no wish ever to read 
 in public again, except with you. That, I'll do 
 every night in the week. Absorbed in the desultory
 
 322 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 study of Shakespeare and saddled with the Bible, 
 I think I have enough on my shoulders for my rem- 
 nant of days. I say "desultory study" because I 
 find that the great charm in editing Shakespeare is 
 the infinite number of by-paths into which I am 
 allured. I have to trot over the whole field of lit- 
 erature ancient and modern. . . . 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 30 May, '97 
 . . . Again there have been laughter and merry 
 talk all around the table and Walter, Willie, & 
 Carrie have been children again. They are now 
 passing through a season of great fun and excite- 
 ment, and gabbling the whole time over a novel 
 which we are all writing together. They said that 
 if I would only write the first Chapter each would 
 follow in turn. Accordingly the other evening, I 
 scratched one oflf. Walter wrote the second, Willie 
 wrote the third, and Horace Jayne is to-day writ- 
 ing the fourth, which we are to have this evening 
 after tea. Carrie writes hers tomorrow, & Horrie, 
 on Monday, writes his. We are each of us to do two 
 chapters and then draw lots who shall finish it. 
 And I have laughed fit to split over it. My plot 
 (of course unknown to the rest) has been most 
 horribly distorted & how I can ever carry it out I 
 do not see. Reduced to its simplest forms it is: — 
 a girl is brought up in a family from her earliest 
 infancy, as one of the children, — that she is not, 
 none knows but the father & mother — she has
 
 A COMPOSITE NOVEL 323 
 
 some half brothers (unknown as such to her) one 
 of whom (the villain of the story) falls in love with 
 her & is about to carry her off by force when she is 
 rescued by her brother (as she supposes) who loves 
 her devotedly — but always as a brother — the 
 secret of her birth is discovered & the change from 
 a brother into a lawful lover completes the story. 
 I think the plot is original and, though common- 
 place, capable of elaboration. But what does Wal- 
 ter do but convert the three step brothers, the 
 youngest of whom he christened Gaborieau and 
 made hump backed, into the " Pests of the County " 
 — and Willie has introduced a hypochondriac and 
 laid the scene partly in Peru, where one of the 
 chief characters elopes into the bush with a half- 
 breed ; of course we each of us keep our plots as dead 
 secrets from each other. Horace Jayne, who is at his 
 chapter, asked me at lunch if I had any objection 
 to his making the old grandfather have a fit on the 
 dining-room table! The novel is called "Grace 
 Auchester" and I had intended the grandparents 
 to be dear old people — but Walter christened 
 them "Pantile" and turned them into horrible old 
 snuff-taking creations, and his hero is Gaborieau 
 Pantile. But I'll have news to tell you about it 
 next Sunday. . . . 
 
 Horrie and Lou spent the night here, and they 
 were engulfed in the excitement; both are to write 
 chapters; the book then comes back to me — with 
 my plot utterly spoiled. Horace Jayne took up the 
 Auchester girls, married off one of them and
 
 324 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 brought Grace up to her seventeenth year. Walter 
 had taken it on him to say that she was to receive 
 her enormous fortune of 2,000,000 pounds on her 
 eighteenth birthday, and it was to be paid over in 
 gold (evidently his plot was to makethe Pantile 
 boys steal it). Carrie reforms the Pantile boys, sends 
 the eldest to India & makes Morris fall in love with 
 Grace, and greatly softens Gaborieau. Horrie's 
 Chapter is finished and he is to come out tomorrow 
 evening to read it. The only one I really dread is 
 Willy. In my opening chapter Robert Adair says 
 to Charles Auchester: "After the birth of our last 
 little boy, my wife left me" — meaning of course 
 that she died; — Willie chose to interpret it that 
 she eloped, which he had a right to do, and it is now 
 uncertain whether or not Charles Auchester's sec- 
 ond marriage was legal — His first wife may be 
 still alive, & Grace be illegitimate. That will dish 
 me and the rest too. And I can't help myself. Be- 
 fore we started we adopted a rule that we should 
 not kill beyond hope of recovery any characters 
 but our own. We can do with our own what we 
 please, and so also we can treat our co-labourers' 
 characters, in every way short of extermination. 
 It is really an amusing puzzle. The first chapter 
 for each one of us is comparatively easy; it is 
 the second one that will tax us, when our peo- 
 ple come back to us transformed beyond recog- 
 nition. . . .
 
 W. H. F., 3D, OUTFITTING 325 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 6 June, '97 
 
 . . . The preparation for Willy's departure is stead- 
 ily advancing, 'tis only about six weeks off and he 
 is gathering his outfit. His gun came home last 
 night, and a few days ago a pile of copper cans for 
 preserving specimens. The other evening we ex- 
 amined a mass of beads and gew gaws, hundreds & 
 hundreds in number, for barter with the natives. 
 His steam engine for his launch is building in New 
 York; it will be taken piecemeal to Singapore and 
 there have the boat built for it. And yet with it all 
 I part from him with less reluctance this time than 
 I did with him before. 'Tis so clearly the life for 
 him which best develops his character, it enor- 
 mously enlarges his field of reading, it takes on 
 almost every branch of science — and he works 
 away in reading and taking notes after a style that 
 I never knew him before to engage in. When he 
 does not go to town, he settles down to his reading 
 & writing immediately after breakfast — a delight- 
 ful sight. 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, July '97 
 
 . . . On Tuesday, Walter, Horrie & Lou came out 
 to tea and stayed over night. Their main object 
 was to bid Willie good-bye; their next was to listen 
 to the ending of "Grace Auchester " which they had 
 deputed me to write — a sore task. Each had in 
 turn written two chapters — and I was then to
 
 326 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 take up the mangled plot and finish it. Not a ves- 
 tige of my original plot remained. Two of Grace's 
 half brothers had met frightful deaths in the at- 
 tempt to steal Grace's fortune — and I had to clear 
 their reputations. As the sister of burglars, Grace 
 could not and would not link her name with that 
 of her lover, Archie Auchester. Grace's father's 
 first wife was still alive — therefore Grace's birth 
 had to be cleared from the stain of illegitimacy. 
 — I had to whitewash several characters and mop 
 around the brush generally. 'Twas hard work, but 
 the children were pleased and greeted one or two 
 turns with laughter and I am content. They have 
 begged me to have it printed; so I'll have seven 
 copies struck off — one for each — and when it's 
 finished I'll send my copy to you. I dare be sworn 
 no such a jumble was ever read before. The chil- 
 dren are eager to begin another one on an entirely 
 different plan — and they probably will. . . . 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 25 July, '97 
 . . . Well, dear, this has been a monotonous week, 
 unparalleled, I think, in my life. The unbroken 
 weeks which I have stayed out here during the last 
 thirty years might be counted on the fingers of one 
 hand. This one just past will probably light on the 
 little finger. Not only have I stayed here, but from 
 Monday p.m. till Friday p.m. I spoke to no one 
 but the servants, which, as the world goes, was 
 probably adequate for all intellectual needs. The
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE 327 
 
 weather has been almost a continuous storm, with 
 occasional downpours of rain almost unprece- 
 dented, and of that wind that threatened to strike 
 flat the thick rotundity of the world, and withal 
 oppressively warm — a rare season for work, and 
 one which I improved, you may be sure, to such an 
 extent, indeed, that I am now in the Fifth Act of 
 A Winter's Tale and almost begin to sniff printer's 
 ink — albeit there's an appalling amount of work 
 still ahead. Ten times I have gone to press before 
 the MS. for the Appendix was finished, and ten 
 times I have had the double work of preparing it 
 and reading proof at the same time. This shall not 
 be so now. Every page of MS. shall be complete 
 before the printer takes up the task. I imagined 
 that this play would make one of the smallest vol- 
 umes — so little attention has it received, compar- 
 atively, from Editors — but from present indica- 
 tions it will be quite as large as the Mer. of Ven. 
 How I dislike the press work — the ardour of pur- 
 suit is over, and the tension of mind over commas 
 is infinitely wearisome. But it feels so good when 
 it has done aching — and it passes the time. I 
 sometimes doubt if it be good for a man to be so in- 
 dependent of his critics as I am. I know that at 
 times I offend the rules of the most rigid good taste 
 by the use of the first personal pronoun — but then 
 'tis the way I prefer to write, and my readers must 
 take the sour with the sweet. I say "my readers" 
 — which is really a good joke — though the books 
 have a market they do not appear to have "read-
 
 328 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 ers" — I am constantly asked questions which 
 reveal this soothing fact — and it is soothing. I 
 write with freedom knowing that no human eyes 
 will ever read. In the little book of Aphorisms 
 which you translated so admirably, what a good 
 \ one that is which says that we are not as often in 
 \ the minds of our friends as we think we are. And 
 yet I'm quite sure that I think of my friends much 
 oftener than they think of me — which arises from 
 the misfortune of bearing an uncommon name. 
 Now you can't take up a newspaper without seeing 
 the word "Smith," be it black or white or lock — 
 and you at once think of all your friends, the 
 "Smiths." Whereas 'tis only at the approach of 
 winter, when advertising dealers advise you to lay 
 in your stock of winter coal, that my friends are 
 reminded of my patronymic. Knowing me as 
 thoroughly as you do, you are the last person to im- 
 agine that my solitude is irksome. There is the pan- 
 acea, labour, prescribed for us in the Decalogue, 
 which is, if not a cure, certainly a sovereign balm 
 for pain. And my cause for infinite gratitude is 
 that my life has been so directed that I can labour 
 — although not profitably to others, yet distract- 
 ingly for myself. . . . 
 
 Aldis Wright, who has finished the work of his 
 life, writes to me that he has now the luxury of 
 taking up a book on any subject without a guilty 
 feeling. That luxury, it seems, is never to be 
 mine. . . .
 
 THE BAVARIANS 329 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 15 August, '97 
 
 Dearest of dear sisters, your blessed, bright, de- 
 lightful weekly budget blest my eyes yesterday 
 morning, an improvement of twelve hours over its 
 customary predecessors; even one hour is a gra- 
 cious boon — and just think of twelve — all day 
 long I was with you in the streets of Nuremburg, 
 "quaint old town of toil and traffic" as Longfellow 
 sings — I was there with Willie [W. H. F. Jr.], 
 mercy on us! forty-two years ago! And I suppose 
 our haunts have not changed a cobblestone or a 
 timber since then. Here let me say at once, now 
 that you are in Bavaria, that if you and me is to 
 continue friends you must like the Bavarians — 
 first, like all Roman Catholics, they are far more 
 genial than ascetic Protestants (I warrant you the 
 ground work unthought of perhaps by you, of your 
 preference of Italians over the Swiss Germans was 
 due to their joyous religion). Well, the Bavarians 
 and everything arians are dear, dirty, lying, de- 
 lightful folk, full of sentiment and with a divine 
 gift of melody. Do like 'em for my sake — Some- 
 times I dream that a tiny bit of the wild freshness 
 of morning would revisit me, could I but again hear 
 the yodel of a Mad'l on a Bavarian lake. But my 
 deaf old ears will re-sing those songs now only in 
 memory. Heigho, this is a gloomy day and I could 
 find it in my heart to inflict all my tediousness on 
 your worship. . . .
 
 330 HORACE HOWARD FURNESSj 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 22nd Aug. '97 
 Oh, my dear one, with what a delightful letter you 
 blest me yesterday afternoon. It came just before 
 I went down to my solitary dinner. I took it with 
 me, and my dinner ceased to be solitary; you chat- 
 ted enchantingly to me the whole time — the act- 
 ual reading was continually interrupted, but the 
 flow of talk did not stop. You were by my side in 
 the old place all the time. . . . 
 
 In order to identify your letter, let me tell you 
 'tis that from Nuremburg wherein you enclosed 
 Tom Janvier's (pronounced Janveers) verses about 
 the unwashed mediaeval hands — as clever as un- 
 doubtedly true. You remember that the extreme 
 softness (tradition does not say whiteness) of King 
 James the First's hands was attributed to the fact 
 that he never washed them, but merely occasion- 
 ally rubbed them with the corner of a napkin. Did 
 you never meet Tom.'' You would be charmed with 
 him. I suppose by this time that glossy, wavy black 
 hair is snow-white, but when I saw him first — he 
 was as handsome as they make 'em. I could think 
 of no one but Steerforth in David Copperfield — 
 of course barring the wickedness — I stared the 
 boy out of countenance. He afterward went to New 
 York and I lost sight of him. I do hope you'll meet. 
 How pleasant that Cha's Dana has proved such 
 an accession. I deeply regret to learn that he is 
 devoted to Heraldry, and Qerman Heraldry at 
 that. It has been said, you know, that the Book of
 
 HOW TO SEND CIGARS ABROAD 331 
 
 Revelations either finds a man crazy or leaves him 
 so — I add the study of Lichens and Heraldry. 
 There Is no hope for poor Dana, if he has it bad. 
 Pray, oh pray, beware of infection. . . . 
 
 To W. Aldis Wright 
 
 WalHngford, 25 August, 1897 
 My dear Wright: . . . I've finished "The Win- 
 ter's Tale" and in all likelihood before this reaches 
 you the MS. will be in the hands of the Printer. 
 And I've finished the Psalms — which are to be 
 published the 1st of October. What a fearsome 
 task! I had a great respect for you before, but after 
 I had finished this work and reflected on what you 
 had gone through in the late Revision, and on what 
 infinitely harder lines, my respect was, and is, in- 
 creased ten fold. I wonder that you survived — • 
 you must have a caststeel constitution. 
 
 Haupt is abroad this summer and I was minded 
 to send a box of cigars to you by him. He expressed 
 his entire willingness to take them, but the customs 
 he should have to pay and the bother they might 
 give him, deterred me. Had he been going direct 
 to England I should have ventured, but he went 
 first to Germany. If a dreadful bore should ever 
 ask me for a note of introduction to you, I'll make 
 him take the box — and then I know you won't 
 mind. 
 
 Now take heed to what I say. If you are recum- 
 bens sub tegmine fagi, don't you trouble about 
 this note. Borrow a jest from Hierocles and write
 
 332 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 to say you never received It, and I'll be just the 
 same 
 
 Yours affectionately 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 29 August, '97 
 ... I THINK I told you of an unaccountable loath- 
 ing of work which has come over me; and that it 
 must be exorcised by a firm determination. It was 
 even so. The very next day, I took out my MS. 
 and in spite of almost physical nausea, addressed 
 myself to the hated task of revision. And lo, you 
 now, — see the reward. I first endured, then pit- 
 ied, then embraced. And what cheered me on — 
 shall I venture to tell you? at least you can't see 
 my blushes, — were the droll remarks which I had 
 interspersed on the spur of the moment and utterly 
 forgotten, the minute after they were written. Of 
 course fun is as laughable to no one as it is to the 
 maker, but I must confess that over some of my 
 notes I haw-hawed long and loud. My sense of the 
 fitness of things resents such flippant handling of 
 serious subjects, but then it is my style, and after 
 having undertaken such an intolerable amount of 
 labour for the public, I think it might pardon me a 
 little frolic now and then. To be sure much of my 
 "fun" is the fun of a solitary man, of one who does 
 not submit it to the rough handling of the world — 
 very much like the very heavy "fun" in "Sartor 
 Resartus," such as the tiresome effort to convey
 
 A SOLITARY LIFE 333 
 
 the idea that the whole is a translation by insert- 
 ing every now and then a German phrase. Such 
 heaviness is an infallible sign of a solitary life — a 
 degeneration which I can clearly see in myself. 
 Otherwise I can't say that I am aware of the lapse 
 which Dr. Johnson says is a sequent effect; "Sir," 
 said Dr. Johnson, "a life of solitude is dangerous to 
 reason, without being favourable to virtue; he who 
 refuses the gaiety of society is likely to fall a sac- 
 rifice to appetite." As to the "appetite" I can't 
 say whether or not, I should fall under condem- 
 nation there. My appetite, please God, is uncom- 
 mon good. . . . 
 
 As to the virtue of that it does not become me to 
 speak, albeit I shall confess that my life is so idyllic 
 and pastoral that I contemplate changing my name 
 to Corydon and with a chaplet of roses in my hair 
 and a carcanet of daisies round my neck, piping 
 on an oaten straw on the front lawn — well, well, 
 this solitude will soon be broken. In about three 
 or four weeks Carrie, her lord and babe, will be 
 here again and the house again astir. But you 
 musn't think that this solitude is as depressing to 
 me as it would be if I were not deaf. The house is 
 no more noisy when it is filled with young bustling 
 life than it is to me at all times. I never can perceive 
 any change. So that if ever a man was adapted to 
 a solitary life, it is I. Furthermore, I take infin- 
 ite comfort in the thought that m)^ life inter- 
 feres with the lives of none of our children. I have 
 told our children so earnestly that they believe
 
 334 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 me that if I find my life becoming a subject of 
 anxiety or thought, or care on their part, I shall 
 immediately disappear, and the next news of me 
 will be from Upernavik in Greenland's icy moun- 
 tains. Each child's life must be a centre to itself, 
 uninfluenced by mine. I shall never try to gather 
 my children round me — as long as they are, or can 
 be, happy away from me. If misery befalls them, 
 then my arms are wide open, and this house is their 
 refuge — their home. I know by this way, my 
 memory, hereafter, for the very few years it will 
 survive, will blossom, the fairer, in the dust. Lord! 
 Lord! Nannie, dearest Nannie, what shadows we 
 are, and how speedily we vanish into the inane. 
 How this is driven home to you in such a place as 
 Nuremburg, or in any other old town whose streets 
 and houses have witnessed any vicissitudes of life 
 whereof not the faintest trace remains. 'Tis time 
 to stop my prosing — it merely means that I have 
 no news and that I love to gabble to you & let my 
 pen run on whithersoever it will, confident that 
 whatever I say will be taken at its stupid worth, 
 and not be misunderstood — one of the high priv- 
 ileges of complete love. , . .^ 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 3 Oct. '97 
 Hech! milady, but I'm tired this blessed Sunday. 
 'Tis the month when I have to grow tired so that 
 I cannot think. — So it's all right. My proof-sheets 
 which I still loathe keep me undeniably busy.
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES 335 
 
 Three galleys a day are about enough to keep me 
 for eight hours at my table without lifting my eyes. 
 At the present rate, this will last till about the 8th 
 of December. Then comes the Appendix when I 
 can draw a long breath, and then in three or four 
 weeks thereafter be free forever from the hateful 
 thing, and must request you not to even mention 
 the name Winter in my hearing. In enumerating 
 the Seasons, kindly say Spring, Summer, Autumn 
 and Thingumbob. Understand, this aversion ex- 
 tends only to my book; for the play itself I have the 
 deepest love. It moves me far more than "The 
 Tempest" — Mrs. Kemble's favourite. Thus far 
 "As You Like It" has my warmest admiration, 
 and I think next comes "Cymbeline" and then 
 follows "The Winter's Tale." It is the female 
 characters in each which influences my choice and 
 range themselves, Rosalind, Imogen, Hermione. 
 Of Portia I think only in the Casket scenes, never 
 at the trial, where my sympathies are wholly with 
 Shylock. It is intolerable to see a man intellectually 
 the superior of the whole circle jeered and tweaked 
 by such men as Bassanio and the sumph Antonio. 
 In that minute Portia shares my dislike. But 
 there is no such minute in the lives of those I've 
 mentioned. They are all flawless. One night last 
 week, I was utterly drug-out — 'Twas one o'clock 
 and I knew that I must change the current of 
 my thoughts or I should not sleep till dawn, but 
 have endless visions of commas and semi-colons 
 until morning put a stop to it all. So I took up
 
 336 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 Browning as I have taken him up so often before; 
 firm in the determination to admire him and to 
 yield myself to his spell. I read for an hour, and 
 closed the book never to open it again. There is in 
 my veins only one small drop of Browning blood 
 which responds to the Toccata of Gallupi, and 
 there an end. I never wish to spend another minute 
 of my remnant of days in his company. His world 
 is doubtless a genuine world, but 'tis one I never 
 wish to enter. I do not like the lower passions at 
 fever heat, any more than when they are subdued 
 under a theatrical composure, or are analysed with 
 a pseudo-philosophy throughout all their vulgar 
 filaments. All this written in a harsh, discordant, 
 metallic clash without a line of pure, sweet, musical 
 poetry. I should like to examine the bumps of a 
 man who can say that he rises from Browning with 
 aspirations for a loftier ideal in life. No, no, Brown- 
 ing is the Dore of poets. We look, we acknow- 
 ledge the hideous truth, we feel the power, but we 
 shudder and turn away, and try to forget the 
 horrid revelation. I take a grim satisfaction in the 
 knowledge that I am done with Browning for ever. 
 As long as I can look at the gentlemen and ladies of 
 Van Dyck I'm not going to waste my time over the 
 repulsive distortions of Dore. 
 
 Friday evening came Haupt, having reached 
 Balto. from Germany forty-eight hours before. 
 I was prepared for his visit and so scrabbled through 
 my proofs in order to give the night to him, and 
 we made a night of it. He is always entertaining,
 
 THE POLYCHROME BIBLE 337 
 
 and was then eager to tell all his summer experi- 
 ences. He left Saturday morning, went to New 
 York and returned again Saturday eve'g after his 
 interview with Dodd & Mead who have the new 
 translation in charge. This a.m. before I was up he 
 was off for Baltimore where tomorrow he sets the 
 presses at work to print off the new Bible, with 
 the utmost dispatch. 'Tis most likely that about 
 the middle of November I shall be able to mail you 
 a copy. It has been decided to call it "The Poly- 
 chrome Bible" — to me an abhorrent title, remind- 
 ing one of the "chromos" which are given at the 
 grocer's with a pound of tea. The "Poly- " I don't 
 so much mind, albeit it has always in English a 
 comic sound. "The Polyglott" has somewhat fa- 
 miliarised us with it — but I do much dislike the 
 "chrome." Still it doesn't make any difference — 
 one gets used to anything — and "This too shall 
 pass away" is a potent charm to me in these my 
 advancing years. . . , 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, lO October, 1897 
 
 Last evening, dear, when Charles brought the 
 mail, my joy was great that there were no proofs, 
 and hence a promise of a peaceful Sabbath. This 
 morning after breakfast when I was just beginning 
 to expand over the prospect of untrammeled hours, 
 I glanced at the little mail box and there to my 
 horror stood a fatal roll which I recognized only 
 too swiftly. As sometimes happens the eve'g mail
 
 338 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 had gone on 'to Media only to be returned this 
 morning. And here the hideous thing lies by my 
 side now, "darkening my prospects, saddening my 
 brow," and there it shall lie until my gossip with 
 you is over (I have just discovered that I have be- 
 gun this on a half-sheet, but you won't mind). 
 What wormwood these proofs infuse into my life. 
 They assail me morning, noon, and night, and I 
 am so sick of them. But no matter, they can't last 
 forever, and when they're over I shall feel like 
 saying with the Duke of Buckingham, "Next 
 Thursday, by the blessing of God, I shall be drunk." 
 I have two full months more of them, and then, 
 "Hey day! Freedom! 'Ban, 'Ban, Ca-Caliban!'* 
 One thing I hope I do, most assuredly, and that is, 
 miss catching Tarpons in the waters of Florida. . . . 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 f Wallingford, 24 Oct. '97 
 
 .' . . You speak, dear, of having read Mrs. Jameson. 
 Isn't it delightful, but a far finer book is Lady 
 Martin's "Some of Shakespeare's Female Char- 
 acters." Mrs. Jameson looks at the characters as 
 a highly intelligent sympathetic nature would look 
 at them. Lady Martin is the character itself, and 
 interprets to you its every emotion. You do not 
 look at Portia, or Rosalind, or Hermione, but 
 through Lady Martin, Portia, Rosalind, and Her- 
 mione speak to you themselves and tell you all 
 that passes in their souls. In my opinion Lady M.'s 
 book is the finest that has ever been written on
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 339 
 
 Shakespeare, and outweighs tons of Commenta- 
 ries. As to "Troilus & Cressida," the first four Acts 
 are almost purely Shakespeare's, in the fifth Act 
 there are passages which are extremely doubtful. 
 Understand I have never made a special study of 
 this play — only in general terms I always main- 
 tain that it is uncritical to pick out all the fine pas- 
 sages and give them to Shakespeare and to say that 
 all the poor ones were written by someone else. 
 No poet or writer is for ever in the highest height. 
 There are passages of vile rant and trash which I 
 do not for a minute doubt were written by the di- 
 vine Williams' own hand — and he knew they were 
 rant as well as any one, but he didn't care, neither 
 do I. You speak of Macbeth and few "Ed's" 
 therein. Down to Lear, I was still wincing under 
 old Josh. Lipplncott's sneer that my proposed 
 edition would be mighty good for the Editor but 
 mighty poor for the publishers, implying that I 
 was self-seeking in wishing him to undertake the 
 publication. I can tell you, 'twas hard work in 
 editing the plays to hold my tongue in many and 
 many a place. But in Lear or rather when Lear 
 was finished, Kate said she wanted me to break 
 loose altogether and speak my mind freely. So 
 to her I owe my emancipation. Of course, where 
 the plays have been thoroughly edited my chance 
 for comment is comparatively rare, but here in 
 " The Winter's Tale,'' which has been but slightly 
 edited, there are more of my notes than of any one 
 else's. I'm afraid it is going to prove the most
 
 340 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 voluminous of any, which rather appeals to me — 
 but then 'tis my amusement, and Divinity stu- 
 dents have so few pleasures. Last week I passed 
 the half-way line, so that if all goes smoothly, with- 
 out interruption, I ought to reach the Appendix by 
 the middle of November — after that 'tis the easiest 
 work & I ought to write "The End" in the middle 
 of December, and you ought to have a copy by 
 the end of January. Still there are always unex- 
 pected delays — my only impatience is that your 
 dear eyes may read it. . . , 
 
 To Miss M. \E. Jackson 
 
 Wallingford, 31 October, 1897 
 
 Dear Miss Jackson: Never make any apologies 
 for writing to me on any Shakespearean subject. 
 I'm frightfully busy, so that my answers must be 
 of the briefest, yet I'll try to make them really 
 answers. 
 
 In using the word "mad" I have a right to main- 
 tain that it shall mean uncompromisingly crazy — 
 not eccentric, nor odd, but a downright unsettled 
 intellect. Such a case of Madness Shakespeare has 
 given us in Opheha. Does Hamlet ever act or speak 
 like Ophelia.? 
 
 A case of pretended madness Shakespeare has 
 given us in Edgar's "Mad Tom" in Lear. Does 
 Hamlet ever act or speak like "Mad Tom".? 
 
 Hamlet may be beside himself with grief for a 
 time, but many a man is likewise so, whom no one 
 would think of caUing "mad." Of course Hamlet's
 
 HAMLET'S MADNESS 341 
 
 apology to Laertes is a mere quibble — not worth 
 considering. He never acted towards Laertes as 
 he says he did, and his actions at Ophelia's grave 
 was mere rant as he himself calls it — but not one 
 trace of madness in it, nor pretended madness. 
 
 "Are you answered,^" as Shylock says. Think of 
 Ophelia and Mad Tom, and you'll not accuse Ham- 
 let of either madness or pretended madness. "The 
 Winter's Tale" is going through the press and I 
 have twelve pages of proof which must to the print- 
 er's tomorrow, and I must correct them tonight 
 before I lay me down to sleep. 
 
 I remain, dear Miss Jackson 
 Yours very truly 
 
 Horace Howard Furness 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 7 November, '97 
 . . . You cannot know with what delight I listen, 
 through your ears, to all the Dresden music. Brahms 
 I know nothing of — all I ever heard of his was 
 what I heard Mary Codman play four or five years 
 ago, when he seemed to me a man of intense emo- 
 tion, and the lord and master of instrumentation. 
 But with nothing on the surface, and everything 
 dependent on the mood — under his sway the 
 heavens can be smiling or they can be marble, 
 just as you feel at the time. I think Beethoven 
 forces you more into his mood — but what an ass 
 unpolicied I am to talk to you thus. Rejoice with 
 me that the Fifth Act of the Winter's Tale is at
 
 342 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 hand in the proofs which really gives me a glim- 
 mering on the horizon — it will be half finished by 
 the time you read this — then comes the Appendix, 
 which gives me no trouble — Ho, for Finis ! when 
 you may imagine me like the Wandering Jew in 
 Dore's last picture of him. I was never so discon- 
 tented, nay disgusted, with any of my volumes as I 
 am with this — and yet I shall begin another the 
 day after it is finished, and I am vacillating be- 
 tween Twelfth Night & Much Ado with proba- 
 bilities in favour of the latter. What think you t 
 Isn't Beatrice irresistible.^ I saw Weir Mitchell at 
 the Library dinner. He was insatiable for praise 
 of Hugh Wynne, and I was insatiable for news of 
 you — so we licked the platter clean. . . . 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 14 Nov. '97 
 
 . . . Tomorrow I send the copy to the printers of 
 the Appendix, which means that the text is all fin- 
 ished — the Five Acts completed — and greatly 
 to my dissatisfaction is the work thereof. There 
 are three or four notes of mine which are good 
 enough, but the rest of 'em are poor trash. I shall 
 be thankful when I have it off my hands, and never 
 want to hear of it again. No play has ever been 
 such burden to me as this. Not one throb of inter- 
 est has it stirred in me while going through the 
 press. I sigh when I open the proofs, I groan while 
 I read them, and I smile when I finish them. They 
 seem so empty and barren — a mere waste of time
 
 SHAKESPEARE READINGS 343 
 
 to labour over them. But for what else is my time 
 good for? I must do something with these long 
 weary days. You see how inconsistent is man — 
 Twenty-four hours after "The Winter's Tale" is 
 finished I shall begin another play. Ohe, jam sa- 
 tis! .. . 
 
 . . . Clearly you and I ought to read [Macbeth] 
 together — the only objection would be that we 
 should have no audience. Under the terror of your 
 Lady Macbeth, one half the audience would be 
 needed to carry out the fainting other half. Think 
 it over, dear, and make up your mind to try it with 
 me some blessed hour of the future; I'll read every 
 night in the week, if you'll read with me. Just 
 think what a lovely career for two white haired old 
 people. To enjoy themselves to the utmost limit 
 left to gray hairs and at the same time do good to 
 countless charities. There is a keen joy in reading 
 Shakespeare and I ain't a-going to deny it. The 
 mischief is that you can never satisfy yourself. The 
 tones and expression will never exactly obey your 
 inner sense. What is so clear in your mind falls flat 
 from the lips — a discrepancy which certainly our 
 Father never could have felt after his reading 
 of Paul before Agrippa or of The Prodigal Son. 
 Heigho, I've had no word from Willie since the 3rd 
 of November in a letter written exactly one month 
 before. He was on the point of starting from Singa- 
 pore into the wilds of that island. Then a long 
 silence. The only news he can then send me must 
 be carried by a foot messenger, eighty miles. 'Tis
 
 344 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS ' 
 
 good that these anxieties come only in the decline 
 of life when the foot of the hill is not far off. . . . 
 
 I speak of this my "Arctic winter," but 'twill be 
 no such thing. I doubt that I shall dine three con- 
 secutive days alone. The country so near to the 
 city, as this place is, cannot be isolated. Indeed, 
 on some accounts, 'tis not isolated enough. Carl 
 Schurz moved to the country for quiet seclusion. 
 He tried it for five years. When his friends called 
 on him, instead of staying only a half-hour or so, 
 as they would have done in the city, they were 
 obliged, owing to the trains, to remain one or two 
 hours, and claimed his undivided attention — 
 Whereupon to obtain real seclusion he moved back 
 to town. 'Tis very much the same case here. . . . 
 Did ever circumstances tak' the words o' the Lord 
 more completely out o' the preacher's mouth."* As 
 I wrote that last word, I looked up and Frank stood 
 by my table. He stayed for more than an hour — 
 When I opened the front door to let him out, there 
 stood Atherton Blight to pass the day with me. . . . 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 21 November, '97 
 . . . On Tuesday Dr. Dan Brinton dined with me — 
 a pleasant relief while still in the shadow of no 
 letter from you. He's a man I greatly admire for 
 the breadth of his horizon. To be sure, he some- 
 times extends it in uncouth, spasmodic direction, 
 as when he lately attempted a drama in blank 
 (very blank) verse. The plot was extremely good,
 
 WHITMAN AND EXPURGATION 345 
 
 taken from an episode in the early brutal colo- 
 nization of Mexico by the Spaniards, but then my 
 friend is not a good poet and has no idea of the 
 difficulty of blank verse — almost the very, very 
 hardest of metres, as Tennyson said. Brinton has 
 been urged to edit Walt Whitman's works, and 
 wanted to consult me thereanent. I clearly stated 
 to him what I thought to be the inevitable horns of 
 the dilemma; if unexpurgated, the works would 
 sell & the editor blamed; if expurgated, the works 
 would not sell & the editor be praised. No man 
 with self-respect, or with children, could edit those 
 so-called poems unexpurgated. Whatever excuse 
 Walt might plead for writing them, would not 
 be extended to his editor. I am convinced that 
 had the first English Edition of "Leaves of Grass" 
 been unexpurgated, it would never have there 
 gained the popularity which it undoubtedly had 
 and still has. I pleaded this fact to Walt once, and 
 spoke to him plainly enough about his shocking 
 impropriety — But he was as deaf as an adder to 
 my conjurations. He said, "No, Horace, Emer- 
 son walked with me under the elms on Boston 
 Common for two hours talking as you do; but to 
 take out those passages would break the ensem- 
 ble of my nature." Damn the ensemble was what 
 I wanted to say, but didn't. The truth is that Walt 
 was a poseur all his life. He pretended to be poor 
 as a rat when he had thousands of dollars in the 
 Bank. He pretended to be uncultured and illit- 
 erate when in reality he was an extremely well-read
 
 346 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 man. He pretended to write his poems just as they 
 sprang from his lips, when in reality he laboured 
 over them with unwearied industry, as is proved by 
 some of his MS. which I have, wherein there are 
 erasures after erasures, and spaces left vacant for 
 the subsequent insertions of the appropriate ad- 
 jective. No, the very best thing about Walt was 
 his godlike face and mien, and this will die with the 
 generation which was blest with the sight. I once 
 went up to him when I saw him on Chestnut 
 Street, and said that I must personally thank him 
 for being so handsome, adding that I hoped he 
 didn't mind. "No, Horace," he added, "I Hke it," 
 which was certainly delightfully honest. But ach 
 weh! lass riihn die Todten (his brain is in alcohol 
 in the Wistar Institute for future microscopic ex- 
 amination). . . . 
 
 Probably by the time you receive this, my labours 
 in "The Winter's Tale" will have entirely ceased, 
 and the last proof-sheet read. I am now in the Ap- 
 pendix, passed the three bugbears; The Text, The 
 Date, and The Plot, and all is now smooth sailing. 
 I am making out the Hst of books, and the Index, 
 which cannot be done till the whole is in type 
 and paged. What a relief! and what a mortifica- 
 tion ! There are but two notes of my own in the 
 whole play which I contemplate with any approach 
 to satisfaction — Every other one is vapid, silly, 
 & pretentious. But when a volume is once finished 
 and published, I dismiss it with frigid tranquility, 
 having nothing to hope or fear from censure or 
 from praise.
 
 :A HOSPITAL .347 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Walling ford, 19 December, *97 
 . . . I've had a wild and whirling week. Listen. On 
 Monday came your delicious balm. On Wednesday 
 P.M. I gave my weekly inspection of the Univ. Hos- 
 pital and as I am the only member of the Com. 
 of three, who attends to this duty, it falls to me to 
 examine the accounts, and add up long columns 
 of figures, approve with my signature sixty or 
 seventy bills ranging in am't from twenty-five cents 
 to six hundred dollars, count all the cash in hand 
 (and it must come out to a penny), then go through 
 every part of the hospital, peer into linen closets, 
 cupboards, refrigerators, walk through the huge 
 kitchen, sniff into ice-boxes, and look grimly at 
 every speck of dirt. The Hospital is really fast 
 becoming a model. The antiseptic doctrine has 
 changed every table from wood to glass, and floors 
 and walls of the bath-rooms &c, to snowy tiles. 
 (The new grand "D. Hayes Agnew Pavillion'* 
 (Phoebus, what a name!) is an utter failure as far 
 as heat, light and ventilation is concerned.) As I 
 go every Wednesday afternoon, and as dusk comes 
 on before I can walk through the wards, the half 
 light of the approaching night starts a depression 
 which all the snowy sheets and white-clad nurses 
 cannot dispel. The Women's Surgical Ward is 
 what gives me deepest pain. The pale, weak, pa- 
 tient faces looking pleadingly at me above the coun- 
 terpanes haunt me for hours afterwards. But of all 
 things in a Hospital you must crush down all emo-
 
 348 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 tion. And there is endless cheer in the thought of 
 the contrast between all this sweetness and vigilant 
 care, and all the squalor and neglect in the homes 
 whence the patients come. I always end with the 
 Children's Ward, where in some beds there are 
 always sure to be found some convalescent little 
 things playing with toys and responsive to a smile. 
 Then home to my solitary dinner. 
 
 On Thursday I went to the Book Com. of the 
 Phila. Lib. which is even more depressing than the 
 Hospital. It has no cheering side, which is all I'll 
 say about It. One thing however is somewhat good. 
 We are bursting with money to buy books, (there 
 are several thousand dollars lying idle) but nothing 
 will they buy but the current novels & light lit- 
 erature of the day. The good thing is that I got 
 them to let me have four hundred dollars to make 
 a complete collection of Milton; and three hundred 
 dollars for tracts relating to the early history of the 
 Quakers. I shouldn't have asked for this, had it 
 not been that I was so successful with the thousand 
 dollars they gave me for Bibles and Prayer Books. 
 On Friday, I worked hard all the morning, and at 
 three o'clock I thought I'd take a little stroll and 
 examine the greenhouse. While I was there, Mar- 
 gery came bearing in her hand a card: Agnes 
 Repplier! I bounded like a shammy back to the 
 house to welcome the dear child. . , . 
 
 "The Winter's Tale" has reached the very tip, 
 and there's very little wagging left in it. There 
 is but one more galley of the Index to read & then
 
 TRAGI-COMEDIES 349 
 
 all's done, and good riddance. You say most 
 truly that Hero's little fuss in Much Ado doesn't 
 affect the general gaiety. Don't you know the 
 reason why.'' 'Tis because we know all along, 
 having been let into the secret, that she is living — 
 This makes it a genuine comedy. "The Winter's 
 Tale" on the other hand is strictly a tragi-comedy. 
 Until Paulina draws the curtain we do not know 
 that Hermione is alive — and excellent illustra- 
 tion of a tragi-comedy which I have been so often 
 asked to define. I think it's the best in Shakespeare 
 — better than Cymbeline. And now, dear one, 
 Christmas will be over when you read this and 
 'twill be the last letter you get from me this year — ■ 
 a year in which you have become dearer and dearer 
 to me than when it began. Therein following the 
 example of all its predecessors. ... 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 26 Dec. '97 
 'Tis good that out of doors Christmas exists only 
 in cities. The instant I was seated here Christmas 
 had become a memory. I bustled about fixing 
 things. I am determined to enter a new year — if 
 at all — in a fixeder state than ever before. Con- 
 flagrations of idols in the shape of old rubbish &c., 
 cherished for years, is the order of the day and of 
 the night. I am weeding out books and shall send 
 two or three hundred to auction. How can I pos- 
 sibly feel the love of books into which I don't look 
 once in twenty years.'' — and expressly those into
 
 350 HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 
 
 which I trust I shall never look again. I will eman- 
 cipate myself from magpiety (a good word, this 
 instant coined). It has been my besetting sin from 
 childhood. Why, I have now old pieces of blank 
 paper which I saved before I went to College — 
 they are at least a half a century in my possession. 
 The deuce of it is that this rubbish at last derives 
 a fictitious value for the mere respectability of age. 
 I am not sure that I ought not to reckon among my 
 Christmas presents an edition de luxe (an edition 
 of looks as Lowell called 'em) of "Hugh Wynne," 
 from our dear Weir. I detest such editions from 
 the bottom of my soul — but as coming from Weir, 
 and one of only sixty copies, it gratified me ex- 
 tremely. Of course he'll reserve No. i for you, 
 who, as he said to me, always write half his stories. 
 I replied that you wrote all my work, which you do. 
 Now that Father is gone are you not my living 
 inspiration.'' And let me tell you, you won't be 
 much inspired when you get "The Winter's Tale," 
 
 — that wretched failure to which I was scourged 
 as never galley slave to his oar. When I read the 
 Preface (the last proof of it, I received yesterday 
 morning) and some of the notes, I shriek: "Oh, 
 Ma'am, my stom, my stom." But whock your eye 
 
 — it's dead and done for, as far as my interest in it 
 is concerned. I shall never cut the leaves of my 
 copy of it, as I have not yet cut the leaves of 
 "A Mid. N. Dream." And furthermore I shall be- 
 gin another play ("Much Ado") before the week is 
 out. Again yesterday morning I received a bound
 
 A CALL FROM WILLARD 351 
 
 copy of "The Psalms "; as soon as they are for sale 
 (they have to be held up a while for the sake of the 
 English copyright) of course you shall have one — 
 but don't lug either it, or your copy of " The Winter's 
 Tale," about with you when you leave Dresden; 
 give 'em away. Indeed I'm not ashamed of some 
 of the "Psalms" — 
 
 To his Sister 
 
 Wallingford, 2 Jan. '98 
 
 . . . Thursday p.m. Willard, the actor, came out 
 to see me under Horrie's guidance, and we had a 
 very pleasant time — I told him he was made to 
 act Benedict; he bounded at my words & said he 
 had already been looking into the part. I told him 
 to come to me again in a year, and I'd go over the 
 whole play with him. By that time, possibly, if 
 I'm alive and nothing happens (as Mother used 
 to say), I should have finished it. Yes, I've half 
 a mind to exert a tour de force and issue another 
 play in a year. I can do it, if age doesn't claw me 
 too tightly in its clutch. Now that I have touched 
 1898, 'tis likely that I shall live to be a hundred, 
 and in the meantime I'd like to finish the comedies. 
 These and the five great tragedies would make a 
 kind of complete thing. Don't laugh — the very 
 afternoon of the day I sent back my last proofs of 
 The Wint. Tale I began Much Ado. To be sure, 
 this beginning amounts to no more than number- 
 ing lines — but that I have done. Would it were 
 true that "dimidium facti, qui ccepit habet."^ 
 
 END OF VOLUME I
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 
 
 1*<^r 
 
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 Form I,-;. 
 
 THE UBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFC^NIA
 
 PR 
 
 F7A3 The letters of 
 1922 Horace Eov^^rd^ 
 
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 2972 
 
 F7A3 
 
 1922 
 
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 AA 000 370 278 
 
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