Yale University Library

39002002555689

¦JH^XPERIENCES,:

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MYSELF AND OTfiEIiS;

OR.

I^eminisoences, J^eco/lections ¦^ Experiences

IN A

LIFE OF 0EVEfI'FY-jSlX YEAK^,
1811-1887,
m PUBLIC, BUmW AN^ SOCIAL LIFE,
IN
PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND, AND PHILADELPHIA, PA,
BY
GEORGE F. JONES.

PHILADELPHIA :
Globe Printing House, 112 and 114. North 12th St.

(Sxhi^y^

CONTENTS. Page.
Peeliminabt  5
Apologetic and Explanatohy  8
Babyhood  10
Boyhood  12
My Boyhood  14
Youth  Ig
Manhood  18
"Puppy Love"  20
"The Geeat Gale"  24
Found Dbownbd  30
A Teip to a Wedding  4]
The Daekey  i-  47
John Boalbs  70
MUKDEB  80
An Adventuee  95
The Cbooked and the SteaigHt  103
Business  131
Music  • .  165
Peovidbncb, 1811-1830  185
Philadelphia, 1830-1887  220
A Sermoi^  >  245

MYSELF AND OTHERS.

Reminiscences, Recollections and Experiences in
a Life of Seventy-six Years.

PRELIMINARY.

T AM but one of Fourteen Hundred Millions of human
¦^ beings' w'ho inhabit this planet of ours, which we call
The World. And "what is one among so many?" One
— in such an enormous aggregate of human life ! It is
but an atom, like a grain of sand on the sea shore, a drop
in the vast ocean, a speck among the myriads that float
in the air! And yet, each individual life, in the vast
number, is of infinite importance to its bearer, and of
interest to those connected with it by the ties of blood or
by association. Each individual life wields an influence
on all within its sphere. Humanity is always acting on
humanity. There is, there can be, no one, " high or low,
rich or poor," who does not continually, though it may
be unconsciously, affect, in a greater or less degree, those
with whom they are in contact. Even the very youngest,
the oldest, the poorest, the most humble and perhaps least
gifted, are ever exerting an influence on all around them.
No one giving any thought to the propoiition can doubt
that all, whatever their capacities or abilities may be, do
actually and invariably impart to others an influence
(5)

6 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
which is ever operating, though perhaps the process may
be unseen and, at the time, unfelt.
No human being moves.
No heart or mind e'er acts,
No word or speech is uttered :
But it touches mind and heart
Of others, with a silent power.
Spreading its influence around.
Though but one, each life has its history, its experience,
its struggles, its remembrances and its influence. When
in childhood the brain begins to act, then, also, its joys,
its troubles, its pleasures and its sorrows follow, and the
life takes up its course with the same emotions, hopes and
wishes that have swayed or controlled all the uncounted
millions, who before have breathed the breath of life.
The story has begun, and when that life comes to an end
the history is completed. And yet, it is all like a dream,
for " our life is but a span — we fade away suddenly like
the grass, and our years come to an end, as it were a tale
that is told."
As there is in the life of each one a history, so must
that history or record be of some interest to those who
have been, as it were, a part of that life. And even to
those not connected with it, there may be something to
arrest the attention or excite the interest. Even the
monotonous life of a hermit might prove interesting,
because it unfolds the reasons for his life of loneliness and,
perhaps, a record of crushed ambition, blasted hopes or
disappointed love, to have caused him to live apart from
his fellows, and pass his life in " one dark, unbroken
solitude." The life of the hermit, so far as others are con
cerned, ends in his withdrawal from human companion
ship ; bi^t 3,11 pther lives go on ufito the end anc} ar§

tRfeLlMlNAllY. 7
daily weaving the threads of their history, until the
light of life is extinguished. And who can tell the great
aggregate of influences that have gone out from each life,
and whether those influences were for the weal or woe of
mankind ?
There must be, there ever will be, some element of
personal influence emanating from the heart, or actions
of every human being in the fellowship of human life.
Insensible of its force and its capacity, and unconscious
perhaps of its movements, we must, on reflection, be con
vinced of its existence, though unable to decide how and
where this magnetism resides. I am fully persuaded
and firmly believe, that there are influences constantly
flowing out from one human being to another, be they
man, woman or child, and that they, as constantly, have
their eff'ect for good or evil. I trust, therefore, that these
Reminiscences may, perhaps, arrest the attention and
exert some little influence on those who may read the
following pages. It is but a sketch, or sketches, of men
and things in the life and recollections of one who fills
but a small space in this great world ; of one who has
occupied no prominent position among his fellow-men ;
who has been an actor in no stirring scenes or events.
What is here written cannot be of absorbing interest, but
may serve to amuse or occupy the attention in some idle
hour. If what is here recorded should improve or in
struct the reader, no better result is hoped for. We learn
by one's own experience and that of others, lessons that
deeply impress the mind and heart, and no one can
doubt the truth of the old saying, " Experience is the
best teacher."

MYSELF AND OTHERS.

APOLOGETIC AND EXPLANATORY.
" There is a lesson in each flower,
A story in each stream and bower ;
In every herb on which you tread.
Are written words which, rightly read,
May lead you from earth's fragrant sod.
Perchance to hope, to holiness, to God." — Anon.
It was not my own idea to write this book. One
nearly connected with me suggested it in a letter, a part
of which reads as follows : " It has occurred to me that
you might find a pleasure and satisfaction in recording
certain events in your own life and in the lives of those
who have gone and perhaps, some others, written in your
own way, a book of your reminiscences, thoughts and
experiences (of which you must have many), which would
reveal much that would be interesting to those you
know, as well as the general reader."
Acting on this suggestion, I have transcribed what fol
lows in this volume, making some changes in its scope
and character, not perhaps thought of by the author of
the suggestion. Born in one city, where eighteen years
of my life was passed, and living in another city for more
than fifty-seven years, it is but natural that I should feel
an abiding interest in the place of my birth, as well as a
pardonable pride in the city of my adoption, where three-
quarters of my whole life have been spent. Many of
these reminiscences relate to persons or things in these
two cities ; the first, the chief city in Rhode Island, at the
head of the waters of Narragansett Bay ; the second, the
chief city of Pennsylvania, near the junction of the
Delaware and Schuylkill Rivers. And here let me say
that in each of these two cities, Providence and Phila-

APOLOGETIC AND EXPLANATORY. 9
delphia, I have a strong personal interest and pride.
Providence, in its lovely location, its beautiful residences
and its active, busy population of 120,000 or more, com
mands my admiration, and elicits warm praise as a pros
perous and well-governed city. Philadelphia, with its
vast area, covered with pleasant homes for a round mil
lion of inhabitants ; for a residence, one of the finest
cities on the face of the earth, has been my home for
more than half a century, and I have desired no other.
What is recorded here must, of course, be varied in its
character. One's remembrances are not all pleasant ones.
As memory goes back along the years that have passed,
some sad events and scenes will come up and be vividly
recalled. Such may be valuable in their relation, for
they may be told as warnings, held up as beacons, to tell
of the quicksands or pitfalls, into which the careless or
unwary may be thrown. They cannot all please or
amuse, but must be such as memory brings to view, as
the leaves in one's book of life are turned, such as
would naturally suggest themselves to one whose age
causes him to enjoy the past, with its teeming memories,
and to record events and recollections that change
" From grave to gay — ^from lively to severe."
I dare not attempt fine writing, or an easy and graceful
expression, or strive to produce,
" Thoughts that breathe and words that burn,"
but can only write as I have written; " in my own way,"
plainly, truly, and with such ability as my Creator has
bestowed upon me.
In writing of " myself and others," it would naturally
follow, that it would develop into semi-autobiography.
2

10 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
I desire to avoid this, not wishing to bring self into
prominence. What I was, what I have been and what
I am, can be of interest to but few, so I shall avoid
egotism, as far as possible, under the circumstances.

BABYHOOD.
I can't remember when I was born. I don't know
anything about it, except from hearsay. With regard to
the fact that I was born, it must depend on that kind of
evidence, and that (so say the lawyers) is not always re
liable. I must, however, be satisfied with such an assur
ance and do not intend to question the truth of it, or to -
attempt to prove that I was not born, for it is a difficult
matter to prove a negative. Simply — I have been told
that I was actually born, and, fully convinced of the truth
of the information, I cheerfully " accept the situation,"
and admit and believe that I was born. If any one is
disposed to prove that I was not, I challenge him or her
to produce the proof.
I was told, too, that the important event occurred on a
Monday morning, " wash-day," and that it was on one of
these days, so marked in the household economy, that I
" came into this breathing world." That this is a fact I
firmly believe, for I have had a genuine antipathy to
wash-days all these long years. I was also informed
(some time after the before-mentioned occurrence took
place) that the experienced nurse, who usually officiates
on such occasions, either struck by a bright idea, or told
by some other similar official of its efficacy, actually
bathed 'me, shortly after my advent, with undiluted

BABYHOOD. 11
brandy, and the effect on my very tender epidermis, can
be more easily imagined than I am able to describe.
This fact, also, came to my knowledge with the added
account, that I rebelled most vigorously against the treat
ment, yelling and screaming with all the power of which
my lungs were capable. History relates that these vocal
performances were continued for the space of six months.
I mention this, because it is the only way I have, to
account for irritability of temper. Results — ^I have dis
liked brandy, equally with wash-days, from that period
of my life to the present.
The fact of my birth being established, there is but
little to relate of my infancy or childhood, which was
passed somewhat uneventfully until a younger sister
came upon the scene. As but a year and a-half had
elapsed, my brain could hardly be in good working
order, so it was an event not appreciated by me or re
corded on memory's page. But after two years more had
¦passed, another similar occurrence took place, and of that
I have a distinct recollection. My brain had developed,
my will-power had sprouted and my irritable temper was
in a flourishing condition. The arrival of my youngest
sister, was an event that fixed itself firmly in my mind,
and I have ever maintained that it was my first distinct
recollection. No other event had previously occurred in
the two score and more months of my existence that was
fastened in my memory, or recorded in any journal or
diary that I may have kept. My youngest sister was the
last of eleven children, and when she came it happened
that no one's " nose was broke," because, perhaps they
were not considered as of paramount importance, except
to those who wore them. I well remember that I was in
a high state of expectancy, produced by the representa-

12 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
tions of nurses and servants, that " something was going
to happen," and to me it was strange, wonderful, myste
rious and altogether unaccountable.
When the event actually occurred and the intelligence
was conveyed to me, an intense desire to see the new
comer possessed me, and immediately, with angry impa
tience, I rebelled against the delays that I was subjected
to. At last, when the time came that I was to be allowed
to see " the dear little sister," it was stated, that I must
wait for face and hands to be washed and a clean apron
to be put on. At this announcement my anger burst
forth, and a miniature battle was fought, in which I was,
as usual, defeated. A truce was signed, and at last I was
taken into the room and allowed to look at the specimen
of struggling humanity. That sister has fulfilled the
duties of daughter, wife and mother, and I have dearly
loved her for seventy-two years.

BOYHOOD.
" Oh life ! how pleasant in thy morning,
Young fancy's rays, the hills adorning !
Cold-pausing caution's lessons scorning.
We frisk away,
Like school boys at the expected warning.
To joy and play."
To the grown man or woman, there is an irresistible
fascination in looking back to their boy or girlhood.
Memory delights to linger over the days when they were
boys or girls, and paints in strong and vivid colors the
pleasures then enjoyed. Even the troubles experienced

BOYHOOD. 13
from the restraints imposed, which then seemed so
grievous, are viewed as but small, in comparison with the
joy and happiness that prevailed.
The hardships of a boy's life, looked at from his stand
point, are innumerable. Men and women look on their
troubles and trials in a far different light than that in
which the boy sees his own. He feels his hardships and
sees no way of escape from them. The demands of
parents, the rules of the schoolmaster, the tyranny of the
older boys, are to him dread realities that confront him
on every side. He is unable to see that it is wholesome
discipline, that is preparing him for the future struggles
in life's journey. He estimates it as an iron rule, a hard
restraint, a useless tyranny, and eagerly longs for the
,, blessed time to come, " when I shall be a man and my
own master." Boyhood's and school days are the happiest
part of our lives, but at the time the discipline and
education of the boy brings to him a sense of fancied
wrong and injustice that he finds hard to bear. With a
strong desire for play, a wish to roam through woods and
fields, an eager anxiety to do " his own sweet will," how
. hard it is — to obey rules, to curb his spirits, and bring
his liberty-loving desires and notions down to enforced
propriety ! The restraints of home, the rules of school,
are like the chains of the prisoner, and he longs to break
them and be free. With all his effervescence and elasticity
of spirit, it is hard to be a good boy. And besides — as
was the case some fifty or sixty years ago — bodily punish
ment was then in vogue — what " a fearful looking for"
there was, after some breach of home or school rules !
The dread of it was felt in its anticipation and its terrible
fulfilment. Thank God, wiser counsels and a better
treatment of the young now prevails !

14 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
The average boy is engrossed with the idea of present
enjoyment — that is what he wants and tries to have.
He cares but little for the future — ^that is, far away — dis
tant, dim and uncertain, and he does not and will not
care for aught but present joys, pleasures and delights.
" When the future arrives, I'll be ready for it," he says,
and looks forward with no anxious care. It has but a
small place in his estimation or consideration, and he
really believes in and acts upon the precept, " sufficient
unto the day is the evil thereof."
Happy boyhood ! with all its dislike of restraint, its
dread of discipline and its many fancied trials and hard
ships: it is the. happiest period of one's life. All its
varied griefs or joys only prepare us for the ,duties and
responsibilities the man must assume, and which must
accompany him through life.

MY BOYHOOD
was like that of many other boys, but as it was passed in
a most lovely home, and, fortunately, " my lot was cast in
pleasant places," I trust I may be pardoned for giving
a description of a place toward which my memory un
ceasingly has turned for nearly sixty years.
Over the hills, which form the eastern half of the then
town of Providence, Rhode Island, there was a broad
plateau of fertile lands, and within a mile these lands
sloped to the Seekonk River. On this plateau, a half
mile from town, my father's estate was situated. The
house was nearly one hundred feet from the road, with a
semi-circular and ornamental fence in front and on the

MY BOYHOOD. 15
sides, and a lane or roadway ran on the west side of the
house leading to the stable, coach-house and the fields
behind it. The house was a double and large one, with
a broad hall running through its whole length, and was
wide enough for breakfast, dinner or tea to be served,
which was frequently done in the hot days of summer.
The roof was built to a square, where were seats, with a
balustrade, from which, on a clear day, could be seen
with the naked eye. Fall River at the head of Mount
Hope Bay, and even Newport, at the end of Narragansett
Bay, and thirty miles distant. On the east of the house
there was a garden, about 150 feet wide and from 500 to
600 feet long, and east of the garden another field of
some 500 feet, east, west, north and south.
The whole frontage must have been nearly one
thousand feet, comprising house and lot, garden and field.
In the rear of the house was a large yard, with stable,
coach-house and wood-shed at one end, and on one side
wash-house, chicken-house, etc., and a number of large
fruit trees. The front, side and back yards had apple,
pear, peach, plum, nectarine, apricot, and cherry trees in
large profusion, and of the latter fruit, the number of
trees, with the large quantities and superior qualities of
the fruit, made the place quite famous.
The garden was a marked feature of the estate, and its
extent and the almost infinite variety of flowers, vege
tables and small fruits grown in it, made it an object of
great interest to each member of the family and to every
visitor. All kinds of roses and every other known flower,
every description of vegetable, all the varieties of straw
berries, raspberries, gooseberries and currants were there
and in plenteous profusion — a place to please the fancy
and delight the eye.

16 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
In this lovely home nearly all of the first eighteen
years of my life were passed. And they were happy
years — far more so than later years have been, with the
cares of family and business always weighing heavily
upon me. Memory loves to tum back to the old and
pleasant home and the loved circle of father, mother,
sisters and brothers who were there. A kind and gen
erous father, a loving and ever indulgent mother, made it
a home of happiness, a home of real comfort, and a home
ever blessed in our remembrance. Hospitality most
generously and genially dispensed, was a prominent
characteristic of our home, and hundreds have borne
witness to the charm it breathed and ever exercised over
them while under the shelter of its roof. And now —
where are they all ? The lapse of years brings change
upon change. Of father, mother and eleven children
but three are now living, and they the youngest three !
Of the many relatives and friends who passed many
happy hours there, not more than one-fifth remain in life.
The house has been altered, the stable torn down, the
garden totally obliterated, and when I saw it last, some
few months ago, houses were being built where the lovely
flowers once grew. I never wish to see the place again.
Its glory has departed and its pleasures exist only in
memory.

YOUTH.
This is but the boy, who is, as it were, budding, to blos
som into youth and the blossom to become the perfected
fruit — Man. It is [the callow age, if one may so speak.
Boyish days, with the love of fun, frolic and rollicking

YOUTH. 17
delight fairly • bubbling over, and so exclusively the
characteristic of the boy, all give way to the more digni
fied youthful days. The youth realizes his nearness to
the man, and he strives to assume a manly bearing
which the boy did not care for. We begin to see the
incipient man turning up to view ; some faint touches of
man's ways and man's appearance, a change of dress, a
quieter and calmer countenance, a more sedate look.
In fact — appearing like the man.
But yet, of man's years wanting.
Thus does the boy, chrysalis like, become transformed
into the youth, and with the change there comes new
aspirations, new desires and new endeavors. The boy's
frolicsome ways are forever dropped and must not be
tolerated. No more the boyish shout or laugh, the
roguish antics, the irrepressible fun of the joyous, gushing
boy. All these are too childish, too undignified, to the
youth who is looking forward to the comparatively near
time when he will be the man. Fun must be repressed,
and jollity is not to be tolerated in one whose hopes and
aspirations are beyond the grasp of boyhood. The youth
is looking onward and forward to the manly age, when
youthful dreams are hoped and believed to become
realities. Only a few years more of eager wishing and
feverish longing, and the arrival at man's estate will be
the happy and full fruition of all the hopes and dreams
of youth. All the future wears a roseate hue, all looks
promising, and it beckons to the youth and tempts him
on, with visions of accomplished love or fame or power.
" Ah I world unknown ! how charming is thy view,
Thy pleasures many, and each pleasure new ;
Ah ! world experienced 1 what of thee is told ?
How few thy pleasures, and those few— how old."

18 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
What a blessed thing it is that in boyhood, youth and
manhood the future is unknown ! Let the boy, the youth,
the man look forward with hope, with resolve, with stead
fast trust. Look not, 0 youth ! to the pursuit of pleasure
alone, for you have much more to do than to seek your
own gratification. " The youth who bathes in pleasure's limpid streams,
At well judged intervals, feels all his soul
Nerved with recruited strength ; but if too oft
He swims in sportive mazes thro' the flood,
It chills his languid virtue.
And from him — takes his God."
Tread the way of life with an honest purpose and a
truthful heart, and leave the result in the hands of a
higher power. God, " who alone can order the wills
and affections of sinful men," will aid you, if with noble
purpose and a steadfast heart you strive to " walk in His
ways." Seek not to lift the curtain that conceals the
future, but wait and " in patience possess ye your souls,"
trusting m God, and He will bless and help you in the
struggle of life which you must pass through, and bring
you to the end — victorious.

MANHOOD.
The boy has changed into the youth and the youth has
become the man. The hopes and dreams have now come
to the point of realization. The desire to become of age,
to be the man, is now fulfilled. He has brought with
him into manhood those bright hopes and desires, but
he finds duties and responsibilities awaiting him on the

MANHOOD. 19
very threshold of man's estate. These must be assumed,
and from them there is no escape. Coming,'as they do, at
the very starting point of a man's life, they bring with
them a sense of anxious care, and impress, as with a
heavy weight, the mind and heart. The child has grad
ually grown more rational and intelligent, and in the
lapse of years the youth is advanced in knowledge. But
the man does not stop his education. He finds it ever
progressing, and in his daily contact with his fellow-man
is ever learning his lessons, and by the best of teachers
— experience. Dickens says: "Education, for the due
cultivation of the virtues, is at least as important to the
grown person as to the child."
Man's capacities, abilities, passions and powers are
now to be tested, and well will it be for him if they can
be used and controlled, so as to " bring forth fruit unto
perfection." Temptations exist on every hand, and he
finds that vice is rampant and virtue the exception. Sin
is everywhere and its effects are daily seen and felt. As
an eloquent writer remarks : " Sin has marred or de
stroyed the richest blessings of life, to the lust for wealth,
fame or power, or to the unhallowed or brutish passions,
poisoning the currents of social affections, stimulating
the world to selfishness and hatred, blighting the charac
ter and the hopes of mankind, and writing the history of
the world in blood."
Confronted as a man is, at his very first steps in life,
with sin in its alluring dress and with temptations on
every hand, happy will he be, if he has sufficient strength
of mind and will-purpose, to contend successfully against
them. If he has honesty of purpose, a determination
to do right, and a desire to advance " the glory of God
and the good of his fellow-men," he will be sustained and

20 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
cheered in his duties and efforts, and rewarded, not only
in this life but also in that which is to come.
Give me the man who fears his God,
Who hath the path of duty trod ;
His lot on earth shall happy be.
And blest throughout eternity.

" PUPPY LOVE."
No pen can write, no tongue can tell,
The dreams, the hopes, the joys,
Of the young heart, when first
It feels the germ of love
Budding, unfolding, ripening,
And mastering its every throb.
There's naught the youth or maiden sweet can move.
Like the delights and joys of Puppy Love.
This is a disease limited in its duration, peculiar in its
nature and characteristics, and it generally appears, with
violent symptoms, among girls of thirteen to fifteen years
and boys aged fourteen to eighteen. There have been
instances, though rare, when those of earlier years have
had the disease, though in my long experience I have
known of but two, one of which I shall mention before
I finish this valuable paper. The diagnosis of the
disease is simple — high fever, nervousness, palpitation of
the heart, with constantly changing temperament. The
symptoms are varied and difficult to describe, as they
differ widely; being in some cases somewhat mildly
developed, while in others they are almost paroxysmal.
The treatment in all cases should be mild, and the best

"puppy love. 21
curative is generally administered or withheld by the
party who is the first cause bf the attack.
What youth is there who can say that he has never had
the disease ? It is not only common, but universal, ex
isting in all ages and nations. Boys and girls, men and
women, everywhere, willingly admit that their chief
object in life is the desire of " loving and being loved."
And yet what a tyrant love is ! Swaying, ruling, de
pressing, elevating or degrading, as its effects may be on
individuals, all own its power, and the greatest potentate
or the lowly peasant is submissive to its sway and
acknowledges it as supreme. An old song says :
" Oh ! 'tis love, 'tis love, 'tis love.
That rules us all completely :
Oh ! 'tis love, 'tis love, 'tis love,
Commands — and we obey."
The youth who is infected with the disease, ex
periencing alternate elevation and depression, invariably
gives way to it and lets it run its course. Doubtless this
is the best policy, for it generally cures itself, leaving the
patient — cured indeed, though perhaps somewhat ex
hausted — with full liberty, if he so pleases, to invite
another attack. This often occurs, and but few youths
arrive at man's estate, without having stored away in
memory's recesses the many attacks of " Puppy Love "
to which they were subjected, and the as many cures
which always resulted.
These remembrances in after life, often bring with
them thoughts and experiences of our young days that
can never fade from the memory. The struggles, doubts,
jealousies, fears, torments and delights of our young love
will always be interesting pages in our history. It was

22 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
all as a schoolmaster, teaching us the first rudiments of
love, and when we first felt "the tender passion moving
o'er heart and spirit, bringing us under its sweet in
fluence, it prepared us for the still greater power it would
wield, when the heart of man should feel its irresistible
control. Happy days were they when we bowed in love
and adoration before our divinities, aged fifteen, or per
haps " sweet sixteen," holding our hearts in their grasp,
and for the time, keeping us entranced, bewildered and
filled with love and admiration. How lovely, too, were
they in our young eyes ! How we admired their face,
their form, their walk, their every look or grace or
charm ! In our incipient love, they were almost objects
of adoration ; we invested them with all the lovely attri
butes we could imagine, and in our estimation they were
goddesses, divinities or angels. Charming indeed were
the days when we experienced the sensations of " Puppy
Love!" I once knew a boy of twelve — Harry, and a little girl
of ten — Matilda, and they were together at the same
school. His sole desire after school hours were over,
seemed to be to walk home with her, carrying her books,
and at times expending his money on fruit or confections
for his little schoolmate. Often, too, they met, living in
the same neighborhood, and came to school together.
This attracted the notice of teacher and scholars and
became known to all with whom they were connected. It
was regarded as a childish preference for each other, that
would abate or probably entirely disappear when they
were older ; but we cannot foretell the future, and no one
dreamed that an attachment had been formed, that would
germinate and grow into a deep aiffection that would last
as long as life. It could not be love, for they were but

"puppy love." 23
children ; but there was a mutual liking that was unmis
takable. The years went on, and they were still devoted and
unchangingly so, and the mutual liking developed into
a mutual loving. When they were respectively eighteen and
sixteen, the concealment of their now absorbing love for
each other could no longer exist, and when Harry opened
his heart to Matilda it brought from her a response that
made them happy in their now declared love. Faithful
friends as they had been for years, and happy in their
friendship, now a new world of delight and love opened
before them and their happiness became supreme.
I attended their wedding when he was twenty, and
their long enduring attachment was the theme of uni-.
versal remark. It was a remarkable case, as childish
friendships are generally changeable and evanescent,
but here was friendship that withstood the test of time,
ripening into a love which brought a bright and blissful
reward. Only a few years ago they were living, and at
the age of nearly sixty years, a happy husband and wife,
with children and grandchildren around them, to keep
happy their declining years.
" There are exceptions to all rules," and the foregoing
is one that deserves remark, if for naught else, for its
rarity and the lovely picture it holds up to the view. It
was not a case of " Puppy Love," for our little hero and
heroine were too young to feel the flames of love burning
in their unsophisticated little hearts. How they were
attracted to each other we know not, that is unwritten
history, and they, perhaps, might be unable to analyze
or explain it themselves.
• To return to our subject, I will simply add that the
sentiment, the romance and the absorbing interest that

24 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
attaches to " Puppy Love " will ever cling to our mem
ory, and it will be a bright, fresh era in our lives, that
we delight to recall and dwell upon with pleasant thoughts,
even though we may be " in the sere and yellow leaf "
of old age.

"THE GREAT GALE."
This terrible storm, which was felt throughout the
New England States, is my first and completely distinct
recollection. My impressions of this memorable day, Sep
tember 23d, 1815, though I was but little over four years
old, were so strong and so deeply fixed on my mind, the
remembrance is as fresh and vivid as an event of yester
day. Those who were living in the town of Providence
and along the coasts of Narragansett Bay, could never
forget the terrors of that dreadful day, for in that vicinity
the storm seemed to rage with greater fury than in any
other part of New England. It was a day that was re
called and discussed by the old and the young for many
long years, and its disasters, dangers and escapes from
injury or from death were on every tongue. It was a
severe and unprecedented equinoctial storm — a strong
southerly wind drove the waters into the bay directly
from the sea — the tide rose to an enormous height and,
aided by the wind as the gale increased, the waters of
the bay were forced into Providence River, and with re
sistless volume poured into and upon the devoted town.
The river divided the place into two parts, the east and
the west side. The former is a ridge of high hills ascend
ing almost abruptly from the river side, and this side;
safe from the angry flow of the waters, except on the

25
immediate bank of the river, only suffered from the
storm of wind and rain. But the west side was a long,
broad and almost level stretch of land, covered with
streets, shops, dwellings, churches, etc., and it was covered
with the raging waters. Many families had to take refuge
in the upper stories of their houses and remain until the
waters subsided. Where the river flowed through the
town's centre, a strong, wide wooden bridge covered it,
continuing the thoroughfare and accommodating the
thousands who daily crossed it. Here the scene was a
terrible one. The rain fell in torrents, the wind howled
in its fury and the swollen waters in huge volume forced
their impetuous way, bearing along fences, out-buildings,
houses and vessels with an irresistible power. The bridge
was broken and carried away by the huge flood, and all
these buildings and vessels dashed along, striking and
Crashing together in wild confusion, and destruction and
desolation overwhelmed them all. One ship, the Ganges,
rushed along borne on the angry torrent, and veering
round, just where the bridge had been, ran her bowsprit
through the second story window of a brick building (the
Washington Insurance Company's office), and tearing out
the side, floated away up to the hills north of the town.
Another vessel, a sloop, was driven several hundred yards
up one of the cross streets and grounded opposite the
front door of my uncle's house, and laid there with her
bowsprit hanging over the principal street. She was the
sloop Resolution, most appropriately named. Nearly all
the houses and stores on the west side were flooded to the
depth of five or six feet, and some small buildings near
the river's edge were entirely submerged or carried away.
The loss of human and animal life was great and many
escaped death only, as it were, by a hair's breadth.
3

26 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
The scenes in and around my father's house were
deeply graven on my memory. Well do I remember my
father's calm courage, as he strove to quiet the fears of
the grown up members of the family, while they sat
around the room in which we were all gathered. My
mother and sisters with two or three lady guests, nearly
petrified with fear, weeping and expecting the four tall
chimneys to fall, or the roof of the house to be carried
away. One singular episode occurred, as my father was
walking to and fro carrying me in his arms, which was
indelibly impressed on my memory. He saw a nectarine
tree in the front yard, loaded down with fruit and showing
signs of falling. He called to the man-servant to go out
and prop it up. His name was Charles Singleton, and
he at once responded and the tree and its luscious fruit
were saved. Unfortunately, however, just as he was com
ing into the house, the wind loosened some bricks from
the top of one of the chimneys and they fell, one of them
falling on his head. He rushed into the house and into
the room where we were, exclaiming: "I'm a dead man,
I'm a dead man," and nearly frightened to death. My
father quietly said: "Charles, you could not talk so
plainly if you were dead." His wound was dressed and
in a short time healed. Some six or eight years after
wards I met him in the street, and taking off his hat he
showed the mark on his head that the wound had left.
The storm abated, and my father's anxiety for his
mother and three married sisters and their children, who
were all living on the " West Side," became so great, he
took me with him the next day and drove into town to
see them. We were obliged to cross the river, where the
bridge had been, in a scow, and soon afterwards he was
with his loved ones, and knew of their health and safety.

"the great gale." 27
Devout and heartfelt thanksgivings were poured forth to
God for their preservation, and these, too, impressed them
selves on my wondering mind. I listened to the many
tales of the storm and its incidents, told by my uncles,
aunts and older cousins, and my young brains were
nearly upset, by the amount of wonderful things experi
enced or done by them. One circumstance was amusing,
and at the same time excited my pity. One of my aunts,
the day before the storm, had made a quantity of nice
pies. They had been placed on a shelf in the closet or
pantry, and when the storm ceased and the waters sub
sided, she found among her pies — the body of a drowned
pig! The loss of life was not confined to the fearful gale on
the land, but many vessels that went to sea shortly before
the storm began were never heard from, and they, with
their gallant crews, went down into the unfathomable
depths of the ocean. One of my aunts, whose husband
was captain of his vessel, had but a few days before bade
him good-bye, with wishes for a safe and speedy return,
but she never saw him more.
Hundreds of tales have been told of the many inci
dents, occurrences, escapes, etc., connected with this great
storm. These tales are still repeated by those whose
memories of this event are fresh and vivid. But few
now survive, after an interval of seventy-one years, but
those few have never seen anything to be compared to
" The Great Gale."
The following description from the Rhode Island Ameri
can, of September 26th, 1815, is so quaintly given, I add
it to the foregoing :

28 myself and others.
"Awful Storm."
" It devolves upon us, and we exercise it as a melan
choly duty, to present to the public a brief and general
account of the dreadful storm which was so severely ex
perienced in this town ou Saturday last. We are aware
that a more minute and circumstantial narrative will be
expected from those whose province it is "to note the
passing tidings of the times," but let it be remembered that
imminent danger precludes nicety of remark, and diver
sity of ruin forbids accuracy of calculation. Those who
had no property to lose, had household treasures to save,
and we may be allowed to say, that the preservation of
the objects of human affection, is more important than
the rescue of goods and chattels.
Whether we consider the violence of the late storm or
the desolation which ensued, we do not incur the hazard
of contradiction, in pronouncing it the most sublime and
tremendous elemental strife that has been witnessed for
centuries by the inhabitants of Providence. It seemed
as if He who " rides upon the whirlwind and directs the
storm" had permitted sea and air to combine their
strength and terror, to give us an impressive assurance
of His power, to humble our pride and to discipline our
affections. " The angry spirit of the waters rose in might
and majesty, and the productions of nature and the
fabrics of art were the victims of his fury."
A storm of rain from the North-east commenced on
Friday, and continued, with little intermission, till Satur
day morning, when the wind was from the East. Be
tween 8 and 9, however, it shifted to the South-east, and
blew with increasing violence until half-past eleven,
when, suddenly changing to the West, the progress' of
the calamity we now deplore was happily stayed. The

"the great gale." 29
tide rose to an unprecedented and terrifying height (12
feet higher than spring tides) and inundated the streets
in various parts of the town. It extended in Westminster
Street a considerable distance beyond the theatre. The
lives of many families, particularly on the West Side,
were in imminent danger. Consternation and dismay
were depicted in every countenance, all were eager to fly,
but knew not where to find an ark of safety. Vessels
were forced up into the streets, and threatened destruc
tion to the surrounding buildings; women and children
were rescued from chamber-windows, and men were seen
buffeting the torrent in the streets to save a friend, or to
secure an asylum.
The great bridge was entirely carried away about 10
o'clock. Every vessel in port, with two exceptions, was
driven from its moorings. Thirty-five sail, including
four ships, nine brigs, seven schooners and fifteen sloops,
now form a melancholy dismantled line at the head of
the cove. One of them drifted within the limits of North
Providence, and, strange as it may appear. Pleasant Street
is the anchorage-ground for a burdensome sloop. The
third story of the Washington Insurance Office was much
injured, being perforated by the bowsprit of the ship
"Ganges," when she rushed with impetuosity up the
river. The handsome building was otherwise, but not
materially, injured. Our wharves, on which were stored
the riches of every clime, exhibit the most sad and repul
sive aspect. Scarcely a vestige remains of the stores
which crowded the wharves bordering on Weybosset
Street. Many of our streets, but a few days since the
theatre of virtuous and prosperous enterprise, are almost
barricaded by an accumulation of lumber, scows, boats,
etc., and peopled by busy sufferers, who are anxious to

30 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
identify, reclaim and preserve their property. The suffer
ings and losses were very severe. Dwelling-houses were
carried away, while others were divested by the pitiless
storm of every article of provisions, clothing and furniture.
The Second Baptist Meeting House, injudiciously lo
cated near the water, was totally destroyed by the winds
and waves, and the relics are now to be seen in our
streets. The elegant fence which encloses the First Bap
tist Meeting House was injured in several places by the
fall of surrounding poplars, but, to the astonishment of
every one, the magnificent spire of that superb edifice
still towers sublime. It is computed that five hundred
buildings of various descriptions have been destroyed.
The loss consequent upon this sad calamity is estimated
at a million and a-half of dollars. Many poor men have
lost their all — the thrifty tradesman, who but a few days
since had opulence and eminence in perspective, beholds
himself all but a bankrupt — and the wealthy merchant
feels that his losses must teach him prudence, even in
the dispensation of his charities."

FOUND DROWNED.
" One more unfortunate gone to her death."
A dull, dreary, dark day in April — clouds seeming to
be just above the earth, overshadowing all with that grey,
thick look that was like a funeral pall. Not a breath of
air was moving, no rain falling, but all was quiet, gloomy
and depressing. People passed along the streets without
haste, drays, carts and wagons moved slowly on, and the

FOUND DROWNED. 31
movements of men and animals seemed listless and
without energy. It was in fact, a day when the dull and
leaden sky seemed to affect all, producing an inert and
inactive feeling in both mind and body.
I had but just passed my twenty-first birthday and had
concluded to stay one year longer in the employment of
the firm where I had been a clerk for three years. My
duties called me nearly every day to the eastern packets
that brought the greater part of our stock of goods, and
my walks to the vessels were along the wharves. On the
day that I have attempted to describe, I was passing
along the slips and piers between Arch and Race Streets,
and just before reaching the latter, seeing a small crowd
of some twelve or fifteen men and boys, I crossed
over to the spot where they were standing, near the end
of the wharf. Although it was an exertion to take any
extra steps, curiosity led me to see what they were look
ing at. In the midst there laid the body of a young
woman, with a rope round the waist. On making
inquiries, I found that the body was discovered floating
in the dock by some boys, and getting assistance from
some men it was drawn to and then up on the wharf.
It was indeed a sad sight, and all stood around silent
and sadly impressed. The upturned face, the graceful
figure and the masses of hair, long, black and silken, all
spoke to each one present as solemnly they gazed, with a
mixture of awe and pity, on the sad sight before their
eyes. While looking on, I felt a touch on my shoulder,
and on turning saw the person who did it, and heard the
words, " I have drawn you as one of the Coroner's jury,
to sit an hour hence in the tavern at the corner of Race
Street." My surprise was so great I at first said nothing,
but soon after I asked the man (who was the Coroner him-

32 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
self) to excuse me, as I was the principal clerk in and was
needed at the store. The only reply I had was the ques
tion, " Are you twenty-one years old ? " And to this I
could truthfully give but one answer. I was also told
that I must serve, and had but time enough to write
and send a note to the firm, telling them the circumstances
of my enforced absence, when the hour came for the
jury to meet.
We assembled in a private room with the Coroner, and
the body was brought in and laid on a table in the
centre. The Coroner's physician was there, and we, of
course, acted on their suggestions. The evidence of the
finding of the body, was given by some men and boys,
and then there was an imperative demand on us, to
examine the body for any marks or traces of bruises or
wounds. This was an ordeal which must be passed by
us, and under the direction and assistance of the physi
cians it was done. Never can I forget it, or the impres
sions I received then and there, or when I first saw the
body lying on the wharf, just taken from the river.
A thorough and critical examination had to be made
to ascertain and determine the cause and manner of
death. The physician cut the clothing in the centre, and
laying each side over on the table the whole of the body
was exposed to view. Never could there be seen a more
exquisitely beautiful, though sad sight. The clear, white
skin, the splendid hair, the lovely shaped limbs, made a
picture that fastened itself in our memories. No sculptor
could produce anything more lovely, and no painter
could portray such a perfect form, or such exquisitely
moulded limbs. Nearly every one of us uttered the excla
mation, What a beautiful woman!
Evidently the body could not have been in the water

FOUND DROWNED. 33
more than twenty-four hours, for no signs of decomposi
tion were apparent, and not a bruise or wound of any
kind could be discovered ; but the body, limbs and face,
which were all lovely, were perfect. I cannot forget it —
the face, like that of a person sleeping, and the body and
limbs pure, perfect and complete in all their loveli
ness, almost as if in life and health. Oh I what a sad,
sad sight it was !
Every witness that the Coroner could obtain was
present and sworn to tell all; but nothing could be
elicited beyond the facts of the finding of the body of
the poor girl, and its being brought to and raised up on
the wharf. As she was unknown to anyone of us, and
her relatives and friends knew nothing of her sad fate,
there could be no reasons given as to the cause for the
supposed suicide, and we, as a jury, could know nothing
of any facts beyond those that were told to us. Our
verdict, therefore, could be but a short and simple one.
We rendered it thus : " An unknown female, apparently
twenty-three or twenty-four years old, found drowned."
A deep and lasting impression was made upon me and
my thoughts were filled with this sad occurrence. My
curiosity with regard to the poor, unfortunate girl became
strongly excited and intense ; but having not the slightest
. clew that could be followed, I was forced to remain pas
sive and brood over circumstances that might or might
not have taken place previous to her death. A romance
could be weaved, for imagination took many flights, as
to the cause and why she had determined on self-destruc
tion. All that could be but fancy ; and with but little
evidence, the jury could only state the fact of death by
drowning, leaving each one of our number fully per-

34 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
suaded that it was a case of suicide. I believed fully,
that she had sought a watery grave and had thrown
herself into the dark waters of the Delaware, but of that
terrible fact no evidence could be had. It was a mystery,
and I wanted it unraveled; and determined to watch
and wait, hoping that I might obtain some little clew
that could be worked, and would give me full informa
tion to account for the sad fate of the poor, lovely girl.
The chances were against me, but I hoped that I should
succeed. In thinking over the whole affair which was ever
present in my thoughts, I saw that active and persistent
effort must be made. This I determined should be used,
an4 every leisure hour that I could get should be devoted
to the elucidation of the mystery. Various suggestions
and plans came into my mind, but on none of them could
I build any structure that had any foundation. All
seemed to be unpromising. I was satisfied that some
home had been made desolate, some family distressed
and cast down under the dreadful fate of one whom they
loved ; but who they were and where that home was,
seemed concealed in impenetrable darkness.
I at last thought, that perhaps the policeman on the
beat where the body was found, might hear something of
the sad story, and perchance something of the poor girl's
antecedents, on which investigation might be started. I
knew him but slightly, but went to meet him and to talk
with him, though anticipating nothing that promised
success. It was the third day after the Coroner's jury,
and to my great surprise he informed me that on the day
after the body was found, the father of the poor girl came
to him, and with great emotion asked him to tell how or. <
where he could find his beloved child. He had known

FOUND DROWNED. 35
nothing about her, except that she had left home, until
the day after the sitting of the jury, when he read an
account of the sad event in the papers. He sought the
policeman, thinking he might know some particulars to
assure him that it was indeed his daughter. He asked
him how he could find the precious remains, and by the
direction of the officer, he went to the proper authorities
and rescued the body of his child from a nameless and
obscure grave in the Potter's Field. He also said that the
father told him he would see him again, and tell him the
reasons for the dreadful end to his daughter's life.
Some two weeks had passed when I received a note
from the officer, urging me to come to him at once. This
I did without delay, and he told me he had just seen the
father of the poor (and to us) unknown girl, who had
come, as he had promised. " He began to talk to me,"
the officer said, " but was so broken down, I told him
not to worry as to telling me, but if he would trust to the
honor of a member of the jury, and make the disclosure
to him, it would be kept secret and sacred." I then
added that you " had seemed to be intensely interested,
and had been anxious to know something more than the
meagre facts that were brought before the jury." After
a moment's thought he said : " Ask him to come to see
me at my home (giving his address), and my wife and I
will tell him the sad story of our daughter's life and
death." With the address in my pocket, I went that evening to
see the poor stricken father and mother. It was a pleas
ant, comfortable house and in a pleasant street, and on
entering the room and announcing my name, I was re
ceived with courtesy and in a most kindly manner. I
at once told them of the deep feelings that came to me.

36 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
just before and while on the jury, that an intense interest
had developed itself, and I was possessed with a desire
that I could not repress, to know why their poor child
had taken her life. I added that I would not dare to
come to them simply from curiosity, but I had been
greatly moved with pity and sympathy, and that one
object in my coming, was to express that pity and sym
pathy to them, with the hope that they would forgive
me, if they thought it an intrusion. I also said, what
ever you may disclose to me I shall consider as inviolate
and most sacred.
The family consisted of the father and mother, a son
just twenty-one, and a daughter of nineteen years, but
the oldest child and daughter of twenty-three years was
lying in her grave. Amid the tears of the mother and
sister, and with great and hardly suppressed emotion the
father told me what follows : " My home has always been
a cheerful and a happy home until within a few weeks
past. Death had never come into our little circle, and
severe sickness had never troubled any one of our num
ber. We were a happy, united and loving family. My
eldest daughter, Frances V., our first-born, was 'the
delight of our eyes,' and from the hour of her birth to
the day of her death, had never caused us pain or given
us offence. She was twenty-three years old, of a bright
and pleasant disposition, intelligent and well educated.
All these characteristics and accomplishments, made her
a general favorite with the old and the young, and in
fact, with every one who knew her, as well as with each
member of the family. We all have thought her beauti
ful in person as in mind, and to us she was the dearly
loved sister, the obedient and cheerful daughter and com
panion. Our loss is a terrible one, and we have been

S'OUND DROWNED. 37
overwhelmed with the dread sorrow and anguish that
has come to us.
" In the circle where she moved, she ever had a pleasant
welcome from each friend or acquaintance, her easy grace
of manner, her excellent qualities of mind and heart
drawing to her the admiration and esteem of all. Ask
any one, who is the most beautiful ? and the answer would
be, Frances V. Ask, who was the most intelligent and
refined ? the reply would come, Frances V. Ask, who is
the brightest and cheeriest and the most popular ? they
would say, Frances V. Though constantly having the
attentions of young men, she seemed to have no prefer
ences or to care for any one. Love had not entered her
heart or thoughts, and from eighteen to twenty-two years
she was the delight of friends and a perfect blessing to
us, her loving and proud parents, brother and sister. Our
treasure is taken from us.
" But a change was impending, unexpected, but decided,
unlooked for, but important. One evening, at a party,
she became acquainted with Robert C, a young man of
twenty-five years, and the principal clerk in a large whole
sale business firm, where he expected to become a partner
within a year. His position and prospects were promising,
and his future was considered secure. .Manly, handsome
and with attractive and pleasing manners, he at once be
came a devoted admirer of our dear Frances. They seemed
mutually attracted and soon, from acquaintance, came
friendship and friendship became merged into love. In
two months, Robert declared his admiration and love to
Frances, and in that time she had felt her heart going
out of her keeping, and could only confess her love for
him. Joyfully did Robert hear the blessed and entranc-

38 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
ing words, and the two happy ones were engaged to be
married — loving and beloved.
" To Frances her love became an absorbing passion. It
was pure, fresh, strong and overriding all other feelings
in its wonderful power. For the first time she felt the
gentle emotions that love brings, and swaying her com
pletely by its wondrous influence, she gave her whole
warm heart, and with all its wealth of love and devotion
to the keeping of her lover. All was — and should be —
his. Love mastered all her emotions, and she yielded to
its power and became its willing slave. Naught was with
held ; but in all its purity and devotion, it was freely and
entirely surrendered to Robert. She walked as in a
waking dream of present and perfect happiness, with a
blessed future of life and love that would last forever.
*****
" For nearly a year the delightful present, with the
pleasing hopes of the future, kept them in a state of pure
enjoyment and happiness. Then came a change in Rob
ert who was less demonstrative, and whose daily visits
were lessened, with but lame excuses for absenting him
self. Fear came to the heart of Frances, but her love was
still the same. Listening and hoping to hear the pas
sionate words of Robert, which were such a joy to her
from the moment of his declared love, she found them
not, and her trembling heart ached with the discovery
that he had changed. Rumors came to her, which she
would not believe to be true, that he was often seen with
another, and her trusting heart trampled them down.
That heart was still Robert's — she had unreservedly given
it to him and could not call it back.
" At a social gathering, one evening she saw him come

FOUND DROWNED. 39
into the room, with a young lady on his arm, and he
spoke to her, but with no feeling, only making remarks
on common topics. Were- these the words of a lover?
Where were those impassioned ones that had flooded her
heart with joy? Where was the look of love? Instead
of his usual burning and thrilling tones and words, she
listened to what he addressed to her, all calmly spoken
and all commonplace. She saw his attentions to the
other, and without a jealous feeling, she knew that she
had received a blow, from which she would never recover.
Her heart was aching in its terrible pain and distress,
though the endeavor to appear pleasant and cheerful
made the deep and gaping wound more unbearable. His
perfidy and faithlessness, now so apparent, became fixed
in her mind, and she felt the deadly blow in all its fear
ful force. Summoning all the courage she could com
mand, she found an opportunity to say to Robert, ' I
wish to see you to-morrow morning at ten,' before she
left the house alone for home, with a chill in her heart
and an instinctive dread of misery to come. In her room
the breaking heart gave way, and as the bitter tears be
gan to fall, the awful reality forced itself upon her, chang
ing the bright beams of joy and hope to the fearful dark
ness of despair.
"After a sleepless night she roused herself to go
through the interview with Robert, and when he came,
received him with quiet calmness, all at variance with
the fearful throes of anguish that filled her heart. To
her inquiry, 'Why are you so changed?' and, 'What
have I done?' only weak and confused replies were
given. No excuse for his conduct was made, no apology
was offered, and he evidently intended, by his reticence,
to force upon her the fact that he no longer loved her.

40 MVSELF and OTHERS.
Although prepared for it, the blow came, and she trem
bled in her lover's presence with a hopeless despair.
There he — who had so eagerly sought her love — stood
unmoved and calm, though he saw the agonizing struggle
of a breaking heart. No entreaties were made, no en
deavor to bring him back to her could be made, and as
he withdrew from her presence she exclaimed, 'All is
lost ! ' and fell fainting on the floor.
" With hopes crushed, with love blasted, and with her
heart's best affections so trifled with, and no bright future
in her life to look for, her existence seemed to promise
naught but misery and despair. All her heart had been
given, and now that heart was no longer valued, but
rejected. Brooding over it in an agony of spirit, her
poor, stricken heart could find no rest or peace. Gently
but sadly she performed her home duties, but father and
mother, brother and sister saw that she had received a
deadly and fatal wound which would never be healed.
The tenderest love and sympathy that loving hearts-
could give her were bestowed, and with lavish hands;
but all was in vain — for the wound was a deadly one.
*****
" One evening, about two weeks after the last interview
with her faithless lover she left home, ostensibly to visit
a neighbor, but she did not return. Sought for late at
night by her father and brother with anxious inquiries
in all directions, no trace of the loved one could be found.
To her the load of the bitter trial was too heavy to be
borne. Her brain became confused, her mind was over
thrown and her reason became clouded. Under this
mental aberration, she sought the dark and flowing river
and threw herself into its cold waters, feeling that her

A TRIP TO A WEDDING. 41
load of misery and wretchedness was too hard to bear."
Thus perished the beautiful, the true-hearted, noble girl,
in all her lovely young beauty of person, heart, mind
and soul.

I never saw Robert C, but he must have heard the sad
story, and if he had any heart it must have trembled at
the accusing thought, " I have murdered her." As for
me, with bitter hatred of him and his wretched, calcu
lating cruelty, I only wish that I had
"A whip made up of scorpions.
To lash the rascal through the world."

A TRIP TO A WEDDING.
"A boat! a boat! to cross the ferry.
For we are going to be merry.
To laugh and quaff and drink good sherry."

The writer and his brother-in-law were specially in
vited to the wedding of a niece, at Fall River, and they
went ; but on their return, as their experience was differ
ent from what they anticipated, the following was written,
to state just what they did see and what they did not see.

"Come, haste to the wedding!"

" There's many a slip 'tween the cup and the lip."

42 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
Once on a time — (so all the tales commence),
Two youngish men, who were in Providence,
Made up their mind to take a one-horse carriage.
And ride some twenty miles to see the marriage
Of a dear niece of theirs, whose name was Jane,
A blooming maid — good looking and not vain.
On Tuesday — after dinner, they departed
For Balch's stable, whence they started :
Into the vehicle, hastily they spring,
And soon the horses' hoofs o'er pavements ring.
They had a high-bred creature, " Betsey Baker,"
And off she went, as fast as they could make her.
With head and ears erect, she proudly strode away.
And dashed along, as if it was but play
To her, she was so filled with spirit:
A creature rare she was, of richest merit.
Onward they went and that with dashing speed.
Nor mud, nor stones, nor anything they heed.

But hardly were they fairly under way.
Before the lowering clouds began to play
Their monstrous engines, and down came the rain
Almost in torrents, and it was in vain
To keep, or try to keep themselves protected
In any way, that they expected ;
For they were well prepared for rainy weather.
With coats, umbrellas, buffalo and leather.
Through wind and storm and rain they dashed,
Their clothes with mud were often splashed.
Old Boreas revelled in the stormy blast.
As he with wild black clouds the heavens o'ercast;
Fierce lightnings flashed, the thunder roared,
And on their poor devoted heads the torrents poured.
For just two hours Ihey sped along their way,
Proud " Betsey's " spirits, all were brought in play.

A TRIP TO A WEDDING. 43
And so they traveled, striving to be merry.
Until they reached a place that's called " Slade's Ferry."*

But here, O melancholy to relate !
They found themselves in a sad strait.
The storm thro' which they'd passed was bad enough.
But that to this! was "but a pinch of snuff."
On land the storm, comparatively, was civil.
But here ! all seemed preparing for a revel,
For it was blowing " like the very devil."
The water-gods their torrents spouted forth.
Terrific hurricanes from South to North
Leaped wildly o'er the raging, boiling flood.
And caused the shore to tremble where they stood.
The roaring waves rolled columns to the shore,
Demons seemed dancing mid th' astounding roar;
The Naaid Queen, with all her beauteous train
Of water-nymphs, had vanished from the scene.
The Storm-god conquered and with blighting wrath.
Strode madly onward, ruin in his path :
His demons shouted and the howling band
Danced through the air, in ocean and on land ;
Blacker and darker came the threatening pall.
And darkness reigned triumphant over all.
*****
Upon the shore, our luckless travelers stood.
Looking most blankly at the tempest's flood.
They called the ferryman — " will you cross the water ? "
"No, sir — not I. I wouldn't for a quarter."
* Slade's Ferry is diagonally opposite to Fall Biver, Mass., and Fall
Eiver is at the head of Mount Hope Bay, where the Taunton Eiver joins
it, or, more properly speaking, at the mouth of the river, where it flows
into the bay.

44 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
"We'll pay you trebly — anything you will:"
"I can't help that— ihy boat I know would fill ;"
" If e'en you promised me Earth's fairest daughter,''
"I'd say to you — I-do-not-think I oughter."

Our two poor wights were therefore, in a flx ;
They thought of Charon and the river Styx ;
For there — he ferries o'er, both men and ladies,
And safely lands them on the shores of Hades;
(He'll take you over — ^but not back again.
To him — all kinds of weather are the same.)
Our youths with disappointment were confounded,
And as the storm and rain and wind loud sounded.
Blankly they looked into each others faces.
Then laughed — and to a house near by, with hasty paces,
Quickly they went, to gain some sort of shelter.
From the fierce wind and all the stormy pelter. -
The house was tenantless, deserted, bare.
No man, no woman and no child was there ;
The furniture was out and nothing in,
And all was cheerless, comfortless and dim.
There was one chair, a pail, a tallow candle.
And a tin cup, but with no handle.
At length a fire was made of little sticks
And both of us exclaimed" this is a pretty fix."
Imagination then began to roam,
They thought of wives, of children and of home ;
They were so comfortable, so cosy there.
While here we could not get for each a chair.
Thence to the festive scene, where they intended
To see the bride and bridegroom blended
"Into one flesh" — they thought, too, ofthe wine and cake.
With all the other matters which do make

A TRIP TO A WEDDING. 45
A happy party and a pleasant wedding,
And here they were — sans furniture or bedding.
The rooms all vacant and the rushing sound
Of the shrieking wind was heard around ;
No bride, no groom, no beauteous throng was seen.
But men's rough features through the flashes gleam.

At last the owner of this far-famed ferry
Came in, and in a pleasant manner — very,
Invited them — as still the storm was swelling,
Quite high with rage, to go up to his dwelling.
Which was not far ; so out again they strode,
And plodded on with him, in the dark road ;
Which brought them soon to comfortable quarters,
With host and wife, their son and two fair daughters.
And in this house, owned by a Mr. Slade,*
Throughout the eve and night they stayed.
A cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth,
While now and then was heard the voice of mirth.
Around the table, too, with white cloth laid.
All gathered — (only silent grace was prayed),
And here they ate a comfortable meal.
Submit to fate — and more contented feel.
Our host hospitable, even more than kind.
In converse pleasant, showed a clear, strong mind ;
And talked quite freely on the topics of the day.
The rest, too, joining in a cheerful way.
Then at the usual hour all sought repose.
And soon in sleep their drowsy eyes they close.
* A singular circumstance occurred forty-two years and seven months
afterwards. One of the younger daughters of the couple wedded that
eventful evening was married to the grandson of Mr. Slade, who so kindly
and hospitably cared for the uncles of the bride, in their disappointing and
perplexing situation.

46 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
Our travelers, with thankfulness impressed.
Could not lie down upon their bed to rest.
Until they asked God's blessings to be laid
Upon the head of their kind friend, "Friend" Slade.

At early morn before the sun arose
They sprang from off their couch and donned their clothes ;
Then hasting forth to scent the morning air.
They for their journey home do quick prepare.
5l< * * * *
But oh ! how changed the scene ! The night before.
The billows rolled and dashed upon the shore
With angry motion, and the wind and rain
Had now all vanished, and on sky and main
Calmness, with peace and beauty seemed to reign.
No more the thunders roll, the lightnings gleam,
Earth, sky and sea are smiling and serene.
All, all lie hushed in gentle, soft repose.
And zephyrs from the south and west arose ;
The Storm-god back to his dark dens was driven.
And all looked smiling in the face of heaven.
The demons had departed, too, from the fair scene,
And gentle ripples playfully did gleam
Round the bright pathway of the Naaid Queen.
Again, around the well-filled board they sat.
And passed the time in pleasant, friendly chat.
Payment was offered, as our hearts inclined ;
But our kind friend, with firmness, it declined.
Then interchanging compliments with host and wife and
daughters,
They left the scene of Taunton's lovely waters.
Bold " Betsey Baker, " with her proud, high head.
Pushed on, as if triumphal car she led ;
And ere two hoars had hurried on their course.

THE DARKEY. 47
Through mud and water, wagon, men and horse
Had safe arrived in Roger Williams' city.
Which now compels me to cut short my ditty.
*****
A few words more, my Muse, and then we part :
Whene'er you go to Weddings, never start
In a hard rain, having a broad, wide ferry
Between you and the place, where all are merry ;
For if you're caught like these two luckless men.
Your friends viill laugh when you come back again.

THE DARKEY.
The Negro, the colored man and woman, the " Nigger "
and the " Darkey " are terms in common use to describe
the members of the Ethiopian, or " the citizen of African
descent," who have for so long dwelt with and among us.
Occupying as they have, a large and most important
sphere in our domestic life, as slave or servant, their
peculiar traits and personal and mental characteristics
have been themes for the poet, the historian and the
political writer. The story-teller, and the novelist, too,
have successfully introduced (though generally in an ex
aggerated form) specimens of African character into their
tales, eliciting the eager interest of thousands of readers.
Not only in our country, but in every other civilized
country on the earth, that famous and wonderful work,
Uncle Tom's Cabin, has been published in all languages
and universally read with thrilling and absorbing inter
est. Its pages, with the characters of both master and
slave drawn from life, with incidents common to both and

48 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
of actual occurrence, are filled with graphic pictures
painted by a master hand. Characters, events and scenes
are powerfully depicted, and the recitals of the hardships
and struggles of the slave and the cruelties of the master
have moved many a heart with pity, indignation, aston
ishment, admiration, revengeful feeling and every other
emotion of which the human heart is capable. It proved
to be one of the most potent and powerful wedges ever
driven into the huge, knarled and tenacious block of
slavery, and assisted in the process of shivering it into
atoms. When Mrs. Stowe penned and published her wonderful
work, it uttered no uncertain sound. Its influence ex
tended far and wide, and gave force to the powerful and
telling blows then falling on " The Institution of Slavery."
Its existence became doomed. The great War of the Re
bellion (engendered and fostered into active life by the
Southern people themselves) became, by the necessities of
war, supplemented by the ever-glorious Emancipation
Proclamation of the martyred and lamented Lincoln.
A thing of the past — always execrated —
And by a people free, ne'er to be mourned.
It is not my intention to discuss this now dead issue or
its evils, its cruelties and horrors as viewed by the free
and enlightened people of New England. Neither its
advantages and blessings (so called), as estimated from a
Southern standpoint, but, simply to speak of the fact
that our glorious and beloved country is now forever free
from the taint and curse of slavery. Its millions of
people, " Of every tribe and kingdom and nation and tongue "
must now be one people, all actuated by the same patriotic

THE DARKEY. 49
love of country. A land of personal liberty, under just
and equal laws, a land where freedom of conscience is
allowed, and a land where "the oppressed of all nations"
can find a refuge and a home. North and South, East
and West must each vie with the other to make it and to
keep it, " the land of the free and the home of the brave."
Living in Virginia, as I did in the years 1826 and 1827,
I had, as a boy of fifteen and sixteen years, excellent op-
• portunities to study the characters of master, mistress and
slave, and under almost every phase and circumstance
of daily and social life. It was a novelty to me, born and
brought up as I was in New England, and it impressed
me to a marked degree. Many instances of oppression,
outrage and cruelty were seen and known by me ; but to
make a record of them, or any one of them, is not my in
tent. What I saw, heard or knew there, is fastened in my
memory, and is as vivid in my recollections as events of
yesterday; but it is not my object to make a record of
them. While in Virginia and in my native town in my
younger boyhood, many interesting characters and indi
viduals were well known by me, but I can only introduce
to the reader one or two cases among both the slave and
the free.
Once only in my lifetime have I seen a human being
sold. I do not relate the occurrence to create feeling
against slavery or those who lived in that locality, for
among them were dear and valued friends; but simply
to relate what was to me, a novel and deeply interesting
experience. It was in Virginia, and took place when I
was fifteen years old. Passing along the main street of
the town one day, about noon, I saw a small knot of
men in front of the county clerk's office. Just as I came
up, with a boy's curiosity to see what was transpiring, I

60 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
noticed some twenty-five or thirty men standing idle
around the clerk, with book, pen and ink in his hands,
an important looking person standing near him, and be
tween them and the spectators a woman sitting on the
ground, with a baby in her arms and a little girl of five
or six years near her. I realized at once and instinc
tively what it all meant.
Just then the important person, who was the auction
eer, spoke and said, "Gentlemen, I offer for sale, to close an
estate, this healthy and able-bodied woman, twenty-six
years old, her baby in arms nearly a year old, and the little
girl almost six years old ; each of them well and perfectly
sound. Will you please give me your bids ? " For a
moment or two no one spoke. At last a man said,
" Please put them up separate ; if I should buy, I don't
want woman and brats, too." To this the auctioneer
replied, " The baby cannot be sold apart from its mother,
as it is too young and a nursing child ; but if it will
facilitate the sale, I will offer the mother and baby in one
lot, and the girl in another." This was acceptable, and
the mother and her baby were first put up for sale.
After some little hesitation, during which some men
went to the young woman, feeling her arms, looking into
her mouth and asking her to stand up straight, a bid of
$200 was made. At this, the bids became spirited, and the
figures increased by bids of $20 and $25, until the sum
of $320 was reached. Then by slow bids of $10 and $5
each, the price was run up to $375, at which the pur
chaser was named, and the woman and baby became
his property.
During these proceedings, the woman had resumed her
seat on the ground, quiet and passive, and the change of
masters seemed not to affect her. A slight smile passed

THE DARKEY. 51
over her face on hearing the sum of $375, indicating a
feeling of pride in her value, but beyond this no emotion
of any kind was shown. At that time the price was con
sidered a very good one, but the buyer well knew that
she was strong and healthy, and that his purchase was a
good investment.
The little girl was then offered for sale. She still sat
on the ground playing with some small pebbles, and was,
of course, entirely unconscious of what was being done.
One or two men told her to stand up, and they examined
her hands, feet, legs, arms and mouth, but for some little
time no bid was made. $40 was at last offered, but the
bidding continued slow, until $80 was reached. The face
of the mother, so quiet and with almost an indifferent
expression on it, now underwent a change. An expres
sion of anxiety was seen. Eager expectation, mingled
with a disturbed look, was plainly there, as she began to
realize impending misery coming upon her, if another
than her new master should buy her child. She saw that
it was not he who had bid $80. He had stopped on a bid of
$55, and it seemed to flash upon her that her child would
be taken from her. The mother's heart was awakened to
the danger of an enforced separation of her child from
her, and as she listened to the auctioneer begging for one
more bid of $85, it seemed like a knell of bitter woe
sounding in her ears. When he uttered the words,
" Going ! Going ! at only $80," she suddenly dropped her
baby, and springing to her feet rushed to where her
buyer stood, and exclaimed, " For God's sake, Massa !
buy my little girl ! "
But he stood unmoved. Again the auctioneer repeated
the fatal words, and as they struck terror to her heart, she
renewed and redoubled her entreaties to her master. Still

52 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
upright he stood, indifferent and immovable, and looked at
the poor creature crouching at his feet. Wrought up into
frenzy, her whole being seemed roused into action, and
clasping his knees, she begged and implored him to buy
her child. " Only $85, Massa ! Oh, Massa ! I'll work for
you night and day ! I'll do anyting, everyting you tell
me ! I'll work my fingers to de bone ! I'll pray de Lord
to bess you, only buy my child ! " It was the agony of
the mother's heart that pleaded and implored, in her
poor, plain words, for pity and for help, and with the
tears rolling down her face. It was, indeed, a most touch
ing scene.
The piteous appeals, the bitter meanings and the almost
frantic cries of the mother, had stilled even the voice of
the auctioneer, and silence fell on all present, only
broken by the sobs of the pleading woman. Even the
Virginians, accustomed to such occurrences, looked on,
disturbed, distressed and silent. It was painful in the
extreme, and in their inmost hearts, they must have
realized the terrible evils attaching to slavery, in this
thrilling and touching episode, which had awed them
into silence. Oh ! what a dreadful thing it must be to
make such a scene possible !
The solemn stillness which had fallen upon all, was at
last broken by the voice of the man who had bought
the woman and the baby, saying, " I don't want the brat,
and wont buy her. I bid $55 for I thought she was
worth it, but I wont buy her, so stop your crying
and fuss, for it will do no good." As these cold and
unfeeling words fell on her ears, one heart-broken sob
was heard, and the wretched mother fell down limp and
exhausted on the ground. The auctioneer recovered
himself, " knocked down " the little girl to the bidder of

THE DARKEY. 53
$80 and the sale was concluded, while the wretched
woman was faintly sobbing in an agony of despair,
such as a mother alone can feel. Her purchaser was
known to be abundantly able to have bought the child,
and his unfeeling conduct was despised by even the
bystanders, so long accustomed to slavery and its con
comitant circumstances and its usages. The purchaser of
the little girl lived twelve miles away from the future
home of the mother, a distance that slaves were not
allowed or trusted to go.
As for me, I was intensely interested in every word
that had been uttered, every act or movement in the
drama, as it passed before my eyes. It was all an un
expected and novel sight to me. I could, with difficulty,
realize that I, " a looker-on in Venice," had stood there
and seen the actual sale and purchase of women and
children, human beings like myself. " Can such things be?
and overcome us as a summer cloud?" thought I. When
I heard the harsh and cruel words, " I don't want the
brat, and wont buy her," indignation, hatred and hot
wrath filled my soul and fairly boiled within me. My
hands were clenched, my blood was boiling, my heart
was raging, at the unfeeling cruelty of the man, who
would not buy the child, at man's inhumanity in general,
at slavery and at our government which permitted it.
But being only a boy, and a Yankee boy at that, I could
only endeavor to stifle my indignation, control my anger
and store away in my memory this most disgraceful and
painful scene. But it was with a most thankful heart,
that God had given me a home in that part of this
" glorious land of ours," where slavery was not or would
ever be. The event I have endeavored to describe still
remains in my memory, though occurring more than
sixty years ago. Where are the actors in this drama now ?

54 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
When a boy in Providence there were several colored
men or negroes whose position, peculiar idiosyncrasies
and singular personal characteristics caused them to be
somewhat prominent in the community. They were
well known to every inhabitant of the town. To attempt
a sketch of them all, would require an abler pen than
mine and volumes of books. I will only recall and
present to the reader, as briefiy as may be, one, whose very
marked -appearance and distinctive traits of character
were so singular, that they might be termed unique. I
make the attempt to give the reader a pen picture of this
individual, though well aware, that only such a pen as
that of a Dickens could do him full justice.
He rejoiced in the name of Scipio Harris, and in the
cognomen of " Scippy," given him by the boys and white
men. But among those of his own color he would allow
nothing but Mister Harris, as an appropriate and to him
the most euphonious appellation. He was the blackest
black man that I ever saw — a pure black, like jet. About
full medium height, thin, but compactly built and wiry,
his movement was easy and rather graceful, walking
well ; all of which was acquired by his quick intuition
and imitating the gait and bearing of the gentlemen
with whom he lived. Scippy was a decided aristocrat in
thought and feeling, borrowing freely, as to appearance
and carriage, from those with whom his lot was cast, and
looking down on " common darkies," as he termed them,
with an air of commiseration and superiority. This
caused him to appear, in their eyes, as one whose bearing
and position entitled him to their respect and admiration,
and these they unstintedly bestowed upon him.
He had lived as man-servant or waiter and only with
the first people or the best families, and as he was nearly

THE DARKEY. 55
perfect in his duties, it was but seldom that he changed
his place. Living as he did, at the time I first knew
him, with a rich and prominent citizen of Providence,
who often and generously entertained in his hospitable
home the elite of the place, Scippy seemed to gain each
day some new idea or grace or word in conversation, to be
made use of by him at a proper time and place. He was
noted for a quick perception and ready appropriation of
words, which he heard in the conversation of gentlemen.
He imitated their ways and used their words freely, and
his bump of imitation being largely developed, he could,
and did most effectualy, increase his importance among
his colored brethren by acts and language which caused
them to bow to his superiority. Mister Harris (they
never addressed him by any other title) became their
counselor, guide and judge, and they hung upon his
words with admiration and on his judgment with entire
satisfaction. But something more* must be added with regard to
Scippy's face and features, for they are important factors
in his portraiture. As I have said, he was the blackest
man I have ever seen. His features, instead of being
those of the average negro, were clean cut, small ears, nose
long and thin (the expanding nostrils when under excite
ment very prominent), lips also thin but broad, covering
a large mouth, in which were displayed two rows of the
whitest teeth. Large, very bright and expressive eyes,
underneath a broad, high brow, were not only intelligent,
but seemed to be sparkling with humor, ready to break
out into complete fun. He was a stylish, good-looking,
very black man. But one must imagine, to give a finish
to the portrait, the contrast between the black skin, the
whites of the eyes and the very white teeth, and to this

56 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
add a genial laugh — ever ready — and you will get a fair
idea of the countenance of " Scippy," or Mr. Harris.
When addressed by a lady or gentleman his replies
were always interlarded with some big words, not entirely
inappropriate, though exaggerated and somewhat unnec
essary. For instance, if one simply said, " Scippy, how
are you ?" he would reply, " I'm extremely well, I'm
obliged to you ; indeed, I might say, I rejoice in being
able to state that I am in a particularly excellent condi
tion of health." Or, " Did you see the fire last night,
Scippy ?" " I did, indeed, madam, and it was a vast and
destructive conflagration, which our indefatigable firemen
found it almost impracticable to subdue." These in
stances will show, that even where commonplace expres
sions were always used, nothing would suit Scippy's idea
of propriety but the free- use of dictionary words.
It so happened that the colored citizens of Providence
became much exercised on the subject of balls, or " assem
blies," as they were called at that time. Wishing to imi
tate the whites, they determinea to have assemblies of
their own. A few of their principal or prominent men
met together to discuss the matter, and it was arranged.
Three managers were selected — first, second and third —
and Mister Harris was unanimously chosen first manager.
The long wished-for evening came, and the hall was filled
with the colored belles and beaux of the town. The
first-named, in rich and most elaborate dresses, rather
decollete, to display their dusky charms, and the others,
attired in the regulation dress suits, to be in all respects
the same as their white brothers and sisters.
The first sets of cotillions were formed, and to the enliv
ening strains of the music, hundreds of willing feet kept
time. Excitement and enjoyment reigned, and as the

THE DARKEY. 57
large company were in the mazes of the cotillion, dancing
gaily and joyfully, with an abandon only seen among
darkies, a loud voice rang out, " Music ! Stop /" Imme
diately every instrument was still, the dancers were
thrown into confusion and stood looking at each other,
aghast and amazed at the sudden interruption, "and
there was a great silence." Recovering themselves, the
second and third managers rushed up to Mister Harris,
and demanded of him, for his was the peremptory voice
that had stopped the proceedings, " Mister Harris ! what
for you do dat?" Drawing himself up, and with the ut
most dignity, he replied, " To show my authority. Music !
go on !"
I was some thirteen or fourteen years old, when it was
determined by the colored citizens of Providence, to form
a military company. After many meetings and consider
able discussion about matters connected with the under
taking, all the arrangements were completed, and forty-six
men enrolled themselves as members. Officers were
chosen, and unanimously and by acclamation, . Mister
Harris was made commander of the company. This was
an honor indeed, and our hero was so overwhelmed with
the greatness thrust upon him, his usual flow of words
was lost to him, and he could only thank them for the
honor conferred, promising to address them at a future
time more acceptably than he could now.
Active proceedings were now instituted ; the men were
drilled three times each week, the subordinate officers
using every possible effort to perfect them in the manual.
Meanwhile Captain Harris devoted every moment of
leisure, night and day, in "learning, the art of war," in
reading of battles, and in perfecting himself in his official
duties. His soul burned within him with military ardor,
5

58 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
military glory and future military fame. Well aware as
he was, that he was unfitted to fill a captaincy or any
other prominent military position, the thought of acknowl
edging the fact never entered his mind. He read books
on the now absorbing topic, and by inquiries of white
gentlemen, picked up information which soon stood him
in good stead. Gradually, but surely, aided by his quick
instincts and natural intelligence, he felt himself "master
of the situation," and fully capable to command, not only
a company of soldiers, but, if needs be, an army of men.
Time rapidly goes its way, and it became whispered
around, that Captain Harris and his company would
make their first appearance in public, by a street parade
in full uniform. Expectation became eager, and the
whole town was on the qui vive for the event. At last
the day came, and with all the arms and accoutrements
and " in panoply of war " Captain Harris and his com
pany marched forth. The uniform was somewhat gaudy
if judged by the critical eye, but compared not unfavor
ably with those worn by the white soldiers. The ofiicers
appeared in gorgeous dress, resplendent with lace of gold
and waving white plumes, to match the white feathers of
the rank and file. The men marched well, showing that
they had worked faithfully at the drill, and it was a real
success. The captain, while dignified and soldier-like,
exhibited due pride and satisfaction at the appearance
and movements of his men, and both whites and blacks
united in praising the company and its commander.
After a long march through the principal streets the
soldiers returned to their quarters, where a banquet was
to be given, to whjch many friends, some of them white,
had been invited. It was noticed by a number of those
present, after the company had been dismissed from duty,

THE DARKEY. 59
that the captain's face had a thoughtful and important
expression. It was not, however, realized by any one,
that to him the supreme moment of his life had arrived,
and a supreme effort had to be made. It was a climax, and
there must be no faltering on his part, no falling back,
but the elevated .position in which he was placed must
be duly honored and maintained, and he prove himself
to be one to fill it acceptably and with proper dignity
and ability. He knew that he must speak to his soldiers
and their guests, and had carried the matter in his
thoughts for weeks, and his bosom heaved under the
weight of responsibility that he felt. For the honor of
his race, for the sake of his social and military position,
he must so speak as to show that he was not unworthy,
that his motives were good and true, that he was actuated
by high and noble aspirations, and that they would be
the assurance of his devotion to duty.
The banquet was discussed and enjoyed, and when the
cloth was removed and the toast given of " success to
Captain Harris and his command," all eyes were turned
to him as he rose to respond. Looking round for a mo
ment he began his speech :
" Fellow-soldiers and fellow-citizens. In the great bat
tles fought by the ancients, individual valor often decided
the fortunes of the day. We read of Thermopylse,
Marathon and Pharsalia, and we wonder at the bravery
exhibited on those and other fields of blood and carnage.
And coming down the vista of time, we see the great
valor displayed in later periods of the world's history, in
such famous and hotly-contested battles as Austerlitz,
Wagram and Marengo. Although as yet untested, I
bring to you the same devotion, the same determined
bravery that guided the warriors made immortal in his-

60 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
tory, and which enabled them to triumph over embattled
thousands in array.
" When I accepted the position of commander of this
company, I stated that at some future and appropriate
time I would address you. That time and the moment
has now arrived, ' Big with the fate of Csesar and of Rome.'
When you called and elected me to be your captaip, I
accepted your spontaneous and unanimous act, and with
my bosom swelling with martial ardor, and the determi
nation " to do or die " in your behalf. If my bosom then
swelled with ardor and firm resolve, how much more
should it swell now? I look on you after the parade to
day, marked by your soldierly appearance and martial
bearing, and ask you, ought not my bosom to swell with
satisfaction? Then you were undisciplined, now I
look on you with pride. Yes ! with conglomerate pride.
I use the word conglomerate for its comprehensiveness,
and because I feel its vast capacity. I am proud of you
as men, as soldiers, as citizens, and this pride which I
feel will cause me to emulate and approximate the great
heroes of every nation, who have fought, bled and died
for their country. On me you can depend, in the hour
when our country shall need us, to lead you forth to
victory or death — a victory over tyrants that may attempt
to oppress us, or a death that will crown us with
imperishable glory. Let us each be Spartanic in brave
endurance, French in our impetuosity, English in our
stubborn resistance, and Yankee forever in the glorious
bravery which conquered King George, his minions and
his mercenaries, and made our beloved country free and
independent, now and for evermore, world without end !
Amen!"

THE DARKEY. 61
Whether this remarkable address was concocted by one
of Captain Karris'* white friends, or whether it was a joint
production, has never been known. History is silent on
the subject. But it drew forth a perfect storm of applause
when the valiant captain had ended. Both white and
colored vied with each other in their admiration for the
heroic sentiments and glowing oratory to which they had
listened, and their hearty plaudits bore witness to their
appreciation and enjoyment of the address. All admitted
that Captain Harris had surpassed himself.
It proved to be the supreme occasion in Scippy's life.
Not very long after he had thus distinguished himself, a
sudden and violent illness, followed by death, took him
into "another and a better world." Many years have
passed away since he was " gathered to his fathers," but
I can never forget this particular and peculiar specimen
of his race. I am aware that I have not given such a
picture of him, his face, appearance and characteristics, as
will enable the reader to see him as I saw him. I vividly
remember him, and never expect " to look upon his like
again." One more specimen of Darkpy character, and this in
our own city, Philadelphia, will close this, series on that
subject. There has never lived in any community, a more
thoroughly honest man than Richard Moulter. When I
first knew him he was a young athlete, as to strength of
frame and activity of movement, a rather dark mulatto
in his complexion, and with regular and rather handsome
features. His occupation a porter, his good looks, strong
frame and quick, active ways making him a favorite
with all the merchants in the locality where he had

62 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
established himself, and kept his " push cart " in readi
ness for service. Being popular among these business
men, it gave him almost constant occupation, bringing
him in a good harvest of " levies " (twelve and a-half cent
pieces), and several dollars each day were paid to him or
scored in his account books, to be paid at the end of each
week or month , by the firms for which he regularly worked.
He had a preference for this over the cash process, liking
to receive what he earned, at stated times and in larger
amounts, much better than to be paid the cash for each
load. In those days a " levy " was the rate paid for
common and light loads, and a quarter for a large and
extra heavy one.
It was a pleasant sight to see Dick, as everyone called
him (except the members of the society of , Friends, and
they always Richard), with a cleap, white shirt each day
(over his red flannel one), and his stout linen apron, early
at his post every morning, ready for business. Then,
with his cart ever in good order, he would put on and
arrange his load and briskly go to his destination, with
his good, manly face betokening a strong, working body,
and a happy, contented spirit.
When first I knew him, I was eighteen and he was
twenty-eight years old. He had married, some five years
before, a good, bright and honest mulatto girl of twenty,
and with a boy baby the only fruit of their marriage,
both about the same shade of color as his own, they
lived comfortably and happily in a pleasant home. His
labor, in storing goods and other work, in addition to his
porterage, must have brought him in one thousand dollars
each year, and Dick was not only happy, but truly pros
perous. As the years went on money was laid by, and his reg-

THE DARKEY. 63
ular and increasing employment produced a handsome
sum, covering all his expenses and leaving a good sur
plus. By depositing this, from time to time, in a savings
bank, interest was added, and ere long, Dick bought a
good substantial house and had money left in bank. The
house was fully large enough, and was furnished neatly
and comfortably ; and when Dick was thirty -six years old
he lived in a house of his own, receiving congratulations
from all his business friends on his success in life.
He always had seemed to be attached to me " from the
start," and I most willingly admit that I had a strong friend
ship for Dick. Begun and continued for nearly five years
while I was a clerk, it extended to twenty-seven more years
while in business for myself. Dick had had but a com
mon and limited education, and though able to read and
write, both were accomplished with difficulty. He usu
ally came to me to look over and correct his account
books with different firms, and to see if the long figures
of levies, quarters, etc., were " added up right." I, of
course, cheerfully did this aind for years, he only caring
for their correctness. But he resisted all my efforts to
improve his spelling. When I told him that loads should
not be spelled " lodes," or porterage spelled " portrige" for
instance, he would always reply, " I've written that way
for years, and everybody knows my want of education,
so it wont make any difference," and he continued the
" lodes " and the " portrige " indefinitely.
Dick was a religious man and "a red-hot Baptist."
How, when, where or why he became such a firm believer
in and so strong an advocate for their peculiar tenets, I
cannot tell. Arguments to change or weaken his belief
were entirely lost on him, for he would not be moved
" one jot or tittle " from the position he had assumed.

64 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
He firmly adhered to the two distinguishing points of
the Baptist belief — baptism by immersion to be a neces
sity, and " close communion" a necessary adjunct to the
only proper mode of baptizing. He was a prominent
man in the colored Baptist Church, and though holding
that position and the two points named, as important and
even vital, and with such firmness and tenacity, singu
larly enough he would say to me sometimes, " We are all
traveling to another world wanting to get to heaven, and
going by many and different roads. I reckon, as God is
merciful, that somehow we shall all get there at the last."
" Why, Dick ! " I would rejoin, " if you think that being
baptized by immersion is the only way and necessary to
salvation, how can those who are not so baptized, gain an
entrance there ? " " Well, I don't know ; I only think
that I ought to be baptized as Jesus was, and to those who
are not immersed I can't help thinking that God will
show mercy somehow, and bring them to heaven." To
his illogical conclusions I did not attempt a reply. Are
there not, however, in this world of ours, others " who
profess and call themselves Christians," but are strict
sectarians, who in their inmost hearts do believe, that
those not of their own particular belief, may become " in
heritors of the kingdom of heaven ? " Let us fervently
hope so.
At the beginning of this sketch I spoke of the thorough
honesty of Richard Moulter. In this nineteenth century,
especially in the latter half of it, although the old say
ing " Honesty is the best policy" is often quoted and
acknowledged to be a truism, yet how rampant among
us have defalcations, embezzlements and breaches of
trust become ! Thieving and stealing formerly confined
to the vulgar and the vicious, and known only as perpe-

THE DARKEY. 65
trated by the baser sort of mankind, is now performed
by those in high places. Dishonesty stalks among those
of " the better class," among those holding positions of
trust, among men esteemed and professing to be Chris
tians. The educated man, the gentleman steals. They
are the notorious thieves of the present day, assuming the
garb of honesty, playing the hypocrite in religion and in
our churches, getting into positions of honor and trust —
they steal the thousands, and hundreds of thousands of the
people, ihe widow and the orphan I And how few receive
the punishment their crimes deserve? Honesty seems
to be almost the exception and not the rule ; and though
advancing in civilization and knowledge, the world is
filled with crime and its inevitable concomitants — ruin,
wretchedness, misery, despair and hopeless death.
Not so was it in the times I now write of, when Dick
was in his strong and busy manhood. Defalcations and
breaches of trust were then of rare occurrence, not
having become common and fashionable as they are
now. Thieving existed, but only among the low and
criminal class. The time had not come when officers of
banking and other corporations would sit down and
calmly consider the best plans by which they could steal
a hundred thousand dollars or more. Swindling and
forging was carried on, but it was only at rare intervals,
and not, as now, of daily record.
Dick was implicitly trusted by every one who knew
him, and in every instance where property or money was
left in his charge, did he faithfully guard it and fully
perform his duty. Merchants sent him to bank to
deposit or draw their hundreds and thousands, and in
various ways, money passed through his hands always
found to be correct to a cent. No thought of such a

66 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
thing as Dick's being dishonest, ever entered the minds
of the business men or their clerks, and he was, as ever,
considered as the embodiment of perfect honesty.
But there was a trial in store for Dick, and it came
suddenly, as many human troubles do in this weary
world. A gentleman called to him one day, asking him
to go to bank with a deposit, as he and his clerks were all
busy. His deposit was $873.50, and Dick at once started
on his errand. After a short interval he returned with
a serious and disturbed look on his face, and said, " Mr.
B  there was only $773.50 in your bank book ; the
teller counted it over twice and said your slip was wrong,
and the deposit one hundred dollars short." " He is
wrong," replied Mr. B  , " for I myself made up the
deposit and put into the book, checks to the amount of
$473.50, and four one hundred dollar bank notes, and you
must have lost one of them, Dick." " No, sir ! that could
not be, for when you handed me the book I put it care
fully in my inside breast pocket, and did not take it out
until I was at the counter of the bank." Mr. B  then
said, in rather excited tones, " Well, all I can say about
it is, that it is very mysterious — it is a hundred dollars
gone, anyhow, and I am completely unable to understand
it!" Mr. B  was a man with a quick, high temper, rather
irritable and fond of having his own way. His last
words were more pointed and emphatic than the occasion
warranted, the tones in which they were uttered, being
more telling and noticeable than the words themselves.
Dick felt their implied but unspoken meaning, and it cut
him to the heart and stung him deeply. It was soon
known in the neighborhood, and during the rest of the
day the event was the subject of comment by all, and the

THE DARKEY. 67
feeling was almost unanimous in Dick's favor and against
Mr. B  .
The next morning about ten o'clock Dick entered Mr.
B  ^'s counting-room with a serious, set expression on
his face, and walking up to him at his desk he laid down
a one hundred dollar bank note before him, saying
gently, but firmly, " There is a bill to replace the one
you said I lost, but Mr. B  I can never take any more
loads of goods or work for you again." He turned away
at once, and although Mr. B  called him back, he
paid no attention to it, but left the store and went to his
post near his push-cart, feeling wounded, cut and sore.
This, too, became known to every one, and curious as
well as emphatic comments were made favorable to Dick
and to the discredit of Mr. B  .
The succeeding day, about noon, in looking for a paper
into and through the portfolio lying on his desk Mr.
B  saw, to his great surprise, a one hundred dollar
bill before his astonished eyes, discovering, too, that it
was one of the very four which he insisted he had put
into the bank book. He was nearly dumb with amaze
ment, but soon recovering himself he sent out one of his
clerks for Dick and others to the business men near by,
asking them to please come immediately to his counting-
room. Very reluctantly Dick came, at first refusing to
do so, and the others were soon gathered there.
Mr. B  then rose, and with an evident distressed man
ner said, " Gentlemen, I have asked you here to acknowl
edge before you all, and Richard Moulter especially,
my obstinacy, in insisting upon the statement that I gave
him day before yesterday, four one hundred dollar bills
in my deposit. He came to me yesterday and laid before
me on this desk the amount of the missing bill. Before

68 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
I could say a word he left my store, and just now I have
discovered, to my surprise and shame, one of the four
bank bills, which must somehow have slipped from the
bank book into this portfolio, escaping my notice. I ask
his pardon for the implied suspicion against him, and
trust he will forgive my hasty words. I have here in my
hands a check which I have drawn, for two hundred dol
lars, and which I ask him to accept, one hundred for the
amount he paid to me yesterday, and the other as my
acknowledgment to him of words that I ask him to for
give, and as a proof of my belief in him as a truthful
and an honest man." For a few moments there was
silence, and then Dick said, " I want no gift, and only
want my good name. I will only take the amount that
I paid, for I can take no money that I do not earn." The
poison that had entered the wound caused by Mr. B  's
implication was still working, and Dick could not recover
from its effects. Many would say that he should have
been satisfied with " the amende honorable " tendered
by Mr. B  , but Dick's construction was a singular
one, his education very limited, his Christian profession
an unenlightened process, and the implication against
his honor, a wound he could never forget. We must
take him as he was, not as he should be. He never
carried a load for Mr. B  from that time forth.
*****
Years went on as ever, and in their passing, brought
with them fresh and more severe trials to our friend Dick.
His money increased, and he continued to be prosperous
in that respect, but his boy — his only child — grown up
almost to manhood, became wilful, disobedient, and at
last rebellious against the authority of his loving father
and mother.
" How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child."

THE DARKEY. 69
Dick had given him, what he himself had felt the need
of — an excellent education, but the sterling qualities of
the father were lacking in the boy. Consorting with the
dissolute and the vicious, he became dissipated and vicious
himself. Regardless of his father's advice, and unheed
ing his mother's prayers and tears, he went his way, and
became not only worthless, but criminal. His father was
forced to pay numerous and sometimes large sums of
money to cover up his son's deeds, or to shield him from
their consequences, and all this nearly broke the loving
hearts of his parents. A violent death followed and took
him from them, just as he came of age, and the fond hopes
that had been centered in him were blasted and forever
buried with him in his grave.
To add to his sorrows and the great trouble that had
come upon him, Dick was attacked by acute rheumatism,
racking him with constant and excruciating pain, taking
away his strength and leaving him but a wreck. The
strong frame was bent, twisted and crippled, and it became
thin and attenuated. Dick was a confirmed invalid — a
prematurely old man. For several years his sufferings
continued, and when I went to see and cheer him he was
sadly broken down. But he bore his great sufferings he
roically and even with cheerful submission, as he said,
" subject to God's holy will and purpose." Gradually be
coming weaker, he succumbed to the terrible disease, until
he sank into the arms of death when he was but sixty
years old. He passed from earth, death ushering his
brave and manly spirit into the realms of immortality,
where his soul had been anchored for many years.
" An honest man, the noblest work of God."

70 MYSELF AND OTHERS.

JOHN BOALES.
" The young man's eyes were bright with intelligence and spirit. His
figure was manly and well formed, his countenance frank and handsome,
and his demeanor easy and prepossessing. And apart from all the gi'ace
of youth and comeliness, there was an animation from the warm young
heart in his look and bearing."
" Jack Boales," as he was always called by his friends,
was a bright, gay-hearted and clever fellow, with a good
stock of brains, a generous spirit, gentlemanly instincts,
and a remarkably frank and pleasing address. All these
qualities gained him friends without number, and made
him, as he richly deserved to be, a favorite with men and
women. It was almost an impossibility to resist his
genial smile and his musical voice, for all alike came
under their influence. He seemed to have been " born
with a silver spoon in his mouth," for his condition and
surroundings were bright, pleasant and promising. His
father's position was assured ; he was well off as to worldly
goods, and he held a high place in mercantile life, being
the head of a large and influential house, with an exten
sive and prosperous business and a credit well established,
and described, in a business way, as "gilt edged."
Jack was just nineteen when we first met, and it
was but a short time before our acquaintance blossomed
into friendship. He indulged in high hopes as to his
career in life and of holding an important position as a
partner in his father's business, which had been promised
to him, when he attained his majority, if he devoted him
self to business for two years in the firm's employ. Ani
mated by a desire to secure the prize, no one could be

JOHN BOALES. 71
more earnest and attentive than was Jack, and his prog
ress was not only rapid, but sure. With a good educa
tion, a manly physique and as manly a heart, with plenty
of friends and the future so bright and promising, he was,
indeed, fortune's favored child.
These characteristics and circumstances, with his posi
tion in society and his assured future, not only brought
him into notice and favor with the young men, but at
tracted the attention and admiration of those of the
softer sex. His magnetism seemed to affect the young,
the middle-aged and the old, and all felt the infiuence of
his genial smile and manner. The prospect before him
glistened with its bright coloring, and tinged with a
golden light the coming future. No young man in this
goodly city of ours, at that time, was more sought after, or
welcomed with brighter smiles, than Jack Boales.
Singularly enough, this liking of the young men, and
the preference shown to him by the young ladies of his
acquaintance, did not seem to excite vanity or puff him
up with ideas of self-importance. He was the same pleas
ant friend, the same polite and gallant cavalier. To the
men — frank, manly and generous ; to the ladies — equally
frank, courteous and genial. What wonder is it that he
was admired and loved by all ?
One evening, at a small social gathering. Jack was in
troduced to a young lady he had never seen or met before.
Rather petite, but with a lithe and most perfectly grace
ful figure, every movement seemed to be grace itself.
Dark hair, almost black and wavy, small and clear cut
features, a lovely mouth and beautiful teeth, a pure, clear
complexion, and a smooth, low forehead, under which
shone dark brown and most expressive eyes.

72 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
" The charm of her transparent face, and her large dark brown eyes, was
that they were thoroughly intelligent and cheerful. Her face was radiant
with sensibility, her dress the pattern of neatness. A gentle, tender, guile
less being."
Such was the picture on which Jack's admiring eyes
rested while conversing with her, and the beauty of its
details was impressed upon his heart and mind and soul,
with the inward exclamation, " I never saw such a lovely
creature." During the evening she was asked to sing, and when the
pure and delicious voice came, as it were from the very
heart of the singer, cultivated and expressive, at times
low and tender, and again swelling in strength, purity
and power, almost beyond description, it seemed to Jack
that he had never before listened to such music. It
thrilled and entranced him, and went straight into every
nook, corner and fibre of his heart, and he felt that he
was a captive to the many charms of Natalie D^ronne.
Of French parentage, as her name implied, she was the
only child of her mother, and she a widow, whose tender
care and unceasing solicitude for eighteen years, had
brought forth abundant fruit, in the personal beauty and
mental accomplishments of her lovely and beloved
daughter. And lovely as she was in her person, still
more lovely w^s she in mind and character. They were
Roman Catholics and devoted to their religion, but, being
liberal in their opinions, could not believe that Protestant
Christians were to be forever shut out from the joys of
heaven. Our hero could not conceal his admiration, either from
his friends or from sweet Natalie herself. His manly,
impulsive and open nature forbade it. She wondered
that he constantly sought her presence, surrounded, as he

JOHN BOALES. 73
was, by the rich, the gay, the beautiful, the admired of
her sex. But her heart fluttered with emotion and with
pride when he came to her, and she heard the manly and
yet tender tones of his voice. For weeks she saw his ad
miration in the glances of his eyes, in the touching modu
lation of his voice, and she felt that the beatings of her
own heart were responsive to his. And when, at the end
of two months, he took her soft hand into his, and she
heard him say, " I love you, Natalie," she could only re
spond, in all the genuine feeling of her woman's heart,
"And, Jack, I love you too." And here I draw the veil.
Jack seemed almost like a new creature. The frank,
genial and manly ways were there, but withal, there was
a tenderness of expression, a sort of devotional feeling in
voice and manner that naught else but loving and being
loved could have produced. He loved Natalie with sin
cere devotion, and his love seemed like worship, and she,
in turn, seemed to look at him almost with adoration.
Both were happy in their love, and the general voice was,
" How well suited to each other ! How happy they are
and will be ! " with the added remark always, " And what
a beautiful couple ! "
Jack talked freely of his great happiness and wanted
all his friends to see and to know his Natalie. Urged re
peatedly to do so, I went one evening with him to visit
her. I was charmed with her appearance, her gentle,
graceful manner and her conversation, which was easy,
sensible and agreeable. Surely, thought I, Jack has, in
deed, won a prize. I left with the thought too, here are
two young people, admirably fitted for each other, with
bright skies of hope and promise over them, and a happy
future beckoning them on to a life of happiness, joy and
love. 6

74 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
My friend Jack, at the time of his engagement, was
nineteen years and ten months old. With the full sanc
tion and indeed, satisfaction of their parents, it was ar
ranged that the two happy ones should wait and be mar
ried during the week in which he would be twenty-one,
and at the end of their wedding trip Jack was to be re
ceived as a partner in his father's firm, and his proportion
of the profits, would be amply sufficient for the happy
husband and wife, to have a comfortable and even a lux
urious home. Our friendship, which had become in
timacy, made me acquainted with these arrangements.
Jack telling me of his happiness, his hopes and his pros
pects in his pleasant, manly way, evidently filled with a
perfect joy and delight, always adding, "God knows that
I am almost too happy."
Time rolled on. The days and we§ks extended into
months, and Jack's twenty-first birthday drew near. In
the meanwhile he had devoted himself to business, made
himself conversant with its arrangements and details,
knew well the customers of the house, delighting the
heart of his father and securing the good-will of the other
partners by his intelligence, and the ease with which he
grasped the points of their trade and their mode of trans
acting business.
We met one afternoon early in January, and he said to
me, " Two weeks from next Monday my twenty-first birth
day will be here, and on the following Thursday Natalie
will be all my own, for that will be my wedding day. I
have some friends that I am fond of, and as I have been
looking forward so long to the time when I shall be of age,
I intend having " a freedom party " or supper. Father
has given me carte blanche, and I tell you, old boy, it
shall be the best supper that can be given in good old
Philadelphia."

JOHN BOALES. 75
On the evening of Jack's birthday there were fourteen
of Jack's nearest friends who met together in a large
parlor of the American House, then the most famous
place for a dinner or supper in the city. At eight o'clock
we were seated at the table ; Jack, of course, presiding.
Just at that part of the year, our famous markets were
filled with a great variety of delicacies, such as venison,
other game, shell-fish, etc., and one after another they
were placed before us beautifully cooked and as beauti
fully served. Added to these the confectioner's art had
been called into requisition, and his tempting produc
tions followed the specimens from the larder. In short,
it was a bounteous, choice and delicious supper, as com
plete in its material appointments and service as any
that I have ever seen. Choice brands of wine, liquors
and cordials, wit^ the fragrant Havana, were there and
in profusion, and were enjoyed to the full. With toasts,
songs and stories, with all the fun and abandon of young
men so gathered the hours sped on quickly. The feast
became a banquet, the banquet a carousal, and (sorry am
I to relate the fact) the carousal a drunken orgie, I saw
that it was coming, and drinking moderately and in
small variety, I was able, with three others, to go to our
homes at two in the morning, leaving eleven so over
come with drinking, they were literally under the table,
and Jack with them.
The succeeding day brought with it that feeling of
mental degradation and physical depression, which in
evitably follows such an indulgence as that of the night
before. But the strength and elasticity of youth soon
brought all to their normal condition. Once more we
were gathered, with many others, to witness the solemn
and interesting ceremony which, before God and man,

76 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
made Jack and Natalie husband and wife. He looked
like happiness itself, and she, the conscious, lovely and
happy bride. As they left for their wedding tour, wishes
and prayers followed them, with many a hearty God
bless you, both felt and expressed.
*****
A few years of blissful happiness passed by. Jack and
Natalie being courted, admired and envied among their
numerous friends and acquaintances. Jack assumed the
duties of partner in the business of the firm as was
arranged, and the present position of the young couple,
was not only all that could be desired, but, the future
smiled as well, promising them all that their hearts could
desire. Their surroundings were pleasant and their path
seemed like one strewn with lovely flowers. Two chil
dren — a boy and girl — had come, bringing new blessings
with them, adding to their happiness and their cup of
joy, delight and pleasure was full and overflowing.
But there was a worm in the bud; silently but surely
working its way to destroy the beauty of the flower. Its
existence was unknown, and to the view all was comely,
pleasant and promising. No one saw aught but a course
of blessed love, with its attendants, peace, joy and happi
ness. But the pernicious and deadly seed had been
sown, and its certain harvest must come and with it dis
tress, desolation and misery. That fatal night when we
gathered at Jack's call, to celebrate his birthday, proved
to be a starting point on a dangerous road, and many of
those fifteen young men afterwards pursued its course.
Among the number was Jack. The love of drink was
created, and in spite of many resolves to break it up, it
increased until it became a craving that naught else

JOHN BOALES. 77
could satisfy ; a passion that completely mastered him,
controlling his will-power, and bringing him into a con
dition of subjection that he could not shake off or change.
Thoughts of his sweet and loving wife, and lovely inno
cent children would rise and disturb him, and at times
almost madden him with shame, but the absorbing
passion held him in a vice-like grasp. Such thoughts,
though bringing with them feelings of self-accusations,
remorse, and almost despair, he would thrust aside or
drown in fresh libations. The greatest tyrant man has
ever known held our poor friend fast-bound as a slave,
his mastery over him was complete, and Jack felt himself
powerless to rebel against his self-imposed tyranny.
It was not known for some time, that Jack was aught
but what he seemed — the frank and genial Jack, the de
voted husband, the delighted father and the active, ener
getic business man. But such a course must inevitablj'-
be known, the effects cannot be hid. First canie whisper
ings, followed by positive assertions, and soon the dis
tressing fact became known to all. As the habit weakens
not, but is ever increasing, so are its effects more plainly
seen. Fallen manhood is unmistakably marked on the
countenance, and pity weeps in beholding the coming
ruin. At first his friends were shocked, pained and grieved
beyond degree, when the dreadful fact was known to
them. Some remonstrated and argued with him, plead
ing with and entreating him not only for his own, but
for the sake of his beloved wife and children, to stop, to
reflect, to give up using liquor forever, to be again the old,
frank and manly Jack. All was in vain. The love of
drink, so long secretly indulged in, had become a disease,
and though feeling its power, and knowing its sure

78 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
results, the poqr fellow could not free himself from the
grasp in which he was held. The distress and bitter
tears of his lovely and loved wife were unavailing, the
innocence of his children spoke to him with " a still,
small voice " that failed to touch his better self, and the
agonized entreaties of his father and mother, though felt,
were unheeded.
Dismissal from the partnership of the firm followed.
His habits, as they become known, interfered with the
proper performance of his duties, and all the influence of
the senior partner — his father — could not avail to keep
him in his position. He tried threats, entreaties, prom
ises and arguments in turn to bring him back to reason
and sobriety, but each and all were in vain, and in a fit
of anger one day, he denied him admission to his heart
or his bouse, unless he repented and gave up his evil
course. His Natalie, too, realizing the dread present and
seeing the fearful future, pleaded and entreated with all
the fondness of a loving and devoted wife, but even her
prayers and tears left him unmoved. Death came, en
tering his home and taking away his darling boy, of
whom he was so fond and proud ; but even that dread
visitation did not change his fatal course. Friends left
him. With sad hearts and pitying glances they felt the
coming wreck of one so noble, manly and generous, and
their utter inability to save him. Ere long his loving
mother died of a broken heart, and in less than a twelve
month he followed his father to the grave. In the settle
ment of the partnership and estate, his will bequeathed
all to various charities, and his only son was left penni
less. And so the time sped on.

JOHN BOALES. » 79
About eight years from the time I first knew Jack
Boales I was stopped in the street one day by a man,
who, at the first glance, I supposed was about forty years
old. He was poorly dressed, and thinking he had mis
taken me for some one else I was about to pass on, but
was detained by an instant flash of recollection coming to
me, that here before me, was my old friend Jack. But
what a change ! The watery eyes, the tremulous lips, the
puffed, shiny skin, all told the sad tale that it was the
confirmed inebriate, the poor drunken creature that
stood before me ! All this passed in a moment of time,
and then, in a tone that I can never forget, with an eager
look came the words, " For God's sake give me a shilling
to get some liquor." Was this poor creature the hand
some, noble and genial Jack ? Good God ! thought I,
can it be possible ? I never saw him again. Within a
year I heard of his death.
*:{£***
What was the fate of poor Natalie and her little girl
I nevfer knew. But I carry in memory the fact, that I
once saw in the street a sad and pale but striking face, with
m,arvelous eyes. It recalled Natalie, but it was quickly
turned away from me, and I never saw it more.
Nine of the fifteen young men who celebrated Jack's
twenty-first birthday have filled a drunkard's grave.

80 MYSELF AND OTHERS.

MURDER.

It was a dull winter afternoon, February 20th, 1844,
not severely cold, but with a chilly air that penetrated
one's frame in every part. I had left my store in Front
Street just before four o'clock, as business was somewhat
inactive, to be at home at an early hour. Just after pass
ing Second Street on my way up Market Street, I noticed
two boys in the market house, scuffling or skylarking in
play. In those days the market houses were in the centre
of that great and wide thoroughfare, and extended as
far as Eighth Street. At that hour nearly all the butchers
and marketmen had left their stalls for the day, and but
two or three were occupied in that square. None of the
passers-by, either in the market or on the sidewalk,
seemed to notice the two boys — one seeming to be about
seventeen, taller than the other, with light hair, a sandy
complexion and a pleasant, good-natured face ; the other
appeared to be about fourteen years, with dark hafr and
eyes, and a countenance totally unlike that of his com
panion. There was a set expression, a positive, deter
mined look, with not the shadow of a smile on his face,
all in singular contrast to the pleasant, amiable and even
smiling look of the other boy. Why I stopped and stand
ing on the curbstone looked at them I cannot imagine,
but I did so, watching their tussling or skylarking or
whatever it may be called. The height of the taller boy
and his few more years gave him somewhat of an ad
vantage, and the efforts of the smaller one could not move
him from his place. It seemed to be a good-natured
struggle between the two, and I still looked on for some
three or four minutes. All at once I saw the smaller

MURDER. 81
boy abruptly leave the other, who was laughing at the
time, come out of the market, go to the back of a stall,
some twenty or twenty -five feet distant, reach over it
and come back with what I thought was a stick in his
hand, run up to the other, who had turned away, and
strike him in the back. In an instant it flashed into
my brain that it was not a stick, but a butcher's knife !
I sprang across into the market, every faculty aroused,
active and alert, and as I came near the boy who was
struck, he threw up his arms, and in a moment I saw a
cut in his jacket and two or three drops of blood just be
tween the shoulders. I caught the poor boy in my arms
as he began to reel and stagger from the effects of the
deadly blow, and as he closed his eyes a low but heart-
piercing " Oh ! " escaped his lips. I called to one or two
young men, who, by that time, had come into the market,
to take him to a drug-store nearly opposite, on the south
side of Market Street, and in hot blood ran after the other
boy who was leisurely walking up the market toward
Third Street. I grasped him by his collar and told him
to come with me and see what he had done. " Do you
know," said I, "what you have done?" He said, "He
struck me." "He did not," I replied.
I took him to the door of the drug-store, which had
been closed and fastened, on account of the crowd that
had collected, and making my way through, told him to
look through the glass and see the sight. It was horrible !
sickening! dreadful! The poor boy had been laid on
his face to enable the doctor, hastily summoned, to ex
amine the wound, but a glance showed me that he was
beyond all human aid. His jacket and vest had been
removed and his white shirt was drenched with the crim
son flow, as his young life's blood was ebbing away. It
r'.

82 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
was a sight that I can never forget. I told the boy,
whose collar I still clutched, "See what you have done!
Good God, you have murdered him." He stood unmoved,
not a tremor shook him, and though I felt chilled
and horror-struck at the pitiful sight, he was calm and
almost stolid.
No police officer could be found, and I was obliged to
take him to the Mayor's office at Fifth and Chestnut
Streets. On the way there I talked with him earnestly, but
with no apparent effect, and could elicit nothing from him
but the words, "He struck me!" Angered beyond endur
ance, I said, " You lie! he did not strike you, for I saw every
movement of both of you, and he made no attempt to strike
you!" " Besides," I added, " if he had done so, it would not
have hurt you, and see what a horrid deed you have
done." I told him of the enormity of his crime and
urged him to be sorry that he had done it, but he made
no reply or showed the slightest fear of the consequences.
In all my experience I have never seen such a cool, cruel,
brutal and imperturbable creature as this boy of fourteen
years. At last I said to him, " If you go on through life
in this way you will surely end it on the gallows." Pro
phetic words I
After placing him in the custody of the proper officials,
and leaving my name and residence with them, I hurried
back to the drug-store and learned that the unfortunate
boy had died within fifteen minutes after he had been
brought there. The victim of a brutal, sharp and fearful
anger had breathed out his young and innocent life, and
not a word had passed his lips after the fatal blow was
struck, but the agonizing exclamation I had heard when
he fell into my arms.
It was hard indeed, for me to realize what I had wit-

MURDER. 83
nessed in that one short half-hour, and as I turned away
I longed to think it all a fearful dream. But it was too
vivid, too plain. There was the victim, the good-natured
boy, that I had seen with a smile on his face, struck down
with a cowardly, foul and murderous blow, his form now
stiffening in death and drenched in his own heart's blood.
It was too horrible, and my eyes had seen it all.
I went on my way home sick at heart. The excitement
would not abate. Flurried, agitated, filled with a re
vengeful indignation, I could not become calmed and
quieted, all seemed chaotic thought within me. At one
time an intense pity for the poor victim, stabbed in the
back, unconscious of its coming, then reeling in the grasp
of a cruel death ; again, an equally intense and revenge
ful feeling against his murderer ; then the horror at his
cool, calm and unfeeling demeanor, after such a cruel
thrust of the deadly knife ; then, the anticipation that I
must, as the principal witness, stand in the crowded court
room and give my evidence; all combined, brought me
to my home, my wife and children with a saddened,
troubled heart, which the long winter evening failed to
soothe or render peaceful, with its excited throbbings.
One scene, one thought, one feeling was paramount — the
poor, murdered boy was ever before my eyes. His
young life cut off — foully murdered — no more for him the
bright, beautiful world, the laughing, joyous sunshine, the
elastic hopes of youth — all ended " in a moment, in the
twinkling of an eye," and all shut out from his sight for
ever. The boy who was murdered was Peter Doescher, and
just eighteen, and he was born in Germany. He sold
candy in the markets for his employer, who largely man-

84 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
ufactured it, and who gave him an excellent character for
industry, integrity and amiability. He said " he was a
cheerful, pleasant and good boy." His murderer was the
son of a pork butcher, his age fourteen, and his name,
Gottlieb Williams!
I had to be present the succeeding day at the examina
tion ofthe accused, and after my evidence was given, with
that of some others, and the usual formalities were gone
through with, the prisoner was committed to jail and
bound over to court, to be tried for murder. In the in
terim, especially soon after the murder, the newspapers
gave an account of it, and in many instances there were
erroneous statements made, utterly at variance with the
facts. But before the trial, many interesting items of in
formation were gathered and published, with regard to
the family of the wretched young murderer. His father,
a pork butcher, and his mother, who assisted her husband
in selling at his stall in the market, were " well-to-do
people," with a growing family, and their sole aim and
pursuit was the making of money. Had their son, the
wretched murderer, only fourteen years old, been sent to
school and an education given him, he might have prof
ited by the moral and mechanical teaching, instead of
being brought up as it were in the slaughter-house, and
familiarized with the sight and fiow of blood. But " the
love of money is the root of all evil," and when it becomes
the ruling passion with parents it often blights and curses
the lives of their children, making them, if not criminal,
useless members of the body politic. That this miserable
boy became both criminal and useless, we shall see as we
progress in this veritable history. The day at last came
for the trial of the boy, Gottlieb Williams, for the murder
of Peter Doescher. The court-room was filled with the

MURDER. 85
crowd that usually gathers to see a murder case tried,
made up principally of those whose morbid curiosity and
desire for the horrid details, leads them to attend the sit
tings day after day. The jurors were drawn and sworn,
after many objections, challenges, etc., and the Prosecuting
Attorney, with due solemnity and much legal ability,
opened the case for the Commonwealth in a plain and
telling address, drawing a graphic word picture of the
event that was deeply intere_sting and touching. The
good-natured, pleasant countenance of the murdered boy,
was brought out in strong contrast to that of his murderer
in his cruel rage, and the characteristics of each were por
trayed most forcibly and feelingly. The whole speech
was plain, to the point, and at the same time comprehen
sive and eloquent, seeming to make a deep impression on
all who heard it.
In looking at and criticizing the appearance of the jurors,
I was struck with the faces and expression of ten of the
twelve men sitting there who were to " render a verdict
according to the evidence." Ignorance, dulness and sto
lidity were their prominent characteristics, as shown by
their faces. The other two showed more brightness and
intelligence, but not to any remarkable extent. The
thought fiashed through my mind that a sharp, cunning
and astute lawyer might see material there, that could be
moved and swayed by a dexterous hand.
After the District Attorney's opening was concluded, I
was called to the witness-stand and asked by him to state
exactly what I saw regarding the murder, from the be
ginning to the end, and in my own way. I did so plainly,
minutely and exactly as I have here recorded it. After
answering some few questions he thanked me, as he ex
pressed it, " for the intelligent and easily understood story

86 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
of the murder which you have related." I was then
turned over to the defendant's counsel for cross-examina
tion, as is customary. As this proceeding was somewhat
singular and rather extraordinary, I may be excused for
some details.
"Judge Barton," as he was called, was the leading
lawyer, and to him was confided the case for the defence.
With great suavity of manner and in the most ¦ pleasing
and polite way, he began by saying, " I cannot forbear
complimenting you, sir, on the detailed and lucid manner
with which you have given your evidence," and continu
ing his flattering remarks, I was disgusted and at once
mistrusted him. What followed, convinced me that I
was right, as he evidently endeavored to confuse and en
tangle me in my answers to his questions. His remark
able and uncalled for politeness, and the flattering man
ner in which he addressed me, was evidently intended
to throw me off my guard, and was used by him as a
cover, under which, hoping to find some vulnerable point,
he might attack me to advantage.
Without going into too much detail, and simply to
show how apparent was his policy and intent, I will
simply give the most important points in my cross-exami
nation :
Judge B. In your account of this affair you say that
the prisoner went out of the market, along some twenty
or twenty-five feet, reached over on to a stall and came
back with what you thought was a stick, but afterwards
it was found to be a knife, and when he came to the other
boy, struck the blow, etc.?
Answer. I did.
Judge B. Now, my dear sir, will you be kind enough
to tell me how much time did it occupy to do this?

MURDER. 87
Answer. The same time that I stated in my evidence,
about half a minute, or it may have been about twenty-
five seconds.
Judge B. Don't you think, sir, that it may have been
only twenty seconds?
Answer. No, sir. I think it could, not have been, less
than twenty-five, and it might have been thirty seconds.
Judge B. Did Williams walk or run on the outside of
the market to the stall, which you say was some twenty
or twenty-five feet distant ?
Answer. He did not run, but walked rather quickly.
Judge B. Now Mr.  don't you really think that he
run? Answer. No, sir, as I said before, he walked rather
quickly. Judge B. This is a very serious matter, sir, and it is
inperative that we get at the exact truth in every point,
so I ask you if in your great, (and I must admit very
natural) excitement, don't you think that you were un
able to say positively that Williams either walked or ran ?
Answer. I have already said twice that he walked,
and quickly, but as to being excited, I was not at that
moment, at all excited, and only became so, when I saw
him strike the murderous blow.
Judge B. (Very abruptly.) Don't you really think that
it was fifteen seconds that Williams took to go, return and
strike the blow ? You will remember, sir, that you are
on your oath.
.Without replying to him I turned to the judge and
said, " Your Honor, I respectfully ask the protection of
the Court. I am as well aware as the counsel is that I
am under the obligation of an oath, and I have repeat
edly answered the questions he has asked, but when it is

oo MYSELF AND OTHERS.
the object (by their repetition) to confuse and cause me,
perhaps, to contradict myself, I ask that I may be ex
cused from answering questions several times answered
to the best of my knowledge and belief."
The judge at once excused me from answering any
more questionings on these points, and it was now the
counsel's turn to be disgusted, so he informed me, and
with much less suavity, that my cross-examination was
ended. It was not a short one, but it was decidedly
" sharp and decisive."
All the other witnesses were examined and cross-ex
amined, and after two days the defense and the prosecu
tion "summed up," and the case was given, under the
judge's charge, to the jury. " Judge Barton," with the
eye of the bright lawyer and able advocate, saw who and
what the jury was composed of, and in his closing appeal
spoke of the prisoner's youth — he was hardly accountable,
of the deed having been done without time for reflec
tion in the heat of anger — of the deep distress and agony
of his parents, etc. Without an allusion to any points
of the testimony given, that would militate against his
client, he urged them to save him from the consequences
of his hasty act, and his parents from the fearful woes
that would crush their hearts and wreck their lives if an
adverse verdict was given.
I noticed the prisoner's appearance and demeanor
particularly, as well as that of his father and mother,
throughout the trial, and such an exhibition of careless
indifference, such immovable countenances, such hard,
stony and expressionless faces, are but very seldom met
with under such an ordeal. I sometimes, have wondered,
and still do wonder, what are some human beings made
of?

MURDER. 89
The jury, after a not very long session, brought in
their verdict, and it was " Involuntary manslaughter !!! "
Its entire and utter absurdity, its being paradoxical
and altogether unwarranted by the facts in the case,
really " astonished the natives." It was the subject of
comment by the papers and the people, and " trial by
jury " was pronounced, in this instance, absolutely farcical.
But the verdict stood. Gottlieb Williams was sentenced
to a short imprisonment, and not very long afterward,
owing to political influence, with the help of his father's
money — freely used — he was pardoned by the Governor
of the Commonwealth and set free. And here my part in
this history ends.
But mark the sequel.
About twenty-two years after the foregoing events had
occurred, and were almost entirely forgotten by the people
of our city, a cold-blooded, horrible and diabolical mur
der was discovered, and at flrst no clue could be found '
or trace left, by which the cruel perpetrator of the deed
could be known. It was in a house in an alley near
Buttonwood Street, the home of an honest and respect
able workingman, the family being himself, his wife and
sister. It was a quiet family with many friends, but no
known enemies, and the victim of the foul and unpro
voked murder was the wife, Mrs. Eliza Miller, a good,
kind-hearted woman, sixty-one years old.
About three o'clock in the afternoon of September 19th,
1866, one of the neighbors — a woman — called to see Mrs.
Miller, and on entering the house, to her great horror,
saw her body lying in a pool of blood on the floor, her
head crushed in, and a ghastly wound in her throat, with
7

90 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
evidences of a fearful struggle apparent all around. The
alarm was quickly given, and friends, neighbors, passers-
by and officers were soon gathered to see the horrible
and pitiful sight. A close examination followed of the
family, the neighbors and all who knew the deceased, as
well as the condition of the body and the surroundings.
It was found that the horrid deed had been done many
hours before it was discovered. The husband and the
sister generally left the house after an early breakfast
each morning, about seven o'clock, and the murder must
have been committed soon after their departure. It was
the habit of Mrs. Miller to clear the breakfast table, to
wash the dishes, to put things in order, and then to sit
down and read The Public Ledger. The paper was found
lying unfolded on the window-sill, where the carrier had
left it as usual every morning, the table was in confusion,
the dishes were unwashed, and there laid the body of the
poor, unoffending woman, stark, rigid and cold in death,
most cruelly and brutally murdered !
" But murder ever leaves some trace
Through which the murderer is found."
One person came in during the examination while in
quiries were being made, and said that between seven
and eight o'clock that morning he saw a man go up the
alley, and that man was Gottlieb Williams.
On this announcement every possible effort was put
forth to find him. Every little item concerning the poor
victim, the family and the circumstances of the murder
was duly examined, weighed and criticised most dili
gently and carefully. As the hours passed by many little
incidents became known, which not only attracted the
attention of the authorities, but caused the strongest sus-

MURDER. 91
picion to arise that the inhuman, atrocious and horrible
murder was committed by no other person than Gottlieb
Williams. Officers and detectives were on the alert in all directions,
seeking for intelligence of the murderer's whereabouts,
and while they were engaged in their search more be
came known of his habits, movements, etc., all of which
caused suspicions to develop into certainties that he had
done the cruel deed. Every effort, however, to find him
seemed to be useless as well as unsuccessful, until about
forty-eight hours afterwards. Then a private citizen, who
had carefully read the newspaper accounts, saw Williams
shuffling along the street, just as he was leaving his home.
No one could mistake the man from the description of
him that was widely published, and he at once seized
him, took him to the station-house and gave him in
charge of the police. Thus was Williams arrested, as in
the former murder, by a private citizen.
As brief a statement as is possible of the facts with re
gard to Williams, and his connection with the murder of
Mrs. Miller, will close this history and the career of one
of the most cruel, brutal and bloodthirsty of men ever
known. On the death of his father, who left a pretty
large amount of property, Williams received his portion of
the estate, and determined to gratify his vicious propensi
ties and wicked desires to the full. He had followed and
fostered these desires so far as he had the ability, but with
money in possession his power to do so was largely in
creased. By the time he was thirty years old he had led
a life of debauchery, violence and outrage. Brought up
in ignorance, left to his own devices and desires, familiar
with the sight of blood in the slaughter-house, is it to be
wondered at, that the savage and uncurbed passion of the

92 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
boy of fourteen, plunging the knife into his playmate so
cruelly, should develop into the coarse, vicious and
brutal man ? He sought every form of dissipation and
of vice, and lived only to gratify his debased passions
and desires, and literally " wasted his substance in riotous
living." In addition to the loss of all his money, he suffered a
dreadful affliction from a stroke of paralysis, his entire
left side, with the arm and leg, being paralyzed. He
partially recovered, and with the aid of a stick managed
to shuffle along, his left arm hanging useless, a miserable
and helpless cripple. And here it may be remarked
that, though paralysis is a common disease and one of
" the ills that flesh is heir to," in the case of Williams it
has seemed to be a visitation of God. One of the effects
of this paralysis caused him to do a somewhat trifling
ad, but that act (being paralyzed) became one of the strongest
links in the chain of circumstantial evidence which proved
him to be guilty of this murder. This will appear further
on. When his money was gone and his wretchedness was
increased, by his crippled and hopeless condition, he be
came a homeless wanderer, a beggared outcast. Loiter
ing round among slaughter-houses by day, sleeping in
lumber yards, or wherever he could find shelter, by night,
begging for food or drinks, his life was one of unalloyed
misery. What a life to live ! Poor, homeless, wretched,
crippled, besotted, vile ! With the blood of murder on
his heart and hands, seeking and begging the help of
those who loathed and despised him, simply "to keep
body and soul together."
He came begging to Mrs. Miller, and her compassionate
soul, her gentle woman's heart, were moved with pity for

MURDER. 93
the poor paralytic. It was stated and proved, that she
habitually gave him his breakfast, when he came asking
for food, and talked kindly to him while he eagerly sat
isfied the cravings of hunger. One can easily imagine
the kind and gentle manner in which she spoke to him,
and perhaps urged upon him good advice while she ad
ministered to his wants. It was proved that he was often
in the habit of coming there to get his breakfast, and
always after the husband and the sister had left for their
daily occupations. And the kind and pitying heart, the
aged and unprotected woman, who befriended him, he
struck down with a brutal and murderous blow, and
then, with fiendish cruelty, gashed her throat. Ungrate
ful and inhuman monster ! Just after eating the food she
had given him he murdered his benefactress !
It was supposed that she may have told him, or it came
to his knowledge in some way, that she was the treasurer
of a benevolent society, and to get possession of the
small amount of money in her keeping he murdered her.
No other motive for the deed could be entertained. But
his motives can only be a matter of conjecture, and are
locked in obscurity forever.
He was charged with the murder, but stoutly asserted
his innocence. The Coroner's jury of inquest, however,
after hearing all the evidence at command, rendered a
verdict of murder, and Williams, as the murderer, was
committed to prison. The Grand Jury afterward found
a true bill against Gottlieb Williams for the murder of
Eliza Miller, and he was arraigned for trial. In the early
part of 1867 the trial took place.
As in the first trial, more than twenty years before,
there was the usual crowd to feast their eyes, by the sight
of the murderer, and to glut their morbid desire to listen

94 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
to all the horrid and ghastly details of the murder. The
prisoner preserved the same stolid look, the same im
mobile face. He showed entire unconcern as to the fear
ful deed he had committed and the terrible situation in
which he found himself to be. He had declared his in
nocence, and further stated, that he knew nothing as to
the murder in any way. But there were silent, though
fearfully accurate witnesses to appear against him, whose
evidence spoke in louder and stronger terms than if
uttered by living tongues.
After Williams had done the foul and cruel murder,
he went into the market not far from the house and
ordered something to eat. The woman who served him
spoke to him about blood being on his face, and he said
he got it " in a fight with an Irishman, who told me a
nigger was as good a man as I was." Would any man
fight a miserable cripple with one side paralyzed? To
another, who afterward spoke of it, he gave the same ex
planation. He then bought laudanum, not enough to
kill him, hid himself in a lumber yard, drank it and slept
from the forenoon of Wednesday until Friday morning,
when he was arrested.
Before swallowing the drug, he had observed blood on
the right-hand wristband of his shirt, and having no
ability to cut or tear it off, his left hand being useless,
he tore it with his teeth and threw the piece away. It
was found and on the trial was shown to the jury, exactly
fitting the place on Williams' shirt sleeve, from which he
had torn it. The blood was examined and declared to be
human, and the maker and seller of the shirt swore that
the wristband and the shirt belonged to each other.
Many other items of the strongest circumstantial evidence
were produced with powerful and telling effect, and the

AN ADVENTURE. 95
chain was completed link by link. Not having time or
space, I must omit recording them. They carried with
them, full corroboration of the fact as charged, and the re
sult of the trial was a verdict — Guilty of murder in the
first degree !
He was afterwards sentenced to be hung on the fourth
day of June, 1867. When the day arrived it was a bright
and lovely June day, and at 11 a.m. the sentence of the
law was carried into effect. The faithful old City Mis
sionary, the Rev. Thomas G. Allen, now long gone to
his reward, had attended him in prison, urging him
earnestly to repent and confess his sins, and toward the
last he showed signs of repentance. He still maintained
his innocence, but at the fatal moment cried out, "God
be merciful to me a sinner ! " And thus closed a life so
full of brutality and crime. I can but shudder as mem
ory recalls it. No comment is needed to make this rec
ord more impressive. I consider it a very remarkable
case, and especially so when I recall the words I spoke to
him after his first murder, " If you go on this way through
life, you will surely end it on the gallows." Prophetic
words and a terrible fulfillment !

AN ADVENTURE.
Our fate hangs balanced, as it were,
And but a turn, a glance, or step
That we may take, will change
All circumstances of life.

" How sweetly mutable, how brightly mild.
The liquid lustre darted from her eyes I

96 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
Each look, each motion, waked a new-born grace
That o'er her form its transient glory cast :
Some lovelier wonder soon usurped the place,
Chased by a charm still lovelier than the last."

One day while walking slowly on the street,
I chanced a very lovely girl to meet :
I looked at her — and then she looked at me —
My heart it palpitated terribly.
Her form was perfect, and her easy gait
Was graceful, as with steps elate
She moved along. EeaUy, I felt quite queer.
And in my beating heart there rose a fear
That she perhaps — so lovely and so sweet —
I never more again might chance to meet.
And then, besides, the awful thought ! that she
Might " mortgaged " to some other fellow be,
Caused me a pang, a sharp and sudden pain,
I tried to banish, though I tried in vain.
The thought was dreadful : torture 'twas to me.
To think that one so sweet " engaged " should be.
What is the matter ? to myself I said ;
Why do I tremble, why thus feel a dread,
That one, whose face I never saw before,
Should be beyond my reach for evermore !
'Twas love at sight, that did pervade my soul,
It filled my heart and I could not control
Its power ; in fact, before she turned the corner
I felt that I was what is called "a goner."
I turned around, I could not turn and flee.
But followed on, I felt 'twas destiny
That led me on — and then, her steps pursued,
Determined to discover, if I could.
Where she, that lovely beauteous one
Lived, breathed and blessed some cheerful home.

AN ADVENTURE. 97
And as she went her way she chanced to turn ;
She saw me and my heart did burn
With joy, confusion and surprise.
As once again I saw those lovely eyes.
What would she think of me? a bold and daring one
Who evidently followed her toward her home?
I felt ashamed, but could not turn aside —
I must go on — I would not, if I died.
Have left her then, never, no ne'er to know
The lovely being who entranced me so.
At length some ladies stopped her just to say
A word or two, as they went on their way ;
And I, who walked quite near, with sudden fright.
Began to see myself in a sad plight.
I could not stop, for that would be too marked.
That I was following after, as she walked;
So on I strode and as I passed them by.
Again I met a glance from that soft eye.
And such a look ! so modest, gentle, pure,
I felt 'twould be remembered evermore :
And yet that glance from the soft, beauteous eye
(Love, joy and gentleness in its depths did lie).
Pierced to my soul and in my heart of hearts
I felt the wound ; it throbs, it aches, it smarts !
And as I went my way, I thought that I
Could ne'er forget that gentle, glowing eye :
In waking hours and in my midnight dreams
I see it beaming, and it ever seems
To warm my soul, to captivate my heart.
Thrilling through every vein and vital part.
Proceeding slowly on I crossed the street.
Again the fair unknown my eyes did greet ;
FoUow, I must, and as I followed still,
What strange emotions, thoughts, my soul did flU !

98 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
Each moment as it passed brought stronger feeling,
Hope, love and joy combined, to me revealing
The fact — that I could never more disprove.
That I was most irrevocably " in love."
And yet, a short half-hour had not gone by,
Since this fair, lovely creature met my eye.
But one short, timid, fleeting, passing glance
Had caused my heart and soul to leap and dance
With new emotions, rapid, full and deep.
Now wakened into life, no more to sleep.
Yes ! so it was 1 my heart did frankly own
Itself a willing captive to this fair unknown.

Still onward, with my guiding star before,
I walked along some dozen squares or more,
Bright hopes now led me gaily as I went.
Then disappointment, with its sad portent.
Would chill, discourage and my soul dismay.
And plant its thorns and briers in my way.
But youth is hopeful, eager and elate,
I felt that I in patient hope must wait.
While dreaming thus, now joyous and now sad.
The fair unknown, the sweet, the lovely maid
Stopped at a dwelling, and as she rang the bell,
I felt it was the place where she did dwell ;
And as the envious door secluded from my sight
That lovely form, that face, those eyes of light.
She turned ! another glance to me was given,
It shone into my soul like light from heaven.
Hope, bright, strong hope now filled my eager soul.
It would assert its power, without control :
In vain I reasoned, its bright rays would shine,
Hope rules us all with power, almost divine.

AN ADVENTURE. 99
A few inquiries made near by, soon gave
The information I so longed to have :
It was her home, with father, mother, there
She lived — ^the sweetest, "fairest ofthe fair."
Delight and joy! this then was her abode,
And off, with bounding, joyful steps I strode.
Determined frequently, yes day by day
My walk should regularly be that way,
In hope, that by some chance I might be blessed
With sight of her, who now my heart possessed.

For days and weeks I visited the place
Where I last saw the sweet, bewitching face.
A daily pilgrimage by me was made ;
And often till the twilight hour I stayed.
Hoping, expecting, longing still to see
That face, that form, whose wondrous power o'er me,
Increasing in its strength, had gained control
O'er every throb and feeling of niy soul.
Each time I lingered, hoping that she might
Appear once more, and bless me with the sight
Of her sweet self; but disappointment's night
Grew dark upon me, and its black clouds came
To fill my heart with torture and with pain.

At length, one afternoon, as usual, I strayed
In my accustomed walk, but listless, sad:
No glimpse of her had gladdened yet my sight.
But all seemed dark, without a ray of light.
Day after day, for weeks had thus passed by.
To me so long, so dull, so cheerlessly ;
No other thought possessed my weary soul.
For she each thought, each hope controlled.

100 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
I could not give her up, could not despair,
My joy in life was fixed, was centered there.
And yet, with naught to build upon, did I
Erect my " castles in the air " so high.
That one by one they crumbled into dust.
And left my soul with disappointment crushed.
But this one afternoon, as went the sun
Down in bright glory to his nightly home,
I walked along the cool and shady street.
Where I had hoped so eagerly to meet
The fair unknown, when suddenly I before my face,
A form flew by and crossed the street in haste.
Beyond the curbstone, hurriedly she sped
Across the street, with light, elastic tread ;
'Twas her I I knew it I felt it in my heart !
The glad surprise, the quick, the sudden start
Of my hot blood, as it coursed through my veins.
Brought back bright joy and hope and doubting pains ;
When suddenly — that form, so dear to me.
Fell prostrate, quick and heavily.
Great heavens ! with beating heart and eager fear.
To see that form, so graceful, loved and dear.
Lie there as still as death I with horror filled.
Each pulse within my frame seemed stilled ;
But instantly, with frantic steps, I dashed
Across the street in agonizing haste ;
I raised her up and bore her to the door
Of her own home- — I knew it well before ;
And as I rang, so madly rang the bell,
I held her to my heart ; Ah me ! no tongue could teU
My joy and sorrow — joy e'en to behold her form,
Sorrow — for I did feel her blood so warm.
Come trickling o'er my hand, as I raised up her head.
And thought the spirit from the lovely clay had fled.
The door was opened and within I strode.

AN ADVENTURE. 101
Bearing within my arms my precious load ;
And as, upon a couch, I laid her gently down,
I felt again those crimson drops so warm ;
Forth from a cruel gash, quite deep, they flow.
Dyeing with dark, ensanguined hue that brow.
No motion was there in that lovely form,
No movement seen, my ear could hear no groan,
Like death she looked, insensible and still,
In spite of hope my heart began to chill.

The father, mother came, pale with affright.
Shocked and alarmed at the sad, painful sight.
Her dress of white, so delicate, so pure.
Was all discolored with the crimson gore;
Her lovely hair had fallen, and her lovely face.
Where beauty, loveliness and every grace
Had ever dwelt, was deathly pale and stained.
And every feature agonized and pained.
Upon the sofa, still, like death she laid —
This lovely one. Oh God ! can she be dead 1

But soon she moved, and then, with glad surprise,
We saw the trembling lips, the beauteous eyes
Open and close, while we awaited there
The issue, at times in hope and yet almost despair.
And now physicians came, summoned in haste,
Erewhile our hearts, all beating quick and fast ;
They tried their skill and soon relieved our hearts.
And as they speak, new hope to each imparts,
That she, beloved, was now from danger free.
And soon again in strength and health would be.
Silent we stood around, and yet once more those eyes
Were opened, and confused, surprised.

102 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
She gazed at each, as we were standing there.
And then she spoke and said, "Where am I — where?"
A few soft whispered words her mother said.
As to her bosom she raised up her head,
And once more gazing round she looked at me
With such a glance, as if to say — " 'Tis he ! "
But for a moment she that look bestows.
Her cheek with flush and brighter color glows ;
It was an effort, and we saw with pain
The deep'ning color fly — faintness had come again.

The doctors now requested all to leave,
As to their patient they their care must give.
Her father came to me and pressed my hand,
Trying to speak his thanks, but he could not command
The words — another time he bade me come,
I always should be welcome at his home.
I gave my card, with residence and name.
And as I closed the door, hope's brightest flame
Burst forth with strength, I felt its glorious power
Spring into life, in that important hour.
She ! she would iive, and I should see and know
This lovely one, who had bewitched me so.
How I e'er reached my home I cannot tell.
For thoughts came rushing with a surging swell ;
But as I walked, one sole idea remained —
I now should know her, and she must he gained.

Ten days passed by, a long, a dreary space.
Ere I once more beheld that lovely facef
And when again within her home I stand.
She timidly approaches, and her soft, white hand
Was frankly placed in mine, and then she said.

THE CROOKED AND THE STRAIGHT. 103
" I thank you " (simple words), and bowed her head,
As if confused, constrained, disturbed ;
While I (to save my soul) could hardly speak a word.
But soon recovering, we became at ease.
And her sweet manner could not fail to please
My full delighted sense — my brain did whirl
With joy, to think I knew this lovely girl.
And she was lovely, both in form and mind.
Gentle and gracious, ladylike, refined.
I called quite often, and at last — each day;
We soon were friends — then came a brighter ray
Into our hearts, friendship was love ;
And we mid happiness, delighted roved.
Like flying in the air, so joyous, free:
I loved her dearly and she said — that she loved me.
But little more now needs to be related,
For we, in course of time, in wedlock mated.
And she did love me, children ! better than a brother.
"Who was she, father? — Who?" — " Why my dear wife — your
mother''

THE CROOKED AND THE STRAIGHT.
" So Nature has decreed; so oft we see
Men passing fair ; in outward lineaments
Elaborate — less inwardly exact."

" His face was of that doubtful kind
That wins the eye, but not the mind."

"Mr. Plornish said he had heard that accordin' as the world went round
even the best of gentlemen must take his turn of standing with his 'ed up
side down. There was ups, you see, and there was downs ; it was in vain to
ask, why ups and why downs. There they was."

104 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
There were two young merchants in this, our good City
of Philadelphia, in the year 18 — . One engaged in the
dry goods jobbing trade, the other in the importation of
fancy dress goods. The first-named and the elder of the
two, was the senior partner of the firm of Alfred Merlin,
Brother & Co., though but thirty years old. The other
conducted his business affairs without a partner and
under his own name — Clarence Norden — and had just
entered his twenty-sixth year. Both had a fair amount
of capital invested in business, but that of Merlin, Brother
& Co. was necessarily much the largest, on account of the
requirements of their trade, done, as it was on long cred
its. Merlin and his brother had inherited a handsome
sum from their father's estate, he having died a few years
before. The capital of Norden was about twelve thousand
dollars, but it was the result of his own efforts, and the
product of his careful savings and judicious investments,
during the previous seven years. His energy, perse
verance and good business qualities, aided by his correct
habits of life, resulted in the possession of this capital,
solely his own.
Merlin and Norden could hardly be called friends, but
they were well acquainted with each other, frequently
and almost daily meeting in the circles of business and
social life. Any one seeing them together, which was
often the case, would have said at once, " they are both
fine looking men, and evidently gentlemen." It falls to
my lot, however, to speak more in detail of these two,
their appearance and characteristics, as they occupy im
portant places in the drama I now give to the reader.
Alfred Merlin was fully six feet in height, of good
figure and carriage, rather light hair, pale blue eyes, fair
shaped nose, heavy moustache, beard and whiskers of a

THE CROOKED AND THE STRAIGHT. 105
somewhat reddish hue. His mouth — a most expressive
feature in the human face — was filled with large, white
teeth, but the lips were straight, thin and almost colorless.
In looking at his face, one would notice that there seemed
to be something wanting or something there, undefined
and yet perceptible. This something was located in the
mouth — an unpleasant expression was there, visible, but
difficult to describe. Accustomed to good society, bear
ing himself well, and ever faultlessly dressed, no one
could say aught, but that he was a fine looking man and
a gentleman. Clarence Norden was rather above the medium height,
measuring five feet nine and one-half inches, well and com
pactly built, showing a strong, lithe and graceful figure.
His hair was dark brown, his eyes (very handsome ones)
matching his hair in their color. Nose straight and well
shaped, with clear cut nostrils, mouth very expressive, and
red lips, and regular, fine, white teeth. The chin was a
prominent feature, showing strength and firmness, which
were strong characteristics ofthe man. The whole face was
one that the eye loved to rest upon, one that demanded a
second look, one that always gave satisfaction, showing
as it did a manly, well-balanced, self-reliant and strong
character. Manly beauty, we will all admit, is a possession greatly
to be desired, and its owner is always envied by those
who are less favored in this respect. But the handsome
man, often becomes only a being having this God-given
grace and naught else. All his thoughts centre on the
fact that he is a specimen of manly beauty, to be courted,
envied and praised. He seems to think it a merit of his
own, and thus thinking, insufferable vanity absorbs his
whole being, crushing out all other good qualities he may

106 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
have, and leaving him, in the eyes of sensible humanity,
a mere nonentity, and, as nearly as possible, worse than
useless. Not so was it, however, with Clarence Norden. Though
highly favored with an expressive, handsome face, a fine
figure and a manly carriage, there appeared to be no self-
consciousness about him, no feeling of elevation or supe
riority because God had blessed him as to personal gifts.
His bright soul, his warm heart, his frank spirit were
ever shining forth from his beaming eye, and his mobile
mouth answered its eloquent look. No one could look
at him except with admiration, for they saw the whole-
souled young man in the beau ideal of a gentleman.
Another personage, and one who acts an important
part in this truthful history, now claims attention. To
attempt a description of Clara Nottingham, an abler pen
than mine should be enlisted, for I am unable to do
justice to her charms of mind or person. I can only
make such a record of this lovely girl, as my poor faculties
enable me to do. Above the medium height, with a
lovely form showing every grace of movement, a shapely
head with golden brown hair, regular features, lovely
deep blue and lustrous eyes and a bewitching mouth,
must suffice to give the reader a fair idea of this lovely
girl, as I saw her, just after she had entered her twentieth
year, at the time my story opens.
Mr. Nottingham, her father, was a gentleman of mod
erate fortune, who had but just retired from active busi
ness pursuits at the age of sixty-one, desiring to cultivate
and enjoy his love for literature and restful pleasure dur
ing his remaining years. The greater part of each day
was devoted to reading and in correspondence with differ
ent relatives and friends for whom he felt an interest and

THE CROOKED AND THE STRAIGHT. 107
attachment. From the age of forty-six he had been a
widower, losing his wife, for whom he had ever shown a
devoted affection, when Clara was about four years old.
The child had been given to the tender care of his wid
owed sister, Mrs. Rebecca Andr6, who became a member
of his household, and who most faithfully performed the
duties of mother, aunt and friend to the motherless girl.
As Clara grew in years she showed the fruits of Aunt
Becky's judicious guidance, the seed sown, producing a
plentiful harvest. Supervising her education and lov
ingly instilling into her young mind principles of truth,
justice, charity and all other Christian virtues, it was an
ever present joy to her loving heart to see the child, what
her desires and prayers had wished her to be, a bright,
gentle, cultivated and refined young lady. Aunt Becky,
as Clara always called her, was still on the bright side of
forty, and she found in her not only a mother's love and
tender care, but the devotion of a firm friend. With such
a Mentor, with such a friend, with such a loving mother-
heart to guide her, Clara's mental qualities and character
were fully equal to her personal charms.
The other and only member of Mr. Nottingham's fam
ily was a son of about twenty-five years, who had but
lately left his home, and with a young wife had settled
in one of the cities of the then young West. The home
of Mr. Nottingham was a refined, pleasant and hospitable
one. His well-informed, cultivated mind, his genial
courtesy of manner, with the dignity and ladylike bearing
of Mrs. Andr6, her voice and pleasing smile, combined to
give charms to this refined home circle. Added to these,
Clara's gifts of mind and person crowned the whole, mak
ing it the abode of culture, refinement and elegant hospi
tality.

108 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
In the large circle of friends and acquaintances sur
rounding this pleasant and agreeable family, Alfred
Merlin and Clarence Norden were frequent, favored and
ever welcome guests. Both were favorites with each
member of the family, and none were received with
greater cordiality, none more admired and esteemed.
Both well-informed, agreeable, courteous and ever gen
tlemanly in bearing and in conversation, a friendly wel
come awaited them, when they entered the doors of Mr.
Nottingham's ever cheerful and pleasant home. Other
guests of both sexes often gathered there, making it a
desirable circle to visit, where the bright sparkle of in
telligent conversation and witty remarks, and the genial
laugh of merry and happy hearts were often seen and
heard. The beauty and loveliness of our heroine could not be
seen and known, without impressing the hearts of those
of the sterner sex with feelings of warm admiration. All
acknowledged her to be " one of the loveliest of her sex,"
her beautiful eyes and bewitching smile playing sad
havoc with their hearts. Some of the many gentlemen
visitors admired her at a distance, as it were, without the
hope that it would ever be more than admiration. Some
were seriously affected, but were entirely hopeless of suc
cess, even should they tell their love, so kept it confined
in their own breasts. But there were two, who felt the
all-controlling power of love, a power they could not
resist. They gave themselves up to its influence, en
thralled and absorbed. These two were Alfred Merlin and
Clarence Norden.
It was the great turning point in their lives, and proved
to be the open sesame to their characters, principles and
dispositions. Love, when felt, will bring out all the

THE CROOKED AND THE STRAIGHT. 109
points of a man's capabilities, temper and characteristics.
If a man's love is antagonized, it will bring forth all of
evil that may be lying dormant in his heart, and lay it
bare before all eyes. If the victim to the passion of love
be a man of noble instinct and elevated principles, it will
develop his nature and make it shine with greater power
and brightness. Love will ennoble the true man or woman
who feels its power, drawing out their virtues, but if evil
is latent in the heart, and love is but a passion and not a
pure influence, all that is base will come to the surface,
and true love takes its flight. How the love for Clara
brought out the ruling characteristics of Merlin and
Norden the progress of this story will plainly discover.
Merlin, when he found himself in love with Clara,
supposed that " the coast was clear," and that there was
no rival. He felt that his good looks, his gentlemanly
bearing, his business position, and (what he had resolved
upon) his determined efforts to win her love, were strong
factors in commanding success. Having a critical
knowledge of human nature, a sharp and observant eye,
he had seen signs of admiration for the lovely Clara, in
many of the young men who visited her ; but saw, too,
that from them he had nothing to fear. He could tell if
a genuine feeling existed, and his critical eye saw no
obstacle in his path. Should any arise, he would sweep it
away by fair means or foul, and . allow no one to gain
Clara's love, or the possession of her, whose beauty and
grace had so fired his soul. He resolved to have her for
his own, and to maintain the fight " against all comers."
Norden's disposition, though frank and sincere, was re
served when any strong feeling moved him. He had long
felt a strong admiration for Clara, and her mental quali
ties had increased his admiration. Unknowingly to him.

110 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
he had a stronger feeling developing itself by degrees,
until at last, he discovered that his heart had gone out to
her and he could not, even if he wished, ever call it back.
He looked upon his love as something holy, something
too sacred for others to know, and it remained unspoken,
and, as he thought, unobserved. Never, by word or act of
his, should it become a subject of comment, to be discussed
by others, unless crowned with success or ending in dis
appointment. It was too pure to be remarked upon by
those who could not appreciate or realize his adoration
and devotion. A watchful eye, however, perceived what
others did not see, and with a bitter and deep pang of
jealousy rankling in his heart at the discovery he had
made. Merlin determined to forestall or prevent a success
ful issue of Norden's hopes and to drive him from the
field. To speak plainly, under a pleasing exterior, with
a courteous and gentlemanly demeanor, there was con
cealed an evil heart, and Alfred Merlin was a hypocrite.
This was a fact unknown . to any one but himself, and
though conscience at times upbraided him, his evil pro
pensities ruled him with a rod of iron. Pleasure and en
joyment were his ideals of true happiness, and he would
have them in all their fulness, no matter at what cost.
Bearing among men, the reputation of a well-to-do busi
ness man and the perfect gentleman, his real instincts
were low and depraved. His sole aim was the gratifica
tion of his sensual disposition, but to keep his acts
shrouded in secrecy and in darkness. And this man,
dared to love and aspire to the possession ofthe pure and
lovely Clara !
Assuming the most profound devotion to her every
wish, and redoubling the attentions hitherto paid to her,
he strove to win her heart with all its wealth of affection,

THE CROOKED AND TfiE STRAIGHT. Ill
as it beat in the bosom of our heroine. With the resolve
to accomplish his purpose, with every ability of an active
mind and a determined will, he believed that he would
achieve success. His toils should be laid and spun with
the patience, assiduity and perseverance of the spider, and
a web woven that would bring his victim into its meshes.
His observant eye and acute judgment convinced him,
that in Clarence Norden, he had a rival, whose personal
and mental powers could not be despised, considered as
trifiing, or their influence easily overcome. Knowing
him to be a young man of correct principles and un
doubted honor, he hated him, and his bitter and malevo
lent hatred urged him on to gain the fair Clara for his
own, and that, too, without delay.
Up to this time, to all appearance, her heart seemed to
remained untouched and a stranger to love's influence.
Her smiles had been conferred on all alike. No one had
yet inspired in her a preference for their society or atten
tions. The manly proportions, the handsome features,
the frank spirit and the winning manners of Clarence
Norden had won her admiration, but nothing more. And
yet this fine young fellow, every fibre of whose being
seemed tense with life and power, was insensibly exercis
ing an influence over her, which was destined to grow and
increase in strength. It came to her senses at first, like
the whisperings of the southern zephyrs, and then with
the stirring power of the northern blast. He had never
breathed to her that he loved her, but with the quick in
tuition of the female heart, she knew and felt that his
heart was in her possession, and confessed to herself, that
her heart and its love was going out to him. The fasci
nation grew upon her, exciting her with an infiuence novel
to her experience, inexplicable and yet irresistible, whose

112 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
power, though invisible to others, she felt absorbing her
whole heart and soul. She had heard tales of love, she
had read them as they were portrayed with wondrous
skill, but now her pure, innocent heart, for the first time
in her young life, began to experience the power of love,.
and to enjoy the delight of loving and being loved.
" Time and tide wait for no man," effect will follow
cause, and Merlin, seeing existing cause, did not postpone
producing its effect. Assuming, when opportunity offered,
a friendly and confidential manner in conversing with
Clara, he led her to speak of each friend or acquaintance
in their circle, in a pleasant, frank manner. At times,
he too, would criticise the appearance or qualities of one
or two, well known to both. He would give his opinion
of each one, apparentiy with candor and without malice,
and the conversation went on until Clarence Norden's
name was mentioned. In speaking of him, Clarence, —
Merlin exacted a promise from Clara, never to speak of
what he should say, to any one, as he would only give
his impressions in the strictest confidence. Then he
added that his opinion of Clarence was corroborated by
much that he had heard, and from good authority, and
though with great reluctance, he would give it to her
confidentially. " With so much in his favor," he said,
" his face, his figure, his expression, and all that is attrac
tive, I am convinced in my own mind that he is false,
treacherous, without principle, and, in fact, neither more
nor less than a real, hypocrite. I would not thus freely
give my opinion of one whom I might call a friend, were
not what I say to you, substantiated by what I have heard
of his habits and his acts. Of the latter, I cannot speak
to you, but his instincts are low, and his sole desire seems
to be to indulge in forbidden pleasures, though in secret,

THE CROOKED AND THE STRAIGHT. 113
and with his chosen companions among the depraved
and vicious. I will not say much more, but I cannot re
strain myself from adding, that it is astonishing how
such an one can wish or dare, to seek the society of the
pure, the enlightened and the respected in our com
munity. I could tell you of deeds that he has done. Miss
Clara, which would overwhelm you with astonishment
and disgust, but I prefer not to poison your ears with
such statements, and have unwillingly, though in duty
bound to do so, disclosed to you what I have. It is pain
ful to me to speak thus of one, whom the world calls a
fine young man and a handsome fellow, but he has been
a favored guest in your father's house, and he may dare to
aspire to your hand." He did not add that he had drawn
his own picture, and given a faithful portraiture of him
self, in the endeavor to blacken the character and ruin
the good name of another.
This revelation fell with fearful force on the shocked and
amazed Clara, wounding her most deeply. Given to her
with apparent reluctance, brought out by a harmless talk
about the character and qualities of mutual acquaint
ances and friends, and told to her by one who stood high
among men, she hardly dared to question the truth of the
revelation. The blow was a severe one. It came on her
poor heart with telling effect, but it reacted in a manner
undreamed of by her, and unlooked for by Merlin.
Almost stunned by it, she pleaded not feeling well, termi
nated the interview, and sought the sacred precincts of
her own chamber. With a trembling, wounded and
aching heart, for the poison had entered it for the first
time in her young life, she threw herself on her bed in an
agony too great to bear. Hot, burning tears flowed, and
her gentle bosom throbbed with pain and misery. " It

114 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
can't be true," she cried, and yet the words were like
mockery to her thoughts. The poisoned shaft had gone
home and it rankled in the wound. Cruelly it seemed
to be doing its deadly work. But in all the pain and
anguish that had entered into her soul, there was an
awakening, a revelation to herself, of the fact, that her
love for Clarence was now with her — her very life. She
had not known before what it was to love, but now her
eyes were opened, she felt its power moving every pulse
and fibre of her being. It absorbed all, and she knew
that henceforth, she had given it entirely and irrevocably
to Clarence- Her heart and soul went out to him wholly
and unreservedly, and hereafter every pulsation and
throb of her loving heart should be for him. Calumni
ated as he was, she felt that she loved him the more,
and her aching, trembling heart beat wildly with the joy
of loving. " What matter is it to me that his character
has been assailed, his name besmirched ; I love him with
all my heart and soul, and I am his forever."
A feverish sleep came to her at last, and she awoke,
troubled and unrefreshed to the realities, which the morn
ing brought to her with its advent. Dull, sore and
wounded by the event, or revelation made to her by Mer
lin the previous evening, no other thought but of Clar
ence was in her heart. His image was fixed there, and,
come weal or woe, it should remain. Even though in
the solitude of her own room, her self-confessed love
brought blushes to her cheeks, her love remained un
shaken. Even though all she had heard from Merlin
should prove to be true, she felt that her whole being
had been given to Clarence, and her life was irrevocably
bound up with his. Curious, indeed, and passing strange
are the workings of the human heart, and Clara's did

THE CROOKED AND THE STRAIGHT. 115
not beat with shame for Clarence, but with an intense de
votion and an absorbing love.
Unconscious that he was thus regarded by Clara, un
aware, too, that he was so hated and bitterly maligned by
Merlin, Clarence " pursued the even tenor of his way." By
day he was engrossed with business cares and duties, and
in the evening he either called at Mr. Nottingham's, or
visited other friends, where he was a welcome guest. His
thoughts were fixed on Clara, for wherever he might be,
her image was ever before his eyes. He felt that he must
speak to her and tell her of his love, but the dreadful
thought that she might not respond to it kept him silent.
Each time he saw her his love increased, but still he
dared not speak. Thus day after day passed by, he only
noticing that in his calls to see Clara, two or three times
each week, he always met Merlin there.
One evening, as he was entering the theatre, he saw
Clara alight from a carriage, with Merlin as her escort,
and on a Sunday shortly afterward they came to church
together. It is evident, thought Clarence, that he is the
favored one and may win her love. The first was true in
one sense, so far as Mr. Nottingham and Aunt Becky were
concerned, for they did favor him and his attentions.
They had urged her acceptance of his invitation to the
theatre, and had suggested his being asked to attend their
church with Clara. They only saw him, as he appeared
to be, the good merchant, the pleasant gentleman and well
thought of by every one, therefore considered him an
eligible suitor for Clara's hand. They were too high-
minded to do aught to influence her, except to speak fav
orably of him, waiting and hoping for a result in agree
ment with their wishes.
Just at that time business generally became very much

116 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
depressed, the money market close and excited, and
merchants in all branches of trade felt the pressure
severely. The banks were forced to contract their lines of
discounts, and their customers were obliged to look for
money " on the street." Its value rapidly increased, as
values of merchandise shrank under the pressure, and two
and a-half per cent, per month became the ruling rate for
first-class paper. Clarence had some few thousand dol
lars in bank, having sold freely for many months, and as
his business affairs were in excellent condition, he wanted
to invest for several months, the amount to his credit and
lying idle. Carefully scrutinizing the paper offered to
him by the brokers, he declined for several days, until a
note of Alfred Merlin, Brother & Co., having four months
to run and for about five thousand dollars, was offered.
Knowing the firm well, having sold them for several
years, and their credit being undoubted, he bought the
paper and laid it away. The pressure continued, and it
seemed like a panic that had come upon the business
community. Failures took place and confidence was
shaken. Norden contracted his operations, " took in sail "
and awaited with patience the time, when a change would
come and confidence be restored. Although the amount
of money invested in the paper he had bought, represented
nearly one-half of his whole capital, he considered it as
undoubted security and bearing a profitable interest.
One evening late in the Fall, as Clarence was on his
way home from a visit to two old ladies, intimate friends
of his mother, he passed Mr. Nottingham's house. Just
before he came to it, a gentleman came out and walked
on ahead of him. He had not taken many steps before
he stopped and spoke to a girl or woman, evidently wait
ing for him. As Clarence came up (he could not see her

THE CROOKED AND THE STRAIGHT. 117
face, as it was veiled) and was passing, he heard her say,
" Here have I walked up and down and waited for you
nearly two hours, while you have been wasting your and
my time with that girl. I am not jealous, Alfred, but I
don't care to be walking the streets while you " — He
heard no more and then kept on, wondering and dis
gusted. If the girl was unfortunate and had been be
trayed, it was an entanglement which should keep Merlin
from paying his attentions to another, and if it was a de
praved woman, it was horrible to think of his going from
the pure presence of Miss Nottingham to associate with
the immoral and corrupt.
What Clarence saw and heard that evening, shocked
him deeply, and he could not drive it from its thoughts.
The idea ofthe pure-hearted and lovely Clara, receiving the
marked attentions of one whose presence was pollution,
disturbed his peace of mind and caused him to tremble
for hers. For days, the occurrence and his reflections con
nected with it, could not be dismissed from his thoughts.
His sense of propriety, his honorable nature would not
allow him to disclose what he had seen and heard. It
. must be kept to himself, and God would surely protect
the lovely and beloved one from harm. His correct ideas
of mercantile integrity, which he believed to be inseparable
from personal morality, would not suffer his confidence
to remain unshaken as to the stability and credit of Mer
lin, Brother & Co., so he determined to sell the paper that
he held and intended holding until its maturity. Before
the close of business hours, the day he had so made up
his mind to do, a broker had handed him a check for the
amount of the note, less discount, at the then ruling rate
of twelve per cent, per annum. It was now early in De
cember, and the note was due the middle of January.

118 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
Norden's mind was now relieved, so far as his business
interests were involved, for he had made it a rule, never
to place any confidence in the stability or credit of any
house, if he supposed or knew a partner to be guilty of
immoral acts. Once assured of the truth, (and in this
case his own observation was enough), he would trust no
man or firm, no matter how great their capital or credit.
For several weeks his calls at Mr. Nottingham's house
had decreased in number, and it was now but about once
in two weeks that he appeared there. Clara had noticed
his absence, and when he did come, his restrained con
versation, his absorbed and reserved manner. Many a
tear forced itself from her lovely eyes, when, in the pri
vacy of her room, she could give way to the sad thoughts
that oppressed her. " Oh ! could he but know my thoughts,
feelings and hopes, he could not speak so coldly ! " Her
struggles with herself, the wound caused by Merlin's
charges against him, her natural pride, the uneasiness,
doubts and uncertainties that beset her, all combined
were barriers, which her love swept away as with a tor
rent, and she was only the loving, but nearly distracted
woman. She had entered on a new sphere of life. She
felt that her lot was to suffer and to carry the heavy load
in her heart, and to strive to bear the burden. Crushing
her strength and wearing into her poor heart for weeks,
the sad looking eyes and the pale cheeks told the tale of
her distress.
Merlin had resolved " to settle matters," and to know
his fate on Christmas eve, and as the day approached he
found it difficult to stifle his impatience, or to keep down
a fear that perhaps, all might not be as he so eagerly
hoped for. He saw that Clarence Norden was now out of
the way, as for weeks he had seen him at Mr. Netting-

THE CROOKED AND THE STRAIGHT. 119
ham's but once or twice, and then he seemed only as a
formal visitor. But he could not drive off misgivings, as
to Clara's appreciation of him and his attentions. Her
manner of late had been constrained and unlike her
usual bright and cheery way, and though he talked
brilliantly and interestingly, she seemed absent or ab
sorbed in thought. Ever polite and courteous though
she was, he detected a lack of interest and warmth in her
welcome or conversation. He may have been mistaken
in his estimate of her character and disposition, but he
felt assured that her heart was yet free, and he would
strive to make it beat for him. His appearance, bearing
and position as a merchant were strong factors in his
favor, and, well versed in the world's ways, he knew that
he was considered desirable and eligible as a husband.
But, " L' Homme propose eb Dieu dispose."
Two days before Christmas, which was on Thursday, in
the year 18  , Clara went in her carriage on a shop
ping expedition to purchase presents. It was in the after
noon, and, owing to the crowds of people engaged in the
same pursuit, she was delayed in her errand. Just at
dusk, as she was entering the carriage to go home, she
was addressed with the words, " Miss Nottingham, can I
speak with you a few moments ? " Turning, as she heard
the voice, she saw a girl about her own age apparently,
plainly but neatly dressed, and with a pretty, expressive
face. Impulsively Clara replied to her question, saying,
" You can, of course, speak with me, but not here. Come
into the carriage with me and you can talk as we ride."
As the carriage door was closed Clara said, " Now tell
me what you wish." For a moment or two her compan
ion was silent, as if gathering composure and strength,
and with her voice trembling with agitation she said,

120 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
" You must excuse me. Miss Nottingham, but I could
not resist my inclination and the opportunity I have
waited for so long. I am miserable and wretched, and
you are in part the innocent cause. I have known that
Alfred visits you constantly, and he is my lover and
should be my husband. I wanted to warn you against
him. If you do care for him, I want to tell you, that
though he is not legally my husband, I am — by his vows
and promises, and in God's sight, his wife. Do not — oh !
do not take him away from me ! He was introduced to
me in my once loved and happy home, and (as I after
ward discovered) under an assumed name. He became
devoted in his attentions to me, and professing the
warmest friendship for me, I learned to love him until
my heart was wholly liisi Oh, bitter, bitter hour ! He
brought me presents, he spoke of our marriage in the not
distant future, and I was filled with joyous anticipations
of a life of perfect happiness. Our love was my life, my
all, but in an hour of confiding love, I listened to his
pleadings, promises and protestations, and yielded up to
him, all that a woman holds dear and sacred." As she
went on with her story, her agitation increased, the tears
flowed from her eyes. Clara kept silent, though not a
word was unheard, and she continued her sad story. " I
have boarded in A  Street, and for more than a year,
as he took me away from home, and all this time, in an
swer to my daily entreaties that he should marry me, he
as often promises and postpones it. At times he neglects
me, but I love him ; on him my life is staked, my all. I
have followed him to your house ; I have waited there for
him many a cold and weary hour, but do not take him
from me, for I shall die." Clara was aghast at this reve
lation. She cared not for him, but she was shocked at

THE CROOKED AND THE STRAIGHT. 121
his presumption and his despicable hypocrisy. Her
heart too, went out to the poor girl sitting by her side,
whose story, so simply told, carried conviction of its
truth with its utterance. The plaintive and eager tones
of her voice went straight to Clara's warm and tender
heart, and once more impulsively she said, " Poor soul !
my wish is to be your friend and to help you. If you
want a friend come to me, and I will be glad to aid and
to comfort you. Will you tell me your name? " She at
once replied Jennie Annabel, and Clara, telling the coach
man to drive to 281 A  Street, took her home. There
she parted from her, with the assurance that she would
not take her Alfred from her ; she did not want him, and
again repeated to poor Jennie the assurance, that in her,
she would ever have a friend.
Clara rode home filled with astonishment and disgust.
In her life, thus far, no such event had she been con
nected with, no such heartless and cruel treachery had -
been made known to her personally. It was to her a
new experience, and it was with a bitter and repulsive
feeling, that she thought of the guilty one. And he, this
hypocrite, this consummate villain, who had dared to
assail the character and speak so foully of the habits of
Clarence Norden ! From the moment that Jennie's story
had fallen on her ears, she saw the malignant falsity of
Merlin's accusations, and her heart blessed the event, that
had cleared away every effect of Merlin's endeavor, to
degrade Clarence in her estimation, and to poison her
mind against him.
Christmas eve came, and at eight o'clock Merlin ap
peared at Mr. Nottingham's. Faultlessly dressed and in
his most courteous manner he greeted Clara, her father
and her aunt, little dreaming of trouble, and with eager
9

122 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
hope that he would win the fair Clara for his own. He
at once opened the conversation about Christmas, its ob
servances and blessed privileges, and the lovely and uni
versal custom of gifts among relatives and friends, as
well as to the poor. As a friend, he begged Miss Clara, in
the presence of her father and her aunt, to accept a gift
from him which he had brought to her, as a token of
friendship that was true and enduring. He then placed
before her a small package, her father gallantly offering
to open it for her. It was a velvet case, and its contents
were a breastpin and earrings of sparkling diamonds set
in gold. Clara sat silent, while the others spoke of the.
purity and brilliancy of the precious stones, and praising
the exquisite taste shown in their beautiful settings.
After exhausting the subject Mr. N. and Aunt B. sought
their pleasant and cosy library, where they generally
passed their evenings, leaving Clara and Mr. Merlin
alone. Merlin's quick eye had seen Clara's unusual quiet man
ner, and he had noticed her silence, since she had spoken
in answer to his greeting, as he entered the room.
Though chilled by her silent manner and his spirit
dampened, his courage did not forsake him. He had re
solved that Christmas eve should be a night, that he would
ever remember, a time to solve all his doubts, and a time
when he would make his supreme effort to gain her love.
"This is the night that makes me
Or undoes me quite."
He little thought it would prove to be a night that, for
a far different reason than his own, he could never forget.
With wonderful self-possession and a clear, persuasive
tone of voice, he spoke : " You have not said. Miss Clara,

THE CROOKED AND TSE STRAIGHT. 123
that you will accept my gift, but I trust you will, and with
it much more that I offer to you, the entire devotion of a
heart that has long loved and that can only beat for you."
He paused, and for a moment or two there was a silence
that was felt. It foreshadowed to Merlin that his hopes
were vain, but he did not dream of what was in store for
him. Clara looked at him calmly, but with a look in her
eyes that he had never seen there before. Waiting, as it
were, to gain full strength for the effort, she at last spoke
slowly, distinctly and with emphasis : " Mr. Merlin, I am
astonished at your presumption, in daring to address me
in the words I have just heard. I will not accept your
gift, neither will I heed what you have said, when you
offer me the devotion of a heart that loves me, etc. I an
swer as a true woman should reply to you, not in polite
phrase, but in truthful and plain words : Take back your
gift, for to me it is worthless, as are your protestations of
love. I will have neither. Your infamous aspersions, a
few weeks ago, against the fair name of one who I am
proud to call a friend, were as untrue as they were malig
nant, and I rejoice in telling you so. As to love, if you
are capable of that noble feeling, give it where it belongs,
to poor Jennie Annabel, who you have shamefully de
ceived and treacherously ruined. As for myself, all I
have to say is, I beg you to rid me of your loathsome
presence at once and forever. As for yourself, now an
unmasked hypocrite, repent of your sins and crooked
ways, and strive to gain the forgiveness of God and man."
Abashed, overwhelmed, confounded and completely
discomfited. Merlin slunk away and rushed from the
house, with his diamonds, cursing every one in his rage,
and swearing vengeance on Clara, Jenijie, Clarence, and

124 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
mankind generally. " Hell raged in his bosom," and as
he sought his lodgings he uttered fearful oaths. But
sober thought and reflection, showed him, that he was
powerless to do evil against two of those he now hated
with almost tiger-like ferocity. They were indeed beyond
and above him, and naught but an insane desperation
would induce him to pursue violent or revengeful courses.
From Jennie and her love for him, from Clara, with her
noble and high-strung nature, he had naught to fear..
They would not publish his deserts to the world. Clar
ence could not again be traduced, for the reason for it no
longer existed. He felt himself almost annihilated under
the lofty dignity, the bitter scorn and withering contempt
of Clara's words, and in his heart felt their truth. Be
sides, other schemes and crooked ways in which he was
engaged, would not bear the light of day, and he must
keep them secret and undisturbed. Smothering his rage
as best he could, he passed his Christmas day in scheming
and plotting, but with a turbulent and troubled mind.
The severe tension to which Clara had been subjected,
the trying scene through which she had passed, brought
a reaction which nearly prostrated her. Recovering her
self, and entering the library, she asked the attention of
her father and aunt, and told them all. Beginning with
Merlin's base attack on Mr. Norden's character, how it
was made under the guise of friendly feeling, her strange
meeting with, and the still more strange disclosures of
Jennie, she. ended with a description of the scene just
passed with Merlin, and her scornful dismissal. " But I
have more to tell you, dear father, and my dear aunt, and
that is, that I love Clarence, and with all my heart and
soul. He has been driven away from me, by the constant
visits of the miserable creature who has just gone, and

THB CROOKED AND THE STRAIGHT. 125
may perhaps come back to us again. I shall feel better
if I confide in you unreservedly and tell you all that I
have experienced, all that the past few weeks have brought
to me of doubt, misery and well-nigh despair. I know
that you both love me, that my secret is safe with you,
and I can enjoy the blessed festival of Christmas if I can
unload the burdens, that have pressed so on my heart.
To you both, whom I dearly love, all that I know and
feel I have now confessed, and I ask you to love, cheer
and help me in my trial." She was soon folded in their
arms, and with tender kisses and embraces she bade them
good-night and went to her rest, rejoicing that she told
them all.
The occurrences of the past ten days, so momentous
and important to Clara, were, of course, unknown to
Clarence. He had passed his Christmas day with his
widowed mother and her two intimate friends. Though
a shade of sorrow with regard to Clara and his ardent
love for her disturbed his peace of mind, .the day and
evening were enjoyed with those he loved, who loved
and honored him. The thought of Merlin and his con
stant attentions to Clara would come to him, bringing
with it a bitter pang, as he imagined him in her loved
presence and enjoying her sweet society. But he would
hope on — " Hope springs eternal in the human breast — "
and, without knowing why, he looked for brighter and
happier days. :): ^ ^ ^ ^
Four days had passed since Christmas and the old year
was drawing near its end. Clarence had just closed a
very busy day over his books and accounts, and they
showed, despite the pressure and panic of the last five

126 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
months, a condition of strength and prosperity as to his
affairs, that gratified his pride and encouraged him as to
the future. The sun had sunk to rest and the brief twi
light of the short winter days was fading into dusk, as he
strode along Chestnut Street toward his home. It was
nearly dark, when he heard a voice near him. Ah! how
well he knew its tones ! " Mr. Norden, I am belated, and
will ask you to kindly escort me home." Clarence turned
and said, " Miss Clara, this is an unlooked-for pleasure,
and most gladly do I enlist in your service, ever ready to
assist a maiden in distress." Offering his arm, which she
took, they walked on, and their talk became general until
they had neared Mr. Nottingham's house. After a pause,
Clara abruptly said, " Mr. Norden, I wish to speak to you
on a certain subject, and I wish to do so freely, frankly,
fully, and ask you to be equally frank and candid with
me. It is not conventional, I know, but I trust to your
friendly feeling to excuse it. I have not seen you for
three weeks, and in that time much has transpired that
has distressed me, more than I can express to you. If
you will frankly answer a few questions that I will ask, it
may tend to remove some doubts, clear away some clouds
and bring back to us the friend you once were, but of late
so estranged." " Miss Clara," replied Clarence, " I do not
boast of sincerity as one of my qualities, but I will an
swer each and every question you may ask, be it what it
may, with perfect candor and without reservation. God
knows! To you I cannot be otherwise than sincere!"
With some hesitation and emotion plainly visible in her
sweet voice, Clara asked, " Mr. Norden, did you ever,
knowingly, do aught to annoy, affront or injure Mr. Mer
lin ? " " No, never." " And now, Mr. .]J;Jorden, to ask a
home question--^i|)- pardon me for asking it — have you

THE CROOKED AND THE STRAIGHT. 127
ever sought the haunts of the depraved and vicious ? Have
you ever indulged in drinking, gambling and other like
vices?" Clarence, in perfect amazement, exclaimed,
" Never ! and I call God to witness to my truth."
" Enough, thank God ! " cried Clara, and as he felt the arm
that rested on his tremble with emotion, and the tones of
her voice as she uttered the exclamation. Thank God ! it
thrilled through the deepest recesses of his own throbbing
heart. As they came to her home, he begged her to ex
plain to him the cause for her questions, and, promising
to do so, she invited him to come in. She then told him
of all that Merlin had said, and how it had astonished
and distressed her, adding, " I feared that my restrained
and perhaps, cold manner, though doubting the truth of
Mr. Merlin's assertions, had driven you from us. We have
felt deeply pained that you ceased your visits, and I de
termined to discover why it was so." Poor girl ! she now
felt it impossible to say more.
Clarence sat there, in the dim twilight hour and in a
state of bewilderment, and for a time entirely silent. At
last, rising to his feet and standing before her, he said,
"Miss Clara, will you please answer one question?"
There was a suppressed excitement in his voice, which
was soft and low, and she replied, " I will." " Was it that
you cared for my friendship, that induced you to ask those
questions ? " In a low tone she replied, " It was," and
then the strength of her heart and purpose failed her, and
the hot tears fell. Clarence could not see her evident
confusion and distress unmoved, and with eager hope he
threw himself beside her, and opening the fiood-gates of
his pent-up love, he poured it forth in burning words.
He told her of his deep, true love, of his hope, his dis
couragements, and in subdued tones *§aid to her, " Clara,

128 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
I love you as my life, can you ? oh ! tell me, can you and
do you love me ? " and the soft-breathed answer came,
" I can and I do." Clarence folded her in his arms, and
in one long and loving kiss, they pledged their mutual
faith, their pure and undying love.
*****
And here the curtain must fall, for the first words of a
love like theirs, are too sacred and blissful to be revealed.
It was nearly two hours, before their dinner hour at Mr.
N.'s, and yet to these two tried and now happy lovers, time
fiew with wings. Parting for a short hour or so, they were
again together, and all their mistakes, hopes, fears and
troubles were related and discussed. Merlin's disgraceful
conduct was told, the episode relating to Jennie was
related, as well as the crushing rebuff and exposure of the
consummate hypocrite. A friendly discussion as to which
of them had loved most and longest arose, but this re
mained a mooted point, the solution of which was post
poned indefinitely. Together they sought Mr. Notting
ham, and his consent to their love and engagement was
freely given. What had they now to do but to be happy?
And they were happy.
The days went on, and but ten of them had marked the
progress of the young year, when Clarence on his way to
the office, joined a business friend. As they walked on
together he asked the common question, " Any news this
morning?" " Why, yes," was the reply, "plenty of it; the
firm of Merlin, Brother & Co. have failed, and report
says there is great confusion in their accounts, and what
is worse, the senior partner has disappeared !" It was too
true, and discoveries were quickly made that came like
an earthquake on the business community. Alfred Mer- .
lin had used the firm's name and credit to supply himself

THE CROOKED AND THE STRAIGHT. 129
with funds to indulge in dissipation, women and gam
bling, and had gone no one knew whither, or whether he
had money or was penniless. The creditors, when in
possession of all the facts, released the two partners for
thirty per cent., in their notes at six, twelve and eighteen
months. The business had been well and honestly con
ducted, but the house was so crippled by the seventy thou
sand dollars used by Merlin, liquidation was the only re
sult. It is well to add that Merlin's brother and the other
partner started a new firm, their misfortunes and sterling
honesty bringing them friends, capital and credit and in
time they became a successful house.
AVith the advent of the new year there were two who
could realize that to them it was indeed a " a happy new
year." All doubts, fears, heart-struggles and almost
blasted hopes were over, and their happiness was assured.
Two more could now participate — Mr. Nottingham and
Aunt Becky. They had seen their first " castles in the
air " tumble to the ground in ruins, but they builded
their second on a better foundation, the mutual love of
Clara and Clarence, and the superstructure was equally
strong and firm.
Clara, amid all the happiness now dwelling in her
heart, did not forget Jennie. She went to see her, and
heard that Merlin had come to her but once after his ex
posure by Clara. Though he stormed and upbraided her
for her insane foolishness, as he termed it, and charged
her with bringing ruin upon him, he was too greatly
prostrated with his defeat and occupied with his schemes,
which he knew would be dragged to the light, to spare
any time with Jennie. He hurriedly bade her farewell,
leaving a one-hundred dollar bank note in her hand, and

130 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
telling her that business required him to go away, and
for an indefinite time, he gave her a cold, preoccupied
kiss and left her. She never saw him again. After long
consultation and discussion, Clara obtained her consent
to take a position that she had secured for her, in one of
the large dry goods stores of our city.
*****
A story without a marriage is defective, and does not
suit the taste, or comply with the wishes of our fair read
ers at least. Therefore, before this most veritable history
ends, there was a marriage and a wedding breakfast, and
all " en regie" The Spring, Summer and Fall had gone.
Our hero and heroine were full of happiness, passing the
days, weeks and months of each in pure and mutual en
joyment. Clarence, wishing to mark and celebrate De
cember 29th as the most happy day in his life (which
Clara admitted it was too, with her), asked her to give
herself to him on that memorable anniversary, and before
God, His Church and man, to become his loved and
adored wife. She yielded a blushing assentj and on that
clear, bright day they were married by Dr. B  , in St.
J  's Church. Never did the winter sun shine on a
more manly or handsome bridegroom, or pour its cheer
ing ray on the head of a sweeter or lovelier bride.
*****
A few days ago I met two of their grandchildren in a store
on Chestnut Street.

BUSINESS. 131

BUSINESS.

This is a wonderfully comprehensive word. It may be
said to include operations and transactions covering this
great world of ours, and presenting to the mind such a
vast aggregate, as to render it almost impossible to grasp
it. One cannot compute the enormous arraj'^ of figures
needed, to describe the amount of business transacted
throughout the world; and estimates would be useless,
for no correct result could be attained. There are but
few individuals known in this world, who can produce all
that is needed, to meet the necessities and wishes of life
and to a greater or less degree, each human being de
pends on some other, to supply these necessities or wishes.
In all countries, therefore, whether civilized or uncivilized,
there are operations of buying, selling or exchanging
commodities ever going on, all to be comprehended in
this one word-^Susiness.
So long as this world and its inhabitants exist, so long
will buying and selling continue. From our daily needs
and our fancies, arises the desire to supply our real wants
and our imaginary ones — to obtain what we do not pos
sess ; and others, knowing these real and fancied wants,
endeavor to place themselves in a position to supply them.
In this effort not only our own country, but every other
on the habitable globe, every spot, on this vast earth, is
sought to supply what we need and what we desire.
Trading, therefore, becomes universal, and this causes our
seas and oceans to bear on their bosom, the ships that
transport the productions of one country to the uses of
another, and creates and increases commerce, so that its
extent is almost immeasurable. Calling forth the active

132 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
and untiring efforts of the human mind, every faculty we
are capable of, is enlisted to ransack all parts of the world
and bring their productions to the point of demand.
The white sails of the merchant ships that fioat on every
sea and the hum of the wheels of manufactories, now heard
in all lands, give token that man's every faculty is in busy
movement, untiring and unceasing and the whole world
is now paying tribute to the demands of commerce and
business. The first principle of business, is the aim and desire to
buy at the smallest cost possible and to sell at the largest
sum or price that can be obtained. This, of course, brings
profit, and for this all strive. It rules the proceedings and
inspires the efforts of every one engaged in buying and
selling. It is the vital principle of trade, and in carrying
this principle into operation, the largest commercial
house as well as the smallest apple woman are alike
affected. It is a power that is felt everywhere, it is uni
versal, and it stimulates one and all alike, to buy at the
lowest point and to sell, if circumstances allow, at the
highest figure attainable. An over-supply of any article,
or an active competition, may interfere at times and the
desired result be unattainable, but these are contingencies
that the wary and vigilant trader strives to avoid. Trou
bles of various kinds, must and will befall those who are
engaged in business transactions, for the conditions of
trade and commerce are often precarious and generally
uncertain. I do not intend entering into full details with regard
to business matters, for to do so would be a task for which
I confess myself as unfit, and it would prove to be an un
dertaking almost illimitable and beyond my desire to

BUSINESS. 133
attempt. This being a book of recollections and experi
ences, I confine my attention to matters which have come
under my notice ; such as have impressed themselves on
my memory, or with which I have been personally con
nected. To recall all that I vividly remember would be.
well nigh impossible, but there are some few which de
serve to be rescued from oblivion. Their relation may,
perhaps, prove of use and advantage to some one who,
perchance, may read these pages. It is an admitted fact
that " experience is the best teacher," but how few there
are, especially those engaged in business pursuits, who
ever seem to profit by the experience of others ! They
wait to be taught by their own. In many instances, the
learning of the lesson comes too late. They may see in
others the inevitable results of speculative operations, of
too heavy expenses, of want of care as to credits, of lack
of energetic effort, or some other serious defect in the man
agement of their business, but they do not lay it to heart.
They may, perhaps, avoid some of the methods their un
fortunate fellows have pursued and therefore, think their
own position a safe one. They will not, as they should,
learn from the experience or the fate of others. I once
heard an eminent and successful merchant make the re
mark : " No man is entirely fitted to conduct business suc
cessfully, until he has failed two or three times." There
is much truth in this statement.
Nearly every one who enters on a business career, or,
as is commonly said, " commences business," has an idea
that he is sure to succeed. Everything seems to wear a
promising aspect; all shows a roseate hue. The skies
look bright, the future full of brilliant anticipations and
hope is buoyant and elastic. Failure, disaster, ruin are
in the dim and far-off distance and if thought of at all.

134 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
are only considered as impossibilities. " I shall guard
against all these. I shalb avoid all the pitfalls into which
others have fallen, and shall take good care to keep clear
of danger." Alas ! too great self-confidence may produce
a calamitous result ! The intention is praiseworthy and
commendable, but " let him that standeth take heed lest
he fall."
I well remember a conversation with my father, (a
merchant of some forty years' standing and who had
never failed in business) when I was at the age of eighteen
years. It was occasioned by his urging me, as he did
for two years (I had fully been " prepared for college "
twice), to pursue a collegiate course as he had done. He
wanted me to finish my education by the usual four
years' course of study and then, that I should adopt a
profession. My inclinations, however, were adverse to a,
college life, or the profession of law, medicine or theology.
My wish was to be a merchant and having this desire, I
became interested and absorbed in the usages, laws and
pleasures of trade, the activities and responsibilities con
nected with a mercantile life. It had charms for me
which I could not see in studious pursuits, and my in
clinations became fixed on the idea, that no occupation
was as desirable as that of a merchant. In combating
this desire of mine, and with the wish to influence me
toward a professional life, he argued from the standpoint
of his long experience. He spoke of the great anxieties,
the wearing cares ever attending a business career, and
then made the astounding assertion (as I then thought it
to be), " there are not ten in one hundred of those who go into
business who succeed; ninety per cent, either give up business
or fail."
To say that such a statement astonished me, but feebly

BUSINESS. 136
describes my amazement. I had every confidence in
my father's wisdom, but this could not be. As he was get
ting old, it must be that he was over-prudent and took
a pessimistic view of trade and business. He must be
mistaken in making such a sweeping statement. I, with
the ardor and eager hope of youth, could only look at
business affairs and business men generally with the eye
of the optimist, and thought it impossible that ninety in
every one hundred were unsuccessful. But I have lived a
business life of nearly fifty-three years, an^ have seen the state
ment fully verified. In fact, I fully believe that but five in
every hundred are successful. The wayside . is strewn
with wrecks — and unfortunate individuals and firms in a
few years — amid the push and activity of business life,
pass into almost total oblivion. Looking over an old
Ledger not long since, I was struck with the fact, that
many names were entirely forgotten and but very few
were there recorded who had never failed. Any one who
has passed through a long business life, will readily en
dorse what I have stated.
I have passed a great many years in active business
life. Some of these years were pleasant and prosperous,
yielding a good harvest, but many of them were marked
by great commercial distress and disaster. Periodical re
vulsions and convulsions in trade, would come every few
years, 1837 to 1873 inclusive, the money market be strin
gent, failures ensued and all the profits of years would be
swept away in a season. With confidence shaken, a
" Panic " would arise and the wear and tear, the anxieties
and distresses of the mercantile interests would become a
strain, almost too severe to be borne. The heart of the
merchant, the overstrained mind, would be filled with
dire forebodings at the breaking down of credits, the

136 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
shrinkage of values and consequently, impending ruin.
The wearied and overtaxed brain would reel under its
overwhelming load, and it would seem that no relief could
be found but in death. In all the channels of trade and
commerce, all looked dark, gloomy and unpromising, and
these were spread like a funeral pall over crushed hopes
and the blasted prospects of business life. I well re
member during one of these "Panics," out of seventy-two
wholesale dry goods houses in our city, fifty-eight went to
protest and failed ! This is no overdrawn or highly-colored
picture, but a plain statement of facts and many who are
still engaged in business, will remember those "times
that tried men's souls."
Business is now conducted on a different basis and
manner, its first principles and aims remaining un
changed, in nearly every department and in its many de
tails, from what it was some fifty or sixty years ago.
Then, boys or youths entering a store began at the very
lowest round of the ladder. When I was eighteen years
old, I became a clerk in a large domestic goods commis
sion house. My duties were to open the store early, to
sweep both the counting-room and store, dust the desks
and have everything in perfect order for the daily busi
ness which began before nine a.m. In the late Fall,
Winter and early Spring the making of fires was added to
my morning duties, necessitating my getting up early
and eating my breakfast before daylight, by the light of
a lamp, (no gas in those days), and in cold or stormy
weather it was cheerless and disagreeable work. This I
did for more than two years, during the day continually
on my feet, walking many miles each day, (no horse-cars
then) and all without any salary. Many of these duties
are now performed by porters or others appointed for

BUSINESS. 137
such purposes, and the young clerks of the present day
have but faint ideas of what those of former years had
to bear or undergo. For four and a-half years I continued
as clerk, the last two being advanced ; it proving to be a
good school, educating me in a knowledge of books and
accounts and the details of a business life.
And here I must mention that my clerkship and my
business as principal, cover a period of about fifty-seven
years. My remembrances and experience are necessarily
connected with the dry goods business, for I have been
engaged in no other branch of trade. When I began
business for myself, it was the custom of the jobbers of
dry goods, to come to the stores of the commission mer
chants, to look through the stock and select and purchase
their supplies there. As our country and population in
creased so did business operations. Competition sprung
up and became active, at times unfair and unscrupulous,
and in the course of years new methods were developed
and the whole order of buying and selling was completely
changed. Nearly nine-tenths of the purchases made by
jobbing houses, are now made in their own places of busi
ness. Patterns, cards and samples of goods are taken to
them and the buying is transferred from the commission
to the jobbing house. Salesmen, young and old, beset
them at all hours of the day and competition " grows on
what it feeds." This manner of doing business induces
active vigilance on the part of the seller, making him un
tiring and persistent. So too, is it with the jobbers, for
with them competition rages and they are forced to send
out their salesmen, here and there, throughout the coun.
try, armed with patterns, swatches, cards, etc., in boxes,
bags and bundles, to force goods on the attention of their
customers and persuade them to buy. Thus competition
10

138 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
reduces prices, increases expenses and diminishes profits.
But we are living in a fast age, and must move as others
around us are moving and accustom ourselves to present
methods. One of the first principles of business, to go where
an article is that you want and buy it, is upset. To
gather as good a stock as one's circumstances will allow
and have customers to come to select and to buy, is really
businesss in its normal condition. To go to the buyer,
to run after him, to persuade him to buy, is abnormal.
Argue as we may, the present methods of buying and
selling are all wrong. Granted that we are forced to use
them because others do and that therefore they are im
perative, it does -not, it cannot make them right. The
seller must become almost a suppliant for custom and the
buyer, independent, sometimes uncivil and almost defiant.
It lowers the self-respect of the seller and increases the
self-conceit of the buyer, thus bringing between the two
into existence, the worse, instead of the better feelings of
our nature. Costly indeed, are the present ways of busi
ness and the only excuse that can be given is, that though
employers are saddled with a heavy cost, many em
ployees are supported by salaries paid to them as travel
ing salesmen. I have lately been told, that those en
gaged in the boot and shoe trade alone, expend in rail
road fares and hotel bills, the sum of nearly three mil
lions of dollars a year.
A detailed account of singular transactions, strange
proceedings and curious occurrences among business
men, which have come under my observation during my
long business life, would be an undertaking from which I
should shrink. It would take volumes to record them

BUSINESS. ' 139
all and prove to be an almost endless task. The greater
number must pass into oblivion, but I select a few re
membrances, which, while they may amuse perhaps, or
astonish the reader, may at the same time " point a
moral." All that I may relate or describe here, is done
with no desire to injure any one's memory and will be
impersonal — not to be traced to any individual. It is
also recorded, with the wish that all merchants and busi
ness men may see that strict " honesty is the best policy."
That true sincerity of purpose, straightforward dealing,
perfect integrity of character and a determination to act
on the Christian precept, " Do unto others as you would
that others should do unto you," are better and more potent
factors in business success than a course of trickery, de
ceit, or cunning contrivances to accomplish a temporary
advantage. It is perhaps a hopeless expectation that in
business operations the practice of " The Golden Rule"
can, or will ever, become universal. There are, however,
instances, where trade has been and is conducted and
business affairs moved and performed, with an aim and
purpose just, honorable and scrupulously honest before
God and man. In such cases the character of the mer
chant is elevated and exalted and .becomes the admira
tion of the world. Would that such instances were the
rule and not the exception !
The " tricks of trade " cannot be chargeable against
any one kind of business or class of dealers. Unfortu
nately they are common among large and small operators,
with the wholesale as well as with the retail merchant.
My own experiences have been with the commission and
jobbing houses in the dry goods trade, and I frankly ad
mit that, so far as " crooked practices " are concerned,
they were found in both branches. Taken, as a class,

140 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
business men are generally in too great a hurry to make
money, to accumulate, not a competency, but wealth.
Not satisfied with enough, they want more, and in order
to obtain this, they suffer the greed for gain to undermine
their sense of right and wrong and to induce them to
adopt extraordinary methods to accomplish the fruition
of their desires. Allowing their wishes to dominate
them, they become careless with regard to principle and
find themselves enslaved and controlled by an absorbing
passion " to do evil that good may come." As an illus
tration of what slippery practices and illegitimate
methods may produce, I will record a sharp business trans
action. In the year 18  the principal partner in one of the
commission houses in this city, in looking over the list of
their stock of goods, saw that there were one hundred
and fifty-four packages of bleached muslins or cottons on
hand belonging to an eastern manufacturing firm. The
goods had not met with brisk sales and the acceptances,
which had been given as advances on the several invoices,
had matured and been paid, only a few cases having
been sold. There were the one hundred and fifty-four
cases on hand, " staring him in the face," and represent
ing a goodly amount of cash funds advanced. How and
where to sell them puzzled him, and it became a prevail
ing and worrying thought with him, what steps he
should take to sell the goods. He wanted to protect the
interests of the manufacturer as well as those of his own
firm and without selling at low figures. The average
business man has an active working brain, and it was not
long before a plan was evolved, by which our hero con
vinced himself that the wished-for result, namely, the
sale of the one hundred and fifty-four cases could be ob-

BUSINESS. 141
tained and he resolved to put it into execution without
unnecessary delay.
The next morning he went to a jobbing-house and
taking the buying partner aside, in the most confidential
manner informed him that he had just eleven cases of
bleached goods, the grade and style well known to him,
which he wanted to close. There were no more of them,
it would close the invoice, there would be no more made,
as the manufacturer contemplated making another de
scription of goods and by taking the eleven cases, his
house would have the control of that make and he would
allow a small discount and a little extra time, in consider
ation of closing them out. With such statements and
inducements presented to him, the purchaser could not
well decline to buy and the eleven cases were sold. Goods
were selling on a credit of eight months, and the time was
extended to nine.
Proceeding on his " labor of love," our energetic mer
chant went to other houses which he had selected, pursu
ing the same tactics, telling the same story (?) and meet
ing with the same success. Before the day was half done,
he had visited/oMrfee?i jobbing houses and persuaded each
one to buy " the only eleven cases left I" Result — the one
hundred and fifty-four packages of bleached goods were
sold and " closed out." But — was this the only result ?
Misrepresentation, deception and absolute falsehood were
triumphant and his plan was successful, but at what a cost !
In two or three days' time each firm who bought the
eleven cases, discovered the trick that had been played
upon them, but, owing to the high position held by the
commission house, nothing was done and the matter was
hushed up. One jobbing house, however, sent back the
eleven cases, with a sharp and spicy note, stating that

142 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
under the circumstances, such a purchase as they had
made cancelled itself. What became of that lot of eleven
cases " the deponent saith not." Comment on this trans
action seems unnecessary, but the question arises, what
were the reflections of the seller, who had deceived and
lied, and what were those of the buyers, who had been so
betrayed and hoodwinked by an unscrupulous and dis
honest merchant ?
I turn now, and with a feeling of relief, to the interest
ing record of
A Noble Merchant and an Honest Man.
Tbe circumstances I am now about to relate, are en
tirely dissimilar to the foregoing and shed a bright lustre
on the path of a business life. It is like a sweet perfume,
exhaling its delicious scent, like a ray of pure, bright sun
shine, that cheers our "way in life and causes us to stop as
we go onward and admire the character of " an honest
man — the noblest work of God !" All that I here write
came under my own personal observation, in fact I was
personally and financially interested in the events. In
the Spring of 1834, I think it was, and before I had been
engaged in business a year, I received one morning, a note
from one of my customers, requesting me to call at his
store. I did so at once and found him laboring under
great mental excitement. He informed me that he was
in a financial emergency, and could see no way or plan
to pursue, but to suspend payment on that day, call his
creditors together and throw himself on their best judg
ment and mercy. All he had, should be given up to his
creditors and to them he would submit himself and his
affairs. With an air of manliness and sincerity he told

BUSINESS. 143
me of his troubles in detail and his frankness impressed
me with the feeling that I listened to an honest man. It
was to me a novel experience, a young merchant and my
first bad debt. The amount owing to me was three thou
sand five hundred dollars and though I pitied his evi
dent distress, I felt myself trembling with excitement over
the fact, that it must prove a regular fa,ilure, and that I
was interested to such a large extent.
The suspension soon became known and a meeting of
creditors was called the next day. His books, accounts
and statement of his affairs were laid before them, and a
committee appointed to examine them and report to an
adjourned meeting the succeeding day. The concurrent
opinion of the creditors and the committee was, that our
debtor showed himself to be an honest man and one who,
though carried down to suspension and failure by un
toward circumstances, had shown by his manly course
that he was a conscientious, straightforward merchant,
entitled to our lenient consideration. The report of the
committee stated that a careful examination had been
made, and a resolution was attached, recommending a
settlement for seventy-five per cent., and that a full re
lease be given for the remaining twenty-five per cent. It
was also suggested that the seventy-five per cent, be di
vided into nine different payments at four, six, eight,
ten, twelve, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen and twenty-four
months, and, as it was acceptable, in a few days all the
creditors had signed the compromise agreement.
Before the fourth instalment became due, five were paid
in anticipation and the following two instalments were
also cancelled before maturity. Careful management in
selling the stock of goods and in collecting the assets, en
abled him to cash the notes at eighteen and twenty-four

144 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
months, in nineteen months after the failure occurred
and his legal responsibilities were at an end. Blessed
and prospered in his new business efforts, he had not only
supported himself and his family, but paid all his in
debtedness and no legal claim existed against him or his
estate. Not long after these events a favorable oppor
tunity offered itself, for him to enter on a different business,
and selling out to a new partnership, he left the dry
goods trade and began a new business career.
Some seven years afterward, while sitting in the office
of my store one dull winter afternoon, I was surprised to
see Mr. W  enter the counting-room. After exchanging
the usual courtesies, he laid on my desk a one-hundred
dollar bank-note and immediately hurried out. I called
to him, but he paid no attention to it and left the store.
He repeated these visits at various intervals, until one
day he came and taking a seat near me, he handed me a
cheque and said, "Now, my friend, I give you the balance
of the twenty-five per cent, you so kindly released to me
some years ago ; for God has blessed and prospered me
and I can do what I have long desired — pay every dollar
I owe, so as to have no moral or legal obligation against
me." I was in a state of profound astonishment, but
gave him a receipt "in full for all demands," expressing
my great surprise and assuring him of my heartfelt con
gratulations and good wishes, adding that this must be
the happiest day of his life. And here let me make the
remark, that in every failure (and there were more than
one hundred of them) in which I have been interested for
more than fifty years past, there has not been one single
instance but this one, where I have ever been paid in full.
*****
Six years after Mr. W  had cancelled what he called

BUSINESS. 145
a moral obligation, he once more called at my place of
business. I was still more greatly surprised to see him
than before, and my astonishment increased, when he
handed me a paper covered with figures and a cheque
for seven hundred and forty-four dollars and sixty-eight
cents. On my asking him what was the meaning of it
all, he said, " Friend J  , I have carefully computed the
interest on the amount due you at the time of my failure,
about fourteen years ago and on the payments made to
you, and this cheque is for the balance of interest due to
you!!!" To say that my wonder was great, even almost
overwhelming, and astonishment supreme, barely de
scribes the amazement I felt at this unparalleled instance
of perfect and unusual integrity of character and purpose.
Compare this instance of true and noble manliness with
that of " a sharp business transaction," before related.
I have never known a similar case and have never
been able to forget the great impression it made on me.
For many years after, I watched the career of this honest,
this almost unique specimen of the good merchant, the
just man. He continued to be prosperous, was chosen to
fill offices of trust (without emolument) and used his
large means for charity and in various ways to improve
the condition of his fellow-man. But a few years ago his
honest, upright life here on earth was ended and he was
borne to the grave, followed by many who knew his
virtues, admired his character and gave him the meed of
their respect and esteem. He was the truly honest man,
the noble-minded merchant, the active philanthropist
and, better than all else — the true Christian.
This humble tribute I pay to the memory of John M.
Whitall, and
" The sweet remembrance of the just
Shall flourish while he sleeps ia dust."

146 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
One occurrence I must not overlook in my remem
brances, as it shows how singularly some persons proceed
in a business transaction. Instead of acting in a frank
and straightforward manner they strive to " compass
their ends '' by a crooked and not always truthful course.
The circumstance I refer to, happened some thirty years
ago. It was a dull, disagreeable afternoon, when one of
my customers came in and took pains to assure me as he
entered, that he only came " to have a little chat." He
had a cigar in his mouth and tendering one to me, we
were soon having quite a conversation on various mat
ters. He was a " hail fellow well met " withal and had
an impulsive, jolly manner, seldom addressing anyone
except by their first name and in a free and easy way.
But I knew him well and had discovered that he was
"sharp in a trade," and with all his freedom of speech, he
was shrewd and culculating. After a half hour's talk, he
spoke of goods and then led the way to the special kind
I was making and selling. At last he said, with an
attempt at indifference, " if you had a large and choice
lot of colored cambrics and would sell them at the low
est market price I might buy them."
I replied " I have just what you want for your sales as
to colors, quality, finish, etc., and there are nine hundred
pieces there, I have been selling freely at nine cents,
but if you will take the lot I will take eight and three-
quarter cents, eight months from the first of next month."
" Oh, no ! " said he, " I think I can do better." He left
me and before ten the next morning he came again and
said, " I don't want them, but I'll give you eight and a-
quarter cents." I replied, " I cannot and will not sell
them at a fraction less than what I have named." Again
he left the store, but about four o'clock in the afternoon

BUSINESS. 147
he appeared the third time and at once remarked, " I
have just seen a lot exactly like yours, and can buy them
at eight and a-half cents." I could only say, " you had
better buy them if they are all right, for I will sell the nine
hundred pieces only at the figures I have named." Once
more he disappeared, but the next day, to my surprise,
he came the fourth time and said, " I will take the lot
and want them delivered as soon as possible."
When he first came, though endeavoring to conceal his
motive for coming, he came to buy ; he assumed indiffer
ence to blind me ; he said the second visit, that he could
do better ; the third time in coming, he said he could buy
similar goods at a less price (why did he not buy them?),
and on his fourth appearance, he purchases the goods and
at a better price than what he was offered at another
place. Why use deceit, crookedness and direct falsehood
in order to purchase nearly four thousand dollars worth
of goods and then, by buying the lot, -convict himself ?
And echo answers. Why ?
The great and wonderful changes that have taken place
within the last twenty or twenty-five years in the opera
tions of buying and selling, are very marked in almost
all branches of business. They are so complete it is like
a real revolution. When the population of our country
was smaller, the number of buyers and sellers was, of
course, equally so. The relations between the two, were
different then and each party stood, as I may say, in
more equal positions, the one to the other. Our popula
tion has become so large, the facilities for communica
tion and transportation so greatly increased and simpli
fied, the relations between business men, especially those
of seller and buyer, in almost every branch of trade have

148 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
very much changed. The seller now goes to the buyer
and one of the first principles and customs of trade are
reversed. The natural consequence is, that the buyer
occupies the more advantageous position of the two.
Competition has become so active, energetic, aggressive,
that all are anxious to sell and therefore, force the article
to be sold, on the attention of the buyer. This places the
seller in the position of a suitor for favor and induces
him to use extravagant terms to set forth the qualities of
what he offers, in the endeavor to get ahead of competi
tors. As he descants on the superiority of the article in
question, its low price, etc., the buyer meets him by the
endeavor to depreciate its value, or with the statement
(true or false, as the case may be) that he is offered and
can buy the same, or something exactly similar, at lower
prices or better terms. To make the sale, the seller
underbids himself and in making the sale, finally, has an
uncomfortable consciousness that he has not obtained the
full value for his goods, the buyer chuckling over his out
witting the seller and getting his purchase at lower
figures than some others. Buyers, by the eagerness on
the part of the seller to sell and his subservience in
doing so, become fully aware of the importance and
power of their position, claiming the right to say and to
do, what cannot be termed as fair and just between man
and man.
" Human nature is the same everywhere," and as it is
" prone to evil" rather than to what is good, its propensities
toward slippery methods and crooked practices have a
wide and tempting opportunity for full development in
the intricacies of buying and selling. The experience of
every business man will bear witness to the truth of this
assertion. With the advantages, as in the present mode

BUSINESS. 149
of buying and selling, offered to the purchaser, it is not to
be wondered at, that the position of the latter is far supe
rior to that of the seller. He has the upper hand and to
briefly express it, has the seller in his power. That he
will use it goes without saying, and the concurrent testi
mony of sellers is — " we have to do pretty much what our
customers want us to do." The system is all wrong, and
though business men may say " we have to do just what
others are doing, or fall behind in the race," it does not
make it right. Sharp Practices.
As I was going to my store one morning (it was my
custom to stop in and see some of my customers), I called
at a large jobbing house to see if any of my goods were
wanted. As soon as the buying partner saw me, he said,
" We want four cases (of a certain style of goods) and they
must be sent up at once, the price is the same as the last?"
I answered that it was the same, 8i cents net, ten days.
" Well ! send them up, for we have sold some of them and
come in Monday, as we may perhaps want more." This
was on Thursday and when I called again, they ordered
four cases more. I sent up the goods with the bill, as I
had done before. Two days afterwards the bills were
brought down to me by a clerk, who said : " S. S. & S.
want two per cent, taken off these bills." I replied, " I
cannot do it, nor can I understand why they ask it, for
the price and terms were fully understood by them and
by me." He said he knew nothing about the matter and
was told to bring the bills and to ask that two per cent.
be deducted. I promised to call and see Mr. S  ^
which I did that day. On entering the store, I was
greeted by the following, spoken in a rather rude and

150 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
overbearing manner : " Since you were here, we have been
offered the same goods, by another party, at two per cent.
less, and we expect you to take it off ; if you don't we will
buy no more goods from you." Argument was useless, for
although the price and terms had been named, before the
delivery of the goods and they were bought and sold, the
buyer issued the threat that no more goods would be
bought of me, unless the deduction he claimed was made.
Reason, just dealing and common sense were pushed
aside and only the power allowed to and assumed by the
buyer was used, to force me to comply with an unjust. de
mand. It was a large house, they were good customers
and I had been selling them freely and largely. Was I
to assert my independence and claim my rights as a man,
or, for fear of losing them as customers, accede to their
unjust demand ? Must I submit to a palpable wrong to
retain them as buyers of my goods, or must I insist on my
rights as a seller ? Manliness suggested that I should take
the latter course, but prudence and self-interest compelled
me to adopt the buyer's proposal. Indignant at the sum
mary way in which they used their threat, outraged by
their defiance of just and honorable principles, I swallowed
the bitter draft and submitted to the wrong. I deducted
the two per cent., which amounted to thirty-seven dollars
and as I had reported the sales to the owner when I made
them (I was obliged to render the account as " sketched"),
losing two-thirds of my commissions. From that day to
the present, I find myself utterly unable to forget the in
justice, the despicable meanness of this act, done by a
large and respectable (?) jobbing house.
Here is a specimen of the position occupied by the
buyer and the seller. The latter, tacitly allowing the
former, to assume and to use a power, at variance with

BUSINESS. 151
the proprieties or the just demands of mutual business
intercourse or transactions. Can any one need a stronger
instance, as proof of the strained relations that exist be
tween the buyer and seller ? The power, the advantage
all lies in the hands of the purchaser, and except in cases
where the seller has a standard article for sale which the
jobber must have and keep in stock, the buyer has the
seller completely at his mercy.
Another instance of crooked methods or sharp prac
tices comes to mind. One of our large commission houses,
noted for conducting their business on correct and manly
principles, had several lines of choice and well-known
makes of goods, manufactured by an Eastern incorpo
rated company. There was one style of goods sent to
market, which became very popular and known to the
jobbing and retail trade throughout the country, bear
ing the imprint of the company. This caused the goods
almost to sell themselves. A jobbing house of large
means and extensive facilities for the distribution of
goods, called on the commission house referred to and
stated that they would take a large quantity of a certain
style of goods. They wanted, in consideration of buying
a goodly number of packages, a slight concession in price
and terms. After some little discussion and promising
that they would dispose of the goods " only in the regular
way and in legitimate trade," the concession was made
and the bargain consummated.
Forty-eight hours afterwards, the commission mer
chant, to his profound astonishment, heard from a neigh
boring city, that the goods were freely offered for sale to
the trade, and at lower figures than the regular prices.
It was but a short time before the buyer discovered, that
he was in the presence of an irate and positive Individ-

152 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
ual, who opened a stormy interview and indulged in
"language more forcible than polite." Reminded of a
broken promise, of pursuing an underhanded course
and an utter disregard of principle, the firm was in
formed that the goods must be paid for at full, regular
price, must be sold at the regular jobbing price and that
only in mercy, would their name be retained on the books
and they be allowed to buy their supplies. It is needless
to add that the jobbing house "came off second best."
Deception, trickery and downright falsehood met their
just reward. The retribution quickly followed the dis
graceful act, but the contempt felt by the one party to
the transaction, must still continue and by the other, it
will prove a sting to be felt, not only then and now, but
for years to come. The practice of improper methods
may, at times, produce some temporary advantage, but
it cannot be for long and " be sure your sin will find you
out." Numerous instances might be related, similar to
the two now recorded, which are fresh in my memory,
but these will serve to show that illegitimate methods in
business, as well as crooked practices in other pursuits,
or in social life, can never prove to be prosperous. They
will " return to plague the inventor," and though no legal
action may ensue, the only harvest which can be realized,
is an abiding sense of moral degradation, which is endur
ing contempt and everlasting shame.
Turn we now to a subject, which for many years has
been a matter of deep thought with me and I may add
with others, namely :
The Absence of Courtesy Among Business Men.
This is a somewhat delicate subject to handle and
though I am aware that it could be treated with much

BUSINESS. 153
more force and clearness by an abler pen then mine,
I have a hope that what I write may prove to be " a
word in season." If so, my wish and intention will be
fulfilled. The relations now existing between the seller of
goods and the buyer may be termed abnormal and
strained. It is not natural, though common; it is not
one of manly feeling on both sides, though it may be
prevalent, and when one sees the condition of affairs, an
irresistible desire 'arises, to bring about a better state of
things. This is the case with me, and if I can excite in
any one of my former business associates a desire to
ameliorate or improve the situation, I shall be satisfied.
If a proper spirit of kindly feeling and the practice of
simple courtesy existed, the strained relation would
change of itself. As I have before stated, the position of
the buyer is a commanding one. He has a power, an
advantage and something like control over the seller,
occupying the point of dictation and conclusion. He it
is who has to decide matters. The seller persuades, the
buyer waits. The seller urges his point, the buyer
determines. Human nature is weak, but when it catches
" the point of vantage " and is sure of possessing it, it
shows its power and assumes to command and be superior
to antagonizing interests. Let this be so, but in holding
one's point, in maintaining one's position, let it be done
in kindliness and the practice of courtesy. Why should
not the same pleasant politeness and kind bearing we
show to one another in social life, be used in business
intercourse ? One should not and cannot expect, to see
the same courtesies shown in the social circle, to be in
daily practice in the somewhat rough ways of business.
But there can be more gentleness, more suavity of man
ner, more charitable and kindly consideration for the
11

154 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
feelings of others, than now exists and there would be no
loss, but an absolute gain to every one putting it into
active practice.
In my many years experience as a seller of goods, I
have often noticed various exhibitions of the superiority
that seems to be claimed by the buyer over the seller. It
has seemed to be almost the rule and not the exception,
that when you approached the buyer you encountered an
air of indifference or reticence of speech that seemed to be
assumed for the occasion. Perhaps no notice taken of
your presence, (this was often the case with me, after I was
seventy years old and waiting to see and speak to one not,
half my age), perhaps a short rebuff, without stopping to
hear what you were to say. Such treatment is galling,
exasperating and the total absence of common courtesy,
causes one to think so much the worse of poor human
nature. Little kindnesses and courtesies in the home circle and
in social life shed an infiuence over all that enjoy them
and tend greatly to make life happy. They are never
lost, but though their stay may be " as fieeting as the
morning dew," yet, like that ^ew, they shed their in
fluence, reviving and freshening the dull and barren way
of our pilgrimage in life. A pleasant word, a kindly act,
a common courtesy, is never given in vain. It will be
felt and appreciated, ever producing an abundant harvest,
even if sown in unpromising soil. Its absence generally
in the circles of trade, makes the life of a business man
coarse, rough, hard and unrefined, wanting in those
pleasant touches, which soften the roughness and smooth
the edges of business life.
I relate one of many, yes, very many instances, that
have been of my own experience and almost daily occur-

BUSINESS. 155
rence, where the commonest courtesy has been wanting.
I have gone into the store of X. W. & Co. with my
samples, and seeing Mr. W  , the buying partner, not
particularly occupied or engaged, address him with a
" Good morning." In a tone of voice quite indifferent
and not remarkably encouraging, he replies, " How are
you ?" A dead silence follows. At last I approach him,
announcing my errand, and before I hardly speak a few
words he interrupts me, saying, " I don't want any
goods" and turns away from me as if I was a porter,
or, may be, a beggar. Surely a few pleasant words with a
pleasant manner would have cost him nothing. Some
times when I have entered the store, though knowing
that he has seen me, not the slightest word or look of
recognition is visible, and I have waited a quarter or half
an hour, no notice taken of me or my errand unless, per
haps, a clerk or a salesman who has more courtesy in his
composition than his employer, is ready to exchange a
few pleasant words.
Such occurrences are but common experiences and I
have been obliged to undergo such treatment many times
and particularly in the last twenty-five years of my busi
ness life and when past the age of fifty, sixty and seventy
years. Buyers seem to look upon sellers as if somewhat
inferior beings, possessed of "no rights which they are
bound to respect." I do not mean to say that all buyers
are rude, indifferent or wanting in pleasant manners, but
those who are kind and courteous, are the exception and
not the rule. There are " all sorts and conditions of
men " and the seller is bound to take human beings as
he finds them. He must study the character and dis
position of his customer and with this knowledge he may
be able to get on with him, if he will possess his soul in

156 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
patience and bear such indifference and rebuffs as may
fall to his lot.
No one in any position of social or business life, ever
loses by being courteous and pleasant in his intercourse
with his foUow-men. It must have its influence for good ;
it will always bring back, to the one who uses courtesy,
a pleasing satisfaction, as well as giving the same to those
who receive it. Gentlemanly bearing and a genial manner
are not only easily attained, but the spirit, the essence, if
the wish to be courteous is felt, will bud and blossom into
the full flower and bear good fruit. Let all business men
keep this in view and the paths of a buisness life, marked
by little courtesies, will be far different from those we
walk in now. Let those who have the gift of a kindly
manner, cultivate its growth and let those who have it
not, plant the seed, cherishing it until it " brings forth
fruit to perfection." Then the rough edges, so often seen
and felt in the intercourse of business men, will soften,
become smooth, giving place to mutual refinement and
courtesy of manner, that will cause what is now like a
weary desert " to blossom like the rose."
" There is no friendship in trade." An old adage and
stating a simple and well-known truth. But if friend
ship cannot exist in a trade transaction, that is no reason
why there should not be friendly and kindly intercourse.
I have often noticed the absence of the latter and have been
sometimes at a loss to account for it. Frequent commu
nication between human beings is calculated to produce a
friendly feeling for each other, to a greater or less degree,
but I have been somewhat surprised to find, in my long
experience, that in business life, it is always at the mini
mum. I have been forcibly reminded of this, in my own
case, when I gave up business and " retired " in the spring

BUSINESS. 157
of 1886. I had spoken of my intention to each and every one
of my customers, to some of whom I had been selling goods
for many years, ranging from five to nearly forty years.
Of the large number to whom I had been selling goods,
only four addressed a few kind words of regret, or a wish
for happy days the remaining part of my life. Only four
asked me to call to see them, or took the slightest notice
of my giving up business. I had "gone in and out
among them " for many years. There had been no dis
agreements or quarrels between them and me and yet
but four, could say some few kind words or express the
slightest interest. This was indeed mortifying and pain
ful to me, and again was I more than ever convinced of
the truth of the saying, "there is no friendship in trade."
Toward the four firms, however, who tendered to me their
kind words and good wishes, I shall ever have a grateful
and kind feeling, which will continue with me as long as
my life shall last.
One more occurrence I would mention, because it shows
a benefit received and advantage gained, directly owing
to the possession and practice of gentlemanly courtesy,
in contrast to a rude and overbearing manner. I
once intended selling a lot of about two hundred cases of
printed goods and kept the matter in careful considera
tion for two or three days. Finally, I determined to make
the sale at such a price and terms as would tempt a large
jobbing house to purchase the entire lot, enabling them
to "make a drive," as it was called. Armed with a list
of the various styles and the pattern cards, I started out
in the afternoon to effect a sale. I called at the store of
R. R. & R. and saw the head of the firm, who was also
the buying partner. Before I could state the case to him.

158 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
he rudely and boisterously interrupted me by saying
" You needn't come here to sell any prints ; I don't want
'em ; you've got into the wrong shop." " All right, Mr.
R., I wanted to offer you a 'job lot,' but I will not trouble
you about it." I was angered and indignant at such
roughness, but managed to conceal it and left at once. I
went to the store of H. H. & Co., saw the head of the firm
and in a few words told him the object of my coming.
After quietly listening to all I had to say, hearing my price
and terms for the whole lot, he said : " It is now toward
night and wanting to think the matter over, suppose you
stop as you pass by in the morning. In the meantime
I will consult my partners and be ready to give you my
answer." I left the list and the pattern cards with him,
satisfied that if he saw the advantages offered, he would
make the purchase. On my way to the store, the next morn
ing, I went there and in ten minutes' time the transaction
was completed. As requested by him, one case of each
style was to be delivered immediately, the remainder as
they should require. By the end of the third day, every
package was delivered and not only delivered, but the
entire lot was disposed of.
The fourth day came and Mr. R., of the firm R. R. & R.,
came to our store and with a rousing slap on my back,
he said : "How about that lot of prints you began to tell
me of the other day ? " I think he must have noticed a
half-suppressed chuckle in my voice, as I replied, " I sold
the lot to H. H. & Co. and they ' made a drive ' and sold
the last of the whole two hundred cases yesterday after
noon." He could not conceal his disappointment and
annoyance at this statement and parted from me, feeling
sure that he had lost an excellent bargain and from no
other cause, than his own rude and rough ways. From

BUSINESS. 159
that time forth, when I had any choice goods, or goods to
be closed at bargain prices, they were first offered to the
house of H. H. & Co.
It is unnecessary to multiply instances, to illustrate
my ideas, of what relations should exist between the seller
and buyer. I could recount many, but want of time and
space forbid. Enough has been related, to show that a
correct, truthful and courteous conduct is the best policy
a business man can adopt and practice. It does not ad
vance, or make successful one's interests, to indulge in
unmannerly conduct, or in what may be called the
smaller vices, so often seen exhibited in business circles.
Misrepresentation is nearly as bad as falsehood ; decep
tion is almost as criminal as downright cheating and by
using the minor of the evils, leads to enacting the greater,
dulling all our innate sense of right or wrong. Sooner or
later, they will be made manifest and when that occurs, no
hope can exist of future success.
Temptations are around us and beset us in every occu
pation of life, but those that cluster around the path of a
business man are not only numerous, but peculiarly en
ticing and dangerous. Confessedly, from the very nature
of things, they are ever present and difficult to resist and
the first objective point in trade, the making of money,
leads too many into devious paths. The inducements are
powerful, to draw men away from " the straight and nar
row way " of rectitude and to pursue the crooked path of
unfair dealing. The anxiety to secure a competency,
nay, more, to get riches, are powerful factors, to entice
one from a course of perfect mercantile integrity. The
results are sure and inevitable. To the one, the impera
tive rule of sterling honesty is a guiding star, that will
bring him to a happy conclusion ; the other, equally im-

160 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
perative, unless controlled, will lure him on, like an ignis
fatuus, to certain and irremediable ruin.
Business in these days of ceaseless activity and untir
ing competition is, indeed, precarious and the results un
certain. This involves the necessity for unceasing care
and watchful movement. If "eternal vigilance is the
price of liberty," so is eternal vigilance the requisite, to
carry on all branches of business to success. In our
country, there are between eleven and twelve thousand
failures every year. What a record ! It goes to prove the
truth of the statement I spoke of, in another part of this.
To develop the causes that have led to these failures
would be a herculean task. It is well known that each
individual case brings with its occurrence, an incalculable
amount of distress and perhaps poverty to many innocent
persons. A stricter system of morals, if pursued, might les
son this monstrous aggregate of twelve thousand failures,
but so long as business affairs are conducted as they are,
so long will bankruptcy occur and continue even unto
the end.
" Suffer the word of exhortation " from one whose long
business life, now ended, has been one of prosperity and
adversity, success and disappointment, of delight and
despondency. Many bright, many dark days have
cheered or depressed me, many struggles have been
made, many plans have succeeded and many have been
brought to naught. All these have I borne and passed
through and amid bright sunshine or under dark
clouds, I have never had reason to doubt the truth of the
common saying, " Honesty is the best policy." Let your
first aim be a perfect integrity, then the determination to
be truthful under all circumstances, then be prudent,
cautious and watchful of every business interest, then

BUSINESS. 161
active and untiring in your efforts and then, to crown all
this, use kindly words and courteous acts, to all with
whom you have to deal. This will gladden their hearts,
bring comfort and satisfaction to yours and the sharp
edges and rough ways of business contact will become
smooth. I have spoken of the good and the bad, of the just
merchant and the unjust, of the courteous and the rough
business man and have endeavored " nothing to exten
uate or set down aught in malice." My motive has been
to contrast the evil with the good, to set before you, for
example, the crooked ways of the unscrupulous, or the
noble actions of the honest merchant. My hope is, that,
perhaps, the weak words I have written, may influence
some to take up and pursue the course of business life
and conduct that will bring success, honor and peace.
If this can be accomplished I shall be satisfied.
^ Jjc ^ ^ ^
While writing the foregoing lines, I was reminded by a
notice in the paper of an interesting event to be cele
brated in our city by an old and honored firm. I refer
to the Fifty-fifth Anniversary of Ourwen Stoddart & Brother,
the 16th of March, 1887. I at once concluded to be one
of their many friends to accept their invitation, " to call
at our stores on that day and that all our old friends may
make an effort to be with us on this occasion." It is a
rare occurrence, an event like this, in these years of con
stant changes. The fact that one business man should
be found on the same spot where, more than a-half
century before, he had started his first venture in business
life ! I doubt if another similar case can be found in this
country. I arrived at the spot where now, four stores represent

162 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
the one, where Mr. S. began his business life. Many were
there buying goods and more were present to extend
their hearty congratulations and give their best wishes on
this remarkable and auspicious occasion. I saw the
three partners and was glad to meet them in the enjoy
ment of health and good spirits on this, to them, so happy
a day. I had sold them goods for nearly forty years and
the pleasant relations between us, had never been uiter-
rupted by disagreements or trouble of any kind. This
fact gave a spicy feeling to my congratulations, which I
tendered them sincerely and with heart-felt satisfaction.
In conversing with the senior partner, I saw the
pleasant emotion which he felt, exhibited in his face and
I spoke of the very happy day it must be to him, to look
back on so many years of business endeavors and, above
all, to know that they were successful. He has arrived
at the good old age of seventy-eight and bids fair to
become (as he remarked, that he would like to be) " as
old as the Emperor William, of Germany." A bountiful
luncheon was provided by the partners, to which justice
was done by many old friends, customers and the em
ployees, and in the calendar of the firm it must have
been marked as " a red letter day." With an untarnished
name, through all the years of the firm's existence, with
a» uninterrupted, courteous and pleasant intercourse with
all with whom they had to do, with the assurance they
felt, that they had been honest, faithful, just and manly
to all, were reflections of the most grateful kind and rich
in their rewards. May many more years of prosperity
wait upon them !
*****
I cannot close this, perhaps too long article, with more
appropriate words than those published not many months

BUSINESS. 163
ago by one of our most enterprising merchants (John
Wanamaker) on the death and burial of another well-
known merchant, Henry Lewis. Such examples as his
life affords, should ever be kept before us, inciting us to
attain in our careers, the same eminence to which he
arrived. Well known, beloved and respected in his busi
ness and social life, his was a character that displayed all
the elements that make up the model merchant and the
model man.
A Man to be Remembered.
" A mist swept over the city and settled down into the
peoples' eyes, when it was told about the streets and " on
change " that Henry Lewis was dead."
" No more remarkable gathering was ever seen in
Philadelphia than that of the day when he was carried
to the grave. Merchants and ministers, bankers and
railroad men, judges and editors, poor men and rich,
from this and other cities, drawn together by a common
sorrow. A great throng of hushed and reverent people,
without speech, but most eloquently saying, we have lost
a good friend and Philadelphia is indeed poorer the day
that she lays this good man in the churchyard. How
many men stood there with tearful eyes, whispering of
kindly deeds and wondering whether they could flnd
again such another friend."
" That -Saturday afternoon, in the old church off from
the street, streaming with the October sunshine — its sim
ple choral service, as if some of the cheeriness of the
good man's life must stay by the bier on which he sleeps
— the touching, solemn, almost inspired words of the old
minister, will not be forgotten soon by that vast company
of silent, thoughtful, busy men. It seemed to be written

164 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
on their faces that to be noble, generous and sympathetic
was something, after all, worth striving for and that it
was possible, in the activities of business, to be unselfish,
to bless the world while we go on in the daily round and
win honor by steady uprightness and sturdy integrity."
" It would be difficult to make up a statement of the
elevating influences and ennobling power of this good
man's life. His presence was always a sunbeam.
" It was only a glad good morning,
As he passed along the way ;
But it shed the morning glory
Over the livelong day."
" Men did their work better by coming in contact with
him; he always made time to see and serve all who
sought him, and not a few did he save from ruin by his
sagacious, ready counsel. Many a man looked at Henry
Lewis and said, ' I'd like to be a merchant if I could be
such as he, to use money to make the world better, to
soothe its sorrows and sobbing.' "
" Whatever the question in trade, politics or religion,
wherever he was found, it was on the side of the right,
both with head and heart, the one clear, the other warm.
As much as any man in the nation, in sight of the young
men of the day, Henry Lewis stands for moral worth,
lofty character, rare unselfishness, the highest type of the
mercantile calling. There is no greater honor to be won
than to build a life like that.
J. W."

MUSIC. 165

MUSIC.

What a wonderfully comprehensive word ! How much
there is in the five letters used that is imagined, felt, de
scribed. The soft, murmuring tones of a mother's lullaby,
the grand combination of harmonies in the orchestra, the
"simple song of the village maiden," or the swelling
chorus of hundreds of voices are all described by the one
little word, music. Its meaning is boundless, illimitable.
I do not intend to write a history of music, an essay
on music or a disquisition aboui music. The first would
be beyond my powers, besides occupying an almost un
limited amount of space. The second would be a work,
for which I confess myself unfitted — a work to be accom
plished only by one who is master of the subject. The
third I prefer to avoid altogether, because I do not incline
to an argumentative discussion of the question. My sole
purpose, is simply to indulge in some remembrances,
some experiences, some reflections of my own that are
connected with music.
From my earliest recollections I had a love for music.
I was born and brought up in a musical atmosphere.
My father had a sonorous, musical bass voice, my mother
a soft, pure soprano and my older brothers and sisters, all
of whom were naturally musical, could sustain the four
parts to make the perfect quartette. Each one of the ten
brothers and sisters played well and possessed good and
cultivated voices, and I cannot forget the delightful effect
that was given to the hymns sung in family worship,
with the piano accompaniment, when soprano, contralto,
tenor and basso parts were supplemented by the deep,
full, rich bass tones of my father's voice. Some of my

166 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
sisters were proficient piano players, and one of my
brothers was the most skillful and the best amateur per
former on the flute that I have ever heard.
As for myself, I had most decidedly " an ear for music,"
but never had any instruction in the rudiments of music
or by taking lessons on any instrument. As I grew up,
my preference and love for the organ became pronounced
and strong. To me it was the grandest and noblest of
all instruments and this opinion and preference has con
tinued to the present time. As opportunities offered, I
taught myself, so that at last I could play the largest
church organs and the musical part of the Episcopal
Church service fairly well. This, to me, was a realization
of a long looked-for delight, as I experienced the pleasure
of performing the church service on a fine, large organ,
with a good choir. Although it involved the use of
much time and continued effort, I was well repaid by
the assured enjoyment it ever brought to me. My great
est inclination was evidently toward sacred music, but I
have always enjoyed every kind and description, the
performances of the single voice or instrument, up to the
grand choruses of the majestic oratorio or the superb
beauty of the grand opera.
In my early days, nearly all the instruments of music
were more simply constructed, consequently of much less
efficiency and perfection, than those in use at the present
day. This was especially the fact with the piano and, to
a far greater degree, with the organ. The former had
neither the power or the exquisite beauty of tone that pre
vails in the pianos we now have and enjoy. Science and
invention have produced the perfection of tone, the
wonderful power and the ingenious workmanship that
we now see in these popular instruments. As to the

MUSIC. 167
organ, a comparison of the touch, the voicing, the
mechanism and, in fact, every part and quality of this
grand instrument, would show a difference and an im
provement, far beyond even the dreams of the organist or
organ builder of sixty years ago.
When I was a youth, if a young lady could conquer
the intricacies and difficulties of " The Battle of Prague "
on the piano, she was supposed to have attained the sum
mit of piano-forte playing. A singer, in the family or
social circle, was only expected to be perfect in an English
song or a Scotch ballad and they were then at the height
of vocal effort. No other flights were attempted and for
the best of reasons, no other styles of singing were then
known in our country. At long intervals, a young lady
might be heard to sing a French or an Italian song, but it
was but some simple ditty or easily learned melody. Italian
or other foreign music was but little known, either in
public or social circles. The great Malibran did not come
to this country until 1827. Up to that period, but little
was known of the music of the Italian, French or Ger
man schools, beyond the simplest melodies, which had
been adapted to English words. With the progress, how
ever, of but a few years, great changes came. The influx
of foreign musicians, the increase of our foreign popula
tion, the application of science to the improvement of
the piano and other musical instruments, the desire to
know more of music and to extend and cultivate the taste
for it, all tended to a quick development and improve
ment in popular musical knowledge. A new musical
era began and foreign celebrities and foreign teachers
awoke and kept active the desire for more information,
more cultivation and a greater love for music, which had
been unknown and, of ^ course, unused among us. From

168 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
the advent of the superb singer, Madame Malibran, whose
singing captivated the Old and the New World, a succession
of musical talent came, creating a love for music among
Americans, that ever will and must remain.
It was not until after I came to Philadelphia, that I
became interested in music or paid much attention to it.
Living in a town whose inhabitants numbered only about
twelve thousand, rare were my opportunities of hearing
aught of music, beyond the social circle. With that I
had been satisfied and I enjoyed it, but a new experience
awaited me. Now, I could hear every kind of music.
The conditions were different ; it was more advanced ; a
greater knowledge and more cultivation existed. I could
visit the churches and hear the best organists and choirs,
the concert halls and hear the best singers or instrumen
talists of the day, and this all awakened a deeper love for
music, with an intense desire to know it better.
The now venerable and time-honored Musical Fund
Society had been organized some few years before, and
with its orchestra had given concerts. In 1824, the
present hall of the Society was built and finished just
previous to the New Year's Day of 1825. In the year
1827, now just sixty years ago, that first queen of song,
Malibran, appeared at a concert in the hall, entrancing
every one who heard her matchless voice. But this was
before my coming and I never heard her sing. The
Musical Fund Society started into life at the beginning of
the third decade of this century. Its first president was
the well-known Dr. Dewees ; its first secretary, John K.,
afterwards Judge Kane. Many well-remembered names
of amateur and professional musicians were among
its founders. Benjamin Carr, Francis Gurney Smith,
C. F. Hupfeld, Thomas Loud, Benjamin Cross, Franklin

MUSIC. 169
Peale, Thomas Sully, Dr. George McClellan and Francis
Hopkinson. To their efforts, individually and collectively,
much is due for the advancement and cultivation of
musical taste and knowledge in our city. All the musical
artists visiting America, for many years, appeared " on the
boards " at the hall of the Society, or at their concerts, and
the sowing of the good seed brought the reaping of good
fruit. Francis Gurney Smith was the Society's'treasurer
for forty-three years and Thomas J. Becket its superin
tendent for forty-six years.
The Philharmonic Society, whose existence lasted some
twenty years, did much to advance the cause of music,
giving their concerts in Musical Fund Hall. This Society
has passed away, but the Musical Fund still lives and its
beautiful hall still stands and remains, as ever, celebrated
for its great acoustic properties. The Harmonia Musical
Society came into existence in 1851, and after producing
several cantatas and oratorios (some original), with a
chorus of one hundred and fifty trained voices, was forced
to disband, as a large majority of its male members went to
the war. The Handel and Haydn, the West Philadelphia
Choral, the Abt and some other societies have come and.
gone, each, perhaps, to a great extent, " fulfilling their
mission," but not with the success anticipated by the
founders. The first opera I ever heard, was performed by a French
opera company. I think it was in 1827, at the old Park
Theatre, New York. It was called in English, " The
Mason." I was too young to fully appreciate it, though
the music was fine. The second one was, I think, called
" Gulistan," . and as that was presented by a company of
but little merit, no permanent impression was made.
But when Mr. and Mrs. Wood, the elder Seguins and Mr.
12

170

MYSELF AND OTHERS.

Brough first appeared in Somnambula, it was a revelation
to me, and my sensations while listening to the exquisite
music, the lovely melodies and fine harmonies of this
creation of Bellini's, can never fade from my memory.
Every part was well done, was sung with great ability
and in perfection, and I was dazed with delight, thrilled
with the beauties of the music that swept over and into
me, entrancing my heart and soul. It was my first
awakening, to the true meaning and interpretation of
music in its highest forms and conditions. It was a novel
sensation, a new experience, and from that time I gave
nearly all my leisure hours to the full enjoyment of music.
I sought every opportunity to indulge in this newly-ac
quired delight and concerts, church music, chorus sing
ing, oratorios and operas, were in turn developing and
cultivating my taste. All the celebrities coming to our
city were heard in succession and I can recall a large list
of their names. Their mention may awaken in some
others, still living, the same pleasing remembrances that
I have of their appearance and ability.

Pedrotti,
Mrs. Austin,
Bosio,
Caradori-AUen,
Miss Shirreff,
Miss Poole,
Castellan,Borghese,
Anna Bishop,
Truffi,
Biscaccianti,
Tedesco,Laborde,
Frezzolini,Gazzaniga,

Montressor, Fornasari, Norton,
Dempster,
Russell, Gambati,
DeBegnis, Mr. Wilson,
Sanquirico, Perelli,
Giubelei,Grisi,
Miss Pyne,
Parepa-Rosa,
Nilsson,

Braham (at 70),
Benedetti, Mario,
Amodio,Brignoli,
Patti (at 18),
Jenny Lind,
Miss Hayes,
Parodi,
Alboni,
Steffanoni, Vestvali,
La Grange,
Miss Kellogg,
Patti.

MUSIC. 171
And that wonderful and incomparable queen of song —
the great Sontag !
Of Violinists — I have heard Vieutemps, Artot, Hauser,
Arditi and Ole Bull, and to the first-named give my meed
of praise.
Of Pianists — I have heard Strakosh, De Myer, Herz,
Gottschalk and Thalberg, and the latter, in my opinion,
was the best.
In my recollections of the singers that I have named,
I must make particular mention of some few, because
they gave me more than usual delight and satisfaction.
In earlier days, the present absurd and pernicious system
of advertising in advance, the coming of a musical or
theatrical celebrity, was unused, because it was unknown.
The silly system of recording beforehand, the robbery of
some prima donna or star of her jewels, or of some hair
breadth escape from injury or death, or some sensational
private affairs, to create an over-curious desire in the
public to see her, without regard to her abilities or powers,
is a plan or system in use in these later days. Many
years ago Miss Shirreff and Mr. Wilson came to this
country from England, not unheralded, it is true, but
without any " great flourish of trumpets." They were
well known and well thought of there and came with
the stamp of popularity on their performances, but that
was all.
I well remember their first concerts and those that fol
lowed. The attendance at first was by hundreds and then
by thousands. They literally sang their way into the
hearts of their hearers. I attended four concerts which
they gave in the hall of the Chinese Museum, on Ninth
Street, below Chestnut. Only a piano, an accompanist
and themselves. Over three thousand people were

172 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
present at each concert and thej'^ had a perfect ovation.
One evening I heard Miss Shirreff encored five times for one
song. Her voice was a clear, pure, sympathetic soprano,
and the exquisite taste and feeling with which she sang,
were remarkable. I have heard voices of greater power
and with, perhaps, greater execution, but none more
sweet, more magnetic, or under more perfect control.
Everything she did was well done, and the duetts by her
and Mr. Wilson were most beautifully rendered. Such
singing cannot be too highly praised, for it was entirely
satisfactory. Through all the years that have passed I
cannot forget it. In that same hall I afterwards heard
the celebrated Jenny Lind (nearly five thousand people,
at three dollars per head), but with no more satisfaction
than I enjoyed, when I heard the singing of Mr. Wilson
and Miss Shirreff.
Madame Laborde was a fine singer and highly accept
able to me. Her wonderful execution of the most elabo
rate and difficult passages was remarkable and astonishing.
Her ease and grace were beautiful and truly charming,
and in no instance have I ever seen these desirable quali
ties in a finished singer surpassed. Grisi and Mario came
after they had passed their zenith and do not need par
ticular mention. Brignoli had the purest, sweetest and
most perfect tenor voice I have ever known. Who that
has ever heard him sing " Spirto gentil " can ever forget
it? Many others I can recall and with most pleasing
recollections, but I have only space left to speak of two
more. Christine Nilsson was a lovely vision to the eye,
a most charming embodiment of music to the ear. Her
coming was a more modern event, but it brought with it
a charming freshness of person and of song. Her "Mar
guerite " remains a lovely picture in one's memory and

MUSIC. 173
her delicious voice and singing, still is ringing in my
ears. I have left to the last the name of Sontag. When I
see or repeat that name, it calls up remembrances that
can never be banished from memory's book. I had been
much occupied for several days and so much so, that I
had seen no newspapers. On one of those days, I went to
one of our concert halls to see the superintendent on some
business matter. It was nearly noon and as I entered I
noticed some half dozen musicians sitting on the stage
with their instruments, two gentlernen and a lady, also
on the stage, talking, and some three or four men in dif
ferent parts of the hall. While waiting for the super
intendent, who was talking to one of the three or four
persons, the music began. I paid no attention to it, but
at length I heard a voice! And such a voice! Good
heavens ! thought I, what a voice that is ! I turned and
saw that it was the lady on the stage who was singing.
There she stood, with shawl and bonnet on, in one hand
holding her parasol and in the other her gloves and fan.
She looked to be a sweet, motherly-looking woman of
fifty, and she continued singing without effort or gesture,
every tone of her voice falling on my ear and heart and
stealing its way into my very soul. I stood spell-bound,
astonished and entranced. Such feelings I had never
before experienced and I seemed almost bewildered.
Who is she? Who can it be? flashed across my mind,
and still every tone, every word thrilled me to the core.
At last she stopped singing and the superintendent com
ing to me, I asked who it was and what it all meant ?
His reply was, it is Madame Sontag and she is rehears
ing for her concert to-night. He spoke in a matter-of-
fact way and I stood listening, only saying: "I have never,
in all my life, heard anything like that!"

174 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
Nothing could have kept me from attending the con
cert that evening, and when the time came for Sontag to
appear, she stood before the splendid audience that filled
the hall. If I had been spell-bound that morning, hear
ing her sing with ease and quietly at a rehearsal, what
was it when in full dress, a fine audience and the com
plete orchestra before her ! As she sang the first move
ment, the audience was a silent, immovable mass, but
when the first pause came, a whirlwind of tumultuous ap
plause broke forth. Checked by the opening of the next
movement, all was still again, until the end was reached
and as the last strong, pure and perfect note fell upon the
ear, the wildest, free, unbounded enthusiasm burst out.
I was so rapt in pleasure and delight I could not move.
The emotions I experienced were too profound for utter
ance. Full of tumultuous delight, thrilled, overjoyed,
surprised and entranced by such sounds as had never be
fore entered my ear and heart, I abandoned myself to the
surcharge of pure enjoyment that had come to me. It
was the perfect embodiment of music, the soul, the life of
music, and never before and never since, have I heard such
music as I heard that day and night. A pure tone, a per
fect intonation, exquisite crescendo and diminuendo, ease,
grace, power and sympathetic quality were all there and
from Madame Sontag, at the age of fifty-two. I heard
" Vedrai Carina," that beautiful aria from Don Giovanni,
by Mozart, sung as if it were " music from the spheres."
It was unapproachably the best music I ever listened to
and such singing as I can neither describe or forget.
In less than two years that heavenly voice was forever
stilled and report said, that death came to that gifted
woman in one of the South American States and by vio
lent means. *****

MUSIC. 175
It was once said by a well-known musician in Phila
delphia : " Oh, Music, what atrocious crimes are committed
in thy name!" A remarkably critical ear, with a knowl
edge of the science of music, perhaps urged him to make
the exclamation. His knowledge caused him disgust at
the trashy music of the day, his acute ear was shocked at
what he heard in many vocal and instrumental attempts.
He once said to me, " There is very little real music in
this world ; when we go up there we shall hear it." There
was truth in the assertion he made and an understood
hope of perfection in heaven. Let &,ny musical person
call to mind such attempts at singing, or those made with
musical instruments, as he must have heard at times, by
those who knew nothing about it and he will see the truth
of the statement. I have heard bands of music, church
choirs, glee clubs, piano players and solo singers, do such
deeds, as would almost " make one's hair to stand on end "
with horror. Two instances come to my recollection as I
write. >" '
I called one evening on a family in this city and be
sides its members, there were some five or six other visi
tors besides myself. In the course of the evening, the
mother said, "Ethel, can't you give us some music?"
Ethel at once assented. I had never heard her play and
being near the piano at the time, glanced at the piece she
selected and saw, as she turned the leaves to prepare for
their quick turning, that it was not an easy piece to per
form and that it was a " Fantasie, by G. Squisowski." I
thought, here must be good music and these fifteen or six
teen pages of difficult passages, must have required some
work, some frequent practice. She began and for a few
bars matters went fairly well, but as the composer got
warmed with his subject, so did the fair Ethel get warmed

176 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
with her performance. She banged, she pranced, she tore
over, into and along the keys — the piano groaned and
sighed with unutterable sounds and all was unintelligible
and chaotic. I listened, first with amazement, then with
horror. It was neither tuneful or timeful (to coin a word),
a mass of fiats, sharps and naturals, jumbled together,
without meaning, or melody and harmony, "gone to
where the woodbine twineth ;" in fact a perfect accumula
tion of horrors. I never could have imagined such a per
formance. But all things come to an end somehow and
so did this wonderful exhibition. As the climax came, so
did more horrors and " chaos is come again " was all I
could think of, as the obliging Edith came down with her
last crash on the piano, holding a long, deep bass note,
not in the proper key.
I was still more astonished, when I saw the others
crowding round Ethel and heard them say, " Oh, Ethel !
that was wonderful " (to that I assented). " Miss Ethel,
how splendidly you play ! " (I wanted to change that to
terrifically.) "Why Ethel, what difficult music you do
play I " (that I wanted to deny in toto) and, " Miss Ethel,
your execution is perfect." (I wanted to knock that
young man down) and " last but not least," the mother
capped the climax by saying quietly, when the exclama
tions began to fall off, " Ethel is indeed quite a performer
and one of Signer B's best scholars." Good heavens!
thought I, what can Signer B  be made of? The
foregoing would be ludicrous, if it were not horrible, and
as neither Ethel, her mother, or the four who praised
her, had the slightest idea of what music is (perhaps I
ought to include Signer B.), I can only say, here was an
" atrocious crime committed in the name of music."
The other instance was after this manner. I was one

MUSIC. 177
afternoon informed by a note from Mrs. H., living on
Walnut Street, that two young ladies were to take tea
with her and she would be pleased to have me come in
the evening. I went and was duly introduced to the
Misses L. After an hour passed in pleasant conversation,
Mrs. H. proposed to the youngest Miss L. to sing for us
and a^ked me to wait on her to the piano and assist in
selecting the music, etc. Miss Mary L. was a handsome
blonde, with clear-cut features, golden hair and beautiful
blue eyes. I had found her intelligent, well educated,
graceful and attractive, and when the suggestion was
made that she should sing I, being very fond of music,
was much pleased. One so bright, agreeable and pretty
withal must be musical, must sing well, must have the
power to touch one's sensibilities. After some little
skirmishing as to the height of the piano stool, etc., she
began, I standing by her side to turn the leaves. The
introduction or prelude she played correctly, but when she
struck the first note of the song, oh, horrors ! it was a full
half a tone flat. What shall I do? What can I do ? Why
don't she get right ? I turned the page at the proper time
and she " went on her way rejoicing," steadily proceeding
and as steadily, just as flat as when she started. " Oh ! if
the floor would only open and let me drop through into
the cellar, I should be a happy young man." But there I
was ! a fixture ! and my ears ached and suffered through
the three fearfully long pages of that song and the fair
Mary L. ended, as she began, a half tone flat. The end
had come, but, horror upon horrors ! what is this that I
hear? "Mary," quietly said her sister, "won't you sing
the other verse?" "Oh, yes, if you wish it," Mrs. H.
kindly adding, " Yes, Mary, we would Jike to hear it."
And so my torture was to be continued. I had a faint

178 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
hope that perhaps she might get right and as she ended
the prelude of some sixteen bars I said, " Miss L., that is
quite a pretty introduction, will you please repeat it ? "
She did so and then began the song. Where was she ?
Why, " true as the needle to the pole," there she was as
before, faithfully jogging on and the half tone flat. If it
was horrible the first time, it was now fearful, but, like
the Spartan youth, I kept a bold front and did not show
the agony I felt and at last the music ended. A slight
headache (mine ached as if it would burst) prevented
her singing again, to my ineffable delight. I looked at
this really sweet girl with utter amazement. That she
" had no music in her soul " was evident, but how she
could possibly accomplish such a thing, as singing a song
of three pages, a half tone below the pitch, is a question
I cannot answer, even to this present day.
The gathering, organizing and management of a church
choir has often reminded me of household matters, in
regard to servants and the trying experience of the head
of a family. In many cases there is a strong similarity ;
the troubles and worries incident to the precincts of the
house, often being reproduced in the musical borders
attached to the choir. Human nature exists, feels, acts
the same everywhere and as the king and the peasant are
both moved by the same impulses, so do choir singers
and servant girls, show the same characteristics of our
common humanity. In my long experience of twenty-
three years as a voluntary member of choirs and of twelve
years as an active worker in a musical society, I have had
numberless opportunities to study the characters of or
ganists, choirs and chorus singers, orchestral performers
and in fact, all kinds and descriptions of musical men and
women. I am forced to the conclusion that really musical

MUSIC. 179
people are of delicate construction ; that they are peculi
arly created, though in all other qualities and attributes,
the same as the mass of humanity is. One would suppose
that the elevating and refining influences of music, would
elevate and refine the nature of those who use and love
it ; but I question if there can be less of harmony and
more of discord, in any set or class of persons, than there
is among musical people. There is less of brotherly love,
charity or kindly feeling and much more of "envy, hatred,
malice and all uncharitableness." And yet, in all other
respects, save and excepting music only, they are all like
others of the great human family.
Among the many instances of peculiar thought or act
that have come under my notice, I will briefly mention a
few, to illustrate what I have said. A vacancy once oc
curred in one of the most prominent choirs in our city.
Application was made by a young married lady for the
position — first soprano — giving references as to her voice,
singing, etc. She came to rehearsal, sang two or three
pieces of her own selection, and her voice proved so satis
factory, she was engaged on the spot and asked to begin
her duties the next rehearsal night. It came and with it
the new prima donna. The rehearsal began and to the
astonishment and hardly-concealed disgust of organist
and choir, she would, in singing a chant or hymn tune,
strike the note a third above or a third below ! This was
repeatedly done. What a discovery! What hard and
tiresome work for the choir, to go over and over the same
easy music, to help the leading soprano (?) to strike the
key-note ! At last our organist, who had shown great
patience, was forced to tell her of her entire inability to
fill the position and he could not consider it an engage
ment. Her big, burly husband threatened and the gentle

180 MYSELy AND OTHERS.
singer encouraged by his loud voice, burst forth into a
vixenish torrent of vituperation, which proved, to the
listening choir, that her pretentions to being a lady, were
about as well founded as those of her being a singer.
We had at one time, a young man as basso. He was a
clever fellow and with a good, musical voice, but he was
inordinately proud of his low notes, and had a habit of
holding the final one, a full bar's length after the rest of
the choir had rendered the chant or tune that was being
sung. He thought it splendid! It was his own peculiar
delight and pride, and though told that it was wrong and
the effect undesirable, he would persist, and the result
was "what can't be cured, must be endured," until au
opportunity was found, to fill his place with another more
acceptable. A lady, who was really a fine singer, had one fault,
that of striking a high note with such force as to destroy
the effect. It was as if she had been stabbed and shrieked
out in agony. It might, perhaps, be not out of place in
a tragic opera, but- in church music was decidedly so.
Her attention was called to it by the organist, in a very
gentle manner, but her indignation and fury were so
roused and rampant, she told him, "you may know how
to play the organ, but you know nothing about singing,"
and with a flaunting of her skirts, she whirled herself
away from his presence and was seen no more.
As I was one in our musical society who held an im
portant office and was always actively interested in its
welfare and success, I was thrown more in contact with
the individual members than any other. On all occasions,
I was obliged to listen to suggestions, wishes or com
plaints, as the case might be. One evening a young man
came to me and said that his sister would like to sing a

MUSIC. 181
solo at the next concert of the Society. Knowing her and
having been near her at a rehearsal one evening and
hearing her in the chorus, I felt certain that she could
neither do herself or the Society justice. I hardly knew
what to say, but told him that we wished to give each
member an opportunity to sing, but our conductor must
be the one to decide what should be done. He, in the
goodness of his heart, gave his consent and after a num
ber of rehearsals she appeared and sang her solo. It
was evidently beyond her powers and she broke down.
To account for it, both she and her brother laid the blame
of the fiasco on the accompanist, a fine piano-player
and a thorough musician and probably by this time,
from constant repetition of their statement, they actually
believe it themselves.
I do not like to call it vanity on their part, that so
many singers believe that they are fully competent to sing
and to sing acceptably. But I have met with so many like
instances, I can hardly describe it in any other words.
Singers with but poor voices and possessing but small
abilities, either natural or acquired, seem to have an in
ordinate desire to sing and before an audience. Others
see what they lack, but they do not. A young man came
to me once and said, I want to sing a song — giving me
the name — at the next concert. Why, said I, the cele
brated tenor B  sang that same song last year at one
of our concerts. B  had one of the sweetest, purest of
tenor voices and his method and style were perfect.
"But, it was my song, for I have sung it for two years
and I know it from A to Z." I could do nothing with
him but refer him to the conductor, who, somehow, suc
ceeded in dissuading him from making the attempt.
A married man and a member of our Society came to

182 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
me one day and told me that he was in great trouble.
Business was very dull and his own mechanical trade
was in such a poor condition, that he had no work to do,
and with a wife and two children to care for, he felt dis
couraged and very much depressed. He ended by asking
me if I could get him a position in some church choir as
tenor. I felt much interested in what he told me and my sym
pathies were excited. He had a good voice and was, too,
a good singer, and I said I would keep the matter
specially in mind and see what I could do for him. Two
days afterward and very fortunately for him, I accidentally
met the organist of one of our prominent churches and
he informed me that he wanted a tenor for his choir and
at once, asking me to look out for one. I told him it was
not necessary for me to " look out," for I had the very
man for him. He took him and paid him a good salary.
Six months afterward I asked him to take a solo part in
the Society's next concert. " Yes," said he, " I will if the
Society will pay me twenty dollars and give me as many
tickets." Comment is unnecessary.
Our leader was the well-known Leopold Meignen, a
most excellent musician, a master in the science of music
and for many years, the leader of the Musical Fund and
Philharmonic orchestras. While our conductor, he had
composed a fine work, the oratorio or cantata called the
Deluge. Our Society produced it with full orchestra,
every member of which was engaged by him. We
brought it out twice, and then the Society tendered to
Mr. M. a complimentary performance and benefit in a
third representation. The Society and the solo singers
voluntarily offered their efforts, but when the individuals

MUSIC. 183
of the orchestra were visited and asked to give their ser
vices gratuitously, thirty -five out of the number, thirty-six,
refused to perform, unless fully paid for their services. I
am happy to say that the thirty-sixth was an American.
Here were men and musicians, who were indebted to Mr.
Meignen for engagements at that time and for many
years previous, who declined to play at his compliment
ary benefit unless they were paid. What ingratitude !
There is some good music in this world, but it is the
exception, not the rule. It can be found — it is, at times,
heard and enjoyed. The generality is mediocrity and
below it. The really musical ear and taste is but seldom
fully gratified. There is so much that is imperfect, want
ing soul or knowledge ; so much that does not touch the
heart or warm the spirit. Grateful, indeed, is the ever
thirsting musical soul, when it hears and feels the pure
melodies and the delicious harmonies of real music. The
splendid opera, the grand oratorio, the classical sym
phony, the swelling anthem and the simple song, all in
turn bring delight and a feastful repast. Good music,
well performed, is " a feast for the . gods ; " it elevates
the soul, it thrills through the heart, bringing with its
strains, as they fall on the ear, a foretaste of heaven.
I made a visit to my native place. Providence, last
summer and was present during the preparations for and
the celebration of the two hundred and fiftieth anniver
sary of its settlement. The musical part of the exercises
was, with me, a matter of much interest. Some original
compositions, of both words and music, were to be per
formed and sung by a grand chorus of about four hun
dred voices. I attended some of the rehearsals and after
ward the regular performance. It was pleasant to see
the active and enthusiastic spirit, that seemed to prevail

184 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
with all the people and especially those who were musi
cally inclined. Two of the odes, specially composed for
the occasion, the one by Stanley and the other by Olezen,
interested me greatly. They were totally unlike, but
both well expressed the words and spirit of what they
were written for. Each showed a good grasp of the sub
ject, musical knowledge and marked ability, and with the
four hundred voices, they were finely rendered and with
telling effect. I hardly know to which of the two, Glezen
or Stanley, I should " give the meed of praise." The one
was the more devotional, the other, while joyous, was in
tricate and ended in a masterly climax. The one was
dramatically musical, the other more harmofnically
musical. Both were highly meritorious, deserving high
approbation and will, I hope, be repeated when I can be
present to hear them.
I may add here, that both Glezen and Stanley are ac
complished organists, and the splendid organs they use in
their respective churches, are as large and perfect instru
ments as are 'to be found in our country and are handled
by them as skilfully, judiciously and beautifully as by
any other organist in the United States.
It was a remarkable good fortune for me, during the
visit referred .to, hearing a young lady sing a contralto
solo. Without knowing what I was to hear and entirely
unprepared for it, I heard a voice whose tone went
straight to my heart. It was a surprise and a revelation.
It was unexpected, but, then and there, I experienced a
complete and joyous satisfaction. It was what I wanted
to hear. Sometimes in my life I have had, in listening
to good singing by a good voice, a satisfying feeling, for
it came up to my standard of what music was and what
singing should be. But those times were but seldom,

tROVlDENCB, R. I,, 1811-30. 185
they were " like angels' visits, few and far between." It
had come to me again and I heard Miss R's rich and
sympathetic tones with real delight. Unaffected, true,
touching and expressive was her singing and a rich, un
looked-for pleasure had come to me. I was satisfied and
have once and again heard her, the tones still ringing in
my ears and fresh in my remembrance. And there they
will remain, even to the end.
Many delights, many horrors, many sweet tones and
many excruciating sounds, await the musical ear and
taste, as one journeys along life's pathway. It is an ex
perience like that of life itself. Clouds and sunshine,
darkness and light, afflictions and pleasures, troubles and
joys make up the sum of life, and one's musical existence is
filled with the same alternatives. But while the ear may
be pained with musical sounds in this life, while the taste
may be shocked by discordant tones here below, we can
hear enough to elevate the soul and purify the mind,
leading us on toward the time, when a burst of seraphic
melodies and perfect harmonies will fill the soul with the
music of the eternal heavens.

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30.
" The traveler, who after a long day's journey reaches the summit of
some high hill, which overlooks the way behind him, likes to pause with
backward gaze and review the scenes through which he has passed. As
he retraces his wavering course over hill and dale, by forest and river-
bank, or along the mountain's ridgy breast, the great objects, the prominent
features stand out at once with luminous distinction. Then gradually the
lesser points of interest, with hints and suggestions from which his memory
fills out the picture, until at last his whole journey, tedious sometimes in
13

186 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
the making, lies before him, flooded with the golden evening light, a pure
and perfect pleasure in the retrospect." *
So do I, after a long life-journey, look back along the
way to early days and scenes and " memory fills out the
picture." When one has left the place of his birth and
boyhood to dwell in another locality, his thoughts will
turn back, his memory will dwell on his early life, his
old home and those there that were associated with him.
If his life was a happy one, if his surroundings were
bright and pleasant, how he loves to recall the past, its
great storehouse filled with interesting recollections!
With what delight he thinks of his birth-place, the old
homestead, the scenes and incidents of his young days !
Each spot near his home, each landmark of his native
town or village is endeared to him, associated as it is
with various incidents that memory will never lose, be
cause so deeply impressed on mind and heart. And as
the days and years go on, memory holds them ever clear,
ever vivid, ever bringing, as we turn its leaves, unalloyed
pleasure, for those were joyous days. Without care, with
out the anxieties which come to us in our mature years;
then all was bright-hued, roseate and promising to the
young, free and hopeful heart. Memory revels in the
past, the happy scenes, the pleasant occurrences, the joy
ous hours of the spring-time of life, "with heart and
fancy free." Time, as it progresses, softens all, investing
all with a charm we cannot resist, while the vividness of
our remembrance ever remains intact. In all the fifty-
eight years that have passed since I left the goodly and
pleasant town of Providence, my interest in its growth
and progress has never diminished. I have watched its
increase in population and wealth with pride and have
* From an oration by Chief Justice Durfee, of Bhode Inland,

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30. 187
never ceased to have an affection for it, which will be
felt as long as life lasts.
Some of my readers may be connected with Providence,
socially or commercially, and to them, the place and its
inhabitants may not be, as it is the case with many in
our country, as it were, a sealed book. I refer, in
using the word some, to Philadelphians. Throughout
our land, there are thousands of people who know more
about towns, cities and places three thousand miles across
the ocean, than about the same here at home. Though
near at hand, there is great and lamentable ignorance of
them among our people. It is more fashionable, more
"the style," to travel abroad, than to see and to know of
the places and objects of interest in our own beloved land,
within our own borders and almost at our own doors. I
have known of individuals who have never sailed over
the bosom of the noble Hudson, who have never traversed
the beautiful White Mountains, who never saw the glo
rious grandeur of the Blue Ridge or Alleghanies, who
know nothing of the Valley of the Shenandoah and whose
eyes have never looked on our enormous lakes, those
"inland seas," whose vastness excites admiration and
wonder. And yet, they have' sojourned in Europe and can talk
volubly of what they have seen there, while ignorant of
the many beautiful cities, towns, villages, mountains,
valleys, rivers, etc., that art and nature have made ready
to greet them here at home. It is melancholy to think
of the thousands who cross the ocean each year, to ex
plore the scenes and places in foreign lands and allow the
many that await them here, to remain unknown.
My native town. Providence, at the time of my advent
!' into this breathing world " had a population of about

188 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
eleven thousand. Providence River, formed by the fresh
waters of the Moshassuck and Wonasquatucket streams,
mingling with the salt water of the bay, divides the
place in two parts, called the East and the West side. On
the latter, there is a broad, level plateau of land extend
ing some ten blocks and then gradually rising ground
until another stretch of higher and level land occurs.
On the East side, in strong contrast to the formation of
the West, high hills begin within about two hundred feet
from the river. These are of quite steep ascent and the
length of two or three blocks. To the residents, the climb
ing or descent of these hilly streets is but an every-day
experience and apparently of easy accomplishment, but
the inhabitants of a level town or city (like Philadelphia,
for instance) find it laborious and tiresome. But all are
repaid on arriving at their tops, for the streets and houses
which cover these hills, command beautiful views, which
meet the eye at every turn. Handsome private resi
dences, churches, public buildings, etc., are scattered over
the entire surface of these hills, which extend from the
lower part of the place to the upper or northern extrem
ity, a distance of nearly two miles. From nearly every
point the prospect is beautiful. In a late visit to one of
my daughters, living half way up the hill, I could see
from one of the lower room windows, nearly one-half the
city and counted twenty-three towers and spires. About
the centre of the summit of these hills, there are the seven
or eight buildings, well known throughout the land as the
time-honored Brown University. From the level site of the
college buildings there is a gradual slope in the land
eastwardly for about a mile, to the banks of the Seekonk
River and as this river meets the waters of the Provi
dence River, at the lower end of the place, it forms a

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30. 189
peninsula. I remember when in that whole distance of
a mile beyond the colleges there were but four buildings
— my father's estate, the Friends' school, Governor Fen-
ner's residence and the old homestead of the venerable
Quaker, Moses Brown. It was a beautiful but lonely
stretch of country and to me, as a boy, a dreary place for
a walk after dark. Now, the space is covered, the fields
and woods have given way to broad, well-paved and
lighted streets, with handsome dwellings and where I
once shot the robin, bob-o-link and quail, the horse-cars
run on their daily and nightly round.
The town of Providence was settled in the year 1636,
when Roger Williams, the great Baptist minister, came
there in search of a home and a refuge from the persecu
tions of his brethren of Salem and Boston, in the Massa
chusetts Colony. He had been banished from the latter,
on account of his opinions and teachings, which did not
conform to those of the Puritan Church. He made his
appearance on the West bank of the Seekonk River, in a
boat with five followers or friends and was welcomed by
friendly Indians with the salutation :
What Cheer-, Neetop! What Cheer?
These words have passed down " among the posterities "
and are now, with the people of Providence and the State
of Rhode Island, household words.
Welcomed by the Great Chief or King of the Narra
gansett Indians, Canonicus, and taken to the east bank of
Providence River, he was given a large tract of land and
there he made his home among these savages, who treated
him with greater kindness than he had received from his
Christian brothers, In recognition of God's leading hand

190 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
he called the place Providence. To this day his name is
held in reverence by all its people.
Roger Williams was born in England, December 15th,
1602, of a wealthy and aristocratic family (his mother
was an heiress) and received a university education. He
preached in Lincolnshire and to escape the persecution
of Archbishop Laud he came to America, to the colony of
Massachusetts, in 1631. His ideas of the Church, as to
some points and usages, were somewhat dissimilar to and
in advance of those held by the strictest Puritans and he
was brought before the Council. He held firmly to his
own views and as he could not and would not conform to
theirs, he was banished. Determined to find a resting-
place where he would be free from persecution, where he
could enjoy "soul liberty," where he could preach the
Gospel and worship God, as his own conscience dictated
and approved, he fled from Massachusetts colony and
sought refuge in the Indian territory further south. These
facts show that " The Pilgrim. Fathers," only sixteen years
after they had sought shelter from Church persecution,
" landing on the bleak New England shore," from " the
old country," seeking a place " for freedom to worship
God," persecuted others, for not thinking as they did and
for exercising the same " liberty of conscience." Strange
indeed are the processes and workings of human nature !
Here were the very men, fleeing from persecution them
selves, oppressing their brethren, whose opinions were at
variance with their own. Thank God ! that the dark
days of the seventeenth century have given place to the
enlightenment, knowledge and more liberal views of the
nineteenth, and that in this land of liberty, any creed or
faith may be promulgated and followed without inter
ference or oppression,

PROVIDENCE, R. I;, 1811-30. 191
The story, or rather the history, of Roger Williams and
the settlement of Providence is one of great interest, even
to the casual reader. It is like a romance, so full is it of
his adventures, his independence and his determination
to be the advocate of full civil and religious liberty.
"There have been many biographies of this gifted man,
many and various traditions and of these latter, doubt
less, they would hardly bear strict investigation and de
serve a place in veritable history. The mists that envelope
the early New England records, seem at times to be almost
impenetrable, but enough is known of Roger Williams
and other celebrated men of that period, to warrant the
belief in the truth of the record. Patient and untiring
research has been rewarded by the discovery of facts to
reward the seekers and in many instances, to reconcile
tradition with history.
The pen is strongly tempted to move on and record the
many interesting events that marked the advent and at- '
tended the entrance of Roger Williams into the domain
of the great and good chieftain, Canonicus. But as this
is not a history, but a sketch, it will not allow more than
a brief outline or mention of them. One cannot but ad
mire the confidence and the fearlessness of Roger Wil
liams, in going to the dwelling-place of the powerful
Indian chief and his warlike Narragansett tribe. He
feared God, his errand was a peaceful one and in a
natural enemy he found a friend. In a reverent spirit
and realizing God's goodness to him, in leading him
through the almost trackless forest and bringing him
through many dangers to this place of refuge and rest,
he named it Providence. Here he could enjoy "soul
liberty," absolute freedom of conscience and leave behind
him the vigorous denunciations, tha bigoted intolerance
which prevailed against him on every side.

192 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
But the descendants of Roger Williams and of those
with him, must look back with reverence and admiration
to Canonicus, the great and powerful chief of the Narra-
gansetts. Had he not welcomed and befriended Roger
Williams this record could not have been made. God
must have moved the heart of the great chief, for he kept
faith with and lived in peace with them. He gave them
lands. Roger Williams wrote : " I declare to posterity,
that were it not for the favor God gave me with Canonicus,
none of these lands, no, not Rhode Island, had been pur
chased or obtained,/or' I never got anything out of Canonicus
but by gift." " Canonicus continued his friendship through
out his life and the then aged chieftain died with the
wish on his lips, that the red and the white men might
live in peace together." He also wrote : " The great and
potent chief, Miantinomi, the nephew of Canonicus, was
with his uncle our firm and fast friend." Their fidelity
and affection for each other never wavered. They received
the outcast with kindness, supplied his wants and con
veyed him land.
Mention should be made here of King Philip, or Meta-
comet or Philip of Pokanoket, as he was called. He was
of the Wampanoags and this powerful tribe held the
lands on the East side of Seekonk River and along Nar
ragansett Bay, down to Mount Hope Bay near Bristol.
Mr. Bird, in his play of Metamora, the last of the Wam
panoags, has given a romantic interest to the life and death
of this great Indian chief and Forrest (for whom the play
was written) made it celebrated in this and other countries.
King Philip's place of abode was at Mount Hope and
there the view was a grand and beautiful one. I have
often ascended the mountain and traversed the vicinity
of its base, perhaps on the very spots where this king of

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30. 193
the forest had often trod. In my last visit, two years
ago, I went to a picnic near there and while enjoying the
beauties of the spot I saw a stone erected, on which was
the following inscription :
" In ' the merry swamp,' 166 feet W. S. W. from this
: spring, according to tradition, King Philip fell August
12, 1676, O.S. This stone placed by the Rhode Island
Historical Society, December, 1877."
Miantinomi was murdered in 1643, through the wicked
ness of the Massachusetts aud Connecticut Colonies and
the cruelty of Uncas, chief of the Mohegans. The un
happy event was a grievous blow to Canonicus. His few
remaining years were sad and weary ones, for the soul of
the old chief was filled with gloomy forebodings for the
future of his race. He died June 4th, 1647, his hair
silvered with the frosts of more than eighty winters. In
the conduct of Roger Williams, of courtly presence and
the Christian man and in the kingly bearing of Canoni
cus, in all the dignity of untutored nature, Christianity
and Paganism may be seen clasping hands. Civil and
religious liberty became not only possible, but effective.
^ach one of them developed the highest type of man
hood. The great Christian principle of self-sacrifice was
shown by the savage, as well as by the civilized humanity.
Canonicus, with his true nobility of nature, his simple
faith in the Great Spirit, his sagacity and his honor, is
not dead and his memory cannot die out of the hearts of
the people he so unselfishly and nobly served. His good
deeds are immortal and " his works do follow him."
Surely the Rhode Island man may be permitted to mourn
the fate of the kingly Canonicus, the murdered chieftain^

194 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
Miantinomi, and drop a tear over their ashes, for they
were the best friends " the Colony of Rhode Island and
Providence Plantations " ever had.
Jp ^ ip V 'I^
The character of Roger Williams was a marked one.
He was human, decidedly human. He had defects and
they were many, but some of these defects made him the
better man. He was passionate, resentful under provo
cation, had an inordinate confidence in his own judgment,
he was obstinate but sincere, and his life of transparent
truthfulness was alike an instinct and a necessity. He
had an original and independent mind and he rejected
indignantly, any compromise with conscience proposed to
him. If he discovered a truth, he would proclaim it ; an
error, he would oppose it; an evil, he would try to remedy
it and when he could do good, even to his enemies, he
would do it. When arraigned before the General Court,
to answer the charges brought against him, he did not
blench or fiinch, but stoutly maintained his position and
opinions and suffered banishment from his home and his
church. The historian relates that he had a singularly
attractive nature, the magnetism of a popular leader, an
affable disposition and many distinctive Christian graces.
Surely, the people of Rhode Island and of Providence
specially, have abundant reason for pride in the character
of their illustrious founder.
In 1883, the people of Providence put up a Canonicus
Memorial, under the auspices of the Rhode Island His
torical Society. A boulder monument was unveiled,
singing by the pupils of the High School, an oration and
a poem were delivered and addresses by the Mayor and
others. It was fitting that such a memorial should be
raised and the character and good deeds of the noble old

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30. 195
chief should be made known to the people of the present
day.* On the 23d and 24th of June, 1886, the people of Prov
idence had a grand celebration of " The Founding of
Providence Town, Two Hundred and Fifty Tears ago." The
city entered into the festivities with heart and soul and
gave itself up for the two days, with the active and ener
getic public spirit, ever a noted characteristic of the New
England towns and cities. Business was entirely sus
pended, public buildings, stores and many private dwell
ings were decorated with fiags, banners, pictures and
transparencies, processions were formed of citizens, the
venerable First Baptist Church was crowded to hear the
music of instruments and four hundred picked voices,
rendering classical and original compositions for the
•occasion and to li'sten to the masterly and splendid
oration delivered by the Honorable Chief Justice of the
State. The second day there was a military demonstra
tion, guns were fired, bells rung and besides the soldiers
of the city, there were troops from New York, Boston,
New Haven, Hartford, Newport, Fall River, Bristol and
other places and " the sounds of martial music filled the
air." The afternoon was occupied by a trades procession,
* I have quoted freely from the " Canonicus Memorial," the address of
Gen. Horatio Bogers, that of the late B. B. Hammond, Esq., and the fine
oration of the Honorable Thomas Durfee, Chief Justice of the State of
Bhode Island, delivered at the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary cele
bration of the settlement of Providence. I cheerfully acknowledge that I
am much indebted to their productions, for statements and ideas clothed in
beautiful language. I had, in a late visit to Providence, one or two
pleasant interviews with Mr. Hammond and was greatly shocked to hear,
only a few days after leaving him in good health and spirits, of his sudden
death at the tea table and in the presence of his family. I was forcibly
impressed by the sad event and the fact of his bright, cheery appearance
ajid conversation only a short time before.

196 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
with a grand display of fireworks for the evening. It
was my good fortune to be making a visit in Providence
at the time and witnessing all the proceedings, I can, with
safety, make the assertion, that I have never before seen
a more complete celebration in any city in our country.
As I have before stated, when my faculties became first
awakened, the town of Providence was composed of some
eleven thousand inhabitants. Now it is a city with a
population of one hundred and twenty-one thousand five
hundred, having increased its numbers more than ten
times in the sixty-five or seventy years. My first recollec
tion of the town itself, was at the time I had arrived at the
age of four years and a-half. This was my first abso
lutely distinct recollection and it was indelibly impressed
on mind and memory, by The Great Gale (described else
where) of September, 1815. My next remembrance was
two years later and this is vivid and distinct, because it
was the first time that I saw the President of the United
States. It was President Monroe and the year 1817. I was
between six and seven years old ,and-.well do I remember
the impression it made, to see such a distinguished person
and the awe I felt. He was on horseback, surrounded by
a large cavalcade of citizens. Small boys, somehow,
always manage to be near to their desired objective point
and I succeeded in getting almost near enough to touch
his stirrup with my hand. I think his coat was of blue
bloadcloth and I am sure his breeches were buff, with
high top boots. I well remember that at that time and for
several years afterward my father, uncles and my oldest
brother-in-law, wore top boots and breeches and queues, the
hair long and tied at the back of the head with narrow
black lasting or tape. Mr. Nicholas Brown and many other

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30. 197
¦gentlemen that I remember, always dressed in that style.
About that time and for ten years later, it was the custom
among gentlemen to wear breeches, silk stockings and
" pumps " (why were low shoes called pumps ?) at
balls and parties. Remarks were then made, as would
be the case now, were the fashion revived, about the
curious looks and shapes of some of the legs that were
exhibited. I well remember the first school I attended — "Miss
Balch's," in George Street, now facing the southern end
of Prospect Street. How many are there now living, who
were there when I was ? I know of none. The curricu
lum was a simple one and not so indelibly impressed on
my memory as the three modes of punishment prevalent
with our sorely-tried schoolmistress and her assistant.
The first was to be stood up on a bench, " with your
mouth buttoned up ; " this was done by being obliged to
hold the forefinger over the lips for a half hour or hour.
The second (to me it was at first awful, but I afterwards
got bravely over it and rather liked it) was to set " a bad
boy" among the girls and vice versa. The third, evidently
intended to be the severest, was " to be punished with a
bunch of rods." But the bunch was so thick, dear, con
siderate Miss Balch, it did not hurt at all. Each one of
the three, was repeatedly used for my benefit, but I fear
that no salutary result ensued. A few months ago, I
stopped in front of the old house, still standing, and in
dulged in many memories and curious reflections with
regard to " our teacher," my old school-fellows and the
fact that there I stood and seventy years older than when
I was first there.
Among my early remembrances is "old St. John's
Church." How well do I remember the good rector, the

198 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
perfect gentleman, the earnest preacher, the Rev. Dr.
Crocker — his rich voice, his devotional and perfect read
ing of the service, his fine personal appearance and his
dignified but courteous manner ! I had a reverence and
love for him that I cannot describe or express. I was the
first child baptized in that church. How well too, do I
remember the old organist, Mr. Muenscher, with the old-
fashioned organ ! He could not take his hands off the
key-board when playing the service, to pull out "the
stops," it took too much strength, and I used to assist
him. When he said " now then," I would pull out all
the stops to give effect to the " forte " or loud passages.
I noticed that his thumbs were hard and broad at the
ends, caused by the heavy pressure on the keys to make
them speak. How different are the organs at the present
day! with as light a touch as that of a piano and as
easily played and with different combinations of stops,
or all of them, instantly brought out by the touch of a
button or pedal, with the hand or foot.
I remember, too, our churches were poorly warmed in
those days, when furnaces and heaters were unknown,
that boys and girls would go into a room in the north
east corner of St. John's, where a large fire'was kept on
Sundays, in the winter, and put hot coals, oak or walnut,
into the foot-stoves and take them to the pews, to keep
the feet of mothers or sisters warm during the service. I
also remember that in some other churches, the bass-viol
was the only musical instrument used, for accompanying
the voices of the choir and congregation. Also, that in
some churches, when the choir would rise to sing the
psalm or hymn, the leader would strike a pitch-pipe, to
get the key-note and then say to the choir, "sound,"
which they did and then went on with the tune. Some

PROVIDENCE, tt.. I., 1811-30. 199
of my readers may have heard this proceeding, if they
have ever attended an " Old Folks' Concert."
Well do I remember the Rev. James Wilson, Pastor of
the "Round Top" Congregational Church on Broad
Street, with his rich Irish pronunciation. Being an
Irishman, he was nicknamed by the careless and irrev
erent " Paddy Wilson." But he was a good Christian, a
good preacher and a good man and left behind him an
enviable record. Many of my relatives and friends were
members of or attended his church. Numerous anecdotes
were told of him, some of them characteristic of the man,
but I will only relate one, not vouching for its truth.
The day before one "Thanksgiving Day" he went to the
market, buying the smallest and poorest turkey that was
offered for sale. With his purchase in his hand, he started
on his return home through the principal street and just
at the hour when business men were on their way, after
breakfast, to their stores and counting-rooms. Among
them were, of course, many of his own parishioners, and
seeing their pastor carrying home such a miserable speci
men of a turkey, they would stop and ask : " Why, Mr.
Wilson, what have you got in your hand?" To the
question he* meekly replied, " It is only a small turkey,
the best that I could afford to buy.'' Passing on to the
market where they were to purchase a turkey for their
own dinner for Thanksgiving and with tender pity for
their minister in their hearts, they selected and ordered
sent to his house a fat and tender turkey. The result
was that fourteen turkeys made a splendid addition to
their Dominie's larder.
Other clergymen (or mimisters, as they were more fre
quently called in those days) are remembered by me
with great distinctness. The eccentric but talented divine,

200 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
the Rev. Thomas Williams, Congregational, the Rev.
Henry Edes, Unitarian, the short, rotund and jolly par
son, whom I frequently met on Sundays, as he was on his
way to his church, walking down Benefit Street, robed in
his black silk " gown, with silk cassock and bands," the
Rev. Mr. Mace, of the Universalists, and the Rev. Dr.
Gano, a Baptist minister and a saintly man, dressed in
knee-breeches and top boots. Dr. Gano and my father
(though the latter was a devout member of the Episcopal
Church) were on terms of friendship and intimacy and
they often indulged in long conversations on religious
affairs and general topics. On one occasion they were
talking on the subject of Marriage. They both agreed
that in the selection of a husband or wife, the controlling
motive or reason for choosing the one or the other, seemed
to be, in the great majority of cases, entirely unaccount
able to those not personally interested. The reasons
given for the choice made, were at times almost astound
ing and so trivial and absurd as to excite laughter as well
as astonishment. As an illustration. Dr. Gano related to
my father, a circumstance, which I heard him repeat and
it so impressed me at the time, only sixty-five years ago,
I have never forgotten it. '
The Doctor said : " A couple came to my house one
day to be married. They were shown into the parlor,
were I went to meet them. On entering the room, I saw
a bright, rosy-cheeked, fresh looking young man, and
seated on the sofa beside him, a pale, plain and in fact a
really homely young woman, evidently some few years
older than he. Her features were irregular and the ex
pression of her face was almost repulsive. After a few
words to them, I invited the would-be-bridegroom into
another room and then said to him : My dear young man,

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30. 201
I have asked you aside to speak to you seriously, but
kindly and as a friend. In looking at the young woman
with you, I see that she is not only plain looking, but
really homely- and besides, she looks older than you by
some years. You are young and healthy looking and it
strikes me that you have chosen one for a wife, who is so
unattractive in her face and appearance, that I fear you
cannot be happy together. The banns have been published
and I cannot decline to marry you, but you should pause
and reflect while it is time. Now, what do you think he
said to me in reply to my short sermon ? Why; Doctor
Gano ! You don't know what a beautiful little ear she's got ! "
I must relate another anecdote about the Rev. Mr. Mace,
of the Universalist Church, which stood at the corner of
Westminster and Union Streets and was destroyed by
fire. David Grieve, or Grieves, was a well-known man in
Providence, when I was some twelve years old or more.
He was three-quarters Quaker, a well-built man, neat in
appearance, wearing short breeches with buckles at the
knees and on his head was a low-crowned and broaH-
brimmed hat. The color of his clothes was a regular
Quaker drab, and with his clean, well-filled stockings (he
had a pardonable pxide in his well-formed, ample calves),
his bright and pleasant face, and carrying a large, stout
cane, which he would rub along the sidewalk, he was
quite a feature and a character on Westminster Street
and on the bridge. Everyone knew him and the young,
the middle-aged and the old, often listened to him with
evident pleasure, for he was well posted on all the topics
of the day.
One morning the Rev. Mr. Mace (who had but lately
come to the Universalist Church) met our friend David
and said to him, " Good-morning, Mr. Grieves ; what is
14

202 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
the news this morning?" The answer was, "Why,
there's news from hell — haven't you heard it ? " " No ! I
have heard nothing ; what is the character of the news,
Mr. Grieves ? " " Why, they say that the devil the other
morning, was calling on all his messengers that he had
sent out into the world, for their reports. At last one came
who had been sent to the State of Rhode Island and he
was asked what he had to report. He replied, ' Your
Majesty, I have nothing to report of much consequence,
except that a new church has just been built in Provi
dence.' 'A church in Providence! John, go get me
my boots, I must see to that myself. But, wait, what
kind of church is it ? ' 'It is Universalist.' ' Well,-
that is not quite so bad. Did you hear who is the
preacher ? ' ' Yes, your Majesty, it is a Mr. Mace.'
' Mace ! Mace, did you say ? John, never mind my boots.' "
The introduction of anthracite coal was first made to
the people of Providence, by Colonel J. B. Wood, one of
my brothers-in-law and quite an energetic and popular
ciUzen. He had a grate put up in the parlor of his
house, now standing on Waterman Street, the second
door west from Benefit, and after some few alterations
and attempts . to make " the black stones " burn, he gave
an invitation to all the citizens, to come and see the fire
of hard coal. Large numbers of people availed them
selves of the opportunity and, for the first time, saw
anthracite coal burning. Their astonishment was un
bounded and there were some who repeated their visits,
to feel assured that it was indeed a reality. Now, the use
of it has become so general, there are between thirty and
forty millions of tons used in our country each year.
I think it was in 1826 or 1827 that my father, who had
visited Boston and Salem, Mass., purchased in the latter

PROVIDENCE," R. I., 1811-30. 203
place and brought home the first pair of India rubber
overshoes that I ever saw. They were looked at and ex
amined with great surprise and wonder, by each member
of his large family, and many of our relatives, friends
and acquaintances came to see the new and curious over
shoes. They were about one-third of an inch thick,
hard, stiff and unyielding, and it was necessary to warm
them thoroughly and well, before they could be put on.
Since their introduction, what wonderful improvements
have been made in these articles and in the manufacture
of the material into so many forms and shapes for the
commonest use.
In 1824, Lafayette, who had come to this country for
the first time since the War of the Revolution, in which
he had acted a conspicuous part, came to Providence. It
was a great day with the people of the town and the
whole State, and thousands assembled to welcome and do
honor to the nation's guest and the heroic Frenchman,
who had nobly assisted our fathers in the long and bloody
struggle for their independence. All the civil authorities
and the military ofthe town and State were out in full force
and everything was done to make the day a memorable
one. There was a powerful impression made on my
youthful mind, for I had read and re-read the history of
the Revolutionary War. and the many romantic and soul-
stirring adventures connected with it. Some incidents,
too, of the day, one affecting and another amusing, I
well remember. The meeting of Lafayette and old Col
onel Olney, " of the Rhode Island Line," was a scene that
made a profound impression on all that witnessed it.
They were known to each other during the war and had
been in battles, side by side, but had not seen each other
since the war had ended, more than forty years before."

204 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
When they came face to face, they embraced each other
with great emotion and tear-shedding and could only
utter the words, " Oh, General Lafayette ! " and " Oh, Col
onel Olney! " while those who stood by were also visibly
affected. I remember an amusing mistake made by a
man from the country at the general reception. Gov
ernor Fenner, who was then Governor of the State, stood
by the side of the General as the people came up, shook
hands and passed on. He was a large, portly man and
our country friend, supposing he must be the great Gen
eral, grasped his hand and with a hurried, " How d'ye do,
Lafayette," passed on before the Governor could tell him
of his mistake. He probably went home to his family
and friends, boasting to them of shaking hands with the
great French General and probably, continued doing so
to the end of his life.
And here I would note a historical fact, that may not
be known to many, who may perchance see these pages.
Boston was filled with patriots who openly resisted the
oppression and taxation of the British Government and
kindled the fires of rebellion against it. They threw
the tea overboard and that act was followed by the blood
shed of Concord and Lexington and the stubborn fight
ing at Bunker Hill. But as early as 1772, three years
before the Revolutionary War began, some patriotic citi
zens of Providence, assembled one night and starting
down Narragansett Bay in eight boats and, at Namquit
Point, attacked " His Majesty's armed revenue schooner,
Gaspee." After exchanging shots with the vessel, in
which the first British blood in the Revolution was shed, the
crew were captured and put on shore and the doomed
Gaspee was set on fire. Then retiring, they saw it
" burst into fiames and paint the sky with a lurid por-

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30. 205
tent of the approaching conflict. It was a patriotic and
retaliatory, but an illegal act." I can remember when a
boy, at the Fourth of July celebrations, a carriage was
drawn in the procession, holding " the surviwors of the
bu/mi/ng of the Gaspee."
Many persons, in my boyhood's days, in Providence are
fresh in my remembrance and it requires no effort to re
call them, as they were and as they looked. Some who
were of marked individuality, some who occupied public
positions, some whose minds were " out of joint " and
many who were prominent and well-known citizens in
social or business life. Among my early recollections
were Deacon Hammond, who, riding in a chaise with a
drum, between his legs, would stop at the corners, or pub
lic places and, beating the drum, would read a proclama
tion to the freemen and citizens informing them of " a
town meeting," to be held at the old Town House on a
certain day. Deacon Harding, too, who was " clerk " in
St. John's Church and who, in his cracked voice, used to
read the words of the psalm he " gave out " in this way
and with this accentj " 0 come, loud anthems ! let us
sing." Beasely, the town crier, often attracted my atten
tion and Alpheus Billings, the High Sheriff, who on
public occasions carried a drawn sword, was in my eyes
and estimation, some great, important and dignifled
official. Peleg Gifford, " the crazy man," who had a pro
pensity to set buildings on fire (he did succeed in burn
ing the church at the corner of Benefit and Benevolent
Streets) ; poor, quiet, harmless David Peckham, who was
always " taking a lunar " for the boys, telling them what
the weather would be ; Aleck Sweet, the polite, stylish
and popular barber ; " Nickey " Peters, the funny Portu
guese, well known to all for his " content ob de mind ; "

206 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
the good, simple-minded man and Christian, Deacon
Wardwell and, " last but not least," in the estimation of
all the boys and girls, Joe Smith, who kept the popular
candy shop on Westminster Street, where he dispensed the
toothsome Gibraltars (why were they so named ?) in ex
change for the pennies of those who sought his sweet pre
cincts. These I have named and many others were
there, whose appearance or idiosyncracies made them in
teresting characters.
I remember one man, whose name I never knew,
whose peculiar actions, as I saw them two or three times
each week, not only attracted my attention, but became
a puzzle to me at that time and it has remained unsolved
to this day. I was in an office fronting on Market
Square, commanding a view of the market-house and the
side-walks around it, never interrupted unless by passing
vehicles. As I was standing one morning in the door of
the office, I noticed a man come out of the building with
his market-basket on his arm. He stopped at the north
east corner of the market and I should not have noticed
him further, had it not been that he looked intently and
steadily at the corner of North Main Street, " Vinton's
corner," as it was once called. There was nothing pecu
liar in his appearance or dress — a respectable, well-dressed
man of about fifty years, and my attention would have
been turned to some other person or object passing, were
it not for the steady, earnest look at the corner named.
Why was it ? What did it mean ?
In a' few minutes he started and walked to the corner,
but just as he reached it, he turned round and hurried
back, with a troubled and somewhat terrified expression
on his face, to the spot where he first stood. I became so
interested in this singular proceeding, I watched him

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30. 207
closely and after an interval of some five minutes, he
again started and again turned back just at the corner
and with the same disturbed look on his face as before.
He repeatedly made the attempt to pass that corner,
always with the same result, going back to the same spot
and each time, standing there quietly, but looking
eagerly at the corner. Once I saw a more decided look
of terror on his face, than at any other time. While he
stood on his favorite spot, his face denoted only quiet re
pose, with the exception of the steady gaze I have men
tioned. At last, after some eight or ten attempts had been
made, he succeeded in going round the corner and then
walked on up North Main Street, without even looking
back and as quietly as any other person passing along.
I frequently, after that day, saw this respectable, well-
dressed man, go through the same process in all its de
tails and always until he had made the same number of
attempts, he would not succeed in passing the corner and
going on his way home. Why was it that he always ex
perienced such a difficulty in going round that corner ?
Why did he not. try the other side of the street? Why
did he not go up Canal Street, or up College and then
Benefit Street ? Had he, at some former time, met with
some accident on that corner ? Had he been suddenly
startled, or had a fright just there ? Why did he waste
a half hour or more each time he went to market and
why did he not go to some other ? All these questions
I asked myself, but from that time to the present I have
never been able to account for it and it must ever remain
a singular, strange circumstance, which I cannot explain
and a problem unsolved.
For many years Providence had a large and lucrative
trade with foreign countries and her merchants had ships

208 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
on the ocean, going to and coming from nearly every
commercial port in the world. She even supplied, -at
times, imported goods to New York and Boston. Vessels
belonging to her enterprising merchants visited the far-
off East Indies and the nearer West India islands, bring
ing back the productions of those countries. In the de
cade of 1790 to 1800 there were more ships and brigs be
longing to her port than to either Boston or New York.
Her large merchants, such as Brown & Ives, Edward
Carrington, Cyrus Butler and others, had ships of five
hundred to five hundred and fifty tons — considered large
ones in those days — trading with Canton, Calcutta and
European ports, and in nearly all instances, bringing
full cargoes and large returns. I remember the second
ship, " Ann and Hope," belonging to Brown & Ives and
named for the wives of the two partners, also the Lion
and the Panther owned by General Carrington. When
either of these ships and some others arrived, after their
long voyages, there was great excitement among the boys,
as well as the grown up citizens.
As our country increased in extent and population.
Providence and the other ports in the State, gradually
lost the foreign shipping trade and the manufacture of
cotton and woollen goods began and developed into the
enormous proportions now existing. My father was the
first cotton merchant in Providence, receiving shipments of
" long and short. staple," "Sea Island and Upland," from
Charleston, Savannah and New Orleans and sold it to
the first manufactwrer, Samuel Slater, afterward of the well-
known firm of Almy, Brown & Slater. Some of the de
scendants of Samuel Slater are, at the present time, en
gaged in manufacturing goods, which is now the great
industrial interest of the whole State. Not having the

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30. 209
figures at hand I abstain from recording the statistics of
the cotten and woollen manufactures of Rhode Island,
but the aggregate is a surprising array of figures, run
ning far away into the millions of pounds of material
used and the yards of cloth produced.
Among the well-known names of families occupying
prominent positions in public, business and social life,
during the first three decades of this century, were
Brown, Ives, Carrington, Dorr, Richmond, Jones, Dor-
rance. Burgess, Jackson, Lippitt, Blodgett, Whipple,
Hoppin, Anthony, Halsey, Arnold, Mauran, Dyer, Allen,
Knight, Manton and many others. I remember all these
that I have named, their personal appearance, manners,
characters, etc., as well as many anecdotes of them, that
would interest and amuse many readers, were time and
space at my disposal. Memory delights in recalling
them, but, like many other things, they rnust pass, by the
progress of years, into the forgotten past. As I look over
the list of names, I see that not one of the heads of those
families remain. All have " gone to join the great ma
jority." There are some old landmarks and some old customs
yet existing in Providence, which are to me, as well as to
some others, of marked and great interest. One of these
deserves particular mention, on account of its long exist
ence and a time-honored custom attached to it. I refer
to the " First Baptist Meeting House," so called when I
was a boy. It was built, and entirely of wood, in' the
year 1775. It fronts on North Main Street, near the
centre of the city and situated a short distance from
the street, the grounds covering a whole block and just
where the steep ascent of the hill begins. Built as it is
on the face of the hill, the front rises some feet higher

210 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
than the back wall of the edifice, so that the level of the
audience chamber in front, is like a second story, reached
by a flight of stairs inside, while the rear doors are but
one step above the ground. It is a large, imposing, hand
some church and has a beautiful steeple and spire some
two hundred feet high. My father once told me, that a
French architect came to Providence and as he was pass
ing along the street, he stopped and gazing long and ad
miringly at the church and spire, he said : " That is the
most graceful and well-proportioned steeple I have ever
seen." When I was about eleven or twelve years old, I
climbed the interior of the steeple, going as far as " the
round holes," so called, some eighteen or twenty feet from
the top. It was a rather windy day and I could feel that
it swayed to and fro. I was told afterward, that it was a
sign of its strength and elasticity. Time has proved that
it is strong and well put together, for it has since stood,
in all its grace and beautiful proportions, sixty-five more
years, breasting successfully all the storms beating against
it, in all that long period of time.
From time immemorial the bell of this church has
been rung every day, at sunrise, noon and at nine o'clock
in the evening. This last may be called the curfew bell.
How often in these more than one hundred years, has
this bell called the people to prayer and to the worship
of God ! How often has its sad tolling been heard at the
funeral ! or its joyous tones rung out in peals of gladness
on the celebration of our nation's birthday ! When I
was a boy we used to play in the evening near the
church, ever keeping in view the parental command,
" When the Baptist bell strikes nine, you are to leave at
once for home." It was promptly obeyed, for when the
first stroke of the hour fell on our ears a stampede took

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30. 211
place and before the ringing of the bell had ceased, nearly
every boy was within the walls of his home. From those
days to the present, the familiar tones of that old bell,
whenever I hear them, open the gates to old memories
and associations, bringing to mind former joys and pleas
ures that can never come again.
So long as I can remember, this church has always
been selected for University Commencements, College
Society Anniversaries, Fourth of July and other public
celebrations and a large majority of the people of Provi
dence regard it with reverent esteem and admiration.
Brown University is now more than one hundred years
old. Many there are, scattered through the length and
breadth of our land, who look back to the old institution
with affection, it being their Alma Mater. As stated else
where, its buildings are situated on the brow of the hill,
on the east side and near the centre of Providence. The
grounds are level, spacious and well laid out, the front
being well filled with handsome trees. A beautiful view
or views of the city can be had from the front — and from
the rear, fine streets and handsome houses of every variety
of style and architecture are to be seen. At my earliest
recollection, there was but one building on the extensive
grounds, besides the dwelling of the President. This latter
has been removed and some five or six buildings or halls
.have been added. Among the graduates from this college
were my father, two brothers, two brothers-in-law and I
now have two grandsons in their sophomore year. These,
with many other friends and acquaintances among its
alumni, have always kept it as of special interest with
me. In his autobiography, written when he was seventy,
my father stated that he entered the University — then

212 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
called " The Rhode Island College "—in the year 1779
and, by agreement, as sophomore. There were only four
in the class, Joseph Jencks, Obadiah Brown, William
McClellan and Alexander Jones. " In 1781 Brown, Mc
Clellan and self studied mathematics with Mr. Ustick, in
Grafton, Mass. (as President Manning did not teach that
branch), and Jencks studied with Dr. West. In Septem
ber, 1782, we passed a private examination in the chapel
and took private degrees. We went "through college"
without residing in the building, as it was occupied as a
hospital for our allies, the French army. John Green,
Samuel Snow and Dr. Levi Wheaton, who had regular
standing in the college before the war, received their
degrees at the same time. I was a stripling of eighteen
years." This time-honored institution continues to be
vigorous and fiourishing in its old age. I recall Presi
dent Messer, in his huge coat and capacious "waistcoat,"
his breeches and his silver-buckled shoes and some
rhymes used by the boys in those days :
" Asa Messer is professor,
Ofthe Bhode Island College;
Professor Park sat iu the dark,
To show the people his knowledge.''
And President Wayland — the scholar, the thinker, the
man of mental power. But few such men appear among
us and at rare intervals. Daniel Webster, Francis Way-
land and Bishop Alonzo Potter were men cast in a noble
mould — of rare individuality and of ponderous intellect.
It is a common remark that old people are always say
ing : " Everything was very different when I was a young
man, or when I was a young girl." It is generally ac
companied by a plainly expressed averment, that the old

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30. 213
people are mistaken and that generally, things remain
about the same now, as when they were young. This is
partly true, but much more is it false. Human nature
must and will be everywhere the same. Our hopes,
desires, qualities, passions, habits, good and bad, are
unchanged. Our aspirations, efforts, fancies are the
same as they were with those who lived in bygone years.
But our present circumstances of business, public and
social life, are totally different from those that obtained
some sixty years ago. We are living in an age of great
advancement and most wonderful progress. Let any one
look back to the time when we could kindle our fires in
no other way but by the striking together of flint and
steel. Let them turn to the days when steam power was
but as an infant in its strength; when telegraphs and
telephones were unknown; when electric power was
beyond the control of man ; when books, newspapers and
pamphlets were " few and far between ! " Then look at
the wonderful discoveries and inventions within the last
five or six decades, the progress of science, the arts, man
ufactures, etc. A glance will suffice to show how many,
how great, how wonderful, are the changes that have
come to us.
Change makes change and from the simple, quiet man
ner and habit of life, in the earlier decades of this century,
we have progressed and changed into the hurried, rest
less, pushing and feverish way of living, that now rules
the hour. Then, as now, humanity was the same in its
qualities, instincts, aims and passions, but now, all
matures and develops earlier ; a,nd all these, rushing on
with far greater activity and speed, their needs and their
fancies daily increasing, cause our present way of living
to be one of hurry, excitement and ferment, far beyond
what prevailed in former years.

214 MY'SELF AND OTHERS.
Well do I remember the conditions and usages of social
life in Providence, when I was a boy of twelve to the age
of eighteen years. I had older brothers and sisters then
moving in the gaieties of society. In those days young
ladies were contented with three dresses and but very few,
even of those whose parents were supposed to be wealthy,
could boast of having four. A morning dress, or wrap
per, a house dress of " stuff goods," or calico and a party
or ball dress, was the extent of the wardrobe. What
would our society young ladies of the present day, think
of such a supply? Parties, balls and festive occasions
were rare and seldom enjoyed. "Receptions," "five
o'clock teas" and "germans" were unknown. Social
and evening visiting were the rule and not the exception,
as it now is. I remember that a young lady, whose
father and mother took her to New York on a visit,
returned with a dress that cost one hundred dollars.
The astonishment and excitement created in society cir
cles by this unheard-of piece of extravagance, was won
derful to behold.
The dances then in use, were the simple cotillion and
the Virginia reel, and these seemed to satisfy the desires
of the dancers. The waltz, or as now termed, " round
dances," were unknown. But innovations were near at
hand and the season before I left my native place a com
motion, or rather a convulsion, took place. Two young
ladies, popular in society, who had been visiting in one
of our cities, returned home and reported the "dizzy
waltz," as already introduced in the fashionable circles
there and added, "It is new and perfectly charming and
we have been learning how to waltz. Oh! it is just
lovely." It was tried at a party shortly afterward and
discussion, argument, denunciation, abuse and confusion

PROVIDENCE, R. L, 1811-30. 215
of tongues was the result. A storm of, indignation arose,
consternation was rampant, (especially among those who
couldn't waltz, or were very fastidious on the score of
the strictest virtuous conduct) and on the heads of the
two unfortunate girls, vials of wrath were poured without
stint. To attempt to introduce such practices in Provi
dence society ! ! It was shocking, monstrous ! ! ! The
excitement extended to New York, Boston and other
places and in none of those quarters could "society"
be accused of dulness. It was up in arms and fairly
bristled with excitement.
Communications were sent to the newspapers and pub
lished, satires, squibs and arguments, pro and con, made
their appearance in print. The advocates and opponents
of the innovation armed themselves cap-a-pie and be
came " eager for the fray," and ink was spilt in quantities
and headaches multiplied, in the efforts made to express
their ideas " in sober prose or captivating poetry." From
a long effort in poetry, now in my possession, I copy the
concluding lines, which were as follows :
" I might seem more uncouth, but not more false,
Instead of saying, Madam, will you waltz ?
A man should s.ay, Come ! let us have a hug,
A warm and cosy, sentimental hug !
Oh, ladies ! ladies ! try the Highland fling.
Or jig, or shuiBe, almost anything,
Or stick to good cotillions when you dance.
But leave tfie waltz to wanton dames of France."
But fashion is all-powerful and the waltz was at last
accepted as " the thing," and as some indignant person,
over the name of " Senex," declared in a communication
to the newspaper, "indiscriminate hugging will be the order
of the day."

216 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
The style of dress with both sexes, was so different from
that of the present day, it is worthy of mention. The'
collar of a man's broadcloth coat was some three or four
inches high, coming well up in the back of the neck,
hard and stiff, being filled with " buckram." The sleeves
were very tight to the wrist, and as shirt collars were
made very high, coming up to the ears, and "stocks"
nearly as high were worn round the neck, and trowsers
were gathered at the waist and made small and tight
below the the knee to the feet, one can imagine how singu
lar was the dress and appearance of the men in those days.
For many years, too, ladies, both young and old, had
always worn very low shoes or slippers, tied round the
ankle with narrow black ribbon crossed and no other
stocking but white was seen, either in the house or street.
I remember well the time, when two young ladies return
ing from Philadelphia brought with them the gaiter boot.
It was just at" the time that short skirts were worn
and the sensible, pretty-looking gaiter came into use.
Like all other novelties in dress or apparel, it was first
thought to be ugly for the foot, but it was acknowledged
to be a better protection and the use of the gaiter became
universal. In after years, it became changed into the
leather laced or buttoned boot of the present day.
About that time too, the huge bonnet and the " leg of
mutton" sleeves became prominent features in female
attire, and though at first thought to be very singular and
outre in appearance, both bonnet and sleeves became
universal in their use and by some, they were such exag
gerated specimens as to be ludicrous. But who can stand
up and resist the decrees of fashion? It was, is and has
been, absolute in its control and all bow down in subjec
tion to its power. No matter how ultra or absurd the

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30. 217
change in dress may seem to be, the edict goes forth and
the change is adopted and becomes universal.
" When Fashion proclaims from her dazzling height.
Emboldened by power and forgetful of right.
That a change shall be made In our manner of dress,
We dare not rebel and we must acquiesce.
For no monarch or king can more absolute be,
Than is Fashion, whene'er she puts forth a decree."
The people of sixty odd years ago, were individually,
no better than those of the present day, but their way of
living was more quiet, with less of the excitement that
marks life in the present day. There was less familiarity
with vice. The records of crimes were fewer and not so
accessible as they now are, when sensational newspapers
and cheap literature seem to be broadcast o'er the land.
Murders were then extraordinary events, suicides were
almost unheard of and divorces were thought to be
criminal and almost monstrous. Now, they seem to be of
frequent and nearly daily occurrence and human life and
human happiness seem less sacred. Boys and girls, young
men and young women, are the same as in times past, ex
cept in an earlier development and maturity. There are
the good and the bad, the amiable and the ugly, the
modest and the fast, the virtuous and the immoral.
Natures do not change, but habits and customs alter the
course of our lives and the wonderful progress of events
throughout the world, in the -present century, has greatly
changed the methods of public, business and social life.
I think it was in 1807 or 1808 that Fulton's first steam
boat went down the Hudson River and it was some ten
or twelve years afterward, that boats propelled by steam
were used to any great extent. In 1817, when President
Monroe came to visit Providence, he landed from a small
15

218 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
government steamer, the Fire-Fly. The steamboats be
tween Providence and New York became famous through
out the country and were a great improvement over the
slow journey by land of two hundred miles and the un
certainty of the sailing packets. I have not the date
when regular trips began between the two cities, but I
remember the first large steamers — the Fulton and the
Connecticut. I also remember that when the Fulton, in
1823, succeeded in making the voyage from New York to
Providence within twenty-four hours, it was thought to be a
wonderful event and was heralded "from Maine to Georgia "
in the newspapers. I have vivid recollections of the old
and young Captain Comstock and the old and young
Captain Bunker, as well as their successors and the old
steamers Chancellor Livingstone, Benjamin Franklin,
President, Rhode Island, Massachusetts and Providence,
all of whom ran for many years. Of the swift, but ill-
fated Lexington (destroyed by fire in the Sound), and I
have seen her coming in at Fox Point in eleven hours
and forty-five minutes from New York. Rather different
from " the wonderful trip of the steamer Fulton," made in
twenty-four hours.
Well do I remember the advent of steel pens, made in
England by Gillott in the year 1822, and how greatly
they " astonished the natives." What an improvement^
it was over the quill pen, requiring a very sharp penknife
and considerable skill to make a pen that would write
even one page without mending. The steel was followed
by pens made of silver and then of gold, with points of
platinum or diamonds. One of these last named, I have
used for eleven years and I am now writing this with that
same pen.
I remember, too, the first appearance of the tomato as

PROVIDENCE, R. I., 1811-30. 219
an article of food. It was in 1828. My brother, who
had been in New York and was at the City Hotel, told us
on his return, of his seeing it on the table and that itwas
a most delicious vegetable. It proved to be a plant bear
ing a fruit, which was called " the love apple." It grew
in our garden and was supposed to be worthless and, as
some said, was poisonous. Orders were given to prepare
a dish of it for the succeeding day, but no one at the table,
except my brother, could tolerate the taste of it. Now,
by careful cultivation, it has become a vegetable in almost
universal use and its prodtict can only be described by
millions of baskets annually.
Providence is now a beautiful city of nearly one hun
dred and twenty-two thousand inhabitants — the second
largest city in the New England States. It was at one
time the wealthiest, with one exception, as it was calcu
lated that its property, per capita, was eighteen hundred
and sixty dollars. Its manufacturing interests have be
come of enormous proportions and its public buildings,
schools, churches, etc., have increased and kept step with
the progress of the age. It has a banking capital of about
seventeen millions of dollars and since 1833 has added
more than one hundred thousand to its population. The
great number of handsome private residences, is a promi
nent and attractive feature to all who visit the city. Its
citizens are public-spirited, generally well educated and
devote much attention to music, literature, the arts and
sciences, and society, so called, is hospitable, open-handed,
well informed and cultivated. The patriotism of the
people of the city and State was shown, by the number of
officers and soldiers who poured from its borders in the
late civil war, and those who were born within the limits
of this gallant little State, are proud of " Rhode Island
and Providence Plantations."

220 MYSELF AND OTHERS.

PHILADELPHIA, 1830-1887.
The average Philadelphian is strongly attached to and
proud of his city. He does not always shout her praises,
or continually proclaim her superiority over other cities,
but he is ever ready, when occasion requires, to defend
her from attack and to express his belief that her supe
rior as a city, is no where to be found. Granted that
there are larger, busier, more gorgeous cities, he will tell
you that, all things considered, " it is the most delight
ful place on earth."
When I came to Philadelphia to live, a youth of
eighteen and in September, 1829, the inhabitants num
bered about two hundred thousand. The city was then
divided into different districts or corporations, the city
proper only extending east and west, from river to river
and the northern and southern boundary were Vine and
South Streets, respectively. The districts comprised
Northern Liberties, Southwark, Spring Garden, Kensing
ton, etc. My impressions of the city, as to the beauty of
the streets and their cleanliness, for which it was then
famous, the numerous and beautiful trees and the plain,
substantial and comfortable houses, which were formed
in a visit of some three or four years before, were ratified
and confirmed and I found it a lovely city to live in.
At that time and for ten or twelve years later, there
were many large and handsome private residences on
Market Street, above Ninth and on Chestnut Street
private houses and dwellings even extended down to
Front Street. The bulk of the business, both wholesale
and retail, was done in a few squares on North and South
Front, the same on Market and all along North and

PHILADELPHIA, 1830-87. 221
South Second Streets. There were but few stores in
Chestnut Street and but one beyond Seventh Street and that
was Parkinson's confectionery and ice-cream saloon.
Second Street and especially that part of it between
Market and Chestnut Streets, was the great thoroughfare
for shopping and thither the ladies from all points in the
city, wended their way to indulge in this, to them, ever
pleasant occupation. Levy and Van Harlingen had their
well-known dry goods stores on Chestnut below Fifth, and
Thibault's jewelry establishment was on the corner.
These were almost the only stores then on this favorite
street. The United States Bank and the United States Hotel,
in the same square, were, objects of attention to citizens
and strangers and the latter stood in the front rank of
hotels throughout the country. Eighth Street was then
a very quiet street, the houses on both sides occupied by
sedate and respectable citizens, who little thought it
would become the busy and crowded thoroughfare of the
present day. As the old dweller in our city, the veteran
Philadelphian, looks back some forty-five or fifty years,
he realizes the great and eventful changes in the half
century. Changes in our streets, in our business loca
tions and in our people's homes. Changes both rapid,
radical and extensive. A population now five times
greater than it was then, an increase in population from
two hundred thousand to a million. And this increase,
in an old city, gratifies the pride of each resident and
proves that its numerous advantages are known and
appreciated. Philadelphia is often spoken of as " a village" and held
up to ridicule, by being called " a quiet, dull, slow town,"
but when one considers the facts that it is a very healthy

222 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
city, that its people are well and comfortably housed, that
its market is superb and that every other advantage,
requisite for business, pleasure, recreation, ease and com
fort in living, are to be found within its limits, what
more need be desired ?
Its sister city. New York, it is freely admitted, has
superior advantages for business — there is much to please
the eye and gratify the senses. Many of its streets and
avenues are grand and beautiful, many of its stores and
shops are huge and fine in appearance, and many of its
private dwellings are palatial in design and structure.
But, owing to the narrow confines of the city, a large
proportion of its population is forced to live in the tenement
house, the abodes of physical and moral disease, the
places of filth and degradation, where the young learn
vice and where the old cease to practice virtue. Thank
God ! such homes (can they be called homes f) are unknown
in our beloved city and from them we should ever pray.
Good Lord, deliver us !
It would be useless to go into all the details relating to
the position of the city proper and the surrounding dis
tricts, for those matters are familiar to all our people.
This can be but a sketch, a glance at the condition of
things at that period. Suffice it to say, that by the act of
consolidation, in 1854, the whole of the city and districts
became one principality, to be governed by a mayor
and councils.
One thing to be mentioned, at the time I came here to
live, was the slowness of travel between this and other
neighboring cities. It occupied almost the whole of the
day to come from New York and as much time to come
from Baltimore. Steamboats and stages were the speed
iest modes of travel and the former were not the quick

PHILADELPHIA, 1830-87. 223
and powerful ones of the present day. From New York
by steamboat down the bay and up the Raritan River to
New Brunswick, then stages across to Bordentown and
then another boat to Philadelphia. The Jersey sands
were not conducive to the making of good time by the
stages, but it was the best and fastest traveling that could
be provided in those days. Travel between our city and
Baltimore was nearly the same as it was with New York.
The steamboat to Newcastle, Delaware, stage coaches to
Frenchtown and then another steamboat down. Chesa
peake Bay. Soon after, however, the building of jail-
roads began and in 1831 or 1832 the Camden and Amboy
Railroad reduced the time of the trips very greatly.
As time progressed, better rails were laid, the use of
steamboats was dispensed with and travel by rail, the
whole distance from Philadelphia to New York, with
more powerful locomotives, had brought the two cities
nearer together. At the present time the journey can be
made in two hours. Once, last year, I came from New
York in one hour and forty-nine minutes — running
time. The difference in traveling, within my recollection, is
so great and the changes so wonderful, I will mention
two instances to show the changes. In 1827 I went
from Harper's Ferry, Virginia, to Providence and the
time consumed was four days. Now it can be done in
less than thirteen hours. I can remember, too, when, by
leaving Philadelphia early in the morning of one day, I
could succeed in arriving at Providence at from eight to
ten o^lock the next morning and this was after railroads
were used in the journey to New York. Now the same
distance is traversed in seven hours running time. Still
more wonderful results have been brought about in

224 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
travel to the West and the South. As to the latter I will
speak of one trip. A relative of mine living in Charles
ton, South Carolina, left Philadelphia one morning last
year at seven o'clock and was in his house in Charleston
the next morning at six ! Those of the present genera
tion who grow up with the swift transportation of passen
gers to all points in our vast country that now prevails,
cannot realize the wonderful changes in travel, as do
those of two generations ago. I can remember when
thirty days was thought to be a quick passage to Europe
by packet ship and have lived to see a gentleman, who
left New York May 2d, went to Liverpool, London and
Paris, passing seven days in those cities, and landed again
in New York on the 24th day of the same month.
The principal hotels in our city, in 1830, were the
Mansion House, on Third Street near Spruce, the United
States, on Chestnut Street above Fourth, Congress Hall,
on Chestnut Street below Third and also on Third Street
above Chestnut and the City Hotel, on Third Street below
Arch. The first named was kept by Head and was
famous in those days for the excellence of its larder. The
United States was a first-class hotel, kept by Dorrance
and had a high reputation throughout the country. Mrs.
Yohe also had a hotel, which was frequented by many
coming from the interior of Pennsylvania and the West.
Then too, I refer to 1830, the number of banks and
churches was quite limited compared with those at pres
ent. With the exception of the Schuylkill Bank at Sixth
and Market Streets, nearly all the banks were below
Fifth Street. The number was small and the amount of
banking capital much less in proportion to that of many
smaller cities. But the great bank of the United States
was located here and the able manager and president,

PHILADELPHIA, 1830-87. 225
Nicholas Biddle, was at the zenith of his career. Though
party spirit and political power were combined to rob,
him of his influence and position, posterity will yet do
justice to his memory and wonderful abilities.
Nearly all the principal churches in the city were
located below the line of Eighth Street. Christ Church
on Second Street, St. Paul's on Third and St. Peter's at
Third and Pine Streets were old churches then and are
now still standing and so much the more venerable. The
First Baptist Church, then in La Grange Place, near
Second Street, is now at Broad and Arch, the Presbyte
rian Church, at Arch and Third Streets, long ago vanished
before the march of improvement, also that in a Court
near Fourth Street above Chestnut, but the old one at
Fourth and Pine Streets still stands, St. Andrew's
Church, built, I think, in 1825, where the saintly and
eloquent Bedell was rector, still stands and the First
Presbyterian Church, where the talented and lamented
Barnes preached, . remains. Of the Roman Catholic
churches, St. Mary's, St. Augustine's and St. Joseph's, the
two former on Fourth near Spruce and Fourth near Vine,
respectively, and the latter on Willing's Alley below
Fourth, are still large and flourishing churches. Many
others might be named, but these that I have mentioned
were the principal ones at the time, 1880. At the pres
ent writing there are, of all denominations, about seven
hundred and fifty churches in our city, of which the
Protestant Episcopal numbers nearly one-sixth, or say,
one hundred and eleven churches, and all kinds of the
Methodists and the Presbyterians each number about the
same, or the three just named, have almost one-half of
all the churches in Philadelphia.
The wholesale dry goods trade was confined to North

226 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
Front Street, the bulk of it between Market and Arch
Streets, and that of the jobbers was done on Market, below
Fifth Street and on North Third Street. Above Eighth
Street on Market, where the line of markets ended, a
number of Conestoga wagons always stood on both sides
of the street, which had brought in farming and other
produce and then loaded up with goods of all descrip
tions for the interior and even as far as Pittsburg. These
large wagons with four horses, were the only vehicles, by
which goods could be shipped to country buyers. They
would present, to the eyes of the merchants of the present
day, a singular and rather primitive appearance, near the
freight-stations of the railroads, or beside the powerful
locomotives, drawing as many hundreds of tons as they
drew of pounds. Among many other things then in use,
they have been superseded and are of the past. To those
of us who have lived in those and the present times, the
discoveries and improvements made are indeed wonder
ful. It seems to be a matter of astonishment almost how
the people " got on " in life without the facilities we now
possess. We think, too, that we cannot go on in the next fifty
or sixty years, as we have done during the last five or six
decades, for we have certainly progressed as far as science
or inventive powers can go.
Well do I remember the appearance of Chestnut Street
and especially that part of it beyond Eighth or Ninth
Street. Instead of the large and expensive buildings we
now see, there were plain, comfortable dwellings, with
here and there a more pretentious or elegant estate. One
or two fine houses the north side of Chestnut Street, above
Seventh, and the old Masonic Hall, standing far back
from the street. It was there that I once saw a peculiar
scene. I think it was the taking the. stock of the Moya-

PHILADELPHIA, 1830-87. 227
mensing Bank. It was done by main strength, and men
who were strong, lithe and active, were employed to fight
their way to the door or window, where the books were
opened. Some strong porters or powerful draymen, with
their hands full of money, were seen among the crowd
and when the hour came, there were rushes, struggles and
fights that were rather risky to the participants and ridic
ulous in the eyes of the beholders. I saw a gentleman
come out of the meUe, with one sleeve of his fine broad
cloth coat gone and the coat itself torn up the back to
the collar. At one time a man appeared with an old suit
of clothes, after he had gone to the wharf and had some
sailors cover him with " slush." It is needless to add
that when he went into the crowd, it made way for him
and he subscribed for all the shares of stock he wanted.
At the northwest corner of Chestnut and Eighth was
the handsome Butler house and estate. At the south
west corner of Chestnut and Ninth was the fine Byrd
property, a splendid estate, extending back to Sansom
Street. At the same corner of Tenth Street was the pecu
liar looking, but pleasant home of the Merediths. At
Eleventh and running to Twelfth and to Market Streets
there was a high, close board fence, enclosing the whole
square, belonging to Stephen Girard and in 1834 and
1835, four rows of houses and stores were erected on
Chestnut, Market and Girard Streets by the Girard Trust.
On Chestnut Street above Twelfth, on the north side,
there was a block of houses built some twenty feet back
of the line and called " Boston Row." Ere long these
houses gave way to the march of improvement. Mention
should be made of the Kubn property, on Chestnut Street
above Eleventh, south side. This plain, but substantial
house, with its fine grounds, some 235 feet in depth, is

228 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
now owned and occupied by the family of the late Mat
thew Baldwin, and is the only dwelling-house on Chestnut
Street, from Broad Street to the Delaware.
On the northwest corner of Thirteenth and Chestnut
Streets there was, when I came here, an enclosed lot of
ground, fronting on both streets and enclosed by a " post
and rail fence." Above Broad Street there were but few
buildings, except the Wistar property, Colonade Row and
" The Bleight House " and from Sixteenth Street (the two
last named were below that street, or " Schuylkill Seventh
Street," as it was called), out to the Schuylkill River,
there were not a half dozen houses of any kind. Vacant
lots, most of them half filled with water, were on both
sides of the street, which had been graded and curbed to
the river. Walking out Chestnut Street, one seldom
went beyond Broad — that was considered a good walk by
the majority of promenaders and a walk to the Schuyl
kill, was thought to be a very long one and only performed
by regular walkers. A favorite, though quite a long
walk in those days, was to cross " the Permanent Bridge "
at Market Street and then turn abruptly to the right, or
north and enjoy the pleasant road to Fairmount. Then
the tired and, no doubt, thirsty walker could stop at
" Harding's " and regale himself with a delicious ale-san-
garee (for which Harding was famous) and, with a fine
cigar, pass a pleasant, comfortable hour. That refreshing,
harmless drink is now among the things that were ; we
see it, hear of it and taste it no more. The refreshing
delight it gave, remains a joy in the memory of those who
drank it.
In passing along that pleasant road, I always stopped
. at a small grave-yard, not far above the bridge and situ
ated between the road and the river bank. I had been

PHILADELPHIA, 1830-87. 229
)ld that the body of Captain Smith, who had been exe-
iited for the murder of a man at Second and Dock
treets, was buried there ; but this circumstance did not
ttract me. I saw through the palings of the fence and
ot far from it, a head-stone and on its surface was en-
raved as follows : In memory of
Elizabeth S  ,

aged 19 years.
She was —
words is wanting —
to say what —
think what a friend should be —
She was that. —
Here was something, no doubt, intended to " arrest the
tention of the passer-bj'^ ; " something very emphatic
id, though questionable as to its grammar, interesting in
3 importance ; something to set the imagination into
.11 play. That "Elizabeths  " was a paragon, a
friend, indeed," was an undoubted fact ; but why leave
3r qualities of person, mind and heart untold. If she
as beautiful, lovely, graceful and a firm, devoted-
riend," why not tell it and not leave it an unsettled prob-
m with me, all these years, since 1880 ? Those words
ipressed me deeply. 1 cannot forget them.
It was not until the year 1840 was near at hand, that
e omnibus came into use and great was the satisfaction
id joy of the Philadelphians when Joseph Glenat and
ichael Dawn (the latter lately deceased, at past eighty
sars of age) started their lines and at first on Chestnut
reet. Heretofore long distances could only be traversed

230 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
by the expensive carriage, or by " Shank's mare." Many
a day the requirements of my business were such that I
had frequently to walk to Kensington and to the neigh
borhood of Fairmount, and the expenditure of time and
muscular effort was somewhat heavy. No one greeted
the omnibus more cordially than I did. Years afterward
came the street railways and the horse-cars were a won
derful improvement on the omnibus. Although for a
great many years the people of Philadelphia were forced
to pay twenty per cent, more for a ride than people in
other cities, the time has at last come when " five cent
fares " are no longer a dream, but a reality.
An anecdote with regard to the introduction of street
railways deserves mention. As Horace Binney opposed
the introduction of the use of gas, " it being liable to ex
plode or destroy life," so did a well-known gentleman
and popular merchant, by speech and personal effort,
declaim and work against street railways. Mr. M 
owned a fine property on Arch Street and when there
were two car tracks to be laid on that street, he became
almost rabid in opposition to it. It would shake the
houses, injure gas fixtures and chandeliers, disturb the
quiet pleasures of an evening at home and destroy the
early and the morning's sleep. As is often the case under
great excitement, he said one day to me, " If they build
that road on my street, I will sell my property for one-
half." About a year afterward (Mr. M  had con
tinued to live in his handsome house) as I rode down one
morning in a car on Arch Street, to my astonishment he
came into the car. After the usual courtesies had been
exchanged, I said, " Mr. M  , I want to- buy a good
house and lot on Arch Street and as yours suits me and
is the most eligible as to location, etc., I will give you

PHILADELPHIA, 1830-87. 231
$37,500 in cash for it." " Why, that's just one-half its
value. I couldn't think of such a thing," he replied.
"But," I rejoined, " that is just the reason why I make
the offer, for you told me about a year ago, that if this
road was built you would sell it for one-half." " Well ! I
thought so then, but I have since changed my mind."
. . Among my early recollections in this goodly city of
ours, I often call to mind the oyster suppers as they were
served by " old Davy Gibbs and his wife," in the cellar
under the arcade and by Prosser on Market Street. This
delicious bivalve, always to be found in a high state of
excellence in our market, has ever been placed before the
ready guest, in tempting style and with the usual
accessories, in our city, better than in. any other place I
ever visited. So far as New York is concerned, they are
better served and at less expense here. What could be
more delicious, more palatable, or more satisfactory than
"a dozen on a chafing dish," at Davy Gibbs' oyster
cellar, with the crisp white celery as an accompaniment
and the smoking and fragrant dish, with a mug of beer,
cold and foamy, drawn from the cask in the second or sub-
cellar ? " The scent of the roses clings round it still."
Cream beer, which was brewed by our best brewers, is,
like the ale-sangaree, a thing of the past. The rich, cool
beverage has gone out of use and only those of former
days mourn the missing mug of beer.
In those days " watchmen " and not police were our
guardians and cried out the hours of the night, often in
most discordant tones and as often in words difficult, of
comprehension, except knowing what they meant to say.
" Past two o'clock in the morning and all's well " were the
words and to the curious in such matters, the variety in
the tone and the pronunciation was something that was

232 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
not only wonderful but very amusing. How many naps
those watchful and faithful "guardians of the city's
peace " used to enjoy between times and in their boxes at
the corners of the streets, no one could ever tell. Those
naps and the nappers have disappeared from the view.
They have been dispersed by the march of improvement
and the new order of things and have faded into the
inexorable but silent past.
The Walnut and the Arch Street Theatres were in 1829,
with the Chestnut Street Theatre, the prominent ones in
Philadelphia. The latter stood on Chestnut Street above
Sixth, where the office of the Evening Bulletin and the
adjacent buildings east, now stand. The two first named
are still in a fiourishing existence, but the Chestnut Street
was torn down many years ago. I can well remember
many of the plays produced and the members of the fine
stock company at this theatre. Mr. and Mrs. Wood, Mr.
and Mrs. Darley, Hackett, Mrs. Duff, the two Jeffersons,
Celeste, Fanny Kemble and her father, Ellen Tree, Mr.
and Mrs. Rowbotham, Reeves, Hathaway and others were
there as members of the company or stars. I remember
attending the theatre for twenty -two successive nights to
see Fanny Kemble, in her magnificent representations, so
natural, so thrilling, so superb. Afterwards, or about
that time, I first heard the opera in Englfsh, sung by Mr.
and Mrs. Wood, Mrs. Seguin, Mr. Brough and others.
The spectacular play " Napoleon " was brought out in fine
style and had a run of many weeks, Mr. Rowbotham in
the title role, presenting a fine piece of acting, as well as
a wonderful, personal appearance of the great Napoleon
himself. It was there, too, that I first saw the fascinating,
graceful and versatile Celeste, her wonderful dancing, as
well as her wonderful character impersonations. Of all

PHILADELPHIA, 1830-87. 233
the actors^ that I saw there, I doubt if more than one^
Mrs. Kemble — is now living.
Reader, did you ever hear of Bogle, the great waiter,
the assistant at christenings, parties, weddings, funerals,
etc. To "society proper," he seemed to be a necessity
and before his exit from this world, he had a name and a
fame which was something admirable. The name of
Bogle was on every lip and the thought or mention of it,
conjured up many a gay and festive occasion, where he
was an important adjunct. His demise took place about
the time of my advent in Philadelphia, but I heard his
praises proclaimed by the young, the middle-aged and
the old, of both sexes. A bright, intelligent young lady,
to whom I had been introduced, favored me with a de
scription of him and afterwards sent me the following,
which, to keep his name and fame from falling into ob
livion, I here transcribe :
"Ode to Bogle."
"Bogle! not he whose shadow flies
Before a dying Scotchman's eyes.
But thou of Eighth, near Sansom, Thou !
Colorless colored man ! whose brow
Unmoved, the joys of life surveys.
Untouched, the gloom of death displays.
Reckless, if joy or gloom prevail.
Stern, multifarious Bogle, Hail!
Hail! may'st thou Bogle, for thy reign
Extends o'er nature's wild domain;
Begins before our earliest breath.
Nor ceases with the hour of death.
Scarce seems the blushing maiden wed.
Unless thy care the supper spread;
Half christened only were that boy,
16

234 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
Whose heathen squalls our ears annoy,
If service finished, cakes and wine
Were giv'n by any hand but thine.
And Christian burial were but scant.
Unless his aid the Bogle grant ;
When marshalling the black array.
Thou rul'st the sadness of the day.
For him — and with his lofty tread.
The long crape drooping from his head.
Leads forth his groups, in order neat.
And range them grief- wise in the street;
Presiding o'er the solemn show.
The very Chesterfield of woe.
Woe to the mourner who shall stray
One inch beyond the trim array.
Before his stride the town gives way,
Beggars and belles confess his sway.
Drays, gigs and hacks, a startled mass.
Rein up to let his cortege pass ;
And death himself, that ceaseless dun.
Who waits on all, yet waits for none.
Hears now a greater waiter's tone.
Not less stupendous man ! thy power
In festal than in funeral hour.
When gas and beauty's blended rays
Set hearts and ball-rooms in a blaze;
Or spermacetis' light reveals
More inward bruises than it heals;
While fiaming belles destroy by millions.
And sparks fly upward in cotillions.
Refreshing Bogle starts sublime.
An iceberg in that torrid clime;
So sadly social, when we flee
From milky talk and watery tea.
To dance by inches, in that strait
Between a sideboard and a grate.

PHILADELPHIA, 1830-87. 23
Wide opes the crowd, to let thee pass.
And hails the music of thy glass.
Which thou dispenses — with an air,
As life or death depended there;
Wine for the wretch whose hapless back
Has stood against a window crack;
And then, impartial, cool'st in turn,
The youth whom Love and Lehigh burn.
On Johnson's sleek and placid mien,
A quaint and fitfiil smile is seen.
On Shepherd's pale, romantic face,
A radiant simper we may trace.
But on the Bogle's pensive cheek.
Lugubrious thoughts their sadness speak.
In church or state, in bower or hall.
He gives with equal grace to all
The wedding cake, the funeral- crape.
The mourning gloves, the festive grape;
In the same tone, when crowds disperse.
Calls Carter's hack  or. Carter's hearse.
As sternly grave, as darkly grim.
At the quick waltz or ftineral hymn.
*****
Thou social Fabius ! since the day
When Eome was saved, by wise delay.
None else has found the happy chance,
By always waiting to advance ;
Let time and tide — coquettes so nude —
Pass on, yet hope to be pursued;
Thy gentler nature waits for all.
When parties rage, on thee they call,
Who seek no office in the State,
Content, while others push, to " Wait."
I know not who wrote these witty lines, but I do kno

236 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
that the fair hand, whose delicate fingers wrote the copy
for me, has long ago crumbled into dust.
Social life in its tone, usages, customs and morals was
far different in former days from what it now is. There
was more restraint, consequently less freedom, in the inter
course between the sexes. The fast age had not opened.
Humanity was the same as it was and is, and ever shall
be, but human nature was under greater control. Boys
were boys and girls were girls, where now they seem to
be young men and young women. They were more
under tutelage, more strictly under parental guidance.
They did not develop at such an early age as they now
do. At the present day, boys and girls, when they "go
into society," seem to be as well advanced and to know as
much of the ways of the world, as the young man of
twenty-four and the young lady of twenty-one did in
former days. It is granted that flirtation, coquetry, love
affairs and lovers' quarrels existed then ; that hypocrisy,
falsehood, dissipation, unhappy marriages were common
and that virtue and vice were each cultivated, each flour
ished and each had their exponents and followers. But
then people lived in a slower manner. Though fashion
had its votaries, though parties and balls were given,
though life with many seemed but a gay season, there
was a greater moderation in all things than now obtains.
With all the new inventions and wonderful discoveries,
business and social life grew with them, as they were
developed. People could go hither and thither with
wonderful speed; a voyage across the ocean 'could be
made in the same space of time or shorter, perhaps, than
to go to a Southern or Western city, and these quick move
ments, tended to make them more intimately acquainted

PHILADELPHIA, 1830-87. 23
with the ways and customs of the old world aud then t
be induced to adopt the same. Foreigners too, came an(
settled in our midst, bringing with them their habits
their usages and their thoughts on morals and religior
far more free than those prevailing here. What wonde
is it, then, that society or social life is changed? Let on
think only for a moment, of the frequent divorces, th
sad suicides, the current immorality of the present da;
and age and it will soon be apparent that society, that k
the intercourse in social life, is indeed far different fron
that existing some five or six decades ago.
I well remember at the time I came here, the contro
versy and high state of excitement that existed amonj
the Friends, or Quakers, as they were commonly called
It was my good fortune, or otherwise, to have a boardinj
place selected for me that was kept by a Quaker lady, t
widow, and it so happened that some of both partiei
boarded with her. Although of an age when one ii
hardly expected to be much interested in a religious dis
pute, and especially with a sect or denomination of whicl
I had known or seen but little, it was impossible for m<
to hear discussions constantly going on, at table and ii
the evening, between "the Orthodox and Hicksites,'
without giving them considerable attention, besides get
ting a fair insight of the great question, that had set th(
one side against the other " in battle array." I never saw £
more excited or bitter feeling manifested, and it was sc
strong and so universally felt, the Society of Friends was
shaken "from centre to circumference." Without going
into the merits of the case, or giving the views of the
adherents of both parties from their several standpoints,
it is enough to say, that the human nature of the Friends
would assert itself, in spite of their peaceful education

238 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
and professions and it cropped out in some instances, into
acts of personal violence.
I remember one instance, when the body of a deceased
Friend was to be buried in the ground attached to
"Cherry Street Friends' Meeting," a fight took place,
coats were thrown off and blows struck. Several other
similar stories were in circulation, whether true or false,'
and the great body of Friends was scandalized thereby.
The history of the world shows, that in no question that
has come up and brought nations and peoples into war
with each other, is such bitter feeling shown, as in relig
ious quarrels. And in this matter, the personal feeling
was intense and bitter to the highest degree, upsetting
the quiet and peaceful principles and practices for which
the Society of Friends was so distinguished. An amusing
instance, well authenticated at the time, of the party
feeling that existed, was shown one day on Arch Street,
between Fourth and Fifth Streets. An Orthodox Friend
was going up the street and a Hicksite was coming down,
nearly the distance of a whole square apart. Each one
discovered himself to be in an exact line with the other
as they approached, but neither would turn a shade out
of the line. On they came, until their faces were not a
foot apart, and there they stood, looking at each other in
calm determination, each resolved not to turn aside one
iota, the- one for the other. After some ten minutes, oc
cupied in a close and minute inspection of face and fea
ture and as if actuated by a common impulse, they both
turned at the same moment and walJced back the way they
came. With the war itself and the question that first started
it in this highly respected body of Christians it is not my
province to meddle. I only bring up the matter as one

PHILADELPHIA, 1830-87. 239
of my recollections. It was a subject of great and absorb
ing interest among all classes in our city. At that time
the Quakers were numerous and in their distinctive dress
were to be seen almost everywhere. Now, as two genera
tions have appeared on the scene, great changes have
ensued and it is but seldom that one of either sex is met
on our streets. The descendants and followers of the
good William Penn are becoming fewer in number and
will, probably, in one or two generations disappear from
view. Great changes have come in political matters, elections,
etc. In but a few weeks after I came to Philadelphia, a
general election took place, and as I had then formed no
political opinions, I looked at the proceedings without
bias and devoid of prejudice for or against either party.
I had seen elections only in my native town and they
were held in a totally different manner from those^ held
here. The bands of music, the display of flags, the shouts
of excited partisans were a novelty to me, for though
party spirit ran high in New England, elections were
much more quiet and like a matter of business than they
were here. In a few years, however, I became myself
deeply interested in the polities of the day, and after cast
ing my first vote, in 1833, I became an active amateur
worker in the ward where I lived. It is a matter of no
consequence to any one which way I voted, but my opin
ions and predilections placed me in strong antagonism to
the doctrines of the Democrats. I became a strong and
ardent Whig, and as a natural consequence, when the
party went out of existence, a Republican, and for fifty-
four years have voted in no other way. I enter into no
argument or political disquisition to prove myself right or
the other side wrong, for this is only intended as a record
of my recollections or experience.

240 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
I remember when the general election was held at the
State House, the large windows outside being provided
with platforms to accommodate voters, window commit
tees, etc. Inside the State House, tables and chairs were
placed at each window and one ward was accommodated
at one window, so that all the wards voted at the State
House. Many curious and many exciting occurrences
took place on those election days, as such a congregation
of voters gathered there, and on several occasions tumults
and fights necessitated the temporary closing of the polls.
North Mulberry Ward held a goodly number of "the
ruffian element " within its borders and the polling place
for that ward, was generally the spot for riotous excite
ment. I remember that on one occasion the gifted editor,
Joseph R. Chandler, had said that votes had been given
at the election for judges and inspectors, by persons "who
had no more right to vote than the ja,ckasses that browse
on the thistles at Bush Hill." This appeared but a few
days before the general election. On that morning, a low
politician attached to the Custom House and a ward leader,
rode down from North Mulberry Ward, mounted on a
jackass, with a piece of thistle in his hat-band, followed by
more than a hundred of the respectable, (?) learned (?) and
intelligent (?) citizens of that notorious ward, each carry
ing a sprig of the thistle. It is needless to say, that several
" rows " occurred that day at the polling place of North
Mulberry Ward. '
The act of May 3d, 1850, gave to each election division
in the city their own local polling or voting place, for the
first time in the space of one hundred and fifteen years,
and now, owing to our city's great growth, instead of
about fifteen places for voting, as then, there are upwards
of seven hundred polling places, one for each division of

PHILADELPHIA, 1830-87. 241
the thirty-one wards. This improves and simplifies mat
ters and no voter can decline to vote on the score of his
distance from the polls. It makes the impersonation of a
voter by another, more difficult and is a greater precau
tion against illegal voting.
In the year 1833 a general disturbance occurred at a
primary election, at Twelfth and Locust Streets. The
place was kept by "Jim Hutchinson," a somewhat noto
rious man and a well-known Democratic politician. The
rowdy element was out in full force, keeping the Whigs
away from the voting place, and had it not been for the
calm courage of John Hare Powell, none of the Whigs
could have deposited a vote. A number of "rushes"
occurred during the afternoon and evening, and in one of
them, a young man named William Perry received a
death wound and .died the next day. I was present at ¦
the time and got myself out of the way with all possible
celerity. It was, at the time, a mooted point, whether
Perry was a Whig or a Democrat, but the latter got pos
session of his body, attended the funeral of " The Mar
tyred Perry " and afterwards erected a monument in
Ronaldson's cemetery, which is still standing at this
present day. I do not doubt their making some few con
verts, perhaps, by their proceedings.
The subject of politics is one of unlimited capacity
and always presents many themes for the speaker or the
writer. It is a distasteful topic to me aiid I bid a fare
well to the subject by an anecdote, which I heard at a
large Whig meeting many years ago and given with
telling effect. After comparing the policy of the two
parties, the speaker, of course, denouncing that of the
Democratic party, he said no Democratic conscience (if
such a thing existed) could be a quiet and comfortable

242 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
one, so long as a man advocated such pernicious princi
ples. This reminded him of a story he had heard. A
well-to-do farmer, in the interior of Pennsylvania, found
himself on his dying bed." He had lived to be past
" three-score years and ten " and had a wife and a large
family of grown up sons and daughters. His mind was
clear, but he seemed to be disturbed and ill at ease. His
wife and children talked with him and tried to cheer
him, but he still showed signs of uneasiness and disquiet.
At last the others deputed their brother, the eldest son,
to talk plainly but kindly to the old man and he began
by asking the question, " Father, what makes you so
anxious and disturbed in your mind?" The old man
said he did not know. " Father, you have no enemies,
have you ? " " No." " You have always been a good
• citizen and have endeavored to serve God ? " " Yes, I
have." " Well, Father, you are not afraid to die, are
you ? " " No. I am not afraid to die, but somehow, I
feel uneasy in my mind." " Now Father, I do not see
why you should feel so, you have been a good husband,
parent and neighbor and, besides, father, you never voted
the Democratic ticket."
There are many, very many curious occurrences that
memory calls up, many remarkable incidents that are
now almost entirely forgotten by the great majority of
our people. To record them would fill volumes and can
not be attempted. The settlement and early history of
our good city and our noble Commonwealth, I have pur
posely left untouched. All is within the reach of those
who care to read of it. Hundreds of books await one
on the shelves of our libraries and will repay those who
seek their pages for information. More attention should
be given to these matters, for there are thousands in our

PHILADELPHIA, 1830-87. 243
city's population, who are ignorant of such important
facts, as the rise and the young life of Philadelphia.
They know but little of its noble founder, of the man
whose name our State bears and whose memory deserves
the high estimation in which it has been held for more
than two hundred and fifty years. William Penn was a
man above men and his name and fame will last so long
as our Republic stands.
My limits will allow but little more to be added to this
sketch. As a city, Philadelphia has many advantages
over some other cities, but we lack some of the public
spirit shown by others. Our clean streets were once the
theme of favorable comment throughout the land, but,
" alas ! their glory has departed " and for many years, we
have suffered from deficient appropriations and derelict
contractors. Like some other localities, we have suffered
by the machinations of " political bossism " and been
ruled by cliques. Our highways have been neglected,
the cleansing and proper paving of our streets are not
done and a redress of these two grievances seems impos
sible. We have hoped for an improvement, but our
hopes are deferred. Changes lately instituted by legislative
enactment will, we hopefully trust, better our condition
and bring about an improvement, not only in our streets
and water supply, but in ridding us of crime and crim
inal resorts. Both our physical and moral condition need
salutary changes and we hope they may not be delayed.
The status of public business and social life is far dif
ferent from what it was in 1830. The introduction of
railoads, the invention of the electric telegraph and many
other like improvements and discoveries have brought
with them quicker movements of thought, life and action.
The wonderful increase in population, too, has been a

244 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
powerful factor in the process. We are living in a bust
ling, active, hurrying age. The wheels of progress
cannot be stopped; and the movements of the arts, of
science, of discovery and of inventive power, have im
parted to public and social life, an impetils that cannot
be withstood. The comparatively slow movements of our
fathers, have become changed to the restless and eager
life of the present day. Has it proved to be a change for
the better ? Are we ourselves, as a body or individuals,
the better ? Is the standard of morality better?
These are questions difficult to answer affirmatively.
Without holding k pessimistic view of the whole matter,
the negative seems to be the only true answer. Our pop
ulation has been more than trebled since 1830 and the
influx of millions of foreign peoples, brought with it their
views, opinions and practices which, in many cases, differ
totally from our own. Crime has largely increased, the
observance of the Lord's Day has decreased and less relig
ious principle and feeling seems to prevail. Official
dishonesty is a marked feature in our progress, and
unknown as it was in the first three or four decades of
the present century, almost daily instances come to light
at this time which show a sad deficiency in morality and
honesty. . Philadelphia has nearly sixty thousand more build-
dings than the City of New York. Those plague spots,
the tenement houses, so common with the latter, are
almost unknown to the former. Our people are well
cared for and have comfortable homes. We have a rich
country around us and its products are daily brought to
our doors.. Our market is proverbial for its supplies and
its excellence. Our heathfulness is specially asserted
and proved, as the death rate is smaller than any large

A SERMON. 245
city, except London. But possessing all these advan
tages as we do, we have much to mourn over, much that
should prevent us from saying, " Stand aside ! for I am
holier than thou ! " We have those among us, who are
always thirsting for political power, those who use it to
breed corrupt methods. We have the dishonest official,
the embezzler, the thief who sits in high places, the
supine and careless directors of pur corporate institu
tions, who trouble not themselves to guatd the interests
of their stockholders, who allow the widow and the
orphan to be robbed of their property. Also, the hard
hearted city officials, who listen unmoved to the cries of
our people, to give us pure water and clean streets, .to
lessen the miseries of our crowded public hospitals and
prisons and whose sole object, seems to be the gain of
money and of power. In common with other large cities,
we seem forced to suffer these evils and shall continue to
suffer them, until we rise in majestic indignation and
elect to office only those who are manly, honest and
" having the fear of God before their eyes." But, Phila
delphia ! " viith all thy faults I love thee still ! "

A SERMON.
" I have been young but now I am old."

"When to the sessions of sweet silent thought,
I summon up remembrance of things past."

"The Past is fled, save memory recalls
Its by-gone hours of pleasure or of pain;
Or when, in silent watches of the night,
In aimless dreams, it comes to us again,"

246 MYSELF AND OTHERS.
"These are the voices of the Past, links of a broken chain ;
Wings that can bear me back to times, which cannot come again ;
Yet God forbid, that I should lose the echoes that remain."

"An old man traveled toward the darkening West,
Holding the staff that long had lent him aid ;
And stiU the weary way his footsteps pressed,
As o'er him grew more deep the evening shade.
'I'll pause awhile,' he said, 'just at the close
Ofthe long journey that my feet have trod;
And here, in visions, call around me those
Who once companions were along the road.' "

To the young the Present is bright and joyous, the
Future promising and full of eager hopes. But troubles,
sorrows and perplexing cares mu,st, sooner or later, take
their place iri each one's life. No one can escape their visi
tation. If they do not come in early man or womanhood,
they will appear in middle age, or when our years are
largely accumulated. It is a certainty, for " man is born
to trouble, as the sparks fly upward." Change is ever
going on, and as mortal life is one constant, changing
scene and experience, change is in and around us, at
every step we take. Sickness, death and accident are
common to us all. These make changes in our friends
and in ourselves, and no one can cast their glance back
ward over the lapse of years, without seeing positive
changes. The young and the middle-aged must take
their turn in being old, and as they pause and look at
their former years, they will see volumes on record in
memory's library, to tell of change, aye! wondrous
change. To the old, the Past is the realm of thought, where they
love to dwell. There it is that they wish to roam, calling
to mind the joys and sorrows, the pleasures and the pains

A SERMON. 247
of early experiences. Even if the retrospect be one that
tells more of sadness than of delight, there are spots of
sunshine, remembrances of happy and blissful hours, dear
to memory and ever glittering with brightness. We
think of friends who have been withdrawn from mortal
sight, with a tender recollection that only memory can
give us ; of those whom we have loved and lost and a
halo of remembered virtue and worth surrounds them.
Whether it be of joys that were ours, which can never be
ours again, or of loved friends, whose faces we can see
no more, we love to recall the occurrences and the
friends, memory ever delighting in looking over the
records — so deeply engraved on its tablets. Yes! the
young enjoy and revel in the Present and the Future,
but the old, in the never-forgotten Past.
An experienced writer has said: "To grow old grace
fully is a good thing, to grow old worthily is far better.'
The first effort to that end, is to become reconciled to the
fact of youth's departure and to have faith in the wisdom
of what we call change, but which, in truth, is pro
gression." Another has said : " Age, without cheerfulness,
is a Lapland winter, without sun, dark and cold."
" Though age in silvery hair appears.
Let the heart be young despite of years."
As this book is christened " Myself and Others," I
would here say, that the couplet just quoted speaks
plainly of my own personal experience. My feelings are
as young'as they ever were. It seems to me that my
heart is as warm, my blood courses through my veins as
actively as ever. Whether this be owing to a good, strong
-constitution with uninterrupted health, I know not, but
the fact remains. I know that I am old ; I feel that my

248

MYSELF AND OTHERS.

strength is not equal to that of former years. I have
passed through seventy-six winters, but still " the heart
is young " and I do not even yet feel old. I trust I may
be pardoned for thus speaking of myself, but one's own
experience is but a repetition of. that of many others, wA.o
have come, have stayed and have gone.
About a year ago I made a visit to a relative in Vir
ginia, where I had not been for many, many years.
While there I was introduced to an aged couple, the hus
band seventy-eight, the wife seventy-five years old. The
husband was a tall, venerable looking man, well-in
formed, genial and companionable ; the wife much shorter,
but one of the gentlest, sweetest old ladies that I have
ever met. There was a charming expression on her face,
a pleasant tone in her voice, a winning glance in her still
bright blue eyes, that won the heart at once. Added to
this, there was that greatest charm in womankind, a
cheery, gentle and lady-like manner, which elicits one's
warm admiration. With children and grandchildren
near, each and all bestowing their true esteem and love
and with many friends showing their honor and respect, it
was a pleasant sight to see this aged couple descending
the hill of life, both waiting for God's call to " come up
higher." I enjoyed several interviews with them and
with regret bade them good-bye, with the thought, what
can there be in this our pilgrimage through the world,
more beautiful, than the sight of such an old age
as this ! Pleasant, cheerful, ever giving out, to those
younger than they, an atmosphere of geniality, kindli
ness and sympathetic love. May more calm, contented
and happy years be theirs.
In looking back to former years, I can recall many in
stances of bright and b^ftutiful young lives suddenly cut

A SERMON. _ 249
short by death ; promising careers blasted and blackened
by vice and dissipation; worldly prospects ruined by specu
lation ; hearts crushed and homes made wretched by the
love of drink ; happiness wrecked by unworthy love and
the many sorrows brought to the innocent, by the guilty
and depraved. Accidents, crimes, suicides, thefts, burg
laries and murders rise up before me, with a long list of
entailed evils which they brought in their train. On the
other hand, there are records in my memory of the good,
the just, the beautiful, the self-denying, the pure, the
faithful ; or, the philanthropist, the honest man, the con
scientious, the true Christian and those whose aim was " to
glorify God and to benefit our fellow-men." Many happy
marriages, happy men and women, happy parents and
children and happy homes. Evil must abound, but,
thank God ! good still exists and blesses us, drawing our
hearts and affections toward the Giver of all Good. If
we will give ourselves into His keeping and guidance,
happiness and peace will be ours.
I have thought, as I have progressed in my writing, of
referring to politics, the late war, the church and religion.
I have many fresh recollections on each of these subjects,
many anecdotes in my memory that are not only illus
trative, but interesting. Some, probably, that are but
little known, except in a limited circle. Each of these
themes, however, if treated from any standpoint, would
hardly be acceptable to all, and what would be written,
might give offense to some. The temptation to record some
illustrations and anecdotes has been strong, but I have
thought it best to avoid all that might, even perchance,
prove displeasing or offensive to any one. With me " the
day is far spent and the night is at hand," and instead of
writing aught that would irritate or hurt, I would prefer
to profit and to please.
17

250 _ MYSELt AND OTHERS.
Many reminiscences that are stored away in my mem
ory, I have been obliged to omit, for time and space
would not allow their mention. Many sad and touching
scenes, many bright and joyous hours, many noble and
unselfish acts, many heroic deeds, many instances of holi
ness and purity of life must remain, though in vivid
remembrance with me, unrecorded. Gladly would I do
somewhat, to warn the thoughtless, to arrest the down
ward steps of the careless, to help the sorrowing, to heal
the wounded heart and to lead all toward the higher and
eternal life. May God's Holy Spirit do this for one and
for all, is my earnest and heartfelt prayer.
In transcribing these reminiscences, with the thoughts
that naturally rise in my mind, I can truly say, that the
facts I have related are true. I will add, that I am aware
most fully, that in more capable hands, they would have
been presented in a more attractive form. I feel that I
need greater abilities than I possess to portray, either
fact or fancy, in a manner to arrest or absorb the interest
and attention of the reader. I have been forced to write,
much the larger part of this book, under confusing
circumstances, with many and constantly occurring inter
ruptions and, at times, in greater haste than was agree
able. But, with all its imperfections, I must leave it to
the kind indulgence of those who may read it. Should
it merit criticism, I proclaim that I do not deem it worthy
either of warm approval or of strong disapprobation. I
wrote it, not to elicit praise, to that it has no claim, but
what I have written has been done, simply to record what
I have, in a simple, truthful way and with the hope that
perhaps, some one may be warned, guided or benefited
thereby. To the reader who has journeyed with me thus far, I

A SERMON. 251
would say, in parting company, I am now an old man.
Listen to one, who has lived beyond the age of man,
" three-score years and ten," to a few words that I feel
impelled to speak. What are we f Who are wef What
are we doing? Whither are we going f We are men,
women and children, created by an Almighty power. To
our Creator we owe respect, worship and love. To the
second question, the answer is. We are intelligent '^ngs,
with body, soul, mind and heart. We have the ability to
choose between good and evil. We are placed in the
world, to go through life's journey as fathers, mothers,
husbands, wives or children and to conduce to mutual
welfare and happiness. To the iMrd. question, the answer
must be. We are doing either good or evil. We cannot
take a neutral position. It must be the one or the other
that gives the impetus to our conduct. To the fourth
question, the great majority of mankind unhesitatingly
answers. We are going to another world and into another
state of existence. Instinct, reason and our desires all
tell us this and assure us of its truth.
These propositions being accepted, the natural infer
ence to be drawn is, that a proper preparation should be
made for our exit from this life and our entrance into
another. What is there to guide us in our getting ready
for this change ? God, " whose kingdom is over all the
world," is revealed to us in two ways — in Nature and by
His declared Word. Nature tells us of His almighty
power, wisdom and goodness. His Word, " written for
our learning," tells us, that we must believe in Him, trust
in Him and " love Him with all our heart, soul, mind
and strength." It tells us that we have sinned ; that we
cannot of ourselves help ourselves ; that He has provided
a way for us to become r^cgncilpd tp Him ; that there

252 MYSELF AjnD UTHJiKS.
is " bid one mediator between God and man," and that " the
blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin."
Conscious of my own shortcomings, my own unworthi
ness, I would impress upon all the truth, so difficult for
any one to realize, that it is " appointed unto all men
once to die " and our duty, therefore, is to make ready
for our close of life here and for the new life that is to
come. My years and days are but few, my life is far spent,
and my hope is, that my words have not been written
in vain. They are the last that I shall write, and
with this knowledge, it is my duty and my sad task to say
Farewell.
No. 4105 Baltimore Avenue, Ptviladdphia.

VALE UNIVERSITY