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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19996-8.txt b/19996-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..530f463 --- /dev/null +++ b/19996-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9241 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 96, +October 1865, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 96, October 1865 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: December 2, 2006 [EBook #19996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY *** + + + + +Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by Cornell University Digital Collections). + + + + + + + + + +THE + +ATLANTIC MONTHLY. + +_A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics._ + +VOL. XVI.--OCTOBER, 1865.--NO. XCVI. + +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by TICKNOR +AND FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the +District of Massachusetts. + + +Transcriber's Note: Minor typos have been corrected and footnotes moved +to the end of the article. + + + + +SAINTS WHO HAVE HAD BODIES. + + +All doubtless remember the story which is told of the witty Charles II. +and the Royal Society: How one day the King brought to the attention of +its members a most curious and inexplicable phenomenon, which he stated +thus: "When you put a trout into a pail full of water, why does not the +water overflow?" The savans, naturally enough, were surprised, and +suggested many wise, but fruitless explanations; until at last one of +their number, having no proper reverence for royalty in his heart, +demanded that the experiment should actually be tried. Then, of course, +it was proved that there was no phenomenon to be explained. The water +overflowed fast enough. Indeed, it is chronicled that the evolutions of +this lively member of the piscatory tribe were so brisk, that the +difficulty was the exact opposite of what was anticipated, namely, how +to keep the water in. + +This story may be a pure fable, but the lesson it teaches is true and +important. It illustrates forcibly the facility with which even wise men +accept doubtful propositions, and then apply the whole power of their +minds to explain them, and perhaps to defend them. Latterly one hears +constantly of the physical decay which threatens the American people, +because of their unwise and disproportioned stimulation of the brain. It +is assumed, almost as an axiom, that there is "a deficiency of physical +health in America." Especially is it assumed that great mental progress, +either of races or of individuals, has been generally purchased at the +expense of the physical frame. Indeed, it is one of the questions of the +day, how the saints, that is, those devoted to literary and professional +pursuits, shall obtain good and serviceable bodies; or, to widen the +query, how the finest intellectual culture can exist side by side with +the noblest physical development; or, to bring this question into a form +that shall touch us most sharply, how our boys and girls can obtain all +needful knowledge and mental discipline, and yet keep full of graceful +and buoyant vitality. + +What do we say to the theories and convictions which are underneath this +language? What answer shall we make to these questions? What answer +ought we to make? Our first reply would be, We doubt the proposition. +We ask for the broad and firm basis of undoubted facts upon which it +rests. And we enter an opposite plea. We affirm that the saints have as +good bodies as other people, and that they always did have. We deny that +they need to be patched up or watched over any more than their +neighbors. They live as long and enjoy as much as the rest of mankind. +They can endure as many hard buffets, and come out as tough and strong, +as the veriest dolt whose intellectual bark foundered in the unsounded +depths of his primer. The world's history through, the races which are +best taught have the best endowment of health. Nay, in our own New +England, with just such influences, physical, mental, and moral, as +actually exist, there is no deterioration in real vitality to weep over. + +We hold, then, on this subject very different opinions from those which +prevail in many quarters. We believe in the essential healthfulness of +literary culture, and in the invigorating power of sound knowledge. +Emphatically do we believe that our common schools have been in the +aggregate a positive physical benefit. We are confident, that, just to +the degree that the unseen force within a man receives its rightful +development, does vigorous life flow in every current that beats from +heart to extremities. With entire respect for the opinions of others, +even while we cannot concur with them, with a readiness to admit that +the assertion of those opinions may have been indirectly beneficial, we +wish to state the truth as it looks to us, to exhibit the facts which +bear upon this subject in the shape and hue they have to our own minds, +and to give the grounds of our conviction that a cultivated mind is the +best friend and ally of the body. + + * * * * * + +Would it not be singular, if anything different were true? You say, and +you say rightly, that the best part of a man is his mind and soul, those +spiritual elements which divide him from all the rest of the creation, +animate or inanimate, and make him lord and sovereign over them all. You +say, and you say wisely, that the body, however strong and beautiful, is +nothing,--that the senses, however keen and vigorous, are nothing,--that +the outward glories, however much they may minister to sensual +gratification, are nothing,--unless they all become the instruments for +the upbuilding of the immortal part in man. But what a tremendous +impeachment of the wisdom or power of the Creator you are bringing, if +you assert that the development of this highest part, whether by its +direct influence on the body, or indirectly by the habits of life which +it creates, is destructive of all the rest, nay, self-destructive! You +may show that every opening bud in spring, and every joint, nerve, and +muscle in every animate creature, are full of proofs of wise designs +accomplishing their purposes, and it shall all count for less than +nothing, if you can demonstrate that the mind, in its highest, broadest +development, brings anarchy into the system,--or, mark it well, +produces, or tends to produce, habits of living ruinous to health, and +so ruinous to true usefulness. At the outset, therefore, the very fact +that the mind is the highest creation of Divine wisdom would force us to +believe that that development of it, that increase of knowledge, that +sharpening of the faculties, that feeding of intellectual hunger, which +does not promote joy and health in every part, must be false and +illegitimate indeed. + +And it is hardly too much to say, that, in a rational being, thought is +almost synonymous with vitality of all sorts. The brain throws out its +network of nerves to every part of the body; and those nerves are the +pathways along which it sends, not alone physical volitions, but its +mental force and high intelligence, to mingle by a subtile chemistry +with every fibre, and give it a finer life and a more bounding +elasticity. So one might foretell, before the study of a single fact of +experience, that, other things being equal, he who had few or no +thoughts would have not only a dormant mind, but also a sluggish and +inert body, less active than another, less enduring, and especially less +defiant of physical ills. And one might prophesy, too, that he who had +high thoughts and wealth of knowledge would have stored up in his brain +a magazine of reserved power wherewith to support the faltering body: a +prophecy not wide apart, perhaps, from any broad and candid observation +of human life. + +And who can fail to remember what superior resources a cultivated mind +has over one sunk in sloth and ignorance,--how much wider an outlook, +how much larger and more varied interests, and how these things support +when outward props fail, how they strengthen in misfortune and pain, and +keep the heart from anxieties which might wear out the body? Scott, +dictating "Ivanhoe" in the midst of a torturing sickness, and so rising, +by force of a cultivated imagination, above all physical anguish, to +revel in visions of chivalric splendor, is but the type of men +everywhere, who, but for resources supplied by the mind, would have sunk +beneath the blows of adverse fortune, or else sought forgetfulness in +brutalizing and destructive pleasures. Sometimes a book is better far +than medicine, and more truly soothing than the best anodyne. Sometimes +a rich-freighted memory is more genial than many companions. Sometimes a +firm mind, that has all it needs within itself, is a watchtower to which +we may flee, and from which look down calmly upon our own losses and +misfortunes. He who does not understand this has either had a most +fortunate experience, or else has no culture, which is really a part of +himself, woven into the very texture of the soul. So, if there were no +facts, considering the mind, and who made it, and how it is related to +the body, and how, when it is a good mind and a well-stored mind, it +seems to stand for all else, to be food and shelter and comfort and +friend and hope, who could believe anything else than that a +well-instructed soul could do nought but good to its servant the body? + + * * * * * + +After all, we cannot evade, and we ought not to seek to evade, the +testimony of facts. No cause can properly stand on any theory, however +pleasant and cheering, or however plausible. What, then, of the facts, +of the painful facts of experience, which are said to tell so different +a tale? This,--that the physical value of education is in no way so +clearly demonstrated as by these very facts. We know what is the +traditional picture of the scholar,--pale, stooping, hectic, hurrying +with unsteady feet to a predestined early grave; or else morbid, +dyspeptic, cadaverous, putting into his works the dark tints of his own +inward nature. At best, he is painted as a mere bookworm, bleached and +almost mildewed in some learned retirement beneath the shadow of great +folios, until he is out of joint with the world, and all fresh and +hearty life has gone out of him. Who cannot recall just such pictures, +wherein one knows not which predominates, the ludicrous or the pitiful? +We protest against them all. In the name of truth and common-sense +alike, we indignantly reject them. We have a vision of a sturdier +manhood: of the genial, open countenance of an Irving; of the homely, +honest strength that shone in every feature of a Walter Scott; of the +massive vigor of a Goethe or a Humboldt. How much, too, is said of the +physical degeneracy of our own people,--how the jaw is retreating, how +the frame is growing slender and gaunt, how the chest flattens, and how +tenderly we ought to cherish every octogenarian among us, for that we +are seeing the last of them! If this is intended to be a piece of +pleasant badinage, far be it from us to arrest a single smile it may +awaken. But if it is given as a serious description, from which serious +deductions can be drawn, then we say, that, as a delineation, it is, to +a considerable extent, purely fanciful,--as an argument, utterly so. The +facts, so far as they are ascertained, point unwaveringly to this +conclusion,--that every advance of a people in knowledge and refinement +is accompanied by as striking an advance in health and strength. + +Try this question, if you please, on the largest possible scale. Compare +the uneducated savage with his civilized brother. His form has never +been bent by confinement in the school-room. Overburdening thoughts have +never wasted his frame. And if unremitting exercise amid the free airs +of heaven will alone make one strong, then he will be strong. Is the +savage stronger? Does he live more years? Can he compete side by side +with civilized races in the struggle for existence? Just the opposite is +true. Our puny boys, as we sometimes call them, in our colleges, will +weigh more, lift more, endure more than any barbarian race of them all. +This day the gentle Sandwich-Islanders are wasting like snow-wreaths, in +contact with educated races. This day our red men are being swept before +advancing civilization like leaves before the breath of the hurricane. +And it requires no prophet's eye to see, that, if we do not give the +black man education as well as freedom, an unshackled mind as well as +unshackled limbs, he, too, will share the same fate. + +To all this it may naturally be objected, that the reason so many savage +races do not display the greatest physical stamina is not so much +intellectual barrenness as their vices, native or acquired,--or because +they bring no wisdom to the conduct of life, but dwell in smoky huts, +eat unhealthy food, go from starvation to plethora and from plethora to +starvation again, exchange the indolent lethargy which is the law of +savage life for the frantic struggles of war or the chase which +diversify and break up its monotony. Allow the objection; and then what +have we accomplished, but carrying the argument one step back? For what +are self-control and self-care, but the just fruits of intelligence? But +in truth it is a combination of all these influences, and not any of +them alone, that enables the civilized man to outlive and outrival his +barbarian brother. He succeeds, not simply because of the superior +address and sagacity which education gives him, though that, no doubt, +has much to do with it; not altogether because his habits of life are +better, though we would not underrate their value; but equally because +the culture of the brain gives a finer life to every red drop in his +arteries, and greater hardihood to every fibre which is woven into his +flesh. If it is not so, how do you explain the fact that our colored +soldier, fighting in his native climate, with the same exposure in +health and the same care in sickness, succumbs to wounds and diseases +over which his white comrade triumphs? Or how will you explain analogous +facts in the history of disease among other uneducated races? Our +explanation is simple. As the slightest interfusion of carbon may change +the dull iron into trenchant steel, so intelligence working through +invisible channels may add a new temper to the physical nature. And thus +it may be strictly true that it is not only the mind and soul which +slavery and ignorance wrong, but the body just as much. + + * * * * * + +It may be said, and perhaps justly, that a comparison between races so +unlike is not a fair comparison. Take, then, if you prefer, the +intelligent and unintelligent periods in the history of the same race. +The old knights! Those men with mail-clad bodies and iron natures, who +stand out in imagination as symbols of masculine strength! The old +knights! They were not scholars. Their constitutions were not ruined by +study, or by superfluous sainthood of any kind. They were more at home +with the sword than the pen. They loved better "to hear the lark sing +than the mouse squeak." So their minds were sufficiently dormant. How +was it with their bodies? Were they sturdier men? Did they stand heavier +on their feet than their descendants? It is a familiar fact that the +armor which inclosed them will not hold those whom we call their +degenerate children. A friend tells me that in the armory of London +Tower there are preserved scores, if not hundreds, of the swords of +those terrible Northmen, those Vikings, who, ten centuries ago, swept +the seas and were the dread of all Europe, and that scarcely one of them +has a hilt large enough to be grasped by a man of this generation. Of +races who have left behind them no methodical records, and whose story +is preserved only in the rude rhymes of their poets and ruder +chronicles, it is not safe to make positive affirmations; but all the +indications are that the student of to-day is a larger and stronger man +than the warrior of the Middle Ages. + +If we come down to periods of historical certainty, no one will doubt +that the England of the present hour is more educated than the England +of fifty years ago, or that the England of fifty years since had a +broader diffusion of intelligence than the England of a century +previous. Yet that very intelligence has prolonged life. An Englishman +lives longer to-day than he did in 1800, and longer yet than in 1700. +Here is a curious proof. Annuities calculated on a certain rate of life +in 1694 would yield a fortune to those who issued them. Calculated at +the same rate in 1794, they would ruin them; for the more general +diffusion of knowledge and refinement had added, I am not able to say +how many years to the average British life. Observe how this statement +is confirmed by some wonderful statistics preserved at Geneva. From 1600 +to 1700 the average length of life in that city was 13 years 3 months. +From 1700 to 1750 it was 27 years 9 months. From 1750 to 1800, 31 years +3 months. From 1800 to 1833, 43 years 6 months. + +One more pertinent fact. Take in England any number of families you +please, whose parents can read and write, and an equal number of +families whose parents cannot read and write, and the number of children +in the latter class of families who will die before the age of five +years will greatly exceed that in the former class,--some thirty or +forty per cent. So surely does a thoughtful ordering of life come in the +train of intelligence. If faith is to be placed in statistics of any +sort, then it holds true in foreign countries that human life is long in +proportion to the degree that knowledge, refinement, and virtue are +diffused. That is, sainthood, so far from destroying the body, preserves +it. + + * * * * * + +I anticipate the objection which may be made to our last argument. +Abroad, we are told, there is such an element of healthy, out-door life, +that any ill effects which might naturally follow in the train of +general education are neutralized. Abroad, too, education with the +masses is elementary, and advanced also with more moderation than with +us. Abroad, moreover, the whole social being is not pervaded with the +intense intellectual activity and fervor which are so characteristic +especially of New England life. + +Come home, then, to our own Massachusetts, which some will have is +school-mad. What do you find? Here, in a climate proverbially changeable +and rigorous,--here, where mental and moral excitements rise to +fever-heat,--here, where churches adorn every landscape, and +school-houses greet us at every corner, and lyceums are established in +every village,--here, where newspapers circulate by the hundred +thousand, and magazines for our old folks, and "Our Young Folks," too, +reach fifty thousand,--here, in Massachusetts, health is at its climax: +greater and more enduring than in bonnie England, or vine-clad France, +or sunny Italy. I read some statistics the other day, and I have ever +since had a greater respect for the land of "east-winds, and salt-fish +and school-houses," as scandalous people have termed Massachusetts. What +do these statistics say? That, while in England the deaths reach +annually 2.21 per cent of the whole population, and in France 2.36 per +cent, and in Italy 2.94 per cent, and in Austria 3.34 per cent, in +Massachusetts, the deaths are only 1.82 per cent annually. Even in +Boston, with its large proportion of foreign elements, the percentage of +deaths is only 2.35. It may be said, in criticism of these statements, +that in our country statistics are not kept with sufficient accuracy to +furnish correct data. However this may be in our rural districts, it +certainly is not true of the metropolis. The figures are not at hand, +but they exist, and they prove conclusively that those wards in Boston +which have a population most purely native reach a salubrity unexcelled. +So that, with all the real drawbacks of climate, and the pretended +drawbacks of unnatural or excessive mental stimulus, the health here is +absolutely unequalled by that of any country in Europe. Certainly, if +the mental and moral sainthood which we have does not build up the body, +it cannot be said that it does any injury to it. + +Have we noted what a splendid testimony the war which has just closed +has given to the physical results of our New England villages and put +into the ranks of our army--young men who learned the alphabet at four, +who all through boyhood had the advantages of our common-school system, +who had felt to the full the excitement of the intellectual life about +them--have stood taller, weighed heavier, fought more bravely and +intelligently, won victory out of more adverse circumstances, and, what +is more to the point, endured more hardship with less sickness, than a +like number of any other race on earth. We care not where you look for +comparison, whether to Britain, or to France, or to Russia, where the +spelling-book has almost been tabooed, or to Spain, where in times past +the capacity to read the Bible was scarcely less than rank heresy, at +least for the common people. This war has been brought to a successful +issue by the best educated army that ever fought on battle-field, or, as +the new book has it, by "the thinking bayonet," by men whose physical +manhood has received no detriment from their intellectual culture. + +These assertions are founded upon statistics which have been preserved +regiments whose members were almost exclusively native-born. And the +results are certainly in accordance with all candid observation. It may, +indeed, be said that the better health of our army has been after all +the result of the better care which the soldier has taken of himself. We +answer, the better care was the product of his education. It may be said +again that this health was owing in a great measure to the superior +watchfulness exercised over the soldier by others, by the Government, by +the Sanitary Commission, and by State agencies. Then we reply, that this +tenderness of the soldier, if tenderness it be, and this sagacity, if +sagacity prompted the care, were both the offspring of that high +intelligence which is the proper result of popular education. + + * * * * * + +There is but one possible mode of escape from such testimony. This whole +train of argument is inconclusive, it may be asserted, because what is +maintained is not that intellectual culture is unhealthful, where it is +woven into the web of active life, but only where the pursuit of +knowledge is one's business. It may be readily allowed, that, where the +whole nature is kept alive by the breath of outward enterprise, when the +great waves of this world's excitements are permitted to roll with +purifying tides into the inmost recesses of the soul, the results of +mental culture may be modified. But what of the saints? What of the +literary men _par excellence_? + +Ah! if you restrain us to that line of inquiry, the argument will be +trebly strong, and the facts grow overwhelmingly pertinent and +conclusive. Will you examine the careful registry of deaths in +Massachusetts which has been kept the last twenty years? It will inform +you that the classes whose average of life is high up, almost the +highest up, are with us the classes that work with the brain,--the +judges, the lawyers, the physicians, the clergymen, the professors in +your colleges. The very exception to this statement rather confirms than +contradicts our general position, that intellectual culture is +absolutely invigorating. The cultivators of the soil live longest. But +note that it is the educated, intelligent farmers, the farmers of +Massachusetts, the farmers of a State of common schools, the farmers who +link thought to labor, who live long. And doubtless, if they carried +more thought into their labor, if they were more intelligent, if they +were better educated, they would live yet longer. At any rate, in +England the cultivators of her soil, her down-trodden peasantry, +sluggish and uneducated, do not live out half their days. Very likely +the farmer's lot, _plus_ education and _plus_ habits of mental activity, +is the healthiest as it is the primal condition of man. Nevertheless, +considering what is the general opinion, it is surprising how slight is +the advantage which he has even then over the purely literary classes. + +Will you go to Harvard University and ascertain what becomes of her +children? Take up, then, Dr. Palmer's Necrology of the Alumni of Harvard +from 1851 to 1863. You will learn, that, while the average age of all +persons who in Massachusetts die after they have attained the period of +twenty years is but fifty years, the average age of Harvard graduates, +who die in like manner, is fifty-eight years. Thus you have, in favor of +the highest form of public education known in the State, a clear average +of eight years. You may examine backward the Triennial Catalogue as far +as you please, and you will not find the testimony essentially +different. The statement will stand impregnable, that, from the time +John Harvard founded our little College in the wilderness, to this hour, +when it is fast becoming a great University, with its schools in every +department, and its lectures covering the whole field of human +knowledge, the graduates have always attained a longevity surpassing +that of their generation. + +And you are to observe that this comparison is a strictly just +comparison. We contrast not the whole community, old and young, with +those who must necessarily have attained manhood before they are a class +at all; but adults with adults, graduates with those of other avocations +who have arrived at the period of twenty years. Neither do we compare +the bright and peculiar luminaries of Harvard with the mass of +men,--though, in fact, it is well known that the best scholars live the +most years,--but we compare the whole body of the graduates, bright and +dull, studious and unstudious, with the whole body of the community. + + * * * * * + +To the array of evidence which may be brought from all the registries of +all the states and universities under heaven, some may triumphantly +exclaim, "Statistics are unworthy of trust." "To lie like statistics," +"false as a fact," these are the stalest of witticisms. But the +objection to which they give point is practically frivolous. Grant that +statistics are to a certain degree doubtful, are they not the most +trustworthy evidence we have? And in the question at issue, are they not +the only evidence which has real force? And allowing their general +defectiveness, how shall we explain, that, though gathered from all +sides and by all kinds of people, they so uniformly favor education? +Why, if they must err, do they err so pertinaciously in one direction? +How does it happen, that, summon as many witnesses as you please, and +cross-question them as severely as you can, they never falter in this +testimony, that, where intelligence abounds, there physical vigor does +much more abound? that, where education is broad and generous, there the +years are many and happy? + +If, therefore, facts can prove anything, it is that just such a +condition of life as that which is growing more and more general among +us, and which our common-school system directly fosters, where every man +is becoming an educated man,--where the farmer upon his acres, the +merchant at his desk, and the mechanic in his shop, no less than the +scholar poring over his books shall be in the truest sense +educated,--that such a condition is the one of all others which promotes +habits of thought and action, an elasticity of temper and a breadth of +vision and interest most conducive to health and vigor. It is the +fashion to talk of the appearance of superior robustness so +characteristic of our English brethren. But we suspect that in this +case, too, appearances are deceitful. That climate may produce in us a +restless energy inconsistent with rounded forms and rosy cheeks we +freely allow. But in strength and real endurance the New England +constitution will yield to none. And the stern logic of facts shows +beyond a peradventure, that here there are no influences, climatic or +intellectual, which war with longevity. What may be hidden in the +future, what results may come from a still wider diffusion of education, +we cannot tell, but hitherto nothing but good has come of +ever-increasing knowledge. + + * * * * * + +We hasten now to inquire concerning the health and years of special +classes of literary men: not, indeed, to prove that there is no real war +between the mind and the body,--for we consider that point to be already +demonstrated,--but rather to show that we need shrink from no field of +inquiry, and that from every fresh field will come new evidence of the +substantial truth of our position. + +We have taken the trouble to ascertain the average age of all the +English poets of whom Johnson wrote lives, some fifty or sixty in all. +Here are great men and small men, men with immortal names and men whose +names were long since forgotten, men of good habits and men whose habits +would undermine any constitution, flourishing, too, in a period when +human life was certainly far shorter in England than now. And how long +did they live? What do you think? Thirty, forty years? No; they endured +their sainthood, or their want of it, for the comfortable period of +fifty-six years. Nor is the case a particle different, if you take only +the great and memorable names of English poetry. Chaucer, living at the +dawn almost of English civilization; Shakspeare, whose varied and +marvellous dramas might well have exhausted any vitality; Milton, +struggling with domestic infelicity, with political hatred, and with +blindness; Dryden, Pope, Swift: none of these burning and shining lights +of English literature went out at mid-day. The result is not altered, if +you come nearer our own time. That galaxy of talent and genius which +shone with such brilliancy in the Scottish capital at the beginning of +the century,--Sydney Smith, Lord Jeffrey, Christopher North, Macaulay, +Mackintosh, De Quincey, Brougham,--all these, with scarcely an +exception, have lived far beyond the average of human life. So was it +with the great poets and romancers of that period. Wordsworth, living +the life of a recluse near the beautiful lakes of Westmoreland, lasted +to fourscore. Southey, after a life of unparalleled literary industry, +broke down at sixty-six. Coleridge, with habits which ought to have +destroyed him early, lingered till sixty-two. Scott, struggling to throw +off a mountain-load of debt, endured superhuman labor till more than +sixty. Even Byron and Burns, who did not live as men who desired length +of days, died scarcely sooner than their generation. + +You are not willing, perhaps, to test this question by the longevity of +purely literary men. You ask what can be said about the great preachers. +You have always heard, that, while the ministers were, no doubt, men of +excellent intentions and much sound learning, what with their morbid +notions of life, and what with the weight of a rather heavy sort of +erudition, they were saints with the very poorest kind of bodies. Just +the contrary. No class lives longer. We once made out a list of the +thirty most remarkable preachers of the last four centuries that we +could call to mind. Of the age to which most of these attained we had at +the outset no idea whatever. In that list were included the men who must +figure in every candid account of preaching. The great men of the +Reformation, Luther, Melancthon, Calvin, Beza, Knox, were there. That +resplendent group which adorned the seventeenth century, and whose +names are synonymes for pulpit eloquence, Barrow, South, Jeremy Taylor, +and Tillotson, were prominent in it. The milder lights of the last +century, Paley, Blair, Robertson, Priestley, were not forgotten. The +Catholics were represented by Massillon, Bossuet, Bourdalouë, and +Fénelon. The Protestants as truly by Robert Hall and Chalmers, by Wesley +and Channing. In short, it was a thoroughly fair list. We then proceeded +to ascertain the average life of those included in it. It was just +sixty-nine years. And we invite all persons who are wedded to the notion +that the saints are always knights of the broken body, to take pen and +paper and jot down the name of every remarkable preacher since the year +1500 that they can recall, and add, if they wish, every man in their own +vicinity who has risen in learning and talent above the mass of his +profession. We will insure the result without any premium. They will +produce a list that would delight the heart of a provident director of a +life-insurance company. And their average will come as near the old +Scripture pattern of threescore years and ten as that of any body of men +who have lived since the days of Isaac and Jacob. + +If now any one has a lurking doubt of the physical value of an active +and well-stored mind, let him pass from the preachers to the statesmen, +from the men who teach the wisdom of the world to come to the men who +administer the things of this world. Let him begin with the grand names +of the Long Parliament,--Hampden, Pym, Vane, Cromwell,--and then gather +up all the great administrators of the next two centuries, down to the +octogenarians who are now foremost in the conduct of British affairs; +and if he wishes to widen his observation, let him pass over the Channel +to the Continent, and in France recall such names as Sully and +Richelieu, Mazarin and Colbert, Talleyrand and Guizot; in Austria, +Kaunitz and Metternich. And when he has made his list as broad, as +inclusive of all really great statesmanship everywhere as he can, find +his average; and if he can bring it much beneath seventy, he will be +more fortunate than we were when we tried the experiment. + +Do not by any means omit the men of science. There are the astronomers. +If any employment would seem to draw a man up to heaven, it would be +this. Yet, of all men, astronomers apparently have had the most wedded +attachment to earth. Galileo, Newton, La Place, Herschel,--these are the +royal names, the fixed stars, set, as it were, in that very firmament +which for so many years they searched with telescopic eye. And yet +neither of them lived less than seventy-eight years. As for the men of +natural science, it looks as though they were spared by some +Providential provision, in order that they might observe and report for +long epochs the changes of this old earth of ours. Cuvier dying at +seventy-five, Sir Joseph Banks at seventy-seven, Buffon at eighty-one, +Blumenbach at eighty-eight, and Humboldt at fourscore and ten, are some +of the cases which make such a supposition altogether reasonable. + +Cross the ocean, and you will find the same testimony, that mental +culture is absolutely favorable to physical endurance. The greatest men +in our nation's history, whether in walks of statesmanship, science, or +literature, almost without exception, have lived long. Franklin, +Washington, Jefferson, Madison, the elder Adams, and Patrick Henry, in +earlier periods,--the younger Adams, Clay, Calhoun, Webster, Choate, and +Everett, Irving, Prescott, Cooper, and Hawthorne, in later times,--are +cases in point. These men did not die prematurely. They grew strong by +the toil of the brain. And to-day the quartette of our truest +poets--Bryant, Whittier, Longfellow, and Holmes--are with us in the hale +years of a green age, never singing sweeter songs, never harping more +inspiring strains. Long may our ears hear their melodies! + + * * * * * + +If now we could enter the walks of private life, and study widely the +experience of individual men, we should have an interesting record +indeed, and a manifold and wellnigh irresistible testimony. Consider a +few remarkable, yet widely differing cases. + +Who can read attentively the life of John Wesley, and not exclaim, if +varied and exhausting labor, if perpetual excitement and constant drafts +upon the brain, would ever wear a man out, he would have worn out? It +was his creative energy that called into existence a denomination, his +ardent piety that inspired it, his clear mind that legislated for it, +his heroic industry that did no mean part of the incessant daily toil +needful for its establishment. Yet this man of many labors, who through +a long life never knew practically the meaning of the word _leisure_, +says, at seventy-two, "How is it that I find the same strength that I +did thirty years ago, that my nerves are firmer, that I have none of the +infirmities of old age, and have lost several that I had in youth." And +ten years later, he devoutly records, "Is anything too hard for God? It +is now eleven years since I have felt such a thing as weariness." And he +continued till eighty-eight in full possession of his faculties, +laboring with body and mind alike to within a week of his death. + +Joseph Priestley was certainly a very different man, but scarcely less +remarkable. No mean student in all branches of literature, a +metaphysician, a theologian, a man of science, he began life with a +feeble frame, and ended a hearty old age at seventy-one. He himself +declares at fifty-four, that, "so far from suffering from application to +study, I have found my health steadily improve from the age of eighteen +to the present time." + +You would scarcely find a life more widely divided from these than that +of Washington Irving. Nevertheless, it is like them in one respect, that +it bears emphatic testimony to the real healthiness of mental exertion. +He was the feeblest of striplings at eighteen. At nineteen, Judge Kent +said, "He is not long for this world." His friends sent him abroad at +twenty-one, to see if a sea voyage would not husband his strength. So +pale, so broken, was he, that, when he stepped on board the ship, the +captain whispered, "There is a chap who will be overboard before we are +across!" Irving had, too, his share of misfortunes,--failure in +business, loss of investments, in earlier life some anxiety as to the +ways and means of support. Even his habits of study were hardly what the +highest wisdom would direct. While he was always genial and social, and +at times easy almost to indolence, when the mood seized him, he would +write incessantly for weeks and even for months, sometimes fourteen, +fifteen, or sixteen hours in a day. But he grew robust for half a +century, and writes, at seventy-five, that he has now "a streak of old +age." + + * * * * * + +The example of some of those who are said to have been worn out by +intense mental application furnishes perhaps the most convincing proof +of all that no reasonable activity of the mind ever warred with the best +health of the body. Walter Scott, we are told, wore out. And very +likely, to a certain extent, the statement is true. But what had he not +accomplished before he wore out? He had astonished the world with that +wonderful series of romances which place him scarcely second to any name +in English literature. He had sung those border legends which delighted +the ears of his generation. He had produced histories which show, that, +had he chosen, he might have been as much a master in the region of +historic fact as in the realm of imagination. He had edited other men's +works; he had written essays; he had lent himself with a royal +generosity to every one who asked his time or influence; and when, +almost an old man, commercial bankruptcy overtook him, and he sought to +lift the mountain of his debt by pure intellectual toil, he wore out. +But declining years, disappointed hopes, desperate exertions, may wear +anybody out. He wore out, but it was at more than threescore years, when +nine tenths of his generation had long slept in quiet graves,--when the +crowd of the thoughtless and indolent, who began life with him, had +rusted out in inglorious repose. Yes, Walter Scott wore out, if you call +that wearing out. + +John Calvin, all his biographers say, wore out. Perhaps so;--but not +without a prolonged resistance. Commencing life with the frailest +constitution, he was, as early as twenty-five, a model of erudition, and +had already written his immortal work. For thirty years he was in the +heat and ferment of a great religious revolution. For thirty years he +was one of the controlling minds of his age. For thirty years he was the +sternest soldier in the Church Militant, bearing down stubborn +resistance by a yet more stubborn will. For thirty years neither his +brain nor his pen knew rest. And so at fifty-six this man of broken body +and many labors laid down the weapons of his warfare; but it was at +Geneva, where the public registers tell us that the average of human +life in that century was only nine years. + +One writes words like these:--"John Kitto died, and his death was the +judgment for overwork, and overwork of a single organ,--the brain." And +who was John Kitto? A poor boy, the son a drunken father, subject from +infancy to agonizing headache. An unfortunate lad, who at thirteen fell +from a scaffolding and was taken up for dead, and escaped only with +total deafness and a supposed permanent injury to the brain. A hapless +apprentice, who suffered at the hands of a cruel taskmaster all that +brutality and drunken fury could suggest. A youth, thirsting for +knowledge, but able to obtain it only by the hardest ways, peering into +booksellers' windows, reading at book-stalls, purchasing cheap books +with pennies stained all over with the sweat of his toil. An heroic +student, who labored for more than twenty years with almost unparalleled +industry, and with an equally unparalleled neglect of the laws of +health; of whom it is scarcely too much to say literally, that he knew +no change, but from his desk to his bed, and from his bed to his desk +again. A voluminous writer, who, if he produced no work of positive +genius, has done more than any other man to illustrate the Scriptures, +and to make familiar and vivid the scenery, the life, the geography, and +the natural history of the Holy Land. And he died in the harness,--but +not so very early,--at fifty. And we say that he would have lived much +longer, had he given his constitution a fair chance. But when we +remember his passionate fondness for books, how they compensated him for +the want of wealth, comforts, and the pleasant voices of wife and +children that he could not hear, we grow doubtful. And we hear him +exclaim almost in rhapsody,--"If I were blind as well as deaf, in what a +wretched situation should I be! If I could not read, how deplorable +would be my condition! What earthly pleasure equal to the reading of a +good book? O dearest tomes! O princely and august folios! to obtain you, +I would work night and day, and forbid myself every sensual joy!" When +we behold the forlorn man, shut out by his misfortune from so many +resources, and finding more than recompense for this privation within +the four walls of his library, we are tempted to say, No, he would not +have lived as long; had he studied less, he would have remembered his +griefs more. + +Of course it is easy to take exception to all evidence drawn from the +life and experience of individual men,--natural to say that one must +needs be somewhat old before he can acquire a great name at all, and +that our estimate considers those alone to whom mere prolongation of day +has given reputation, and forgets "the village Hampdens, the mute, +inglorious Miltons," the unrecorded Newtons, the voiceless orators, +sages, or saints who have died and made no sign. To this the simple +reply is, that individual cases, however numerous and striking, are not +relied upon to prove any position, but only to illustrate and confirm +one which general data have already demonstrated. Grant the full force +of every criticism, and then it remains true that the widest record of +literary life exhibits no tendency of mental culture to shorten human +life or to create habits which would shorten it. Indeed, we do not know +where to look for any broad range of facts which would indicate that +education here or anywhere else has decreased or is likely to decrease +health. And were it not for the respect which we cherish towards those +who hold it, we should say that such a position was as nearly pure +theory or prejudice or opinion founded on fragmentary data as any view +well could be. + + * * * * * + +But do you mean to assert that there is no such thing as intellectual +excess? that intellectual activity never injures? that unremitting +attention to mental pursuits, with an entire abstinence from proper +exercise and recreation, is positively invigorating? that robbing the +body of sleep, and bending it sixteen or eighteen hours over the desk, +is the best way to build it up in grace and strength? Of course no one +would say any such absurd things. There is a right and wrong use of +everything. Any part of the system will wear out with excessive use. +Overwork kills, but certainly not any quicker when it is overwork of the +mind than when it is overwork of the body. Overwork in the study is just +as healthful as overwork on the farm or at the ledger or in the smoky +shop, toiling and moiling, with no rest and no quickening thoughts. +Especially is it true that education does not peculiarly tempt a man to +excess. + +But are you ready to maintain that there is no element of excess infused +into our common-school system? Certainly. Most emphatically there is +not. What, then, is there to put over against these terrible statements +of excessive labor of six or seven hours a day, under which young brains +are reeling and young spines are bending until there are no rosy-checked +urchins and blooming maids left among us? The inexorable logic of facts. +The public schools of Massachusetts were taught in the years 1863-4 on +an average just thirty-two weeks, just five days in a week, and, making +proper allowance for recesses and opening exercises, just five and a +quarter hours in a day. Granting now that all the boys and girls studied +during these hours faithfully, you have an average for the three hundred +and thirteen working days of the year of two hours and forty-one minutes +a day,--an amount of study that never injured any healthy child. But, +going back a little to youthful recollections, and considering the +amazing proclivity of the young mind to idleness, whispering, and fun +and frolic in general, it seems doubtful whether our children ever yet +attained to so high an average of actual study as two hours a day. As a +modification of this statement, it may be granted that in the cities and +larger towns the school term reaches forty weeks in a year. If you add +one hour as the average amount of study at home, given by pupils of over +twelve years, (and the allowance is certainly ample,) you have four +hours as the utmost period ever given by any considerable class of +children. That there is excess we freely admit. That there are easy +committee-men who permit too high a pressure, and infatuated teachers +who insist upon it, that there are ambitious children whom nobody can +stop, and silly parents who fondly wish to see their children +monstrosities of brightness, lisping Latin and Greek in their cradles, +respiring mathematics as they would the atmosphere, and bristling all +over with facts of natural science like porcupines, till every bit of +childhood is worked out of them,--that such things are, we are not +inclined to deny. But they are rare exceptions,--no more a part of the +system than white crows are proper representatives of the dusky and +cawing brotherhood. + +Or yet again, do we mean to assert that no attention need be given to +the formation of right physical habits? or that bodily exercise ought +not to be joined to mental toils? or that the walk in the woods, the row +upon the quiet river, the stroll with rod in hand by the babbling brook, +or with gun on shoulder over the green prairies, or the skating in the +crisp December air on the glistening lake, ought to be discouraged? Do +we speak disrespectfully of dumb-bells and clubs and parallel bars, and +all the paraphernalia of the gymnasium? Are we aggrieved at the mention +of boxing-gloves or single-stick or foils? Would it shock our nervous +sensibilities, if our next-door neighbor the philosopher, or some +near-by grave and reverend doctor of divinity, or even the learned judge +himself, should give unmistakable evidence that he had in his body the +two hundred and odd bones and the five hundred and more muscles, with +all their fit accompaniments of joints and sinews, of which the +anatomists tell us? Not at all. Far from it. We exercise, no doubt, too +little. We know of God's fair world too much by description, too little +by the sight of our own eyes. Welcome anything which leads us out into +this goodly and glorious universe! Welcome all that tends to give the +human frame higher grace and symmetry! Welcome the gymnastics, too, +heavy or light either, if they will guide us to a more harmonious +physical development. + +We ourselves own a set of heavy Indian-clubs, of middling Indian-clubs, +and of light Indian-clubs. We have iron dumb-bells and wooden +dumb-bells. We recollect with considerable satisfaction a veritable +bean-bag which did good service in the household until it unfortunately +sprung a-leak. In an amateur way we have tried both systems, and felt +the better for them. We have a dim remembrance of rowing sundry leagues, +and even of dabbling with the rod and line. We always look with friendly +eye upon the Harvard Gymnasium, whenever it looms up in actual or mental +vision. Never yet could we get by an honest game of cricket or base-ball +without losing some ten minutes in admiring contemplation. We bow with +deep respect to Dr. Windship and his heavy weights. We bow, if anything, +with a trifle more of cordiality to Dr. Lewis and his light weights. +They both have our good word. We think that they would have our example, +were it not for the fatal proclivity of solitary gymnastics to dulness. +If we have not risen to the high degrees in this noble order of muscular +Christians, we claim at least to be a humble craftsman and faithful +brother. + +Speaking with all seriousness, we have no faith in mental activity +purchased at the expense of physical sloth. It is well to introduce into +the school, into the family, and into the neighborhood any movement +system which will exercise all the muscles of the body. But the educated +man is not any more likely to need this general physical development +than anybody else. Establish your gymnasium in any village, and the +farmer fresh from the plough, the mechanic from swinging the hammer or +driving the plane, will be just as sure to find new muscles that he +never dreamed of as the palest scholar of them all. And the diffusion of +knowledge and refinement, so far from promoting inactivity and banishing +recreations from life, directly feeds that craving for variety out of +which healthful changes come, and awakens that noble curiosity which at +fit seasons sends a man out to see how the wild-flower grows in the +woods, how the green buds open in the spring, how the foliage takes on +its painted autumn glory, which leads him to struggle through tangled +thickets or through pathless woods that he may behold the brook laughing +in cascade from rock to rock, or to breast the steep mountain that he +may behold from a higher outlook the wonders of the visible creation. +Other things being equal, the educated man in any vocation is quite as +likely as another to be active, quick in every motion and free in every +limb. + + * * * * * + +But admit all that is claimed. Admit that increasing intelligence has +changed the average of man's life from the twenty-five years of the +seventeenth century to the thirty-five of the eighteenth or the +forty-five years of the nineteenth century. Admit, too, that the best +educated men of this generation will live five or ten years more than +the least educated men. Ought we to be satisfied with things as they +are? Should we not look for more than the forty or fifty years of human +life? Assuredly. But it is not our superfluous sainthood which is +destroying life. It is not that we have too much saintliness, but too +little, too limited wisdom, too narrow intelligence, too small an +endowment of virtue and conscience. It is our fierce absorption in +outward plans which plants anxieties like thorns in the heart. It is out +sloth and gluttony which eat out vitality. It is our unbridled appetites +and passions which burn like a consuming fire in our breasts. It is our +unwise exposure which saps the strength and gives energy and force to +latent disease. These, tenfold more than any intense application of the +brain to its legitimate work, limit and destroy human life. The truly +cultivated mind tends to give just aims, moderate desires, and good +habits. + +Ay, and when the true sainthood shall possess and rule humanity,--when +the fields of knowledge with their wholesome fruits shall tempt every +foot away from the forbidden paths of vice and sensual indulgence,--when +a wise intelligence shall cool the hot passions which dry up the +refreshing fountains of peace and joy in the heart,--when a heavenly +wisdom shall lift us above any bondage to this world's fortunes, and +when a good conscience and a lofty trust shall forbid us to be slaves to +any occupation lower than the highest,--when we stand erect and free, +clothed with a real saintliness,--then the years of our life may +increase, and man may go down to his grave "in a full age, like as a +shock of corn cometh in in his season." + +Meanwhile we must stand firmly on this assertion, that, the more of +mental and moral sainthood our people achieve, the more that sainthood +will write fair inscriptions on their bodies, will shine out in +intelligence in their faces, will exhibit itself in graceful form and +motion, and thus add to the deeper and more lasting virtues physical +power, a body which shall be at once a good servant and the proper +representative of a refined and elevated soul. + + + + +NO TIME LIKE THE OLD TIME. + + + There is no time like the old time, when you and I were young, + When the buds of April blossomed, and the birds of spring-time sung! + The garden's brightest glories by summer suns are nursed, + But, oh, the sweet, sweet violets, the flowers that opened first! + + There is no place like the old place where you and I were born, + Where we lifted first our eyelids on the splendors of the morn + From the milk-white breast that warmed us, from the clinging arms that bore, + Where the dear eyes glistened o'er us that will look on us no more! + + There is no friend like the old friend who has shared our morning days, + No greeting like his welcome, no homage like his praise: + Fame is the scentless sunflower, with gaudy crown of gold; + But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold. + + There is no love like the old love that we courted in our pride; + Though our leaves are falling, falling, and we're fading side by side, + There are blossoms all around us with the colors of our dawn, + And we live in borrowed sunshine when the light of day is gone. + + There are no times like the old times,--they shall never be forgot! + There is no place like the old place,--keep green the dear old spot! + There are no friends like our old friends,--may Heaven prolong their lives! + There are no loves like our old loves,--God bless our loving wives! + + + + +COUPON BONDS. + + +PART II. + +Mr. Ducklow had scarcely turned the corner of the street, when, looking +anxiously in the direction of his homestead, he saw a column of smoke. +It was directly over the spot where he knew his house to be situated. He +guessed at a glance what had happened. The frightful catastrophe he +foreboded had befallen. Taddy had set the house afire. + +"Them bonds! them bonds!" he exclaimed, distractedly. He did not think +so much of the house: house and furniture were insured; if they were +burned, the inconvenience would be great indeed, and at any other time +the thought of such an event would have been a sufficient cause for +trepidation,--but now his chief, his only anxiety was the bonds. They +were not insured. They would be a dead loss. And what added sharpness to +his pangs, they would be a loss which he must keep a secret, as he had +kept their existence a secret,--a loss which he could not confess, and +of which he could not complain. Had he not just given his neighbors to +understand that he held no such property? And his wife,--was she not at +that very moment, if not serving up a lie on the subject, at least +paring the truth very thin indeed? + +"A man would think," observed Ferring, "that Ducklow had some o' them +bonds on his hands, and got scaret, he took such a sudden start. He has, +hasn't he, Mrs. Ducklow?" + +"Has what?" said Mrs. Ducklow, pretending ignorance. + +"Some o' them cowpon bonds. I ruther guess he's got some." + +"You mean Gov'ment bonds? Ducklow got some? 'Ta'n't at all likely he'd +spec'late in them, without saying something to _me_ about it! No, he +couldn't have any without my knowing it, I'm sure!" + +How demure, how innocent she looked, plying her knitting-needles, and +stopping to take up a stitch! How little at that moment she knew of +Ducklow's trouble, and its terrible cause! + +Ducklow's first impulse was to drive on and endeavor at all hazards to +snatch the bonds from the flames. His next was, to return and alarm his +neighbors, and obtain their assistance. But a minute's delay might be +fatal; so he drove on, screaming "Fire! fire!" at the top of his voice. + +But the old mare was a slow-footed animal; and Ducklow had no whip. He +reached forward and struck her with the reins. + +"Git up! git up!--Fire! fire!" screamed Ducklow. "Oh, them bonds! them +bonds! Why didn't I give the money to Reuben? Fire! fire! fire!" + +By dint of screaming and slapping, he urged her from a trot into a +gallop, which was scarcely an improvement as to speed, and certainly +not as to grace. It was like the gallop of an old cow. "Why don't ye go +'long!" he cried despairingly. + +Slap, slap! He knocked his own hat off with the loose ends of the reins. +It fell under the wheels. He cast one look behind, to satisfy himself +that it had been very thoroughly run over and crushed into the dirt, and +left it to its fate. + +Slap, slap! "Fire, fire!" Canter, canter, canter! Neighbors looked out +of their windows, and, recognizing Ducklow's wagon and old mare in such +an astonishing plight, and Ducklow himself, without his hat, rising from +his seat, and reaching forward in wild attitudes, brandishing the reins, +at the same time rending the azure with yells, thought he must be +insane. + +He drove to the top of the hill, and looking beyond, in expectation of +seeing his house wrapped in flames, discovered that the smoke proceeded +from a brush-heap which his neighbor Atkins was burning in a field near +by. + +The revulsion of feeling that ensued was almost too much for the +excitable Ducklow. His strength went out of him. For a little while +there seemed to be nothing left of him but tremor and cold sweat. +Difficult as it had been to get the old mare in motion, it was now even +more difficult to stop her. + +"Why! what has got into Ducklow's old mare? She's running away with him! +Who ever heard of such a thing!" And Atkins, watching the ludicrous +spectacle from his field, became almost as weak from laughter as Ducklow +was from the effects of fear. + +At length Ducklow succeeded in checking the old mare's speed, and in +turning her about. It was necessary to drive back for his hat. By this +time he could hear a chorus of shouts, "Fire! fire! fire!" over the +hill. He had aroused the neighbors as he passed, and now they were +flocking to extinguish the flames. + +"A false alarm! a false alarm!" said Ducklow, looking marvellously +sheepish, as he met them. "Nothing but Atkins's brush-heap!" + +"Seems to me you ought to have found that out 'fore you raised all +creation with your yells!" said one hyperbolical fellow. "You looked +like the Flying Dutchman! This your hat? I thought 'twas a dead cat in +the road. No fire, no fire!"--turning back to his comrades,--"only one +of Ducklow's jokes." + +Nevertheless, two or three boys there were who would not be convinced, +but continued to leap up, swing their caps, and scream "Fire!" against +all remonstrance. Ducklow did not wait to enter into explanations, but, +turning the old mare about again, drove home amid the laughter of the +bystanders and the screams of the misguided youngsters. As he approached +the house, he met Taddy rushing wildly up the street. + +"Thaddeus! Thaddeus! where ye goin', Thaddeus?" + +"Goin' to the fire!" cried Taddy. + +"There isn't any fire, boy!" + +"Yes, there is! Didn't ye hear 'em? They've been yellin' like fury." + +"It's nothin' but Atkins's brush." + +"That all?" And Taddy appeared very much disappointed. "I thought there +was goin' to be some fun. I wonder who was such a fool as to yell fire +jest for a darned old brush-heap!" + +Ducklow did not inform him. + +"I've got to drive over to town and git Reuben's trunk. You stand by the +mare while I step in and brush my hat." + +Instead of applying himself at once to the restoration of his beaver, he +hastened to the sitting-room, to see that the bonds were safe. + +"Heavens and 'arth!" said Ducklow. + +The chair, which had been carefully planted in the spot where they were +concealed, had been removed. Three or four tacks had been taken out, and +the carpet pushed from the wall. There was straw scattered about. +Evidently Taddy had been interrupted, in the midst of his ransacking, by +the alarm of fire. Indeed, he was even now creeping into the house to +see what notice Ducklow would take of these evidences of his mischief. + +In great trepidation the farmer thrust in his hand here and there, and +groped, until he found the envelope precisely where it had been placed +the night before, with the tape tied around it, which his wife had put +on to prevent its contents from slipping out and losing themselves. +Great was the joy of Ducklow. Great also was the wrath of him, when he +turned and discovered Taddy. + +"Didn't I tell you to stand by the old mare?" + +"She won't stir," said Taddy, shrinking away again. + +"Come here!" And Ducklow grasped him by the collar. "What have you been +doin'? Look at that!" + +"'Twa'n't me!"--beginning to whimper, and ram his fists into his eyes. + +"Don't tell me 'twa'n't you!" Ducklow shook him till his teeth +chattered. "What was you pullin' up the carpet for?" + +"Lost a marble!" snivelled Taddy. + +"Lost a marble! Ye didn't lose it under the carpet, did ye? Look at all +that straw pulled out!"--shaking him again. + +"Didn't know but it might 'a' got under the carpet, marbles roll so," +explained Taddy, as soon as he could get his breath. + +"Wal, Sir!" Ducklow administered a resounding box on his ear. "Don't you +do such a thing again, if you lose a million marbles!" + +"Ha'n't got a million!" Taddy wept, rubbing his cheek. "Ha'n't got but +four! Won't ye buy me some to-day?" + +"Go to that mare, and don't you leave her again till I come, or I'll +_marble_ ye in a way you won't like!" + +Understanding, by this somewhat equivocal form of expression, that +flagellation was threatened, Taddy obeyed, still feeling his smarting +and burning ear. + +Ducklow was in trouble. What should he do with the bonds? The floor was +no place for them, after what had happened; and he remembered too well +the experience of yesterday to think for a moment of carrying them about +his person. With unreasonable impatience, his mind reverted to Mrs. +Ducklow. + +"Why a'n't she to home? These women are forever a-gaddin'! I wish +Reuben's trunk was in Jericho!" + +Thinking of the trunk reminded him of one in the garret, filled with old +papers of all sorts,--newspapers, letters, bills of sale, children's +writing-books,--accumulations of the past quarter of a century. Neither +fire nor burglar nor ransacking youngster had ever molested those +ancient records during all those five-and-twenty years. A bright thought +struck him. + +"I'll slip the bonds down into that wuthless heap o' rubbish, where no +one 'u'd ever think o' lookin' for 'em, and resk 'em." + +Having assured himself that Taddy was standing by the wagon, he paid a +hasty visit to the trunk in the garret, and concealed the envelope, +still bound in its band of tape, among the papers. He then drove away, +giving Taddy a final charge to beware of setting anything afire. + +He had driven about half a mile when he met a peddler. There was nothing +unusual or alarming in such a circumstance, surely; but as Ducklow kept +on, it troubled him. + +"He'll stop to the house now, most likely, and want to trade. Findin' +nobody but Taddy, there's no knowin' what he'll be tempted to do. But I +a'n't a-goin' to worry. I'll defy anybody to find them bonds. Besides, +she may be home by this time. I guess she'll hear of the fire-alarm, and +hurry home: it'll be jest like her. She'll be there, and--trade with the +peddler?" thought Ducklow, uneasily. Then a frightful fancy possessed +him. "She has threatened two or three times to sell that old trunkful of +papers. He'll offer a big price for 'em, and ten to one she'll let him +have 'em. Why _didn't_ I think on 't? What a stupid blunderbuss I be!" + +As Ducklow thought of it, he felt almost certain that Mrs. Ducklow had +returned home, and that she was bargaining with the peddler at that +moment. He fancied her smilingly receiving bright tin-ware for the old +papers; and he could see the tape-tied envelope going into the bag with +the rest! The result was, that he turned about and whipped the old mare +home again in terrific haste, to catch the departing peddler. + +Arriving, he found the house as he had left it, and Taddy occupied in +making a kite-frame. + +"Did that peddler stop here?" + +"I ha'n't seen no peddler." + +"And ha'n't yer Ma Ducklow been home, neither?" + +"No." + +And with a guilty look, Taddy put the kite-frame behind him. + +Ducklow considered. The peddler had turned up a cross-street: he would +probably turn down again and stop at the house, after all: Mrs. Ducklow +might by that time be at home: then the sale of old papers would be very +likely to take place. Ducklow thought of leaving word that he did not +wish any old papers in the house to be sold, but feared lest the request +might excite Taddy's suspicions. + +"I don't see no way but for me to take the bonds with me," thought he, +with an inward groan. + +He accordingly went to the garret, took the envelope out of the trunk, +and placed it in the breast-pocket of his overcoat, to which he pinned +it, to prevent it by any chance from getting out. He used six large, +strong pins for the purpose, and was afterwards sorry he did not use +seven. + +"There's suthin' losin' out of yer pocket!" bawled Taddy, as he was once +more mounting the wagon. + +Quick as lightning, Ducklow clapped his hand to his breast. In doing so, +he loosed his hold of the wagon-box and fell, raking his shin badly on +the wheel. + +"Yer side-pocket! it's one o' yer mittens!" said Taddy. + +"You rascal! how you scared me!" + +Seating himself in the wagon, Ducklow gently pulled up his trousers-leg +to look at the bruised part. + +"Got anything in yer boot-leg to-day, Pa Ducklow?" asked Taddy, +innocently. + +"Yes, a barked shin!--all on your account, too! Go and put that straw +back, and fix the carpet; and don't ye let me hear ye speak of my +boot-leg again, or I'll _boot-leg_ ye!" + +So saying, Ducklow departed. + +Instead of repairing the mischief he had done in the sitting-room, Taddy +devoted his time and talents to the more interesting occupation of +constructing his kite-frame. He worked at that, until Mr. Grantley, the +minister, driving by, stopped to inquire how the folks were. + +"A'n't to home: may I ride?" cried Taddy, all in a breath. + +Mr. Grantley was an indulgent old gentleman, fond of children; so he +said, "Jump in"; and in a minute Taddy had scrambled to a seat by his +side. + +And now occurred a circumstance which Ducklow had foreseen. The alarm of +fire had reached Reuben's; and although the report of its falseness +followed immediately, Mrs. Ducklow's inflammable fancy was so kindled by +it that she could find no comfort in prolonging her visit. + +"Mr. Ducklow'll be going for the trunk, and I _must_ go home and see to +things, Taddy's _such_ a fellow for mischief! I can foot it; I sha'n't +mind it." + +And off she started, walking herself out of breath in her anxiety. + +She reached the brow of the hill just in time to see a chaise drive away +from her own door. + +"Who _can_ that be? I wonder if Taddy's there to guard the house! If +anything should happen to them bonds!" + +Out of breath as she was, she quickened her pace, and trudged on, +flushed, perspiring, panting, until she reached the house. + +"Thaddeus!" she called. + +No Taddy answered. She went in. The house was deserted. And lo! the +carpet torn up, and the bonds abstracted! + +Mr. Ducklow never would have made such work, removing the bonds. Then +somebody else must have taken them, she reasoned. + +"The man in the chaise!" she exclaimed, or rather made an effort to +exclaim, succeeding only in bringing forth a hoarse, gasping sound. Fear +dried up articulation. _Vox faucibus hoesit._ + +And Taddy? He had disappeared; been murdered, perhaps,--or gagged and +carried away by the man in the chaise. + +Mrs. Ducklow flew hither and thither, (to use a favorite phrase of her +own,) "like a hen with her head cut off"; then rushed out of the house, +and up the street, screaming after the chaise,-- + +"Murder! murder! Stop thief! stop thief!" + +She waved her hands aloft in the air frantically. If she had trudged +before, now she trotted, now she cantered; but if the cantering of the +old mare was fitly likened to that of a cow, to what thing, to what +manner of motion under the sun, shall we liken the cantering of Mrs. +Ducklow? It was original; it was unique; it was prodigious. Now, with +her frantically waving hands, and all her undulating and flapping +skirts, she seemed a species of huge, unwieldy bird attempting to fly. +Then she sank down into a heavy, dragging walk,--breath and strength all +gone,--no voice left even to scream murder. Then the awful realization +of the loss of the bonds once more rushing over her, she started up +again. "Half running, half flying, what progress she made!" Then +Atkins's dog saw her, and, naturally mistaking her for a prodigy, came +out at her, bristling up and bounding and barking terrifically. + +"Come here!" cried Atkins, following the dog. "What's the matter? What's +to pay, Mrs. Ducklow?" + +Attempting to speak, the good woman could only pant and wheeze. + +"Robbed!" she at last managed to whisper, amid the yelpings of the cur +that refused to be silenced. + +"Robbed? How? Who?" + +"The chaise. Ketch it." + +Her gestures expressed more than her words; and Atkins's horse and +wagon, with which he had been drawing out brush, being in the yard near +by, he ran to them, leaped to the seat, drove into the road, took Mrs. +Ducklow aboard, and set out in vigorous pursuit of the slow two-wheeled +vehicle. + +"Stop, you, Sir! Stop, you, Sir!" shrieked Mrs. Ducklow, having +recovered her breath by the time they came up with the chaise. + +It stopped, and Mr. Grantley the minister put out his good-natured, +surprised face. + +"You've robbed my house! You've took"---- + +Mrs. Ducklow was going on in wild, accusatory accents, when she +recognized the benign countenance. + +"What do you say? I have robbed you?" he exclaimed, very much +astonished. + +"No, no! not you! You wouldn't do such a thing!" she stammered forth, +while Atkins, who had laughed himself weak at Mr. Ducklow's plight +earlier in the morning, now laughed himself into a side-ache at Mrs. +Ducklow's ludicrous mistake. "But did you--did you stop at my house? +Have you seen our Thaddeus?" + +"Here I be, Ma Ducklow!" piped a small voice; and Taddy, who had till +then remained hidden, fearing punishment, peeped out of the chaise from +behind the broad back of the minister. + +"Taddy! Taddy! how came the carpet"---- + +"I pulled it up, huntin' for a marble," said Taddy, as she paused, +overmastered by her emotions. + +"And the--the thing tied up in a brown wrapper?" + +"Pa Ducklow took it." + +"Ye sure?" + +"Yes, I seen him!" + +"Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Ducklow, "I never was so beat! Mr. Grantley, I +hope--excuse me--I didn't know what I was about! Taddy, you notty boy, +what did you leave the house for? Be ye quite sure yer Pa Ducklow"---- + +Taddy repeated that he was quite sure, as he climbed from the chaise +into Atkins's wagon. The minister smilingly remarked that he hoped she +would find no robbery had been committed, and went his way. Atkins, +driving back, and setting her and Taddy down at the Ducklow gate, +answered her embarrassed "Much obleeged to ye," with a sincere "Not at +all," considering the fun he had had a sufficient compensation for his +trouble. And thus ended the morning's adventures, with the exception of +an unimportant episode, in which Taddy, Mrs. Ducklow, and Mrs. Ducklow's +rattan were the principal actors. + +At noon Mr. Ducklow returned. + +"Did ye take the bonds?" was his wife's first question. + +"Of course I did! Ye don't suppose I'd go away and leave 'em in the +house, not knowin' when you'd be comin' home?" + +"Wal, I didn't know. And I didn't know whuther to believe Taddy or not. +Oh, I've had such a fright!" + +And she related the story of her pursuit of the minister. + +"How could ye make such a fool of yerself? It'll git all over town, and +I shall be mortified to death. Jest like a woman, to git frightened!" + +"If _you_ hadn't got frightened, and made a fool of _yourself_, yelling +fire, 'twouldn't have happened!" retorted Mrs. Ducklow. + +"Wal! wal! say no more about it! The bonds are safe." + +"I was in hopes you'd change 'em for them registered bonds Reuben spoke +of." + +"I did try to, but they told me to the bank it couldn't be did. Then I +asked 'em if they would keep 'em for me, and they said they wouldn't +object to lockin' on 'em up in their safe; but they wouldn't give me no +receipt, nor hold themselves responsible for 'em. I didn't know what +else to do, so I handed 'em the bonds to keep." + +"I want to know if you did now!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow, disapprovingly. + +"Why not? What else could I do? I didn't want to lug 'em around with me +forever. And as for keepin' 'em hid in the house, we've tried that!" and +Ducklow unfolded his weekly newspaper. + +Mrs. Ducklow was placing the dinner on the table, with a look which +seemed to say, "_I_ wouldn't have left the bonds in the bank; _my_ +judgment would have been better than all that. If they are lost, _I_ +sha'n't be to blame!" when suddenly Ducklow started and uttered a cry of +consternation over his newspaper. + +"Why, what have ye found?" + +"Bank robbery!" + +"Not _your_ bank? Not the bank where _your bonds_"---- + +"Of course not; but in the very next town! The safe blown open with +gunpowder! Five thousand dollars in Gov'ment bonds stole!" + +"How strange!" said Mrs. Ducklow. "Now what did I tell ye?" + +"I believe you're right," cried Ducklow, starting to his feet. "They'll +be safer in my own house, or even in my own pocket!" + +"If you was going to put 'em in any safe, why not put 'em in Josiah's? +He's got a safe, ye know." + +"So he has! We might drive over there and make a visit Monday, and ask +him to lock up----yes, we might tell him and Laury all about it, and +leave 'em in their charge." + +"So we might!" said Mrs. Ducklow. + +Laura was their daughter, and Josiah her husband, in whose honor and +sagacity they placed unlimited confidence. The plan was resolved upon at +once. + +"To-morrow's Sunday," said Ducklow, pacing the floor. "If we leave the +bonds in the bank over night, they must stay there till Monday." + +"And Sunday is jest the day for burglars to operate!" added Mrs. +Ducklow. + +"I've a good notion--let me see!" said Ducklow, looking at the clock. +"Twenty minutes after twelve! Bank closes at two! An hour and a half,--I +believe I could git there in an hour and a half. I will. I'll take a +bite and drive right back." + +Which he accordingly did, and brought the tape-tied envelope home with +him again. That night he slept with it under his pillow. The next day +was Sunday; and although Mr. Ducklow did not like to have the bonds on +his mind during sermon-time, and Mrs. Ducklow "dreaded dreadfully," as +she said, "to look the minister in the face," they concluded that it was +best, on the whole, to go to meeting, and carry the bonds. With the +envelope once more in his breast-pocket, (stitched in this time by Mrs. +Ducklow's own hand,) the farmer sat under the droppings of the +sanctuary, and stared up at the good minister, but without hearing a +word of the discourse, his mind was so engrossed by worldly cares, until +the preacher exclaimed vehemently, looking straight at Ducklow's pew,-- + +"What said Paul? 'I would to God that not only thou, but also all that +hear me this day, were both almost and altogether such as I am, _except +these bonds_.' _'Except these bonds'!_" he repeated, striking the Bible. +"Can you, my hearers,--can you say, with Paul, 'Would that all were as I +am, _except these bonds_'?" + +A point which seemed for a moment so personal to himself, that Ducklow +was filled with confusion, and would certainly have stammered out some +foolish answer, had not the preacher passed on to other themes. As it +was, Ducklow contented himself with glancing around to see if the +congregation was looking at him, and carelessly passing his hand across +his breast-pocket to make sure the bonds were still there. + +Early the next morning, the old mare was harnessed, and Taddy's adopted +parents set out to visit their daughter,--Mrs. Ducklow having postponed +her washing for the purpose. It was afternoon when they arrived at their +journey's end. Laura received them joyfully, but Josiah was not expected +home until evening. Mr. Ducklow put the old mare in the barn, and fed +her, and then went in to dinner, feeling very comfortable indeed. + +"Josiah's got a nice place here. That's about as slick a little barn as +ever I see. Always does me good to come over here and see you gittin' +along so nicely, Laury." + +"I wish you'd come oftener, then," said Laura. + +"Wal, it's hard leavin' home, ye know. Have to git one of the Atkins +boys to come and sleep with Taddy the night we're away." + +"We shouldn't have come to-day, if 't hadn't been for me," remarked Mrs. +Ducklow. "Says I to your father, says I, 'I feel as if I wanted to go +over and see Laury; it seems an age since I've seen her,' says I. 'Wal,' +says he, 's'pos'n' we go!' says he. That was only last Saturday; and +this morning we started." + +"And it's no fool of a job to make the journey with the old mare!" said +Ducklow. + +"Why don't you drive a better horse?" said Laura, whose pride was always +touched when her parents came to visit her with the old mare and the +one-horse wagon. + +"Oh, she answers my purpose. Hossflesh is high, Laury. Have to +economize, these times." + +"I'm sure there's no need of your economizing!" exclaimed Laura, leading +the way to the dining-room. "Why don't you use your money, and have the +good of it?" + +"So I tell him," said Mrs. Ducklow, faintly.--"Why, Laury! I didn't want +you to be to so much trouble to git dinner jest for us! A bite would +have answered. Do see, father!" + +At evening Josiah came home; and it was not until then that Ducklow +mentioned the subject which was foremost in his thoughts. + +"What do ye think o' Gov'ment bonds, Josiah?" he incidentally inquired, +after supper. + +"First-rate!" said Josiah. + +"About as safe as anything, a'n't they?" said Ducklow, encouraged. + +"Safe?" cried Josiah. "Just look at the resources of this country! +Nobody has begun yet to appreciate the power and undeveloped wealth of +these United States. It's a big rebellion, I know; but we're going to +put it down. It'll leave us a big debt, very sure; but we handle it now +easy as that child lifts that stool. It makes him grunt and stagger a +little, not because he isn't strong enough for it, but because he don't +understand his own strength, or how to use it: he'll have twice the +strength, and know just how to apply it, in a little while. Just so with +this country. It makes me laugh to bear folks talk about repudiation and +bankruptcy." + +"But s'pos'n' we do put down the Rebellion, and the States come back: +then what's to hender the South, and Secesh sympathizers in the North, +from j'inin' together and votin' that the debt sha'n't be paid?" + +"Don't you worry about that! Do ye suppose we're going to be such fools +as to give the Rebels, after we've whipped 'em, the same political power +they had before the war? Not by a long chalk! Sooner than that, we'll +put the ballot into the hands of the freedmen. They're our friends. +They've fought on the right side, and they'll vote on the right side. I +tell ye, spite of all the prejudice there is against black skins, we +a'n't such a nation of ninnies as to give up all we're fighting for, and +leave our best friends and allies, not to speak of our own interests, in +the hands of our enemies." + +"You consider Gov'ments a good investment, then, do ye?" said Ducklow, +growing radiant. + +"I do, decidedly,--the very best. Besides, you help the Government; and +that's no small consideration." + +"So I thought. But how is it about the cowpon bonds? A'n't they rather +ticklish property to have in the house?" + +"Well, I don't know. Think how many years you'll keep old bills and +documents and never dream of such a thing as losing them! There's not a +bit more danger with the bonds. I shouldn't want to carry 'em around +with me, to any great amount,--though I did once carry three +thousand-dollar bonds in my pocket for a week. I didn't mind it." + +"Curi's!" said Ducklow: "I've got three thousan'-dollar bonds in my +pocket this minute!" + +"Well, it's so much good property," said Josiah, appearing not at all +surprised at the circumstance. + +"Seems to me, though, if I had a safe, as you have, I should lock 'em up +in it." + +"I was travelling that week. I locked 'em up pretty soon after I got +home, though." + +"Suppose," said Ducklow, as if the thought had but just occurred to +him,--"suppose you put my bonds into your safe: I shall feel easier." + +"Of course," replied Josiah. "I'll keep 'em for you, if you like." + +"It will be an accommodation. They'll be safe, will they?" + +"Safe as mine are; safe as anybody's: I'll insure 'em for twenty-five +cents." + +Ducklow was happy. Mrs. Ducklow was happy. She took her husband's coat, +and with a pair of scissors cut the threads that stitched the envelope +to the pocket. + +"Have you torn off the May coupons?" asked Josiah. + +"No." + +"Well, you'd better. They'll be payable now soon; and if you take them, +you won't have to touch the bonds again till the interest on the +November coupons is due." + +"A good idea!" said Ducklow. + +He took the envelope, untied the tape, and removed its contents. +Suddenly the glow of comfort, the gleam of satisfaction, faded from his +countenance. + +"Hello! What ye got there?" cried Josiah. + +"Why, father! massy sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow. + +As for Ducklow himself, he could not utter a word; but, dumb with +consternation, he looked again in the envelope, and opened and turned +inside out, and shook, with trembling hands, its astonishing contents. +The bonds were not there: they had been stolen, and three copies of the +"Sunday Visitor" had been inserted in their place. + + * * * * * + +Very early on the following morning a dismal-faced middle-aged couple +might have been seen riding away from Josiah's house. It was the +Ducklows returning home, after their fruitless, their worse than +fruitless, journey. No entreaties could prevail upon them to prolong +their visit. It was with difficulty even that they had been prevented +from setting off immediately on the discovery of their loss, and +travelling all night, in their impatience to get upon the track of the +missing bonds. + +"There'll be not the least use in going to-night," Josiah had said. "If +they were stolen at the bank, you can't do anything about it till +to-morrow. And even if they were taken from your own house, I don't see +what's to be gained now by hurrying back. It isn't probable you'll ever +see 'em again, and you may just as well take it easy,--go to bed and +sleep on it, and get a fresh start in the morning." + +So, much against their inclination, the unfortunate owners of the +abstracted bonds retired to the luxurious chamber Laura gave them, and +lay awake all night, groaning and sighing, wondering and surmising, and +(I regret to add) blaming each other. So true it is, that "modern +conveniences," hot and cold water all over the house, a pier-glass, and +the most magnificently canopied couch, avail nothing to give +tranquillity to the harassed mind. Hitherto the Ducklows had felt great +satisfaction in the style their daughter, by her marriage, was enabled +to support. To brag of her nice house and furniture and two servants was +almost as good as possessing them. Remembering her rich dining-room and +silver service and porcelain, they were proud. Such things were enough +for the honor of the family; and, asking nothing for themselves, they +slept well in their humblest of bed-chambers, and sipped their tea +contentedly out of clumsy earthen. But that night the boasted style in +which their "darter" lived was less appreciated than formerly: fashion +and splendor were no longer a consolation. + +"If we had only given the three thousan' dollars to Reuben!" said +Ducklow, driving homewards with a countenance as long as his whip-lash. +"'Twould have jest set him up, and been some compensation for his +sufferin's and losses goin' to the war." + +"Wal, I had no objections," replied Mrs. Ducklow. "I always thought he +ought to have the money eventooally. And, as Miss Beswick said, no doubt +it would 'a' been ten times the comfort to him now it would be a number +o' years from now. But you didn't seem willing." + +"I don't know! 'twas you that wasn't willin'!" + +And they expatiated on Reuben's merits, and their benevolent intentions +towards him, and, in imagination, endowed him with the price of the +bonds over and over again: so easy is it to be generous with lost money! + +"But it's no use talkin'!" said Ducklow. "I've not the least idee we +shall ever see the color o' them bonds again. If they was stole to the +bank, I can't prove anything." + +"It does seem strange to me," Mrs. Ducklow replied, "that you should +have had no more gumption than to trust the bonds with strangers, when +they told you in so many words they wouldn't be responsible." + +"If you have flung that in my teeth once, you have fifty times!" And +Ducklow lashed the old mare, as if she, and not Mrs. Ducklow, had +exasperated him. + +"Wal," said the lady, "I don't see how we're going to work to find 'em, +now they're lost, without making inquiries; and we can't make inquiries +without letting it be known we had bought." + +"I been thinkin' about that," said her husband. "Oh, dear!" with a +groan; "I wish the pesky cowpon bonds had never been invented!" + +They drove first to the bank, where they were of course told that the +envelope had not been untied there. "Besides, it was sealed, wasn't +it?" said the cashier. "Indeed!" He expressed great surprise, when +informed that it was not. "It should have been: I supposed any child +would know enough to look out for that!" + +And this was all the consolation Ducklow could obtain. + +"Just as I expected," said Mrs. Ducklow, as they resumed their journey. +"I just as much believe that man stole your bonds as that you trusted +'em in his hands in an unsealed wrapper! Beats all, how you could be so +careless!" + +"Wal, wal! I s'pose I never shall hear the last on 't!" + +And again the poor old mare had to suffer for Mrs. Ducklow's offences. + +They had but one hope now,--that perhaps Taddy had tampered with the +envelope, and that the bonds might be found somewhere about the house. +But this hope was quickly extinguished on their arrival. Taddy, being +accused, protested his innocence with a vehemence which convinced even +Mr. Ducklow that the cashier was probably the guilty party. + +"Unless," said he, brandishing the rattan, "somebody got into the house +that morning when the little scamp run off to ride with the minister!" + +"Oh, don't lick me for that! I've been licked for that once; ha'n't I, +Ma Ducklow?" shrieked Taddy. + +The house was searched in vain. No clew to the purloined securities +could be obtained,--the copies of the "Sunday Visitor," which had been +substituted for them, affording not the least; for that valuable little +paper was found in almost every household, except Ducklow's. + +"I don't see any way left but to advertise, as Josiah said," remarked +the farmer, with a deep sigh of despondency. + +"And that'll bring it all out!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow. "If you only +hadn't been so imprudent!" + +"Wal, wal!" said Ducklow, cutting her short. + +Before resorting to public measures for the recovery of the stolen +property, it was deemed expedient to acquaint their friends with their +loss in a private way. The next day, accordingly, they went to pay +Reuben a visit. It was a very different meeting from that which took +place a few mornings before. The returned soldier had gained in health, +but not in spirits. The rapture of reaching home once more, the flush of +hope and happiness, had passed away with the visitors who had flocked to +offer their congratulations. He had had time to reflect: he had reached +home, indeed; but now every moment reminded him how soon that home was +to be taken from him. He looked at his wife and children, and clenched +his teeth hard to stifle the emotions that arose at the thought of their +future. The sweet serenity, the faith and patience and cheerfulness, +which never ceased to illumine Sophronia's face as she moved about the +house, pursuing her daily tasks, and tenderly waiting upon him, deepened +at once his love and his solicitude. He was watching her thus when the +Ducklows entered with countenances mournful as the grave. + +"How are you gittin' along, Reuben?" said Ducklow, while his wife +murmured a solemn "good morning" to Sophronia. + +"I am doing well enough. Don't be at all concerned about me! It a'n't +pleasant to lie here, and feel it may be months, months, before I'm able +to be about my business; but I wouldn't mind it,--I could stand it +first-rate,--I could stand anything, anything, but to see her working +her life out for me and the children! To no purpose, either; that's the +worst of it. We shall have to lose this place, spite of fate!" + +"Oh, Reuben!" said Sophronia, hastening to him, and laying her soothing +hands upon his hot forehead; "why won't you stop thinking about that? Do +try to have more faith! We shall be taken care of, I'm sure!" + +"If I had three thousand dollars,--yes, or even two,--then I'd have +faith!" said Reuben. "Miss Beswick has proposed to send a +subscription-paper around town for us; but I'd rather die than have it +done. Besides, nothing near that amount could be raised, I'm confident. +You needn't groan so, Pa Ducklow, for I a'n't hinting at you. I don't +expect you to help me out of my trouble. If you had felt called upon to +do it, you'd have done it before now; and I don't ask, I don't beg of +any man!" added the soldier, proudly. + +"That's right; I like your sperit!" said the miserable Ducklow. "But I +was sighing to think of something,--something you haven't known anything +about, Reuben." + +"Yes, Reuben, we should have helped you," said Mrs. Ducklow, "and did, +did take steps towards it"---- + +"In fact," resumed Ducklow, "you've met with a great misfortin', Reuben. +Unbeknown to yourself, you've met with a great misfortin'! Yer Ma +Ducklow knows." + +"Yes, Reuben, the very day you came home, your Pa Ducklow made an +investment for your benefit. We didn't mention it,--you know I wouldn't +own up to it, though I didn't exactly say the contrary, the morning we +was over here"---- + +"Because," said Ducklow, as she faltered, "we wanted to surprise you; we +was keepin' it a secret till the right time, then we was goin' to make +it a pleasant surprise to ye." + +"What in the name of common-sense are you talking about?" cried Reuben, +looking from one to the other of the wretched, prevaricating pair. + +"Cowpon bonds!" groaned Ducklow. "Three thousan'-dollar cowpon bonds! +The money had been lent, but I wanted to make a good investment for you, +and I thought there was nothin' so good as Gov'ments"---- + +"That's all right," said Reuben. "Only, if you had money to invest for +my benefit, I should have preferred to pay off the mortgage the first +thing." + +"Sartin! sartin!" said Ducklow; "and you could have turned the bonds +right in, if you had so chosen, like so much cash. Or you could have +drawed your interest on the bonds in gold, and paid the interest on your +mortgage in currency, and made so much, as I rather thought you would." + +"But the bonds?" eagerly demanded Reuben, with trembling hopes, just as +Miss Beswick, with her shawl over her head, entered the room. + +"We was jest telling about our loss, Reuben's loss," said Mrs. Ducklow +in a manner which betrayed no little anxiety to conciliate that terrible +woman. + +"Very well! don't let me interrupt." And Miss Beswick, slipping the +shawl from her head, sat down. + +Her presence, stiff and prim and sarcastic, did not tend in the least to +relieve Mr. Ducklow from the natural embarrassment he felt in giving his +version of Reuben's loss. However, assisted occasionally by a judicious +remark thrown in by Mrs. Ducklow, he succeeded in telling a sufficiently +plausible and candid-seeming story. + +"I see! I see!" said Reuben, who had listened with astonishment and pain +to the narrative. "You had kinder intentions towards me than I gave you +credit for. Forgive me, if I wronged you!" He pressed the hand of his +adopted father, and thanked him from a heart filled with gratitude and +trouble. "But don't feel so bad about it. You did what you thought best +I can only say, the fates are against me." + +"Hem!" coughing, Miss Beswick stretched up her long neck and cleared her +throat "So them bonds you had bought for Reuben was in the house the +very night I called!" + +"Yes, Miss Beswick," replied Mrs. Ducklow; "and that's what made it so +uncomfortable to us to have you talk the way you did." + +"Hem!" The neck was stretched up still farther than before, and the +redoubtable throat cleared again. "'Twas too bad! Ye ought to have told +me. You'd actooally bought the bonds,--bought 'em for Reuben, had ye?" + +"Sartin! sartin!" said Ducklow. + +"To be sure!" said Mrs. Ducklow. + +"We designed 'em for his benefit, a surprise, when the right time +come," said both together. + +"Hem! well!" (It was evident that the Beswick was clearing her decks for +action.) "When the right time come! yes! That right time wasn't +somethin' indefinite, in the fur futur', of course! Yer losin' the bonds +didn't hurry up yer benevolence the least grain, I s'pose! Hem! let in +them boys, Sophrony!" + +Sophronia opened the door, and in walked Master Dick Atkins, (son of the +brush-burner,) followed, not without reluctance and concern, by Master +Taddy. + +"Thaddeus! what you here for?" demanded the adopted parents. + +"Because I said so," remarked Miss Beswick, arbitrarily. "Step along, +boys, step along. Hold up yer head, Taddy, for ye a'n't goin' to be hurt +while I'm around. Take yer fists out o' yer eyes, and stop blubberin'. +Mr. Ducklow, that boy knows somethin' about Reuben's cowpon bonds." + +"Thaddeus!" ejaculated both Ducklows at once, "did you touch them +bonds?" + +"Didn't know what they was!" whimpered Taddy. + +"Did you take them?" And the female Ducklow grasped his shoulder. + +"Hands off, if you please!" remarked Miss Beswick, with frightfully +gleaming courtesy. "I told him, if he'd be a good boy, and come along +with Richard, and tell the truth, he shouldn't be hurt. _If_ you +please," she repeated, with a majestic nod; and Mrs. Ducklow took her +hands off. + +"Where are they now? where are they?" cried Ducklow, rushing headlong to +the main question. + +"Don't know," said Taddy. + +"Don't know? you villain!" And Ducklow was rising in wrath. But Miss +Beswick put up her hand deprecatingly. + +"If _you_ please!" she said, with grim civility; and Ducklow sank down +again. + +"What did you do with 'em? what did you want of 'em?" said Mrs. Ducklow, +with difficulty restraining an impulse to wring his neck. + +"To cover my kite," confessed the miserable Taddy. + +"Cover your kite! your kite!" A chorus of groans from the Ducklows. +"Didn't you know no better?" + +"Didn't think you'd care," said Taddy. "I had some newspapers Dick give +me to cover it; but I thought them things 'u'd be pootier. So I took +'em, and put the newspapers in the wrapper." + +"Did ye cover yer kite?" + +"No. When I found out you cared so much about 'em, I dars'n't; I was +afraid you'd see 'em." + +"Then what _did_ you do with 'em?" + +"When you was away, Dick come over to sleep with me, and I--I sold 'em +to him." + +"Sold 'em to Dick!" + +"Yes," spoke up Dick, stoutly, "for six marbles, and one was a +bull's-eye, and one agate, and two alleys. Then, when you come home and +made such a fuss, he wanted 'em ag'in. But he wouldn't give me back but +four, and I wa'n't going to agree to no such nonsense as that." + +"I'd lost the bull's-eye and one common," whined Taddy. + +"But the bonds! did you destroy 'em?" + +"Likely I'd destroy 'em, after I'd paid six marbles for 'em!" said Dick. +"I wanted 'em to cover _my_ kite with." + +"Cover _your_--oh! then _you_'ve made a kite of 'em?" said Ducklow. + +"Well, I was going to, when Aunt Beswick ketched me at it. She made me +tell where I got 'em, and took me over to your house jest now; and Taddy +said you was over here, and so she put ahead, and made us follow her." + +Again, in an agony of impatience, Ducklow demanded to know where the +bonds were at that moment. + +"If Taddy'll give me back the marbles," began Master Dick. + +"That'll do!" said Miss Beswick, silencing him with a gesture. "Reuben +will give you twenty marbles; for I believe you said they was Reuben's +bonds, Mr. Ducklow?" + +"Yes, that is"----stammered the adopted father. + +"Eventooally," struck in the adopted mother. + +"Now look here! What am I to understand? Be they Reuben's bonds, or be +they not? That's the question!" And there was that in Miss Beswick's +look which said, "If they are not Reuben's, then your eyes shall never +behold them more!" + +"Of course they're Reuben's!" "We intended all the while"----"His +benefit"----"To do jest what he pleases with 'em," chorused Pa and Ma +Ducklow. + +"Wal! now it's understood! Here, Reuben, are your cowpon bonds!" + +And Miss Beswick, drawing them from her bosom, placed the precious +documents, with formal politeness, in the glad soldier's agitated hands. + +"Glory!" cried Reuben, assuring himself that they were genuine and real. +"Sophrony, you've got a home! Ruby, Carrie, you've got a home! Miss +Beswick! you angel from the skies! order a bushel and a half of marbles +for Dick, and have the bill sent to me! Oh, Pa Ducklow! you never did a +nobler or more generous thing in your life. These will lift the +mortgage, and leave me a nest-egg besides. Then when I get my back pay, +and my pension, and my health again, we shall be independent." + +And the soldier, overcome by his feelings, sank back in the arms of his +wife. + +"We always told you we'd do well by ye, you remember?" said the +Ducklows, triumphantly. + +The news went abroad. Again congratulations poured in upon the returned +volunteer. Everybody rejoiced in his good fortune,--especially certain +rich ones who had been dreading to see Miss Beswick come round with her +proposed subscription-paper. + +Among the rest, the Ducklows rejoiced not the least; for selfishness was +with them, as it is with many, rather a thing of habit than a fault of +the heart. The catastrophe of the bonds broke up that life-long habit, +and revealed good hearts underneath. The consciousness of having done an +act of justice, although by accident, proved very sweet to them: it was +really a fresh sensation; and Reuben and his dear little family, saved +from ruin and distress, happy, thankful, glad, was a sight to their old +eyes such as they had never witnessed before. Not gold itself, in any +quantity, at the highest premium, could have given them so much +satisfaction; and as for coupon bonds, they are not to be mentioned in +the comparison. + +"Won't you do well by me some time, too?" teased little Taddy, who +overheard his adopted parents congratulating themselves on having acted +so generously by Reuben. "I don't care for no cowpen bonds, but I do +want a new drum!" + +"Yes, yes, my son!" said Ducklow, patting the boy's shoulder. + +And the drum was bought. + +Taddy was delighted. But he did not know what made the Ducklows so much +happier, so much gentler and kinder, than formerly. Do you? + + + + +THE AUTHOR OF "SAUL."[A] + + +We are not one of those who believe that the manifestation of any +native, vigorous faculty of the mind is dependent upon circumstances. It +is true that education, in its largest sense, modifies development; but +it cannot, to any serious extent, add to, or take from, the power to be +developed. In the lack of encouragement and contemporary appreciation, +certain of the finer faculties may not give forth their full and perfect +fragrance; but the rose is always seen to be a rose, though never a bud +come to flower. The "mute, inglorious Milton" is a pleasant poetic +fiction. Against the "hands that the rod of empire _might_ have swayed" +we have nothing to object, knowing to what sort of hands the said rod +has so often been intrusted. + +John Howard Payne once read to us--and it was something of an +infliction--a long manuscript on "The Neglected Geniuses of America,"--a +work which only death, we suspect, prevented him from giving to the +world. There was not one name in the list which had ever before reached +our ears. Nicholas Blauvelt and William Phillips and a number of other +utterly forgotten rhymesters were described and eulogized at length, the +quoted specimens of their poetry proving all the while their admirable +right to the oblivion which Mr. Payne deprecated. They were men of +culture, some of them wealthy, and we could detect no lack of +opportunity in the story of their lives. Had they been mechanics, they +would have planed boards and laid bricks from youth to age. The Ayrshire +ploughman and the Bedford tinker were made of other stuff. Our inference +then was, and still is, that unacknowledged (or at least unmanifested) +genius is no genius at all, and that the lack of sympathy which many +young authors so bitterly lament is a necessary test of their fitness +for their assumed vocation. + +Gerald Massey is one of the most recent instances of the certainty with +which a poetic faculty by no means of the highest order will enforce its +own development, under seemingly fatal discouragements. The author of +"Saul" is a better illustration of the same fact; for, although, in our +ignorance of the circumstances of his early life, we are unable to +affirm what particular difficulties he had to encounter, we know how +long he was obliged to wait for the first word of recognition, and to +what heights he aspired in the course of many long and solitary years. + +The existence of "Saul" was first made known to the world by an article +in the "North British Review," in the year 1858, when the author had +already attained his forty-second year. The fact that the work was +published in Montreal called some attention to it on this side of the +Atlantic, and a few critical notices appeared in our literary +periodicals. It is still, however, comparatively unknown; and those into +whose hands it may have fallen are, doubtless, ignorant of the author's +name and history. An outline of the latter, so far as we have been able +to ascertain its features, will help the reader to a more intelligent +judgment, when we come to discuss the author's claim to a place in +literature. + +Charles Heavysege was born in Liverpool, England, in the year 1816. We +know nothing in regard to his parents, except that they were poor, yet +able to send their son to an ordinary school. His passion for reading, +especially such the poetry as fell into his hands, showed itself while +he was yet a child. Milton seems to have been the first author who made +a profound impression upon his mind; but it is also reported that the +schoolmaster once indignantly snatched Gray's "Elegy" from his hand, +because he so frequently selected that poem for his reading-lesson. +Somewhat later, he saw "Macbeth" performed, and was immediately seized +with the ambition to become an actor,--a profession for which few +persons could be less qualified. The impression produced by this +tragedy, combined with the strict religious training which he appears to +have received, undoubtedly fixed the character and manner of his +subsequent literary efforts. + +There are but few other facts of his life which we can state with +certainty. His chances of education were evidently very scanty, for he +must have left school while yet a boy, in order to learn his +trade,--that of a machinist. He had thenceforth little time and less +opportunity for literary culture. His reading was desultory, and the +poetic faculty, expending itself on whatever subjects came to hand, +produced great quantities of manuscripts, which were destroyed almost as +soon as written. The idea of publishing them does not seem to have +presented itself to his mind. Either his life must have been devoid of +every form of intellectual sympathy, or there was some external +impediment formidable enough to keep down that ambition which always +co-exists with the creative power. + +In the year 1843 he married, and in 1853 emigrated to Canada, and +settled in Montreal. Even here his literary labor was at first performed +in secrecy; he was nearly forty years old before a line from his pen +appeared in type. He found employment in a machine-shop, and it was only +very gradually--probably after much doubt and hesitation--that he came +to the determination to subject his private creations to the ordeal of +print. His first venture was a poem in blank verse, the title of which +we have been unable to ascertain. A few copies were printed anonymously +and distributed among personal friends. It was a premature birth, which +never knew a moment's life, and the father of it would now be the last +person to attempt a resuscitation. + +Soon afterwards appeared--also anonymously--a little pamphlet, +containing fifty "so-called" sonnets. They are, in reality, fragmentary +poems of fourteen lines each, bound to no metre or order of rhyme. In +spite of occasional crudities of expression, the ideas are always poetic +and elevated, and there are many vigorous couplets and quatrains. They +do not, however, furnish any evidence of sustained power, and the +reader, who should peruse them as the only productions of the author, +would be far from inferring the latter's possession of that lofty epical +utterance which he exhibits in "Saul" and "Jephthah's Daughter." + +We cannot learn that this second attempt to obtain a hearing was +successful, so far as any public notice of the pamphlet is concerned; +but it seems, at least, to have procured for Mr. Heavysege the first +private recognition of his poetic abilities which he had ever received, +and thereby given him courage for a more ambitious venture. "Saul," as +an epical subject, must have haunted his mind for years. The greater +portion of it, indeed, had been written before he had become familiar +with the idea of publication; and even after the completion of the work, +we can imagine the sacrifices which must have delayed its appearance in +print. For a hard-working mechanic, in straitened circumstances, courage +of another kind was required. It is no slight expense to produce an +octavo volume of three hundred and thirty pages; there must have been +much anxious self-consultation, a great call for patience, fortitude, +and hope, with who may know what doubts and despondencies, before, in +1857 "Saul" was given to the world. + +Nothing could have been more depressing than its reception, if, indeed, +the term "reception" can be applied to complete indifference. A country +like Canada, possessing no nationality, and looking across the Atlantic, +not only for its political rule, but also (until very recently, at +least) for its opinions, tastes, and habits, is especially unfavorable +to the growth of an independent literature. Although there are many men +of learning and culture among the residents of Montreal, they do not +form a class to whom a native author could look for encouragement or +appreciation sufficient to stamp him as successful. The reading public +there accept the decrees of England and the United States, and they did +not detect the merits of "Saul," until the discovery had first been made +in those countries. + +Several months had elapsed since the publication of the volume; it +seemed to be already forgotten, when the notice to which we have +referred appeared in the "North British Review." The author had sent a +copy to Mr. Hawthorne, then residing in Liverpool, and that gentleman, +being on friendly terms with some of the writers for the "North +British," procured the insertion of an appreciative review of the poem. +Up to that time, we believe, no favorable notice of the work had +appeared in Canada. The little circulation it obtained was chiefly among +the American residents. A few copies found their way across the border, +and some of our authors (among whom we may mention Mr. Emerson and Mr. +Longfellow) were the first to recognize the genius of the poet. With +this double indorsement, his fellow-townsmen hastened to make amends for +their neglect. They could not be expected to give any very enthusiastic +welcome, nor was their patronage extensive enough to confer more than +moderate success; but the remaining copies of the first small edition +were sold, and a second edition--which has not yet been +exhausted--issued in 1859. + +In February, 1860, we happened to visit Montreal. At that time we had +never read the poem, and the bare fact of its existence had almost faded +from memory, when it was recalled by an American resident who was +acquainted with Mr. Heavysege, and whose account of his patience, his +quiet energy, and serene faith in his poetic calling strongly interested +us. It was but a few hours before our departure; there was a furious +snow-storm; yet the gentleman ordered a sleigh, and we drove at once to +a large machine-shop, in the outskirts of the city. Here, amid the noise +of hammers, saws, and rasps, in a great grimy hall smelling of oil and +iron-dust, we found the poet at his work-bench. A small, slender man, +with a thin, sensitive face, bright blonde hair, and eyes of that +peculiar blue which burns warm, instead of cold, under excitement,--in +the few minutes of our interview the picture was fixed, and remains so. +His manner was quiet, natural, and unassuming: he received us with the +simple good-breeding which a gentleman always possesses, whether we find +him on a throne or beside an anvil. Not a man to assert his claim +loudly, or to notice injustice or neglect by a single spoken word; but +one to take quietly success or failure, in the serenity of a mood +habitually untouched by either extreme. + +In that one brief first and last interview, we discovered, at least, the +simple, earnest sincerity of the man's nature,--a quality too rare, even +among authors. When we took our seat in the train for Rouse's Point, we +opened the volume of "Saul." The first part was finished as we +approached St. Albans; the second at Vergennes; and twilight was falling +as we closed the book between Bennington and Troy. Whatever crudities of +expression, inaccuracies of rhythm, faults of arrangement, and +violations of dramatic law met us from time to time, the earnest purpose +of the writer carried us over them all. The book has a fine flavor of +the Elizabethan age,--a sustained epic rather than dramatic character, +an affluence of quaint, original images; yet the construction was +frequently that of a school-boy. In opulence and maturity of ideas, and +poverty of artistic skill, the work stands almost alone in literature. +What little we have learned of the history of the author suggests an +explanation of this peculiarity. Never was so much genuine power so long +silent. + +"Saul" is yet so little known, that a descriptive outline of the poem +will be a twice-told tale to very few readers of the "Atlantic." The +author strictly follows the history of the renowned Hebrew king, as it +is related in I Samuel, commencing with the tenth chapter, but divides +the subject into three dramas, after the manner of Schiller's +"Wallenstein." The first part embraces the history of Saul, from his +anointing by Samuel at Ramah to David's exorcism of the evil spirit, +(xvi. 23,) and contains five acts. The second part opens with David as a +guest in the palace at Gibeah. The defeat of the Philistines at Elah, +Saul's jealousy of David, and the latter's marriage with Michal form the +staple of the _four_ acts of this part. The third part consists of _six_ +acts of unusual length, (some of them have thirteen scenes,) and is +devoted to the pursuits and escapes of David, the Witch of Endor, and +the final battle, wherein the king and his three sons are slain. No +liberties have been taken with the order of the Scripture narrative, +although a few subordinate characters have here and there been +introduced to complete the action. The author seems either to lack the +inventive faculty, or to have feared modifying the sacred record for the +purposes of Art. In fact, no considerable modification was necessary. +The simple narrative fulfils almost all the requirements of dramatic +writing, in its succession of striking situations, and its cumulative +interest. From beginning to end, however, Mr. Heavysege makes no attempt +to produce a dramatic effect. It is true that he has availed himself of +the phrase "an evil spirit from the Lord," to introduce a demoniac +element, but, singularly enough, the demons seem to appear and to act +unwillingly, and manifest great relief when they are allowed to retire +from the stage. + +The work, therefore, cannot be measured by dramatic laws. It is an epic +in dialogue; its chief charm lies in the march of the story and the +detached individual monologues, rather than in contrast of characters or +exciting situations. The sense of proportion--the latest developed +quality of the poetic mind--is dimly manifested. The structure of the +verse, sometimes so stately and majestic, is frequently disfigured by +the commonest faults; yet the breath of a lofty purpose has been +breathed upon every page. The personality of the author never pierces +through his theme. The language is fresh, racy, vigorous, and utterly +free from the impress of modern masters: much of it might have been +written by a contemporary of Shakspeare. + +In the opening of the first part, Saul, recently anointed king, receives +the messengers of Jabesh Gilead, and promises succor. A messenger +says,-- + + "The winds of heaven, + Behind thee blow: and on our enemies' eyes + May the sun smite to-morrow, and blind them for thee! + But, O Saul, do not fail us. + + "_Saul._ Fail ye + Let the morn fail to break; I will not break + My word. Haste, or I'm there before you. Fail? + Let the morn fail the east; I'll not fail you, + But, swift and silent as the streaming wind, + Unseen approach, then, gathering up my force + At dawning, sweep on Ammon, as Night's blast + Sweeps down the Carmel on the dusky sea." + +This is a fine picture of Saul steeling his nature to cruelty, when be +has reluctantly resolved to obey Samuel's command "to trample out the +living fire of Amalek":-- + + "Now let me tighten every cruel sinew, + And gird the whole up in unfeeling hardness, + That my swollen heart, which bleeds within me tears, + May choke itself to stillness. I am as + A shivering bather, that, upon the shore, + Looking and shrinking from the cold, black waves, + Quick starting from his reverie, with a rush + Abbreviates his horror." + +And this of the satisfied lust of blood, uttered by a Hebrew soldier, +after the slaughter:-- + + "When I was killing, such thoughts came to me, like + The sound of cleft-dropped waters to the ear + Of the hot mower, who thereat stops the oftener + To whet his glittering scythe, and, while he smiles, + With the harsh, sharpening hone beats their fall's time, + And dancing to it in his heart's straight chamber, + Forgets that he is weary." + +After the execution of Agag by the hand of Samuel, the demons are +introduced with more propriety than in the opening of the poem. The +following passage has a subtle, sombre grandeur of its own:-- + + "_First Demon._ Now let us down to hell: we've seen the last. + + "_Second Demon._ Stay; for the road thereto is yet incumbered + With the descending spectres of the killed. + _'Tis said they choke hell's gates, and stretch from thence + Out like a tongue upon the silent gulf_; + Wherein our spirits--even as terrestrial ships + That are detained by foul winds in an offing-- + Linger perforce, _and feel broad gusts of sighs + That swing them on the dark and billowless waste_, + O'er which come sounds more dismal than the boom, + At midnight, of the salt flood's foaming surf,-- + Even dead Amalek's moan and lamentation." + +The reader will detect the rhythmical faults of the poem, even in these +passages. But there is a vast difference between such blemishes of the +unrhymed heroic measure as terminating a line with "and," "of," or +"but," or inattention to the cćsural pauses, and that mathematical +precision of foot and accent, which, after all, can scarcely be +distinguished from prose. Whatever may be his shortcomings, Mr. +Heavysege speaks in the dialect of poetry. Only rarely he drops into +bald prose, as in these lines:-- + + "But let us go abroad, and in the twilight's + Cool, tranquillizing air discuss this matter." + +We remember, however, that Wordsworth wrote,-- + + "A band of officers + Then stationed in the city were among the chief + Of my associates." + +We had marked many other fine passages of "Saul" for quotation, but must +be content with a few of those which are most readily separated from the +context. + + "Ha! ha! the foe, + Having taken from us our warlike tools, yet leave us + The little scarlet tongue to scratch and sting with." + + "Here's lad's-love, and the flower which even death + Cannot unscent, the all-transcending rose." + + "The loud bugle, + And the hard-rolling drum, and clashing cymbals, + Now reign the lords o' the air. These crises, David, + Bring with them their own music, as do storms + Their thunders." + + "Ere the morn + Shall tint the orient with the soldier's color, + We must be at the camp." + + "But come, I'll disappoint thee; for, remember, + Samuel will not be roused for thee, although + I knock with thunder at his resting-place." + +The lyrical portions, of the work--introduced in connection with the +demoniac characters--are inferior to the rest. They have occasionally a +quaint, antique flavor, suggesting the diction of the Elizabethan +lyrists, but without their delicate, elusive richness of melody. Here +most we perceive the absence of that highest, ripest intellectual +culture which can be acquired only through contact and conflict with +other minds. It is not good for a poet to be alone. Even where the +constructive faculty is absent, its place may be supplied through the +development of that artistic sense which files, weighs, and +adjusts,--which reconciles the utmost freedom and force of thought with +the mechanical symmetries of language,--and which, first a fetter to the +impatient mind, becomes at length a pinion, holding it serenely poised +in the highest ether. Only the rudiment of the sense is born with the +poet, and few literary lives are fortunate enough, or of sufficiently +varied experience, to mature it. + +Nevertheless, before closing the volume, we must quote what we consider +to be the author's best lyrical passage. Zaph, one of the attendants of +Malzah, the "evil spirit from the Lord," sings as follows to one of his +fellows:-- + + "Zepho, the sun's descended beam + Hath laid his rod on th' ocean stream, + And this o'erhanging wood-top nods + Like golden helms of drowsy gods. + Methinks that now I'll stretch for rest, + With eyelids sloping toward the west; + That, through their half transparencies, + The rosy radiance passed and strained, + Of mote and vapor duly drained, + I may believe, in hollow bliss, + My rest in the empyrean is. + Watch thou; and when up comes the moon, + Atowards her turn me; and then, boon, + Thyself compose, 'neath wavering leaves + That hang these branched, majestic eaves: + That so, with self-imposed deceit, + Both, in this halcyon retreat, + By trance possessed, imagine may + We couch in Heaven's night-argent ray." + +In 1860 Mr. Heavysege published by subscription a drama entitled "Count +Filippo; or, the Unequal Marriage." This work, of which we have seen +but one critical notice, added nothing to his reputation. His genius, as +we have already remarked, is not dramatic; and there is, moreover, +internal evidence that "Count Philippo" did not grow, like "Saul," from +an idea which took forcible possession of the author's mind. The plot is +not original, the action languid, and the very names of the _dramatis +personć_ convey an impression of unreality. Though we know there never +was a Duke of Pereza in Italy, this annoys us less than that he should +bear such a fantastic name as "Tremohla"; nor does the feminine "Volina" +inspire us with much respect for the heroine. The characters are +intellectual abstractions, rather than creatures of flesh and blood; and +their love, sorrow, and remorse fail to stir our sympathies. They have +an incorrigible habit of speaking in conceits. As "Saul" is pervaded +with the spirit of the Elizabethan writers, so "Count Filippo" suggests +the artificial manner of the rivals of Dryden. It is the work of a poet, +but of a poet working from a mechanical impulse. There are very fine +single passages, but the general effect is marred by the constant +recurrence of such forced metaphors as these:-- + + "Now shall the he-goat, black Adultery, + With the roused ram, Retaliation, twine + Their horns in one to butt at Filippo." + + "As the salamander, cast in fire, + Exudes preserving mucus, so my mind, + Cased in thick satisfaction of success, + Shall be uninjured." + +The work, nevertheless, appears to have had some share in improving its +author's fortunes. From that time, he has received at least a partial +recognition in Canada. Soon after its publication, he succeeded in +procuring employment on the daily newspaper press of Montreal, which +enabled him to give up his uncongenial labor at the work-bench. The +Montreal Literary Club elected him one of its Fellows, and the +short-lived literary periodicals of the Province no longer ignored his +existence. In spite of a change of circumstances which must have given +him greater leisure as well as better opportunities of culture, he has +published but two poems in the last five years,--an Ode for the +ter-centenary anniversary of Shakspeare's birth, and the sacred idyl of +"Jephthah's Daughter." The former is a production the spirit of which is +worthy of its occasion, although, in execution, it is weakened, by an +overplus of imagery and epithet. It contains between seven and eight +hundred lines. The grand, ever-changing music of the Ode will not bear +to be prolonged beyond a certain point, as all the great Masters of Song +have discovered: the ear must not be allowed to become _quite_ +accustomed to the surprises of the varying rhythm, before the closing +Alexandrine. + +"Jephthah's Daughter" contains between thirteen and fourteen hundred +lines. In careful finish, in sustained sweetness and grace, and solemn +dignity of language, it is a marked advance upon any of the author's +previous works. We notice, indeed, the same technical faults as in +"Saul," but they occur less frequently, and may be altogether corrected +in a later revision of the poem. Here, also, the Scriptural narrative is +rigidly followed, and every temptation to adorn its rare simplicity +resisted. Even that lament of the Hebrew girl, behind which there seems +to lurk a romance, and which is so exquisitely paraphrased by Tennyson, +in his "Dream of Fair Women,"-- + + "And I went, mourning: 'No fair Hebrew boy + Shall smile away my maiden blame among + The Hebrew mothers,'"-- + +is barely mentioned in the words of the text. The passion of Jephthah, +the horror, the piteous pleading of his wife and daughter, and the final +submission of the latter to her doom, are elaborated with a careful and +tender hand. From the opening to the closing line, the reader is lifted +to the level of the tragic theme, and inspired, as in the Greek tragedy, +with a pity which makes lovely the element of terror. The central +sentiment of the poem, through all its touching and sorrowful changes, +is that of repose. Observe the grave harmony of the opening lines:-- + + "'Twas in the olden days of Israel, + When from her people rose up mighty men + To judge and to defend her: ere she knew, + Or clamored for, her coming line of kings, + A father, rashly vowing, sacrificed + His daughter on the altar of the Lord;-- + 'Twas in those ancient days, coeval deemed + With the song-famous and heroic ones, + When Agamemnon, taught divinely, doomed + _His_ daughter to expire at Dian's shrine,-- + So doomed, to free the chivalry of Greece, + In Aulis lingering for a favoring wind + To waft them to the fated walls of Troy. + Two songs with but one burden, twin-like tales. + Sad tales! but this the sadder of the twain,-- + This song, a wail more desolately wild; + More fraught this story with grim fate fulfilled." + +The length to which this article has grown warns us to be sparing of +quotations, but we all the more earnestly recommend those in whom we may +have inspired some interest in the author to procure the poem for +themselves. We have perused it several times, with increasing enjoyment +of its solemn diction, its sad, monotonous music, and with the hope that +the few repairing touches, which alone are wanting to make it a perfect +work of its class, may yet be given. This passage, for example, where +Jephthah prays to be absolved from his vow, would be faultlessly +eloquent, but for the prosaic connection of the first and second +lines:-- + + "'Choose Tabor for thine altar: I will pile + It with the choice of Bashan's lusty herds, + And flocks of fallings, _and for fuel, thither + Will bring umbrageous Lebanon to burn_.' + + * * * * * + + "He said, and stood awaiting for the sign, + And heard, above the hoarse, bough-bending wind, + The hill-wolf howling on the neighboring height, + And bittern booming in the pool below. + Some drops of rain fell from the passing cloud + That sudden hides the wanly shining moon, + And from the scabbard instant dropped his sword, + And, with long, living leaps, and rock-struck clang, + From side to side, and slope to sounding slope, + In gleaming whirls swept down the dim ravine." + +The finest portion of the poem is the description of that transition of +feeling, through which the maiden, warm with young life and clinging to +life for its own unfulfilled promise, becomes the resigned and composed +victim. No one but a true poet could have so conceived and represented +the situation. The narrative flows in one unbroken current, detached +parts whereof hint but imperfectly of the whole, as do goblets of water +of the stream wherefrom they are dipped. We will only venture to present +two brief passages. The daughter speaks:-- + + "Let me not need now disobey you, mother, + But give me leave to knock at Death's pale gate, + Whereat indeed I must, by duty drawn, + By Nature shown the sacred way to yield. + Behold, the coasting cloud obeys the breeze; + The slanting smoke, the invisible sweet air; + the towering tree its leafy limbs resigns + To the embraces of the wilful wind: + Shall I, then, wrong, resist the hand of Heaven! + Take me, my father! take, accept me, Heaven! + Slay me or save me, even as you will!" + + "Light, light, I leave thee!--yet am I a lamp, + Extinguished now, to be relit forever. + Life dies: but in its stead death lives." + +In "Jephthah's Daughter," we think, Mr. Heavysege has found that form of +poetic utterance for which his genius is naturally qualified. It is +difficult to guess the future of a literary life so exceptional +hitherto,--difficult to affirm, without a more intimate knowledge of the +man's nature, whether he is capable of achieving that rhythmical +perfection (in the higher sense wherein sound becomes the symmetrical +garment of thought) which, in poets, marks the line between imperfect +and complete success. What he most needs, of _external_ culture, we have +already indicated: if we might be allowed any further suggestion, he +supplies it himself, in one of his fragmentary poems:-- + + "Open, my heart, thy ruddy valves,-- + It is thy master calls: + Let me go down, and, curious, trace + Thy labyrinthine halls. + Open, O heart! and let me view + The secrets of thy den: + Myself unto myself now show + With introspective ken. + Expose thyself, thou covered nest + Of passions, and be seen: + Stir up thy brood, that in unrest + Are ever piping keen:-- + Ah! what a motley multitude, + Magnanimous and mean!" + +FOOTNOTES: + +[A] _Saul._ A Drama, in Three Parts. Montreal: John Lovell. 1850. + +_Count Fillippo; or The Unequal Marriage._ By the Author of "Saul." +Montreal: Printed for the Author. 1860. + +_Jephthah's Daughter._ By Charles Heavysege, Author of "Saul." Montreal: +Dawson Brothers. 1865. + + + + +NEEDLE AND GARDEN. + +THE STORY OF A SEAMSTRESS WHO LAID DOWN HER NEEDLE AND BECAME A +STRAWBERRY-GIRL. + +WRITTEN BY HERSELF. + + +CHAPTER X. + +CONCLUSION. + +Although two thirds of our little patrimony had thus been devoted to the +cultivation of fruit, yet the other third was far from being suffered to +remain unproductive. We thoroughly understood the art of raising all the +household vegetables, as we had been brought up to assist our father at +intervals throughout the season. Then none of us were indifferent to +flowers. There were little clumps and borders of them in numerous +places. Nowhere did the crocus come gayly up into the soft atmosphere of +early spring in advance of ours. The violets perfumed the air for us +with the same rich profusion as in the carefully tended parterre of the +wealthiest citizen. There were rows of flowering almonds, which were +sought after by the bees as diligently as if holding up their delicate +heads in the most patrician garden; and they flashed as gorgeously in +the sun. The myrtle displayed its blue flowers in abundance, and the +lilacs unfolded their paler clusters in a dozen places. Over a huge +cedar in the fence-corner there clambered up a magnificent wistaria, +whose great blue flowers, covering the entire tree, became a monument of +floral beauty so striking, that the stranger, passing by the spot, would +pause to wonder and admire. In the care of these flowers all of us +united with a common fondness for the beautiful as well as the useful. +It secured to us, from the advent of the earliest crocus to the +departure of the last lingering rose that dropped its reluctant flowers +only when the premonitory blasts of autumn swept across the garden, all +that innocent enjoyment which comes of admiration for these bright +creations of the Divine hand. + +These little incidental recompenses of the most perfect domestic harmony +were realized in everything we undertook. That harmony was the animating +as well as sustaining power of my horticultural enterprise. Had there +been wrangling, opposition, or ridicule, it is probable that I should +never have ventured on the planting of a single strawberry. Success, +situated as I was, was dependent on united effort, the coöperation of +all. This coöperation of the entire family must be still more necessary +in agricultural undertakings on a large scale. A wife, taken reluctantly +from the city to a farm, with no taste for rural life, no love of +flowers, no fondness for the garden, no appreciation of the mysteries of +seed-time and harvest, no sensibility to fields of clover, to green +meadows, to the grateful silence of the woods, or to the voices of +birds, and who pines for the unforgotten charms of city life, may mar +the otherwise assured happiness of the household. One refractory inmate +in ours would have been especially calamitous. + +The floral world is pervaded with miraculous sympathies. Another spring +had opened on our garden, and flower after flower came out into gorgeous +bloom. My strawberries, as if conscious of the display around them, and +ambitious to increase it, opened their white blossoms toward the close +of April. Those set the preceding autumn gave promise of an abundant +yield, but not equal to that presented by the runners which crowded +around the parent plants on the original half-acre. The winter had been +unfriendly, sending no heavy covering of snow to shelter them; while +the frost, in making its first escape from the earth, had loosened many +plants, bringing some of them half-way out of the ground, while a few +had been thrown entirely upon the surface, where they quickly perished. + +I had read that accidents of this kind would sometimes happen, and that, +when plants were thus partially dislodged by frost, the roller must be +passed over them to crowd back the roots into their proper places. I had +discovered this derangement immediately on the frost escaping, but we +had neither roller nor substitute. As pressure alone was needed, I set +Fred to walking over the entire acre, and with his heavy winter boots to +trample down each plant in its old place. The operation was every way as +beneficial as if the ground had been well rolled. When performed before +the roots have been many days exposed to the air, it not only does no +injury, but effectually repairs all damage committed by the frost. + +Everything, this second season, was on a larger scale than before, +requiring greater care and labor, but at the same time brightening my +hopes and doubling my anticipations. I was compelled to hire a gardener +occasionally to assist in keeping the ground clean and mellow, although +among us we contrived to perform a large portion of the work ourselves. +I found that constant watchfulness secured an immense economy of labor. +It was far easier to cut off a weed when only an inch high than when +grown up to the stature of a young tree. It was the same with the white +clover or a grass-root. These two seem native to the soil, and will come +in and take possession, smothering and routing out the strawberries, +unless cut up as fast as they appear. When attacked early, before their +rambling, but deeply penetrating roots obtain a strong hold, they are +easily destroyed. I consider, therefore, that watchfulness may be made +an effective substitute for labor, really preventing all necessity for +hard work. This watchfulness we could generally exercise, though +physically unable to perform much labor. Hence, when ladies undertake +the management of an established strawberry-bed, a daily attention to +it, with a light hoe, will be found as useful as a laborious clearing up +by an able-bodied man, with the additional advantage of occasioning no +injurious disturbance to the roots in removing great quantities of +full-grown weeds. + +The blossoms fell to the ground, the berries set in thick clusters, +turning downward as they increased in size, and changing, as they +enlarged, from a pale green to a delicate white, then becoming suffused +with a slight blush, which gradually deepened into an intense red. It +was a joyful time, when, with my mother and sister, I made the first +picking. All of us were struck with the improved appearance of the fruit +on the first half-acre. This was natural, as well as what is commonly +observed. The plants had acquired strength with age. They had had +another season in which to send out new and longer roots; and these, +rambling into wider and deeper fountains of nourishment, had drawn from +them supplies so copious, that the berries were not only much more +numerous than the year before, but they were every way larger and finer. +The contrast between the fruit on these and the new plants was very +decided. Hence we had a generous gathering to begin with. It was all +carefully assorted, as before; but the quantity was so large that +additional baskets were required, and Fred was obliged to employ an +assistant to carry it to market. + +While engaged in making our second picking, carefully turning aside the +luxuriant foliage to reach the berries which had ripened in concealment, +with capacious sun-bonnets that shut out from observation all objects +but those immediately before us, it was no wonder that a stranger could +come directly up without being noticed. Thus intently occupied one +afternoon, we were surprised at hearing a subdued and timid voice +asking,-- + +"May I sell some strawberries for you?" + +I looked round,--for the voice came from behind us,--and beheld a girl +of some ten years old, having in her hand a basket, which she had +probably found on the common, as, in place of the original bottom, a +pasteboard substitute had been fitted into it. It was filled with little +pasteboard boxes, stitched at the corners, but strong enough to hold +fruit. I noticed, that, old as it was, it had been scoured up into +absolute cleanness. The child's attire was in keeping with her basket. +Though she had no shoes, and the merest apology for a bonnet, with a +dress that was worn and faded, as well as frayed out into a ragged +fringe about her feet, yet it was all scrupulously clean. Her features +struck me as even beautiful, and her soft hazel eyes would command +sympathy from all who might look into them. Her manner and appearance +prepossessed me in her favor. + +"But did you ever sell strawberries?" I inquired. + +"No, Ma'am, but I can try," she answered. + +"But it will never do to trust her," interrupted my mother. "We do not +know who she is, and may never see her again." + +"Oh, Ma'am, I will bring the money back to you. Dear lady, let me have +some to sell," she entreated, with childish earnestness, her voice +trembling and her eyes moistening with apprehension of refusal. + +"Mother," said I, "this child is a beginner. Is it right for us to +refuse so trifling an encouragement? Who knows to what useful ends it +may lead? You remember how difficult it was for me to procure the +plants, and how keenly you felt my trouble. Will you inflict a keener +one on this child, whose heart seems bent on doing something for +herself, and on whom disappointment will fall even more painfully than +it did on me? Are we not all bound to do something for those who are +more destitute than ourselves? and even if we lose what we let her have, +it will never be missed." + +The poor girl looked up imploringly into my face as I pleaded for her, +her eyes brightened with returning hopefulness, and again she besought +us,-- + +"Dear lady, let me have a few; my mother knows you." + +"Tell me your name," I replied. + +"Lucy Varick,--mother says she knows you," was the answer. + +"Varick!" replied my mother, quickly, surprised as well as evidently +pleased. "You shall have all you can sell." + +She was the daughter of the miserable man whose terrible deathbed we had +both witnessed, and my mother had no difficulty in trusting to her +honesty. Her basket would contain but a few quarts, and these we had +already gathered. I filled her little pasteboard boxes immediately, with +the fruit just as picked from the vines. The poor child fairly capered +with joy as she witnessed the operation. She saw her fortune in a few +quarts of strawberries! I think that as she tripped nimbly through the +gate, my gratification at seeing how cheerfully she thus began her life +of toil was equal to all that she could have experienced herself. + +Before the afternoon was half gone, Lucy surprised us by returning with +an empty basket. She had found customers wherever she went, and wanted a +fresh supply of fruit. This was promptly given to her, for she had +obtained even better prices than the widow was getting for us in the +market. That afternoon she made the first half-dollar she ever earned, +and during the entire season she continued to find plenty of the best of +customers at their own doors. + +I had long since made up my mind that our pastor was entitled to some +recognition of the substantial kindnesses he had extended to us at the +time of our deep affliction. We had seen him regularly at the Sunday +school, but he knew nothing of my conversion into a strawberry-girl. +What else could we do, in remembrance of his friendship, but to make him +a present of our choicest fruit? Never were strawberries more carefully +selected than those with which I filled a new basket of ample size, as a +gift for him. On my way to the factory the next morning, I delivered +the basket at his door, with a little note expressive of our continued +gratitude, and begging him to accept its contents as being fruit which I +had myself raised. I knew it was but a trifle, but what else than +trifles had I to offer even to the kindest friend we had ever known? + +That very afternoon, while my mother and I were at our usual occupation +of picking, I heard the gate open at the other end of the garden, and, +looking up, saw two gentlemen approaching us. They advanced slowly +around the strawberry-beds, apparently examining the plants and fruit, +frequently stooping to turn over the great clusters on a portion of the +ground which we had not yet picked. I saw that one of them was our +pastor, but the other was a stranger. As they drew nearer, we rose to +receive them. No words can describe the confusion which overcame me as I +recognized in the stranger the same gentleman whom I had encountered, +the preceding summer, as the first customer for my strawberries, at the +widow's stand in the market-house. I had never forgotten his face. Mr. +Seeley introduced him as his friend Mr. Logan. Somehow I felt certain +that he also recognized me. I was confused enough at being thus taken by +surprise. It is true that my sun-bonnet, though of prodigious size, was +neatly cut and handsomely fashioned, even becoming, as I supposed, and +that I was fortunately habited in a plain, but entirely new dress, that +was more than nice enough for the work I was performing. But the hot +sun, in spite of my bonnet, had already turned my face brown. My hands, +exposed to its fiercest rays, were even more tanned, while the stain of +fruit was visible on my fingers. I was in no condition to receive +company of this unexpected description. + +But the gentlemen were affable, and I soon became at ease with them. Mr. +Seeley had received my basket, and had come to thank me for it. Mr. +Logan had been dining with him, and was enthusiastic over the quality of +my strawberries. He had never seen them equalled, though devoting all +his leisure to horticulture; and learning that they were raised by a +lady, insisted on coming down, not only to look into her mode of +culture, but to see the lady herself. It was pleasant thus to meet our +friend the pastor, and I did my utmost to render the visit agreeable to +him and his companion. My mother gave up the care of their entertainment +to me; so, dropping my basket in the unfinished strawberry-row, I left +her to continue the afternoon picking alone. + +The gentlemen seemed in no haste to leave us. I was surprised that they +could find so much to interest them in a spot which I had supposed could +be interesting only to ourselves. Mr. Seeley was pleased with all that +he saw, but Mr. Logan was polite enough to be much more demonstrative in +his admiration. I think the visit of the former would have been much +briefer but for the presence of the latter, who seemed in no hurry to +depart. He was generous in praise of my flowers, and was inquisitive +about my strawberries. He had many of the most celebrated varieties, and +was kind enough to offer me such as I might desire. He thought that I +could teach him lessons in horticulture more valuable than any he had +yet picked up, either in books or in his own garden, and asked +permission to come down often during the fruit season, to see and learn. +I was surprised that he should think it possible for a young +strawberry-girl like myself to teach anything to one who was evidently +so much better informed. Then I told him that what he saw was the result +of an endeavor to determine whether there was not some better dependence +for a woman than the needle, that I had accomplished all this by my own +zeal and perseverance, and that this season promised complete success. + +"I cannot give you too much praise," he observed. "Your tastes harmonize +admirably with my own. I have long believed that women are confined to +too small a circle of useful occupations. They too seldom teach +themselves, and are too little taught by others whose duty it is to +enlarge their sphere of action. All my sisters have learned what you may +call trades,--that is, to support themselves, if ever required to do so, +by employments particularly adapted to their talents. You have chosen +the garden, and you seem in a fair way to succeed. I must know how much +your strawberry-crop will yield you." + +On thus discovering the object I had in view, and that this was my own +experiment, his interest in all that he saw appeared to increase. The +very tones of his voice became softer and kinder. There was nothing +patronizing in his manner; it was deferential, and so sympathetic as to +impress me very strongly. I felt that he understood the train of thought +that had been running through my mind, and that he heartily entered into +and approved of my plans. + +My first false shame at being known as a strawberry-girl now gave place +to a feeling of pride and emulation. Here was one who could appreciate +as well as encourage. Hence my explanations were as full as it was +proper to set before a stranger. Our pastor listened to them with +surprise, as most of them were new even to him, nor did he fail to unite +with his companion in encouragement and congratulation. Long +acquaintance gave him the privilege to be familiar and inquisitive. It +is possible that in place of being abashed and humble, I may now have +been confident and boastful. + +Our visitors left us with promises to repeat their call; and with a +lighter heart than ever, I went again to assist in picking. + +The fruit continued to turn out well, and our widow in the market-house +proved true to the promises she had made,--there was no difficulty in +finding a sale for it, and somehow it yielded even better prices than +the year before. She said that others were complaining of a drought, and +that the fruit in consequence was generally inferior in size, so that +those who, like myself, had been lucky enough, or painstaking enough, to +secure a full crop, were doing better than ever. Then our little +strawberry-peddler, Lucy Varick, was doing a thriving business. She +established a list of customers among the great ladies in the city, who +bought large daily supplies from her, paying her the highest prices. Her +young heart seemed overflowing with joyfulness at her unexpected +success. It enabled her to take home many a dollar to her mother. Alas! +she seemed to think--if, indeed, she thought at all upon the +subject--that the strawberry season would be a perpetual harvest. + +We throve so satisfactorily that my mother seemed to have given up her +cherished longing for a strawberry-garden. Now that we had a new class +of visitors who were likely to be frequent in their calls, I think she +felt a kind of pride in abandoning the project. There was a sort of +dignity in the production of fruit, but something humiliating in the +idea of keeping an eating-house. She even went so far as to decline all +applications from transient callers who had mistaken our premises for +those of our neighbors, thus leaving the latter in undisturbed +possession of their long trains of customers. They were not slow in +discovering that we had ceased to be rivals in this branch of their +business; and finding themselves mistaken in supposing that my +strawberry-crop would come into ruinous competition with theirs, they +seemed disposed to be a little friendly toward us. Indeed, on one or two +occasions, Mrs. Tetchy herself came to us for a large basketful of +fruit, declaring that their own supply was not equal to the demand. She +was unusually pleasant on those occasions, but at the same time insisted +on having the fruit at less than we were getting for it. My mother could +not contend with such a woman, and so submitted to her exactions. I feel +satisfied, however, that her visits were to be attributed quite as much +to a desire to gratify her curiosity as to any want of strawberries; for +I noticed that she never came on these errands without impudently +walking all over our garden, scrutinizing whatever we were doing, how +the beds were arranged, and particularly inspecting and even handling +the fruit. Of course we had nothing to be ashamed of; but though +everything about the garden was much neater than hers, she never dropped +a word of commendation. + +Only a day or two after the gentlemen had been down to see us, we found +it necessary to resume the task of weeding between the rows. The drought +at the beginning of the season had been succeeded by copious rains, with +warm southerly winds, under which the weeds were making an alarming +growth, notwithstanding the trampling which they received from the +pickers. I confess that our heavy hoes made this so laborious an +operation that I rather dreaded its necessity; but a hot sun was now +shining, which would be sure to kill the weeds, if we cut them off, so +all hands were turned in to accomplish the work. While thus busily +occupied, whom should I see coming into the gate but Mr. Logan? + +"Capital exercise, Miss, and a fine day for it!" he exclaimed, as he +came up to me. "No successful gardening where the weeds are permitted to +grow! I have the same pests to contend against, but I apply the same +remedy. There is nothing like a sharp hoe." + +"Nothing indeed, if one only knew how to make it so," I replied. + +As he spoke, his eye glanced at the uncouth implement I was using, and +reaching forth his hand he took it from me. Examining it carefully, a +smile came over his handsome face, and he shook his head, as if thinking +that would never do. It was one of the old tools my father had used, +heavy and tiresome for a woman's hand, with a blade absurdly large for +working among strawberries, and so dull as to hack off instead of +cutting up a weed at one stroke. Fred had undertaken to keep our hoes +sharp for us, but this season he had somehow neglected to put them in +order. + +"This will never do, Miss," he observed. "Your hoe is heavy enough to +break you down. This is not exercise such as a lady should take, but +downright hard work. I must get you such as my sisters use; and now I +mean to do your day's work for you." + +Then, taking my place, he proceeded during the entire morning to act as +my substitute. We were surprised at his affability, as well as at his +industry. It was evident that grubbing up weeds was no greater novelty +to him than to us. All the time he had something pleasant to say, and +thus conversation and work went on together: for, not thinking it polite +to leave him to labor alone, I procured a rake, and contrived to keep +him company in turning up the weeds to the sun, the more effectually to +kill them. + +Now I had never been able to learn the botanical names of any of these +pests of the garden, nor whether any of them were useful to man, nor how +it was that the earth was so crowded with them. Neither did I know the +annuals from the perennials, nor why one variety was invariably found +flourishing in moist ground, while another preferred a drier situation. +If I had had a desire to learn these interesting particulars of things +that were my daily acquaintances, I had neither books to consult nor +time to devote to them. + +But it was evident from Mr. Logan's conversation that he was not only a +horticulturist, but an accomplished botanist. Both my mother and myself +were surprised at the new light which he threw upon the subject. I was +tugging with my fingers at a great dandelion which had come up directly +between two strawberry-plants, trying to pull it up, when its brittle +leaves broke off in my hand, leaving the root in the ground. Mr. Logan, +seeing the operation, observed,-- + +"No use in cutting it off; the root must come out, or it will grow +thicker and stronger, and plague you every season"; and plying the +corner of his hoe all round the neck of the dandelion, so as to loosen +the earth a considerable depth, he thrust his fingers down, seized the +root, and drew forth a thick white fibre at least a foot long. + +"That fellow must be three years old," said he, holding it up for me to +examine. "Very likely you have cut off the top every season, supposing +you were killing it. But the dandelion can be exterminated only by +destroying the root. + +"Then," he continued, "there is the dock, more prolific of seeds than +the dandelion, and the red-sorrel, worse than either, because its roots +travel under ground in all directions, throwing up suckers at every +inch, while its tops are hung with myriads of seeds,--the hoe will never +exterminate these pests. You must get rid of the roots; throw them out +to such a sun as this, and then you may hope to be somewhat clear of +them." + +All this was entirely new to me, as well as the botanical names, with +which he seemed to be as familiar as with the alphabet. I had often +wondered how it was that the dandelions in our garden never diminished +in number, though not one had usually been allowed to go to seed. I now +saw, that, instead of destroying the plant itself, we had only been +removing the tops. + +"But how is it, Mr. Logan," I inquired, "that the weeds are everywhere +more numerous than the flowers?" + +"Ah, Miss," he replied, resting the hoe upon his shoulder, taking off +his hat, and wiping the perspiration from his forehead, "I sometimes +think the weeds are immortal, but that the flowers are not. Some one has +said that the earth is mother of the weeds, but only step-mother to the +flowers. I think it is really so. We who cultivate the soil must +maintain against them, as against sin, a perpetual warfare." + +"This is hoeing made easy," said my sister, as Mr. Logan walked away +toward the house for a glass of water. "A nice journeyman, Lizzie, eh? +Don't seem as if he could ever be tired! Will you ask him to come +again?" + +"Why, Jane, you are foolish!" I replied. + +But there was an arch smirk on her countenance, and she continued +looking at me with so much latent meaning in the expression of her eye, +that I was fairly compelled to turn away. + +Noon came, that witching time with all who labor in the fields or woods, +and not until then did Mr. Logan lay down his clumsy hoe. I half pitied +his condition as we came out of the hot sun into the shelter of a +trellis which ran along the side of the house, over which a dozen +grape-vines were hanging so thickly as to exclude even the noonday +glare. It was a sweltering day for a gentleman to work among the weeds +in a strawberry-field, in coat and cravat. But he made very light of it, +and declared that he would come the next morning and see us through the +job, and even another, if we thought there would be room for him. After +he had gone, Jane reminded me of these offers; adding,-- + +"I felt quite sure he would be down again, even without your inviting +him. He seems to admire something else here besides strawberries. What +do you think it can be?" + +But I considered her inquiries too ridiculous to be worth replying to. + +After dinner we gave up hoeing for the day, and went to our usual +afternoon occupation of picking the next morning's supply for the widow. +She not only sold readily all we could gather, and at excellent prices, +but even called for more. It seemed that her customers were also +increasing, as well as those of our neighbors. Indeed, her urgency for +more fruit was such, during the entire season, that the question +repeatedly crossed my mind, whether we could not appropriate more ground +to strawberries by getting rid of some of the flowers. They were +beautiful things, but then they paid no profit. + +When one strikes a vein that happens to be profitable, he is apt to +become impatient of doing well in a small way, and forthwith casts about +for ways and means to increase its productiveness, as he thinks, by +enlarging his operations. It was natural for me to conclude, that, if I +were thus fortunate on one acre, I could do much better by cultivating +more. I presume this hankering after additional acres must be a national +weakness, as there were numerous disquisitions on the subject scattered +through my agricultural papers, in many of which I noticed that there +was great fault-finding because men in this country undertook the +cultivation of twice as much land as they could properly manage. The +propensity for going on and enlarging their possessions seemed a very +general one. Thus even I, in my small way, was insensibly becoming a +disciple of these deluded people. But there was this comfort in my case, +that, while others were able to enlarge, even to their ruin, there was a +limit to my expansion, as it was impossible for me to go beyond an acre +and a half. + +That afternoon we had just got well under way at picking, when a man +came into the garden with a bundle of hoes and rakes on his shoulder, +and coming up to us, took off his hat and bowed with the utmost +deference, then drew from his pocket a letter, which, singularly enough, +he handed to me, instead of giving it either to my mother or Jane. On +opening it, I found it to be a note from Mr. Logan, in which he said he +had noticed that our garden-tools were so heavy as to be entirely unfit +for ladies' use, and he had therefore taken the liberty of sending me a +variety of others that were made expressly for female gardeners, asking +me to do him the great favor to accept them. Both my mother and Jane had +stopped picking, as this unexpected donation was laid before us, so I +read the note aloud to them, the messenger having previously taken his +leave. I think, altogether, it was the greatest surprise we had ever +had. + +"The next thing, I suppose," said Jane, "you'll have him down here to +show you how to use them"; and she laughed so heartily as quite to +mortify me. I understood her meaning, but my mother did not appear to +comprehend it, for she replied, with the utmost gravity,-- + +"No need of his coming to teach us; haven't we been hoeing all our +lives?" + +"Not _us_, mother," interrupted Jane, in her peculiarly provoking way, +"but _her_; he won't come to teach _us_,--one will be enough. As to the +_need_ of his coming, it looks to me to be growing stronger and +stronger." + +She fairly screamed with laughter, as she said this. I was so provoked +at her, that I was almost ready to cry; and as to answering her as she +deserved, it seemed beyond my power. My mother could not understand what +she meant; but while Jane was going on in this foolish way, she had +untied the bundle and was examining the tools. There were three hoes, +and as many rakes. Observing this, Jane again cried out,-- + +"What! all for _you_? Well, Lizzie, you are making a nice beginning! I +suppose you will now have more conversational topics than ever, though +there seemed to be plenty of them this morning!" + +One would think that this was quite enough, but she went on with,-- + +"Don't you wish the weeds would last all summer? for what is to become +of you when they are gone?" + +Still I made no reply, and Jane persisted in her jokes and laughter. But +I think one can always tell when one is blushing. So I held down my head +and concealed my face in my sun-bonnet, as I felt the blood rushing up +into my cheeks, and was determined that she should not have the +satisfaction of discovering it. + +These garden-tools were the most beautiful I had ever seen, and there +was evidently a hoe and a rake for each of us. They were made of +polished steel, with slender handles, all rubbed so smooth as to make it +a pleasure to take hold of them. The blades had been sharpened beyond +anything that Fred had been able to achieve. Being semicircular in +shape, they had points at the corners, adapted to reaching into +out-of-the-way places,--as after a weed that had grown up in the middle +of a strawberry-row, thinking, perhaps, that a shelter of that kind +would preserve it from destruction. Then they were so light that even a +child could ply them all day without their weight occasioning the least +fatigue. The rakes were equally complete, with long and sharp teeth, +which entered the ground with far greater facility than the old-time +implements we had been using. Indeed, they were the very tools we had +been promising ourselves out of the profits of our second year. My +mother was especially pleased with them, as she was not of very robust +constitution, and found the old heavy tools a great drag upon her +strength. I think no small present I have ever received was so +acceptable as this. + +Whoever first manufactured and introduced these beautiful and +appropriate garden-tools for ladies has probably done as much to make +garden-work attractive to the sex as half the writers on fruits and +flowers. It is vain to expect them to engage in horticulture, unless the +most complete facilities are provided for them. Their physical strength +is not equal to several hours' labor with implements made exclusively +for the hands of strong men; and when garden-work, instead of proving a +pleasant recreation, degenerates into drudgery, one is apt to become +disgusted with it, and will thus give up an occupation truly feminine, +invariably healthful, and in many cases highly profitable. + +True to his promise of the preceding day, Mr. Logan came down next +morning to help us through with our job of hoeing, but rather better +prepared to operate under a broiling June sun. My mother, seeing his +determination to assist us, invited him to take off his coat, and +brought out Fred's straw hat for him to wear. He seemed truly grateful +for these marks of consideration for his comfort, and in consequence +there sprung up quite a cordiality between them. There was of course a +profusion of thanks given to him for the handsome and appropriate +present he had made, but he seemed to consider it a very small affair. +Still, I think he appeared as much gratified at finding he had thus +anticipated our wishes as we were ourselves. It is singular how far a +little act of kindness, especially when its value is enhanced by its +appropriateness and the delicacy with which it is performed, will go +toward establishing a bond of sympathy between giver and receiver. + +I may here say, that, the better we became acquainted with Mr. Logan, +the more evident it was that his heart was made up of kindness. He +seemed to consider himself as almost nothing, and his neighbor as +everything. His spirit was of that character that wins its way through +life, tincturing every action with good-will for others, and seeking to +promote the happiness of all around him in preference to his own. He +once remarked, that we must not look for happiness in the things of the +world, but within ourselves, in our hearts, our tempers, and our +dispositions. On another occasion he quoted to me something he had just +been reading in an old author, who said that men's lives should be like +the day, most beautiful at eventide,--or like the autumn rich with +golden sheaves, where good works have ripened into an abundant harvest. + +Of course, at that time, we knew nothing of who or what he was, beyond +an assurance incidentally given by our pastor, that he was the worthiest +young man of his acquaintance, and that he hoped we would entertain him +in the best way we could, as his passion for the pursuits he discovered +me to be engaged in, coupled with what he had learned of the great +object I had in view, had so much interested him in my behalf that he +thought it likely Mr. Logan would often come down to watch my progress, +and very possibly in some way assist me. This recommendation was quite +sufficient to make him a welcome visitor at our little homestead. But +even without that, we all felt he would have no difficulty in winning +his way wherever he might think it desirable to make a favorable +impression. Though he was evidently highly educated, and had been +brought up in a superior circle to ours, and, for aught we knew, might +be very wealthy, yet his whole manner was so free from pretension to +superiority of any kind, that we never felt the least constraint in his +company. + +Well, as I was saying, Mr. Logan came down to assist me in my weeding. +Jane had gone to the factory, telling me that I should have help enough +to do her share of the hoeing. I was really not sorry for her absence, +as she seemed to have taken up some very strange notions, which led her +into remarks that annoyed me. Besides, she was sometimes so impetuous in +giving utterance to these notions, that I was afraid she might +thoughtlessly break out where he would overhear. I might have had other +reasons, not worth while to allude to, for not regretting her absence; +but this dangerous propensity was quite sufficient. Hence that was a +most agreeable morning. It is true that my mother was a good deal +absent, having something extra to do within doors, thus leaving Mr. +Logan and myself sole tenants of the garden for probably an hour at a +time. But it did not occur to me that her presence would have made the +time pass away any more quickly, or that any remarks from her would have +made our interchange of ideas more interesting. There was abundance of +conversation between us, as he seemed at no fault for either words or +topics. Then there were long pauses in the work, when we would rest upon +the handles of our hoes, and discuss some point that one of us had +started. On these occasions I was struck with the extreme politeness and +deference of his manner toward me. The very tones of his voice were +different from any I had ever heard. How different, indeed, from those +of the coarse and mercenary creatures it had been my fortune to +encounter elsewhere! It was impossible to overlook the contrast. What +wonder, then, that the softness with which they were modulated, when +conversing with me, should fall with grateful impressiveness on my +heart? + +But this pleasant acquaintance occasioned no interruption of my labors +in harvesting my strawberry-crop. It was picked regularly every +afternoon, and I went with Fred every morning by daylight to see it +safely delivered to the widow. The sale kept up as briskly as ever, +though the price gradually declined as the season advanced,--not, as the +widow informed me, because the people had become tired of strawberries, +but because the crops from distant fields were now crowding into market. +Then, too, she said, as other delicacies came forward, buyers were +disposed to change a little for something different. + +It was a striking feature of the business, that, however abundant the +strawberries might be, selected fruit always commanded a higher price +than that which went to market in a jumble just as it came from the +vines. This is a matter which it is important for all cultivators to +keep in remembrance, as attention to it is a source of considerable +profit. We all know that the large berries are no better or sweeter than +the smaller ones; but then we are the growers, not the consumers, and +the public have set their hearts on having the largest that can be +produced. In fruits, as in other things, it seems that "the world is +still deceived by ornament." Moreover, people are willing to pay liberal +prices for it, and thus the producer is sure of being rewarded for a +choice article. I never discovered that a pumpkin or a turnip possessed +any superior flavor because it had been stimulated to mammoth size. But +such being the public craving for vegetable monsters, the shrewd +cultivator is constantly on the alert to minister to it, knowing that it +pays. + +Fred kept his usual tally of the number of baskets we took to market, +and how much money each lot produced. His ridiculous miscalculation, the +previous year, of what our profits would be, had so moderated his +enthusiasm, that during all this season his anticipations were confined +within very modest bounds. But as his column of figures lengthened, and +he ciphered out for us the average price for each day's sales, it was +remarkable how much higher it stood than that of most of the fruit I saw +in the market. It was evident that our care in assorting our berries was +giving a good account of itself. Besides, I saw that the widow had the +jumbled-up berries of others on her stand, and heard her complain that +they remained on hand some hours after all mine had been sold. Then, was +it not the superiority of mine that had drawn forth such strong +commendation from my first customer, Mr. Logan? and had he not continued +to admire all that I did in the strawberry way? Setting aside the high +prices, I sometimes thought that this alone was worth all the pains we +had taken. + +The season lasted about three weeks, during all which time our pastor +was a frequent visitor at our garden. As both he and Mr. Logan had been +made acquainted with my general object and plans, so from generals they +were at last taken into confidence as to particulars. I showed them +Fred's tally, and it appeared to me they entered into the study of it +with almost as much interest as we did ourselves. Though in many +respects a very small affair, yet it involved great results for me, and +our visitors both thought it might be turned to the advantage of others +also. + +"I am astonished," said Mr. Seeley, one day, after examining Fred's +tally, and expressing himself in terms of admiration at the success of +our enterprise,--"I am astonished at the wasteful lives which so many of +our women are living. They seem utterly destitute of purpose. They make +no effort to give them shape or plan, or to set up a goal in the +distance, to be reached by some kind of industrious application. They +drift along listlessly and mechanically, in the old well-worn tracks, +trusting to accident to give them a new direction. It is a sad thing, +this waste of human existence!" + +"But consider, Sir," I replied, "how limited are our opportunities, how +circumscribed the circle in which we are compelled to move, and with how +much jealousy the world stands guard upon its boundaries, as if it were +determined we should not overstep them. When women succeed, is it not +solely by accident, or, if there be such a thing, by luck?" + +"Accident, Miss," replied Mr. Logan, "undoubtedly has something to do +with it. But observation, energy, and tact are much more important +elements of success. More than sixty years ago a young New-England girl +fell desperately in love with an imported straw bonnet which she +accidentally met with in a shop. The price was too large for her slender +purse, so she determined to make one for herself. With no guide but +recollection of the charming novelty she had seen, no other pattern to +work by, no opportunity of unbraiding it to see how it was made, no +instruction whatever, she persevered until she had produced a bonnet +that filled the hearts of her female friends with envy, as well as with +ambition to copy it. This was the origin of the once famous Dunstable +bonnet. From this accidental beginning there sprung up a manufacture +which now employs ten thousand persons, most of whom are women, and the +product of which, in Massachusetts alone, amounts to six millions of +hats and bonnets annually. This girl thus became a public benefactor. +She opened a new and profitable employment to women, and at the same +time enriched herself." + +"Yes," added Mr. Seeley, "and there are many other employments for +female skill and labor that may yet be opened up. This that you are +toiling in, Lizzie, may turn out something useful. I presume that even +bonnets cannot be more popular than strawberries." + +"I should think so," interrupted Fred, "It is the women only who wear +the one, but it looks to me as if the whole world wanted the other." + +Well, when our little crop had all been sold, I found that it amounted +to nearly twelve hundred quarts, and that it produced three hundred and +eighty dollars clear of expenses. This was quite as much as we expected; +besides, it was enough to enable me to quit the factory altogether, and +stay at home with my mother. And there was a fair prospect of this +release being a permanent one, as it was very certain I now understood +the whole art and mystery of cultivating strawberries. There was another +encouraging incident connected with this season's operations. It +appeared that our pastor had mentioned me and my labors to a number of +his friends, among whom was one who wanted to set out a large field with +plants, all of which he purchased of me, amounting to sixty dollars. +This was a most unexpected addition to our income. + +But my sister Jane did not seem at all anxious to give up the factory. I +had, a good while before, let in an idea that there was some other +attraction about the establishment besides the sewing-machine. I +noticed, that, now we had so considerably increased our means, she was +more dressy than ever, and spent a great deal more time at her toilet +before leaving for the factory, as if there were some one there to whom +she wanted to appear more captivating than usual. Poor girl! I know it +was very natural for her to do so. Indeed, I must confess to some little +weakness of the same description myself. We had drawn to us quite a new +set of visitors, and it was natural that I should endeavor to make our +house as attractive to them as possible. As all our previous earnings +had gone into a common purse, from which my mother made distribution +among us, so the new accession from the garden went into the same +repository. Jane was much more set up with this flourishing condition of +our finances than myself. In addition to beautiful new bonnets and very +gay shawls which we bought, she began to tease my mother for a silk +dress, an article which had never been seen in our house. But as the +latter prudently insisted on treating us with equal indulgence, and as I +thought my time for such finery had not come, I was unwilling to go to +that expense, so Jane was obliged to do without it. But I was now to +have a sewing-machine. + +Time passed more pleasantly than I had ever known. It was a great +happiness to be able to devote an hour or two to reading every day, and +leisure prompted me to some little enterprises for the improvement of +the surroundings of the old homestead. It seemed to me the easiest thing +in the world to invest even the rudest exterior with true elegance, and +I found that the indulgence of a little taste in this way could be had +for a very small outlay. A silk dress, in my opinion, was not to be +compared with such an object. + +I scarcely know how it happened, but, instead of the end of the +strawberry-season being the termination of Mr. Logan's visits, they +continued full as frequent as when there was really pressing work for +him to assist in. It could not have been because his curiosity to see +how my crop would turn out was still ungratified, as he knew all about +it, how much we had sold, and what money it produced. But he seemed to +have quite fallen in love with the garden; and, indeed, he one day +observed, that "there would ever be something in that garden to interest +him." Then in my little improvements about the house, in fixing up some +of our old trellises, in planting new vines and flowers, and in +transplanting trees and shrubs, he insisted on helping me nearly half +the week. He really performed far more work of this kind than Fred had +ever done, and appeared to be perfectly familiar with such matters. +Moreover, he approved so generally of my plans that I at last felt it +would be difficult to do without him. But I could not help considering +it strange that he should so frequently give up the higher society to +which he was accustomed in the city, and spend so much of his time at +our humble cottage. + +Thus the season went on until August came in, when the strawberry-ground +was becoming thickly covered with runners, especially from the newly +planted half-acre. I had intended bestowing no particular care on these, +except to keep down the weeds so that the runners could take root. But +when Mr. Logan learned this, he said it would never do. Besides, he +said, the ground looked to him as if it were not rich enough. So, if he +could have his own way, he would show me how the thing should be +managed. Well, as by this time he really appeared to have as much to say +about the garden as any of us, what could I do but consent? First, +then, with my assistance, he turned back the runners into the rows, and +then had the spaces between covered with a thick coat of fine old +compost, which he probably bought somewhere in the neighborhood,--but +how much it cost we could never get him to say. Then he brought in a man +with a plough, who broke up the ground, turning the manure thoroughly +in, and then harrowing it until the surface was as finely pulverized as +if done with a rake. Then we spread out the runners again, and he showed +me how to fasten them by letting them down into the soft earth with the +point of my hoe. I told him I never should have thought of taking so +much trouble; but he said there was no other way by which the runners +could be converted into robust plants, certain to produce a heavy crop +the next season. They must have a freshly loosened soil to run over, and +in which to form strong roots; and as to enriching the ground, it was +absolutely indispensable. To be sure, I could produce fruit without it, +but it would be of very inferior quality. + +One may well suppose that this intimate association, this almost daily +companionship, this grateful interchange of thoughts and feelings that +seemed to flow in one harmonious current from a common fountain, should +have exerted a powerful influence over me. Such intercourse with one so +singularly gifted with the faculty of winning favor from all who knew +him gave birth to emotions within me such as I had never experienced. Am +I to blame for being thus affected, or in confessing that every long +October evening was doubly pleasant when it brought him down to see us? +Indeed, I had insensibly begun to expect him. There was an indescribable +something in his manner, especially when we happened to be alone, that I +thought it impossible to misunderstand. Once, when strolling round the +garden, I directed his attention to a group of charming autumn flowers. +But, instead of noticing them, he looked at me, and replied,-- + +"Ah, Miss Lizzie, I long since discovered that this garden contains a +sweeter flower than any of these!" + +I turned away from him, abashed and silent, for I was confused and +frightened by the idea that he was alluding to me, and it was a long +time before I could venture to raise my eyes to his. I thought of what +he had said, and of the studied tenderness of voice with which he had +spoken, all through our lengthened walk, and until I rested upon my +pillow; and the strange sensations it awakened came over my spirit in +repeated dreams. + +Thus forewarned, as I thought, I was not slow in afterwards detecting +fresh manifestations of a tenderer interest for me than I had supposed +it possible for him to entertain. + +One evening in November, when the moon was shining with her softest +lustre through the deep haze peculiar to our Indian summer, he came as +usual to our little homestead. Somehow, I can scarcely tell why, I had +been expecting him. He had dropped something the previous evening which +had awakened in my mind the deepest feeling, and I was half sure that he +would come. I felt that there were quicker pulses dancing through my +veins, a flutter in my heart such as no previous experience had brought, +a doubt, a fear, an expectation, as well as an alarm, which no +reflection could analyze, no language could describe, all contending +within me for ascendancy. Who that has human sympathies, who that is +young as I was, diffident of herself, and comparatively alone and +friendless, will wonder that I should be thus overcome, or reproach me +for giving way to impulses which I felt it impossible to control? There +was a terror of the future, which even recollection of the happy past +was powerless to dissipate. Society, even books, became irksome, and I +went out into the garden alone, there to have uninterrupted communion +with myself. + +There was an old arbor in a by-place of the garden, covered with creeper +and honeysuckle, and though rudely built, yet there was a quiet +retirement about it that I felt would be grateful to my spirit. Its +rustic fittings, its heavy old seats, its gravelled floor, had been the +scene of a thousand childish gambols with my brother and sister. Old +memories clung to it with a loving fondness. Even when the sports of +childhood gave place to graver thoughts and occupations, the cool +retirement of this rustic solitude had never failed to possess the +strongest attractions for me. The songbirds built their little nests +within the overhanging foliage, and swarms of bees gave melodious voices +to the summer air as they hovered over its honey-yielding flowers. The +past united with the present to direct my steps toward this favorite +spot I entered, and, seating myself on one of the old low branches that +encircled it, was looking up through the straggling vines that festooned +the entrance, admiring the soft haze through, which the cloudless moon +was shedding a peculiar brilliancy on all around, when I heard a step +approaching from the house. + +I stopped the song which I had been humming, and listened. It is said +that there are steps which have music in them. I am sure, the cadences +of that music which the poet has so immortalized sounded distinctly in +my listening ear. It was the melody of recognition. I knew instinctively +the approaching step, and in a moment Mr. Logan stood before me. + +"What!" said he, extending his hand as I rose, and pressing mine with a +warmth that was unusual, even retaining it until we were seated,--"ever +happy! There must be a perpetual sunshine in your heart!" + +"Oh, no!" I replied. "Happiness is a creation of the fireside. One does +not find it in his neighbor's garden, and many times not even in his +own." + +"For once, dear Lizzie, I only half agree with you," he replied, again +taking my hand, and pressing it in both of his. + +I sought in vain to withdraw it, but he held it with an embarrassing +tenacity. He had never spoken such words before, never used my name +even, without the usual prefix which politeness exacts. I was glad that +the moonlight found but feeble entrance into the arbor, as the blood +mounted from my heart into my face, and I felt that I must be a +spectacle of confusion. I cannot now remember how long this +indescribable embarrassment kept possession of me, but I did summon +strength to say,-- + +"Your language surprises me, Mr. Logan." + +"But, dear Lizzie," he rejoined, "my deportment toward you ought to +lessen that surprise, and become the apology for my words. Others may +find no happiness in their neighbor's garden, but I have discovered that +mine is concentrated in yours. You, dear Lizzie, are its fairest, +choicest flower, which I seek to transplant into my own, there to +flourish in the warmth of an affection such as I have felt for no one +but yourself. Never has woman been so loved as you. Let me add fresh +blessings to the day on which I first met you here, by claiming you as +my wife." + +Oh, how can I write all this? But memory covers every incident of the +past with flowers. What I said in reply to that overwhelming declaration +has all gone from me. I may have been silent,--I think I must have +been,--under the crowd of conflicting sensations,--amazement, modesty, a +happiness unspeakable,--which came thronging over my heart I cannot +remember all, but I covered my face, and the tears came into my eyes. +Still keeping my hand, he placed his arm around me, drew me yet closer +to him,--my head fell upon his breast,--I think he must have kissed me. + +If other evenings fled on hasty wings, how rapid was the flight of what +remained of this! I cannot repeat the thoughts we uttered to each other, +the confidences we exchanged, the glimpses of the happy future that +broke upon me. Joy seemed to fill my cup even to overflowing; happiness +danced before my bewildered mind; the longing of my womanly nature was +satisfied with the knowledge that my affection was returned. Out of all +the world in which he had to choose, he had preferred _me_. + +That night was made restless by the very fulness of my happiness. At +breakfast the next morning, Jane questioned me on my somewhat haggard +looks, and was inquisitive to know if anything had happened. Somehow she +was unusually pertinacious; but I parried her inquiries. I was unwilling +that others, as yet, should become sharers of my joy. But when she left +upon her usual duties, I put on my best attire, with all the little +novelties in dress which we had recently been able to purchase, making +my appearance as genteel as possible. For the first time in my life I +did think that silk would be becoming, and was vexed with myself for +being without it. I was now anxious to be found agreeable. But it really +made no difference. + +Presently a knock was heard at the front door; and on my mother's +opening it, Mr. Logan entered, with a young lady whom he introduced as +his sister. The room was so indifferently lighted that I could not at +first distinguish her features, but, on her throwing up her veil, I +instantly recognized in her my fellow-pupil at the sewing-school,--my +"guide, philosopher, and friend," Miss Effie Logan! + +"Two years, dear Lizzie, since we met!" she exclaimed, "and what a +meeting now! You see I know it all. Henry has told me everything. I am +half as happy as yourself!" + +She took me in her arms, embraced me, kissed me with passionate +tenderness, and called me "sister." What a recognition it was for me! +Her beautiful face, lighted up with a new animation, appeared more +lovely than ever. There was the same open-hearted manner of other days, +now made doubly engaging by the warmest manifestation of genuine +affection. I had never dreamed that Mr. Logan was the brother of whom +this loving girl had so often spoken to me at the sewing-school, nor +that the inexpressible happiness of calling her my sister was in store +for me. But now I could readily discover resemblances which it was no +wonder I had heretofore overlooked. If he, in sweetness of disposition, +were to prove the counterpart of herself, what more could woman ask? It +was not possible for a recognition to be more joyful than this. + +My mother stood by, witnessing these incomprehensible proceedings, +silent, yet anxious as to their meaning. Effie took her into the +adjoining room,--she was far readier of speech than myself,--and there +explained to her the mystery of my new position with Mr. Logan. She told +me that my mother was overcome with surprise, for, dearly as she loved +her children, she had been strangely dull in her apprehension of what +had been so long enacting within her own domestic circle. But why should +I amplify these homely details? They are daily incidents the world over, +varied, it is true, by circumstances; for everywhere the human heart is +substantially the same mysterious fountain of emotion. + +A secret of this sort, once known, even to one's mother only, travels +with miraculous rapidity, until the whole gaping neighborhood becomes +confidentially intrusted with its keeping. It seems that ours had been +more observant and suspicious than even my dear mother. But such eager +care-takers of other people's affairs exist wherever human beings may +chance to congregate. Humble life secured us no exemption. + +Our pastor was one of the first to hear of the interesting event. It may +be that Mr. Logan had given him some inkling of it beforehand, for he +was early in his congratulations. Jane, as might be expected, declared +that it was no surprise to her, and was sure that my mother would not +think of having the wedding without indulging her in her long-coveted +silk. Fred took to Mr. Logan with almost as much kindliness as even +myself. Throughout the neighborhood the affair created an immense +sensation, as it was currently believed that Mr. Logan was exceedingly +rich, and that now I was likely to become a lady. While poor, I was only +a strawberry-girl; but rich, I would be a lady! Who is to account for +these false estimates of human life? Who is mighty enough to correct +them? + +Nothing had ever so melted down the rude stiffness of the Tetchy family +as this wonderful revolution in my domestic prospects. They became +amusingly disposed to sociability, as well as to inquisitiveness. But I +was glad to see my mother stiffen up in proportion to their sudden +condescension, for she would have nothing to do with them. + +Who, among casuists, can account for the contagious sympathy that seems +to govern the affections? I had often heard it said that one wedding +generally leads the way to another. Not a fortnight after these +important events, Jane gave a new surprise to the household by +introducing to us a lover of her own. It appeared that everything had +been arranged between them before we knew a word about it. The happy +young man in this case was a junior partner in the factory; and this, as +I had long suspected, was the great secret of her attraction there. How +my mother could have been so blind to the signs of coming events, such +as were developing around her, I could not understand. But both affairs +were real surprises to her. If we had depended on her genius as a +matchmaker, I fear that both Jane and myself would have had a very +discouraging experience! + +Thus the services of our pastor were likely to be in great request, for +Jane insisted that he should officiate at her wedding, and Mr. Logan +would think of no other for his own; and for myself, I thought it best, +as this was the first time, not to let it be said that I had volunteered +to make a difficulty by being contrary on such a point! Effie offered to +be my bridesmaid, and Mr. Logan declared that Fred should be his first +groomsman. It was a hazardous venture, Fred being as much a novice at +such performances as myself,--who had never officiated even as bride! +With a little tutoring, however, he turned out a surprising success. +Lucy, no longer a little barefoot fruit-peddler, was promoted to be my +waiting-maid. + +The new year came, bringing with it silks and jewels, and the double +wedding. If I write that I am married, I must add that I am still +without a sewing-machine. To me the garden has been better than the +needle. + +There is a moral to be drawn from all that I have written, wherein it +may be seen that the field of my choice is wide enough for many others. +If I retire from market as a strawberry-girl, it must not be inferred +that it is because the business has been overdone. + + + + +JOHN JORDAN, + +FROM THE HEAD OF BAINE. + + +Among the many brave men who have taken part in this war,--whose dying +embers are now being trodden out by a "poor white man,"--none, perhaps, +have done more service to the country, or won less glory for themselves, +than the "poor whites" who have acted as scouts for the Union armies. +The issue of battles, the result of campaigns, and the possession of +wide districts of country, have often depended on their sagacity, or +been determined by the information they have gathered; and yet they have +seldom been heard of in the newspapers, and may never be read of in +history. + +Romantic, thrilling, and sometimes laughable adventures have attended +the operations of the scouts of both sections; but more difficulty and +danger have undoubtedly been encountered by the partisans of the North +than of the South. Operating mostly within the circle of their own +acquaintance, the latter have usually been aided and harbored by the +Southern people, who, generally friendly to Secession, have themselves +often acted as spies, and conveyed dispatches across districts occupied +by our armies, and inaccessible to any but supposed loyal citizens. + +The service rendered the South by these volunteer scouts has often been +of the most important character. One stormy night, early in the war, a +young woman set out from a garrisoned town to visit a sick uncle +residing a short distance in the country. The sick uncle, mounting his +horse at midnight, rode twenty miles in the rain to Forrest's +head-quarters. The result was, the important town of Murfreesboro' and a +promising Major-General fell into the hands of the Confederates; and all +because the said Major-General permitted a pretty woman to pass his +lines on "a mission of mercy." + +At another time, a Rebel citizen, professing disgust with Secession for +having the weakness to be on "its last legs," took the oath of +allegiance and assumed the Union uniform. Informing himself fully of the +disposition of our forces along the Nashville Railroad, he suddenly +disappeared, to reappear with Basil Duke and John Morgan in a midnight +raid on our slumbering outposts. + +Again, a column on the march came upon a wretched woman, with a child in +her arms, seated by the dying embers of a burning homestead,--burning, +she said, because her sole and only friend, her uncle, (these ladies +seldom have any nearer kin,) "stood up stret fur the kentry." No +American soldier ever refused a "lift" to a woman in distress. This +woman was soon "lifted" into an empty saddle by the side of a +staff-officer, who, with many wise winks and knowing nods, was +discussing the intended route of the expedition with a brother +simpleton. A little farther on the woman suddenly remembered that +another uncle, who did not stand up quite so "stret fur the kentry," +and, consequently, had a house still standing up for him, lived "plumb +up thet 'ar' hill ter the right o' the high-road." She was set down, the +column moved on, and--Streight's well planned expedition miscarried. But +no one wasted a thought on the forlorn woman and the sallow baby whose +skinny faces were so long within earshot of the wooden-headed +staff-officer. + +Means quite as ingenious and quite as curious were often adopted to +conceal dispatches, when the messenger was in danger of capture by an +enemy. A boot with a hollow heel, a fragment of corn-pone too stale to +tempt a starving man, a strip of adhesive plaster over a festering +wound, or a ball of cotton-wool stuffed into the ear to keep out the +west wind, often hid a message whose discovery would cost a life, and +perhaps endanger an army. The writer has himself seen the hollow +half-eagle which bore to Burnside's beleaguered force the welcome +tidings that in thirty hours Sherman would relieve Knoxville. + +The perils which even the "native" scout encountered can be estimated +only by those familiar with the vigilance that surrounds an army. The +casual meeting with an acquaintance, the slightest act inconsistent with +his assumed character, or the smallest incongruity between his speech +and that of the district to which he professed to belong, has sent many +a good man to the gallows. One of the best of Rosecrans's scouts--a +native of East Kentucky--lost his life because he would "bounce" (mount) +his nag, "pack" (carry) his gun, eat his bread "dry so," (without +butter,) and "guzzle his peck o' whiskey," in the midst of Bragg's camp, +when no such things were done there, nor in the mountains of Alabama, +whence he professed to come. Acquainted only with a narrow region, the +poor fellow did not know that every Southern district has its own +dialect, and that the travelled ear of a close observer can detect the +slightest deviation from its customary phrases. But he was not alone in +this ignorance. Almost every Northern writer who has undertaken to +describe Southern life has fallen into the same error. Even Olmstead, +who has caught the idioms wonderfully, confounds the dialects of +different regions, and makes a Northern Georgian "right smart," when he +had been only "powerful stupid" all his life. + +The professional scout generally was a native of the South,--some +illiterate and simple-minded, but brave and self-devoted "poor white +man," who, if he had worn shoulder-straps, and been able to write +"interesting" dispatches, might now be known as a hero half the world +over. Some of these men, had they been born at the North, where free +schools are open to all, would have led armies, and left a name to live +after them. But they were born at the South, had their minds cramped and +their souls stunted by a system which dwarfs every noble thing; and so, +their humble mission over, they have gone down unknown and unhonored, +amid the silence and darkness of their native woods. + +I hope to rescue the memory of one of these men--John Jordan, from the +head of Baine--from utter oblivion by writing this article. He is now +beyond the hearing of my words; but I would record one act in his short +career, that his pure patriotism may lead some of us to know better and +love more the much-abused and misunderstood class to which he belonged. + + * * * * * + +Early in the war the command of an important military expedition was +intrusted to the president of a Western college. Though a young man, +this scholar had already achieved a "character" and a history. Beginning +life a widow's son, his first sixteen years were passed between a farm, +a canal, and a black-saltern. Being an intelligent, energetic lad, his +friends formed the usual hopes of him; but when he apprenticed himself +to a canal-boat, their faith failed, and, after the fashion of Job's +friends, they comforted his mother with the assurance that her son had +taken the swift train to the Devil. But, like Job, she knew in whom she +believed, and the boy soon justified her confidence. An event shortly +occurred which changed the current of his life, gave him a purpose, and +made him a man. + +One dark midnight, as the boat on which he was employed was leaving one +of those long reaches of slackwater which abound in the Ohio and +Pennsylvania Canal, he was called up to take his turn at the bow. +Tumbling out of bed, his eyes heavy with sleep, he took his stand on the +narrow platform below the bow-deck, and began uncoiling a rope to steady +the boat through a lock it was approaching. Slowly and sleepily he +unwound it, till it knotted, and caught in a narrow cleft in the edge of +the deck. He gave it a sudden pull, but it held fast; then another and a +stronger pull, and it gave way, but sent him over the bow into the +water. Down he went into the dark night and the still darker river; and +the boat glided on to bury him among the fishes. No human help was near. +God only could save him, and He only by a miracle. So the boy thought, +as he went down saying the prayer his mother had taught him. +Instinctively clutching the rope, he sunk below the surface; but then it +tightened in his grasp, and held firmly. Seizing it hand over hand, he +drew himself up on deck, and was again a live boy among the living. +Another kink had caught in another crevice, and saved him! Was it that +prayer, or the love of his praying mother, which wrought this miracle? +He did not know, but, long after the boat had passed the lock, he stood +there, in his dripping clothes, pondering the question. + +Coiling the rope, he tried to throw it again into the crevice; but it +had lost the knack of kinking. Many times he tried,--six hundred, says +my informant,--and then sat down and reflected. "I have thrown this +rope," he thought, "six hundred times; I might throw it ten times as +many without its catching. Ten times six hundred are six thousand,--so, +there were six thousand chances against my life. Against such odds, +Providence only could have saved it. Providence, therefore, thinks it +worth saving; and if that's so, I won't throw it away on a canal-boat. +I'll go home, get an education, and be a man." + +He acted on this resolution, and not long afterwards stood before a +little log cottage in the depths of the Ohio wilderness. It was late at +night; the stars were out, and the moon was down; but by the fire-light +that came through the window, he saw his mother kneeling before an open +book which lay on a chair in the corner. She was reading; but her eyes +were off the page, looking up to the Invisible. "Oh, turn unto me," she +said, "and have mercy upon me! give Thy strength unto Thy servant, and +save the son of Thine handmaid!" More she read, which sounded like a +prayer, but this is all that the boy remembers. He opened the door, put +his arm about her neck, and his head upon her bosom. What words he said +I do not know; but there, by her side, he gave back to God the life +which He had given. So the mother's prayer was answered. So sprang up +the seed which in toil and tears she had planted. + +The boy worked, the world rolled round, and twelve years later Governor +Dennison offered him command of a regiment. He went home, opened his +mother's Bible, and pondered upon the subject. He had a wife, a child, +and a few thousand dollars. If he gave his life to the country, would +God and the few thousand dollars provide for his wife and child? He +consulted the Book about it. It seemed to answer in the affirmative; and +before morning he wrote to a friend,--"I regard my life as given to the +country. I am only anxious to make as much of it as possible before the +mortgage on it is foreclosed." + +To this man, who thus went into the war with a life not his own, was +given, on the 16th of December, 1861, command of the little army which +held Kentucky to her moorings in the Union. + +He knew nothing of war beyond its fundamental principles,--which are, I +believe, that a big boy can whip a little boy, and that one big boy can +whip two little boys, if he take them singly, one after the other. He +knew no more about it; yet he was called upon to solve a military +problem which has puzzled the heads of the greatest generals: namely, +how two small bodies of men, stationed widely apart, can unite in the +presence of an enemy, and beat him, when he is of twice their united +strength, and strongly posted behind intrenchments. With the help of +many "good men and true," he solved this problem; and in telling how he +solved it, I shall come naturally to speak of John Jordan, from the head +of Baine. + +Humphrey Marshall with five thousand men had invaded Kentucky. Entering +it at Pound Gap, he had fortified a strong natural position near +Paintville, and, with small bands, was overrunning the whole Piedmont +region. This region, containing an area larger than the whole of +Massachusetts, was occupied by about four thousand blacks and one +hundred thousand whites,--a brave, hardy, rural population, with few +schools, scarcely any churches, and only one newspaper, but with that +sort of patriotism which grows among mountains and clings to its barren +hillsides as if they were the greenest spots in the universe. Among this +simple people Marshall was scattering firebrands. Stump-orators were +blazing away at every cross-road, lighting a fire which threatened to +sweep Kentucky from the Union. That done,--so early in the +war,--dissolution might have followed. To the Ohio canal-boy was +committed the task of extinguishing this conflagration. It was a +difficult task, one which, with the means at command, would have +appalled any man not made equal to it by early struggles with hardship +and poverty, and entire trust in the Providence that guards his country. + +The means at command were twenty-five hundred men, divided into two +bodies, and separated by a hundred miles of mountain country. This +country was infested with guerrillas, and occupied by a disloyal people. +The sending of dispatches across it was next to impossible; but +communication being opened, and the two columns set in motion, there was +danger that they would be fallen on and beaten in detail before they +could form a junction. This was the great danger. What remained--the +beating of five thousand Rebels, posted behind intrenchments, by half +their number of Yankees, operating in the open field--seemed to the +young Colonel less difficult of accomplishment. + +Evidently, the first thing to be done was to find a trustworthy +messenger to convey dispatches between the two halves of the Union army. +To this end, the Yankee commander applied to the Colonel of the +Fourteenth Kentucky. + +"Have you a man," he asked, "who will die, rather than fail or betray +us?" + +The Kentuckian reflected a moment, then answered: "I think I have,--John +Jordan, from the head of Baine."[B] + +Jordan was sent for. He was a tall, gaunt, sallow man of about thirty, +with small gray eyes, a fine, falsetto voice, pitched in the minor key, +and his speech the rude dialect of the mountains. His face had as many +expressions as could be found in a regiment, and he seemed a strange +combination of cunning, simplicity, undaunted courage, and undoubting +faith; yet, though he might pass for a simpleton, he talked a quaint +sort of wisdom which ought to have given him to history. + +The young Colonel sounded him thoroughly; for the fate of the little +army might depend on his fidelity. The man's soul was as clear as +crystal, and in ten minutes the Yankee saw through it. His history is +stereotyped in that region. Born among the hills, where the crops are +stones, and sheep's noses are sharpened before they can nibble the thin +grass between them, his life had been one of the hardest toil and +privation. He knew nothing but what Nature, the Bible, the "Course of +Time," and two or three of Shakspeare's plays had taught him; but +somehow in the mountain air he had grown to be a man,--a man as +civilized nations account manhood. + +"Why did you come into the war?" at last asked the Colonel. + +"To do my sheer fur the kentry, Gin'ral," answered the man. "And I +didn't druv no barg'in wi' th' Lord. I guv Him my life squar' out; and +ef He's a mind ter tuck it on this tramp, why, it's a His'n; I've +nothin' ter say agin it." + +"You mean that you've come into the war not expecting to get out of it?" + +"That's so, Gin'ral." + +"Will you die rather than let the dispatch be taken?" + +"I wull." + +The Colonel recalled what had passed in his own mind when poring over +his mother's Bible that night at his home in Ohio; and it decided him. +"Very well," he said; "I will trust you." + +The dispatch was written on tissue paper, rolled into the form of a +bullet, coated with warm lead, and put into the hand of the Kentuckian. +He was given a carbine, a brace of revolvers, and the fleetest horse in +his regiment, and, when the moon was down, started on his perilous +journey. He was to ride at night, and hide in the woods or in the houses +of loyal men in the day-time. + +It was pitch-dark when he set out; but he knew every inch of the way, +having travelled it often, driving mules to market. He had gone twenty +miles by early dawn, and the house of a friend was only a few miles +beyond him. The man himself was away; but his wife was at home, and she +would harbor him till nightfall. He pushed on, and tethered his horse in +the timber; but it was broad day when he rapped at the door, and was +admitted. The good woman gave him breakfast, and showed him to the +guest-chamber, where, lying down in his boots, he was soon in a deep +slumber. + +The house was a log cabin in the midst of a few acres of +deadening,--ground from which trees have been cleared by girdling. Dense +woods were all about it; but the nearest forest was a quarter of a mile +distant, and should the scout be tracked, it would be hard to get away +over this open space, unless he had warning of the approach of his +pursuers. The woman thought of this, and sent up the road, on a mule, +her whole worldly possessions, an old negro, dark as the night, but +faithful as the sun in the heavens. It was high noon when the mule came +back, his heels striking fire, and his rider's eyes flashing, as if +ignited from the sparks the steel had emitted. + +"Dey 'm comin', Missus!" he cried,--"not haff a mile away,--twenty +Secesh,--ridin' as ef de Debil wus arter 'em!" + +She barred the door, and hastened to the guest-chamber. + +"Go," she cried, "through the winder,--ter the woods! They'll be here in +a minute." + +"How many is thar?" asked the scout. + +"Twenty,--go,--go at once,--or you'll be taken!" + +The scout did not move; but, fixing his eyes on her face, he said,-- + +"Yes, I yere 'em. Thar's a sorry chance for my life a'ready. But, +Rachel, I've thet 'bout me thet's wuth more 'n my life,--thet, may-be, +'ll save Kaintuck. If I'm killed, wull ye tuck it ter Cunnel Cranor, at +Paris?" + +"Yes, yes, I will. But go: you've not a minnit to lose, I tell you." + +"I know, but wull ye swar it,--swar ter tuck this ter Cunnel Cranor +'fore th' Lord thet yeres us?" + +"Yes, yes, I will," she said, taking the bullet. But horses' hoofs were +already sounding in the door-yard. "It's too late," cried the woman. +"Oh, why did you stop to parley?" + +"Never mind, Rachel," answered the scout. "Don't tuck on. Tuck ye keer +o' th' dispatch. Valu' it loike yer life,--loike Kaintuck. The Lord's +callin' fur me, and I'm a'ready." + +But the scout was mistaken. It was not the Lord, but a dozen devils at +the door-way. + +"What does ye want?" asked the woman, going to the door. + +"The man as come from Garfield's camp at sun-up,--John Jordan, from the +head o' Baine," answered a voice from the outside. + +"Ye karn't hev him fur th' axin'," said the scout. "Go away, or I'll +send some o' ye whar the weather is warm, I reckon." + +"Pshaw!" said another voice,--from his speech one of the chivalry. +"There are twenty of us. We'll spare your life, if you give up the +dispatch; if you don't, we'll hang you higher than Haman." + +The reader will bear in mind that this was in the beginning of the war, +when swarms of spies infested every Union camp, and treason was only a +gentlemanly pastime, not the serious business it has grown to be since +traitors are no longer dangerous. + +"I've nothin' but my life thet I'll guv up," answered the scout; "and ef +ye tuck thet, ye'll hev ter pay the price,--six o' yourn." + +"Fire the house!" shouted one. + +"No, don't do thet," said another. "I know him,--he's cl'ar grit,--he'll +die in the ashes; and we won't git the dispatch." + +This sort of talk went on for half an hour; then there was a dead +silence, and the woman went to the loft, whence she could see all that +was passing outside. About a dozen of the horsemen were posted around +the house; but the remainder, dismounted, had gone to the edge of the +woods, and were felling a well-grown sapling, with the evident intention +of using it as a battering-ram to break down the front door. + +The woman, in a low tone, explained the situation; and the scout said,-- + +"It 'r' my only chance. I must run fur it. Bring me yer red shawl, +Rachel." + +She had none, but she had a petticoat of flaming red and yellow. +Handling it as if he knew how such articles can be made to spread, the +scout softly unbarred the door, and, grasping the hand of the woman, +said,-- + +"Good bye, Rachel. It 'r' a right sorry chance; but I may git through. +Ef I do, I'll come ter night; ef I don't, git ye the dispatch ter the +Cunnel. Good bye." + +To the right of the house, midway between it and the woods, stood the +barn. That way lay the route of the scout. If he could elude the two +mounted men at the door-way, he might escape the other horsemen; for +they would have to spring the barn-yard fences, and their horses might +refuse the leap. But it was foot of man against leg of horse, and "a +right sorry chance." + +Suddenly he opened the door, and dashed at the two horses with the +petticoat. They reared, wheeled, and bounded away like lightning just +let out of harness. In the time that it takes to tell it, the scout was +over the first fence, and scaling the second; but a horse was making the +leap with him. The scout's pistol went off, and the rider's earthly +journey was over. Another followed, and his horse fell mortally wounded. +The rest made the circuit of the barn-yard, and were rods behind when +the scout reached the edge of the forest. Once among those thick +laurels, nor horse nor rider can reach a man, if he lies low, and says +his prayer in a whisper. + +The Rebels bore the body of their comrade back to the house, and said to +the woman,-- + +"We'll be revenged for this. We know the route he'll take, and will have +his life before to-morrow; and you--we'd burn your house over your head, +if you were not the wife of Jack Brown." + +Brown was a loyal man, who was serving his country in the ranks of +Marshall. Thereby hangs a tale, but this is not the time to tell it. +Soon the men rode away, taking the poor woman's only wagon as a hearse +for their dead comrade. + +Night came, and the owls cried in the woods in a way they had not cried +for a fortnight. "T'whoot! t'whoot!" they went, as if they thought there +was music in hooting. The woman listened, put on a dark mantle, and +followed the sound of their voices. Entering the woods, she crept in +among the bushes, and talked with the owls as if they had been human. + +"They know the road ye'll take," she said; "ye must change yer route. +Here ar' the bullet." + +"God bless ye, Rachel!" responded the owl, "ye 'r' a true 'ooman!"--and +he hooted louder than before, to deceive pursuers, and keep up the +music. + +"Ar' yer nag safe?" she asked. + +"Yes, and good for forty mile afore sun-up." + +"Well, here ar' suthin' ter eat: ye'll need it. Good bye, and God go wi' +ye!" + +"He'll go wi' ye, fur He loves noble wimmin." + +Their hands clasped, and then they parted: he to his long ride; she to +the quiet sleep of those who, out of a true heart, serve their country. + +The night was dark and drizzly; but before morning the clouds cleared +away, leaving a thick mist hanging low on the meadows. The scout's mare +was fleet, but the road was rough, and a slosh of snow impeded the +travel. He had come by a strange way, and did not know how far he had +travelled by sunrise; but lights were ahead, shivering in the haze of +the cold, gray morning. Were they the early candles of some sleepy +village, or the camp-fires of a band of guerrillas? He did not know, and +it would not be safe to go on till he did know. The road was lined with +trees, but they would give no shelter; for they were far apart, and the +snow lay white between them. He was in the blue grass region. Tethering +his horse in the timber, he climbed a tall oak by the roadside; but the +mist was too thick to admit of his discerning anything distinctly. It +seemed, however, to be breaking away, and he would wait until his way +was clear; so he sat there, an hour, two hours, and ate his breakfast +from the satchel John's wife had slung over his shoulder. At last the +fog lifted a little, and he saw close at hand a small hamlet,--a few +rude huts gathered round a cross-road. No danger could lurk in such a +place, and he was about to descend, and pursue his journey, when +suddenly he heard, up the road by which he came, the rapid tramp of a +body of horsemen. The mist was thicker below; so half-way down the tree +he went, and waited their coming. They moved at an irregular pace, +carrying lanterns, and pausing every now and then to inspect the road, +as if they had missed their way or lost something. Soon they came near, +and were dimly outlined in the gray mist, so the scout could make out +their number. There were thirty of them,--the original band, and a +reinforcement. Again they halted when abreast of the tree, and searched +the road narrowly. + +"He must have come this way," said one,--he of the chivalry. "The other +road is six miles longer, and he would take the shortest route. It's an +awful pity we didn't head him on both roads." + +"We kin come up with him yit, ef we turn plumb round, and foller on +t'other road,--whar we lost the trail,--back thar, three miles ter the +deadnin'." + +Now another spoke, and his voice the scout remembered. He belonged to +his own company in the Fourteenth Kentucky. "It 'so," he said; "he has +tuck t' other road. I tell ye, I'd know thet mar's shoe 'mong a million. +Nary one loike it wus uver seed in all Kaintuck,--only a d----d Yankee +could ha' invented it." + +"And yere it ar'," shouted a man with one of the lanterns, "plain as +sun-up." + +The Fourteenth Kentuckian clutched the light, and, while a dozen +dismounted and gathered round, closely examined the shoe-track. The +ground was bare on the spot, and the print of the horse's hoof was +clearly cut in the half-frozen mud. Narrowly the man looked, and life +and death hung on his eyesight. The scout took out the bullet, and +placed it in a crotch of the tree. If they took him, the Devil should +not take the dispatch. Then he drew a revolver. The mist was breaking +away, and he would surely be discovered, if the men lingered much +longer; but he would have the value of his life to the uttermost +farthing. + +Meanwhile, the horsemen crowded around the foot-print, and one of them +inadvertently trod upon it. The Kentuckian looked long and earnestly, +but at last he said,-- + +"'Ta'n't the track. Thet 'ar' mar' has a sand-crack on her right +fore-foot. She didn't take kindly to a round shoe; so the Yank, he guv +her one with the cork right in the middle o' the quarter. 'Twas a durned +smart contrivance; fur ye see, it eased the strain, and let the nag go +nimble as a squirrel. The cork ha'n't yere,--'ta'n't her track,--and +we're wastin,' time in luckin'." + +The cork was not there, because the trooper's tread had obliterated it. +Reader, let us thank him for that one good step, if he never take +another; for it saved the scout, and, may-be, it saved Kentucky. When +the scout returned that way, he halted abreast of that tree, and +examined the ground about it. Right there, in the road, was the mare's +track, with the print of the man's foot still upon the inner quarter! He +uncovered his head, and from his heart went up a simple thanksgiving. + +The horsemen gone, the scout came down from the tree, and pushed on into +the misty morning. There might be danger ahead, but there surely was +danger behind him. His pursuers were only half convinced that they had +struck his trail; and some sensible fiend might put it into their heads +to divide and follow, part by one route, part by the other. + +He pushed on over the sloshy road, his mare every step going slower and +slower. The poor beast was jaded out; for she had travelled sixty miles, +eaten nothing, and been stabled in the timber. She would have given out +long before, had her blood not been the best in Kentucky. As it was, she +staggered along as if she had taken a barrel of whiskey. Five miles +farther on was the house of a Union man. She must reach it, or die by +the wayside; for the merciful man regardeth not the life of his beast, +when he carries dispatches. + +The loyalist did not know the scout, but his honest face secured him a +cordial welcome. He explained that he was from the Union camp on the Big +Sandy, and offered any price for a horse to go on with. + +"Yer nag is wuth ary two o' my critters," said the man. "Ye kin take the +best beast I've got; and when ye 'r' ag'in this way, we'll swop back +even." + +The scout thanked him, mounted the horse, and rode off into the mist +again, without the warm breakfast which the good woman had, half-cooked, +in the kitchen. It was eleven o'clock; and at twelve that night he +entered Colonel Cranor's quarters at Paris,--having ridden a hundred +miles with a rope round his neck, for thirteen dollars a month, +hard-tack, and a shoddy uniform. + +The Colonel opened the dispatch. It was dated, Louisa, Kentucky, +December 24th, midnight; and directed him to move at once with his +regiment, (the Fortieth Ohio, eight hundred strong,) by the way of Mount +Sterling and McCormick's Gap, to Prestonburg. He would incumber his men +with as few rations and as little luggage as possible, bearing in mind +that the safety of his command depended on his expedition. He would also +convey the dispatch to Lieutenant-Colonel Woolford, at Stamford, and +direct him to join the march with his three hundred cavalry. + +Hours now were worth months of common time, and on the following morning +Cranor's column began to move. The scout lay by till night, then set out +on his return, and at daybreak swapped his now jaded horse for the fresh +Kentucky mare, even. He ate the housewife's breakfast, too, and took his +ease with the good man till dark, when he again set out, and rode +through the night in safety. After that his route was beset with perils. +The Providence which so wonderfully guarded his way out seemed to leave +him to find his own way in; or, as he expressed it, "Ye see, the Lord, +He keered more fur the dispatch nor He keered fur me: and 'twas nateral +He should; 'case my life only counted one, while the dispatch, it stood +fur all Kaintuck." + +Be that as it may, he found his road a hard one to travel. The same gang +which followed him out waylaid him back, and one starry midnight he fell +among them. They lined the road forty deep, and seeing he could not run +the gauntlet, he wheeled his mare and fled backwards. The noble beast +did her part; but a bullet struck her, and she fell in the road dying. +Then--it was Hobson's choice--he took to his legs, and, leaping a fence, +was at last out of danger. Two days he lay in the woods, not daring to +come out; but hunger finally forced him to ask food at a negro shanty. +The dusky patriot loaded him with bacon, brown bread, and blessings, and +at night piloted him to a Rebel barn, where he enforced the Confiscation +Act, to him then "the higher law,"--necessity. + +With his fresh horse he set out again; and after various adventures and +hair-breadth escapes, too numerous to mention,--and too incredible to +believe, had not similar things occurred all through the war,--he +entered, one rainy midnight, (the 6th of January,) the little log hut, +seven miles from Paintville, where Colonel Garfield was sleeping. + +The Colonel rubbed his eyes, and raised himself upon his elbow. + +"Back safe?" he asked. "Have you seen Cranor?" + +"Yes, Gin'ral. He can't be more 'n two days ahind o' me, nohow." + +"God bless you, Jordan! You have done us great service," said Garfield, +warmly. + +"I thanks ye, Gin'ral," said the scout, his voice trembling, "Thet's +more pay 'n I expected." + + * * * * * + +To give the reader a full understanding of the result of the scout's +ride, I must now move on with the little army. They are only fourteen +hundred men, worn out with marching, but boldly they move down upon +Marshall. False scouts have made him believe they are as strong as he: +and they are; for every one is a hero, and they are led by a general. +The Rebel has five thousand men,--forty-four hundred infantry and six +hundred cavalry,--besides twelve pieces of artillery,--so he says in a +letter to his wife, which Buell has intercepted and Garfield has in his +pocket. Three roads lead to Marshall's position: one at the east, +bearing down to the river, and along its western bank; another, a +circuitous one, to the west, coming in on Paint Creek, at the mouth of +Jenny's Creek, on the right of the village; and a third between the +others, a more direct route, but climbing a succession of almost +impassable ridges. These three roads are held by strong Rebel pickets, +and a regiment is outlying at the village of Paintville. + +To deceive Marshall as to his real strength and designs, Garfield orders +a small force of infantry and cavalry to advance along the river, drive +in the Rebel pickets, and move rapidly after them as if to attack +Paintville. Two hours after this force goes off, a similar one, with the +same orders, sets out on the road to the westward; and two hours later +still, another small body takes the middle road. The effect is, that the +pickets on the first route, being vigorously attacked and driven, +retreat in confusion to Paintville, and dispatch word to Marshall that +the Union army is advancing along the river. He hurries off a thousand +infantry and a battery to resist the advance of this imaginary column. +When this detachment has been gone an hour and a half, he hears, from +the routed pickets on the right, that the Federals are advancing along +the western road. Countermanding his first order, he now directs the +thousand men and the battery to check the new danger; and hurries off +the troops at Paintville to the mouth of Jenny's Creek to make a stand +there. Two hours later the pickets on the central route are driven in, +and, finding Paintville abandoned, flee precipitately to the fortified +camp, with the story that the Union army is close at their heels and +occupying the town. Conceiving that he has thus lost Paintville, +Marshall hastily withdraws the detachment of one thousand men to his +fortified camp; and Garfield, moving rapidly over the ridges of the +central route, occupies the abandoned position. + +So affairs stand on the evening of the 8th of January, when a spy enters +the camp of Marshall, with tidings that Cranor, with thirty-three +hundred (!) men, is within twelve hours' march at the westward. On +receipt of these tidings, the "big boy,"--he weighs three hundred pounds +by the Louisville hay-scales,--conceiving himself outnumbered, breaks up +his camp, and retreats precipitately, abandoning or burning a large +portion of his supplies. Seeing the fires, Garfield mounts his horse, +and, with a thousand men, enters the deserted camp at nine in the +evening, while the blazing stores are yet unconsumed. He sends off a +detachment to harass the retreat, and waits the arrival of Cranor, with +whom he means to follow and bring Marshall to battle in the morning. + +In the morning Cranor comes, but his men are footsore, without rations, +and completely exhausted. They cannot move one leg after the other. But +the canal-boy is bound to have a fight; so every man who has strength to +march is ordered to come forward. Eleven hundred--among them four +hundred of Cranor's tired heroes--step from the ranks, and with them, +at noon of the 9th, Garfield sets out for Prestonburg, sending all his +available cavalry to follow the line of the enemy's retreat and harass +and delay him. + +Marching eighteen miles, he reaches at nine o'clock that night the mouth +of Abbott's Creek, three miles below Prestonburg,--he and the eleven +hundred. There he hears that Marshall is encamped on the same stream, +three miles higher up; and throwing his men into bivouac, in the midst +of a sleety rain, he sends an order back to Lieutenant-Colonel Sheldon, +who is left in command at Paintville, to bring up every available man, +with all possible dispatch, for he shall force the enemy to battle in +the morning. He spends the night in learning the character of the +surrounding country and the disposition of Marshall's forces; and now +again John Jordan comes into action. + +A dozen Rebels are grinding at a mill, and a dozen honest men come upon +them, steal their corn, and make them prisoners. The miller is a tall, +gaunt man, and his clothes fit the scout as if they were made for him. +He is a Disunionist, too, and his very raiment should bear witness +against this feeding of his enemies. It does. It goes back to the Rebel +camp, and--the scout goes in it. That chameleon face of his is smeared +with meal, and looks the miller so well that the miller's own wife might +not detect the difference. The night is dark and rainy, and that lessens +the danger; but still he is picking his teeth in the very jaws of the +lion,--if he can be called a lion, who does nothing but roar like unto +Marshall. + +Space will not permit me to detail this midnight ramble; but it gave +Garfield the exact position of the enemy. They had made a stand, and +laid an ambuscade for him. Strongly posted on a semicircular hill, at +the forks of Middle Creek, on both sides of the road, with cannon +commanding its whole length, and hidden by the trees, they were waiting +his coming. + +The Union commander broke up his bivouac at four in the morning and +began to move forward. Reaching the valley of Middle Creek, he +encountered some of the enemy's mounted men, and captured a quantity of +stores they were trying to withdraw from Prestonburg. Skirmishing went +on until about noon, when the Rebel pickets were driven back upon their +main body, and then began the battle. It is not my purpose to describe +it; for that has already been ably done, in thirty lines, by the man who +won it. + +It was a wonderful battle. In the history of this war there is not +another like it. Measured by the forces engaged, the valor displayed, +and the results which followed, it throws into the shade even the +achievements of the mighty hosts which saved the nation. Eleven hundred +men, without cannon, charge up a rocky hill, over stumps, over stones, +over fallen trees, over high intrenchments, right into the face of five +thousand, and twelve pieces of artillery! + +For five hours the contest rages. Now the Union forces are driven back; +then, charging up the hill, they regain the lost ground, and from behind +rocks and trees pour in their murderous volleys. Then again they are +driven back, and again they charge up the hill, strewing the ground with +corpses. So the bloody work goes on; so the battle wavers, till the +setting sun, wheeling below the hills, glances along the dense lines of +Rebel steel moving down to envelop the weary eleven hundred. It is an +awful moment, big with the fate of Kentucky. At its very crisis two +figures stand out against the fading sky, boldly defined in the +foreground. + +One is in Union blue. With a little band of heroes about him, he is +posted on a projecting rock, which is scarred with bullets, and in full +view of both armies. His head is uncovered, his hair streaming in the +wind, his face upturned in the darkening daylight, and from his soul is +going up a prayer,--a prayer for Sheldon and Cranor. He turns his eyes +to the northward, and his lip tightens, as he throws off his coat, and +says to his hundred men,--"Boys, _we_ must go at them!" + +The other is in Rebel gray. Moving out to the brow of the opposite hill, +and placing a glass to his eye, he, too, takes a long look to the +northward. He starts, for he sees something which the other, on lower +ground, does not distinguish. Soon he wheels his horse, and the word +"RETREAT" echoes along the valley between them. It is his last +word; for six rifles crack, and the Rebel Major lies on the ground +quivering. + +The one in blue looks to the north again, and now, floating proudly +among the trees, he sees the starry banner. It is Sheldon and Cranor! +The long ride of the scout is at last doing its work for the nation. On +they come like the rushing wind, filling the air with their shouting. +The rescued eleven hundred take up the strain, and then, above the swift +pursuit, above the lessening conflict, above the last boom of the +wheeling cannon, goes up the wild huzza of Victory. The gallant Garfield +has won the day, and rolled back the disastrous tide which has been +sweeping on ever since Big Bethel. In ten days Thomas routs Zollicoffer, +and then we have and hold Kentucky. + + * * * * * + +Every one remembers a certain artist, who, after painting a "neighing +steed," wrote underneath the picture, "This is a horse," lest it should +be mistaken for an alligator. I am tempted to imitate his example, lest +the reader, otherwise, may not detect the rambling parallel I have +herein drawn between a Northern and a Southern "poor white man." + +President Lincoln, when he heard of the Battle of Middle Creek, said to +a distinguished officer, who happened to be with him,-- + +"Why did Garfield in two weeks do what would have taken one of you +Regular folks two months to accomplish?" + +"Because he was not educated at West Point," answered the West-Pointer, +laughing. + +"No," replied Mr. Lincoln. "That wasn't the reason. It was because, when +he was a boy, he had to work for a living." + +But our good President, for once, was wrong,--for once, he did not get +at the core of the matter. Jordan, as well as Garfield, "had, when a +boy, to work for a living." The two men were, perhaps, of about equal +natural abilities,--both were born in log huts, both worked their own +way to manhood, and both went into the war consecrating their very lives +to their country: but one came out of it with a brace of stars on his +shoulder, and honored by all the nation; the other never rose from the +ranks, and went down to an unknown grave, mourned only among his native +mountains. Something more than _work_ was at the bottom of this contrast +in their lives and their destinies. It was FREE SCHOOLS, which +the North gave the one, and of which the South robbed the other. Plant a +free school at every Southern cross-road, and every Southern Jordan will +become a Garfield. Then, and not till then, will this Union be +"reconstructed." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[B] The Baine is a small stream which puts into the Big Sandy, a short +distance from the town of Louisa, Ky. + + + + +NOËL.[C] + + + L'Académie en respect, + Nonobstant l'incorrection, + A la faveur du sujet, + Ture-lure, + N'y fera point de rature; + Noël! ture-lure-lure. + + GUI-BARÔZAI. + + + 1. + + Quand les astres de Noël + Brillaient, palpitaient au ciel, + Six gaillards, et chacun ivre, + Chantaient gaîment dans le givre, + "Bons amis, + Allons done chez Agassiz!" + + 2. + + Ces illustres Pčlerins + D'Outre-Mer, adroits et fins, + Se donnant des airs de prętre, + A l'envi se vantaient d'ętre + "Bons amis + De Jean Rudolphe Agassiz!" + + 3. + + Oeil-de-Perdrix, grand farceur, + Sans reproche et sans pudeur, + Dans son patois de Bourgogne, + Bredouillait comme un ivrogne, + "Bons amis, + J'ai dansé chez Agassiz!" + + 4. + + Verzenay le Champenois, + Bon Français, point New-Yorquois, + Mais des environs d'Avize, + Fredonne, ŕ mainte reprise, + "Bons amis, + J'ai chanté chez Agassiz!" + + 5. + + A côté marchait un vieux + Hidalgo, mais non mousseux; + Dans le temps de Charlemagne + Fut son pčre Grand d'Espagne! + "Bons amis, + J'ai dîné chez Agassiz!" + + 6. + + Derričre eux un Bordelais, + Gascon, s'il en fut jamais, + Parfumé de poésie + Riait, chantait plein de vie, + "Bons amis, + J'ai soupé chez Agassiz!" + + 7. + + Avec ce beau cadet roux, + Bras dessus et bras dessous, + Mine altičre et couleur terne, + Vint le Sire de Sauterne: + "Bons amis, + J'ai couché chez Agassiz!" + + 8. + + Mais le dernier de ces preux + Était un pauvre Chartreux, + Qui disait, d'un ton robuste, + "Bénédictions sur le Juste! + Bons amis, + Bénissons Pčre Agassiz!" + + 9. + + Ils arrivent trois ŕ trois, + Montent l'escalier de bois + Clopin-clopant! quel gendarme + Peut permettre ce vacarme, + Bons amis, + A la porte d'Agassiz! + + 10. + + "Ouvrez donc, mon bon Seigneur, + Ouvrez vite et n'ayez peur; + Ouvrez, ouvrez, car nous sommes + Gens de bien et gentilshommes, + Bons amis + De la famille Agassiz!" + + 11. + + Chut, ganaches! taisez-vous! + C'en est trop de vos glouglous; + Épargnez aux Philosophes + Vos abominables strophes! + Bons amis, + Respectez mon Agassiz! + +FOOTNOTES: + +[C] Sent to Mr. Agassiz, with a basket of wine, on Christmas Eve, 1864. + + + + +WILHELM MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP. + +SECOND PAPER. + + +In a preceding paper I have sought to trace the main lines of spiritual +growth, as these appear in Goethe's great picture. But is such growth +possible in this world? Do the circumstances in which modern men are +placed comport with it? Or is it, perhaps, a cherub only _painted_ with +wings, and despite the laws of anatomy? These questions are pertinent. +It concerns us little to know what results the crescent powers of life +might produce, if, by good luck, Eden rather than our struggling +century, another world instead of this world, were here. This world, it +happens, is here undoubtedly; our century and our place in it are facts, +which decline to take their leave, bid them good morning and show them +the door how one may. Let us know, then, what of good sufficing may be +achieved in their company. If Goethe's picture be only a picture, and +not a possibility, we will be pleased with him, provided his work prove +pleasant; we will partake of his literary dessert, and give him his meed +of languid praise. But if, on the other hand, his book be written in +full, unblinking view of all that is fixed and limitary in man and +around him, and if, in face of this, it conduct growth to its +consummation, then we may give him something better than any +praise,--namely, heed. + +Is it, then, written in this spirit of reality? In proof that it is so, +I call to witness the most poignant reproach, save one, ever uttered +against it by a superior man. Novalis censured it as "thoroughly modern +and prosaic." Well, _on one side_, it is so,--just as modern and prosaic +as the modern world and actual European civilization. What is this but +to say that Goethe faces the facts? What is it but to say that he +accepts the conditions of his problem? He is to show that the high +possibilities of growth can be realized _here_. To run off, get up a +fancy world, and then picture these possibilities as coming to fruition +_there_, would be a mere toying with his readers. Here is modern +civilization, with its fixed forms, its rigid limits, its traditional +mechanisms. Here is this life, where men make, execute, and obey laws, +own and manage property, buy and sell, plant, sail, build, marry and +beget children and maintain households, pay taxes, keep out of debt, if +they are wise, and go to the poorhouse, or beg, or do worse, if they are +unwise or unfortunate. Here such trivialities as starched collars, +blacked boots, and coats according to the mode compel attention. Society +has its fixed rules, by which it enforces social continuity and +connection. To neglect these throws one off the ring; and, with rare +exceptions, isolation is barrenness and death. One cannot even go into +the street in a wilfully strange costume, without establishing +repulsions and balking relations between him and his neighbors which +destroy their use to each other. Every man is bound to the actual form +of society by his necessities at least, if not by his good-will. + +To step violently out of all this puts one in a social vacuum,--a +position in which few respire well, while most either perish or become +in some degree monstrous. It is necessary that one should live and work +with his fellows, if he is to obtain the largest growth. On the other +hand, to be merely in and of this--a wheel, spoke, or screw, in this +vast social mechanism--makes one, not a man, but a thing, and precludes +all growth but such as is obscure and indirect. Thousands, indeed, have +no desire but to obtain some advantageous place in this machinery. +Meanwhile this enormous conventional civilization strives, and must +strive, to make every soul its puppet. Let each fall into the routine, +pursue it in some shining manner, asking no radical questions, and he +shall have his heart's desire. "Blessed is he," it cries, "who +handsomely and with his whole soul reads upwards from man to position +and estate,--from man to millionnaire, judge, lord, bishop! Cursed is he +who questions, who aims to strike down beneath this great mechanism, and +to connect himself with the primal resources of his being! There are no +such resources. It is a wickedness to dream of them. Man has no root but +in tradition and custom, no blessing but in serving them." + +As that assurance is taken, and as that spirit prevails, man forfeits +his manhood. His life becomes mechanical. Ideas disappear in the forms +that once embodied them; imagination is buried beneath symbol; belief +dies of creed, and morality of custom. Nothing remains but a world-wide +pantomime. Worship itself becomes only a more extended place-hunting, +and man the walking dummy of society. And then, since man no longer is +properly vitalized, disease sets in, consumption, decay, putrefaction, +filling all the air with the breath of their foulness. + +The earlier part of the eighteenth century found all Europe in this +stage. Then came a stir in the heart of man: for Nature would not let +him die altogether. First came recoil, complaint, reproach, mockery. +Voltaire's light, piercing, taunting laugh--with a screaming wail inside +it, if one can hear well--rang over Europe. "Aha, you are found out! Up, +toad, in your true shape!" Then came wild, shallow theories, half true; +then wild attempt to make the theories real; then carnage and chaos. + +Accompanying and following this comes another and purer phase of +reaction. "Let us get out of this dead, conventional world!" cry a few +noble spirits, in whose hearts throbs newly the divine blood of life. +"Leave it behind; it is dead. Leave behind all formal civilization; let +us live only from within, and let the outward be formless,--momentarily +created by our souls, momentarily vanishing." + +The noblest type I have ever known of this _extra-vagance_, this +wandering outside of actual civilization, was Thoreau. With his purity, +as of a newborn babe,--with his moral steadiness, unsurpassed in my +observation,--with his indomitable persistency,--by the aid also of that +all-fertilizing imaginative sympathy with outward Nature which was his +priceless gift,--he did, indeed, lend to his mode of life an +indescribable charm. In him it came at once to beauty and to +consecration. + +Yet even he must leave out marriage, to make his scheme of life +practicable. He must ignore Nature's demand that humanity continue, or +recognize it only with loathing. "Marriage is that!" said he to a +friend,--and held up a carrion-flower. + +Moreover, the success of his life--nay, the very quality of his +being--implied New England and its civilization. To suppose him born +among the Flathead Indians were to suppose _him_, the Thoreau of our +love and pride, unborn still. The civilization he slighted was an air +that he breathed; it was implied, as impulse and audience, in those +books of his, wherein he enshrined his spirit, and whereby he kept its +health. + +A fixed social order is indirectly necessary even to him who, by rare +gifts of Nature, can stand nobly and unfalteringly aside from it. And it +is directly, instantly necessary to him who, either by less power of +self-support or by a more flowing human sympathy, _must_ live with men, +and _must_ comply with the conditions by which social connection is +preserved. + +The problem, therefore, recurs. Here are the two terms: the soul, the +primal, immortal imagination of man, on the one side; the enormous, +engrossing, dehumanizing mechanism of society, on the other. A noble few +elect the one; an ignoble multitude pray to its opposite. The +reconciling word,--is there a reconciling word? + +Here, now, comes one who answers, Yes. And he answers thus, not by a +bald assertion, but by a picture wherein these opposites lose their +antagonism,--by a picture which is true to both, yet embraces both, and +shapes them into a unity. That is Goethe. This attempt represents the +grand _nisus_ of his life. It is most fully made in "Wilhelm Meister." + +Above the world he places the growing spirit of man, the vessel of all +uses, with his resource in eternal Nature. Then he seizes with a +sovereign hand upon actual society, upon formal civilization, and of it +all makes food and service for man's spirit. This prosaic civilization, +he says, is prosaic only in itself, not when put in relation to its true +end. So he first recognizes it with remorseless verity, depicts it in +all its littleness and limitation; then strikes its connection with +growth: and lo, the littleness becomes great in serving the greater; the +harsh prosaicism begins to move in melodious measure; and out of that +jarring, creaking mechanism of conventional society arise the grand +rolling organ-harmonies of life. + +That he succeeds to perfection I do not say. I could find fault enough +with his book, if there were either time or need. There is no need: its +faults are obvious. In binding himself by such unsparing oaths to +recognize and admit all the outward truth of society, he has, indeed, +grappled with the whole problem, but also made its solution a little +cumbrous and incomplete. Nay, this which he so admits in his picture was +also sufficiently, perhaps a touch more than sufficiently, admitted in +his own being. He would have been a conventionalist and epicurean, +unless he had been a seer. He would have been a mere man of the world, +had he not been Goethe. But whereas a man of the world reads up from man +to dignity, estate, and social advantage, he reverses the process, and +reads up from these to man. Say that he does it with some stammering, +with some want of the last nicety. What then? It were enough, if he set +forth upon the true road, though his own strength fail before the end is +reached. It is enough, if, falling midway, even though it be by excess +of the earthly weight he bears, he still point forward, and his voice +out of the dust whisper, "There lies your way!" This alone makes him a +benefactor of mankind. + +This specific aim of Goethe's work makes it, indeed, a novel. +Conventional society and the actual conditions of life are, with respect +to eternal truth, but the _novelties_ of time. The novelist is to +picture these, and, in picturing, subordinate them to that which is +perpetual and inspiring. Just so far as he opens the ravishing +possibilities of life in commanding reconciliation with the formal +civilization of a particular time, he does his true work. + +The function of the poet is different. His business it is simply to +_refresh_ the spirit of man. To its lip he holds the purest ichors of +existence; with ennobling draughts of awe, pity, sympathy, and joy, he +quickens its blood and strengthens its vital assimilations. The +particular circumstances he uses are merely the cup wherein this wine of +life is contained. This he may obtain as most easily he can; the world +is all before him where to choose. + +The novelist has no such liberty. His business it is to find the ideal +possibilities of man _here_, in the midst of actual society. He shall +teach us to free the heart, while respecting the bonds of circumstance. +And the more strictly he clings to that which is central in man on the +one hand, and the more broadly and faithfully he embraces the existing +prosaic limitations on the other, the more his work answers to the whole +nature of his function. Goethe has done the latter thoroughly, his +accusers themselves being judges; that he has done the other, and how he +has done it, I have sought to show in a preceding paper. He looks on +actual men and actual society with an eye of piercing observation; he +depicts them with remorseless verity; and through and by all builds, +builds at the great architectures of spiritual growth. + +Hence the difference between him and satirists like Thackeray, who +equal him in keenness of observation, are not behind him in verity of +report, while surpassing him often in pictorial effect,--but who bring +to the picture out of themselves only a noble indignation against +baseness. They contemn; he uses. They cry, "Fie!" upon unclean +substances; he ploughs the offence into the soil, and sows wheat over +it. They see the world as it is; he sees it, and through it. They probe +sores; he leads forth into the air and the sunshine. They tinge the +cheek with blushes of honorable shame; he paints it with the glow of +wholesome activity. Their point of view is that of pathology; his, that +of physiology. The great satirists, at best, give a medicine to +sickness; Goethe gives a task to health. They open a door into a +hospital; he opens a door _out_ of one, and cries, "Lo, the green earth +and blue heaven, the fields of labor, the skies of growth!" + +On the other hand, by this relentless fidelity to observation, by his +stern refusal to give men supposititious qualities and characters, by +his resolute acceptance of European civilization, by his unalterable +determination to practicable results, by always limiting himself _to +that which all superior men might be expected not merely to read of with +gusto, but to do_, he is widely differenced from novelists like the +authoress of "Consuelo." He does not propose to furnish a moral luxury, +over which at the close one may smack the lips, and cry, "How sweet!" No +gardener's manual ever looked more simply to results. His aim is, to get +something _done_, to get _all_ done which he suggests. Accordingly, he +does not gratify us with vasty magnanimities, holy beggaries voluntarily +assumed, Bouddhistic "missions"; he shows us no more than high-minded, +incorruptible men, fixed in their regards upon the high ends of life, +established in noble, fruitful fellowship, willing and glad to help +others so far as they can clearly see their way, not making public +distribution of their property, but managing it so that it shall in +themselves and others serve culture, health, and all well-being of body +and mind. Wealth here is a trust; it is held for use; its uses are, to +subserve the high ends of Nature in the spirit of man. Lothario seeks +association with all who can aid him in these applications. So intent is +he, that he _loves_ Theresa because she has a genius at once for +economizing means and for seeing where they may be applied to the +service of the more common natures. He keeps the great-minded, +penetrating, providential Abbé in his pay, that this inevitable eye may +distinguish for him the more capable natures, and find out whether or +how they may be forwarded on their proper paths. Here are no sublime +professions, but a steady, modest, resolute, discriminate doing. + +For suggestion of what one may really _do_, and for impelling one toward +the practicable best, I find this book worth a moonful of "Consuelos." +The latter work has, indeed, beautiful pictures; and simply as a picture +of a fresh, sweet, young life, it is charming. But in its aim at a +higher import I find it simply an arrow shot into the air, going _so_ +high, but at--nothing! If one crave a moral luxury, it is here. If he +desire a lash for egoism, this, perhaps, is also here. If he is already +praying the heavens for a sufficing worth and work in life, and is +asking only the _what_ and _how_, this book, taken in connection with +its sequel, says, "Distribute your property, and begin wandering about +and 'doing good.'" + +I decline. After due consideration, I have fully determined to own a +house, and provide each day a respectable dinner for my table, if the +fates agree; to secure, still in submission to the fates, such a +competency as will give me leisure for the best work I can do; to +further justice and general well-being, so far as is in me to further or +hinder, but always on the basis of the existing civilization; to cherish +sympathy and good-will in myself, and in others by cherishing them in +myself; to help another when I clearly can; and to give, when what I +give will obviously do more service toward the high ends of life, in +the hands of another than in my own. Toward carrying out these purposes +"Consuelo" has not given me a hint, not one; "Wilhelm Meister" has given +me invaluable hints. Therefore I feel no great gratitude to the one, and +am profoundly grateful to the other. + +It is not the mere absence of suffering, it is not a pound of beef on +every peasant's plate, that makes life worth living. Health, happiness, +even education, however diffused, do not alone make life worth living. +Tell me the quality of a man's happiness before I can very rapturously +congratulate him upon it; tell me the quality of his suffering before I +can grieve over it without solace. Noble pain is worth more than ignoble +pleasure; and there is a health in the _dying_ Schiller which beggars in +comparison that of the fat cattle on a thousand hills. All the world +might be well fed, well clothed, well sheltered, and very properly +behaved, and be a pitiful world nevertheless, were this all. + +Let us get out of this business of merely improving _conditions_. There +are two things which make life worth living. First, the absolute worth +and significance of man's spirit in its harmonious completeness; and +hence the absolute value of culture and growth in the deepest sense of +the words. Secondly, the relevancy of actual experience and the actual +world to these ends. Goethe attends to both these, and to both in a +spirit of great sanity. He fixes his eye with imperturbable steadiness +on the central fact, then with serene, intrepid modesty suggests the +relevancy to this of the world as it is around us, and _then trusts the +healthy attraction of the higher to modify and better the lower_. Give +man, he says, something to work _for_, namely, the high uses of his +spirit; give him next something to work _with_, namely, actual +civilization, the powers, limits, and conditions which actually exist in +and around him; and if these instruments be poor, be sure he will begin +to improve upon them, the moment he has found somewhat inspiring and +sufficing to do with them. Actual conditions will improve precisely in +proportion as _all_ conditions are utilized, are placed in relations of +service to a result which contents the soul of men. And to establish in +this relation all the existing conditions of life, natural and +artificial, is the task which Goethe has undertaken. + +I invite the reader to dwell upon this fact, that, the moment life has +an inspiring significance, and the moment also the men, industries, and +conditions around us become instrumental toward resolving that, in this +moment one must begin, so far as he may, bettering these conditions. If +I hire a man to work in my garden, how much is it worth to me, if he +bring not merely his hands and gardening skill, but also an appreciable +soul, with him! So soon as that fact is apparent, fruitful relations are +established between us, and sympathies begin to fly like bees, bearing +pollen and winning honey, from each heart to the other. To let a man be +degraded, or stupid, or thwarted in all his inward life, when I _can_ +make it otherwise? Not unless I am insensate. To allow anywhere a +disserviceable condition, when I could make it serviceable? Not in full +view of the fact that all which thwarts the inward being of another +thwarts me. If there be in the world a man who might write a grand book, +but through ill conditions cannot write it, then in me and you a door +will remain closed, which might have opened--who knows upon what +treasure? With the high ends of life before him, no man can _afford_ to +be selfish. With the fact before him that formal civilization is +instrumental, no man can afford to run away from it. With the fact in +view that each man needs every other, and needs that every other should +do and be the best he can, no one can afford to withhold help, where it +can be rendered. Finally, seeing that means are limited, and that the +means and services which are crammed into others, without being +spiritually assimilated, breed only indigestion, no one must throw his +services about at random, but see where Nature has prepared the way for +him, and there in modesty do what he can. + +To strike the connection, then, between the inward and the outward, +between the spiritual and the conventional, between man and society, +between moral possibility and formal civilization,--to give growth, with +all its immortal issues, a place, and means, and opportunity,--this was +Goethe's aim; and if the execution be less than perfect, as I admit, it +yet suggests the whole; and if the shortcoming be due in part to his +personal imperfections, which doubtless may be affirmed, it yet does not +mar the sincerity of his effort. His hand trembles, his aim is not +nicely sure, but it is an aim at the right object nevertheless. + +There are limits and conditions in man, as well as around him, to which +the like justice is done. Such are Special Character, Natural Degree and +Vocation, Moral Imperfection, and Limitation of Self-Knowledge. Each of +these plays a part of vast importance in life; each is portrayed and +used in Goethe's picture. But, though with reluctance, I must merely +name and pass them by. Enough to say here, that he sees them and sees +through them. Enough that they appear, and as means and material. Nor +does he merely distinguish and harp upon them, after the hard analytic +fashion one would use here; but, as the violinist sweeps all the strings +of his instrument, not to show that one sounds _so_ and another _so_, +but out of all to bring a complete melody, so does this master touch the +chords of life, and, in thus recognizing, bring out of them the +melodious completeness of a human soul. + +One inquiry remains. What of inspirational impulse does Goethe bring to +his work? He depicts growth; what leads him to do so? Is it nothing but +cold curiosity? and does he leave the reader in a like mood? Or is he +commanded by some imperial inward necessity? and does he awaken in the +reader a like noble necessity, not indeed to write, but to _live_? + +The inspiration which he feels and communicates is art infinite, +unspeakable reverence for Personality, for the completed, spiritual +reality of man. Literally unspeakable, it is the silent spirit in which +he writes, sovereign in him and in his work,--the soul of every +sentence, and professed in none. You find it scarcely otherwise than in +his manner of treating his material. But there you _may_ find it: the +silent, majestic homage that he pays to every _real_ grace and spiritual +accomplishment of man or woman. Any smallest trait of this is delineated +with a heed that makes no account of time or pains, with a venerating +fidelity and religious care that _unutterably_ imply its preciousness. +Indeed, it is one point of his art to bestow elaborate, reverential +attention upon some minor grace of manhood or womanhood, that one may +say, "If this be of such price, how priceless is the whole!" He resorts +habitually to this inferential suggestion,--puzzling hasty readers, who +think him frivolously exalting little things, rather than hinting beyond +all power of direct speech at the worth of the greater. In landscape +paintings a bush in the foreground may occupy more space than a whole +range of mountains in the distance: perhaps the bush is there to show +the scale of the drawing, and intimate the greatness, rather than +littleness, of the mountains. + +The undertone of every page, should we mask its force in hortatives, +would be,--"Buy manhood; buy verity and completeness of being; buy +spiritual endowment and accomplishment; buy insight and clearness of +heart and wholeness of spirit; pay ease, estimation, estate,--never +consider what you pay: for though pleasure is not despicable, though +wealth, leisure, and social regard are good, yet there is no tint of +inherent grace, no grain nor atom of man's spiritual substance, but it +outweighs kingdoms, outweighs all that is external to itself." + +But hortatives and assertions represent feebly, and without truth of +tone, the subtile, sovereign persuasion of the book. This is said +sovereignly by _not_ being said expressly. We are at pains to affirm +only that which may be conceived of as doubtful, therefore admit a +certain doubtfulness by the act of asserting. When one begins to +asseverate his honesty, his hearers begin to question it. The last +persuasion lies in assumptions,--not in assumptions made consciously and +with effort, but in those which one makes because he cannot help it, and +even without being too much aware what he does. All that a man of power +assumes utterly, so that he were not himself without assuming it, he +will impress upon others with a persuasion that has in it somewhat of +the infinite. Jesus never said, "There is a God,"--nor even, "God is our +Father,"--nor even, "Man is immortal"; he took all this as implicit +basis of labor and prayer. Implicit assumptions rule the world; they +build and destroy cities, make and unmake empires, open and close +epochs; and whenever Destiny in any powerful soul has ripened a new +truth to this degree,--made it for him an _inevitable_ assumption--then +there is in history an end and a beginning. Goethe's homage to +Personality, to the full spiritual being of man, is of this degree, and +is a soul of eloquence in his book. + +Nor can we set this aside as a piece of blind and gratuitous sentiment. +Blind and gratuitous sentiment is clearly not his forte. Every line of +every page exhibits to us a man who has betaken himself, once for all, +to the use of his eyes. All sentiment, as such, he ruled back, with a +sovereign energy, into his heart,--and then, as it were, compelling his +heart into his eyes, made it an organ for discerning truth. His head was +an observatory, and every power of his soul did duty there. He enjoyed, +he suffered, intensely; but behind joy and pain alike lay the sleepless +questioner, demanding of each its message. And this, the supreme +function, the exceeding praise and preciousness of the man, the one +thing that he was born to do, and religiously did, this has been made +his chief reproach. + +No zealot, then, no sentimentalist, no devotee of the god Wish, have we +here; but an imperturbable beholder, whose dauntless and relentless +eyeballs, telescopic and microscopic by turns, can and will see what the +fact _is_. If the universe be bad, as some dream, he will see how bad; +if good, he will perceive and respect its goodness. A man, for once, +equal to the act of seeing! Having, as the indispensable preliminary, +encountered himself, and victoriously fought on all the fields of his +being the battle against self-deception, he now comes armed with new and +strange powers of vision to encounter life and the world,--ready either +to soar of dive,--above no fact, beneath none, by none appalled, by none +dazzled,--a falcon, whose prey is truth, and whose wing and eye are well +mated. And _he_ it is who sets that ineffable price on the being of a +real man. + +This is manifested in many ways, all of them silent, rather than +obstreperous and obtrusive. It is shown by a certain gracious, ineffable +expectation with which for the first time he approaches any human soul, +as if unknown and incalculable possibilities were opening here; by a +noble ceremonial which he ever observes toward his higher characters, +standing uncovered in their presence; by the space in his eye, not +altogether measurable, which a man of worth is perceived to fill. Each +of his principal characters has an atmosphere about him, like the earth +itself; each has a vast perspective, and rounds off into mystery and +depths of including sky. + +The common novelist holds his characters in the palm of his hand, as he +would his watch; winds them up, regulates, pockets them, is exceedingly +handy with them. He may continue some little, pitiful puzzle about them +for his readers; but _he_ can see over, under, around them, and can make +them stop or go, tick or be silent, altogether at pleasure. To Goethe +his characters are as intelligible and as mysterious as Nature herself. +He sees them, studies them, and with an eye how penetrating, how subtile +and sure! But over, under, and around them he would hold it for no less +than a profanity to pretend that he sees. They come upon the scene to +prove what they are; he and the reader study them together; and when +best known, their possibilities are obviously unexhausted, the unknown +remains in them still. They go forward into their future, with a real +future before them, with an unexplained life to live: not goblets whose +contents have been drained, but fountains that still flow when the +traveller who drank from them has passed on. Jarno, for example, a man +of firm and definite outlines, and drawn here with masterly +distinctness, without a blur or a wavering of the hand in the whole +delineation, is yet the unexplained, unexhausted Jarno, when the book +closes. He goes forward with the rest, known and yet unknown, a man of +very definite limitations, and yet also of possibilities which the +future will ever be defining. + +In this sense, the book, almost alone among novels, consists with the +hope of immortality. In average novels, there is nothing left of the +hero when the book ends. "He is utterly married," as "Eothen" says. +Utterly, sure enough! He ends at the altar, like a burnt-out candle over +which the priest puts an extinguisher to keep it from smoking. One yawns +over the last page, not considering himself any longer in company. Think +of giving perpetuity to such lives! What could they do but get +unmarried, and begin fussing at courtship again? But when Goethe's +characters leave the stage, they seem to be rather entering upon life +than quitting it; possibility opens, expectation runs before them, and +our interest grows where observation ceases. + +Goethe looks at Personality as through a telescope, and sees it shade +away, beyond its cosmic systems, into star-dust and shining nebulć; he +inspects it as with a microscope, and on that side also resolves it only +in part. He brings to it all the most spacious, all the most delicate +interpretations of his wit, yet confessedly leaves more beyond. + +Now it is this large-eyed, liberal regard of man, this grand, childlike, +all-credent appreciation, which distinguishes the earlier and Scriptural +literatures. Abraham fills up all the space between earth and heaven. +Later, we arrive at limitations and secondary laws; we heap these up +till the primal fact is obscured, is hidden by them. Then ensues an +impression of man's littleness, emptiness, insignificance, utter, +mechanical limitation. Then sharp-eyed gentlemen discover that man has a +trick of dressing up his littleness in large terms,--liberty, intuition, +inspiration, immortality,--and that he only is a philosopher, who cannot +be deceived by this shallow stratagem. Your "philosopher" sees what men +are made of. Populaces may fancy that man is central in the world, that +he is the all-containing vessel of its uses: but your philosopher, +admirable gentleman, sees through all that; he is superior to any such +vulgar partiality for that particular species of insect to which he +happens to belong. "A fly thinks himself the greatest of created +beings," says philosopher; "man flatters himself in the same way; but I, +I am not merely man, I am philosopher, and know better." + +The early seers and poets had not attained to this sublime +superciliousness of self-contempt; for this, of course, is a fruit to be +borne only by the "progress of the species." They are still weak enough +to believe in gods and godlike men, in spirit and inspiration, in the +ineffable fulness and meaning of a noble life, in the cosmic +relationship of man, in the _divineness_ of speech and thought. In their +books man is placed in a large light; honor and estimation come to him +out of the heavens; what he does, if it be in any profound way +characteristic, is told without misgiving, without fear to be +superfluous; he is the care, or even the companion, of the immortals. To +go forth, therefore, from our little cells of criticism and controversy, +and to enter upon the pages where man's being appears so spacious and +significant,--where, at length, it is really _imagined_,--is like +leaving stove-heated, paper-walled rooms, and passing out beneath the +blue cope and into the sweet air of heaven. + +Quite this epic boldness and wholeness we cannot attribute to Goethe. He +is still a little straitened, a little pestered by the doubting and +critical optics which our time turns upon man, a little victimized by +his knowledge of limitary conditions and secondary laws. Nevertheless, a +noble man is not to his eye "contained between hat and boots," but is of +untold depth and dimension. He indicates traits of the soul with that +repose in his facts and respect for them which Lyell shows in spelling +out terrestrial history, or Herschel in tracing that of the solar +system. Observe how he relates the plays of a child,--with what grave, +imperial respect, with what undoubting, reverential minuteness! He does +not say, "Bear with me, ladies and gentlemen; I will come to something +of importance soon." This is important,--the formation of suns not more +so. + +In this respect he stands in wide contrast to the prevailing tone of the +time. It seems right and admirable that Tyndale should risk life and +limb in learning the laws of glaciers, that large-brained Agassiz should +pursue for years, if need be, his microscopic researches into the +natural history of turtles; and were life or eyesight lost so, we should +all say, "Lost, but well and worthily." But ask a conclave of sober +_savans_ to listen to reports on the natural-spiritual history of babies +and little children,--ask them to join, one and all, in this piece of +discovery, spending labor and lifetime in watching the sports, the +moods, the imaginations, the fanciful loves and fears, the whole baby +unfolding of these budding revelations of divine uses in Nature,--and +see what they will think of your sanity. You may, indeed, if such be +your humor, observe these matters, nay, even write books upon them, and +still escape the lunatic asylum,--_provided_ you do so in the way of +pleasantry. In this case, the gravest _savant_, if he have children, may +condescend to listen, and even to smile. But ask him to attend to this +_in his quality of man of science_, and no less seriously than he would +investigate the history of mud-worms, and you become ridiculous in his +eyes. + +Goethe is guiltless of this inversion of interest. Truth of outward +Nature he respects; truth of the soul he reverences. He can really +_imagine_ men,--that is, can so depict them that they shall not be mere +bundles of finite quantities, a yard of this and a pound of that, but so +that the illimitable possibilities and immortal ancestries of man shall +look forth from their eyes, shall show in their features, and give to +them a certain grace of the infinite. The powers which created for the +Greeks their gods are active in him, even in his observation of men; and +this gives him that other eye, without which the effigies of men are +seen, but never man himself. And because he has this divine eye for the +inner reality of personal being, and yet also that eagle eye of his for +conditions and limits,--because he can see man as central in Nature, the +sum of all uses, the vessel of all significance, and yet has no +"carpenter theory" of the universe,--and because he can discern the +substance and the _revealing_ form of man, while yet no satirist sees +more clearly man's accidental and concealing form,--because of this, +history comes in him to new blood, regaining its inspirations without +forfeiture of its experience. + +Carlyle has the same eye, but less creative, and tinctured always with +the special humors of his temperament; yet the attitude he can hold +toward a human personality, the spirit in which he can contemplate it, +gives that to his books which will keep them alive, I think, while the +world lasts. + +Among the recent writers of prose fiction in England, I know of but one +who, in a degree worth naming in this connection, has regarded and +delineated persons in the large, old, believing way. That one is the +author of "Counterparts." In many respects her book seems to me weak; +its theories are crude, its tone extravagant. But man and woman are +wonderful to her; and when she names them in full voice of admiration, +one thinks he has never heard the words before. And this merit is so +commanding, that, despite faults and imbecilities, it renders the book +almost unique in excellence. Sarona is impossible: thanks for that noble +impossibility! Impossible, he yet embodies more reality, more true +suggestion of human possibility and resource, than a whole swarming +limbo of the ordinary heroes of fiction,--very credible, and the more's +the pity! He is finely _imagined_, and poorly _conceived_,--true, that +is, to the inspiring substance of man, but not true to his limitary +form: for imagination gives the revealing form, conception the form +which limits and conceals. + +In spite, therefore, of marked infirmities and extravagances, the book +remains a superior, perhaps a great work. The writer can look at a human +existence with childlike, all-believing, Homeric eyes. That creative +vision which of old peopled Olympus still peoples the world for her, +beholding gods where the skeptic, critical eye sees only a medical +doctor and a sick woman. So is she stamped a true child of the Muse, +descended on the one side from Memory, or superficial fact, but on the +other from Zeus, the _soul_ of fact; and being gifted to discern the +divine halo on the brows of humanity, she rightly obtains the laurel +upon her own. + +Goethe, at least, rivals her in this Olympic intelligence, while he +combines it with a practical wisdom far profounder, with a survey and +fulness of knowledge incomparably wider and more various, with a tone +tempered to the last sobriety, for the whole of actual life, which no +man of the world ever surpassed, and no seer ever equalled. And thus I +must abide in my opinion, that he has given us the one prose epic of the +world, up to this date. In other words, he has best reconciled World +with the final vessel of its uses, Man,--and best reconciled actual +civilization and the fixed conditions of man with the uses of that in +which all the meaning of his existence is summed, his seeing and unseen +spirit. + + + + +DOCTOR JOHNS. + + +XXXIV. + +Reuben has in many respects vastly improved under his city education. It +would be wrong to say that the good Doctor did not take a very human +pride in his increased alertness of mind, in his vivacity, in his +self-possession,--nay, even in that very air of world-acquaintance which +now covered entirely the old homely manner of the country lad. He +thought within himself, what a glad smile of triumph would have been +kindled upon the face of the lost Rachel, could she but have seen this +tall youth with his kindly attentions and his graceful speech. May-be +she did see it all,--but with far other eyes, now. Was the child +ripening into fellowship with the sainted mother? + +The Doctor underneath all his pride carried a great deal of anxious +doubt; and as he walked beside his boy upon the thronged street, elated +in some strange way by the touch of that strong arm of the youth, whose +blood was his own,--so dearly his own,--he pondered gravely with +himself, if the mocking delusions of the Evil One were not the occasion +of his pride? Was not Satan setting himself artfully to the work of +quieting all sense of responsibility in regard to the lad's future, by +thus kindling in his old heart anew the vanities of the flesh and the +pride of life? + +"I say, father, I want to put you through now. It'll do you a great deal +of good to see some of our wonders here in the city." + +"The very voice,--the very voice of Rachel!" says the Doctor to himself, +quickening his laggard step to keep pace with Reuben. + +"There are such lots of things to show you, father! Look in this store, +now. You can step in, if you like. It's the largest carpet-store in the +United States, three stories packed full. There's the head man of the +firm,--the stout man in a white choker; with half a million, they say: +he's a deacon in Mowry's church." + +"I hope, then, Reuben, that he makes a worthy use of his wealth." + +"Oh, he gives thunderingly to the missionary societies," said Reuben, +with a glibness that grated on the father's ear. + +"You see that building yonder? That's Gothic. They've got the finest +bowling-alleys in the world there." + +"I hope, my son, you never go to such places?" + +"Bowl? Oh, yes, I bowl sometimes: the physicians recommend it; good +exercise for the chest. Besides, it's kept by a fine man, and he's got +one of the prettiest little trotting horses you ever saw in your life." + +"Why, my son, you don't mean to tell me that you know the keeper of this +bowling-alley?" + +"Oh, yes, father,--we fellows all know him; and he gave me a splendid +cigar the last time I was there." + +"You don't mean to say that you smoke, Reuben?" said the old gentleman, +gravely. + +"Not much, father: but then everybody smokes now and then. Mowry--Dr. +Mowry smokes, you know; and they say he has prime cigars." + +"Is it possible? Well, well!" + +"You see that fine building over there?" said Reuben, as they passed on. + +"Yes, my son." + +"That's the theatre,--the Old Park." + +The Doctor ran his eye over it, and its effigy of Shakspeare upon the +niche in the wall, as Gabriel might have looked upon the armor of +Beelzebub. + +"I hope, Reuben, you never enter those doors?" + +"Well, father, since Kean and Mathews are gone, there's really nothing +worth the seeing." + +"Kean! Mathews!" said the Doctor, stopping in his walk and confronting +Reuben with a stern brow,--"is it possible, my son, that I hear you +talking in this familiar way of play-actors? You don't tell me that you +have been a participant in such orgies of Satan?" + +"Why, father," says Reuben, a little startled by the Doctor's +earnestness, "the truth is, Aunt Mabel goes occasionally, like 'most all +the ladies; but we go, you know, to see the moral pieces, generally." + +"Moral pieces! moral pieces!" says the Doctor, with a withering scowl. +"Reuben! those who go thither take hold on the door-posts of hell!" + +"That's the Tract Society building yonder," said Reuben, wishing to +divert the Doctor, if possible, from the special object of his +reflections. + +"Rachel's voice!--always Rachel's voice!"--said the Doctor to himself. + +"Would you like to go in, father?" + +"No, my son, we have no time; and yet"--meditating, and thrusting his +hand in his pocket--"there is a tract or two I would like to buy for +you, Reuben." + +"Go in, then," says Reuben. "Let me tell them who you are, father, and +you can get them at wholesale prices. It's the merest song." + +"No, my son, no," said the Doctor, disheartened by the blithe air of +Reuben. "I fear it would be wasted effort. Yet I trust that you do not +wholly neglect the opportunities for religious instruction on the +Sabbath?" + +"Oh, no," says Reuben, gayly. "I see Dr. Mowry off and on, pretty often. +He's a clever old gentleman,--Dr. Mowry." + +Clever old gentleman! + +The Doctor walked on oppressed with grief,--silent, but with lips moving +in prayer,--beseeching God to take away the stony heart from this poor +child of his, and to give him a heart of flesh. + +Reuben had improved, as we said, by his New York schooling. He was quick +of apprehension, well informed; and his familiarity with the +counting-room of Mr. Brindlock had given him a business promptitude +that was specially agreeable to the Doctor, whose habits in that regard +were of woful slackness. But religiously, the good man looked upon his +son as a castaway. It was only too apparent that Reuben had not derived +the desired improvement from attendance at the Fulton-Street Church. +That attendance had been punctual, indeed, for nearly all the first year +of his city life, in virtue of the inexorable habit of his education; +but Dr. Mowry had not won upon him by any personal magnetism. The city +Doctor was a ponderously good man, preaching for the most part ponderous +sermons, and possessed of a most imposing friendliness of manner. When +Reuben had presented to him the credentials from his father, (which he +could hardly have done, save for the urgency of the Brindlocks,) the +ponderous Doctor had patted him upon the shoulder, and said,-- + +"My young friend, your father is a most worthy man,--most worthy. I +should be delighted to see you following in his steps. I shall be most +glad to be of service to you. Our meetings for Bible instruction are on +Wednesdays, at seven: the young men upon the left, the young ladies on +the right." + +The Doctor appeared to Reuben a man solemnly preoccupied with the +immensity of his charge; and it seemed to him (though it was doubtless a +wicked thought of the boy) that the ponderous minister would have +counted it a matter of far smaller merit to instruct, and guide, and +save a wanderer from the country, than to perform the same offices for a +good fat sinner of the city. + +As we have said, the memory of old teachings for a year or more made any +divergence from the severe path of boyhood seem to Reuben a sin; and +these divergencies so multiplied by easy accessions as to have made him, +after a time, look upon himself very confidently, and almost cheerily, +as a reprobate. And if a reprobate, why not taste the Devil's cup to the +full? + +That first visit to the theatre was like a bold push into the very +domain of Satan. Even the ticket-seller at the door seemed to him on +that eventful night an understrapper of Beelzebub, who looked out at him +with the goggle eyes of a demon. That such a man could have a family, or +family affections, or friendships, or any sense of duty or honor, was to +him a thing incomprehensible; and when he passed the wicket for the +first time into the vestibule of the old Park Theatre, the very usher in +the corridor had to his eye a look like the Giant Dagon, and he +conceived of him as mumbling, in his leisure moments, the flesh from +human bones. And when at last the curtain rose, and the damp air came +out upon him from behind the scenes as he sat in the pit, and the play +began with some wonderful creature in tight bodice and painted cheeks, +sailing across the stage, it seemed to him that the flames of Divine +wrath might presently be bursting out over the house, or a great +judgment of God break down the roof and destroy them all. + +But it did not; and he took courage. It is so easy to find courage in +those battles where we take no bodily harm! If conscience, sharpened by +the severe discipline he had known, pricked him awkwardly at the first, +he bore the stings with a good deal of sturdiness. A sinner, no +doubt,--that he knew long ago: a little slip, or indeed no slip at all, +had ranked him with the unregenerate. Once a sinner, (thus he pleasantly +reasoned,) and a fellow may as well be ten times a sinner: a bad job +anyhow. If in his moments of reflection--these being not yet wholly +crowded out from his life--there comes a shadowy hope of better things, +of some moral poise that should be in keeping with the tenderer +recollections of his boyhood,--all this can never come, (he bethinks +himself, in view of his old teaching,) except on the heel of some +terrible conviction of sin; and the conviction will hardly come without +some deeper and more damning weight of it than he feels as yet. A heavy +cumulation of the weight may some day serve him a good turn. Thus the +Devil twists his vague yearning for a condition of spiritual repose into +a pleasantly smacking lash with which to scourge his grosser appetites; +so that, upon the whole, Reuben drives a fine, showy team along the +high-road of indulgence. + +Yet the minister's son had no love for gross vices; there were human +instincts in him (if it maybe said) that rebelled against his more +deliberate sinnings. Nay, he affected with his boon companions an +enjoyment of wanton excesses that he only half felt. A certain +adventurous, dare-devil reach in him craved exercise. The character of +Reuben at this stage would surely have offered a good subject for the +study and the handling of Dr. Mowry, if that worthy gentleman could have +won his way to the lad's confidence; but the ponderous methods of the +city parson showed no fineness of touch. Even the father, as we have +seen, could not reach down to any religious convictions of the son; and +Reuben keeps him at bay with a banter, and an exaggerated attention to +the personal comforts of the old gentleman, that utterly baffle him. +Reuben holds too much in dread the old catechismal dogmas and the +ultimate "anathema maran-atha." + +So it was with a profound sigh that the father bade his son adieu after +this city visit. + +"Good bye, father! Love to them all in Ashfield." + +So like Rachel's voice! So like Rachel's! And the heart of the old man +yearned toward him and ached bitterly for him. _"O my son Absalom! my +son! my son Absalom!"_ + + +XXXV. + +Maverick hurried his departure from the city; and Adčle, writing to Rose +to announce the programme of her journey, says only this much of +Reuben:--"We have of course seen R----, who was very attentive and kind. +He has grown tall,--taller, I should think, than Phil; and he is quite +well-looking and gentlemanly. I think he has a very good opinion of +himself." + +The summer's travel offered a season of rare enjoyment to Adčle. The +lively sentiment of girlhood was not yet wholly gone, and the +thoughtfulness of womanhood was just beginning to tone, without +controlling, her sensibilities. The delicate attentions of Maverick were +more like those of a lover than of a father. Through his ever watchful +eyes, Adčle looked upon the beauties of Nature with a new halo on them. +How the water sparkled to her vision! How the days came and went like +golden dreams! + +Ah, happy youth-time! The Hudson, Lake George, Saratoga, the Mountains, +the Beach,--to us old stagers, who have breasted the tide of so many +years, and flung off long ago all the iridescent sparkles of our +sentiment, these are only names of summer thronging-places. Upon the +river we watch the growth of the crops, or ask our neighbors about the +cost of our friend Faro's new country-seat; we lounge upon the piazzas +of the hotels, reading price-lists, or (if not too old) an editorial; we +complain of the windy currents upon the lake, and find our chiefest +pleasure in a trout boiled plain, with a dressing of Champagne sauce; we +linger at Fabian's on a sunny porch, talking politics with a rheumatic +old gentleman in his overcoat, while the youngsters go ambling through +the fir woods and up the mountains with shouts and laughter. Yet it was +not always thus. There were times in the lives of us old travellers--let +us say from sixteen to twenty--when the great river was a glorious +legend trailing its storied length through the Highlands; when in every +opening valley there lay purple shadows whereon we painted castles; when +the corridors and shaded walks of the "United States" were like a fairy +land, with flitting skirts and waving plumes, and some delicately gloved +hand beating its reveille upon the heart; and when every floating film +of mist along the sea, whether at Newport or Nahant, tenderly entreated +the fancy. + +But we forget ourselves, and we forget Adčle. In her wild exuberance of +joy Maverick shares with a spirit that he had believed to be dead in him +utterly. And if he finds it necessary to check from time to time the +noisy effervescence of her pleasure, as he certainly does at the first, +he does it in the most tender and considerate way; and Adčle learns, +what many of her warm-hearted sisters never do learn, that a well-bred +control over our enthusiasms in no way diminishes the exquisiteness of +their savor. + +Maverick should be something over fifty now, and his keenness of +observation in respect to feminine charms is not perhaps so great as it +once was; but even he cannot fail to see, with a pride that he makes no +great effort to conceal, the admiring looks that follow the lithe, +graceful figure of Adčle, wherever their journey may lead them. Nor, +indeed, were there any more comely toilettes for a young girl to be met +with anywhere than those which had been provided for the young traveller +under the advice of Mrs. Brindlock. + +It may be true--what his friend Papiol had predicted--that Maverick will +be too proud of his child to keep her in a secluded corner of New +England. For his pride there is certainly abundant reason; and what +father does not love to see the child of whom he is proud admired? + +Yet weeks had run by and Maverick had never once broached the question +of a return. The truth was, that the new experience was so charming and +so engrossing for him, the sweet, intelligent face ever at his side was +so full of eager wonder, and he so delightfully intent upon providing +new sources of pleasure and calling out again and again the gushes of +her girlish enthusiasm, that he shrunk instinctively from a decision in +which must be involved so largely her future happiness. + +At last it was Adčle herself who suggested the inquiry,-- + +"Is it true, dear papa, what the Doctor tells me, that you may possibly +take, me back to France with you?" + +"What say you, Adčle? Would you like to go?" + +"Dearly!" + +"But," said Maverick, "your friends here,--can you so easily cast them +away?" + +"No, no, no!" said Adčle,--"not cast them away! Couldn't I come again +some day? Besides, there is your home, papa; I should love any home of +yours, and love your friends." + +"For instance, Adčle, there is my book-keeper, a lean Savoyard, who +wears a red wig and spectacles,--and Lucille, a great, gaunt woman, with +a golden crucifix about her neck, who keeps my little parlor in +order,--and Papiol, a fat Frenchman, with a bristly moustache and +iron-gray hair, who, I dare say, would want to kiss the pet of his dear +friend,--and Jeannette, who washes the dishes for us, and wears great +wooden sabots"---- + +"Nonsense, papa! I am sure you have other friends; and then there's the +good godmother." + +"Ah, yes,--she indeed," said Maverick; "what a precious hug she would +give you, Adčle!" + +"And then--and then--should I see mamma?" + +The pleasant humor died out of the face of Maverick on the instant; and +then, in a slow, measured tone,-- + +"Impossible, Adčle,--impossible! Come here, darling!" and as he fondled +her in a wild, passionate way, "I will love you for both, Adčle; she was +not worthy of you, child." + +Adčle, too, is overcome with a sudden seriousness. + +"Is she living, papa?" And she gives him an appealing look that must be +answered. + +And Maverick seems somehow appalled by that innocent, confiding +expression of hers. + +"May-be, may-be, my darling; she was living not long since; yet it can +never matter to you or me more. You will trust me in this, Adčle?" And +he kisses her tenderly. + +And she, returning the caress, but bursting into tears as she does so, +says,-- + +"I will, I do, papa." + +"There, there, darling!"--as he folds her to him; "no more tears,--no +more tears, _chérie_!" + +But even while he says it, he is nervously searching his pockets, since +there is a little dew that must be wiped from his own eyes. Maverick's +emotion, however, was but a little momentary contagious sympathy with +the daughter,--he having no understanding of that unsatisfied yearning +in her heart of which this sudden tumult of feeling was the passionate +outbreak. + +Meantime Adčle is not without her little mementos of the life at +Ashfield, which come in the shape of thick double letters from that good +girl Rose,--her dear, dear friend, who has been advised by the little +traveller to what towns she should direct these tender missives; and +Adčle is no sooner arrived at these postal stations than she sends for +the budget which she knows must be waiting for her. And of course she +has her own little pen in a certain travelling-escritoire the good papa +has given her; and she plies her white fingers with it often and often +of an evening, after the day's sight-seeing is over, to tell Rose, in +return, what a charming journey she is having, and how kind papa is, and +what a world of strange things she is seeing; and there are descriptions +of sunsets and sunrises, and of lakes and of mountains, on those +close-written sheets of hers, which Rose, in her enthusiasm, declares to +be equal to many descriptions in print. We dare say they were better +than a great many such. + +Poor Rose feels that she has only very humdrum stories to tell in return +for these; but she ekes out her letters pretty well, after all, and what +they lack in novelty is made up in affection. + +"There is really nothing new to tell," she writes, "except it be that +our old friend, Miss Almira Tourtelot, astonished us all with a new +bonnet last Sunday, and with new saffron ribbons; and she has come out, +too, in the new tight sleeves, in which she looks drolly enough. Phil is +very uneasy, now that his schooling is done, and talks of going to the +West Indies about some business in which papa is concerned. I hope he +will go, if he doesn't stay too long. He is such a dear, good fellow! +Madame Arles asks after you, when I see her, which is not very often +now; for since the Doctor has come back from New York, he has had a new +talk with mamma, and has quite won her over to _his view of the matter_. +So good bye to French for the present! Heigho! But I don't know that I'm +sorry, now that you are not here, dear Ady. + +"Another queer thing I had almost forgotten to tell you. The poor Boody +girl,--you must remember her? Well, she has come back on a sudden; and +they say her father would not receive her in his house,--there are +_terrible stories_ about it!--and now she is living with an old woman +far out upon the river-road,--only a little garret-chamber for herself +and _the child she brought back with her_. Of course _nobody_ goes near +her, or looks at her, if she comes on the street. But--the queerest +thing!--when Madame Arles heard of it and of her story, what does she do +but _walk far out to visit her_, and talked with her in her broken +English for an hour, they say. Papa says she (Madame A.) must be a very +bad woman or a very good woman. Miss Johns says _she always thought she +was a bad woman_. The Bowriggs are, of course, very indignant, and I +doubt if Madame A. comes to Ashfield again with them." + +And again, at a later date, Rose writes,-- + +"The Bowriggs are all off for the winter, and the house closed. Reuben +has been here on a flying visit to the parsonage; and how proud Miss +Eliza was of _her nephew_! He came over to see Phil, I suppose; but Phil +had gone two weeks before. Mamma thinks he is _fine-looking_. I fancy he +will never live in the country again. When shall I see you again, _dear, +dear_ Ady? I have _so much_ to talk to you about!" + +A month thereafter Maverick and his daughter find their way back to +Ashfield. Of course Miss Johns has made magnificent preparations to +receive them. She surpassed herself in her toilette on the day of their +arrival, and fairly astonished Maverick with the warmth of her welcome +to his child. Yet he could not help observing that Adčle met it more +coolly than was her wont, and that her tenderest words were reserved for +the good Doctor. And how proud she was to walk with her father upon the +village street, glancing timidly up at the windows from which she knew +those stiff old Miss Hapgoods must be peeping out! How proud to sit +beside him in the parson's pew, feeling that the eyes of half the +congregation were fastened on the tall gentleman beside her! Ah, happy +daughter! may your beautiful filial pride never have a fall! + +Important business letters command Maverick's early presence abroad; +and, after conference with the Doctor, he decides to leave Adčle once +more under the roof of the parsonage. + +"Under God, I will do for her what I can," said the Doctor. + +"I know it, I know it, my good friend," says Maverick. "Teach her +self-reliance; she may need it some day. And mind what I have said of +this French woman. Adčle seems to have a _tendresse_ that way. Those +French women are very insidious, Johns." + +"You know their ways better than I," said the Doctor, dryly. + +"Good! a smack of the old college humor there, Johns. Well, well, at +least you don't doubt the sacredness of my love for Adčle?" + +"I trust, Maverick, I may never doubt the sacredness of your love in any +direction. I only hope you may direct it where I fear you do not." + +"God bless you, Johns! I wish I were as good a man as you." + +A little afterwards Maverick was humming a snatch from an opera under +the trees of the orchard; and Adčle went bounding toward him, to take +the last walk with him for so long,--so long! + + +XXXVI. + +Autumn and winter passed by, and the summer of 1838 opened upon the old +quiet life of Ashfield. The stiff Miss Johns, busy with her household +duties, or with her stately visitings. The Doctor's hat and cane in +their usual place upon the little table within the door, and of a Sunday +his voice is lifted up under the old meeting-house roof in earnest +expostulation. The birds pipe their old songs, and the orchard has shown +once more its wondrous glory of bloom. But all these things have lost +their novelty for Adčle. Would it be strange, if the tranquil life of +the little town had lost something of its early charm? That swift French +blood of hers has been stirred by contact with the outside world. She +has, perhaps, not been wholly insensible to those admiring glances which +so quickened the pride of the father. Do not such things leave a hunger +in the heart of a girl of seventeen which the sleepy streets of a +country town can but poorly gratify? + +The young girl is, moreover, greatly disturbed at the thought of the new +separation from her father for some indefinite period. Her affections +have knitted themselves around him, during that delightful journey of +the summer, in a way that has made her feel with new weight the parting. +It is all the worse that she does not clearly perceive the necessity for +it. Is she not of an age now to contribute to the cheer of whatever home +he may have beyond the sea? Why, pray, has he given her such uninviting +pictures of his companions there? Or what should she care for his +companions, if only she could enjoy his tender watchfulness? Or is it +that her religious education is not yet thoroughly complete, and that +she still holds out against a full and public avowal of all the +doctrines which the Doctor urges upon her acceptance? And the thought of +this makes his kindly severities appear more irksome than ever. + +Another cause of grief to Adčle is the extreme disfavor in which she +finds that Madame Arles is now regarded by the townspeople. Her +sympathies had run out towards the unfortunate woman in some +inexplicable way, and held there even now, so strongly that contemptuous +mention of her stung like a reproach to herself. At least she was a +countrywoman, and alone among strangers; and in this Adčle found +abundant reason for a generous sympathy. As for her religion, was it not +the religion of her mother and of her good godmother? And with this +thought flaming in her, is it wonderful, if Adčle toys more fondly than +ever, in the solitude of her chamber, with the little rosary she has +guarded so long? Not, indeed, that she has much faith in its efficacy; +but it is a silent protest against the harsh speeches of Miss Eliza, who +had been specially jealous of the influence of the French teacher. + +"I never liked her countenance, Adčle," said the spinster, in her solemn +manner; "and I am rejoiced that you will not be under her influence the +present summer." + +"And I'm sorry," said Adčle, petulantly. + +"It is gratifying to me," continued Miss Eliza, without notice of +Adčle's interruption, "that Mr. Maverick has confirmed my own +impressions, and urged the Doctor against permitting so unwise +association." + +"When? how?" said Adčle, sharply. "Papa has never seen her." + +"But he has seen other French women, Adčle, and he fears their +influence." + +Adčle looked keenly at the spinster for a moment, as if to fathom the +depth of this reply, then burst into tears. + +"Oh, why, why didn't he take me with him?" But this she says under +breath, and to herself, as she rushes into the Doctor's study to +question him. + +"Is it true, New Papa, that papa thought badly of Madame Arles?" + +"Not personally, my child, since he had never seen her. But, Adaly, your +father, though I fear he is far away from the true path, wishes you to +find it, my child. He has faith in the religion we teach so imperfectly; +he wishes you to be exposed to no influences that will forbid your full +acceptance of it." + +"But Madame Arles never talked of religion to me"; and Adčle taps +impatiently upon the floor. + +"That may be true, Adaly,--it may be true; but we cannot be thrown into +habits of intimacy with those reared in iniquity without fear of +contracting stain. I could wish, my child, that you would so far subdue +your rebellious heart, and put on the complete armor of righteousness, +as to be able to resist all attacks." + +"And it was for this papa left me here?" And Adčle says it with a smile +of mockery that alarms the good Doctor. + +"I trust, Adaly, that he had that hope." + +The good man does not know what swift antagonism to his pleadings he has +suddenly kindled in her. The little foot taps more and more impatiently +as he goes on to set forth (as he had so often done) the heinousness of +her offences and the weight of her just condemnation. Yet the antagonism +did not incline her to open doubt; but after she had said her evening +prayer that night, (taught her by the parson,) she drew out her little +rosary and kissed reverently the crucifix. It is so much easier at this +juncture for her tried and distracted spirit to bolster its faith upon +such material symbol than to find repose in any merely intellectual +conviction of truth! + +Adčle's intimacy with Rose and with her family retained all its old +tenderness, but that good fellow Phil was gone. A blithe and merry +companion he had been! Adčle missed his kindly attentions more than she +would have believed. The Bowriggs have come to Ashfield, but their +clamorous friendship is more than ever distasteful to Adčle. Over and +over she makes a feint of illness to escape the noisy hilarity. Nor, +indeed, is it wholly a feint. Whether it were that her state of moral +perturbation and unrest reacted upon the physical system, or that there +were other disturbing causes, certain it was that the roses were fading +from her cheeks, and that her step was losing day by day something of +its old buoyancy. It is even thought best to summon the village doctor +to the family council. He is a gossiping, kindly old gentleman, who +spends an easy life, free from much mental strain, in trying to make his +daily experiences tally with the little fund of medical science which he +accumulated thirty years before. + +The serene old gentleman feels the pulse, with his head reflectively on +one side,--tells his little jokelet about Sir Astley Cooper, or some +other worthy of the profession,--shakes his fat sides with a cheery +laugh,--"And now, my dear," he says, "let us look at the tongue. Ah, I +see, I see,--the stomach lacks tone." + +"And there's dreadful lassitude, sometimes, Doctor," speaks up Miss +Eliza. + +"Ah, I see,--a little exhaustion after a long walk,--isn't it so, Miss +Maverick? I see, I see; we must brace up the system, Miss Johns,--brace +up the system." + +And the kindly old gentleman prescribes his little tonics, of which +Adčle takes some, and throws more out of the window. + +Adčle does not mend, and the rumor is presently current upon the street +that "Miss Adeel is in a decline." The spinster shows a solicitude in +the matter which almost touches the heart of the French girl. For Adčle +had long before decided that there could be no permanent sympathy +between them, and had indulged latterly in no little bitterness of +speech toward her. But the acute spinster had forgiven all. Never once +had she lost sight of her plan for the ultimate disposal of Adčle and of +her father's fortune. Of course the life of Adčle was very dear to her, +and the absence of Phil she looked upon as Providential. + +Weeks pass by, but still the tonics of the kindly old physician prove of +little efficacy. One day the Bowriggs come blustering in, as is their +wont. + +"Such assurance! Did you ever hear the like? Madame Arles writes us that +she is coming to see Ashfield again, and of course coming to us. The air +of the town agrees with her, and she hopes to find lodgings." + +The eyes of Adčle sparkle with satisfaction,--not so much, perhaps, by +reason of her old sympathy with the poor woman, which is now almost +forgotten, as because it will give some change at least to the dreary +monotony of the town life. + +"Lodgings, indeed!" says the younger Miss Bowrigg. "I wonder where she +will find them!" + +It is a matter of great doubt, to be sure,--since the sharp speech of +the spinster has so spread the story of her demerits, that not a +parishioner of the Doctor but would have feared to give the poor woman a +home. + +Adčle still has strength enough for an occasional stroll with Rose, and, +in the course of one of them, comes upon Madame Arles, whom she meets +with a good deal of her old effusion. And Madame, touched by her +apparent weakness, more than reciprocates it. + +"But you suffer, you are unhappy, my child,--pining at last for the sun +of Provence. Isn't it so, _mon ange_? No, no, you were never meant to +grow up among these cold people. You must see the vineyards, and the +olives, and the sea, Adčle; you must! you must!" + +All this, uttered in a torrent, which, with its _tutoiements_, Rose can +poorly comprehend. + +Yet it goes straight to the heart of Adčle, and her tongue is loosened +to a little petulant, fiery _roulade_ against the severities of the life +around her, which it would have greatly pained poor Rose to listen to in +any speech of her own. + +But such interviews, once or twice repeated, come to the knowledge of +the watchful spinster, who clearly perceives that Adčle is chafing more +and more under the wonted family regimen. With an affectation of tender +solicitude, she volunteers herself to attend Adčle upon her short +morning strolls, and she learns presently, with great triumph, that +Madame Arles has established herself at last under the same roof which +gives refuge to the outcast Boody woman. Nothing more was needed to seal +the opinion of the spinster, and to confirm the current village belief +in the heathenish character of the French lady. Dame Tourtelot was +shrewdly of the opinion that the woman represented some Popish plot for +the abduction of Adčle, and for her incarceration in a nunnery,--a +theory which Miss Almira, with her natural tendency to romance, +industriously propagated. + +Meantime the potions of the village doctor have little effect, and +before July is ended a serious illness has declared itself, and Adčle is +confined to her chamber. Madame Arles is among the earliest who come +with eager inquiries, and begs to see the sufferer. But she is +confronted by the indefatigable spinster, who, cloaking her denial under +ceremonious form, declares that her state of nervous prostration will +not admit of it. Madame withdraws, sadly; but the visit and the claim +are repeated from time to time, until the stately civility of Miss Johns +arouses her suspicions. + +"You deny me, Madame. You do wrong. I love Adčle; she loves me. I know +that I could comfort her. You do not understand her nature. She was born +where the sky is soft and warm. You are all cold and harsh,--cold and +harsh in your religion. She has told me as much. I know how she suffers. +I wish I could carry her back to France with me. I pray you, let me see +her, good Madame!" + +"It is quite impossible, I assure you," said the spinster, in her most +aggravating manner. "It would be quite against the wishes of my brother, +the Doctor, as well as of Mr. Maverick." + +"Monsieur Maverick! _Mon Dieu_, Madame! He is no father to her; he +leaves her to die with strangers; he has no heart; I have better right: +I love her. I must see her!" + +And with a passionate step,--those eyes of hers glaring in that strange +double way upon the amazed Miss Eliza,--she strides toward the door, as +if she would overcome all opposition. But before she has gone out, that +cruel pain has seized her, and she sinks upon a chair, quite prostrated, +and with hands clasped wildly over that burden of a heart. + +"Too hard! too hard!" she murmurs, scarce above her breath. + +The spinster is attentive, but is untouched. Her self-poise never +deserts her. And not then, or at any later period, did poor Madame Arles +succeed in overcoming the iron resolve of Miss Johns. + +The good Doctor is greatly troubled by the report of Miss Eliza. Can it +be possible that Adčle has given a confidence to this strange woman that +she has not given to them? Cold and harsh! Can Adčle, indeed, have said +this? Has he not labored with a full heart? Has he not agonized in +prayer to draw in this wandering lamb to the fold? He has seen, indeed, +that the poor child has chafed much latterly, that the old serenity and +gayety are gone. But is it not a chafing under the fetters of sin? Is it +not that she begins to see more clearly the fiery judgments of God which +will certainly overwhelm the wrongdoers, whatever may be the +unsubstantial and evanescent graces of their mortal life? + +Yet, with all the rigidity of his doctrine, which he cannot in +conscience mollify, even for the tender ears of Adčle, it disturbs him +strangely to hear that she has qualified his regimen as harsh or severe. +Has he not taught, in season and out of season, the fulness of God's +promises? Has he not labored and prayed? Is it not the ungodly heart in +her that finds his teaching a burden? Is not his conscience safe? Yet, +for all this, it touches him to the quick to think that her childlike, +trustful confidence is at last alienated from him,--that her affection +for him is so distempered by dread and weariness. For, unconsciously, he +has grown to love her as he loves no one save his boy Reuben; +unconsciously his heart has mellowed under her influence. Through her +winning, playful talk, he has taken up that old trail of worldly +affections which he had thought buried forever in Rachel's grave. That +tender touch of her little fingers upon his cheek has seemed to say, +"Life has its joys, old man!" The patter of her feet along the house has +kindled the memories of other gentle steps that tread now silently in +the courts of air. Those songs of hers,--how he has loved them! Never +confessing even to Miss Eliza, still less to himself, how much his heart +is bound up in this little winsome stranger, who has shone upon his +solitary parsonage like a sunbeam. + +And the good man, with such thoughts thronging on him, falls upon his +knees, beseeching God to "be over the sick child, to comfort her, to +heal her, to pour down His divine grace upon her, to open her blind eyes +to the richness of His truth, to keep her from all the machinations and +devices of Satan, to arm her with true holiness, to make her a golden +light in the household, to give her a heart of love toward all, and most +of all toward Him who so loved her that He gave His only begotten Son." + +And the Doctor, rising from his attitude of prayer, and going toward the +little window of his study to arrange it for the night, sees a slight +figure in black pacing up and down upon the opposite side of the way, +and looking up from time to time to the light that is burning in the +window of Adčle. He knows on the instant who it must be, and fears more +than ever the possible influence which this strange woman, who is so +persistent in her attention, may have upon the heart of the girl. The +Doctor had heretofore been disposed to turn a deaf ear to the current +reproaches of Madame Arles for her association with the poor outcast +daughter of the village; but her appearance at this unseemly hour of the +night, coupled with his traditional belief in the iniquities of the +Romish Church, excited terrible suspicions in his mind. Like most holy +men, ignorant of the crafts and devices of the world, he no sooner +blundered into a suspicion of some deep Devil's cunning than every +footfall and every floating zephyr seemed to confirm it. He bethought +himself of Maverick's earnest caution; and before he went to bed that +night, he prayed that no designing Jezebel might corrupt the poor child +committed to his care. + +The next night the Doctor looked again from his window, after blowing +out his lamp, and there once more was the figure in black, pacing up and +down. What could it mean? Was it possible that some Satanic influence +could pass over from this emissary of the Evil One, (as he firmly +believed her to be,) for the corruption of the sick child who lay in the +delirium of a fever above? + +The extreme illness of Adčle was subject of common talk in the village, +and the sympathy was very great. On the following night Adčle was far +worse, and the Doctor, at about his usual bedtime, went out to summon +the physician. At a glance he saw in the shadow of the opposite houses +the same figure pacing up and down. He hurried his steps, fearing she +might seek occasion to dart in upon the sick-chamber before his return. +But he had scarcely gone twenty paces from his door, when he heard a +swift step behind, and in another instant there was a grip, as of a +tigress, upon his arm. + +"Adčle,--how is she? Tell me!" + +"Ill,--very ill," said the Doctor, shaking himself from her grasp, and +continued in his solemn manner, "it is an hour to be at home, woman!" + +But she, paying no heed to his admonition, says,-- + +"I must see her,--I _must_!"--and dashes back toward the parsonage. + +The Doctor, terrified, follows after. But he can keep no manner of pace +with that swift, dark figure that glides before him. He comes to the +porch panting. The door is closed. Has the infuriated woman gone in? No, +for presently her grasp is again upon his arm: for a moment she had +sunk, exhausted by fatigue, or overcome by emotion, upon the porch. Her +tone is more subdued. + +"I entreat you, good Doctor, let me see Adčle!--for Christ's sake, if +you be His minister, let me see her!" + +"Impossible, woman, impossible!" says the Doctor, more than ever +satisfied of her Satanic character by what he counts her blasphemous +speech. "Adaly is delirious,--fearfully excited; it would destroy her. +The only hope is in perfect quietude." + +The woman releases her grasp. + +"Please, Doctor, let me come to-morrow. I must see her! I will see her!" + +"You shall not," said the Doctor, with solemnity,--"never, with my +permission. Go to your home, woman, and pray God to have mercy on you." + +"Monster!" exclaimed she, passionately, as she shook the Doctor's arm, +still under her grasp; and murmuring other words in language the good +man did not comprehend, she slipped silently down the yard,--away into +the darkness. + + + + +DOWN THE RIVER. + + +She was of pure race, black as her first ancestor,--if, indeed, she ever +had an ancestor, and were not an indigenous outcrop of African soil,--so +black that the sun could gild her. Her countenance was as unlovely as it +is possible for one to be that owns the cheeriest of smiles and the most +dazzling of teeth. It would have been difficult to say how old she was, +though she had the effect of being undersized, and, with sharp +shoulders, elbows, and knees, seemed scarcely possessed of a rounded +muscle in all her lithe and agile frame. + +Nevertheless, she was a dancer by profession,--if she could have +dignified her most frequent occupation by the title of profession. With +a thin blue scarf turbaned round her head in floating ends, and with +scanty and clinging array otherwise, tossing a tambourine, and singing +wild, meaningless songs, she used to whirl and spring on the grass-plot +of an evening, the young masters and mistresses smiling and applauding +from the verandah, while the wind-blown flame of a flaring pitch-pine +knot, held by little Pluto, gave her strange careering shadows for +partner. + +She had not yet been allotted to any particular task by day, now running +errands of the house, now tending the sick, now, in punishment of +misdemeanors, relieving an exhausted hand in the field,--for, though all +along the upland lay the piny woods of the turpentine-orchards, she +belonged to an estate whose rich lowlands were devoted to +cotton-bearing. But whatever she did by day, she danced by night, with +her wild gyration and gesture, as naturally as a moth flies; and when +not in demand with the seigniory, was wont to perform in even keener +force and fire at the quarters, to an admiring circle of her own kind, +with ambitious imitators on the outskirts. + +It was not, however, an indiscriminate assemblage even there that +encouraged her rude art. There are circles within circles, and the more +decorous of the slaves gave small favor to the young posturer, although +the patronage she received from the house enabled her to meet their +disapprobation defiantly; while to the younger portion, in the vague +sense that there was something wrong about it, her dance became +surrounded by all the attraction and allurement of seeing life. It was +not that the frowning ones did not go through many of the same motions +themselves; but theirs were occasioned by the frenzy of the religious +excitement, where pious rapture and ecstasy were to be expressed by +nothing but the bodily exertion of the Shout: the objectless dance of +the dancer was a thing beyond their comprehension, dimly at first, and +then positively, associated with sin. But she laughed them down with a +gibe; she felt triumphant in the possession of her secret, known to none +of them: her dance was not objectless, but the perpetual expression of +all emotions, whether of beauty or joy or gratitude or praise. Some one +at the house had given her a pair of little hoops with bells attached, +which she was wont to wear about her ankles, and it afforded her +malicious enjoyment to scatter her opponents by the tintinnabulation of +her step. For all that levity, she was not destitute of her peculiar +mode of adoration. For the religion of the Shout she had no absorbents +whatever; she furtively watched it, and openly ridiculed it; but she had +a religion of her own, notwithstanding,--a sort of primitive and grand +religion, Fetich though it was. She reasoned, that the kindly brown +earth produces us, bears us along on its flight, nourishes us, gives us +the delights of life, takes us back into its bosom at last. She +worshipped the great dark earth, imparted to it her confidence, asked of +it her boons. As she grew older, and her logic or her fancy +strengthened, she might have felt the sun supplying the earth, and the +beings of the earth, with all their force, and have become a +fire-worshipper, until further light broke on her, and she sought and +found the Power that feeds the very sun himself. But at present the dust +of which she was made was what she could best comprehend. So, fortified +by her inward faith, and feeling herself fast friends with the ancient +earth, she continued to ring her silver bells and spin her bare +twinkling feet with contented disregard of those, few of whom in their +unseemly worship had the faintest idea of what it was that ailed them. + +Although known by various titles on the plantation, objurgatory among +the hands, facetious among the heads, such as Dancing Devil, Spinning +Jenny, Tarantella, Herodias's Daughter,--which last, simplifying itself +into Salome, became in its diminutives the most prevalent,--the creature +had a name of her own, the softest of syllables. Black and uncouth as +she was, a word, one of those the whitest and most beautiful, named her; +and since they tell us that every appellation has its significance for +the wearer, we must suppose that somewhere in her soul that white and +blossoming thing was to be found which answered to the name of Flor. + +She possessed a kind of freehold in the cabin of an old negress yclept +Zoë; but she seldom claimed it, for Zoë was outspoken; she preferred, +instead, to lie down by night on a mat in Miss Emma's room, in a corner +of the staircase, on the hall-floor, oftenest fallen wherever sleep +happened to overtake her;--having so many places in which to lay her +head was very like having none at all. She was at the bidding of every +one, but seldom received a heavy blow; as for a round of angry words, +she liked nothing better. She fell heir to much flimsy finery, as a +matter of course, and to many a tidbit, cake or sweetmeat; she made +herself gaudy as a butterfly with the one, and never went into a corner +with the other. Of late, however, the finery and the delicates had +become more uncommon things: Miss Emma wore a homespun gingham, her +muslins, and Miss Agatha's, draped the windows,--for curtains and +carpets had all gone to camp; bacon had ceased to be given out to the +hands, who lived now on corn-meal and yams; the people at the house were +scarcely better off,--for, though, as no army had passed that way, the +chickens still peopled the place, they were reserved for special +occasions, and it was only at rare intervals that one indulged at table +in the luxury of a fowl. This was no serious regret to Flor on her own +account: the less viands, the less dishes, she could oftener pause in +the act of wiping a plate and perform an original hornpipe by herself, +tossing the thin translucent china, and rapping it with her knuckles +till it rang again. She had, however, a pang once when she saw Miss +Emma lunching with relish on cold sweet potato. She spent all the rest +of the day floating on the tide in an old abandoned scow secured by a +long rope to the bank, and afterwards wading up and down the bed of a +brook that ran into the river, until, having left a portion of her +provision, to be sure, at Aunt Zoë's cabin, she busied herself over a +fire out-of-doors, and served up at last before Miss Emma as savory a +little terrapin stew as ever simmered on coals, capering over her +success, and standing on her head in the midst of all her scattered +embers, afterwards, with pure delight. The next day she came in at noon +from the woods, a mile down the river-bank, with her own dark lips cased +and coated in golden sweets, and, after a wordy skirmish with the cook, +presented to Miss Emma a great cake of brown and fragrant honey from a +nest she had discovered and neglected in better seasons, and said +nothing about her half-dozen swollen and smarting stings. Mas'r Rob +having shouldered his gun and taken himself off, and Mas'r Andersen +having followed his example, but not his footsteps, long ago, there was +nobody to fill the deficiencies of the larder with game; and thus Flor, +with her traps and nets and devices, making her value felt every day, +became, for Miss Emma's sake, a petted person, was put on more generous +terms with those above her, and allowed a freedom of action that no +other servant on the place dreamed of desiring. Such consideration was +very acceptable to the girl, who was well content to go fasting herself +a whole day, provided Miss Emma condescended to her offerings, and, in +turn, vouchsafed her her friendship. She had no such daring aspirations +towards the beautiful Miss Agatha, young Mas'r Andersen's wife, and +admired her at an awful distance, never venturing to offer her a bit of +broiled lark, or set before her a dish of crabs,--beaming back with a +grin from ear to ear, if Miss Agatha so much as smiled on her, breaking +into the wildest of dances and shuffling out the shrillest of tunes +after every such incident. Moreover, Miss Agatha was hedged about with a +dignity of grief, and the indistinct pity given her made her safe from +other intrusion; for Mas'r Andersen, in bringing home a Northern wife, +had brought home Northern principles, and, in his sudden escape forced +to leave her in the only home she had, was away fighting Northern +battles. This was a dreadful thing, and Mas'r Andersen was a traitor to +somebody,--so much Flor knew,--it might be the Government, it might be +the South, it might be Miss Agatha; her ideas were nebulous. Whatever it +was, Mas'r Rob and his gun were on the other side, and woe be to Mas'r +Andersen when they met! Mas'r Rob and his friends were beating back the +men that meant to take away Flor and all her kind to freeze and starve; +'twas very good of him, Flor thought, and there ceased consideration. +Meanwhile, wherever Mas'r Andersen might be, and whether he were so much +as alive or not, Miss Agatha was not the one that knew; and Flor adapted +many a rigadoon to her conjectured feelings, now swaying and bending +with sorrow and longing, head fallen, arms outstretched, now hands +clasped on bosom, exultant in welcome and possession. + +The importance to which Flor gradually rose by no means led her to the +exhibition of any greater decorum; on the contrary, it seemed to impart +to her the secret of perpetual motion; and, aware of her impunity, she +danced with fresher vigor in the very teeth of her censurers and their +reproaches. + +"Go 'long wid yer capers, ye Limb!" said Zoë to her, late one afternoon, +as she entered with the half of a rabbit she had caught, and, having +deposited it, went through the intricacies of her most elaborate figure +in breathless listening to an unheard tune. "Ef I had dem sticks o' +legs, dey'd do berrer work nor twirlin' me like I was a factotum." + +At this, Flor suddenly spun about on the tip of one toe for the space of +three minutes, with a buzzing noise like that of a top in hot motion, +pausing at last to inquire, "Well, Maum Zoë, an' w'at's dat?" and be +off again in another whirl. + +"I'd red Mas'r Henry ob sich a wurfless nigger." + +"Wurfless?" inquired Flor, still spinning. + +"Wuss 'n wurfless." + +"How 'd y' do it?" + +"I'd jus' foller dat ar Sarp," said Zoë, turning over the rabbit, and +considering whether a pepper-corn and a little onion out of her own +patch wouldn't improve the broth she meant to make of it. + +"Into de swamps?" said Flor, in a high key. "Sarp's a fool. I heerd +Mas'r Henry say so. Dey'll gib him a blue-pill, for sartain." + +"Humph!" said Aunt Zoë, as if she could say a great deal more. + +"Tell ye w'at, Maum Zoë," replied Flor, shaking her sidelong head at +every syllable, and accentuating her remarks with her forefinger and +both her little sparkling eyes, "I'll 'form on ye for 'ticin' Mas'r +Henry's niggers run away." + +"None o' yer sass here!" said Maum Zoë, with a flashing glance. + +"You take my rabbit, you mus' _hab_ my sass," answered Flor, delicacy +not being ingrain with her. "W'at 'ud I cut for to de swamps, d' ye +s'pose?" she said, slapping the soles of her feet in her emphasis, and +pausing for breath. "Dar neber was a lash laid on dat back"---- + +"No fault o' dat back, dough," interposed Aunt Zoë. + +"Dar neber was a lash on dat back. Dar a'n't a person on de place hab +sich treatem as dis yere Limb o' yourn. Miss Emma done gib me her red +ribbins on'y Sa'd'y for my har. An' Mas'r Henry, he jus' pass an' say to +me, 'Dono w'at Miss Emma 'd do widout ye, Lomy. Scairt, ye hussy!' So!" + +"'Zackly. We's 'mos' w'ite, we be! How much dey do make ob us up to de +house! De leopard hab change him spots, an' we hab change our skin! W'at +'s de use o' bein' free, w'en we's w'ite folks a'ready? Tell me dat!" +said Aunt Zoë, turning on her witheringly, rising from a deep curtsy and +smoothing down her apron. "Tell ye w'at, ye Debil's spinster!" added +she, with a sudden change of tone, as Flor began to mimic one of Miss +Agatha's opera-tunes and with her hands on her hips slowly balance up +and down the room, and came at last, bending far on one side, to leer up +in the face of her elder with such a smile as Cubas was wont to give her +Spanish lover in the dance. "So mighty free wid yer dancin', 'pears like +you'll come to dance at a rope's end! W'at's de use o' talkin' to you? +'Mortal sperit, it 's my b'lief dat ar mockin'-bird in de branches hab +as good a lookout!" + +"Heap better," said Flor acquiescently, and beginning to hold a +whistling colloquy with the hidden voice. + +"You won't bring him down wid yer tunes. He knows w'en he's well off; +he's free, he is,--swingin' onto de bough, an' 'gwine whar he like." + +"Leet de chil' alone, Zoë," said a superannuated old woman sitting in +the corner by the fire always smouldering on Zoë's hearth, and leaning +her white head on her cane. "You be berrer showin' her her duty in her +place dan be makin' her discontented." + +"She doan' make me disconnected, Maum Susie," said Flor. "'F he's free, +w'at's he stayin' here for? Dar 's law for dat. Doan' want none o' yer +free niggers hangin' roun' dis yere. Chirrup!" + +"Dar's a right smart chance ob 'em, dough, jus' now," said Aunt Zoë, +chuckling at first, and then breaking into the most boisterous of +laughs, "Seems like we's all ob us, ebery one, free as Sarp hisse'f. +Mas'r Linkum say so. Yah, ha, ha!" + +"Linkum!" said Flor. "Who dat ar? Some o' yer poor w'ite trash? Mas'r +Henry doan' say so!" + +"W'a' 's de matter wid dat ar boy Sarp, Zoë?" recommenced Flor, after a +pause. "Mus' hab wanted suffin,--powerful,--to lib in de swamp, hab de +dogs after him, an' a bullet troo de head mos' likely." + +"Jus' dat. Wanted him freedom," said Zoë suddenly, with crackling +stress, her eyes getting angry in their fervor, as she went on. "Wanted +him body for him own. Tired o' usin' 'noder man's eyes, 'noder man's +han's. Wanted him han's him own, wanted him heart him own! Had n' no +breff to breathe 'cep' w'at Mas'r Henry gib out. Di'n' t'ink no t'oughts +but Mas'r Henry's. Wanted him wife some day to hisse'f, wanted him +chillen for him own property. Wanted to call no man mas'r but de Lord in +heaben!" + +"Wy, Maum Zoë, how you talk! Sarp had n' no wife." + +"Neber would, w'ile he wor a slave." + +"Hist now, Zoë!" said the old woman. + +"I jus' done b'lieve you's a bobolitionist!" said Flor, with wide eyes +and a battery of nods. + +"No 'casion, no 'casion," said Zoë, with the deep inner chuckle again. +"We's done 'bolished,--dat's w'at we is! We's a free people now. No more +work for de 'bominationists!" And on the point of uncontrollable +hilarity, she checked herself with the dignity becoming her new +position. "You's your own nigger now, Salome," said she. + +"We? No, t'ank you. I 'longs to Miss Emma." + +"You haan' no understandin' for liberty, chil'. Seems ef 'twas like +religion"---- + +"Ef I wor to tell Mas'r Henry, oh, wouldn' you cotch it?" + +"Go 'long!" cried Zoë, looking out for a missile. "Doan' ye bring no +more o' yer rabbits here, ef ye 'r' gwine to fetch an' carry"---- + +"Lors, Aunt Zoë, 'pears like you's out o' sorts. Haan' I got nof'n +berrer to do dan be tellin' tales ob old women dat's a-waitin' for de +Lord's salvation?" said Flor, with a twang of great gravity,--and +proceeded thereat to make her exit in a series of lively somersaults +through the room and over the threshold. + +Aunt Zoë, who, ever since she had lost the use of her feet, had been a +little wild on the subject of freedom, knew very well within that Flor +would make no mischief for her; but, except for the excited state into +which the news brought by some mysterious plantation runner had thrown +her, she would scarcely have been so incautious. As it was, she had +dropped a thought into Flor's head to ferment there and do its work. It +was almost the first time in her life that the girl had heard freedom +discussed as anything but a doubtful privilege. First awakening to +consciousness in this state, it was with effort and only lately she had +comprehended that there could be any other: a different condition from +one in which Miss Emma was mistress and she was maid seemed at first +preposterous, then fabulous, and still unnatural: nevertheless, there +was a flavor of wicked pleasure in the thought. Flor looked with a sort +of contempt on the little tumbling darkies who had never entertained it. +Ever since she was born, however, she had frequently fancied she would +like the liberty of rambling that the little wild creatures of the wood +possess, but had felt criminal in the desire, and recently she had found +herself enjoying the immunity of the mocking-bird on the bough, and was +nearly as free in her going and coming as the same bird on the wing. + +During the weeks that followed this conversation Flor's dances flagged. +They existed, to be sure, but with an angularity that made them seem +solutions of problems, rather than expressions of emotion; they were +merely mechanical, for she had lost all interest in them. They became at +last so listless as to exhibit, to more serious eyes, signs of grace in +the girl. Flor wondered, if Zoë had spoken the truth, that nothing +appeared changed on the plantation: all their own masters, why so +obsequious to the driver still? This was one of the last of the great +places; behind it, the small farms, with few hands, ran up the +mountains; why was there no stampede of these unguarded slaves? She +hardly understood. She listened outside the circle of the fire on the +ground at night, where two or three old women mumbled together; she +inferred, that, though no one of them would desert Mas'r Henry, they +enjoyed the knowledge that they were at liberty to do so, if they +wished. Flor laughed a bit at this, thinking where the poor things could +possibly go, and how they could get there, if they would; but in her +heart of hearts--though all the world but this one spot was a barren +wilderness, and she never could desire to leave her dear Miss Emma, nor +could find happiness away from her--it seemed a very pleasant thing to +think that her devotion might be a voluntary affair, and she stayed +because she chose. Still she was skeptical. The abstract question +puzzled her a little, too. How came Mas'r Henry to be free? Because he +was white; that explained itself. But Miss Emma--she was white, too, and +yet somehow she seemed to belong to Mas'r Henry. She wondered if Mas'r +Henry could sell Miss Emma; and then the thought occurred, and with the +thought the fear, that, possibly, some day, he might sell her, Flor +herself, away from Miss Emma and all these pleasant scenes. After such a +thought had once come, it did not go readily. Flor let it +linger,--turned it over in her mind; gradually familiarized with its +hurt, it seemed as if she had half said farewell to the place. Better +far to be a runaway than to be sold. But if it came to that, whither +should she run? what was this world beyond? who was there in this sad +wide world to take care of a little black image? And if she waited for +it to come to that, could she get away at all? It was no wonder that in +the midst of such new and grave speculations the girl's dance grew +languid and her sharp tongue still. The earth was just as beautiful as +ever, the skies were as deep, the flowers as intense in tint, the +evening air laden with jasmine-scents as delicious as of old; but in +these few weeks Flor had reached another standpoint. It seemed as if a +film had fallen from her eyes, and she saw a blight on every blossom. + +It was about this time, spring being at its flush, that some passing +guest mentioned the march of a regiment, the next day, from Cotesworth +Court-House to the first railroad-station, on its way to the seat of +war. The idea of the thing filled Miss Emma with enthusiasm. How they +would look, so many together, in the beautiful gray uniform too, to any +one standing on Longfer Hill! She longed to see the faces of men when +they took their lives in their hand for a principle. She had practised +the Bonny Blue Flag till there was nothing left of it; but if a band +played it in the open air, with the rising and falling of the wind, and +under waving banners and glittering guidons all the men with their pale +faces and shining eyes went marching by---- + +The end of it was, that, as her father would never have listened to +anything of the kind, Flor privately informed her of a short cut down +the river-bank and round the edge of the swamp to the foot of Longfer +Hill,--a walk they could easily take in a couple of hours. And as nobody +was in the habit of missing Flor much, and her young mistress would be +supposed, after her custom, to be spending half the day in naps, they +accordingly took it. Nevertheless, it was an exceedingly secret affair, +for Mas'r Henry had always strictly forbidden his daughter to leave his +own grounds without fit escort. + +This expedition seemed to Flor such a proud and gratifying confidence, +that in her pleasure she forgot to think; she only danced round about +her mistress, with a return of her old exuberance, till the more quiet +path of the latter resembled a straight line surrounded by an arabesque +of fantastic flourishes. But, in fact, the young patrician, unaccustomed +to exertion, was well wearied before they reached the river-bank. They +had yet the long border of the swamp to skirt, and there towered Longfer +Hill. Why could they not go across, she wondered. They would sink, Flor +answered her; and then the moccasins! But there were all those green +hummocks,--skipping from one to another would be mere play,--and there +were no moccasins for miles. And before Flor could gainsay her, she had +sprung on, keeping steadily ahead, in a determination to have her own +way; and with no other course left her, Flor followed, though, at every +spring, alighting on the hummocks that Miss Emma had trodden, the water +splashed up about her bare ankles, and her heart shook within her at the +thought of fierce runaways haunting these inaccessible hollows, and the +myths of the deeper district. Before long, she had overtaken her young +mistress, and they paused a moment for parley. Miss Emma was convinced, +that, if it were no worse than this, it would be delightful. Flor +assured her that she did not know the way any longer, for their winding +path between the tall cypresses veiled in their swinging tangles of +funereal moss had confused her, and she could only guess at the +direction of Longfer Hill. This, then, was an adventure. Miss Emma took +the responsibility all upon herself, and plunged forward. Miss Emma must +know best, of course, concerning everything. Nothing loth, and gayly, +Flor plunged after. + +The hummocks on which they went were light, spongy masses of greenery. +Their footprints filled at once behind them with clear dark water; there +were glistening little pools everywhere about them; the ground was so +covered with mats of brilliant blossoms that what appeared solid for the +foot was oftenest the most treacherous place of all; and at last they +stayed to take breath, planting themselves on the trunk of a fallen tree +so twisted and twined with variegated vines and flowers, and deadly, +damp fungi, that it was like some gorgeous daďs-seat. Behind them and +beside them was the darkness of the cypress groves. Before them extended +a smooth floor, a wide level region, carpeted in the most vivid verdure +and sheeted with the sunshine, an immense bed of softest moss, underlaid +with black bog, quaking at every step, and shaking a thousand diamonds +into the light. Scarcely anything stirred through all the stretch; at +some runnel along its nearer margin, where upon one side the more broken +swamp recommenced, a rosy flamingo stood and fished, and, still remoter, +the melancholy note of a bird tolled its refrain, answered by an echoing +voice from some yet inner depth of forest far away. Save for this, the +silence was as intense as the vastness and color of the scene, till it +opened and resolved itself into one broad insect hum. The children took +a couple of steps forward, under their feet the elastic sod sank and +rose with a spurt of silver jets; they sprang back to their seats, and +the shading tree above shook down a shining shower in rillets of silver +rain. They remained for a minute, then, resting there. Singularly +enough, Longfer Hill, which had previously been upon their left, now +rose far away upon the right. When at length they comprehended its +apparition, they looked at one another in complete bewilderment. Miss +Emma began to cry; but Flor took it as only a fresh complication of this +world, that was becoming for her feet a maze of intricacy. + +"We must go back," said Miss Emma, at last. "I'm sure, if I'd +known----Of course we never can cross here. The very spoonbill wades. +Oh, why didn't----Well, there's no blame to you, Floss. I've nobody to +thank but myself; that's a comfort." + +"Lors, Miss Emma, it's my fault altogeder. I should n' neber told ye. +An' as for gwine back, it's jus' as bad as torrer." + +"We can't stay here all night! Oh, I'm right tired out! If I could lie +down"---- + +"'Twouldn' do no way, Miss Emma," answered Flor, in a fright for her +friend, as a quick, poisonous-looking lizard slid along the log, like a +streak of light, in the wake of a spider which was one blotch of scarlet +venom. + +Far ahead, the strong sun, piercing the marsh, drew up a vapor, that, +blue as any distant haze in one part and lint-white in another, made +itself aslant into low, delicious, broken prisms, melting all between. +This, more than anything else, told the extent of the bog before them, +and, hot as it was now, betrayed the deathly chill lurking under such a +coverlet at night. In every other direction lay the cypress jungle; and +whether they saw the front or back of Longfer Hill, and on which side +the river ran, steering for which they could steer for home, they had +not the skill to say. Thus, what way to go they still were undecided, +when, at something moving near them, they started to their feet in a +faint terror, delaying only a single instant to gaze at it,--a serpent, +that, coiled round the stem above, had previously seemed nothing but a +splendid parasite, and that just lifted its hooded head crusted with +gems, and flickered a long cleft tongue of flame over them, while +loosening in great loops from its basking-place. They vouchsafed it no +second look, but, with one leap over the log, through the black mire, +and from clump to clump of moss, sped away,--if that could be called +speed which was hindered at each moment by waylaying briers and +entangling ropes of blossoming vines, by delays in threatening quagmires +and bewilderments in thickets beset by clouds of insects, by trips and +stumbles and falls and bruises, and many a pause for tears and +complaints and ejaculations of despair. + +Meanwhile the heat of the day was mitigated by thin clouds sliding over +the sun and banking up the horizon, though the hot wind still blew +sweetly and steadily from the open quarter of the sky. + +"Oh, what has become of us?" cried Miss Emma at length, when the shadows +began to thicken, and out of the impenetrable forest and morass about +them they could detect no path. + +"We's los' into de swamp, Miss Emma," answered Flor, in a kind of gloomy +defiance of the worst of it,--"da' 's all." + +"And here we shall die!" cried the other. + +And she flung herself, face down, upon the floor. + +Flor was beside her instantly, taking her head upon her knee. Her own +heart was sinking like lead; but she plucked it up, and for the other's +sake snapped her fingers at Fortune. + +"Lors, Miss, dar's so many berries we caan' starve nowes. I's 'bout to +build a fire soon's it's dark; dis yere's a dry spot, ye see now. An', +bress you, dey'll be out after us afore mornin',--de whole farm-full." + +"With the dogs!" cried Miss Emma. "Oh, Floss, that I should live for +that! to be hunted in the swamp with dogs!" + +Flor was silent a moment or two. The custom personally affected her for +the first time; worse than the barbarity was the indignity. + +"Dey aren't trained to hunt for you, Miss Emma," she said, more gloomily +than she had ever spoken before. "Dey knows de diff'unce 'tween de dark +meat and de light." + +And then she laughed, as if her words meant nothing. + +"They never shall touch _you_, Flor, while I'm alive!" suddenly +exclaimed Miss Emma, throwing her arms about her. + +"Lors, Miss, how you talk!" cried Flor, and then broke into a gust of +tears. "To t'ink ob you a-carin' so much for a little darky, Miss!"--and +she set up a loud howl of joyful sorrow. + +"You're the best friend I've got!" answered Miss Emma, hugging her with +renewed warmth. "I love you worlds better than Agatha! And I'll never +let you leave me! Oh, Flor! what shall we do?" + +Flor looked about her for reply, and then scrambled up a sycamore like a +squirrel. + +It was apparently an island in the swamp on which they were: for the +earth, though damp, was firm beneath them; and there was a thick growth +of various trees about, although most were draped to the ground in the +long, dark tresses of Spanish moss, waving dismally to and fro, with a +dull, heavy motion of grief. On every other side from that by which they +had come it appeared to be inaccessible, surrounded, as well as Flor +could see, by glimmering sheets of water, which probably were too full +of snags and broken stumps, still upright, for the navigation of boats +by any hands but those thoroughly acquainted with their wide region of +stagnant pools. This island was not, however, a small spot, but one that +comprised a variety of surfaces, having not only marsh and upland within +itself, but something that in the distance bore a fearful resemblance to +a young patch of standing corn, a suspicion confirmed into certainty by +a blue thread of smoke ascending a little way and falling again in a +cloud. Once, upon seeing such a sight, Flor might have fallen to the +ground herself,--this could be no less than the abode of those sad +runaways, those mythical Goblins of the Swamp,--but it would have been +because she had forgotten then that she was not one of the strong white +race that reared her. Now, at this moment, she felt a thrill of kinship +with these creatures, hunted for with bloodhounds, as she would be +to-morrow, perhaps. + +"May-be I'll not go back," said Flor. + +She slipped down the tree, and went silently to work, heaping a bed of +the hanging moss, less wet than the ground itself, for her young +mistress. Miss Emma accepted it passively. + +"Oh, it's like sleeping on hearse-curtains!" was all she said. + +It was already evening, but growing darker with the clouds that went on +piling their purple masses and awaiting their signal. Suddenly the +sweet, soft breeze trembled and veered, there was a brief calm, and the +wind had hauled round the other way. A silence of preparation, answered +by a long, low note of thunder, and the war had begun in heaven. + +Miss Emma buried her face in the moss. But Flor, secretly relishing a +good thunder-gust, drew up her knees and sat with equanimity, like a +little black judge of the clouds; for, in the moment's dull, indifferent +mood, she felt prepared for either fate. It was long before the rain +came; then it plunged, a brief downfall, as if a cloud had been ripped +and emptied,--a suffocating terror of rain, teeming with more appalling +intimations than anything else in the world. But the wind was a blind +tornado. The boughs swung over them and swept them; the swamp-water was +lifted, and gluts of it slapped in Flor's face. She saw, not far away, a +great solitary cypress rearing its head, and bearing aloft a broad +eagle's nest, hurriedly seized in the grasp of the gale, twisted, +raised, and snapped like a straw. The child began to shudder strangely +at the breath of this blast that cried with such clamor out of the black +vaults above, this unknown and tremendous power beneath which she was +nothing but a mote; she suffered an unexplained awe, as if this fearful +wind were some supernatural assemblage of souls fleeting through space +and making the earth tremble under their wild rush. All the while the +heavy thunders charged on high in one unbroken roar, across whose base +sharp bolts broke and burst perpetually; and with the outer world +wrapped in quivering curtains of blue flame, now and then a shaft of +fire lanced its straight spear down the dense darkness of the woods +behind in ghastly illumination, and a responsive spire shot up in some +burning bush that blackened almost as instantly. Flor fancied that the +lightning was searching for her, a runaway herself, and the burning bush +answered, like a sentinel, that here she was. She cowered at length and +sought the protection of the blind earth, full of awe and quaking, till +by-and-by the last discharge, muffled and ponderous, rolled away, and, +save for a muttered growl in some far distant den, the world was still +and dark again. + +Flor spoke to her mistress, and found, that, utterly worn out with +fatigue and fright and exhausted electricity, she was asleep. She then +got up and wrung out the rain from portions of her own and Miss Emma's +dress, and heaped fresh armfuls of moss upon the sleeper in an original +attempt at the pack; then she proceeded to explore the neighborhood, to +see if there were any exit in other directions from the terrors of the +swamp. + +Stars began to struggle through and confuse their rays with the +ravelled edges of the clouds. She groped along from tree to tree, +looking constantly behind her at the clear, light opening of sky beneath +which Miss Emma lay. + +Perhaps she had come farther than she knew; for all at once, in the +dread stillness that nothing but the dripping dampness broke, a sound +smote her like a pang. It was an innocent and simple sound enough, a +man's voice, clear and sweet, though measured somewhat, and suppressed +in volume, chanting a slow, sad hymn, that had yet a kind of rejoicing +about it:-- + + "Oh, no longer bond in Egypt, + No longer bond in Egypt, + No longer bond in Egypt. + The Lord hath set him free!" + +It came from a hollow below her. Flor pushed aside the great, glistening +leaves in silence, and looked tremblingly in. There were half-burnt +brands on a broad stone, throwing out an uncertain red glimmer; there +was an awning of plaited reeds reaching from bough to bough; there was +an old man stretched upon the ground, and a stalwart man sitting beside +him and chanting this song, as if it were a burial-service: for the old +man was dead. + +Flor began to tremble again, with that instinctive animal antipathy to +death and dissolution. But in an instant a rekindling gleam of the +embers, hardly quenched, shot over the singer's face. In the same +instant Flor shook before the secret she had learned, Sarp was a +runaway, to be sure; and runaways ate little girls, she knew. But Flor, +having lately encouraged incredulity, could hardly find it in her heart +to believe that the fact of having stolen himself could have so utterly +changed the old nature of Sarp, the kind butler, who always had a +pleasant word for her when others had a cuff. Yet should she hail him? +Ah, no, never! But then--Miss Emma! Her young mistress would die of +starvation and the damp. + +"Sarp!" whispered Flor, huskily. + +The man started and sprang to his feet, alert and ready, waiting for his +unseen enemy,--then half relapsed, thinking it might be nothing but the +twitter of a bird. + +"It's me, Sarp." + +Who that was did not seem so plain to Sarp; he darted his swift glance +in her direction, then at one step parted the bushes and dragged her +through, as if it were game that he had trapped. + +"Oh, Sarp!" cried Flor, falling at his feet. "Doan' yer kill me now! I +di'n' mean to ha' found yer. I's done los' in de swamp, wid"---- + +But Flor thought better of that. + +The man raised her, but still held her out at arm's length, while he +listened for further sound behind her. + +"Oh, jus' le' go, Sarp, an' I'll dance for you till I drap!" she cried. + +"Is it a time for dancing," he replied, "and the earth open for +burying?" + +"Lors, Sarp!" cried Flor, shrinking from the shallow grave she had not +seen, "how's I to know dat?"--and she gave herself safe distance. + +"Help me yere, then," said he. + +But Flor remained immovable, and Sarp was obliged to perform by himself +the last offices for the old slave, who, living out his term of +harassments and hungers, had grown gray and died in the swamps. He went +at last and brought an armful of broken sweet-flowering boughs and +spread them over the place. + +"Free among the dead," he said; then turned to Flor, who, having long +since seen daylight through the darkness of her fears, proceeded glibly +and volubly to pour out her troubles, on his beckoning her away, and to +demand the help she had refused to render. + +"There's the boat," said Sarp, reflectively. "And the rain will float it +'most anywheres to-night. But--come so far and troo so much to go back?" + +Flor flung up her face and held her head back proudly. + +"Yes, Sah! Doan' s'pose I'd be stealin' Mas'r Henry's niggers?" + +For, having meditated upon it an hour ago, she was able to repel the +charge vigorously. + +"Go'n' to stay a slave all your life?" + +"All Miss Emma's life." + +"And--afterwards"---- + +"Den I'll go back to de good brown earth wid her," said Flor, solving +the problem promptly.--"I doan' see de boat." + +"Ah, she'll make as brown dust as you,--Miss Emma,--that's so! But the +spirit, Lome!" + +"Sperit?" said Flor, looking uneasily over her shoulder with her +twinkling eyes. + +"The part of you that doan' die, Lome." + +"I haan' nof'n ter do wid dat; dat 'longs to dem as made it; none o' my +lookout; dono nof'n 'bout it, an' doan' want ter hear nof'n about it!" +said Flor; for, reasoning on the old adage of a bird in the hand being +worth two in the bush, she thought it more important just at present to +save her body than to save her soul, admitting that she had one, and +felt haste to be of more behoof than metaphysics. + +There was a moon up now, and Flor could see her companion's dark face +above her, a mere mass of shade; it did not reassure her any to remember +that her own was just as black. + +"Lome," said Sarp, setting his back against a tree like one determined +to have attention, "never mind about the boat yet. You 've heard Aunt +Zoë say how't the grace of the Lord was free?" + +"Yes, I's heerd her kerwhoopin'. I 's in a hurry, Sarp!" + +"But 's how't the man that refuses to accept it, when it's set before +him, is done reckoned a sinner?" + +"S'pose I has?"--and in her impatience she began to dance outright. + +"It's jus' so with the present hour," he continued, not giving her time +to interpose about escape again. "You have liberty offered you. If you +refuses, how can you answer for it when your spirit 'pears afore the +Judge? You choose him, and you choose righteousness, you chooses the +chance to make yourself white in the Lord's eyes,--your spirit, Lome. +Refuse, and you take sin and chains and darkness; you gets to deserve +the place where they hab their share of fire and brimstone." + +"Take mine wid 'lasses," said Flor, who, though inwardly a trifle cowed, +never meant to show it. "W'a' 's de use o' boderin' 'bout all dat ar, +w'en dar 's Miss Emma a-cotchin' her deff, an' I 's jus' starved? Ef you +'s go'n' to help us, Sarp"---- + +"You don' know what chains means, chil'," said the imperturbable Sarp. +"They're none the lighter because you can't see 'em. It a'n't jus' the +power to sell your body and the work of your hands; it's the power to +sell your soul! Ef Mas'r Henry hab de min',--ef Mas'r Henry have the +mind, I say, to make you go wrong, can you help it while you 's a +slave?" + +"'Taan' no fault o' mine ter be bad, ef I caan' help it. Come now," said +Flor sullenly, seeing little hope of respite,--"should t'ink 'twas de +Ol' Sarpint hisself!" + +"And 'taan' no virtue of yours to be good, ef you caan' help it; you 'd +jus' stay put--jus' between--in de brown earth, as you said. You 'd +never see that beautiful land beyond the grave, wid the river of light +flowing troo der place, an' the people singing songs before the great +white t'rone." + +"Tell me 'bout dat ar, Sarp," said Flor, forgetfully. + +"Dey 's all free there, Lome." + +"How was dis dey got dere? Could n' walk nowes, an' could n' fly"---- + +"Haan' you seen into Miss Emma's prayer-book the angels with wings high +and shining all from head to foot?" + +"Yes," said Flor,--"_Angels_." + +"And one of them you 'll be, Lome, ef you jus' choose,--ef, for +instance, you choose liberty to-day." + +"Lors now, Sarp, I doan' b'lieb a word you say! Get out wid yer +conundrums! Likely story, little black nigger like dis yere am be put +into de groun' an' 'come out all so great an' w'ite an' shinin'-like!" + +"'For God shall deliver my soul from the power of the grave.' +_'Shall.'_ That's a promise,--a promise in the Book. Di'n't yer eber +plant a bean, Lome,--little hard black bean? And did a little hard black +bean come up? No, but two wings of leaves, and a white blossom jus' +ready to fly itself, and so sweet you could smell it acrost de field. So +they plant your body in the earth, Lome"---- + +"You go 'long, Sarp! Ef you plant beans, beans come up," said Flor, +decisively. + +This direct and positive confutation rather nonplussed Sarp, his theory +not being able at once to assimilate his fact, and he himself feeling, +that, if he pushed the comparison farther, he would reach some such +atrocity as that, if the white and shining flower produced in its season +again the black bean from which it sprung, so the white and shining soul +must once more clothe itself in the same sordid, unpurified body from +which it first had sprung. He had a vague glimmer that perhaps his +simile was too material, and that this very body was the clay in which +the springing, germinating soul was planted to bloom out in heaven, but +dared not pursue it unadvised, for fear of the quicksands into which it +might betray him. He merely tied a knot in the thread of his discourse +by answering,-- + +"Jus' so. The bean planted, the bean comes up. You planted, and what +follows?" + +"I come up," said Flor, consentingly, and quite as if he had got the +better of the discussion. + +Then he rose, and Flor led the way back to Miss Emma,--having first, +upon Sarp's serious hesitation, pledged herself for Miss Emma's secrecy +and gratitude with tears and asseverations. + +In spite of the fact that he had never meant nor cared to see it again, +there was something pleasant to Sarp in the face of the sleeper upturned +in a moonbeam. He stooped and lifted her tenderly, and laid her head on +his shoulder. The young girl opened her eyes vacantly, but heard Flor's +voice beside her still,-- + +"Doan' ye be scaret now, honey! Bress you, 's a true frien': he'll get +us shet ob dis yere swamp mighty sudd'n!" + +And soothed by the dreamy motion, entirely fatigued, borne swiftly along +in strong arms, under the low, waving boughs in the dim forest darkness, +she was drowsed again with slumber, from which she woke only on being +placed in the bottom of a skiff to turn over into a deeper dream than +before. Flor nodded triumphantly to her companion, in the beginning, +keeping pace beside him with short runs,--there could be no fear of +babble about that of which one knew nothing,--and took her seat at last +in the boat as he directed, while with a long pole he pushed out into +the deeper water away from the shadow of the shore, and then went +steering between the jags and gnarls, that, half protruding from the +dark expanses, seemed the heads of strange and preternatural monsters. +Now and then a current carried them; now and then their boatman sculled, +now and then in shallower places poled along; sometimes he rested, and +in the intervals took occasion to continue his missionary labor upon +Flor,--his first object being to convince her she had a soul, and his +second that in bondage every chance to save that soul alive was against +her. Then he drew slight pictures of a different way of things, such as +had solaced his own imagination, rude, but happy idyls of freedom: the +small house, one's own; the red light in the window, a guiding star for +weary feet at night coming home to comfort and smiles and cheer; no +dark, haunting fear of a hand to reach between one and those loved +dearest; no more branding like cattle, manhood and womanhood +acknowledged, met with help and welcome and kind hands, cringing no +more, but standing erect, drinking God's free sunshine, and growing +nearer heaven. How much or how little of all his dream poor Sarp +realized, if ever he reached the land of his desire at all, Heaven only +knows. But Flor listened to him as if he recited some delightful +fairy-tale,--charming indeed, but all as improbable as though one were +telling her that black was white. Then, too, there was another dream of +Sarp's,--the dream of a whole race loosening itself from the clinging +clod. Flor got a glimmer of his meaning,--only a glimmer; it made her +heart beat faster, but it was so grand she liked the other best. + +So, creeping through narrow creeks, now they skirted the edges of the +long, low, flat morass,--now wound round the giant trunk of a fallen +tree that nearly bridged the pool whose dark mantle they severed,--now +pushed the boat's head up into a wall of weeds, that bent back and let +it through the deep cut flooded by the rain, where the wild growth shut +off everything but the high hollow of a luminous sky, with +ribbon-grasses and long prickly leaves brushing across their faces from +either side, here and there a sudden dwarf palmetto bristling all its +bayonets against the peaceful night, and all the way singular uncouth +shapes of vegetation, like conjurations of magic, cutting themselves out +with minuteness upon the vast clear background so darkly and weirdly +that the voyagers seemed to be sliding along the shores of some new, +strange under-world,--now they got out, and, wading ankle-deep in plashy +bog, drew the boat and its slumberer heavily after them,--now went +slowly along, afloat again, on the broad lagoons, which the moon, from +the deep far heaven, shot into silver reaches, and, with the trees, a +phantom company of shadows, weeping in their veils along the farther +shore, with all the quaint outlines of darkness, the gauzy wings that +flitted by, the sweet, wild scents across whose lingering current they +drifted, the broad silence disturbed only by the lazy wash of a seldom +ripple, made their progress, through heavy gloom and vivid light, an +enchanted journey. + +At length they lifted overhanging branches, and glided out upon a sheet +of open water, a little lake fed by natural springs; and here, paddling +over to the outlet, a tide took them down a swift brook to the river. +Sarp stemmed this tide, made the opposite bank of the brook, and paused. + +"Have you chosen, Lome?" said he. "Will you go back with me, and so on +to the Happy Land of Freedom? Not that I'll have my own liberty till +I've earned it,--till I've won a country by fighting for it. But I'll +see you safe; and if I'm spared, one day I'll come to you. Will you go?" + +Flor hung back a moment. "I'd like to go, Sarp, right well," said she, +twisting up the corner of her little tatter of an apron. "But dar am +Miss Emma, you see." + +"We can leave her on the bank here. She'll be all right when de day +breaks, and fin' the house herself. There's as good as she without a +roof this night." + +"She's neber been use' to it. She would n' know a step o' de way. Oh, +no, Sarp! I 'longs to Miss Emma; she could n' do widout me. She'd jus' +done cry her eyes out an' die,--'way here in de wood. No, Sarp, I mus' +take her back. She's delicate, Miss Emma is. I'd like to go right well, +Sarp,--'ta'n't much ob a 'sapp'intment,--I's use' to 'em,--I'd like for +to go wid you." + +Lingering, irresolute, she stood up in the swaying skiff, keeping her +balance as if she were dancing; then, the motion, perhaps, throwing her +back into her old identity, she sprang to the shore like a cat. Sarp +laid Miss Emma beside her, and then shot away, back over all the +desolate reaches and lonely shining pools; and Flor, with a little wail +of despair, hid her face on the ground, that her weakened and bewildered +little mistress might not see the flood of tears that wet the grass +beneath it. + +It was between two and three o'clock in the morning, when, chilled, +draggled, and dripping wet, they reached the house. Lights were moving +everywhere about it: no one had slept there that night. There was a +great shout from high and low as the two forlorn little objects crept +into the ray. Miss Emma was met with severe reproaches, afterwards with +tears and embraces; and cordial drinks and hot flannels were made ready +for her in a trice. As for Flor, she was warmed after another +fashion,--being sent off for punishment; and, in spite of the +implorations of Miss Emma and the interference of Miss Agatha, the order +was executed. It was the first time she had ever received such reward of +merit in form; and though it was a slight affair, after all, the hurt +and wrong rankled for weeks, and, instead of the gay, dancing imp of +former days, henceforth a silent, sullen shadow slipped about and +haunted all the dark places of the house. + +Mas'r Henry, being a native of Charleston, was also a gentleman of +culture, and fond of the fine arts to some extent. Indeed, looking at it +in a poetical view, the feudality of slavery, even more than the +inevitable relation of property, was his strong tie to the institution. +He had a contempt for modern progress so deeply at the root of his +opinions that he was only half aware of it; and any impossible scheme to +restore the political condition of what we call the Dark Ages, and +retain the comforts of the present one, would have found in him a hearty +advocate. One of his favorite books was a little green-covered volume, +printed on coarse paper, and smelling of the sea which it had crossed: a +book that seemed to bring one period of those past centuries up like a +pageant,--so vividly, with all the flying dust of their struggle in the +sunbeam before him, did its opulent vitality reproduce, in their +splendors and their sins, the actual presences of those dead men and +women, now more unreal substance than the dust of their shrouds. He +liked to carry this mediaeval Iliad round with him, and, taking it out +at propitious places, go jotting his pencil down the page. He had heard +it called an incomprehensible puzzle of poetry; it gave him pleasure, +then, to unriddle and proclaim it plain as print. He was thus +delectating himself one day, while Flor, still in her phase of +moodiness, stood behind Miss Agatha's chair; and, the passage pleasing +him, he read it aloud to Miss Agatha, whom, in the absence of his son, +her husband, he was wont to consider his opponent in the abstract, +however dear and precious in the concrete. + + "As, shall I say, some Ethiop, past pursuit + Of all enslavers, dips a shackled foot, + Burnt to the blood, into the drowsy, black, + Enormous watercourse which guides him back + To his own tribe again, where he is king; + And laughs, because he guesses, numbering + The yellower poison-wattles on the pouch + Of the first lizard wrested from its couch + Under the slime, (whose skin, the while, he strips + To cure his nostril with, and festered lip, + And eyeballs bloodshot through the desert blast,) + That he has reached its boundary, at last + May breathe; thinks o'er enchantments of the South, + Sovereign to plague his enemies, their mouth, + Eyes, nails, and hair; but, these enchantments tried + In fancy, puts them soberly aside + For truth, projects a cool return with friends, + The likelihood of winning mere amends + Erelong; thinks that, takes comfort silently, + Then from the river's brink his wrongs and he, + Hugging revenge close to their hearts, are soon + Offstriding to the Mountains of the Moon." + +Flor stood listening, with eyes that shone strangely out of the gloom of +her face. + +"Well, child," said her master to Miss Agatha, "how does that little +monodrame strike you? Which do you find preferable, tell me, Ashantee at +home or Ashantee abroad? civilized or barbarized? the institution or the +savage? Eh, Blossom," turning to Flor, "what do you think of the +condition of that ancestor of yours?" + +"Mas'r Henry," said Flor, gravely, "he was free." + +"Eh? Free? What! are you bitten, too?" + +And Mas'r Henry laughed at the thought, and pictured to himself his +dancer dancing off altogether, like the swamp-fire she was. Then his +tone changed. + +"Flor," said he, sternly, "who has been talking to you lately? Do you +know, Agatha? I have seen this for some time. I must learn what one +among the hands it is that in these times dares breed disaffection." + +"No one's talked to me, Sah," said Flor,--"no one onter der place." + +"Some one off of it, then." + +"Mas'r Henry, I's been havin' my own t'oughts. Mas'r knows I could n' +lebe Miss Emma nowes. Could n' tief her property nowes. But ef Mas'r +Henry 'd on'y jus' 'sider an' ask li'l' Missy for to make dis chil' a +presen' ob myse'f"---- + +"So that's what it means!" And Mas'r Henry smiled a moment at the +ludicrous idea presented to him. + +"Flor," said he then, abruptly, "I have never heard the whole of that +night in the swamp. It must be told." + +"Lors, Sah! So long ago, I's done forgot it!" + +"You may have till to-morrow morning to quicken your memory." + +"Haan' nof'n' more to 'member, Mas'r." + +"You heard me. You have your choice to repeat it either now or to-morrow +morning." + +"Could n' make suf'n', whar nof'n' was. Could n' tink o' nof'n' all ter +once. Could n' tell nof'n' at all in a hurry," said Flor, with a +twinkle. "Guess I'll take tell de mornin', any-wes, Mas'r." And she was +off. + +And Mas'r Henry went, back to his book,--the watcher nodding on his +spear,--and all the stormy scenes he expected soon to realize in his own +life, when the sword of conscription had numbered his old head with the +others. + +Flor went out from the presence defiant, as became a rebel. + +Although that special mode of martyrdom was not proper to the +plantation, and Flor felt in herself few particles of the stuff of which +martyrs are made, she was determined, that, as to telling so much as +that Sarp was still in the swamp, let alone betraying the way to his +late habitat,--even were she able,--she never would do it, though burned +at the stake. The determination had a dark look; nevertheless, two +glimmers lighted it: one was the hope, in a mistrust of her own +strength, that Sarp had already gone; the other was a perception that +the best way to keep Sarp's secret was to make off with it. She began to +question what authority Mas'r Henry had to demand this secret from her; +she answered in her own mind, that he had no authority at all;--then she +was doubly determined that he should not have it. She had heard talk of +chivalry at table and among guests; she had half a comprehension of what +it meant; she wondered if this were not a case in point,--if it were, +after all, the color, and not the sex, that weighed. That aroused her +indignation, aroused also a feeling of race: she would not have changed +color that moment with the fairest Circassian of a harem, could the +white slave have appeared in all the dazzle of her beauty.--Mas'r Henry +had called that man, of whom he read aloud to-day, her ancestor. She +knew what that was, for she had heard Miss Emma boast of her +progenitors. But he was free; then it followed that she was not a slave +by nature, only by vicious force of circumstance. Mas'r Henry had no +right to her whatever; instead of her stealing herself, he was the thief +who retained her against her will. What could be the name of the country +where that man had lived? It was somewhere a long way from this place, +down the river, perhaps beyond the sea;--there were others there, then, +still, most likely. Flor had an idea that among them she might be a +superior, possibly received with welcome, invested with honors;--she +lingered over the pleasant vision. But how was one ever to find the +spot? Ah, that book of Mas'r Henry's would tell, if she could but take +it away to those kind people Sarp had told of. So she meditated awhile +on the curious travels with Sordello for a guide-book, till old +affections smote her for having thought of taking the thing, when "Mas'r +Henry set so by it," and she put the vision aside, endeavoring to recall +in its place all that Sarp had told her of the North. She realized then, +personally, what a wide world it was. Why should she stay shut in this +one point upon it all: a hill and the fir wood behind her; marshes on +this side; woods again on the other; low hills far away before her; out +of them all, the dark torrent of the river showing the swift way to +freedom and the great sea? She drew in a full breath, as if close air +oppressed her.--A bird flew over her then, high above her head, +careering in fickle circles, and at length sailing down out of sight far +into other heavens. Flor watched him bitterly; she comprehended Zoë's +scorn of her past content;--if only she had wings to spread! But Sarp +had told her, that, if she went away, she would one day have wings. None +of Sarp's other arguments weighed a doit,--but wings to roam with over +this beautiful world! The liberty of vagabondage! She watched the clouds +chasing one another through the sunny heaven, watched their shadows +chasing along the fields and hills below; her heart burned that +everything in the world should be more free than she herself. She felt +the wind fanning over her on its way, she took the rich odors that it +brought, she looked after the flower-petal that fluttered away with it, +she saw the strong sunshine penetrating among the shadows of a jungly +spot and catching a thousand points of color in the gloom, she +recognized the constant fluent interchange among all the atoms of the +universe;--why was she alone, capable of flight, chained to one +spot?--She gazed around her at the squalor and the want, the brutish +shapes and faces, her own no better, at the narrow huts; thought of the +dull routine of work never to enrich herself, the possibility of +purchase and cruelty;--she sprung to her feet, all her blood boiling; it +seemed out of the question for her to endure it another moment.--Mas'r +Henry had told her once that he could make his fortune with her dancing, +if he chose; she stood as much in need of a fortune as Mas'r Henry,--why +not make it for herself? why not be off and away, her own mistress, +earning and eating her own bread, sending some day for Zoë, finding Sarp +in those far-off happy latitudes?--It occurred to her, like a discovery +of her own, that, doing the work she was bidden, taking the food she was +given, whipped at will, and bought and sold, she was no better than one +among the cattle of the place;--the sudden sense of degradation made +even her dark cheek burn. She laid a hand down on the earth, her great +Teraph, to see if it were possible it could still be warm and such a +wrong done to her its child. Then, all at once, she understood that wood +and river were open to her fugitive feet, and if she stayed longer in +slavery, it was the fault of no one but herself.--She stood up, for some +one called her; she obeyed the call with alacrity, for she found it in +her power to do so or not as she chose. She felt taller as she stepped +along, and held up her head with the dignity of personality. She +acknowledged, perhaps, that she was no equal of Miss Emma's,--that the +creative hand, making its first essay on her, rounded its complete work +in Miss Emma; but she declared herself now no mere offshoot of the +sod,--she was a human being, a being of beating pulses and affections, +and something within her, stifled here, longing to soar and away. + +It was dark before Flor had ceased her novel course of thinking, pursued +through all her little tasks,--beautiful star-lighted dark, full of +broken breezes, soft and warm, and loaded with passionate spices and +flower-breaths; she was alone again, under the shadows of the trees, +entirely surrendered to her whirling fancies. In these few hours she had +lived to the effect of years. She was neither hungry nor tired; she was +conscious of but a single thing,--her whole being seemed effervescing +into one wild longing after liberty. It was not that she could no longer +brook control and be at the beck of each; it was a natural instinct, +awakened at last in all the strength of maturity, that would not let her +breathe another breath in peace unless it were her own,--that made her +feel as though her chains were chafing into the bone,--that taught her +the unutterable vileness and loathliness of bonds,--that convicted her, +in being a slave, of being something foul upon the fair face of +creation. She sat casting about for ways of escape. It was absurd to +think she could again blunder on that secure retreat of the swamp before +being overtaken; no boats ever passed along down the foaming river; if +she were some little mole to hide and burrow in the ground till danger +were over,--but no, she would rather front fear and ruin than lose one +iota of her newly recognized identity. But there was no other path of +safety; she clutched the ground with both hands in her powerlessness; in +all the heaven and earth there seemed to be nothing to help her. + +So at last Flor rose; since she could not get away, she must stay; as +for the next day's punishment, she could laugh at it,--it was not its +weight, but its wickedness, that troubled her; but escape, some time, +she would. Lying in wait for method, ambushed for opportunity, it would +go hard, if all failed. Of what value would life be then? she could but +throw that after. So at some time, that was certain, she would +go,--when, it was idle to say; it might be years before affairs were +more propitious than now,--but then, at last, one day, the place that +had known her should know her no more. Nevertheless, despite all this +will and resolution, the heart of the child had sunk like a plummet at +thought of leaving everything, at fear of future fortune; this +deferring, after all, was half like respite. + +Flor drew near the out-door fire, where Zoë and one or two others busied +themselves. Something excited them extremely, it was plain to see and +hear. Flor, beyond the circle of the light, strained her ears to listen. +It was only a crumb of comfort that she obtained, but one of those +miraculous crumbs to which there are twelve baskets of fragments: the +Linkum gunboats were down at the mouth of the river. Oh! heaven a boat's +length off! A day and night's drifting and rowing; then climbing the +side slaves, treading the deck freemen,--the shackles fallen, the hands +loosened, the soul saved! + +But the boat? There was not such a thing along these banks. Improvise +one. That was not possible. Flor listened, and the wild gasps of hope +died out again into the dulness of despair. Some other time,--not this. +As she stood still, idly and hopelessly hearkening to the mutter of the +old women, with the patches of flickering fire-light falling on their +faces in strange play and revelation, there stole upon her ear a sweeter +and distincter sound, the voice of Miss Agatha, as, leaning out upon the +night, she sang a plaint that consorted with her melancholy mood, +learned in her Northern home in happier hours, without a thought of the +moment of misery that might make it real. + + Sooner or later the storms shall beat + Over my slumber from head to feet; + Sooner or later the winds shall rave + In the long grass above my grave. + + I shall not heed them where I lie, + Nothing their sound shall signify, + Nothing the headstone's fret of rain, + Nothing to me the dark day's pain. + + Sooner or later the sun shall shine + With tender warmth on that mound of mine; + Sooner or later, in summer air, + Clover and violet blossom there. + + I shall not feel in that deep-laid rest + The sheeted light fall over my breast, + Nor ever note in those hidden hours + The wind-blown breath of the tossing flowers. + + Sooner or later the stainless snows + Shall add their hush to my mute repose; + Sooner or later shall slant and shift + And heap my bed with their dazzling drift. + + Chill though that frozen pall shall seem, + Its touch no colder can make the dream + That recks not the sweet and sacred dread + Shrouding the city of the dead. + + Sooner or later the bee shall come + And fill the noon with his golden hum; + Sooner or later on half-paused wing + The blue-bird's warble about me ring,-- + + Ring and chirrup and whistle with glee, + Nothing his music means to me, + None of these beautiful things shall know + How soundly their lover sleeps below. + + Sooner or later, far out in the night, + The stars shall over me wing their flight; + Sooner or later my darkling dews + Catch the white spark in their silent ooze. + + Never a ray shall part the gloom + That wraps me round in the kindly tomb; + Peace shall be perfect for lip and brow + Sooner or later,--oh, why not now! + +Little of this wobegone song touched Flor even enough to let her know +there was some one in the world more wretched than herself. The last +word, the last phrase, rang in her ears like a command,--now, why not +now?--waiting for times and chances, hesitating, delaying, since go she +must,--then why not now? What more did she need than a board and two +sticks? Here they were in plenty. And with that, a bright thought, a +fortunate memory,--the old abandoned scow! And if, after all, she +failed, and went to watery death, did not the singer tell in how little +time all would be quiet and oblivious once again? Oh, why not now? + +Perhaps Flor would never have been entirely subjected to this state of +mind but for an injury that she had suffered. Miss Emma had been +rendered ill by the night's exposure in the swamp. In consequence of her +complicity in this crime, Flor had been excluded from her young +mistress's room during her indisposition, and ever since had not only +been deprived of her companionship, but had not even been allowed to +look upon her from a distance. A single week of that made life a desert. +Too proud to complain, Flor saw in this the future, and so recognized, +it may be, that it would be easy to part from the place, having already +parted with Miss Emma. She drew nearer to the group now, and stood there +long, while they wondered at her, gazing into the fire, her head fallen +upon her breast. There was only one thing more to do: her little +squirrel; nothing but her front of battle had kept it safe this many a +day; were she once gone, it would be at the mercy of the first gridiron. +Nobody saw the tears, in the dark and the distance, fast falling over +the tiny sacrifice; but the cook might have guessed at them, when Flor +brought her last offering, and begged that it might be prepared and +taken in to Miss Emma. + +How many things there were to do that evening! One wanted water, and +another wanted towels, and a third wanted everything there was to want. +Last of all, little Pluto came running with his unkindled torch,--Mas'r +Henry wanted dancing. + +Flor rummaged for her castanets, her tambourine, her ankle-rings,--they +had all been thrown hither and thither,--and at length, as Pluto's torch +flared up, ran tinkling along the turf, into the glow; and her voice +broke, as she danced, into high, clear singing, triumphant singing, that +welled up to the very sky, and made the air echo with sweetness. As she +sang, all her slender form swayed to the tune, posturing, gesturing, +bending now, now almost soaring, while, falling in showers of twinkling +steps, her fleet feet seemed to weave their way on air. What ailed the +girl? all asked;--such a play of emotion of mingled sorrow and ecstasy, +never before had been interpreted by measure; so a disembodied spirit +might have danced, and her dusky hue, the strange glancing lights thrown +upon her here and there by the torch, going and coming and glittering at +pleasure, made her appear like a shadow disporting before them. At +length and slowly, note by note, with wild lingering turns to which the +movement languished, her tone fell from its lofty jubilance to a happy +flute-like humming; she waved her arms in the mimic tenderness of +repeated and passionate farewells; then, still humming, faint and low +and sweet, tripped off again, through the glow, along the turf, into the +shadow, and out of sight; and it seemed to the beholders as if a +fountain of gladness had gushed from the sod, and, playing in the light +a moment, had run away down to join the river and the breaking sea. + +Mas'r Henry called after Flor to throw her a penny; but she failed to +reappear, and he tossed it to Pluto instead, and forgot about her. + + * * * * * + +So, bailed out and stuffed with marsh-grass in its crazy cracks, the old +scow was afloat, the rope was cut, and by midnight it went drifting down +the river. Waist-deep in shoal water, its appropriator had dragged it +round inside the channel's ledge of rocks, with their foam and +commotion, to the somewhat more placid flow below, and now it shot away +over the smooth, slippery surface of the stream, that gave back +reflections of the starbeams like a polished mirror. + +Terrified by the course along the rapid river, the little creature +crouched in the bottom of the scow, now breathless as it sped along the +slope, now catching at the edge as in some chance eddy or flow it +swirled from side to side, or, spinning quite round, went down the other +way. But by-and-by gathering courage, she took her station, kneeling +where with the long poles, previously provided, she could best direct +her galley and avoid the dangers of a castaway. Peering this way and +that through the darkness, carried along without labor, spying countless +dangers where none existed, passing safely by them all, coming into a +strange region of the river, she began to feel the exhilaration of +venturous voyagers close upon unknown shores; the rush of the river and +the rustle of the forest were all the sounds she heard; she was speeding +alone through the darks of space to find another world. But, with time, +a more material sensation called her back,--her feet were wet. What if +the scow should founder! She flew to the old sun-dried gourd, and bailed +away again till her arms were tired. When she dared leave the gourd, she +was more calmly floating along and piercing an avenue of mighty gloom; +the river-banks had reared themselves two walls of stone, and over them +a hanging forest showed the heavens only like a scarf of stars caught +upon its tree-tops and shaking in the wind. The deep loneliness made +Flor tremble; the water that upbuoyed her was blackness itself; the way +before her was impenetrable; far up above her opened that rent of +sky,--so far, that she, a little dark waif among such tremendous +shadows, was all unguessed by any guardian eye. + +But not for heaven itself bodily before her would she have turned about, +she who was all but free. The thought of that rose in her heart like +strong wings beating onward;--feverishly she followed. + +Flor perceived now that the old scow was being borne along with a +strong, steady-motion, unlike its first fitful drift; it brought her +heart to her throat,--for just so, it seemed to her, would a torrent set +that was hastening to plunge over the side of the earth. She remembered, +with a start of cold horror, Zoë's dim tradition of a fall far off in +the river. She had never seen one, but Zoë had stamped its terrors +deeply. Still down in the gloom itself she could see nothing but the +slowly lightening sky overhead, the drowning stars, the rosy flush upon +the dark old tips feathering against a dewy grayness that was like +powdered light. But gradually she heard what conquered all necessity of +seeing,--heard a continuous murmurous sound that filled all the air and +grew to be a sullen roar. It seemed like the dread murmur from the world +beyond the grave, the roar in earthly ears of that awful silence. Flor's +quick senses were not long at fault. She seized her poles, and with all +her might endeavored to push in towards the side and out of the main +channel. Straws would have availed nearly as much; far faster than she +went in shore she drove down stream. It was getting to be morning +twilight all below; a soft, damp wind was blowing in her face; in the +distance she could see, like the changing outline of a phantom, a low +cloud of mist, wavering now on this side, now on that, but forever +rising and falling and hovering before her. She knew what it was. If she +could only bring her boat to that bank,--precipice though it was,--there +must be some broken piece to catch by! She toiled with all her puny +strength, and the great stream laughed at her and roared on. Suddenly, +what her wildest efforts failed to do, the river did itself,--dividing +into twenty currents for its plunge, some one of the eddies caught the +old scow in its teeth and sent it whirling along the inmost current of +all, close upon the shore. The rock, whose cleft the river had +primevally chosen, was here more broken than above; various edges +protruded maddeningly as Flor skimmed by almost within reach. Twice she +plucked at them and missed. One flat shelf, over which the thin water +slipped like a sheet of molten glass, remained and caught her eye; she +was no longer cold or stiff with terror, but frantic to save herself; it +was the only chance, the last; shooting by, she sprang forward, pole in +hand, touched it, fell, caught a ledge with her hands while the fierce +flow of the water lifted her off her feet, scrambled up breathlessly and +was safe, while the scow swept past, two flashing furlongs, poised a few +moments after on the brink of the fall, went majestically over, and came +up to the surface below in pieces. + +Flor wrung her hands in dismay. She had not understood her situation +before. There was no escape now, it seemed,--not even to return. Nothing +was possible save starving to death on this ledge,--and after that, the +vultures. She sat there for a little while in a kind of stupor. She saw +the light falling slowly down, as it had fallen millions of mornings +before, and bringing out all blue and purple shadows on the wet old +rock; she saw the current ever hurrying by to join the tumult of the +cataract; she heard the deep, sweet music of the waters like a noisy +dream in her ears. With the shock of her wreck coming at the instant +when she fancied herself so swiftly and securely speeding on towards +safety and freedom, she felt indifferent to all succeeding fate. What if +she did die? who was she? what was she? nothing but an atom. What odds, +after all? The solution of her soliloquy was, that, before the first ray +of sunshine reached down and smote the dark torrent into glancing +emerald, she began to feel ravenously hungry, and found it a great deal +of odds, after all. She rose to her feet, grasping cautiously at the +slippery rock, and searched about her. There was another ledge close at +hand, corresponding to the one on which she stood; she crept forward and +transferred herself, with an infinitude of tremors, from this to that; +there was a foothold just beyond; she gained it. Up and down and all +along there were other projections, just enough for a hand, a foot: a +wet and terrible pathway; to follow it might be death, to neglect it +certainly was. What had she danced for all her days, if it had not made +her sure and nimble footed? Under her the foam leaped up, the spectral +mist crept like an icy breath, the spray sprinkled all about her, +swinging herself along from ledge to ledge, from jag to jag, like a +spider on a viewless thread. Now she hung just above the fall, looking +down and longing to leap, with nothing but a shining laurel-branch +between her and the boiling pits below; now, at last, a green hillside +sloped to the water's edge, sparkling across all its solitude with ten +thousand drops of dew, a broad, blue morning heaven bent and shone +overhead, and having raced the river in the moment's light-heartedness +of glee at her good hap, she sat some rods below, looking up at the fall +and dipping her bleeding and blistered feet in and out of the cool and +rapid-running river. + +What was there now to do? To go back,--to go back,--not if she were torn +by lions! That was as impossible for her as to reverse a fiat of +creation. God had said to her,--"Let there be light." How could she, +then, return to darkness? To keep along on land,--it might be weeks +before she reached the quarter of the gunboats,--she would be seized as +a stray, and lodged in jail, and sold for whom it might concern. But +with her scow gone to pieces, what other thing was there to do? So she +sat looking up at the spurting cascades, with their horns of silver +leaping into the light, and all the clear brown and beryl rush of their +crystalline waters, and longing for her scow. If she had so much as the +bit of bark on which the squirrels crossed the river! She looked again +about her for relief. The rainbow at the foot of all the falls, in its +luminous, steady arch, seemed a bridge solid enough for even her little +black feet, had one side of the stream been any surer haven than the +other; and as she sought out its bases, her eye lighted on something +curiously like a weed swaying up and down. She picked her way to it, and +found it wedged where she could loosen it,--two planks still nailed to a +stout crossbar. She floated it, and held it fast a moment. What if she +trusted to it,--with neither sail nor rudder, as before, but now with +neither oar nor pole? On shore, for her there were only ravening wolves; +waterfalls were no worse than they, and perhaps there were no more +waterfalls. She stepped gingerly upon the fragment, seated and balanced +herself, paddled with her two hands, and thought to slip away. In spite +of everything, a kind of exultation bubbled up within her,--she felt as +if she were defying Destiny itself. + +When, however, Flor intrusted herself to the stream, the stream received +the trust and seemed inclined to keep it; for there she stayed: the +planks tilted up and down, the water washed over her, but there were the +falls at nearly the same distance as when she embarked, and there they +stayed as well. The water, too, was no more fresh and sweet, but had a +salt and brackish taste. The sun was nearly overhead, and she was in an +agony of apprehension before she saw the falls slide slowly back, and in +one of a fresh succession of wonders, understanding nothing of it, she +found herself, with a strange sucking heave under her, falling on the +ebb-tide as before she had fallen on the mountain-current. + +Gentle undulations of friendly hills seemed now to creep by; and through +their openings she caught glimpses of cotton-fields. There was a wicked +relish in her thoughts, as she pictured the dusky laborers at work +there, and she gliding by unseen in the idle sunshine. She passed again +between high banks of red earth, scored by land-slides, with springs +oozing out half-way up, and now and then clad in a mantle of vivid +growth and color,--a thicket of blossoming pomegranate darkening on a +sunburst of creamy dogwood, or a wild fig-tree sending its roots down to +drink, with a sweet-scented and gorgeous epiphyte weaving a flowery +enchantment about-them, and making the whole atmosphere reel with +richness. But all this verdant beauty, the lush luxuriance of +grape-vines, of dark myrtle-masses, of swinging curtains of convolvuli +almost brushing her head as she floated by,--nothing of this was new to +Flor, nothing precious; she could have given all the beauty of earth and +heaven for a crust of bread just then. She thought of the plantation +with a dry sob, but would not turn her face. She could not move much, +indeed, her position was so ticklish; hardy wretch as she was, she had +already become faint and famished: she contrived, resting her arms on +the crossbar, at last, to lay her head upon them; and thus lying, +perpetually bathed by the soft, warm dip and rise of the water, the pain +of hunger left her, and she saw the world waft by like a dream. + +Slowly the evening began to fall. Flor marked the bright waters dim and +put on a bloomy purple along which rosy and golden shadows wandered and +mingled, stars looked timidly up from beneath her, and just over her +shoulder, as if all the daylight left had gathered in that one little +curved line, lay the suspicion of the tenderest new moon, like some +boatman of the skies essaying to encourage her with his apparition as he +floated lightly down the west. Flor paid heed to the spectacle in its +splendid quiet but briefly; her eyes were fixed on a great trail of +passion-flowers that blew out a gale of sweetness from their broad blue +disks. She had reached that hanging branch, lavishly blossoming here on +the wilderness, and had hung upon the tide beneath it for a while, till +she found herself gently moving back again; and now she swung slightly +to and fro, neither making nor losing headway, and, fond of such +sensuous delights, half content to lie thus and do nothing but breathe +the delicious odor stealing towards her, and resting in broad airy +swaths, it seemed, upon the bosom of the stream around her. By-and-by, +when the great blue star, that last night at the zenith seemed to +suspend all the tented drapery of the sky, hung there large and lovely +again, Flor, gazing up at it with a confused sense of passion-flowers in +heaven, half woke to find herself sliding down stream at last in +earnest. Her brain was very light and giddy; all her powers of +perception were momentarily heightened; she took notice of her seesawing +upon the ebb and flow, and understood that washing up and down the +shores, a mere piece of driftwood, life would long have left her ere she +attained the river's mouth, if she were not stranded by the way. The +branch of a cedar-tree came dallying by with that, brought down from +above the falls; she half rose, and caught at it, and fell back, but she +kept hold of it by just a twig, and, fatigued with the exertion, drowsed +away awhile. Waking again, after a little, her fingers still fast upon +it, she drew it over, fixed it upright as she could, and spread her +petticoat about it at the risk of utter capsize. The soft sweet wind +beat against the sail as happily as if it had been Cleopatra's weft of +purple silk, and carried her on, while she lay back, one arm around her +jury-mast, and half indifferently unconscious again. She had meant, on +reaching the gunboats,--ah, inconceivable bliss!--to win her way with +her feet; with willowy graces and eloquent pantomime, to have danced +along the deck and into favor trippingly: now, if she should have +strength enough left to fall on her knees, it would be strange. She +clung to the crossbar in a little while from blind habit; the rest of +her body seemed light and powerless. She was neither asleep nor awake +now, suffering nothing save occasionally a wild flutter of hope which +was joy and anguish together; but all things began mingling in her mind +in a species of delirium while she gave them attention, afterwards slid +by blank of all meaning but beauty. The lofty cypresses on the edge +above loomed into obelisks, and stood like shafts of ebony against a +glow of sunrise that stirred down deep in the night; dew-clouds, it +seemed, hung on them, and lifted and lowered when their veils of moss +waved here and there; the glistering laurel-leaves shivered in a network +of light and shade like imprisoned spirits troubling to be free; but +where the great magnolias stood were massed the white wings of angels +fanning forth fragrances untold and heavenly, and one by one slowly +revealing themselves in the dawn of another day. It seemed as if great +and awful spirits must be leading this little being into light and +freedom. + +So the river lapsed along, and the sun blazed, and a torture of thirst +came and went as it had come and gone before; and sometimes swiftly, +sometimes slowly, the veering winds and the pendulous tides carried the +wreck and its burden along. Flor had planned, before she started, that +all her progress should be made by night; by day she would haul up among +the tall rushes or under the lee of some stump or rock, and so escape +strange sail and spying eyes. But there had been no need of this, for no +other boat had passed up or down the river since she sailed. If there +had, she could no more have feared it. She stole by a high deserted +garden, the paling broken half away. A tardy almond-tree was stirring +its tower of bloom in the sunshine up there; oranges were reddening on +an overhanging bough, whose wreaths of snowy sweetness made the air a +passionate delight; a luscious fruit dropped, with all its royal gloss, +into the river beside her, and she could not put out a hand to catch it. +She saw now all that passed, but no longer with any afterthoughts of +reference to herself; so sights might slip across the retina of a dead +man's eye; her identity seemed fading from her, as from some substance +on the point of dissolution into the wide universe. She felt like one +who, under an ćsthetic influence, seems to himself careering through +mid-air, conscious only of motion and vanishing forms. Cultured uplands +and thick woods peopled with melodies all stole by, mere picture; the +long snake of the river crept through green meadowy shores haunted by +the cluck and clutter of the marsh-hen; from a bluff of the bank broke a +blaze of fire and a yelping roar, and something slapped and skipped +along the water,--a ball from a Rebel battery to bring the strange craft +to,--others followed and danced like demons through the hissing tide +that rocked under her and plunged up and down, tilting and turning and +half drowning the wreck. Flor looked at them all with wide eyes, at the +battery and at the bluff, and went by without any more sensation than +that dazed quiet in which, at the time, she would have gone down to +death with the soft waters laying their warm weight on her head, not +even thanking Fortune that in giving her a slippery plank gave her +something to elude either canister or catapult. Occasionally she felt a +pain, a strange parched pain; it burned awhile, and left her once more +oblivious. She slept a little, by fits and starts; sometimes the very +stillness stirred her. She listened and heard the turtle plumping down +into the stream, now and then the little fishes leaping and plashing, +the eels slipping in and out among the reeds and sedges at the side; far +away in the broad marshes, that, bathed in dim vapor, now lay all about +her, the cry of a bittern boomed; she saw a pair of herons flapping +inland over the gray swell of the water; there were some great purple +phantoms, darkly imagined monsters; looming near at hand:--all the +phantasmagoria drifted by,--and then, caught in the currents playing +forever by noon or night round the low edges of sand-bars and islets, +she was sweeping out to sea like chaff. + +The sun was going down, a mere redness in the curdling fleecy haze; the +weltering seas rose and fell in broad sheets of burnished silver, the +monotone of their music followed them, a cool salt wind blew over them +and freshened them for storm. Flor rose on her arm and looked back,--the +breeze roused her; pain and fear and hope rose with her and looked back +too. Eager, feverish, fierce, recollecting and desiring and imprecating, +her dry lips parted for a shriek that the dryer throat had at first no +power to utter. In such wild longing pangs it seemed her heart would +burst as it beat. The low land, the great gunboats, all were receding, +and she was washing out to sea, a weed.--Well, then, wash! + + * * * * * + +The stem of the boat rose lightly, riding over the rollers; the sturdy +arms kept flashing stroke; the great gulfs gaped for a life, no matter +whose; night would darken down on them soon;--pull with a will! + +They heard her voice as they drew near: she had found it again, singing, +as the swan sings his death-song, loud and clear,--singing to herself +some song of her old happy dancing-days, while the spray powdered over +her and one broad wave lifted and tossed her on to the next,--no note of +sorrow in the song, and no regret. + +It was but brief delay beside her; then they pulled back, the wind +piping behind them,--nearer to that purple cloud with its black plume of +smoke, up the side and over; all the white faces crowding round her, +pallid blots; one dark face smiling on her like Sarp's; friendship and +succor everywhere about her; and over her, blowing out broadly upon the +stormy wind, that flag whose starry shadow nowhere shelters a slave. + + + + +ABRAHAM LINCOLN. + +SUMMER, 1865. + + + Dead is the roll of the drums, + And the distant thunders die, + They fade in the far-off sky; + And a lovely summer comes, + Like the smile of Him on high. + + Lulled the storm and the onset. + Earth lies in a sunny swoon; + Stiller splendor of noon, + Softer glory of sunset, + Milder starlight and moon! + + For the kindly Seasons love us; + They smile over trench and clod, + (Where we left the bravest of us,)-- + There's a brighter green of the sod, + And a holier calm above us + In the blesséd Blue of God. + + The roar and ravage were vain; + And Nature, that never yields, + Is busy with sun and rain + At her old sweet work again + On the lonely battle-fields. + + How the tall white daisies grow + Where the grim artillery rolled! + (Was it only a moon ago? + It seems a century old,)-- + + And the bee hums in the clover, + As the pleasant June comes on; + Aye, the wars are all over,-- + But our good Father is gone. + + There was tumbling of traitor fort, + Flaming of traitor fleet,-- + Lighting of city and port, + Clasping in square and street. + + There was thunder of mine and gun, + Cheering by mast and tent,-- + When--his dread work all done, + And his high fame full won-- + Died the Good President. + + In his quiet chair he sate, + Pure of malice or guile, + Stainless of fear or hate,-- + And there played a pleasant smile + On the rough and careworn face; + For his heart was all the while + On means of mercy and grace. + + The brave old Flag drooped o'er him, + (A fold in the hard hand lay,)-- + He looked, perchance, on the play,-- + But the scene was a shadow before him, + For his thoughts were far away. + + 'Twas but the morn, (yon fearful + Death-shade, gloomy and vast, + Lifting slowly at last,) + His household heard him say, + "'Tis long since I've been so cheerful, + So light of heart as to-day." + + 'Twas dying, the long dread clang,-- + But, or ever the blesséd ray + Of peace could brighten to-day, + Murder stood by the way,-- + Treason struck home his fang! + One throb--and, without a pang, + That pure soul passed away. + + Idle, in this our blindness, + To marvel we cannot see + Wherefore such things should be, + Or to question Infinite Kindness + Of this or of that Decree, + + Or to fear lest Nature bungle, + That in certain ways she errs: + The cobra in the jungle, + The crotalus in the sod, + Evil and good are hers;-- + Murderers and torturers! + Ye, too, were made by God. + + All slowly heaven is nighing, + Needs that offence must come; + Ever the Old Wrong dying + Will sting, in the death-coil lying, + And hiss till its fork be dumb. + + But dare deny no further, + Black-hearted, brazen-cheeked! + Ye on whose lips yon murther + These fifty moons hath reeked,-- + + From the wretched scenic dunce, + Long a-hungered to rouse + A Nation's heart for the nonce,-- + (Hugging his hell, so that once + He might yet bring down the house!)-- + + From the commons, gross and simple, + Of a blind and bloody land, + (Long fed on venomous lies!)-- + To the horrid heart and hand + That sumless murder dyes,-- + The hand that drew the wimple + Over those cruel eyes. + + Pass on,--your deeds are done, + Forever sets your sun; + Vainly ye lived or died, + 'Gainst Freedom and the Laws,-- + And your memory and your cause + Shall haunt o'er the trophied tide + + Like some Pirate Caravel floating + Dreadful, adrift--whose crew + From her yard-arms dangle rotting,-- + The old Horror of the blue. + + Avoid ye,--let the morrow + Sentence or mercy see. + Pass to your place: our sorrow + Is all too dark to borrow + One shade from such as ye. + + But if one, with merciful eyes, + From the forgiving skies + Looks, 'mid our gloom, to see + Yonder where Murder lies, + Stripped of the woman guise, + And waiting the doom,--'tis he. + + Kindly Spirit!--Ah, when did treason + Bid such a generous nature cease, + Mild by temper and strong by reason, + But ever leaning to love and peace? + + A head how sober! a heart how spacious! + A manner equal with high or low; + Rough, but gentle; uncouth, but gracious; + And still inclining to lips of woe. + + Patient when saddest, calm when sternest, + Grieved when rigid for justice' sake; + Given to jest, yet ever in earnest, + If aught of right or truth were at stake. + + Simple of heart, yet shrewd therewith; + Slow to resolve, but firm to hold; + Still with parable and with myth + Seasoning truth, like Them of old; + Aptest humor and quaintest pith! + (Still we smile o'er the tales he told.) + + And if, sometimes, in saddest stress, + That mind, over-meshed by fate, + (Ringed round with treason and hate, + And guiding the State by guess,) + Could doubt and could hesitate,-- + Who, alas! had done less + In the world's most deadly strait? + + But how true to the Common Cause! + Of his task how unweary! + How hard he worked, how good he was, + How kindly and cheery! + + How, while it marked redouble + The howls and hisses and sneers, + That great heart bore our trouble + Through all these terrible years,-- + + And, cooling passion with state, + And ever counting the cost, + Kept the Twin World-Robbers in wait + Till the time for their clutch was lost! + + How much he cared for the State, + How little for praise or pelf! + A man too simply great + To scheme for his proper self. + + But in mirth that strong heart rested + From its strife with the false and violent,-- + A jester!--So Henry jested, + So jested William the Silent. + + Orange, shocking the dull + With careless conceit and quip, + Yet holding the dumb heart full + With Holland's life on his lip![D] + + Navarre, bonhomme and pleasant, + Pitying the poor man's lot, + Wishing that every peasant + A chicken had in his pot; + + Feeding the stubborn bourgeois, + Though Paris still held out; + Holding the League in awe, + But jolly with all about. + + Out of an o'erflowed fulness + Those deep hearts seemed too light,-- + (And so 'twas, murder's dulness + Was set with sullener spite.) + + Yet whoso might pierce the guise + Of mirth in the man we mourn + Would mark, and with grieved surprise, + All the great soul had borne, + In the piteous lines, and the kind, sad eyes + So dreadfully wearied and worn. + + And we trusted (the last dread page + Once turned of our Doomsday Scroll) + To have seen him, sunny of soul, + In a cheery, grand old age. + + But, Father, 'tis well with thee! + And since ever, when God draws nigh, + Some grief for the good must be, + 'Twas well, even so to die,-- + + 'Mid the thunder of Treason's fall, + The yielding of haughty town, + The crashing of cruel wall, + The trembling of tyrant crown! + + The ringing of hearth and pavement + To the clash of falling chains,-- + The centuries of enslavement + Dead, with their blood-bought gains! + + And through trouble weary and long + Well hadst thou seen the way, + Leaving the State so strong + It did not reel for a day; + + And even in death couldst give + A token for Freedom's strife,-- + A proof how republics live, + And not by a single life, + + But the Right Divine of man, + And the many, trained to be free,-- + And none, since the world began, + Ever was mourned like thee. + + Dost thou feel it, O noble Heart! + (So grieved and so wronged below,) + From the rest wherein thou art? + Do they see it, those patient eyes? + Is there heed in the happy skies + For tokens of world-wide woe? + + The Land's great lamentations, + The mighty mourning of cannon, + The myriad flags half-mast,-- + The late remorse of the nations, + Grief from Volga to Shannon! + (Now they know thee at last.) + + How, from gray Niagara's shore + To Canaveral's surfy shoal,-- + From the rough Atlantic roar + To the long Pacific roll,-- + For bereavement and for dole, + Every cottage wears its weed, + White as thine own pure soul, + And black as the traitor deed! + + How, under a nation's pall, + The dust so dear in our sight + To its home on the prairie passed,-- + The leagues of funeral, + The myriads, morn and night, + Pressing to look their last! + + Nor alone the State's Eclipse; + But how tears in hard eyes gather,-- + And on rough and bearded lips, + Of the regiments and the ships,-- + "Oh, our dear Father!" + + And methinks of all the million + That looked on the dark dead face, + 'Neath its sable-plumed pavilion, + The crone of a humbler race + Is saddest of all to think on, + And the old swart lips that said, + Sobbing, "Abraham Lincoln! + Oh, he is dead, he is dead!" + + Hush! let our heavy souls + To-day be glad; for agen + The stormy music swells and rolls + Stirring the hearts of men. + + And under the Nation's Dome, + They've guarded so well and long, + Our boys come marching home, + Two hundred thousand strong. + + All in the pleasant month of May, + With war-worn colors and drums, + Still, through the livelong summer's day, + Regiment, regiment comes. + + Like the tide, yesty and barmy, + That sets on a wild lee-shore, + Surge the ranks of an army + Never reviewed before! + + Who shall look on the like agen, + Or see such host of the brave? + A mighty River of marching men + Rolls the Capital through,-- + Rank on rank, and wave on wave, + Of bayonet-crested blue! + + How the chargers neigh and champ, + (Their riders weary of camp,) + With curvet and with caracole!-- + The cavalry comes with thundrous tramp, + And the cannons heavily roll. + + And ever, flowery and gay, + The Staff sweeps on in a spray + Of tossing forelocks and manes; + But each bridle-arm has a weed + Of funeral, black as the steed + That fiery Sheridan reins. + + Grandest of mortal sights + The sun-browned ranks to view,--- + The Colors ragg'd in a hundred fights, + And the dusty Frocks of Blue! + + And all day, mile on mile, + With cheer, and waving, and smile, + The war-worn legions defile + Where the nation's noblest stand; + And the Great Lieutenant looks on, + With the Flower of a rescued Land,-- + For the terrible work is done, + And the Good Fight is won + For God and for Fatherland. + + So, from the fields they win, + Our men are marching home, + A million are marching home! + To the cannon's thundering din, + And banners on mast and dome,-- + And the ships come sailing in + With all their ensigns dight, + As erst for a great sea-fight. + + Let every color fly, + Every pennon flaunt in pride; + Wave, Starry Flag, on high! + Float in the sunny sky, + Stream o'er the stormy tide! + For every stripe of stainless hue, + And every star in the field of blue, + Ten thousand of the brave and true + Have laid them down and died. + + And in all our pride to-day + We think, with a tender pain, + Of those so far away, + They will not come home again. + + And our boys had fondly thought, + To-day, in marching by, + From the ground so dearly bought, + And the fields so bravely fought, + To have met their Father's eye. + + But they may not see him in place, + Nor their ranks be seen of him; + We look for the well-known face, + And the splendor is strangely dim. + + Perished?--who was it said + Our Leader had passed away? + Dead? Our President dead?-- + He has not died for a day! + + We mourn for a little breath, + Such as, late or soon, dust yields; + But the Dark Flower of Death + Blooms in the fadeless fields. + + We looked on a cold, still brow: + But Lincoln could yet survive; + He never was more alive, + Never nearer than now. + + For the pleasant season found him, + Guarded by faithful hands, + In the fairest of Summer Lands: + With his own brave Staff around him, + There our President stands. + + There they are all at his side, + The noble hearts and true, + That did all men might do,-- + Then slept, with their swords, and died. + + Of little the storm has reft us + But the brave and kindly clay + ('Tis but dust where Lander left us, + And but turf where Lyon lay). + + There's Winthrop, true to the end, + And Ellsworth of long ago, + (First fair young head laid low!) + There 's Baker, the brave old friend, + And Douglas, the friendly foe: + + (Baker, that still stood up + When 'twas death on either hand: + "'Tis a soldier's part to stoop, + But the Senator must stand.") + + The heroes gather and form:-- + There's Cameron, with his scars, + Sedgwick, of siege and storm, + And Mitchell, that joined his stars. + + Winthrop, of sword and pen, + Wadsworth, with silver hair, + Mansfield, ruler of men, + And brave McPherson are there. + + Birney, who led so long, + Abbott, born to command, + Elliott the bold, and Strong, + Who fell on the hard-fought strand. + + Lytle, soldier and bard, + And the Ellets, sire and son, + Ransom, all grandly scarred, + And Redfield, no more on guard, + (But Alatoona is won!) + + Reno, of pure desert, + Kearney, with heart of flame, + And Russell, that hid his hurt + Till the final death-bolt came. + + Terrill, dead where he fought, + Wallace, that would not yield, + And Sumner, who vainly sought + A grave on the foughten field + + (But died ere the end he saw, + With years and battles outworn). + There's Harmon of Kenesaw, + And Ulric Dahlgren, and Shaw, + That slept with his Hope Forlorn. + + Bayard, that knew not fear, + (True as the knight of yore,) + And Putnam, and Paul Revere, + Worthy the names they bore. + Allen, who died for others, + Bryan, of gentle fame, + And the brave New-England brothers + That have left us Lowell's name. + + Home, at last, from the wars,-- + Stedman, the staunch and mild, + And Janeway, our hero-child, + Home, with his fifteen scars! + + There's Porter, ever in front, + True son of a sea-king sire, + And Christian Foote, and Dupont + (Dupont, who led his ships + Rounding the first Ellipse + Of thunder and of fire). + + There's Ward, with his brave death-wounds, + And Cummings, of spotless name, + And Smith, who hurtled his rounds + When deck and hatch were aflame; + + Wainwright, steadfast and true, + Rodgers, of brave sea-blood, + And Craven, with ship and crew + Sunk in the salt sea flood. + + And, a little later to part, + Our Captain, noble and dear-- + (Did they deem thee, then, austere? + Drayton!--O pure and kindly heart! + Thine is the seaman's tear.) + + All such,--and many another, + (Ah, list how long to name!) + That stood like brother by brother, + And died on the field of fame. + + And around--(for there can cease + This earthly trouble)--they throng, + The friends that had passed in peace, + The foes that have seen their wrong. + + (But, a little from the rest, + With sad eyes looking down, + And brows of softened frown, + With stern arms on the chest, + Are two, standing abreast,-- + Stonewall and Old John Brown.) + + But the stainless and the true, + These by their President stand, + To look on his last review, + Or march with the old command. + + And lo, from a thousand fields, + From all the old battle-haunts, + A greater Army than Sherman wields, + A grander Review than Grant's! + + Gathered home from the grave, + Risen from sun and rain,-- + Rescued from wind and wave, + Out of the stormy main,-- + The Legions of our Brave + Are all in their lines again! + + Many a stout Corps that went, + Full-ranked, from camp and tent, + And brought back a brigade; + Many a brave regiment, + That mustered only a squad. + + The lost battalions, + That, when the fight went wrong, + Stood and died at their guns,-- + The stormers steady and strong, + + With their best blood that bought + Scarp, and ravelin, and wall,-- + The companies that fought + Till a corporal's guard was all. + + Many a valiant crew, + That passed in battle and wreck,-- + Ah, so faithful and true! + They died on the bloody deck, + They sank in the soundless blue. + + All the loyal and bold + That lay on a soldier's bier,-- + The stretchers borne to the rear, + The hammocks lowered to the hold. + + The shattered wreck we hurried, + In death-fight, from deck and port,-- + The Blacks that Wagner buried, + That died in the Bloody Fort! + + Comrades of camp and mess, + Left, as they lay, to die, + In the battle's sorest stress, + When the storm of fight swept by: + They lay in the Wilderness,-- + Ah, where did they not lie? + + In the tangled swamp they lay, + They lay so still on the sward!-- + They rolled in the sick-bay, + Moaning their lives away;-- + They flushed in the fevered ward. + + They rotted in Libby yonder, + They starved in the foul stockade,-- + Hearing afar the thunder + Of the Union cannonade! + + But the old wounds all are healed, + And the dungeoned limbs are free,-- + The Blue Frocks rise from the field, + The Blue Jackets out of the sea. + + They've 'scaped from the torture-den, + They've broken the bloody sod, + They're all come to life agen!-- + The Third of a Million men + That died for Thee and for God! + + A tenderer green than May + The Eternal Season wears,-- + The blue of our summer's day + Is dim and pallid to theirs,-- + The Horror faded away, + And 'twas heaven all unawares! + + Tents on the Infinite Shore! + Flags in the azuline sky, + Sails on the seas once more! + To-day, in the heaven on high, + All under arms once more! + + The troops are all in their lines, + The guidons flutter and play; + But every bayonet shines, + For all must march to-day. + + What lofty pennons flaunt? + What mighty echoes haunt, + As of great guns, o'er the main? + Hark to the sound again! + The Congress is all-ataunt! + The Cumberland's manned again! + + All the ships and their men + Are in line of battle to-day,-- + All at quarters, as when + Their last roll thundered away,-- + All at their guns, as then, + For the Fleet salutes to-day. + + The armies, have broken camp + On the vast and sunny plain, + The drums are rolling again; + With steady, measured tramp, + They're marching all again. + + With alignment firm and solemn, + Once again they form + In mighty square and column,-- + But never for charge and storm. + + The Old Flag they died under + Floats above them on the shore, + And on the great ships yonder + The ensigns dip once more,-- + And once again the thunder + Of the thirty guns and four! + + In solid platoons of steel, + Under heaven's triumphal arch, + The long lines break and wheel; + And the word is, "Forward, march!" + + The colors ripple o'erhead, + The drums roll up to the sky, + And with martial time and tread + The regiments all pass by,-- + The ranks of our faithful Dead, + Meeting their President's eye. + + With a soldier's quiet pride + They smile o'er the perished pain, + For their anguish was not vain,-- + For thee, O Father, we died! + And we did not die in vain. + + March on, your last brave mile! + Salute him, Star and Lace, + Form round him, rank and file, + And look on the kind, rough face; + But the quaint and homely smile + Has a glory and a grace + It never had known erewhile,-- + Never, in time and space. + + Close round him, hearts of pride! + Press near him, side by side,-- + Our Father is not alone! + For the Holy Right ye died, + And Christ, the Crucified, + Waits to welcome his own. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[D] "His temperament was cheerful. At table, the pleasures of which in +moderation were his only relaxation, he was always animated and merry; +and this jocoseness was partly natural, partly intentional. In the +darkest hours of his country's trial, he affected a serenity he was far +from feeling; so that his apparent gayety at momentous epochs was even +censured by dullards, who could not comprehend its philosophy, nor +applaud the flippancy of William the Silent. He went through life +bearing the load of a people's sorrows with a smiling face."--Motley's +_Rise of the Dutch Republic_. + +Perhaps a lively national sense of humor is one of the surest exponents +of advanced civilization. Certainly a grim sullenness and fierceness +have been the leading traits of the Rebellion for Slavery; while +Freedom, like a Brave at the stake, has gone through her long agony with +a smile and a jest ever on her lips. + + + + +REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES. + + +_Letters to Various Persons_, By HENRY D. THOREAU. Boston: +Ticknor & Fields. + +The prose of Thoreau is daily winning recognition as possessing some of +the very highest qualities of thought and utterance, in a degree +scarcely rivalled in contemporary literature. In spite of whim and +frequent over-refining, and the entire omission of many important +aspects of human life, these wondrous merits exercise their charm, and +we value everything which lets us into the workshop of so rare a mind. +These letters, most of which were addressed to a single confidential +friend, give us Thoreau's thoughts in undress, and there has been no +previous book in which we came so near him. It is like engraving the +studies of an artist,--studies many of which were found too daring or +difficult for final execution, and which must be shown in their original +shape or not at all. To any one who was more artist than thinker this +exhibition would be doing wrong; but to one like Thoreau, more thinker +than artist, it is an act of justice. + +The public, being always eager for the details of personal life, and +therefore especially hungry for private letters, will hardly make this +distinction. All is held to be right which gives us more personality in +print. One can fancy the exasperation of a gossip, however, on opening +these profound and philosophic leaves. There is almost no private +history in them; and even of Thoreau's beloved science of Natural +History, very little. He does, indeed, begin one letter with "Dear +Mother, ... Pray have you the seventeen-year locust in Concord?" which +recalls Mendelssohn's birthday letter to his mother, opening with two +bars of music. But even such mundane matters as these occur rarely in +the book, which is chiefly made up of pure thought, and that of the +highest and often of the most subtile quality. + +Thoreau had, in literature as in life, a code of his own, which, if +sometimes lax where others were stringent, was always stringent in +higher matters, where others were lax. Even the friendship of Emerson +could not coerce him into that careful elaboration which gives dignity +and sometimes a certain artistic monotony to the works of our great +essayist. Emerson never wilfully leaves a point unguarded, never allows +himself to be caught in undress. Thoreau spurns this punctiliousness, +and thus impairs his average execution; while for the same reason he +attains, in favored moments, a diction more flowing and a more lyric +strain than his teacher ever allows himself, at least in prose. He also +secures, through this daring, the occasional expression of more delicate +as well as more fantastic thoughts. And there is an interesting passage +in these letters where he rather unexpectedly recognizes the dignity of +literary art as art, and states very finely its range of power. "To look +at literature,--how many fine thoughts has every man had! how few fine +thoughts are expressed! Yet we never have a fantasy so subtile and +ethereal, but that _talent merely_, with more resolution and faithful +persistency, after a thousand failures, might fix and engrave it in +distinct and enduring words, and we should see that our dreams are the +solidest facts that we know." The Italics are his own, and the glimpse +at his literary method is very valuable. + +One sees also, in these letters, how innate in him was that grand +simplicity of spiritual attitude, compared with which most confessions +of faith seem to show something hackneyed and second-hand. It seems the +first resumption--unless here again we must link his name with +Emerson's--of that great strain of thought of which Epictetus the slave +and Marcus Aurelius Antoninus the sovereign were the last previous +examples. Amid the general _Miserere_, here is one hymn of lofty cheer. +There is neither weak conceit nor weak contrition, but gratitude for +existence, and a sublime aim. "My actual life," he says, "is a fact in +view of which I have no occasion to congratulate myself; but for my +faith and aspiration I have respect. It is from these that I speak. +Every man's position is, in fact, too simple to be described.... I am +simply what I am, or I begin to be that.... I know that I am. I know +that another is who knows more than I, who takes interest in me, whose +creature, and yet whose kindred, in one sense, am I. I know that the +enterprise is worthy. I know that things work well. I have heard no bad +news." (p. 45.) + +"Happy the man," he elsewhere nobly says, "who observes the heavenly +and the terrestrial law in just proportion; whose every faculty, from +the soles of his feet to the crown of his head, obeys the law of its +level; who neither stoops nor goes on tiptoe, but lives a balanced life, +acceptable to Nature and to God." And then he manfully adds,--"These +things I say; other things I do." Manfully, not mournfully; for his +life, though in many ways limited, was never, in any high sense, +unsuccessful; nor did he ever assume for one moment the attitude of +apology. + +These limitations of his life no doubt impaired his thought also, in +certain directions. The letters might sometimes exhibit the record of +Carlyle's lion, attempting to live on chicken-weed. Here is a man of +vast digestive power, who, prizing the flavor of whortleberries and wild +apples, insists on making these almost his only food. It is amazing to +see what nutriment he extracts from them; yet would not, after all, an +ampler bill of fare have done better? Is there not something to be got +from the caucus and from the opera, which Thoreau abhorred, as well as +from the swamps which he justly loved? Could he not have spent two hours +rationally in Boston elsewhere than at the station-house of the railway +that led to Concord? His habits suggest a perpetual feeling of privation +and effort, and he has to be constantly on the alert to repel +condolence. This one-sidedness of result is a constant drawback on the +reader's enjoyment, and it is impossible to leave it out of sight. Yet +all criticism seems like cavilling, when one comes upon a series of +sentences like these:-- + +"Do what you love.... Aim above morality. Be not simply good; be good +for something. All fables, indeed, have their morals; but the innocent +enjoy the story. Let nothing come between you and the light. Respect men +as brothers only. When you travel to the Celestial City, carry no letter +of introduction. When you knock, ask to see God,--none of the servants. +In what concerns you much, do not think that you have companions; know +that you are alone in the world." (p. 46.) + +This suggests those wonderful strokes in the "Indenture" in "Wilhelm +Meister," and Goethe cannot surpass it. + +His finest defence of his habitual solitude occurs in these letters +also, and has some statements whose felicitousness can hardly be +surpassed. "As for any dispute about solitude and society, any +comparison is impertinent.... It is not that we love to be alone, but +that we love to soar; and when we do soar, the company grows thinner and +thinner, till there is none at all. It is either the tribune on the +plain, a sermon on the mount, or a very private ecstasy still higher up. +We are not the less to aim at the summits, though the multitude does not +ascend them. Use all the society that will abet you." (p. 139.) + +And since the unsocial character of Thoreau's theory of life has been +one of the most serious charges against it, his fine series of thoughts +on love and marriage in this volume become peculiarly interesting. "Love +must be as much a light as a flame." "Love is a severe critic. Hate can +pardon more than love." "A man of fine perceptions is more truly +feminine than a merely sentimental woman." "It is not enough that we are +truthful; we must cherish and carry out high purposes to be truthful +about." These are sentences on which one might spin commentaries and +scholia to the end of life; and there are many others as admirable. + +His few verses close the volume,--few and choice, with a rare flavor of +the seventeenth century in them. The best poem of all, "My life is like +a stroll upon the beach," is not improved by its new and inadequate +title, "The Fisher's Boy." The three poems near the end, "Smoke," +"Mist," and "Haze," are marvellous triumphs of language; the thoughts +and fancies are as subtile as the themes, and yet are embodied as +delicately and accurately as if uttered in Greek. + + +_France and England in North America._ A Series of Historical +Narratives. By FRANCIS PARKMAN, Author of "History of the +Conspiracy of Pontiac," "Prairie and Rocky Mountain Life," etc. Part +First. Pioneers of France in the New World. Boston: Little, Brown, & Co. + +It has been known for nearly a score of years within our literary +circles, that one of the richest and least wrought themes of our +American history had been appropriated by the zeal and research of a +student eminently qualified by nature, culture, and personal experience +to develop its wealth of interest. While very many among us may have +been aware that Mr. Parkman had devoted himself to the task of which we +have before us some of the results, only a narrower circle of friends +have known under what severe physical embarrassments and disabilities he +has been restrained from maturing those results. He has fully and sadly +realized, within his own different range, the experience which he so +aptly phrases as endured by his hero, the adventurous and dauntless +Champlain. When that great pioneer, midway in his splendid career, was +planning one of his almost annual voyages hitherward, at one of the most +emergent periods of his enterprise, he was seized on board his vessel in +France with a violent illness, and reduced, as Mr. Parkman says, to that +"most miserable of all conflicts, the battle of the eager spirit against +the treacherous and failing flesh." Mr. Parkman has known well what +these words mean. In his case, as in that of Champlain, it was not from +the burden of years and natural decay, but from the touch of disease in +the period of life's full vigor in its midway course, that mental +activity was restrained. When, besides the inflictions of a racked +nervous system, the author suffered in addition a malady of the eyes, +which limited him, as he says, to intervals of five minutes for reading +or writing, when it did not wholly preclude them, we may well marvel at +what he has accomplished. And the reader will marvel all the more that +the hindrances and pains under which the matter of these pages has been +wrought have left no traces or transfer of themselves here. It may be +possible that an occasional twinge or pang may have concentrated the +terse narrative, or pointed the sharp and shrewd moralizings of these +pages; for there is an amazing conciseness and a keen epigrammatic +sagacity in them. But there is no languor, no feebleness, no sleepy +prosiness, to indicate where vivacity flagged, and where an episode or +paragraph was finished after the glow had yielded to exhaustion. + +Mr. Parkman's theme is one of adventure on the grandest scale, with +novel conditions and elements, and under the quickening of master +passions of a sort to give to incidents and achievements a most romantic +and soul-absorbing interest. Only incidentally, and then most slightly, +does he have to deal with state affairs, with court intrigues, or with +diplomatic complications. He has to follow men into regions and scenes +in which there is so much raw material, and so much of the originality +of human conditions and qualities, that no precedents are of avail, and +it is even doubtful whether there are principles that have authority to +guide or that may be safely recognized. Nor could he have treated his +grand theme with that amazing facility and skill, which, as his work +manifests them, will satisfy all his readers that the theme belongs to +him and he to it, had not his native tastes, his training, and his +actual experience brought him into a most intelligent sympathy with his +subject-matter. Without being an adventurer, in the modern sense of the +term, he has the spirit which filled the best old sense of the word. He +has been a wide traveller and an explorer. Familiar by actual +observation with the scenes through which he has to follow the track of +the pioneers whom he chronicles, he has also acquainted himself by +foot-journeys and canoe-navigation under Indian guides with scenes and +regions still unspoiled of their wilderness features. He has crossed the +Rocky Mountains by the war-path of the savages, and penetrated far +beyond the borders of civilization in the direction of the northern ice +on our continent. He is skilled in native woodcraft, in the phenomena of +the forest and the lake, the winding river and the cataract. He has +watched the aspects of Nature through all the seasons in regions far +away from the havoc and the finish of culture. He has been alone as a +white man in the squalid lodges of the Indians, has lived after their +manner up to the edge of the restraints which a civilized man must +always take with him, and has consented to forego all that is meant by +the word comfort, that he might learn actually what our +transcendentalists and sentimentalists are so taken with theoretically. +He knows the inner make and furnishings of the savage brain and heart, +the qualities of their thought and passions, their superstitions, +follies, and vices; and while he deals with them and their ways with the +right spirit and consideration of a high-toned Christian man, he yields +to no silly inventiveness of fancy or romance in portraying them. They +are barely human, and they are hideous and revolting in his pages, as +they are in real life. Mr. Parkman knows them for just what they are, +and as they are. Helped by natural adaptation and sympathy to put +himself into communication with them sufficiently to analyze their +composition and to scan their range of being, he has presented such a +portraiture and estimate of them as will be increasingly valuable while +they are wasting away, to be known to future generations only by the +record. + +It is through Mr. Parkman's keen observation and discernment, as a +traverser of wild regions and a student of aboriginal life and +character, that his pages are made to abound with such vivid and +vigorous delineations. He has great skill in description, whether on a +grand scale or in the minutest details of adventure or of scenery. He +can touch by a phrase, most delicately or massively, the outline and the +features of what he would communicate. He can strip from field, +river-bank, hill-top, and the partially cleared forests all the things +and aspects which civilization has superinduced, and can restore to them +their primitive, unsullied elements. He gives us the aroma of the wild +woods, the tints of tree, shrub, and berry as the autumn paints them, +the notes and screams and howls of the creatures which held these haunts +before or with man; and though we were reading some of his pages on one +of the hottest of our dog-days, we felt a grateful chill come over us as +we were following his description of a Canadian winter. + +Mr. Parkman's subject required, for its competent treatment, a vast +amount of research and a judicious use of authorities in documents +printed or still in manuscript. Happily, there is abundance of material, +and that, for the most part, of prime value. The period which his theme +covers, though primeval in reference to the date of our own English +beginnings here, opens within the era when pens and types were +diligently employed to record all real occurrences, and when rival +interests induced a multiplication of narratives of the same events, to +the extent even of telling many important stories in two very different +ways. The element of the marvellous and the superstitious is so +inwrought with the documentary history and the personal narratives of +the time, exaggeration and misrepresentation were then almost so +consistent with honesty, that any one who essays to digest trustworthy +history from them may be more embarrassed by the abundance than he would +be by the paucity of his materials. Our author has spared no pains or +expense in the gathering of plans, pamphlets, and solid volumes, in +procuring copies of unpublished documents, and in consulting all the +known sources of information. He discriminates with skill, and knows +when to trust himself and to encourage his readers in relying upon them. + +It has been with all these means for faithful and profitable work in his +possession, gathered around him in aggravating reminders of their +unwrought wealth, and with a spirit of craving ardor to digest and +reproduce them, that Mr. Parkman has been compelled to suffer the +discipline of a form of invalidism which disables without destroying or +even impairing the power and will for continuous intellectual +employment. Brief intervals of relief and a recent period of promise and +hopefulness of full restoration have been heroically devoted to the +production of that instalment of his whole plan which we have in the +volume before us. + +That plan, as his first and comprehensive title indicates, covers a +narration of the initiatory schemes and measures for the exploration and +settlement of the New World by France and England. As France had the +precedence in that enterprise, this first volume is fitly devoted to its +rehearsal. The French story is also far more picturesque, more brilliant +and sombre, too, in its details. There is more of the wild, the +romantic, and the tragic in it. Mr. Parkman briefly, but strikingly, +contrasts the spirit which animated and the fortunes which befell the +representatives of the two European nations,--the one of which has +wrought the romance, the other of which has moulded the living +development, of North America. + +Under the specific title of this volume,--the "Pioneers of France in the +New World,"--the author gives us historical narratives of stirring and +even heroic enterprise in two localities at extreme points of our +present territory: first, the story of the sadly abortive attempt made +by the Huguenots to effect a settlement in Florida; and second, the +adventures, undertakings, and discoveries of Champlain, his predecessors +and associates, in and near Canada. The volume is touchingly dedicated +to three near kinsmen of the author,--young men who in the glory and +beauty of their youth, the joy and hope of parents who yielded the +costly sacrifice, gave themselves to the deliverance of our country from +the ruin plotted for it by a slave despotism. + +Mr. Parkman mentions--allowing to it in his brief reference all the +weight which it probably deserves--a vague tradition, which, had it been +sustained by fact, would have introduced an entirely new element into +the conditions involved in the rival claims to the right of colonizing +and possessing America, as practically contested by European nations. +The Pope's Bull which deeded the whole continent to Spain, as if it +were a farm, reinforced the claim already conventionally yielded to her +through right of discovery. For anything, however, to the knowledge of +which Columbus came before his death, or even his immediate successors +before their death, all the parts of America which he saw or knew might +have been insulated spaces, like those in which he actually set up +Spanish authority. What might have been the issue for this continent, or +rather for the spaces which it covers, had it been really divided by the +high seas into three immense islands like Australasia, so that Spain, +France, and England might have made an amicable division between them, +would afford curious matter for speculation. The tradition referred to +is, that the continent had been actually discovered by a Frenchman four +years before the first voyage of Columbus hitherward. A vessel from +Dieppe, while at sea off the coast of Africa, was said to have been +blown to sight of land across the ocean on our shores. A mariner, +Pinzon, who was on board of her, being afterwards discharged from French +service in disgrace, joined himself to Columbus, and was with him when +he made his great discovery. It may have been so. But the story, +slenderly rooted in itself, has no support. Spain was the claimant, and, +so far as the bold and repeated attempt of the Huguenots to contest her +claims in Florida was thwarted by a diabolical, yet not unavenged +ruthlessness of resistance, Spain made good her asserted right. + +Mr. Parkman sketches rapidly some preliminary details relating to +Huguenot colonization in Brazil and early Spanish adventures. The zeal +of the French Huguenots had anticipated that of the English Puritans in +seeking a Transatlantic field for its development. A philosophical +historian might find an engaging theme, in tracing to diversities of +national character, to the aims which stirred in human spirits, and to +fickle circumstances of date or place, the contrasted issues of failure +and success in the different enterprises. To human sight or foresight, +the Huguenots had the more hopeful omens at the start. But religious +zeal and avarice, combined in a way most cunningly adapted to +contravene, if that were possible, the Saviour's profound warning, "No +man can serve two masters," were, after all, only combined in a way to +bring them into the most shameful conflict. The Huguenot at the South +shared with the Spaniard the lust for gold; and the backers alike of +Roman and Protestant zeal in Canada divided their interest between the +souls of the Indians and the furs and skins of wild animals. + +The heroic and the chivalric elements in the spirit and prowess of these +early adventurers give a charm even to the narratives which reveal to us +their fearful sufferings and their atrocities. Physically and morally +they must have been endowed unlike those who now hoe fields, make shoes, +and watch the wheels of our thrifty mechanisms. Avarice and zeal, the +latter being sometimes substituted by a daring passion for the romantic, +nerved men, and women too, to undertakings and endurances which shame +our enfeebled ways. The partners in these enterprises were never +homogeneous in character, as were eminently the Colonists of New +England. They were of most mixed and discordant materials. Prisons were +ransacked for convicts and desperadoes; humble artisans and peasants +were accepted as laborers; roving mariners, whose only sure port of rest +would be in the abyss, were bribed for transient service, the condition +always exacted being that they must be ready for the nonce to turn +landsmen for fighting in swamp or bush. These, with a sprinkling of +young and impoverished nobles, and one or two really towering and master +spirits, in whom either of the two leading passions was the spur, and +who could win through court patronage a patent or a commission, made in +every case, either South or North, the staple material of French +adventure. + +After a graphic sketch of the line of Spanish notables in the New +World,--of Ponce de Leon, of Garay, Ayllon, De Narvaez, and De +Soto,--Mr. Parkman concisely reviews the successive attempts at a +settlement in Florida by Frenchmen. His central figures here are Admiral +De Coligny and his agents, Villegagnon, Ribaut, and Laudonničre. They +had no fixed policy towards the Indians, and they followed the worst +possible course with them. They wholly neglected tillage, and so were in +constant peril of starvation. They were lawless and disorderly in their +fellowship, and were always at the mercy of conspirators among +themselves. + +Beginning about the year 1550, and embracing the quarter of a century +following, there transpired on the coast of Florida a series of acts of +mingled heroism and barbarity not easily paralleled in any chapter of +the world's history. Menendez, under his commission as Adelantado, +having effected the first European settlement in North America at St. +Augustine, and the French having established a river fort named +Caroline, the struggle which could not long have been deferred was +invited. We have here a double narrative. While the French commander, +Ribaut, is shipwrecked in an enterprise by sea against St. Augustine, +Menendez, by land, after a most harassing tramp through forest and +swamp, successfully assails Fort Caroline. Though he has pledged his +honor to spare those who surrendered to his mercy, he foully breaks his +pledge, as no faith was to be kept with heretics. A brutal massacre, +which shocked even his Indian allies, signalized his victory. An +inscription on the trees under which he slaughtered his victims +announced that vengeance was wreaked on them, "not as Frenchmen, but as +heretics." + +These atrocities were in their turn avenged, after a similar fashion and +in the same spirit, by Dominique de Gourgues. It is doubtful whether he +was a Huguenot; but he felt, as the French monarch and court did not, +the rankling disgrace of this bloody catastrophe. An intense hater of +the Spaniards, he gave his whole spirit of chivalry and prowess, in the +approved fashion of the age, to avenge the insult to France. Providing +himself with three small vessels, navigable by sail or oar, he gathered +a fit company for his enterprise; but not till well on his way did he +reveal to them his real purpose, in which they proved willing +coadjutors. He found the Spaniards at their forts had alienated the +Indians, who readily leagued with him. By a bold combination and a +fierce onslaught he carries the Spanish works, and retaliates on his +fiendish and now cowering prisoners by hanging them, "not as Spaniards, +but as traitors, robbers, and murderers." De Gourgues came to do this, +not to make another attempt for a permanent settlement in the interest +of France. He therefore destroyed the forts, and with a friendly parting +from his red allies, much to their sorrow, returned home. Thus closes +one episode in the world's tragic history. + +Turning now towards the North, Mr. Parkman takes a comprehensive review +of the hazy period of history covered by traditions and imperfect +records, with vague relations of adventure by Normans, Basques, and +Bretons, on fishing expeditions to Newfoundland and the main coast. +These were followed by three exploring enterprises and partial +settlements, between 1506 and 1518. Verrazzano, with four ships, coasted +along our shores, and was for fifteen days the guest of some friendly +Indians at Newport, the centre of our modern fashionable summer-life. +Jaques Cartier made two voyages in 1534-5, gave the name of St. Lawrence +to the river, and visited the sites of Quebec and Montreal. A third +voyage was planned for 1541, to be followed by a reinforcement by J. F. +de la Roque, Sieur de Roberval. Its arrival being delayed, the famished +settlers, wasted by the scurvy, and dreading another horrid winter of +untold sufferings, returned home. Roberval renewed the occupancy of +Quebec, and then there is a chasm and a broken story. + +La Roche, in 1598, left forty convicts, adventurers in his crew, on +Sable Island, merely for a temporary sojourn while he should coast on. +Being blown back to France in his vessel, these forlorn exiles were left +for five years on that dreary waste, and only twelve survivors then +remained to be rescued. Some wild cattle that had propagated from +predecessors left by luckless wanderers on a previous voyage, or which +had swum ashore from a wreck, had furnished them a partial supply. +Pontgravé and Chauvin attempted a settlement at Tadoussac, the dismal +wilderness at the mouth of the Saguenay, thenceforward the rendezvous of +European and Indian traders. All these were preliminary anticipations of +the real occupancy of New France. Champlain, Poutrincourt, and +Lescarbot, in 1607, established at Port Royal the first agricultural +colony in the New World. Then began that series of futile and vexatious +dealings on the part of the French court, in granting and withdrawing +monopolies, conflicting commissions and patents, with confused purposes +of feudalism and restricted privilege, which embarrassed all effective +progress, and visited chagrin and disappointment on every devoted +adventurer. + +The great picture on Mr. Parkman's canvas is Champlain. That really +noble-souled, heroic, and marvellous man, whom our author appreciates, +yet with sagacious discrimination presents to the life, is a splendid +subject for his admirable rehearsal. At the age of thirty-three he +becomes the most conspicuous, and, on the whole, the most intelligent, +agent of the French interest in these parts of the world. Dying at +Quebec at the age of sixty-eight, and after twenty-seven years of +service to the colony, he had probably drawn his life through more and +a greater variety of perils than have ever been encountered by man. He +was dauntless and all-enduring, fruitful in resource, self-controlled +and persevering, and, though not wiser than his age, purer and more +true. He was as lithesome as an Indian, and could outdo him in some +physical efforts and endurance. His almost yearly voyages between France +and Quebec led him through strange contrasts of court and wilderness +life; but he was the same man in both. His discovery of the lake which +bears his name, his journey to Lake Huron, under the lure of the +impostor Vignau, encouraging his own dream of a passage through the +continent to India, and his many tramps for Indian warfare or discovery, +are most attractive episodes for our author. + +Mr. Parkman relates incidentally the massacre in Frenchman's Bay, the +efforts and cross purposes of the Recollets and the Jesuit missionaries, +and furnishes a vivid sketch of the fortunes of the settlement under +threatened assaults from Indians and in a temporary surrender to the +English. He intimates the matter which he has yet in store. May we enjoy +the coveted pleasure of reading it! + + +_Hesperus, or Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days._ A Biography. From the German of +J. P. Fr. Richter. Translated by CHARLES T. BROOKS. In Two +Volumes. Boston: Ticknor and Fields. + +This romance, the first work of Jean Paul's which won the attention of +his countrymen, is called "Hesperus," apparently for no reason more +definite than that the heroine, like a fair evening-star, beams over the +fortunes of the other personages, and becomes at length the morning-star +of one. The supplementary title of "Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days" is a +quaint subdivision of the volumes into as many chapters, each of which +is a "Dog-Post-Day," because it purports to be dispatched in a bottle +round a dog's neck to an island within the whimsical geography which the +author loved to construct, and in which he pretended to dwell. Truly, +the ordinary _terra-firma_ was of little consequence for home-keeping +purposes to Jean Paul, as the reader will doubtless confess before he +has proceeded far through the maze of Extra Leaves, Intercalary Days, +Extra Lines, Extra Shoots, and Extorted Anti-critique. And the divisions +which are busied with the story, instead of carrying it forward, stray +with it in all directions, like a genuine summer vagabond to whom direct +travel is a crime against the season. Many charming things are gathered +by the way; but if the reader is in haste to arrive, or thinks it would +not be amiss at least to put up somewhere, his patience will be severely +tried. We do not recommend the volumes for railway-reading, nor to +clergymen for the entertainment of sewing-bees, nor to the devourer of +novels, in whose life the fiction that must be read at one sitting forms +an epoch. It is a good _vade-mecum_ for a voyage round either Cape; its +digressive character suits the listless mood of the sea-goer, and he can +drop, we will not say the thread, but the entanglement, in whatever +watch he pleases. + +Let no one expect the critic to sketch the plot of this romance. It is a +grouping of motives and temperaments under the names of men and women, +concerning whom many subtile things are said and hinted; and they are +pushed into and out of complicated situations, by stress of brilliant +authorship, without lifting their fingers. There is no necessary +development nor movement: the people are like the bits of glass which +shake into the surprising patterns of the kaleidoscope. The relation of +the parties to each other is a great mystification, bunglingly managed: +we cannot understand at last how Victor, the hero of the chief +love-passage, turns out to be the son of a clergyman instead of a lord, +and Flamin the son of a lord in spite of the plain declaration on the +first page that he belongs to a clergyman. No key-notes of expectation +and surmise are struck; the reader is as blind as the old lord who is +Victor's reputed father, and not a glimmer of light reaches him till +suddenly and causelessly he is dazed. The author has emphasized his +sentiments, but has not shaded and brought out the features of his +story. It is plain, that, when he began to write, not the faintest +notion of a _dénouement_ had dawned upon his fancy. The best-defined +action in the book results from Flamin's ignorance that he is Clotilde's +brother, for he is thus jealous of his friend Victor's love for her. How +break off Flamin's love for his unknown sister? How rescue Victor from +his self-imposed delicacy and win for him a bride? This is the substance +of the story, hampered by wild, spasmodic interpolations and intrigues +and didactic explanations. + +The reader must also become inured, by a course of physical training, to +resist the fiery onslaughts of a sentimentality which was the first +ferment of Jean Paul's sincere and huge imagination. See, for instance, +Vol. II. p. 229. And we cannot too much admire the tact which Mr. Brooks +has brought to the decanting of these seething passages into tolerable +vernacular limits. Sometimes, indeed, he misses a help which he might +have procured for the reader, to lift him, with less danger of +dislocation, to these pinnacles of passion, by transferring more of the +elevated idiom of the style: for, in some of the complicated paragraphs, +a too English rendering of the clauses gives the sentiment a dowdy and +prosaic air. We should not object to an occasional inversion of the +order, even where Jean Paul himself is more direct than usual; for this +always appeared to us to lend a racy German flavor to the page. No doubt +Jean Paul needs, first of all, to be made comprehensible; but if his +style is too persistently Anglicized, many places will be reached where +the sense itself must suffer for want of the picturesqueness of the +German idiom. The quaintness will grow flat, the color of the sentiment +will almost disappear, the rich paragraphs will run thinly clad, +disenchanted like Cinderella at midnight. Some of Mr. Carlyle's +translations from the German are invigorated by this Teutonicizing of +the English, and by the sincerity of phrases transferred directly as +they first came molten from the pen. This may be pushed to the point of +affectation; but judiciously used, it is suited to Jean Paul's fervor +and abandonment. + +There is also a rhythm in his exalted moments, a delicate and noble +swing of the clauses, not easy to transfer: as in the Eighth +Dog-Post-Day, the paragraph commencing, "Wehe gröszere Wellen auf mich +zu, Morgenluft!" "Thou morning-air, break over me in greater waves! +Bathe me in thy vast billows which roll above our woods and meadows, and +bear me in blossom clouds past radiant gardens and glimmering streams, +and let me die gently floating above the earth, rocked amid flying +flowers and butterflies, and dissolving with outspread arms beneath the +sun; while all my veins fall blended into red morning-flakes down to the +flowers," etc. But this may appear finical to Mr. Brooks. We certainly +do not press it critically against his great and general success. Such a +paragraph as, for instance, the closing one upon page 340 of Vol. II. is +very trying to the resources of the translator. Here Mr. Brooks has +sacrificed to literalness an opportunity to sort the confused clauses +and stop their jostling: this may be done without diluting the +sentiment, and is within the translator's liberty. + +It always seemed to us that the finest part of "Hesperus," and one of +the finest passages of German literature, is contained in the Ninth +Dog-Post-Day and some pages of the Tenth. The Ninth, in particular, +which is a perfect idyl, describes Victor's walk to Kussewitz: all the +landscape is made to share and symbolize his rapture: the people in the +fields, the framework of an unfinished house, the two-wheeled hut of the +shepherd, are not only well painted, but turned most naturally to the +help of interpreting his feeling. The chapter has also a direct and +unembarrassed movement, which is rare in this romance. And it is +beautifully translated. + +The reader must understand that Victor is called by various names; so +that, if he merely dips into the book, as we suspect he will until his +sympathy is enlisted by some fine thought, his ignorance will increase +the frantic and dishevelled state of the story. Victor is Horion, +Sebastian, and Bastian; a susceptible youth, profoundly affected by the +presence of noble or handsome women, and brought into situations that +test his delicacy. He smuggles a declaration of love into a watch which +he sells, in the disguise of an Italian merchant, to the Princess +Agnola, on occasion of her first reception at the court of her husband. +He is ashamed of this after he begins to know Clotilde, who is one of +Jean Paul's pure and noble women; and he is at one time full of dread +lest the Princess had read his watch-paper, and at another full of pique +at the suspicion that she had not. Being court-physician and oculist, he +has frequent opportunities to visit Agnola, and there is one rather +florid occasion which the midnight cry of the street-watch man +interrupts. But all this time, the inflammable Victor was indulging a +kind of tenderness for Joachime, maid-of-honor and attractive female. As +the love for Clotilde deepens, he must destroy these partialities for +Agnola and Joachime. This is no easy matter; what with the watch-paper +and various emphatic passages of something more than friendship, the +true love does not at once stand forth, that he may find "the +partition-wall between love and friendship with women to be very visible +and very thick." But one day the accursed watch-paper flutters into +Joachime's hand, who at once takes it for a declaration of love to +herself, and beams with appropriate tenderness. Victor, seized with +sudden coldness and resolution, confesses all to Joachime; and the +story, released from its feminine embarrassments, would soon reach a +honeymoon, if it were not for the difficulty of deciding the parentage +and relationship of the various characters. A wise child knows its own +father; but no endowment of wisdom in the reader will harmonize the +genealogy of this romance. A birth-mark of a Stettin apple, which is +visible only in autumn when that fruit is ripening, plays the part of +Box's strawberry in the farce, and with as much perspicuity. + +However, the characters are all respectably connected at last, and the +reader does not care to understand how they were ever disconnected: for +Lord Horion's motive in putting the children of the old Prince out of +the way, and keeping up such an expensive mystification, can be +justified only by an interesting plot. But American readers have learned +by this time, much to their credit, not to apply to Jean Paul for the +sensation of a cunningly woven narrative, like that of the English +school, which furnishes verisimilitude to real life that is quite as +improbable, though less glaringly so, than his departures from it. +"Hesperus" is filled with pure and noble thought. The different types of +female character are particularly well-defined; and if Jean Paul +sometimes affects to say cynical things of women, he cannot veil his +passionate regard for them, nor his profound appreciation of the +elements of their influence in forming true society and refining the +hearts of men. Notice the delicacy of the "Extra Leaf on Houses full of +Daughters." It is chiefly with the women of his romances that Jean Paul +succeeds in depicting individuals. And when we recollect the corrupt and +decaying generation out of which his genius sprang, like a newly created +species, to give a salutary shock to Gallic tastes, and lend a sturdy +country vigor to the new literature, we reverence his faithfulness, his +incorruptible humanity, his contempt for petty courts and faded manners, +his passion for Nature, and his love of God. All these characteristics +are so broadly printed upon his pages that the obsoleteness of the +narrative does not hide them. + +In view of a second edition, we refer to Mr. Brooks's consideration a +few places, with wonder at his general accuracy in the translation of +obscure passages and the explanation of allusions. + +Vol. I. page 22. _Sakeph-Katon_ (Zaqueph Qaton) is an occasional +pause-accent of the Hebrew, having the sense of "elevator minor," and is +peculiar to prose. + +Page 68. The famous African Prince Le Boo deserves a note. + +Page 111. _Ripieno_ is an Italian musical term, meaning that which +accompanies and strengthens. + +Page 114. _Gränswildpret_ does not mean "frontier wild-game," but game +that, straying out of one precinct into another, gets captured: stray +game, or impounded waif. + +Page 139. The note gives the sense, but the corresponding passage in the +text would stand clearer thus: "not a noble heart, by any means; for +such things Le Baut's golden key, though bored like a cannon, could +fasten rather." + +Page 179. A note required: the passage of Shakspeare is, "Antony and +Cleopatra," Act V., Scene 2:-- + + "His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck + A sun and moon; which kept their course, and lighted + The little O, the earth." + +_Territory of an old lady_ should be "prayer of an old lady." _Gebet_, +not _Gebiet_. + +Page 209. _Eirunde Loch_ would be better represented by its anatomical +equivalent, _foramen ovale_. It should be closed before birth; in the +rare cases where it is left open after birth, the child lives half +asphyxiated. + +Page 224, note. _Semperfreie_ is not from the Latin, but comes from +_sendbarfreie_, that is, eligible, free to be sent or elected to +offices, and consequently, immediately subject to the _Reich_, or Holy +Roman Empire. + +Page 235. An _Odometer_ is an apparatus for measuring distances +travelled by whatsoever vehicle. + +Page 275. _Incunabula_ means specimens of the first printed edition of a +work; also the first impressions of the first edition, the firstlings of +old editions. + +Page 317. _Wackelfiguren_ means figures made of _Wacke_, a greenish-gray +mineral, soft and easily broken. + +Page 322. The note is equivocal, since the phrase is used by fast women +who keep some one in their pay. + +Vol. II., page 122. _Columbine_ is not equivalent to ballet-dancer; it +is the old historical personage of the pantomime, confederate and lover +of Harlequin, who protects her from false love. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. +96, October 1865, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY *** + +***** This file should be named 19996-8.txt or 19996-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/9/9/19996/ + +Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by Cornell University Digital Collections). + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 96, October 1865 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: December 2, 2006 [EBook #19996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY *** + + + + +Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by Cornell University Digital Collections). + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h4>THE</h4> + +<h1>ATLANTIC MONTHLY.</h1> + +<h2><i>A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics.</i></h2> + +<h3>VOL. XVI.—OCTOBER, 1865.—NO. XCVI.</h3> + +<p>Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by <span class="smcap">Ticknor +and Fields</span>, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the +District of Massachusetts.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p>Transcriber's Note: Minor typos have been corrected and footnotes moved +to the end of the article. Contents generated for the HTML version.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Contents</h2> +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#SAINTS_WHO_HAVE_HAD_BODIES"><b>SAINTS WHO HAVE HAD BODIES.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#NO_TIME_LIKE_THE_OLD_TIME"><b>NO TIME LIKE THE OLD TIME.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#COUPON_BONDS"><b>COUPON BONDS.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_AUTHOR_OF_SAULA"><b>THE AUTHOR OF "SAUL."</b></a><br /> +<a href="#NEEDLE_AND_GARDEN"><b>NEEDLE AND GARDEN.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#JOHN_JORDAN"><b>JOHN JORDAN,</b></a><br /> +<a href="#NOELC"><b>NOËL.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#WILHELM_MEISTERS_APPRENTICESHIP"><b>WILHELM MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#DOCTOR_JOHNS"><b>DOCTOR JOHNS.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#DOWN_THE_RIVER"><b>DOWN THE RIVER.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#ABRAHAM_LINCOLN"><b>ABRAHAM LINCOLN.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#REVIEWS_AND_LITERARY_NOTICES"><b>REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.</b></a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SAINTS_WHO_HAVE_HAD_BODIES" id="SAINTS_WHO_HAVE_HAD_BODIES"></a>SAINTS WHO HAVE HAD BODIES.</h2> + + +<p>All doubtless remember the story which is told of the witty Charles II. +and the Royal Society: How one day the King brought to the attention of +its members a most curious and inexplicable phenomenon, which he stated +thus: "When you put a trout into a pail full of water, why does not the +water overflow?" The savans, naturally enough, were surprised, and +suggested many wise, but fruitless explanations; until at last one of +their number, having no proper reverence for royalty in his heart, +demanded that the experiment should actually be tried. Then, of course, +it was proved that there was no phenomenon to be explained. The water +overflowed fast enough. Indeed, it is chronicled that the evolutions of +this lively member of the piscatory tribe were so brisk, that the +difficulty was the exact opposite of what was anticipated, namely, how +to keep the water in.</p> + +<p>This story may be a pure fable, but the lesson it teaches is true and +important. It illustrates forcibly the facility with which even wise men +accept doubtful propositions, and then apply the whole power of their +minds to explain them, and perhaps to defend them. Latterly one hears +constantly of the physical decay which threatens the American people, +because of their unwise and disproportioned stimulation of the brain. It +is assumed, almost as an axiom, that there is "a deficiency of physical +health in America." Especially is it assumed that great mental progress, +either of races or of individuals, has been generally purchased at the +expense of the physical frame. Indeed, it is one of the questions of the +day, how the saints, that is, those devoted to literary and professional +pursuits, shall obtain good and serviceable bodies; or, to widen the +query, how the finest intellectual culture can exist side by side with +the noblest physical development; or, to bring this question into a form +that shall touch us most sharply, how our boys and girls can obtain all +needful knowledge and mental discipline, and yet keep full of graceful +and buoyant vitality.</p> + +<p>What do we say to the theories and convictions which are underneath this +language? What answer shall we make to these questions? What answer +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span>ought we to make? Our first reply would be, We doubt the proposition. +We ask for the broad and firm basis of undoubted facts upon which it +rests. And we enter an opposite plea. We affirm that the saints have as +good bodies as other people, and that they always did have. We deny that +they need to be patched up or watched over any more than their +neighbors. They live as long and enjoy as much as the rest of mankind. +They can endure as many hard buffets, and come out as tough and strong, +as the veriest dolt whose intellectual bark foundered in the unsounded +depths of his primer. The world's history through, the races which are +best taught have the best endowment of health. Nay, in our own New +England, with just such influences, physical, mental, and moral, as +actually exist, there is no deterioration in real vitality to weep over.</p> + +<p>We hold, then, on this subject very different opinions from those which +prevail in many quarters. We believe in the essential healthfulness of +literary culture, and in the invigorating power of sound knowledge. +Emphatically do we believe that our common schools have been in the +aggregate a positive physical benefit. We are confident, that, just to +the degree that the unseen force within a man receives its rightful +development, does vigorous life flow in every current that beats from +heart to extremities. With entire respect for the opinions of others, +even while we cannot concur with them, with a readiness to admit that +the assertion of those opinions may have been indirectly beneficial, we +wish to state the truth as it looks to us, to exhibit the facts which +bear upon this subject in the shape and hue they have to our own minds, +and to give the grounds of our conviction that a cultivated mind is the +best friend and ally of the body.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Would it not be singular, if anything different were true? You say, and +you say rightly, that the best part of a man is his mind and soul, those +spiritual elements which divide him from all the rest of the creation, +animate or inanimate, and make him lord and sovereign over them all. You +say, and you say wisely, that the body, however strong and beautiful, is +nothing,—that the senses, however keen and vigorous, are nothing,—that +the outward glories, however much they may minister to sensual +gratification, are nothing,—unless they all become the instruments for +the upbuilding of the immortal part in man. But what a tremendous +impeachment of the wisdom or power of the Creator you are bringing, if +you assert that the development of this highest part, whether by its +direct influence on the body, or indirectly by the habits of life which +it creates, is destructive of all the rest, nay, self-destructive! You +may show that every opening bud in spring, and every joint, nerve, and +muscle in every animate creature, are full of proofs of wise designs +accomplishing their purposes, and it shall all count for less than +nothing, if you can demonstrate that the mind, in its highest, broadest +development, brings anarchy into the system,—or, mark it well, +produces, or tends to produce, habits of living ruinous to health, and +so ruinous to true usefulness. At the outset, therefore, the very fact +that the mind is the highest creation of Divine wisdom would force us to +believe that that development of it, that increase of knowledge, that +sharpening of the faculties, that feeding of intellectual hunger, which +does not promote joy and health in every part, must be false and +illegitimate indeed.</p> + +<p>And it is hardly too much to say, that, in a rational being, thought is +almost synonymous with vitality of all sorts. The brain throws out its +network of nerves to every part of the body; and those nerves are the +pathways along which it sends, not alone physical volitions, but its +mental force and high intelligence, to mingle by a subtile chemistry +with every fibre, and give it a finer life and a more bounding +elasticity. So one might foretell, before the study of a single fact of +experience, that, other things being equal, he who had few or no +thoughts would have not only a dormant mind, but also a sluggish and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> +inert body, less active than another, less enduring, and especially less +defiant of physical ills. And one might prophesy, too, that he who had +high thoughts and wealth of knowledge would have stored up in his brain +a magazine of reserved power wherewith to support the faltering body: a +prophecy not wide apart, perhaps, from any broad and candid observation +of human life.</p> + +<p>And who can fail to remember what superior resources a cultivated mind +has over one sunk in sloth and ignorance,—how much wider an outlook, +how much larger and more varied interests, and how these things support +when outward props fail, how they strengthen in misfortune and pain, and +keep the heart from anxieties which might wear out the body? Scott, +dictating "Ivanhoe" in the midst of a torturing sickness, and so rising, +by force of a cultivated imagination, above all physical anguish, to +revel in visions of chivalric splendor, is but the type of men +everywhere, who, but for resources supplied by the mind, would have sunk +beneath the blows of adverse fortune, or else sought forgetfulness in +brutalizing and destructive pleasures. Sometimes a book is better far +than medicine, and more truly soothing than the best anodyne. Sometimes +a rich-freighted memory is more genial than many companions. Sometimes a +firm mind, that has all it needs within itself, is a watchtower to which +we may flee, and from which look down calmly upon our own losses and +misfortunes. He who does not understand this has either had a most +fortunate experience, or else has no culture, which is really a part of +himself, woven into the very texture of the soul. So, if there were no +facts, considering the mind, and who made it, and how it is related to +the body, and how, when it is a good mind and a well-stored mind, it +seems to stand for all else, to be food and shelter and comfort and +friend and hope, who could believe anything else than that a +well-instructed soul could do nought but good to its servant the body?</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>After all, we cannot evade, and we ought not to seek to evade, the +testimony of facts. No cause can properly stand on any theory, however +pleasant and cheering, or however plausible. What, then, of the facts, +of the painful facts of experience, which are said to tell so different +a tale? This,—that the physical value of education is in no way so +clearly demonstrated as by these very facts. We know what is the +traditional picture of the scholar,—pale, stooping, hectic, hurrying +with unsteady feet to a predestined early grave; or else morbid, +dyspeptic, cadaverous, putting into his works the dark tints of his own +inward nature. At best, he is painted as a mere bookworm, bleached and +almost mildewed in some learned retirement beneath the shadow of great +folios, until he is out of joint with the world, and all fresh and +hearty life has gone out of him. Who cannot recall just such pictures, +wherein one knows not which predominates, the ludicrous or the pitiful? +We protest against them all. In the name of truth and common-sense +alike, we indignantly reject them. We have a vision of a sturdier +manhood: of the genial, open countenance of an Irving; of the homely, +honest strength that shone in every feature of a Walter Scott; of the +massive vigor of a Goethe or a Humboldt. How much, too, is said of the +physical degeneracy of our own people,—how the jaw is retreating, how +the frame is growing slender and gaunt, how the chest flattens, and how +tenderly we ought to cherish every octogenarian among us, for that we +are seeing the last of them! If this is intended to be a piece of +pleasant badinage, far be it from us to arrest a single smile it may +awaken. But if it is given as a serious description, from which serious +deductions can be drawn, then we say, that, as a delineation, it is, to +a considerable extent, purely fanciful,—as an argument, utterly so. The +facts, so far as they are ascertained, point unwaveringly to this +conclusion,—that every advance of a people in knowledge and refinement +is accompanied by as striking an advance in health and strength.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span></p> + +<p>Try this question, if you please, on the largest possible scale. Compare +the uneducated savage with his civilized brother. His form has never +been bent by confinement in the school-room. Overburdening thoughts have +never wasted his frame. And if unremitting exercise amid the free airs +of heaven will alone make one strong, then he will be strong. Is the +savage stronger? Does he live more years? Can he compete side by side +with civilized races in the struggle for existence? Just the opposite is +true. Our puny boys, as we sometimes call them, in our colleges, will +weigh more, lift more, endure more than any barbarian race of them all. +This day the gentle Sandwich-Islanders are wasting like snow-wreaths, in +contact with educated races. This day our red men are being swept before +advancing civilization like leaves before the breath of the hurricane. +And it requires no prophet's eye to see, that, if we do not give the +black man education as well as freedom, an unshackled mind as well as +unshackled limbs, he, too, will share the same fate.</p> + +<p>To all this it may naturally be objected, that the reason so many savage +races do not display the greatest physical stamina is not so much +intellectual barrenness as their vices, native or acquired,—or because +they bring no wisdom to the conduct of life, but dwell in smoky huts, +eat unhealthy food, go from starvation to plethora and from plethora to +starvation again, exchange the indolent lethargy which is the law of +savage life for the frantic struggles of war or the chase which +diversify and break up its monotony. Allow the objection; and then what +have we accomplished, but carrying the argument one step back? For what +are self-control and self-care, but the just fruits of intelligence? But +in truth it is a combination of all these influences, and not any of +them alone, that enables the civilized man to outlive and outrival his +barbarian brother. He succeeds, not simply because of the superior +address and sagacity which education gives him, though that, no doubt, +has much to do with it; not altogether because his habits of life are +better, though we would not underrate their value; but equally because +the culture of the brain gives a finer life to every red drop in his +arteries, and greater hardihood to every fibre which is woven into his +flesh. If it is not so, how do you explain the fact that our colored +soldier, fighting in his native climate, with the same exposure in +health and the same care in sickness, succumbs to wounds and diseases +over which his white comrade triumphs? Or how will you explain analogous +facts in the history of disease among other uneducated races? Our +explanation is simple. As the slightest interfusion of carbon may change +the dull iron into trenchant steel, so intelligence working through +invisible channels may add a new temper to the physical nature. And thus +it may be strictly true that it is not only the mind and soul which +slavery and ignorance wrong, but the body just as much.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It may be said, and perhaps justly, that a comparison between races so +unlike is not a fair comparison. Take, then, if you prefer, the +intelligent and unintelligent periods in the history of the same race. +The old knights! Those men with mail-clad bodies and iron natures, who +stand out in imagination as symbols of masculine strength! The old +knights! They were not scholars. Their constitutions were not ruined by +study, or by superfluous sainthood of any kind. They were more at home +with the sword than the pen. They loved better "to hear the lark sing +than the mouse squeak." So their minds were sufficiently dormant. How +was it with their bodies? Were they sturdier men? Did they stand heavier +on their feet than their descendants? It is a familiar fact that the +armor which inclosed them will not hold those whom we call their +degenerate children. A friend tells me that in the armory of London +Tower there are preserved scores, if not hundreds, of the swords of +those terrible Northmen, those Vikings, who, ten centuries ago, swept<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> +the seas and were the dread of all Europe, and that scarcely one of them +has a hilt large enough to be grasped by a man of this generation. Of +races who have left behind them no methodical records, and whose story +is preserved only in the rude rhymes of their poets and ruder +chronicles, it is not safe to make positive affirmations; but all the +indications are that the student of to-day is a larger and stronger man +than the warrior of the Middle Ages.</p> + +<p>If we come down to periods of historical certainty, no one will doubt +that the England of the present hour is more educated than the England +of fifty years ago, or that the England of fifty years since had a +broader diffusion of intelligence than the England of a century +previous. Yet that very intelligence has prolonged life. An Englishman +lives longer to-day than he did in 1800, and longer yet than in 1700. +Here is a curious proof. Annuities calculated on a certain rate of life +in 1694 would yield a fortune to those who issued them. Calculated at +the same rate in 1794, they would ruin them; for the more general +diffusion of knowledge and refinement had added, I am not able to say +how many years to the average British life. Observe how this statement +is confirmed by some wonderful statistics preserved at Geneva. From 1600 +to 1700 the average length of life in that city was 13 years 3 months. +From 1700 to 1750 it was 27 years 9 months. From 1750 to 1800, 31 years +3 months. From 1800 to 1833, 43 years 6 months.</p> + +<p>One more pertinent fact. Take in England any number of families you +please, whose parents can read and write, and an equal number of +families whose parents cannot read and write, and the number of children +in the latter class of families who will die before the age of five +years will greatly exceed that in the former class,—some thirty or +forty per cent. So surely does a thoughtful ordering of life come in the +train of intelligence. If faith is to be placed in statistics of any +sort, then it holds true in foreign countries that human life is long in +proportion to the degree that knowledge, refinement, and virtue are +diffused. That is, sainthood, so far from destroying the body, preserves +it.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I anticipate the objection which may be made to our last argument. +Abroad, we are told, there is such an element of healthy, out-door life, +that any ill effects which might naturally follow in the train of +general education are neutralized. Abroad, too, education with the +masses is elementary, and advanced also with more moderation than with +us. Abroad, moreover, the whole social being is not pervaded with the +intense intellectual activity and fervor which are so characteristic +especially of New England life.</p> + +<p>Come home, then, to our own Massachusetts, which some will have is +school-mad. What do you find? Here, in a climate proverbially changeable +and rigorous,—here, where mental and moral excitements rise to +fever-heat,—here, where churches adorn every landscape, and +school-houses greet us at every corner, and lyceums are established in +every village,—here, where newspapers circulate by the hundred +thousand, and magazines for our old folks, and "Our Young Folks," too, +reach fifty thousand,—here, in Massachusetts, health is at its climax: +greater and more enduring than in bonnie England, or vine-clad France, +or sunny Italy. I read some statistics the other day, and I have ever +since had a greater respect for the land of "east-winds, and salt-fish +and school-houses," as scandalous people have termed Massachusetts. What +do these statistics say? That, while in England the deaths reach +annually 2.21 per cent of the whole population, and in France 2.36 per +cent, and in Italy 2.94 per cent, and in Austria 3.34 per cent, in +Massachusetts, the deaths are only 1.82 per cent annually. Even in +Boston, with its large proportion of foreign elements, the percentage of +deaths is only 2.35. It may be said, in criticism of these statements, +that in our country statistics are not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> kept with sufficient accuracy to +furnish correct data. However this may be in our rural districts, it +certainly is not true of the metropolis. The figures are not at hand, +but they exist, and they prove conclusively that those wards in Boston +which have a population most purely native reach a salubrity unexcelled. +So that, with all the real drawbacks of climate, and the pretended +drawbacks of unnatural or excessive mental stimulus, the health here is +absolutely unequalled by that of any country in Europe. Certainly, if +the mental and moral sainthood which we have does not build up the body, +it cannot be said that it does any injury to it.</p> + +<p>Have we noted what a splendid testimony the war which has just closed +has given to the physical results of our New England villages and put +into the ranks of our army—young men who learned the alphabet at four, +who all through boyhood had the advantages of our common-school system, +who had felt to the full the excitement of the intellectual life about +them—have stood taller, weighed heavier, fought more bravely and +intelligently, won victory out of more adverse circumstances, and, what +is more to the point, endured more hardship with less sickness, than a +like number of any other race on earth. We care not where you look for +comparison, whether to Britain, or to France, or to Russia, where the +spelling-book has almost been tabooed, or to Spain, where in times past +the capacity to read the Bible was scarcely less than rank heresy, at +least for the common people. This war has been brought to a successful +issue by the best educated army that ever fought on battle-field, or, as +the new book has it, by "the thinking bayonet," by men whose physical +manhood has received no detriment from their intellectual culture.</p> + +<p>These assertions are founded upon statistics which have been preserved +regiments whose members were almost exclusively native-born. And the +results are certainly in accordance with all candid observation. It may, +indeed, be said that the better health of our army has been after all +the result of the better care which the soldier has taken of himself. We +answer, the better care was the product of his education. It may be said +again that this health was owing in a great measure to the superior +watchfulness exercised over the soldier by others, by the Government, by +the Sanitary Commission, and by State agencies. Then we reply, that this +tenderness of the soldier, if tenderness it be, and this sagacity, if +sagacity prompted the care, were both the offspring of that high +intelligence which is the proper result of popular education.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There is but one possible mode of escape from such testimony. This whole +train of argument is inconclusive, it may be asserted, because what is +maintained is not that intellectual culture is unhealthful, where it is +woven into the web of active life, but only where the pursuit of +knowledge is one's business. It may be readily allowed, that, where the +whole nature is kept alive by the breath of outward enterprise, when the +great waves of this world's excitements are permitted to roll with +purifying tides into the inmost recesses of the soul, the results of +mental culture may be modified. But what of the saints? What of the +literary men <i>par excellence</i>?</p> + +<p>Ah! if you restrain us to that line of inquiry, the argument will be +trebly strong, and the facts grow overwhelmingly pertinent and +conclusive. Will you examine the careful registry of deaths in +Massachusetts which has been kept the last twenty years? It will inform +you that the classes whose average of life is high up, almost the +highest up, are with us the classes that work with the brain,—the +judges, the lawyers, the physicians, the clergymen, the professors in +your colleges. The very exception to this statement rather confirms than +contradicts our general position, that intellectual culture is +absolutely invigorating. The cultivators of the soil live longest. But +note that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> it is the educated, intelligent farmers, the farmers of +Massachusetts, the farmers of a State of common schools, the farmers who +link thought to labor, who live long. And doubtless, if they carried +more thought into their labor, if they were more intelligent, if they +were better educated, they would live yet longer. At any rate, in +England the cultivators of her soil, her down-trodden peasantry, +sluggish and uneducated, do not live out half their days. Very likely +the farmer's lot, <i>plus</i> education and <i>plus</i> habits of mental activity, +is the healthiest as it is the primal condition of man. Nevertheless, +considering what is the general opinion, it is surprising how slight is +the advantage which he has even then over the purely literary classes.</p> + +<p>Will you go to Harvard University and ascertain what becomes of her +children? Take up, then, Dr. Palmer's Necrology of the Alumni of Harvard +from 1851 to 1863. You will learn, that, while the average age of all +persons who in Massachusetts die after they have attained the period of +twenty years is but fifty years, the average age of Harvard graduates, +who die in like manner, is fifty-eight years. Thus you have, in favor of +the highest form of public education known in the State, a clear average +of eight years. You may examine backward the Triennial Catalogue as far +as you please, and you will not find the testimony essentially +different. The statement will stand impregnable, that, from the time +John Harvard founded our little College in the wilderness, to this hour, +when it is fast becoming a great University, with its schools in every +department, and its lectures covering the whole field of human +knowledge, the graduates have always attained a longevity surpassing +that of their generation.</p> + +<p>And you are to observe that this comparison is a strictly just +comparison. We contrast not the whole community, old and young, with +those who must necessarily have attained manhood before they are a class +at all; but adults with adults, graduates with those of other avocations +who have arrived at the period of twenty years. Neither do we compare +the bright and peculiar luminaries of Harvard with the mass of +men,—though, in fact, it is well known that the best scholars live the +most years,—but we compare the whole body of the graduates, bright and +dull, studious and unstudious, with the whole body of the community.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>To the array of evidence which may be brought from all the registries of +all the states and universities under heaven, some may triumphantly +exclaim, "Statistics are unworthy of trust." "To lie like statistics," +"false as a fact," these are the stalest of witticisms. But the +objection to which they give point is practically frivolous. Grant that +statistics are to a certain degree doubtful, are they not the most +trustworthy evidence we have? And in the question at issue, are they not +the only evidence which has real force? And allowing their general +defectiveness, how shall we explain, that, though gathered from all +sides and by all kinds of people, they so uniformly favor education? +Why, if they must err, do they err so pertinaciously in one direction? +How does it happen, that, summon as many witnesses as you please, and +cross-question them as severely as you can, they never falter in this +testimony, that, where intelligence abounds, there physical vigor does +much more abound? that, where education is broad and generous, there the +years are many and happy?</p> + +<p>If, therefore, facts can prove anything, it is that just such a +condition of life as that which is growing more and more general among +us, and which our common-school system directly fosters, where every man +is becoming an educated man,—where the farmer upon his acres, the +merchant at his desk, and the mechanic in his shop, no less than the +scholar poring over his books shall be in the truest sense +educated,—that such a condition is the one of all others which promotes +habits of thought and action, an elasticity of temper and a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> breadth of +vision and interest most conducive to health and vigor. It is the +fashion to talk of the appearance of superior robustness so +characteristic of our English brethren. But we suspect that in this +case, too, appearances are deceitful. That climate may produce in us a +restless energy inconsistent with rounded forms and rosy cheeks we +freely allow. But in strength and real endurance the New England +constitution will yield to none. And the stern logic of facts shows +beyond a peradventure, that here there are no influences, climatic or +intellectual, which war with longevity. What may be hidden in the +future, what results may come from a still wider diffusion of education, +we cannot tell, but hitherto nothing but good has come of +ever-increasing knowledge.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>We hasten now to inquire concerning the health and years of special +classes of literary men: not, indeed, to prove that there is no real war +between the mind and the body,—for we consider that point to be already +demonstrated,—but rather to show that we need shrink from no field of +inquiry, and that from every fresh field will come new evidence of the +substantial truth of our position.</p> + +<p>We have taken the trouble to ascertain the average age of all the +English poets of whom Johnson wrote lives, some fifty or sixty in all. +Here are great men and small men, men with immortal names and men whose +names were long since forgotten, men of good habits and men whose habits +would undermine any constitution, flourishing, too, in a period when +human life was certainly far shorter in England than now. And how long +did they live? What do you think? Thirty, forty years? No; they endured +their sainthood, or their want of it, for the comfortable period of +fifty-six years. Nor is the case a particle different, if you take only +the great and memorable names of English poetry. Chaucer, living at the +dawn almost of English civilization; Shakspeare, whose varied and +marvellous dramas might well have exhausted any vitality; Milton, +struggling with domestic infelicity, with political hatred, and with +blindness; Dryden, Pope, Swift: none of these burning and shining lights +of English literature went out at mid-day. The result is not altered, if +you come nearer our own time. That galaxy of talent and genius which +shone with such brilliancy in the Scottish capital at the beginning of +the century,—Sydney Smith, Lord Jeffrey, Christopher North, Macaulay, +Mackintosh, De Quincey, Brougham,—all these, with scarcely an +exception, have lived far beyond the average of human life. So was it +with the great poets and romancers of that period. Wordsworth, living +the life of a recluse near the beautiful lakes of Westmoreland, lasted +to fourscore. Southey, after a life of unparalleled literary industry, +broke down at sixty-six. Coleridge, with habits which ought to have +destroyed him early, lingered till sixty-two. Scott, struggling to throw +off a mountain-load of debt, endured superhuman labor till more than +sixty. Even Byron and Burns, who did not live as men who desired length +of days, died scarcely sooner than their generation.</p> + +<p>You are not willing, perhaps, to test this question by the longevity of +purely literary men. You ask what can be said about the great preachers. +You have always heard, that, while the ministers were, no doubt, men of +excellent intentions and much sound learning, what with their morbid +notions of life, and what with the weight of a rather heavy sort of +erudition, they were saints with the very poorest kind of bodies. Just +the contrary. No class lives longer. We once made out a list of the +thirty most remarkable preachers of the last four centuries that we +could call to mind. Of the age to which most of these attained we had at +the outset no idea whatever. In that list were included the men who must +figure in every candid account of preaching. The great men of the +Reformation, Luther, Melancthon, Calvin, Beza, Knox, were there. That +resplendent group which adorned the seventeenth century, and whose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> +names are synonymes for pulpit eloquence, Barrow, South, Jeremy Taylor, +and Tillotson, were prominent in it. The milder lights of the last +century, Paley, Blair, Robertson, Priestley, were not forgotten. The +Catholics were represented by Massillon, Bossuet, Bourdalouë, and +Fénelon. The Protestants as truly by Robert Hall and Chalmers, by Wesley +and Channing. In short, it was a thoroughly fair list. We then proceeded +to ascertain the average life of those included in it. It was just +sixty-nine years. And we invite all persons who are wedded to the notion +that the saints are always knights of the broken body, to take pen and +paper and jot down the name of every remarkable preacher since the year +1500 that they can recall, and add, if they wish, every man in their own +vicinity who has risen in learning and talent above the mass of his +profession. We will insure the result without any premium. They will +produce a list that would delight the heart of a provident director of a +life-insurance company. And their average will come as near the old +Scripture pattern of threescore years and ten as that of any body of men +who have lived since the days of Isaac and Jacob.</p> + +<p>If now any one has a lurking doubt of the physical value of an active +and well-stored mind, let him pass from the preachers to the statesmen, +from the men who teach the wisdom of the world to come to the men who +administer the things of this world. Let him begin with the grand names +of the Long Parliament,—Hampden, Pym, Vane, Cromwell,—and then gather +up all the great administrators of the next two centuries, down to the +octogenarians who are now foremost in the conduct of British affairs; +and if he wishes to widen his observation, let him pass over the Channel +to the Continent, and in France recall such names as Sully and +Richelieu, Mazarin and Colbert, Talleyrand and Guizot; in Austria, +Kaunitz and Metternich. And when he has made his list as broad, as +inclusive of all really great statesmanship everywhere as he can, find +his average; and if he can bring it much beneath seventy, he will be +more fortunate than we were when we tried the experiment.</p> + +<p>Do not by any means omit the men of science. There are the astronomers. +If any employment would seem to draw a man up to heaven, it would be +this. Yet, of all men, astronomers apparently have had the most wedded +attachment to earth. Galileo, Newton, La Place, Herschel,—these are the +royal names, the fixed stars, set, as it were, in that very firmament +which for so many years they searched with telescopic eye. And yet +neither of them lived less than seventy-eight years. As for the men of +natural science, it looks as though they were spared by some +Providential provision, in order that they might observe and report for +long epochs the changes of this old earth of ours. Cuvier dying at +seventy-five, Sir Joseph Banks at seventy-seven, Buffon at eighty-one, +Blumenbach at eighty-eight, and Humboldt at fourscore and ten, are some +of the cases which make such a supposition altogether reasonable.</p> + +<p>Cross the ocean, and you will find the same testimony, that mental +culture is absolutely favorable to physical endurance. The greatest men +in our nation's history, whether in walks of statesmanship, science, or +literature, almost without exception, have lived long. Franklin, +Washington, Jefferson, Madison, the elder Adams, and Patrick Henry, in +earlier periods,—the younger Adams, Clay, Calhoun, Webster, Choate, and +Everett, Irving, Prescott, Cooper, and Hawthorne, in later times,—are +cases in point. These men did not die prematurely. They grew strong by +the toil of the brain. And to-day the quartette of our truest +poets—Bryant, Whittier, Longfellow, and Holmes—are with us in the hale +years of a green age, never singing sweeter songs, never harping more +inspiring strains. Long may our ears hear their melodies!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>If now we could enter the walks of private life, and study widely the +experience of individual men, we should<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> have an interesting record +indeed, and a manifold and wellnigh irresistible testimony. Consider a +few remarkable, yet widely differing cases.</p> + +<p>Who can read attentively the life of John Wesley, and not exclaim, if +varied and exhausting labor, if perpetual excitement and constant drafts +upon the brain, would ever wear a man out, he would have worn out? It +was his creative energy that called into existence a denomination, his +ardent piety that inspired it, his clear mind that legislated for it, +his heroic industry that did no mean part of the incessant daily toil +needful for its establishment. Yet this man of many labors, who through +a long life never knew practically the meaning of the word <i>leisure</i>, +says, at seventy-two, "How is it that I find the same strength that I +did thirty years ago, that my nerves are firmer, that I have none of the +infirmities of old age, and have lost several that I had in youth." And +ten years later, he devoutly records, "Is anything too hard for God? It +is now eleven years since I have felt such a thing as weariness." And he +continued till eighty-eight in full possession of his faculties, +laboring with body and mind alike to within a week of his death.</p> + +<p>Joseph Priestley was certainly a very different man, but scarcely less +remarkable. No mean student in all branches of literature, a +metaphysician, a theologian, a man of science, he began life with a +feeble frame, and ended a hearty old age at seventy-one. He himself +declares at fifty-four, that, "so far from suffering from application to +study, I have found my health steadily improve from the age of eighteen +to the present time."</p> + +<p>You would scarcely find a life more widely divided from these than that +of Washington Irving. Nevertheless, it is like them in one respect, that +it bears emphatic testimony to the real healthiness of mental exertion. +He was the feeblest of striplings at eighteen. At nineteen, Judge Kent +said, "He is not long for this world." His friends sent him abroad at +twenty-one, to see if a sea voyage would not husband his strength. So +pale, so broken, was he, that, when he stepped on board the ship, the +captain whispered, "There is a chap who will be overboard before we are +across!" Irving had, too, his share of misfortunes,—failure in +business, loss of investments, in earlier life some anxiety as to the +ways and means of support. Even his habits of study were hardly what the +highest wisdom would direct. While he was always genial and social, and +at times easy almost to indolence, when the mood seized him, he would +write incessantly for weeks and even for months, sometimes fourteen, +fifteen, or sixteen hours in a day. But he grew robust for half a +century, and writes, at seventy-five, that he has now "a streak of old +age."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The example of some of those who are said to have been worn out by +intense mental application furnishes perhaps the most convincing proof +of all that no reasonable activity of the mind ever warred with the best +health of the body. Walter Scott, we are told, wore out. And very +likely, to a certain extent, the statement is true. But what had he not +accomplished before he wore out? He had astonished the world with that +wonderful series of romances which place him scarcely second to any name +in English literature. He had sung those border legends which delighted +the ears of his generation. He had produced histories which show, that, +had he chosen, he might have been as much a master in the region of +historic fact as in the realm of imagination. He had edited other men's +works; he had written essays; he had lent himself with a royal +generosity to every one who asked his time or influence; and when, +almost an old man, commercial bankruptcy overtook him, and he sought to +lift the mountain of his debt by pure intellectual toil, he wore out. +But declining years, disappointed hopes, desperate exertions, may wear +anybody out. He wore out, but it was at more than threescore years, when +nine tenths of his generation had long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> slept in quiet graves,—when the +crowd of the thoughtless and indolent, who began life with him, had +rusted out in inglorious repose. Yes, Walter Scott wore out, if you call +that wearing out.</p> + +<p>John Calvin, all his biographers say, wore out. Perhaps so;—but not +without a prolonged resistance. Commencing life with the frailest +constitution, he was, as early as twenty-five, a model of erudition, and +had already written his immortal work. For thirty years he was in the +heat and ferment of a great religious revolution. For thirty years he +was one of the controlling minds of his age. For thirty years he was the +sternest soldier in the Church Militant, bearing down stubborn +resistance by a yet more stubborn will. For thirty years neither his +brain nor his pen knew rest. And so at fifty-six this man of broken body +and many labors laid down the weapons of his warfare; but it was at +Geneva, where the public registers tell us that the average of human +life in that century was only nine years.</p> + +<p>One writes words like these:—"John Kitto died, and his death was the +judgment for overwork, and overwork of a single organ,—the brain." And +who was John Kitto? A poor boy, the son a drunken father, subject from +infancy to agonizing headache. An unfortunate lad, who at thirteen fell +from a scaffolding and was taken up for dead, and escaped only with +total deafness and a supposed permanent injury to the brain. A hapless +apprentice, who suffered at the hands of a cruel taskmaster all that +brutality and drunken fury could suggest. A youth, thirsting for +knowledge, but able to obtain it only by the hardest ways, peering into +booksellers' windows, reading at book-stalls, purchasing cheap books +with pennies stained all over with the sweat of his toil. An heroic +student, who labored for more than twenty years with almost unparalleled +industry, and with an equally unparalleled neglect of the laws of +health; of whom it is scarcely too much to say literally, that he knew +no change, but from his desk to his bed, and from his bed to his desk +again. A voluminous writer, who, if he produced no work of positive +genius, has done more than any other man to illustrate the Scriptures, +and to make familiar and vivid the scenery, the life, the geography, and +the natural history of the Holy Land. And he died in the harness,—but +not so very early,—at fifty. And we say that he would have lived much +longer, had he given his constitution a fair chance. But when we +remember his passionate fondness for books, how they compensated him for +the want of wealth, comforts, and the pleasant voices of wife and +children that he could not hear, we grow doubtful. And we hear him +exclaim almost in rhapsody,—"If I were blind as well as deaf, in what a +wretched situation should I be! If I could not read, how deplorable +would be my condition! What earthly pleasure equal to the reading of a +good book? O dearest tomes! O princely and august folios! to obtain you, +I would work night and day, and forbid myself every sensual joy!" When +we behold the forlorn man, shut out by his misfortune from so many +resources, and finding more than recompense for this privation within +the four walls of his library, we are tempted to say, No, he would not +have lived as long; had he studied less, he would have remembered his +griefs more.</p> + +<p>Of course it is easy to take exception to all evidence drawn from the +life and experience of individual men,—natural to say that one must +needs be somewhat old before he can acquire a great name at all, and +that our estimate considers those alone to whom mere prolongation of day +has given reputation, and forgets "the village Hampdens, the mute, +inglorious Miltons," the unrecorded Newtons, the voiceless orators, +sages, or saints who have died and made no sign. To this the simple +reply is, that individual cases, however numerous and striking, are not +relied upon to prove any position, but only to illustrate and confirm +one which general data have already demonstrated. Grant the full force +of every criticism, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> then it remains true that the widest record of +literary life exhibits no tendency of mental culture to shorten human +life or to create habits which would shorten it. Indeed, we do not know +where to look for any broad range of facts which would indicate that +education here or anywhere else has decreased or is likely to decrease +health. And were it not for the respect which we cherish towards those +who hold it, we should say that such a position was as nearly pure +theory or prejudice or opinion founded on fragmentary data as any view +well could be.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>But do you mean to assert that there is no such thing as intellectual +excess? that intellectual activity never injures? that unremitting +attention to mental pursuits, with an entire abstinence from proper +exercise and recreation, is positively invigorating? that robbing the +body of sleep, and bending it sixteen or eighteen hours over the desk, +is the best way to build it up in grace and strength? Of course no one +would say any such absurd things. There is a right and wrong use of +everything. Any part of the system will wear out with excessive use. +Overwork kills, but certainly not any quicker when it is overwork of the +mind than when it is overwork of the body. Overwork in the study is just +as healthful as overwork on the farm or at the ledger or in the smoky +shop, toiling and moiling, with no rest and no quickening thoughts. +Especially is it true that education does not peculiarly tempt a man to +excess.</p> + +<p>But are you ready to maintain that there is no element of excess infused +into our common-school system? Certainly. Most emphatically there is +not. What, then, is there to put over against these terrible statements +of excessive labor of six or seven hours a day, under which young brains +are reeling and young spines are bending until there are no rosy-checked +urchins and blooming maids left among us? The inexorable logic of facts. +The public schools of Massachusetts were taught in the years 1863-4 on +an average just thirty-two weeks, just five days in a week, and, making +proper allowance for recesses and opening exercises, just five and a +quarter hours in a day. Granting now that all the boys and girls studied +during these hours faithfully, you have an average for the three hundred +and thirteen working days of the year of two hours and forty-one minutes +a day,—an amount of study that never injured any healthy child. But, +going back a little to youthful recollections, and considering the +amazing proclivity of the young mind to idleness, whispering, and fun +and frolic in general, it seems doubtful whether our children ever yet +attained to so high an average of actual study as two hours a day. As a +modification of this statement, it may be granted that in the cities and +larger towns the school term reaches forty weeks in a year. If you add +one hour as the average amount of study at home, given by pupils of over +twelve years, (and the allowance is certainly ample,) you have four +hours as the utmost period ever given by any considerable class of +children. That there is excess we freely admit. That there are easy +committee-men who permit too high a pressure, and infatuated teachers +who insist upon it, that there are ambitious children whom nobody can +stop, and silly parents who fondly wish to see their children +monstrosities of brightness, lisping Latin and Greek in their cradles, +respiring mathematics as they would the atmosphere, and bristling all +over with facts of natural science like porcupines, till every bit of +childhood is worked out of them,—that such things are, we are not +inclined to deny. But they are rare exceptions,—no more a part of the +system than white crows are proper representatives of the dusky and +cawing brotherhood.</p> + +<p>Or yet again, do we mean to assert that no attention need be given to +the formation of right physical habits? or that bodily exercise ought +not to be joined to mental toils? or that the walk in the woods, the row +upon the quiet river, the stroll with rod in hand by the babbling brook, +or with gun on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> shoulder over the green prairies, or the skating in the +crisp December air on the glistening lake, ought to be discouraged? Do +we speak disrespectfully of dumb-bells and clubs and parallel bars, and +all the paraphernalia of the gymnasium? Are we aggrieved at the mention +of boxing-gloves or single-stick or foils? Would it shock our nervous +sensibilities, if our next-door neighbor the philosopher, or some +near-by grave and reverend doctor of divinity, or even the learned judge +himself, should give unmistakable evidence that he had in his body the +two hundred and odd bones and the five hundred and more muscles, with +all their fit accompaniments of joints and sinews, of which the +anatomists tell us? Not at all. Far from it. We exercise, no doubt, too +little. We know of God's fair world too much by description, too little +by the sight of our own eyes. Welcome anything which leads us out into +this goodly and glorious universe! Welcome all that tends to give the +human frame higher grace and symmetry! Welcome the gymnastics, too, +heavy or light either, if they will guide us to a more harmonious +physical development.</p> + +<p>We ourselves own a set of heavy Indian-clubs, of middling Indian-clubs, +and of light Indian-clubs. We have iron dumb-bells and wooden +dumb-bells. We recollect with considerable satisfaction a veritable +bean-bag which did good service in the household until it unfortunately +sprung a-leak. In an amateur way we have tried both systems, and felt +the better for them. We have a dim remembrance of rowing sundry leagues, +and even of dabbling with the rod and line. We always look with friendly +eye upon the Harvard Gymnasium, whenever it looms up in actual or mental +vision. Never yet could we get by an honest game of cricket or base-ball +without losing some ten minutes in admiring contemplation. We bow with +deep respect to Dr. Windship and his heavy weights. We bow, if anything, +with a trifle more of cordiality to Dr. Lewis and his light weights. +They both have our good word. We think that they would have our example, +were it not for the fatal proclivity of solitary gymnastics to dulness. +If we have not risen to the high degrees in this noble order of muscular +Christians, we claim at least to be a humble craftsman and faithful +brother.</p> + +<p>Speaking with all seriousness, we have no faith in mental activity +purchased at the expense of physical sloth. It is well to introduce into +the school, into the family, and into the neighborhood any movement +system which will exercise all the muscles of the body. But the educated +man is not any more likely to need this general physical development +than anybody else. Establish your gymnasium in any village, and the +farmer fresh from the plough, the mechanic from swinging the hammer or +driving the plane, will be just as sure to find new muscles that he +never dreamed of as the palest scholar of them all. And the diffusion of +knowledge and refinement, so far from promoting inactivity and banishing +recreations from life, directly feeds that craving for variety out of +which healthful changes come, and awakens that noble curiosity which at +fit seasons sends a man out to see how the wild-flower grows in the +woods, how the green buds open in the spring, how the foliage takes on +its painted autumn glory, which leads him to struggle through tangled +thickets or through pathless woods that he may behold the brook laughing +in cascade from rock to rock, or to breast the steep mountain that he +may behold from a higher outlook the wonders of the visible creation. +Other things being equal, the educated man in any vocation is quite as +likely as another to be active, quick in every motion and free in every +limb.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>But admit all that is claimed. Admit that increasing intelligence has +changed the average of man's life from the twenty-five years of the +seventeenth century to the thirty-five of the eighteenth or the +forty-five years of the nineteenth century. Admit, too, that the best +educated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> men of this generation will live five or ten years more than +the least educated men. Ought we to be satisfied with things as they +are? Should we not look for more than the forty or fifty years of human +life? Assuredly. But it is not our superfluous sainthood which is +destroying life. It is not that we have too much saintliness, but too +little, too limited wisdom, too narrow intelligence, too small an +endowment of virtue and conscience. It is our fierce absorption in +outward plans which plants anxieties like thorns in the heart. It is out +sloth and gluttony which eat out vitality. It is our unbridled appetites +and passions which burn like a consuming fire in our breasts. It is our +unwise exposure which saps the strength and gives energy and force to +latent disease. These, tenfold more than any intense application of the +brain to its legitimate work, limit and destroy human life. The truly +cultivated mind tends to give just aims, moderate desires, and good +habits.</p> + +<p>Ay, and when the true sainthood shall possess and rule humanity,—when +the fields of knowledge with their wholesome fruits shall tempt every +foot away from the forbidden paths of vice and sensual indulgence,—when +a wise intelligence shall cool the hot passions which dry up the +refreshing fountains of peace and joy in the heart,—when a heavenly +wisdom shall lift us above any bondage to this world's fortunes, and +when a good conscience and a lofty trust shall forbid us to be slaves to +any occupation lower than the highest,—when we stand erect and free, +clothed with a real saintliness,—then the years of our life may +increase, and man may go down to his grave "in a full age, like as a +shock of corn cometh in in his season."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile we must stand firmly on this assertion, that, the more of +mental and moral sainthood our people achieve, the more that sainthood +will write fair inscriptions on their bodies, will shine out in +intelligence in their faces, will exhibit itself in graceful form and +motion, and thus add to the deeper and more lasting virtues physical +power, a body which shall be at once a good servant and the proper +representative of a refined and elevated soul.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="NO_TIME_LIKE_THE_OLD_TIME" id="NO_TIME_LIKE_THE_OLD_TIME"></a>NO TIME LIKE THE OLD TIME.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is no time like the old time, when you and I were young,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the buds of April blossomed, and the birds of spring-time sung!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The garden's brightest glories by summer suns are nursed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, oh, the sweet, sweet violets, the flowers that opened first!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is no place like the old place where you and I were born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where we lifted first our eyelids on the splendors of the morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the milk-white breast that warmed us, from the clinging arms that bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the dear eyes glistened o'er us that will look on us no more!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is no friend like the old friend who has shared our morning days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No greeting like his welcome, no homage like his praise:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fame is the scentless sunflower, with gaudy crown of gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is no love like the old love that we courted in our pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though our leaves are falling, falling, and we're fading side by side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are blossoms all around us with the colors of our dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we live in borrowed sunshine when the light of day is gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There are no times like the old times,—they shall never be forgot!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is no place like the old place,—keep green the dear old spot!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are no friends like our old friends,—may Heaven prolong their lives!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are no loves like our old loves,—God bless our loving wives!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="COUPON_BONDS" id="COUPON_BONDS"></a>COUPON BONDS.</h2> + + +<h3>PART II.</h3> + +<p>Mr. Ducklow had scarcely turned the corner of the street, when, looking +anxiously in the direction of his homestead, he saw a column of smoke. +It was directly over the spot where he knew his house to be situated. He +guessed at a glance what had happened. The frightful catastrophe he +foreboded had befallen. Taddy had set the house afire.</p> + +<p>"Them bonds! them bonds!" he exclaimed, distractedly. He did not think +so much of the house: house and furniture were insured; if they were +burned, the inconvenience would be great indeed, and at any other time +the thought of such an event would have been a sufficient cause for +trepidation,—but now his chief, his only anxiety was the bonds. They +were not insured. They would be a dead loss. And what added sharpness to +his pangs, they would be a loss which he must keep a secret, as he had +kept their existence a secret,—a loss which he could not confess, and +of which he could not complain. Had he not just given his neighbors to +understand that he held no such property? And his wife,—was she not at +that very moment, if not serving up a lie on the subject, at least +paring the truth very thin indeed?</p> + +<p>"A man would think," observed Ferring, "that Ducklow had some o' them +bonds on his hands, and got scaret, he took such a sudden start. He has, +hasn't he, Mrs. Ducklow?"</p> + +<p>"Has what?" said Mrs. Ducklow, pretending ignorance.</p> + +<p>"Some o' them cowpon bonds. I ruther guess he's got some."</p> + +<p>"You mean Gov'ment bonds? Ducklow got some? 'Ta'n't at all likely he'd +spec'late in them, without saying something to <i>me</i> about it! No, he +couldn't have any without my knowing it, I'm sure!"</p> + +<p>How demure, how innocent she looked, plying her knitting-needles, and +stopping to take up a stitch! How little at that moment she knew of +Ducklow's trouble, and its terrible cause!</p> + +<p>Ducklow's first impulse was to drive on and endeavor at all hazards to +snatch the bonds from the flames. His next was, to return and alarm his +neighbors, and obtain their assistance. But a minute's delay might be +fatal; so he drove on, screaming "Fire! fire!" at the top of his voice.</p> + +<p>But the old mare was a slow-footed animal; and Ducklow had no whip. He +reached forward and struck her with the reins.</p> + +<p>"Git up! git up!—Fire! fire!" screamed Ducklow. "Oh, them bonds! them +bonds! Why didn't I give the money to Reuben? Fire! fire! fire!"</p> + +<p>By dint of screaming and slapping, he urged her from a trot into a +gallop,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> which was scarcely an improvement as to speed, and certainly +not as to grace. It was like the gallop of an old cow. "Why don't ye go +'long!" he cried despairingly.</p> + +<p>Slap, slap! He knocked his own hat off with the loose ends of the reins. +It fell under the wheels. He cast one look behind, to satisfy himself +that it had been very thoroughly run over and crushed into the dirt, and +left it to its fate.</p> + +<p>Slap, slap! "Fire, fire!" Canter, canter, canter! Neighbors looked out +of their windows, and, recognizing Ducklow's wagon and old mare in such +an astonishing plight, and Ducklow himself, without his hat, rising from +his seat, and reaching forward in wild attitudes, brandishing the reins, +at the same time rending the azure with yells, thought he must be +insane.</p> + +<p>He drove to the top of the hill, and looking beyond, in expectation of +seeing his house wrapped in flames, discovered that the smoke proceeded +from a brush-heap which his neighbor Atkins was burning in a field near +by.</p> + +<p>The revulsion of feeling that ensued was almost too much for the +excitable Ducklow. His strength went out of him. For a little while +there seemed to be nothing left of him but tremor and cold sweat. +Difficult as it had been to get the old mare in motion, it was now even +more difficult to stop her.</p> + +<p>"Why! what has got into Ducklow's old mare? She's running away with him! +Who ever heard of such a thing!" And Atkins, watching the ludicrous +spectacle from his field, became almost as weak from laughter as Ducklow +was from the effects of fear.</p> + +<p>At length Ducklow succeeded in checking the old mare's speed, and in +turning her about. It was necessary to drive back for his hat. By this +time he could hear a chorus of shouts, "Fire! fire! fire!" over the +hill. He had aroused the neighbors as he passed, and now they were +flocking to extinguish the flames.</p> + +<p>"A false alarm! a false alarm!" said Ducklow, looking marvellously +sheepish, as he met them. "Nothing but Atkins's brush-heap!"</p> + +<p>"Seems to me you ought to have found that out 'fore you raised all +creation with your yells!" said one hyperbolical fellow. "You looked +like the Flying Dutchman! This your hat? I thought 'twas a dead cat in +the road. No fire, no fire!"—turning back to his comrades,—"only one +of Ducklow's jokes."</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, two or three boys there were who would not be convinced, +but continued to leap up, swing their caps, and scream "Fire!" against +all remonstrance. Ducklow did not wait to enter into explanations, but, +turning the old mare about again, drove home amid the laughter of the +bystanders and the screams of the misguided youngsters. As he approached +the house, he met Taddy rushing wildly up the street.</p> + +<p>"Thaddeus! Thaddeus! where ye goin', Thaddeus?"</p> + +<p>"Goin' to the fire!" cried Taddy.</p> + +<p>"There isn't any fire, boy!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is! Didn't ye hear 'em? They've been yellin' like fury."</p> + +<p>"It's nothin' but Atkins's brush."</p> + +<p>"That all?" And Taddy appeared very much disappointed. "I thought there +was goin' to be some fun. I wonder who was such a fool as to yell fire +jest for a darned old brush-heap!"</p> + +<p>Ducklow did not inform him.</p> + +<p>"I've got to drive over to town and git Reuben's trunk. You stand by the +mare while I step in and brush my hat."</p> + +<p>Instead of applying himself at once to the restoration of his beaver, he +hastened to the sitting-room, to see that the bonds were safe.</p> + +<p>"Heavens and 'arth!" said Ducklow.</p> + +<p>The chair, which had been carefully planted in the spot where they were +concealed, had been removed. Three or four tacks had been taken out, and +the carpet pushed from the wall. There was straw scattered about. +Evidently Taddy had been interrupted, in the midst of his ransacking, by +the alarm of fire. Indeed, he was even now creeping into the house to +see what notice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> Ducklow would take of these evidences of his mischief.</p> + +<p>In great trepidation the farmer thrust in his hand here and there, and +groped, until he found the envelope precisely where it had been placed +the night before, with the tape tied around it, which his wife had put +on to prevent its contents from slipping out and losing themselves. +Great was the joy of Ducklow. Great also was the wrath of him, when he +turned and discovered Taddy.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I tell you to stand by the old mare?"</p> + +<p>"She won't stir," said Taddy, shrinking away again.</p> + +<p>"Come here!" And Ducklow grasped him by the collar. "What have you been +doin'? Look at that!"</p> + +<p>"'Twa'n't me!"—beginning to whimper, and ram his fists into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Don't tell me 'twa'n't you!" Ducklow shook him till his teeth +chattered. "What was you pullin' up the carpet for?"</p> + +<p>"Lost a marble!" snivelled Taddy.</p> + +<p>"Lost a marble! Ye didn't lose it under the carpet, did ye? Look at all +that straw pulled out!"—shaking him again.</p> + +<p>"Didn't know but it might 'a' got under the carpet, marbles roll so," +explained Taddy, as soon as he could get his breath.</p> + +<p>"Wal, Sir!" Ducklow administered a resounding box on his ear. "Don't you +do such a thing again, if you lose a million marbles!"</p> + +<p>"Ha'n't got a million!" Taddy wept, rubbing his cheek. "Ha'n't got but +four! Won't ye buy me some to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Go to that mare, and don't you leave her again till I come, or I'll +<i>marble</i> ye in a way you won't like!"</p> + +<p>Understanding, by this somewhat equivocal form of expression, that +flagellation was threatened, Taddy obeyed, still feeling his smarting +and burning ear.</p> + +<p>Ducklow was in trouble. What should he do with the bonds? The floor was +no place for them, after what had happened; and he remembered too well +the experience of yesterday to think for a moment of carrying them about +his person. With unreasonable impatience, his mind reverted to Mrs. +Ducklow.</p> + +<p>"Why a'n't she to home? These women are forever a-gaddin'! I wish +Reuben's trunk was in Jericho!"</p> + +<p>Thinking of the trunk reminded him of one in the garret, filled with old +papers of all sorts,—newspapers, letters, bills of sale, children's +writing-books,—accumulations of the past quarter of a century. Neither +fire nor burglar nor ransacking youngster had ever molested those +ancient records during all those five-and-twenty years. A bright thought +struck him.</p> + +<p>"I'll slip the bonds down into that wuthless heap o' rubbish, where no +one 'u'd ever think o' lookin' for 'em, and resk 'em."</p> + +<p>Having assured himself that Taddy was standing by the wagon, he paid a +hasty visit to the trunk in the garret, and concealed the envelope, +still bound in its band of tape, among the papers. He then drove away, +giving Taddy a final charge to beware of setting anything afire.</p> + +<p>He had driven about half a mile when he met a peddler. There was nothing +unusual or alarming in such a circumstance, surely; but as Ducklow kept +on, it troubled him.</p> + +<p>"He'll stop to the house now, most likely, and want to trade. Findin' +nobody but Taddy, there's no knowin' what he'll be tempted to do. But I +a'n't a-goin' to worry. I'll defy anybody to find them bonds. Besides, +she may be home by this time. I guess she'll hear of the fire-alarm, and +hurry home: it'll be jest like her. She'll be there, and—trade with the +peddler?" thought Ducklow, uneasily. Then a frightful fancy possessed +him. "She has threatened two or three times to sell that old trunkful of +papers. He'll offer a big price for 'em, and ten to one she'll let him +have 'em. Why <i>didn't</i> I think on 't? What a stupid blunderbuss I be!"</p> + +<p>As Ducklow thought of it, he felt almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> certain that Mrs. Ducklow had +returned home, and that she was bargaining with the peddler at that +moment. He fancied her smilingly receiving bright tin-ware for the old +papers; and he could see the tape-tied envelope going into the bag with +the rest! The result was, that he turned about and whipped the old mare +home again in terrific haste, to catch the departing peddler.</p> + +<p>Arriving, he found the house as he had left it, and Taddy occupied in +making a kite-frame.</p> + +<p>"Did that peddler stop here?"</p> + +<p>"I ha'n't seen no peddler."</p> + +<p>"And ha'n't yer Ma Ducklow been home, neither?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>And with a guilty look, Taddy put the kite-frame behind him.</p> + +<p>Ducklow considered. The peddler had turned up a cross-street: he would +probably turn down again and stop at the house, after all: Mrs. Ducklow +might by that time be at home: then the sale of old papers would be very +likely to take place. Ducklow thought of leaving word that he did not +wish any old papers in the house to be sold, but feared lest the request +might excite Taddy's suspicions.</p> + +<p>"I don't see no way but for me to take the bonds with me," thought he, +with an inward groan.</p> + +<p>He accordingly went to the garret, took the envelope out of the trunk, +and placed it in the breast-pocket of his overcoat, to which he pinned +it, to prevent it by any chance from getting out. He used six large, +strong pins for the purpose, and was afterwards sorry he did not use +seven.</p> + +<p>"There's suthin' losin' out of yer pocket!" bawled Taddy, as he was once +more mounting the wagon.</p> + +<p>Quick as lightning, Ducklow clapped his hand to his breast. In doing so, +he loosed his hold of the wagon-box and fell, raking his shin badly on +the wheel.</p> + +<p>"Yer side-pocket! it's one o' yer mittens!" said Taddy.</p> + +<p>"You rascal! how you scared me!"</p> + +<p>Seating himself in the wagon, Ducklow gently pulled up his trousers-leg +to look at the bruised part.</p> + +<p>"Got anything in yer boot-leg to-day, Pa Ducklow?" asked Taddy, +innocently.</p> + +<p>"Yes, a barked shin!—all on your account, too! Go and put that straw +back, and fix the carpet; and don't ye let me hear ye speak of my +boot-leg again, or I'll <i>boot-leg</i> ye!"</p> + +<p>So saying, Ducklow departed.</p> + +<p>Instead of repairing the mischief he had done in the sitting-room, Taddy +devoted his time and talents to the more interesting occupation of +constructing his kite-frame. He worked at that, until Mr. Grantley, the +minister, driving by, stopped to inquire how the folks were.</p> + +<p>"A'n't to home: may I ride?" cried Taddy, all in a breath.</p> + +<p>Mr. Grantley was an indulgent old gentleman, fond of children; so he +said, "Jump in"; and in a minute Taddy had scrambled to a seat by his +side.</p> + +<p>And now occurred a circumstance which Ducklow had foreseen. The alarm of +fire had reached Reuben's; and although the report of its falseness +followed immediately, Mrs. Ducklow's inflammable fancy was so kindled by +it that she could find no comfort in prolonging her visit.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ducklow'll be going for the trunk, and I <i>must</i> go home and see to +things, Taddy's <i>such</i> a fellow for mischief! I can foot it; I sha'n't +mind it."</p> + +<p>And off she started, walking herself out of breath in her anxiety.</p> + +<p>She reached the brow of the hill just in time to see a chaise drive away +from her own door.</p> + +<p>"Who <i>can</i> that be? I wonder if Taddy's there to guard the house! If +anything should happen to them bonds!"</p> + +<p>Out of breath as she was, she quickened her pace, and trudged on, +flushed, perspiring, panting, until she reached the house.</p> + +<p>"Thaddeus!" she called.</p> + +<p>No Taddy answered. She went in. The house was deserted. And lo! the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> +carpet torn up, and the bonds abstracted!</p> + +<p>Mr. Ducklow never would have made such work, removing the bonds. Then +somebody else must have taken them, she reasoned.</p> + +<p>"The man in the chaise!" she exclaimed, or rather made an effort to +exclaim, succeeding only in bringing forth a hoarse, gasping sound. Fear +dried up articulation. <i>Vox faucibus hœsit.</i></p> + +<p>And Taddy? He had disappeared; been murdered, perhaps,—or gagged and +carried away by the man in the chaise.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ducklow flew hither and thither, (to use a favorite phrase of her +own,) "like a hen with her head cut off"; then rushed out of the house, +and up the street, screaming after the chaise,—</p> + +<p>"Murder! murder! Stop thief! stop thief!"</p> + +<p>She waved her hands aloft in the air frantically. If she had trudged +before, now she trotted, now she cantered; but if the cantering of the +old mare was fitly likened to that of a cow, to what thing, to what +manner of motion under the sun, shall we liken the cantering of Mrs. +Ducklow? It was original; it was unique; it was prodigious. Now, with +her frantically waving hands, and all her undulating and flapping +skirts, she seemed a species of huge, unwieldy bird attempting to fly. +Then she sank down into a heavy, dragging walk,—breath and strength all +gone,—no voice left even to scream murder. Then the awful realization +of the loss of the bonds once more rushing over her, she started up +again. "Half running, half flying, what progress she made!" Then +Atkins's dog saw her, and, naturally mistaking her for a prodigy, came +out at her, bristling up and bounding and barking terrifically.</p> + +<p>"Come here!" cried Atkins, following the dog. "What's the matter? What's +to pay, Mrs. Ducklow?"</p> + +<p>Attempting to speak, the good woman could only pant and wheeze.</p> + +<p>"Robbed!" she at last managed to whisper, amid the yelpings of the cur +that refused to be silenced.</p> + +<p>"Robbed? How? Who?"</p> + +<p>"The chaise. Ketch it."</p> + +<p>Her gestures expressed more than her words; and Atkins's horse and +wagon, with which he had been drawing out brush, being in the yard near +by, he ran to them, leaped to the seat, drove into the road, took Mrs. +Ducklow aboard, and set out in vigorous pursuit of the slow two-wheeled +vehicle.</p> + +<p>"Stop, you, Sir! Stop, you, Sir!" shrieked Mrs. Ducklow, having +recovered her breath by the time they came up with the chaise.</p> + +<p>It stopped, and Mr. Grantley the minister put out his good-natured, +surprised face.</p> + +<p>"You've robbed my house! You've took"——</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ducklow was going on in wild, accusatory accents, when she +recognized the benign countenance.</p> + +<p>"What do you say? I have robbed you?" he exclaimed, very much +astonished.</p> + +<p>"No, no! not you! You wouldn't do such a thing!" she stammered forth, +while Atkins, who had laughed himself weak at Mr. Ducklow's plight +earlier in the morning, now laughed himself into a side-ache at Mrs. +Ducklow's ludicrous mistake. "But did you—did you stop at my house? +Have you seen our Thaddeus?"</p> + +<p>"Here I be, Ma Ducklow!" piped a small voice; and Taddy, who had till +then remained hidden, fearing punishment, peeped out of the chaise from +behind the broad back of the minister.</p> + +<p>"Taddy! Taddy! how came the carpet"——</p> + +<p>"I pulled it up, huntin' for a marble," said Taddy, as she paused, +overmastered by her emotions.</p> + +<p>"And the—the thing tied up in a brown wrapper?"</p> + +<p>"Pa Ducklow took it."</p> + +<p>"Ye sure?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I seen him!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Ducklow, "I never was so beat! Mr. Grantley, I +hope—excuse me—I didn't know what I was about! Taddy, you notty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> boy, +what did you leave the house for? Be ye quite sure yer Pa Ducklow"——</p> + +<p>Taddy repeated that he was quite sure, as he climbed from the chaise +into Atkins's wagon. The minister smilingly remarked that he hoped she +would find no robbery had been committed, and went his way. Atkins, +driving back, and setting her and Taddy down at the Ducklow gate, +answered her embarrassed "Much obleeged to ye," with a sincere "Not at +all," considering the fun he had had a sufficient compensation for his +trouble. And thus ended the morning's adventures, with the exception of +an unimportant episode, in which Taddy, Mrs. Ducklow, and Mrs. Ducklow's +rattan were the principal actors.</p> + +<p>At noon Mr. Ducklow returned.</p> + +<p>"Did ye take the bonds?" was his wife's first question.</p> + +<p>"Of course I did! Ye don't suppose I'd go away and leave 'em in the +house, not knowin' when you'd be comin' home?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, I didn't know. And I didn't know whuther to believe Taddy or not. +Oh, I've had such a fright!"</p> + +<p>And she related the story of her pursuit of the minister.</p> + +<p>"How could ye make such a fool of yerself? It'll git all over town, and +I shall be mortified to death. Jest like a woman, to git frightened!"</p> + +<p>"If <i>you</i> hadn't got frightened, and made a fool of <i>yourself</i>, yelling +fire, 'twouldn't have happened!" retorted Mrs. Ducklow.</p> + +<p>"Wal! wal! say no more about it! The bonds are safe."</p> + +<p>"I was in hopes you'd change 'em for them registered bonds Reuben spoke +of."</p> + +<p>"I did try to, but they told me to the bank it couldn't be did. Then I +asked 'em if they would keep 'em for me, and they said they wouldn't +object to lockin' on 'em up in their safe; but they wouldn't give me no +receipt, nor hold themselves responsible for 'em. I didn't know what +else to do, so I handed 'em the bonds to keep."</p> + +<p>"I want to know if you did now!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow, disapprovingly.</p> + +<p>"Why not? What else could I do? I didn't want to lug 'em around with me +forever. And as for keepin' 'em hid in the house, we've tried that!" and +Ducklow unfolded his weekly newspaper.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ducklow was placing the dinner on the table, with a look which +seemed to say, "<i>I</i> wouldn't have left the bonds in the bank; <i>my</i> +judgment would have been better than all that. If they are lost, <i>I</i> +sha'n't be to blame!" when suddenly Ducklow started and uttered a cry of +consternation over his newspaper.</p> + +<p>"Why, what have ye found?"</p> + +<p>"Bank robbery!"</p> + +<p>"Not <i>your</i> bank? Not the bank where <i>your bonds</i>"——</p> + +<p>"Of course not; but in the very next town! The safe blown open with +gunpowder! Five thousand dollars in Gov'ment bonds stole!"</p> + +<p>"How strange!" said Mrs. Ducklow. "Now what did I tell ye?"</p> + +<p>"I believe you're right," cried Ducklow, starting to his feet. "They'll +be safer in my own house, or even in my own pocket!"</p> + +<p>"If you was going to put 'em in any safe, why not put 'em in Josiah's? +He's got a safe, ye know."</p> + +<p>"So he has! We might drive over there and make a visit Monday, and ask +him to lock up——yes, we might tell him and Laury all about it, and +leave 'em in their charge."</p> + +<p>"So we might!" said Mrs. Ducklow.</p> + +<p>Laura was their daughter, and Josiah her husband, in whose honor and +sagacity they placed unlimited confidence. The plan was resolved upon at +once.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow's Sunday," said Ducklow, pacing the floor. "If we leave the +bonds in the bank over night, they must stay there till Monday."</p> + +<p>"And Sunday is jest the day for burglars to operate!" added Mrs. +Ducklow.</p> + +<p>"I've a good notion—let me see!" said Ducklow, looking at the clock.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> +"Twenty minutes after twelve! Bank closes at two! An hour and a half,—I +believe I could git there in an hour and a half. I will. I'll take a +bite and drive right back."</p> + +<p>Which he accordingly did, and brought the tape-tied envelope home with +him again. That night he slept with it under his pillow. The next day +was Sunday; and although Mr. Ducklow did not like to have the bonds on +his mind during sermon-time, and Mrs. Ducklow "dreaded dreadfully," as +she said, "to look the minister in the face," they concluded that it was +best, on the whole, to go to meeting, and carry the bonds. With the +envelope once more in his breast-pocket, (stitched in this time by Mrs. +Ducklow's own hand,) the farmer sat under the droppings of the +sanctuary, and stared up at the good minister, but without hearing a +word of the discourse, his mind was so engrossed by worldly cares, until +the preacher exclaimed vehemently, looking straight at Ducklow's pew,—</p> + +<p>"What said Paul? 'I would to God that not only thou, but also all that +hear me this day, were both almost and altogether such as I am, <i>except +these bonds</i>.' <i>'Except these bonds'!</i>" he repeated, striking the Bible. +"Can you, my hearers,—can you say, with Paul, 'Would that all were as I +am, <i>except these bonds</i>'?"</p> + +<p>A point which seemed for a moment so personal to himself, that Ducklow +was filled with confusion, and would certainly have stammered out some +foolish answer, had not the preacher passed on to other themes. As it +was, Ducklow contented himself with glancing around to see if the +congregation was looking at him, and carelessly passing his hand across +his breast-pocket to make sure the bonds were still there.</p> + +<p>Early the next morning, the old mare was harnessed, and Taddy's adopted +parents set out to visit their daughter,—Mrs. Ducklow having postponed +her washing for the purpose. It was afternoon when they arrived at their +journey's end. Laura received them joyfully, but Josiah was not expected +home until evening. Mr. Ducklow put the old mare in the barn, and fed +her, and then went in to dinner, feeling very comfortable indeed.</p> + +<p>"Josiah's got a nice place here. That's about as slick a little barn as +ever I see. Always does me good to come over here and see you gittin' +along so nicely, Laury."</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd come oftener, then," said Laura.</p> + +<p>"Wal, it's hard leavin' home, ye know. Have to git one of the Atkins +boys to come and sleep with Taddy the night we're away."</p> + +<p>"We shouldn't have come to-day, if 't hadn't been for me," remarked Mrs. +Ducklow. "Says I to your father, says I, 'I feel as if I wanted to go +over and see Laury; it seems an age since I've seen her,' says I. 'Wal,' +says he, 's'pos'n' we go!' says he. That was only last Saturday; and +this morning we started."</p> + +<p>"And it's no fool of a job to make the journey with the old mare!" said +Ducklow.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you drive a better horse?" said Laura, whose pride was always +touched when her parents came to visit her with the old mare and the +one-horse wagon.</p> + +<p>"Oh, she answers my purpose. Hossflesh is high, Laury. Have to +economize, these times."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure there's no need of your economizing!" exclaimed Laura, leading +the way to the dining-room. "Why don't you use your money, and have the +good of it?"</p> + +<p>"So I tell him," said Mrs. Ducklow, faintly.—"Why, Laury! I didn't want +you to be to so much trouble to git dinner jest for us! A bite would +have answered. Do see, father!"</p> + +<p>At evening Josiah came home; and it was not until then that Ducklow +mentioned the subject which was foremost in his thoughts.</p> + +<p>"What do ye think o' Gov'ment bonds, Josiah?" he incidentally inquired, +after supper.</p> + +<p>"First-rate!" said Josiah.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span></p> + +<p>"About as safe as anything, a'n't they?" said Ducklow, encouraged.</p> + +<p>"Safe?" cried Josiah. "Just look at the resources of this country! +Nobody has begun yet to appreciate the power and undeveloped wealth of +these United States. It's a big rebellion, I know; but we're going to +put it down. It'll leave us a big debt, very sure; but we handle it now +easy as that child lifts that stool. It makes him grunt and stagger a +little, not because he isn't strong enough for it, but because he don't +understand his own strength, or how to use it: he'll have twice the +strength, and know just how to apply it, in a little while. Just so with +this country. It makes me laugh to bear folks talk about repudiation and +bankruptcy."</p> + +<p>"But s'pos'n' we do put down the Rebellion, and the States come back: +then what's to hender the South, and Secesh sympathizers in the North, +from j'inin' together and votin' that the debt sha'n't be paid?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you worry about that! Do ye suppose we're going to be such fools +as to give the Rebels, after we've whipped 'em, the same political power +they had before the war? Not by a long chalk! Sooner than that, we'll +put the ballot into the hands of the freedmen. They're our friends. +They've fought on the right side, and they'll vote on the right side. I +tell ye, spite of all the prejudice there is against black skins, we +a'n't such a nation of ninnies as to give up all we're fighting for, and +leave our best friends and allies, not to speak of our own interests, in +the hands of our enemies."</p> + +<p>"You consider Gov'ments a good investment, then, do ye?" said Ducklow, +growing radiant.</p> + +<p>"I do, decidedly,—the very best. Besides, you help the Government; and +that's no small consideration."</p> + +<p>"So I thought. But how is it about the cowpon bonds? A'n't they rather +ticklish property to have in the house?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know. Think how many years you'll keep old bills and +documents and never dream of such a thing as losing them! There's not a +bit more danger with the bonds. I shouldn't want to carry 'em around +with me, to any great amount,—though I did once carry three +thousand-dollar bonds in my pocket for a week. I didn't mind it."</p> + +<p>"Curi's!" said Ducklow: "I've got three thousan'-dollar bonds in my +pocket this minute!"</p> + +<p>"Well, it's so much good property," said Josiah, appearing not at all +surprised at the circumstance.</p> + +<p>"Seems to me, though, if I had a safe, as you have, I should lock 'em up +in it."</p> + +<p>"I was travelling that week. I locked 'em up pretty soon after I got +home, though."</p> + +<p>"Suppose," said Ducklow, as if the thought had but just occurred to +him,—"suppose you put my bonds into your safe: I shall feel easier."</p> + +<p>"Of course," replied Josiah. "I'll keep 'em for you, if you like."</p> + +<p>"It will be an accommodation. They'll be safe, will they?"</p> + +<p>"Safe as mine are; safe as anybody's: I'll insure 'em for twenty-five +cents."</p> + +<p>Ducklow was happy. Mrs. Ducklow was happy. She took her husband's coat, +and with a pair of scissors cut the threads that stitched the envelope +to the pocket.</p> + +<p>"Have you torn off the May coupons?" asked Josiah.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, you'd better. They'll be payable now soon; and if you take them, +you won't have to touch the bonds again till the interest on the +November coupons is due."</p> + +<p>"A good idea!" said Ducklow.</p> + +<p>He took the envelope, untied the tape, and removed its contents. +Suddenly the glow of comfort, the gleam of satisfaction, faded from his +countenance.</p> + +<p>"Hello! What ye got there?" cried Josiah.</p> + +<p>"Why, father! massy sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow.</p> + +<p>As for Ducklow himself, he could not utter a word; but, dumb with +consternation, he looked again in the envelope, and opened and turned +inside out, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> shook, with trembling hands, its astonishing contents. +The bonds were not there: they had been stolen, and three copies of the +"Sunday Visitor" had been inserted in their place.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Very early on the following morning a dismal-faced middle-aged couple +might have been seen riding away from Josiah's house. It was the +Ducklows returning home, after their fruitless, their worse than +fruitless, journey. No entreaties could prevail upon them to prolong +their visit. It was with difficulty even that they had been prevented +from setting off immediately on the discovery of their loss, and +travelling all night, in their impatience to get upon the track of the +missing bonds.</p> + +<p>"There'll be not the least use in going to-night," Josiah had said. "If +they were stolen at the bank, you can't do anything about it till +to-morrow. And even if they were taken from your own house, I don't see +what's to be gained now by hurrying back. It isn't probable you'll ever +see 'em again, and you may just as well take it easy,—go to bed and +sleep on it, and get a fresh start in the morning."</p> + +<p>So, much against their inclination, the unfortunate owners of the +abstracted bonds retired to the luxurious chamber Laura gave them, and +lay awake all night, groaning and sighing, wondering and surmising, and +(I regret to add) blaming each other. So true it is, that "modern +conveniences," hot and cold water all over the house, a pier-glass, and +the most magnificently canopied couch, avail nothing to give +tranquillity to the harassed mind. Hitherto the Ducklows had felt great +satisfaction in the style their daughter, by her marriage, was enabled +to support. To brag of her nice house and furniture and two servants was +almost as good as possessing them. Remembering her rich dining-room and +silver service and porcelain, they were proud. Such things were enough +for the honor of the family; and, asking nothing for themselves, they +slept well in their humblest of bed-chambers, and sipped their tea +contentedly out of clumsy earthen. But that night the boasted style in +which their "darter" lived was less appreciated than formerly: fashion +and splendor were no longer a consolation.</p> + +<p>"If we had only given the three thousan' dollars to Reuben!" said +Ducklow, driving homewards with a countenance as long as his whip-lash. +"'Twould have jest set him up, and been some compensation for his +sufferin's and losses goin' to the war."</p> + +<p>"Wal, I had no objections," replied Mrs. Ducklow. "I always thought he +ought to have the money eventooally. And, as Miss Beswick said, no doubt +it would 'a' been ten times the comfort to him now it would be a number +o' years from now. But you didn't seem willing."</p> + +<p>"I don't know! 'twas you that wasn't willin'!"</p> + +<p>And they expatiated on Reuben's merits, and their benevolent intentions +towards him, and, in imagination, endowed him with the price of the +bonds over and over again: so easy is it to be generous with lost money!</p> + +<p>"But it's no use talkin'!" said Ducklow. "I've not the least idee we +shall ever see the color o' them bonds again. If they was stole to the +bank, I can't prove anything."</p> + +<p>"It does seem strange to me," Mrs. Ducklow replied, "that you should +have had no more gumption than to trust the bonds with strangers, when +they told you in so many words they wouldn't be responsible."</p> + +<p>"If you have flung that in my teeth once, you have fifty times!" And +Ducklow lashed the old mare, as if she, and not Mrs. Ducklow, had +exasperated him.</p> + +<p>"Wal," said the lady, "I don't see how we're going to work to find 'em, +now they're lost, without making inquiries; and we can't make inquiries +without letting it be known we had bought."</p> + +<p>"I been thinkin' about that," said her husband. "Oh, dear!" with a +groan; "I wish the pesky cowpon bonds had never been invented!"</p> + +<p>They drove first to the bank, where they were of course told that the +envelope<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> had not been untied there. "Besides, it was sealed, wasn't +it?" said the cashier. "Indeed!" He expressed great surprise, when +informed that it was not. "It should have been: I supposed any child +would know enough to look out for that!"</p> + +<p>And this was all the consolation Ducklow could obtain.</p> + +<p>"Just as I expected," said Mrs. Ducklow, as they resumed their journey. +"I just as much believe that man stole your bonds as that you trusted +'em in his hands in an unsealed wrapper! Beats all, how you could be so +careless!"</p> + +<p>"Wal, wal! I s'pose I never shall hear the last on 't!"</p> + +<p>And again the poor old mare had to suffer for Mrs. Ducklow's offences.</p> + +<p>They had but one hope now,—that perhaps Taddy had tampered with the +envelope, and that the bonds might be found somewhere about the house. +But this hope was quickly extinguished on their arrival. Taddy, being +accused, protested his innocence with a vehemence which convinced even +Mr. Ducklow that the cashier was probably the guilty party.</p> + +<p>"Unless," said he, brandishing the rattan, "somebody got into the house +that morning when the little scamp run off to ride with the minister!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't lick me for that! I've been licked for that once; ha'n't I, +Ma Ducklow?" shrieked Taddy.</p> + +<p>The house was searched in vain. No clew to the purloined securities +could be obtained,—the copies of the "Sunday Visitor," which had been +substituted for them, affording not the least; for that valuable little +paper was found in almost every household, except Ducklow's.</p> + +<p>"I don't see any way left but to advertise, as Josiah said," remarked +the farmer, with a deep sigh of despondency.</p> + +<p>"And that'll bring it all out!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow. "If you only +hadn't been so imprudent!"</p> + +<p>"Wal, wal!" said Ducklow, cutting her short.</p> + +<p>Before resorting to public measures for the recovery of the stolen +property, it was deemed expedient to acquaint their friends with their +loss in a private way. The next day, accordingly, they went to pay +Reuben a visit. It was a very different meeting from that which took +place a few mornings before. The returned soldier had gained in health, +but not in spirits. The rapture of reaching home once more, the flush of +hope and happiness, had passed away with the visitors who had flocked to +offer their congratulations. He had had time to reflect: he had reached +home, indeed; but now every moment reminded him how soon that home was +to be taken from him. He looked at his wife and children, and clenched +his teeth hard to stifle the emotions that arose at the thought of their +future. The sweet serenity, the faith and patience and cheerfulness, +which never ceased to illumine Sophronia's face as she moved about the +house, pursuing her daily tasks, and tenderly waiting upon him, deepened +at once his love and his solicitude. He was watching her thus when the +Ducklows entered with countenances mournful as the grave.</p> + +<p>"How are you gittin' along, Reuben?" said Ducklow, while his wife +murmured a solemn "good morning" to Sophronia.</p> + +<p>"I am doing well enough. Don't be at all concerned about me! It a'n't +pleasant to lie here, and feel it may be months, months, before I'm able +to be about my business; but I wouldn't mind it,—I could stand it +first-rate,—I could stand anything, anything, but to see her working +her life out for me and the children! To no purpose, either; that's the +worst of it. We shall have to lose this place, spite of fate!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Reuben!" said Sophronia, hastening to him, and laying her soothing +hands upon his hot forehead; "why won't you stop thinking about that? Do +try to have more faith! We shall be taken care of, I'm sure!"</p> + +<p>"If I had three thousand dollars,—yes, or even two,—then I'd have +faith!" said Reuben. "Miss Beswick has proposed to send a +subscription-paper<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> around town for us; but I'd rather die than have it +done. Besides, nothing near that amount could be raised, I'm confident. +You needn't groan so, Pa Ducklow, for I a'n't hinting at you. I don't +expect you to help me out of my trouble. If you had felt called upon to +do it, you'd have done it before now; and I don't ask, I don't beg of +any man!" added the soldier, proudly.</p> + +<p>"That's right; I like your sperit!" said the miserable Ducklow. "But I +was sighing to think of something,—something you haven't known anything +about, Reuben."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Reuben, we should have helped you," said Mrs. Ducklow, "and did, +did take steps towards it"——</p> + +<p>"In fact," resumed Ducklow, "you've met with a great misfortin', Reuben. +Unbeknown to yourself, you've met with a great misfortin'! Yer Ma +Ducklow knows."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Reuben, the very day you came home, your Pa Ducklow made an +investment for your benefit. We didn't mention it,—you know I wouldn't +own up to it, though I didn't exactly say the contrary, the morning we +was over here"——</p> + +<p>"Because," said Ducklow, as she faltered, "we wanted to surprise you; we +was keepin' it a secret till the right time, then we was goin' to make +it a pleasant surprise to ye."</p> + +<p>"What in the name of common-sense are you talking about?" cried Reuben, +looking from one to the other of the wretched, prevaricating pair.</p> + +<p>"Cowpon bonds!" groaned Ducklow. "Three thousan'-dollar cowpon bonds! +The money had been lent, but I wanted to make a good investment for you, +and I thought there was nothin' so good as Gov'ments"——</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said Reuben. "Only, if you had money to invest for +my benefit, I should have preferred to pay off the mortgage the first +thing."</p> + +<p>"Sartin! sartin!" said Ducklow; "and you could have turned the bonds +right in, if you had so chosen, like so much cash. Or you could have +drawed your interest on the bonds in gold, and paid the interest on your +mortgage in currency, and made so much, as I rather thought you would."</p> + +<p>"But the bonds?" eagerly demanded Reuben, with trembling hopes, just as +Miss Beswick, with her shawl over her head, entered the room.</p> + +<p>"We was jest telling about our loss, Reuben's loss," said Mrs. Ducklow +in a manner which betrayed no little anxiety to conciliate that terrible +woman.</p> + +<p>"Very well! don't let me interrupt." And Miss Beswick, slipping the +shawl from her head, sat down.</p> + +<p>Her presence, stiff and prim and sarcastic, did not tend in the least to +relieve Mr. Ducklow from the natural embarrassment he felt in giving his +version of Reuben's loss. However, assisted occasionally by a judicious +remark thrown in by Mrs. Ducklow, he succeeded in telling a sufficiently +plausible and candid-seeming story.</p> + +<p>"I see! I see!" said Reuben, who had listened with astonishment and pain +to the narrative. "You had kinder intentions towards me than I gave you +credit for. Forgive me, if I wronged you!" He pressed the hand of his +adopted father, and thanked him from a heart filled with gratitude and +trouble. "But don't feel so bad about it. You did what you thought best +I can only say, the fates are against me."</p> + +<p>"Hem!" coughing, Miss Beswick stretched up her long neck and cleared her +throat "So them bonds you had bought for Reuben was in the house the +very night I called!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss Beswick," replied Mrs. Ducklow; "and that's what made it so +uncomfortable to us to have you talk the way you did."</p> + +<p>"Hem!" The neck was stretched up still farther than before, and the +redoubtable throat cleared again. "'Twas too bad! Ye ought to have told +me. You'd actooally bought the bonds,—bought 'em for Reuben, had ye?"</p> + +<p>"Sartin! sartin!" said Ducklow.</p> + +<p>"To be sure!" said Mrs. Ducklow.</p> + +<p>"We designed 'em for his benefit, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> surprise, when the right time +come," said both together.</p> + +<p>"Hem! well!" (It was evident that the Beswick was clearing her decks for +action.) "When the right time come! yes! That right time wasn't +somethin' indefinite, in the fur futur', of course! Yer losin' the bonds +didn't hurry up yer benevolence the least grain, I s'pose! Hem! let in +them boys, Sophrony!"</p> + +<p>Sophronia opened the door, and in walked Master Dick Atkins, (son of the +brush-burner,) followed, not without reluctance and concern, by Master +Taddy.</p> + +<p>"Thaddeus! what you here for?" demanded the adopted parents.</p> + +<p>"Because I said so," remarked Miss Beswick, arbitrarily. "Step along, +boys, step along. Hold up yer head, Taddy, for ye a'n't goin' to be hurt +while I'm around. Take yer fists out o' yer eyes, and stop blubberin'. +Mr. Ducklow, that boy knows somethin' about Reuben's cowpon bonds."</p> + +<p>"Thaddeus!" ejaculated both Ducklows at once, "did you touch them +bonds?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't know what they was!" whimpered Taddy.</p> + +<p>"Did you take them?" And the female Ducklow grasped his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Hands off, if you please!" remarked Miss Beswick, with frightfully +gleaming courtesy. "I told him, if he'd be a good boy, and come along +with Richard, and tell the truth, he shouldn't be hurt. <i>If</i> you +please," she repeated, with a majestic nod; and Mrs. Ducklow took her +hands off.</p> + +<p>"Where are they now? where are they?" cried Ducklow, rushing headlong to +the main question.</p> + +<p>"Don't know," said Taddy.</p> + +<p>"Don't know? you villain!" And Ducklow was rising in wrath. But Miss +Beswick put up her hand deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>"If <i>you</i> please!" she said, with grim civility; and Ducklow sank down +again.</p> + +<p>"What did you do with 'em? what did you want of 'em?" said Mrs. Ducklow, +with difficulty restraining an impulse to wring his neck.</p> + +<p>"To cover my kite," confessed the miserable Taddy.</p> + +<p>"Cover your kite! your kite!" A chorus of groans from the Ducklows. +"Didn't you know no better?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't think you'd care," said Taddy. "I had some newspapers Dick give +me to cover it; but I thought them things 'u'd be pootier. So I took +'em, and put the newspapers in the wrapper."</p> + +<p>"Did ye cover yer kite?"</p> + +<p>"No. When I found out you cared so much about 'em, I dars'n't; I was +afraid you'd see 'em."</p> + +<p>"Then what <i>did</i> you do with 'em?"</p> + +<p>"When you was away, Dick come over to sleep with me, and I—I sold 'em +to him."</p> + +<p>"Sold 'em to Dick!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," spoke up Dick, stoutly, "for six marbles, and one was a +bull's-eye, and one agate, and two alleys. Then, when you come home and +made such a fuss, he wanted 'em ag'in. But he wouldn't give me back but +four, and I wa'n't going to agree to no such nonsense as that."</p> + +<p>"I'd lost the bull's-eye and one common," whined Taddy.</p> + +<p>"But the bonds! did you destroy 'em?"</p> + +<p>"Likely I'd destroy 'em, after I'd paid six marbles for 'em!" said Dick. +"I wanted 'em to cover <i>my</i> kite with."</p> + +<p>"Cover <i>your</i>—oh! then <i>you</i>'ve made a kite of 'em?" said Ducklow.</p> + +<p>"Well, I was going to, when Aunt Beswick ketched me at it. She made me +tell where I got 'em, and took me over to your house jest now; and Taddy +said you was over here, and so she put ahead, and made us follow her."</p> + +<p>Again, in an agony of impatience, Ducklow demanded to know where the +bonds were at that moment.</p> + +<p>"If Taddy'll give me back the marbles," began Master Dick.</p> + +<p>"That'll do!" said Miss Beswick, silencing him with a gesture. "Reuben +will give you twenty marbles; for I believe you said they was Reuben's +bonds, Mr. Ducklow?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, that is"——stammered the adopted father.</p> + +<p>"Eventooally," struck in the adopted mother.</p> + +<p>"Now look here! What am I to understand? Be they Reuben's bonds, or be +they not? That's the question!" And there was that in Miss Beswick's +look which said, "If they are not Reuben's, then your eyes shall never +behold them more!"</p> + +<p>"Of course they're Reuben's!" "We intended all the while"——"His +benefit"——"To do jest what he pleases with 'em," chorused Pa and Ma +Ducklow.</p> + +<p>"Wal! now it's understood! Here, Reuben, are your cowpon bonds!"</p> + +<p>And Miss Beswick, drawing them from her bosom, placed the precious +documents, with formal politeness, in the glad soldier's agitated hands.</p> + +<p>"Glory!" cried Reuben, assuring himself that they were genuine and real. +"Sophrony, you've got a home! Ruby, Carrie, you've got a home! Miss +Beswick! you angel from the skies! order a bushel and a half of marbles +for Dick, and have the bill sent to me! Oh, Pa Ducklow! you never did a +nobler or more generous thing in your life. These will lift the +mortgage, and leave me a nest-egg besides. Then when I get my back pay, +and my pension, and my health again, we shall be independent."</p> + +<p>And the soldier, overcome by his feelings, sank back in the arms of his +wife.</p> + +<p>"We always told you we'd do well by ye, you remember?" said the +Ducklows, triumphantly.</p> + +<p>The news went abroad. Again congratulations poured in upon the returned +volunteer. Everybody rejoiced in his good fortune,—especially certain +rich ones who had been dreading to see Miss Beswick come round with her +proposed subscription-paper.</p> + +<p>Among the rest, the Ducklows rejoiced not the least; for selfishness was +with them, as it is with many, rather a thing of habit than a fault of +the heart. The catastrophe of the bonds broke up that life-long habit, +and revealed good hearts underneath. The consciousness of having done an +act of justice, although by accident, proved very sweet to them: it was +really a fresh sensation; and Reuben and his dear little family, saved +from ruin and distress, happy, thankful, glad, was a sight to their old +eyes such as they had never witnessed before. Not gold itself, in any +quantity, at the highest premium, could have given them so much +satisfaction; and as for coupon bonds, they are not to be mentioned in +the comparison.</p> + +<p>"Won't you do well by me some time, too?" teased little Taddy, who +overheard his adopted parents congratulating themselves on having acted +so generously by Reuben. "I don't care for no cowpen bonds, but I do +want a new drum!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, my son!" said Ducklow, patting the boy's shoulder.</p> + +<p>And the drum was bought.</p> + +<p>Taddy was delighted. But he did not know what made the Ducklows so much +happier, so much gentler and kinder, than formerly. Do you?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_AUTHOR_OF_SAULA" id="THE_AUTHOR_OF_SAULA"></a>THE AUTHOR OF "SAUL."<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></h2> + + +<p>We are not one of those who believe that the manifestation of any +native, vigorous faculty of the mind is dependent upon circumstances. It +is true that education, in its largest sense, modifies development; but +it cannot, to any serious extent, add to, or take from, the power to be +developed. In the lack of encouragement and contemporary appreciation, +certain of the finer faculties may not give forth their full and perfect +fragrance; but the rose is always seen to be a rose, though never a bud +come to flower. The "mute, inglorious Milton" is a pleasant poetic +fiction. Against the "hands that the rod of empire <i>might</i> have swayed" +we have nothing to object, knowing to what sort of hands the said rod +has so often been intrusted.</p> + +<p>John Howard Payne once read to us—and it was something of an +infliction—a long manuscript on "The Neglected Geniuses of America,"—a +work which only death, we suspect, prevented him from giving to the +world. There was not one name in the list which had ever before reached +our ears. Nicholas Blauvelt and William Phillips and a number of other +utterly forgotten rhymesters were described and eulogized at length, the +quoted specimens of their poetry proving all the while their admirable +right to the oblivion which Mr. Payne deprecated. They were men of +culture, some of them wealthy, and we could detect no lack of +opportunity in the story of their lives. Had they been mechanics, they +would have planed boards and laid bricks from youth to age. The Ayrshire +ploughman and the Bedford tinker were made of other stuff. Our inference +then was, and still is, that unacknowledged (or at least unmanifested) +genius is no genius at all, and that the lack of sympathy which many +young authors so bitterly lament is a necessary test of their fitness +for their assumed vocation.</p> + +<p>Gerald Massey is one of the most recent instances of the certainty with +which a poetic faculty by no means of the highest order will enforce its +own development, under seemingly fatal discouragements. The author of +"Saul" is a better illustration of the same fact; for, although, in our +ignorance of the circumstances of his early life, we are unable to +affirm what particular difficulties he had to encounter, we know how +long he was obliged to wait for the first word of recognition, and to +what heights he aspired in the course of many long and solitary years.</p> + +<p>The existence of "Saul" was first made known to the world by an article +in the "North British Review," in the year 1858, when the author had +already attained his forty-second year. The fact that the work was +published in Montreal called some attention to it on this side of the +Atlantic, and a few critical notices appeared in our literary +periodicals. It is still, however, comparatively unknown; and those into +whose hands it may have fallen are, doubtless, ignorant of the author's +name and history. An outline of the latter, so far as we have been able +to ascertain its features, will help the reader to a more intelligent +judgment, when we come to discuss the author's claim to a place in +literature.</p> + +<p>Charles Heavysege was born in Liverpool, England, in the year 1816. We +know nothing in regard to his parents, except that they were poor, yet +able to send their son to an ordinary school. His passion for reading, +especially such the poetry as fell into his hands, showed itself while +he was yet a child. Milton seems to have been the first author who made +a profound impression upon his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> mind; but it is also reported that the +schoolmaster once indignantly snatched Gray's "Elegy" from his hand, +because he so frequently selected that poem for his reading-lesson. +Somewhat later, he saw "Macbeth" performed, and was immediately seized +with the ambition to become an actor,—a profession for which few +persons could be less qualified. The impression produced by this +tragedy, combined with the strict religious training which he appears to +have received, undoubtedly fixed the character and manner of his +subsequent literary efforts.</p> + +<p>There are but few other facts of his life which we can state with +certainty. His chances of education were evidently very scanty, for he +must have left school while yet a boy, in order to learn his +trade,—that of a machinist. He had thenceforth little time and less +opportunity for literary culture. His reading was desultory, and the +poetic faculty, expending itself on whatever subjects came to hand, +produced great quantities of manuscripts, which were destroyed almost as +soon as written. The idea of publishing them does not seem to have +presented itself to his mind. Either his life must have been devoid of +every form of intellectual sympathy, or there was some external +impediment formidable enough to keep down that ambition which always +co-exists with the creative power.</p> + +<p>In the year 1843 he married, and in 1853 emigrated to Canada, and +settled in Montreal. Even here his literary labor was at first performed +in secrecy; he was nearly forty years old before a line from his pen +appeared in type. He found employment in a machine-shop, and it was only +very gradually—probably after much doubt and hesitation—that he came +to the determination to subject his private creations to the ordeal of +print. His first venture was a poem in blank verse, the title of which +we have been unable to ascertain. A few copies were printed anonymously +and distributed among personal friends. It was a premature birth, which +never knew a moment's life, and the father of it would now be the last +person to attempt a resuscitation.</p> + +<p>Soon afterwards appeared—also anonymously—a little pamphlet, +containing fifty "so-called" sonnets. They are, in reality, fragmentary +poems of fourteen lines each, bound to no metre or order of rhyme. In +spite of occasional crudities of expression, the ideas are always poetic +and elevated, and there are many vigorous couplets and quatrains. They +do not, however, furnish any evidence of sustained power, and the +reader, who should peruse them as the only productions of the author, +would be far from inferring the latter's possession of that lofty epical +utterance which he exhibits in "Saul" and "Jephthah's Daughter."</p> + +<p>We cannot learn that this second attempt to obtain a hearing was +successful, so far as any public notice of the pamphlet is concerned; +but it seems, at least, to have procured for Mr. Heavysege the first +private recognition of his poetic abilities which he had ever received, +and thereby given him courage for a more ambitious venture. "Saul," as +an epical subject, must have haunted his mind for years. The greater +portion of it, indeed, had been written before he had become familiar +with the idea of publication; and even after the completion of the work, +we can imagine the sacrifices which must have delayed its appearance in +print. For a hard-working mechanic, in straitened circumstances, courage +of another kind was required. It is no slight expense to produce an +octavo volume of three hundred and thirty pages; there must have been +much anxious self-consultation, a great call for patience, fortitude, +and hope, with who may know what doubts and despondencies, before, in +1857 "Saul" was given to the world.</p> + +<p>Nothing could have been more depressing than its reception, if, indeed, +the term "reception" can be applied to complete indifference. A country +like Canada, possessing no nationality, and looking across the Atlantic, +not only for its political rule, but also (until very recently, at +least) for its opinions, tastes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span> and habits, is especially unfavorable +to the growth of an independent literature. Although there are many men +of learning and culture among the residents of Montreal, they do not +form a class to whom a native author could look for encouragement or +appreciation sufficient to stamp him as successful. The reading public +there accept the decrees of England and the United States, and they did +not detect the merits of "Saul," until the discovery had first been made +in those countries.</p> + +<p>Several months had elapsed since the publication of the volume; it +seemed to be already forgotten, when the notice to which we have +referred appeared in the "North British Review." The author had sent a +copy to Mr. Hawthorne, then residing in Liverpool, and that gentleman, +being on friendly terms with some of the writers for the "North +British," procured the insertion of an appreciative review of the poem. +Up to that time, we believe, no favorable notice of the work had +appeared in Canada. The little circulation it obtained was chiefly among +the American residents. A few copies found their way across the border, +and some of our authors (among whom we may mention Mr. Emerson and Mr. +Longfellow) were the first to recognize the genius of the poet. With +this double indorsement, his fellow-townsmen hastened to make amends for +their neglect. They could not be expected to give any very enthusiastic +welcome, nor was their patronage extensive enough to confer more than +moderate success; but the remaining copies of the first small edition +were sold, and a second edition—which has not yet been +exhausted—issued in 1859.</p> + +<p>In February, 1860, we happened to visit Montreal. At that time we had +never read the poem, and the bare fact of its existence had almost faded +from memory, when it was recalled by an American resident who was +acquainted with Mr. Heavysege, and whose account of his patience, his +quiet energy, and serene faith in his poetic calling strongly interested +us. It was but a few hours before our departure; there was a furious +snow-storm; yet the gentleman ordered a sleigh, and we drove at once to +a large machine-shop, in the outskirts of the city. Here, amid the noise +of hammers, saws, and rasps, in a great grimy hall smelling of oil and +iron-dust, we found the poet at his work-bench. A small, slender man, +with a thin, sensitive face, bright blonde hair, and eyes of that +peculiar blue which burns warm, instead of cold, under excitement,—in +the few minutes of our interview the picture was fixed, and remains so. +His manner was quiet, natural, and unassuming: he received us with the +simple good-breeding which a gentleman always possesses, whether we find +him on a throne or beside an anvil. Not a man to assert his claim +loudly, or to notice injustice or neglect by a single spoken word; but +one to take quietly success or failure, in the serenity of a mood +habitually untouched by either extreme.</p> + +<p>In that one brief first and last interview, we discovered, at least, the +simple, earnest sincerity of the man's nature,—a quality too rare, even +among authors. When we took our seat in the train for Rouse's Point, we +opened the volume of "Saul." The first part was finished as we +approached St. Albans; the second at Vergennes; and twilight was falling +as we closed the book between Bennington and Troy. Whatever crudities of +expression, inaccuracies of rhythm, faults of arrangement, and +violations of dramatic law met us from time to time, the earnest purpose +of the writer carried us over them all. The book has a fine flavor of +the Elizabethan age,—a sustained epic rather than dramatic character, +an affluence of quaint, original images; yet the construction was +frequently that of a school-boy. In opulence and maturity of ideas, and +poverty of artistic skill, the work stands almost alone in literature. +What little we have learned of the history of the author suggests an +explanation of this peculiarity. Never was so much genuine power so long +silent.</p> + +<p>"Saul" is yet so little known, that a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span> descriptive outline of the poem +will be a twice-told tale to very few readers of the "Atlantic." The +author strictly follows the history of the renowned Hebrew king, as it +is related in I Samuel, commencing with the tenth chapter, but divides +the subject into three dramas, after the manner of Schiller's +"Wallenstein." The first part embraces the history of Saul, from his +anointing by Samuel at Ramah to David's exorcism of the evil spirit, +(xvi. 23,) and contains five acts. The second part opens with David as a +guest in the palace at Gibeah. The defeat of the Philistines at Elah, +Saul's jealousy of David, and the latter's marriage with Michal form the +staple of the <i>four</i> acts of this part. The third part consists of <i>six</i> +acts of unusual length, (some of them have thirteen scenes,) and is +devoted to the pursuits and escapes of David, the Witch of Endor, and +the final battle, wherein the king and his three sons are slain. No +liberties have been taken with the order of the Scripture narrative, +although a few subordinate characters have here and there been +introduced to complete the action. The author seems either to lack the +inventive faculty, or to have feared modifying the sacred record for the +purposes of Art. In fact, no considerable modification was necessary. +The simple narrative fulfils almost all the requirements of dramatic +writing, in its succession of striking situations, and its cumulative +interest. From beginning to end, however, Mr. Heavysege makes no attempt +to produce a dramatic effect. It is true that he has availed himself of +the phrase "an evil spirit from the Lord," to introduce a demoniac +element, but, singularly enough, the demons seem to appear and to act +unwillingly, and manifest great relief when they are allowed to retire +from the stage.</p> + +<p>The work, therefore, cannot be measured by dramatic laws. It is an epic +in dialogue; its chief charm lies in the march of the story and the +detached individual monologues, rather than in contrast of characters or +exciting situations. The sense of proportion—the latest developed +quality of the poetic mind—is dimly manifested. The structure of the +verse, sometimes so stately and majestic, is frequently disfigured by +the commonest faults; yet the breath of a lofty purpose has been +breathed upon every page. The personality of the author never pierces +through his theme. The language is fresh, racy, vigorous, and utterly +free from the impress of modern masters: much of it might have been +written by a contemporary of Shakspeare.</p> + +<p>In the opening of the first part, Saul, recently anointed king, receives +the messengers of Jabesh Gilead, and promises succor. A messenger +says,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i24">"The winds of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind thee blow: and on our enemies' eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May the sun smite to-morrow, and blind them for thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, O Saul, do not fail us.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Saul.</i> Fail ye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let the morn fail to break; I will not break<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My word. Haste, or I'm there before you. Fail?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let the morn fail the east; I'll not fail you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, swift and silent as the streaming wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unseen approach, then, gathering up my force<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At dawning, sweep on Ammon, as Night's blast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweeps down the Carmel on the dusky sea."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>This is a fine picture of Saul steeling his nature to cruelty, when be +has reluctantly resolved to obey Samuel's command "to trample out the +living fire of Amalek":—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Now let me tighten every cruel sinew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gird the whole up in unfeeling hardness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That my swollen heart, which bleeds within me tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May choke itself to stillness. I am as<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shivering bather, that, upon the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looking and shrinking from the cold, black waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quick starting from his reverie, with a rush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abbreviates his horror."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And this of the satisfied lust of blood, uttered by a Hebrew soldier, +after the slaughter:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When I was killing, such thoughts came to me, like<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sound of cleft-dropped waters to the ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the hot mower, who thereat stops the oftener<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To whet his glittering scythe, and, while he smiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the harsh, sharpening hone beats their fall's time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dancing to it in his heart's straight chamber,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgets that he is weary."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>After the execution of Agag by the hand of Samuel, the demons are +introduced with more propriety than in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span> opening of the poem. The +following passage has a subtle, sombre grandeur of its own:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>First Demon.</i> Now let us down to hell: we've seen the last.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Second Demon.</i> Stay; for the road thereto is yet incumbered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the descending spectres of the killed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>'Tis said they choke hell's gates, and stretch from thence</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Out like a tongue upon the silent gulf</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein our spirits—even as terrestrial ships<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That are detained by foul winds in an offing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Linger perforce, <i>and feel broad gusts of sighs</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That swing them on the dark and billowless waste</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>O'er which come sounds more dismal than the boom,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>At midnight, of the salt flood's foaming surf,—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Even dead Amalek's moan and lamentation."</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The reader will detect the rhythmical faults of the poem, even in these +passages. But there is a vast difference between such blemishes of the +unrhymed heroic measure as terminating a line with "and," "of," or +"but," or inattention to the cæsural pauses, and that mathematical +precision of foot and accent, which, after all, can scarcely be +distinguished from prose. Whatever may be his shortcomings, Mr. +Heavysege speaks in the dialect of poetry. Only rarely he drops into +bald prose, as in these lines:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But let us go abroad, and in the twilight's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cool, tranquillizing air discuss this matter."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>We remember, however, that Wordsworth wrote,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i14">"A band of officers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then stationed in the city were among the chief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of my associates."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>We had marked many other fine passages of "Saul" for quotation, but must +be content with a few of those which are most readily separated from the +context.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i14">"Ha! ha! the foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Having taken from us our warlike tools, yet leave us<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little scarlet tongue to scratch and sting with."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Here's lad's-love, and the flower which even death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cannot unscent, the all-transcending rose."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i14">"The loud bugle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the hard-rolling drum, and clashing cymbals,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now reign the lords o' the air. These crises, David,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bring with them their own music, as do storms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their thunders."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i14">"Ere the morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall tint the orient with the soldier's color,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We must be at the camp."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But come, I'll disappoint thee; for, remember,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Samuel will not be roused for thee, although<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knock with thunder at his resting-place."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The lyrical portions, of the work—introduced in connection with the +demoniac characters—are inferior to the rest. They have occasionally a +quaint, antique flavor, suggesting the diction of the Elizabethan +lyrists, but without their delicate, elusive richness of melody. Here +most we perceive the absence of that highest, ripest intellectual +culture which can be acquired only through contact and conflict with +other minds. It is not good for a poet to be alone. Even where the +constructive faculty is absent, its place may be supplied through the +development of that artistic sense which files, weighs, and +adjusts,—which reconciles the utmost freedom and force of thought with +the mechanical symmetries of language,—and which, first a fetter to the +impatient mind, becomes at length a pinion, holding it serenely poised +in the highest ether. Only the rudiment of the sense is born with the +poet, and few literary lives are fortunate enough, or of sufficiently +varied experience, to mature it.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, before closing the volume, we must quote what we consider +to be the author's best lyrical passage. Zaph, one of the attendants of +Malzah, the "evil spirit from the Lord," sings as follows to one of his +fellows:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Zepho, the sun's descended beam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath laid his rod on th' ocean stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this o'erhanging wood-top nods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like golden helms of drowsy gods.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Methinks that now I'll stretch for rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eyelids sloping toward the west;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, through their half transparencies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rosy radiance passed and strained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mote and vapor duly drained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I may believe, in hollow bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My rest in the empyrean is.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watch thou; and when up comes the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Atowards her turn me; and then, boon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thyself compose, 'neath wavering leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hang these branched, majestic eaves:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That so, with self-imposed deceit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both, in this halcyon retreat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By trance possessed, imagine may<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We couch in Heaven's night-argent ray."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In 1860 Mr. Heavysege published by subscription a drama entitled "Count +Filippo; or, the Unequal Marriage."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span> This work, of which we have seen +but one critical notice, added nothing to his reputation. His genius, as +we have already remarked, is not dramatic; and there is, moreover, +internal evidence that "Count Philippo" did not grow, like "Saul," from +an idea which took forcible possession of the author's mind. The plot is +not original, the action languid, and the very names of the <i>dramatis +personæ</i> convey an impression of unreality. Though we know there never +was a Duke of Pereza in Italy, this annoys us less than that he should +bear such a fantastic name as "Tremohla"; nor does the feminine "Volina" +inspire us with much respect for the heroine. The characters are +intellectual abstractions, rather than creatures of flesh and blood; and +their love, sorrow, and remorse fail to stir our sympathies. They have +an incorrigible habit of speaking in conceits. As "Saul" is pervaded +with the spirit of the Elizabethan writers, so "Count Filippo" suggests +the artificial manner of the rivals of Dryden. It is the work of a poet, +but of a poet working from a mechanical impulse. There are very fine +single passages, but the general effect is marred by the constant +recurrence of such forced metaphors as these:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Now shall the he-goat, black Adultery,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the roused ram, Retaliation, twine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their horns in one to butt at Filippo."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">"As the salamander, cast in fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exudes preserving mucus, so my mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cased in thick satisfaction of success,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall be uninjured."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The work, nevertheless, appears to have had some share in improving its +author's fortunes. From that time, he has received at least a partial +recognition in Canada. Soon after its publication, he succeeded in +procuring employment on the daily newspaper press of Montreal, which +enabled him to give up his uncongenial labor at the work-bench. The +Montreal Literary Club elected him one of its Fellows, and the +short-lived literary periodicals of the Province no longer ignored his +existence. In spite of a change of circumstances which must have given +him greater leisure as well as better opportunities of culture, he has +published but two poems in the last five years,—an Ode for the +ter-centenary anniversary of Shakspeare's birth, and the sacred idyl of +"Jephthah's Daughter." The former is a production the spirit of which is +worthy of its occasion, although, in execution, it is weakened, by an +overplus of imagery and epithet. It contains between seven and eight +hundred lines. The grand, ever-changing music of the Ode will not bear +to be prolonged beyond a certain point, as all the great Masters of Song +have discovered: the ear must not be allowed to become <i>quite</i> +accustomed to the surprises of the varying rhythm, before the closing +Alexandrine.</p> + +<p>"Jephthah's Daughter" contains between thirteen and fourteen hundred +lines. In careful finish, in sustained sweetness and grace, and solemn +dignity of language, it is a marked advance upon any of the author's +previous works. We notice, indeed, the same technical faults as in +"Saul," but they occur less frequently, and may be altogether corrected +in a later revision of the poem. Here, also, the Scriptural narrative is +rigidly followed, and every temptation to adorn its rare simplicity +resisted. Even that lament of the Hebrew girl, behind which there seems +to lurk a romance, and which is so exquisitely paraphrased by Tennyson, +in his "Dream of Fair Women,"—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And I went, mourning: 'No fair Hebrew boy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall smile away my maiden blame among<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Hebrew mothers,'"—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>is barely mentioned in the words of the text. The passion of Jephthah, +the horror, the piteous pleading of his wife and daughter, and the final +submission of the latter to her doom, are elaborated with a careful and +tender hand. From the opening to the closing line, the reader is lifted +to the level of the tragic theme, and inspired, as in the Greek tragedy, +with a pity which makes lovely the element of terror. The central +sentiment of the poem, through all its touching and sorrowful changes, +is that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span> of repose. Observe the grave harmony of the opening lines:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Twas in the olden days of Israel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When from her people rose up mighty men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To judge and to defend her: ere she knew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or clamored for, her coming line of kings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A father, rashly vowing, sacrificed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His daughter on the altar of the Lord;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas in those ancient days, coeval deemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the song-famous and heroic ones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Agamemnon, taught divinely, doomed<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>His</i> daughter to expire at Dian's shrine,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So doomed, to free the chivalry of Greece,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Aulis lingering for a favoring wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To waft them to the fated walls of Troy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two songs with but one burden, twin-like tales.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad tales! but this the sadder of the twain,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This song, a wail more desolately wild;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More fraught this story with grim fate fulfilled."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The length to which this article has grown warns us to be sparing of +quotations, but we all the more earnestly recommend those in whom we may +have inspired some interest in the author to procure the poem for +themselves. We have perused it several times, with increasing enjoyment +of its solemn diction, its sad, monotonous music, and with the hope that +the few repairing touches, which alone are wanting to make it a perfect +work of its class, may yet be given. This passage, for example, where +Jephthah prays to be absolved from his vow, would be faultlessly +eloquent, but for the prosaic connection of the first and second +lines:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Choose Tabor for thine altar: I will pile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It with the choice of Bashan's lusty herds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flocks of fallings, <i>and for fuel, thither</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Will bring umbrageous Lebanon to burn</i>.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"> * * * * *<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He said, and stood awaiting for the sign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heard, above the hoarse, bough-bending wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hill-wolf howling on the neighboring height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bittern booming in the pool below.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some drops of rain fell from the passing cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sudden hides the wanly shining moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the scabbard instant dropped his sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with long, living leaps, and rock-struck clang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From side to side, and slope to sounding slope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In gleaming whirls swept down the dim ravine."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The finest portion of the poem is the description of that transition of +feeling, through which the maiden, warm with young life and clinging to +life for its own unfulfilled promise, becomes the resigned and composed +victim. No one but a true poet could have so conceived and represented +the situation. The narrative flows in one unbroken current, detached +parts whereof hint but imperfectly of the whole, as do goblets of water +of the stream wherefrom they are dipped. We will only venture to present +two brief passages. The daughter speaks:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Let me not need now disobey you, mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But give me leave to knock at Death's pale gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereat indeed I must, by duty drawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Nature shown the sacred way to yield.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, the coasting cloud obeys the breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slanting smoke, the invisible sweet air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">the towering tree its leafy limbs resigns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the embraces of the wilful wind:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall I, then, wrong, resist the hand of Heaven!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take me, my father! take, accept me, Heaven!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slay me or save me, even as you will!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Light, light, I leave thee!—yet am I a lamp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Extinguished now, to be relit forever.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life dies: but in its stead death lives."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In "Jephthah's Daughter," we think, Mr. Heavysege has found that form of +poetic utterance for which his genius is naturally qualified. It is +difficult to guess the future of a literary life so exceptional +hitherto,—difficult to affirm, without a more intimate knowledge of the +man's nature, whether he is capable of achieving that rhythmical +perfection (in the higher sense wherein sound becomes the symmetrical +garment of thought) which, in poets, marks the line between imperfect +and complete success. What he most needs, of <i>external</i> culture, we have +already indicated: if we might be allowed any further suggestion, he +supplies it himself, in one of his fragmentary poems:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Open, my heart, thy ruddy valves,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It is thy master calls:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me go down, and, curious, trace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy labyrinthine halls.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Open, O heart! and let me view<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The secrets of thy den:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Myself unto myself now show<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With introspective ken.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Expose thyself, thou covered nest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of passions, and be seen:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stir up thy brood, that in unrest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are ever piping keen:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! what a motley multitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Magnanimous and mean!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> <i>Saul.</i> A Drama, in Three Parts. Montreal: John Lovell. +1850. +</p><p> +<i>Count Fillippo; or The Unequal Marriage.</i> By the Author of "Saul." +Montreal: Printed for the Author. 1860. +</p><p> +<i>Jephthah's Daughter.</i> By Charles Heavysege, Author of "Saul." Montreal: +Dawson Brothers. 1865.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="NEEDLE_AND_GARDEN" id="NEEDLE_AND_GARDEN"></a>NEEDLE AND GARDEN.</h2> + +<h3>THE STORY OF A SEAMSTRESS WHO LAID DOWN HER NEEDLE AND BECAME A +STRAWBERRY-GIRL.</h3> + +<h4>WRITTEN BY HERSELF.</h4> + + +<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3> + +<h3>CONCLUSION.</h3> + +<p>Although two thirds of our little patrimony had thus been devoted to the +cultivation of fruit, yet the other third was far from being suffered to +remain unproductive. We thoroughly understood the art of raising all the +household vegetables, as we had been brought up to assist our father at +intervals throughout the season. Then none of us were indifferent to +flowers. There were little clumps and borders of them in numerous +places. Nowhere did the crocus come gayly up into the soft atmosphere of +early spring in advance of ours. The violets perfumed the air for us +with the same rich profusion as in the carefully tended parterre of the +wealthiest citizen. There were rows of flowering almonds, which were +sought after by the bees as diligently as if holding up their delicate +heads in the most patrician garden; and they flashed as gorgeously in +the sun. The myrtle displayed its blue flowers in abundance, and the +lilacs unfolded their paler clusters in a dozen places. Over a huge +cedar in the fence-corner there clambered up a magnificent wistaria, +whose great blue flowers, covering the entire tree, became a monument of +floral beauty so striking, that the stranger, passing by the spot, would +pause to wonder and admire. In the care of these flowers all of us +united with a common fondness for the beautiful as well as the useful. +It secured to us, from the advent of the earliest crocus to the +departure of the last lingering rose that dropped its reluctant flowers +only when the premonitory blasts of autumn swept across the garden, all +that innocent enjoyment which comes of admiration for these bright +creations of the Divine hand.</p> + +<p>These little incidental recompenses of the most perfect domestic harmony +were realized in everything we undertook. That harmony was the animating +as well as sustaining power of my horticultural enterprise. Had there +been wrangling, opposition, or ridicule, it is probable that I should +never have ventured on the planting of a single strawberry. Success, +situated as I was, was dependent on united effort, the coöperation of +all. This coöperation of the entire family must be still more necessary +in agricultural undertakings on a large scale. A wife, taken reluctantly +from the city to a farm, with no taste for rural life, no love of +flowers, no fondness for the garden, no appreciation of the mysteries of +seed-time and harvest, no sensibility to fields of clover, to green +meadows, to the grateful silence of the woods, or to the voices of +birds, and who pines for the unforgotten charms of city life, may mar +the otherwise assured happiness of the household. One refractory inmate +in ours would have been especially calamitous.</p> + +<p>The floral world is pervaded with miraculous sympathies. Another spring +had opened on our garden, and flower after flower came out into gorgeous +bloom. My strawberries, as if conscious of the display around them, and +ambitious to increase it, opened their white blossoms toward the close +of April. Those set the preceding autumn gave promise of an abundant +yield, but not equal to that presented by the runners which crowded +around the parent plants on the original half-acre. The winter had been +unfriendly, sending no heavy covering of snow to shelter them; while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span> +the frost, in making its first escape from the earth, had loosened many +plants, bringing some of them half-way out of the ground, while a few +had been thrown entirely upon the surface, where they quickly perished.</p> + +<p>I had read that accidents of this kind would sometimes happen, and that, +when plants were thus partially dislodged by frost, the roller must be +passed over them to crowd back the roots into their proper places. I had +discovered this derangement immediately on the frost escaping, but we +had neither roller nor substitute. As pressure alone was needed, I set +Fred to walking over the entire acre, and with his heavy winter boots to +trample down each plant in its old place. The operation was every way as +beneficial as if the ground had been well rolled. When performed before +the roots have been many days exposed to the air, it not only does no +injury, but effectually repairs all damage committed by the frost.</p> + +<p>Everything, this second season, was on a larger scale than before, +requiring greater care and labor, but at the same time brightening my +hopes and doubling my anticipations. I was compelled to hire a gardener +occasionally to assist in keeping the ground clean and mellow, although +among us we contrived to perform a large portion of the work ourselves. +I found that constant watchfulness secured an immense economy of labor. +It was far easier to cut off a weed when only an inch high than when +grown up to the stature of a young tree. It was the same with the white +clover or a grass-root. These two seem native to the soil, and will come +in and take possession, smothering and routing out the strawberries, +unless cut up as fast as they appear. When attacked early, before their +rambling, but deeply penetrating roots obtain a strong hold, they are +easily destroyed. I consider, therefore, that watchfulness may be made +an effective substitute for labor, really preventing all necessity for +hard work. This watchfulness we could generally exercise, though +physically unable to perform much labor. Hence, when ladies undertake +the management of an established strawberry-bed, a daily attention to +it, with a light hoe, will be found as useful as a laborious clearing up +by an able-bodied man, with the additional advantage of occasioning no +injurious disturbance to the roots in removing great quantities of +full-grown weeds.</p> + +<p>The blossoms fell to the ground, the berries set in thick clusters, +turning downward as they increased in size, and changing, as they +enlarged, from a pale green to a delicate white, then becoming suffused +with a slight blush, which gradually deepened into an intense red. It +was a joyful time, when, with my mother and sister, I made the first +picking. All of us were struck with the improved appearance of the fruit +on the first half-acre. This was natural, as well as what is commonly +observed. The plants had acquired strength with age. They had had +another season in which to send out new and longer roots; and these, +rambling into wider and deeper fountains of nourishment, had drawn from +them supplies so copious, that the berries were not only much more +numerous than the year before, but they were every way larger and finer. +The contrast between the fruit on these and the new plants was very +decided. Hence we had a generous gathering to begin with. It was all +carefully assorted, as before; but the quantity was so large that +additional baskets were required, and Fred was obliged to employ an +assistant to carry it to market.</p> + +<p>While engaged in making our second picking, carefully turning aside the +luxuriant foliage to reach the berries which had ripened in concealment, +with capacious sun-bonnets that shut out from observation all objects +but those immediately before us, it was no wonder that a stranger could +come directly up without being noticed. Thus intently occupied one +afternoon, we were surprised at hearing a subdued and timid voice +asking,—</p> + +<p>"May I sell some strawberries for you?"</p> + +<p>I looked round,—for the voice came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span> from behind us,—and beheld a girl +of some ten years old, having in her hand a basket, which she had +probably found on the common, as, in place of the original bottom, a +pasteboard substitute had been fitted into it. It was filled with little +pasteboard boxes, stitched at the corners, but strong enough to hold +fruit. I noticed, that, old as it was, it had been scoured up into +absolute cleanness. The child's attire was in keeping with her basket. +Though she had no shoes, and the merest apology for a bonnet, with a +dress that was worn and faded, as well as frayed out into a ragged +fringe about her feet, yet it was all scrupulously clean. Her features +struck me as even beautiful, and her soft hazel eyes would command +sympathy from all who might look into them. Her manner and appearance +prepossessed me in her favor.</p> + +<p>"But did you ever sell strawberries?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"No, Ma'am, but I can try," she answered.</p> + +<p>"But it will never do to trust her," interrupted my mother. "We do not +know who she is, and may never see her again."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Ma'am, I will bring the money back to you. Dear lady, let me have +some to sell," she entreated, with childish earnestness, her voice +trembling and her eyes moistening with apprehension of refusal.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said I, "this child is a beginner. Is it right for us to +refuse so trifling an encouragement? Who knows to what useful ends it +may lead? You remember how difficult it was for me to procure the +plants, and how keenly you felt my trouble. Will you inflict a keener +one on this child, whose heart seems bent on doing something for +herself, and on whom disappointment will fall even more painfully than +it did on me? Are we not all bound to do something for those who are +more destitute than ourselves? and even if we lose what we let her have, +it will never be missed."</p> + +<p>The poor girl looked up imploringly into my face as I pleaded for her, +her eyes brightened with returning hopefulness, and again she besought +us,—</p> + +<p>"Dear lady, let me have a few; my mother knows you."</p> + +<p>"Tell me your name," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Lucy Varick,—mother says she knows you," was the answer.</p> + +<p>"Varick!" replied my mother, quickly, surprised as well as evidently +pleased. "You shall have all you can sell."</p> + +<p>She was the daughter of the miserable man whose terrible deathbed we had +both witnessed, and my mother had no difficulty in trusting to her +honesty. Her basket would contain but a few quarts, and these we had +already gathered. I filled her little pasteboard boxes immediately, with +the fruit just as picked from the vines. The poor child fairly capered +with joy as she witnessed the operation. She saw her fortune in a few +quarts of strawberries! I think that as she tripped nimbly through the +gate, my gratification at seeing how cheerfully she thus began her life +of toil was equal to all that she could have experienced herself.</p> + +<p>Before the afternoon was half gone, Lucy surprised us by returning with +an empty basket. She had found customers wherever she went, and wanted a +fresh supply of fruit. This was promptly given to her, for she had +obtained even better prices than the widow was getting for us in the +market. That afternoon she made the first half-dollar she ever earned, +and during the entire season she continued to find plenty of the best of +customers at their own doors.</p> + +<p>I had long since made up my mind that our pastor was entitled to some +recognition of the substantial kindnesses he had extended to us at the +time of our deep affliction. We had seen him regularly at the Sunday +school, but he knew nothing of my conversion into a strawberry-girl. +What else could we do, in remembrance of his friendship, but to make him +a present of our choicest fruit? Never were strawberries more carefully +selected than those with which I filled a new basket of ample size, as a +gift for him. On my way to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span> the factory the next morning, I delivered +the basket at his door, with a little note expressive of our continued +gratitude, and begging him to accept its contents as being fruit which I +had myself raised. I knew it was but a trifle, but what else than +trifles had I to offer even to the kindest friend we had ever known?</p> + +<p>That very afternoon, while my mother and I were at our usual occupation +of picking, I heard the gate open at the other end of the garden, and, +looking up, saw two gentlemen approaching us. They advanced slowly +around the strawberry-beds, apparently examining the plants and fruit, +frequently stooping to turn over the great clusters on a portion of the +ground which we had not yet picked. I saw that one of them was our +pastor, but the other was a stranger. As they drew nearer, we rose to +receive them. No words can describe the confusion which overcame me as I +recognized in the stranger the same gentleman whom I had encountered, +the preceding summer, as the first customer for my strawberries, at the +widow's stand in the market-house. I had never forgotten his face. Mr. +Seeley introduced him as his friend Mr. Logan. Somehow I felt certain +that he also recognized me. I was confused enough at being thus taken by +surprise. It is true that my sun-bonnet, though of prodigious size, was +neatly cut and handsomely fashioned, even becoming, as I supposed, and +that I was fortunately habited in a plain, but entirely new dress, that +was more than nice enough for the work I was performing. But the hot +sun, in spite of my bonnet, had already turned my face brown. My hands, +exposed to its fiercest rays, were even more tanned, while the stain of +fruit was visible on my fingers. I was in no condition to receive +company of this unexpected description.</p> + +<p>But the gentlemen were affable, and I soon became at ease with them. Mr. +Seeley had received my basket, and had come to thank me for it. Mr. +Logan had been dining with him, and was enthusiastic over the quality of +my strawberries. He had never seen them equalled, though devoting all +his leisure to horticulture; and learning that they were raised by a +lady, insisted on coming down, not only to look into her mode of +culture, but to see the lady herself. It was pleasant thus to meet our +friend the pastor, and I did my utmost to render the visit agreeable to +him and his companion. My mother gave up the care of their entertainment +to me; so, dropping my basket in the unfinished strawberry-row, I left +her to continue the afternoon picking alone.</p> + +<p>The gentlemen seemed in no haste to leave us. I was surprised that they +could find so much to interest them in a spot which I had supposed could +be interesting only to ourselves. Mr. Seeley was pleased with all that +he saw, but Mr. Logan was polite enough to be much more demonstrative in +his admiration. I think the visit of the former would have been much +briefer but for the presence of the latter, who seemed in no hurry to +depart. He was generous in praise of my flowers, and was inquisitive +about my strawberries. He had many of the most celebrated varieties, and +was kind enough to offer me such as I might desire. He thought that I +could teach him lessons in horticulture more valuable than any he had +yet picked up, either in books or in his own garden, and asked +permission to come down often during the fruit season, to see and learn. +I was surprised that he should think it possible for a young +strawberry-girl like myself to teach anything to one who was evidently +so much better informed. Then I told him that what he saw was the result +of an endeavor to determine whether there was not some better dependence +for a woman than the needle, that I had accomplished all this by my own +zeal and perseverance, and that this season promised complete success.</p> + +<p>"I cannot give you too much praise," he observed. "Your tastes harmonize +admirably with my own. I have long believed that women are confined to +too small a circle of useful occupations.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span> They too seldom teach +themselves, and are too little taught by others whose duty it is to +enlarge their sphere of action. All my sisters have learned what you may +call trades,—that is, to support themselves, if ever required to do so, +by employments particularly adapted to their talents. You have chosen +the garden, and you seem in a fair way to succeed. I must know how much +your strawberry-crop will yield you."</p> + +<p>On thus discovering the object I had in view, and that this was my own +experiment, his interest in all that he saw appeared to increase. The +very tones of his voice became softer and kinder. There was nothing +patronizing in his manner; it was deferential, and so sympathetic as to +impress me very strongly. I felt that he understood the train of thought +that had been running through my mind, and that he heartily entered into +and approved of my plans.</p> + +<p>My first false shame at being known as a strawberry-girl now gave place +to a feeling of pride and emulation. Here was one who could appreciate +as well as encourage. Hence my explanations were as full as it was +proper to set before a stranger. Our pastor listened to them with +surprise, as most of them were new even to him, nor did he fail to unite +with his companion in encouragement and congratulation. Long +acquaintance gave him the privilege to be familiar and inquisitive. It +is possible that in place of being abashed and humble, I may now have +been confident and boastful.</p> + +<p>Our visitors left us with promises to repeat their call; and with a +lighter heart than ever, I went again to assist in picking.</p> + +<p>The fruit continued to turn out well, and our widow in the market-house +proved true to the promises she had made,—there was no difficulty in +finding a sale for it, and somehow it yielded even better prices than +the year before. She said that others were complaining of a drought, and +that the fruit in consequence was generally inferior in size, so that +those who, like myself, had been lucky enough, or painstaking enough, to +secure a full crop, were doing better than ever. Then our little +strawberry-peddler, Lucy Varick, was doing a thriving business. She +established a list of customers among the great ladies in the city, who +bought large daily supplies from her, paying her the highest prices. Her +young heart seemed overflowing with joyfulness at her unexpected +success. It enabled her to take home many a dollar to her mother. Alas! +she seemed to think—if, indeed, she thought at all upon the +subject—that the strawberry season would be a perpetual harvest.</p> + +<p>We throve so satisfactorily that my mother seemed to have given up her +cherished longing for a strawberry-garden. Now that we had a new class +of visitors who were likely to be frequent in their calls, I think she +felt a kind of pride in abandoning the project. There was a sort of +dignity in the production of fruit, but something humiliating in the +idea of keeping an eating-house. She even went so far as to decline all +applications from transient callers who had mistaken our premises for +those of our neighbors, thus leaving the latter in undisturbed +possession of their long trains of customers. They were not slow in +discovering that we had ceased to be rivals in this branch of their +business; and finding themselves mistaken in supposing that my +strawberry-crop would come into ruinous competition with theirs, they +seemed disposed to be a little friendly toward us. Indeed, on one or two +occasions, Mrs. Tetchy herself came to us for a large basketful of +fruit, declaring that their own supply was not equal to the demand. She +was unusually pleasant on those occasions, but at the same time insisted +on having the fruit at less than we were getting for it. My mother could +not contend with such a woman, and so submitted to her exactions. I feel +satisfied, however, that her visits were to be attributed quite as much +to a desire to gratify her curiosity as to any want of strawberries; for +I noticed that she never came on these errands without impudently +walking all over our garden, scrutinizing whatever we were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span> doing, how +the beds were arranged, and particularly inspecting and even handling +the fruit. Of course we had nothing to be ashamed of; but though +everything about the garden was much neater than hers, she never dropped +a word of commendation.</p> + +<p>Only a day or two after the gentlemen had been down to see us, we found +it necessary to resume the task of weeding between the rows. The drought +at the beginning of the season had been succeeded by copious rains, with +warm southerly winds, under which the weeds were making an alarming +growth, notwithstanding the trampling which they received from the +pickers. I confess that our heavy hoes made this so laborious an +operation that I rather dreaded its necessity; but a hot sun was now +shining, which would be sure to kill the weeds, if we cut them off, so +all hands were turned in to accomplish the work. While thus busily +occupied, whom should I see coming into the gate but Mr. Logan?</p> + +<p>"Capital exercise, Miss, and a fine day for it!" he exclaimed, as he +came up to me. "No successful gardening where the weeds are permitted to +grow! I have the same pests to contend against, but I apply the same +remedy. There is nothing like a sharp hoe."</p> + +<p>"Nothing indeed, if one only knew how to make it so," I replied.</p> + +<p>As he spoke, his eye glanced at the uncouth implement I was using, and +reaching forth his hand he took it from me. Examining it carefully, a +smile came over his handsome face, and he shook his head, as if thinking +that would never do. It was one of the old tools my father had used, +heavy and tiresome for a woman's hand, with a blade absurdly large for +working among strawberries, and so dull as to hack off instead of +cutting up a weed at one stroke. Fred had undertaken to keep our hoes +sharp for us, but this season he had somehow neglected to put them in +order.</p> + +<p>"This will never do, Miss," he observed. "Your hoe is heavy enough to +break you down. This is not exercise such as a lady should take, but +downright hard work. I must get you such as my sisters use; and now I +mean to do your day's work for you."</p> + +<p>Then, taking my place, he proceeded during the entire morning to act as +my substitute. We were surprised at his affability, as well as at his +industry. It was evident that grubbing up weeds was no greater novelty +to him than to us. All the time he had something pleasant to say, and +thus conversation and work went on together: for, not thinking it polite +to leave him to labor alone, I procured a rake, and contrived to keep +him company in turning up the weeds to the sun, the more effectually to +kill them.</p> + +<p>Now I had never been able to learn the botanical names of any of these +pests of the garden, nor whether any of them were useful to man, nor how +it was that the earth was so crowded with them. Neither did I know the +annuals from the perennials, nor why one variety was invariably found +flourishing in moist ground, while another preferred a drier situation. +If I had had a desire to learn these interesting particulars of things +that were my daily acquaintances, I had neither books to consult nor +time to devote to them.</p> + +<p>But it was evident from Mr. Logan's conversation that he was not only a +horticulturist, but an accomplished botanist. Both my mother and myself +were surprised at the new light which he threw upon the subject. I was +tugging with my fingers at a great dandelion which had come up directly +between two strawberry-plants, trying to pull it up, when its brittle +leaves broke off in my hand, leaving the root in the ground. Mr. Logan, +seeing the operation, observed,—</p> + +<p>"No use in cutting it off; the root must come out, or it will grow +thicker and stronger, and plague you every season"; and plying the +corner of his hoe all round the neck of the dandelion, so as to loosen +the earth a considerable depth, he thrust his fingers down, seized the +root, and drew forth a thick white fibre at least a foot long.</p> + +<p>"That fellow must be three years old," said he, holding it up for me to +examine. "Very likely you have cut<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span> off the top every season, supposing +you were killing it. But the dandelion can be exterminated only by +destroying the root.</p> + +<p>"Then," he continued, "there is the dock, more prolific of seeds than +the dandelion, and the red-sorrel, worse than either, because its roots +travel under ground in all directions, throwing up suckers at every +inch, while its tops are hung with myriads of seeds,—the hoe will never +exterminate these pests. You must get rid of the roots; throw them out +to such a sun as this, and then you may hope to be somewhat clear of +them."</p> + +<p>All this was entirely new to me, as well as the botanical names, with +which he seemed to be as familiar as with the alphabet. I had often +wondered how it was that the dandelions in our garden never diminished +in number, though not one had usually been allowed to go to seed. I now +saw, that, instead of destroying the plant itself, we had only been +removing the tops.</p> + +<p>"But how is it, Mr. Logan," I inquired, "that the weeds are everywhere +more numerous than the flowers?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Miss," he replied, resting the hoe upon his shoulder, taking off +his hat, and wiping the perspiration from his forehead, "I sometimes +think the weeds are immortal, but that the flowers are not. Some one has +said that the earth is mother of the weeds, but only step-mother to the +flowers. I think it is really so. We who cultivate the soil must +maintain against them, as against sin, a perpetual warfare."</p> + +<p>"This is hoeing made easy," said my sister, as Mr. Logan walked away +toward the house for a glass of water. "A nice journeyman, Lizzie, eh? +Don't seem as if he could ever be tired! Will you ask him to come +again?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Jane, you are foolish!" I replied.</p> + +<p>But there was an arch smirk on her countenance, and she continued +looking at me with so much latent meaning in the expression of her eye, +that I was fairly compelled to turn away.</p> + +<p>Noon came, that witching time with all who labor in the fields or woods, +and not until then did Mr. Logan lay down his clumsy hoe. I half pitied +his condition as we came out of the hot sun into the shelter of a +trellis which ran along the side of the house, over which a dozen +grape-vines were hanging so thickly as to exclude even the noonday +glare. It was a sweltering day for a gentleman to work among the weeds +in a strawberry-field, in coat and cravat. But he made very light of it, +and declared that he would come the next morning and see us through the +job, and even another, if we thought there would be room for him. After +he had gone, Jane reminded me of these offers; adding,—</p> + +<p>"I felt quite sure he would be down again, even without your inviting +him. He seems to admire something else here besides strawberries. What +do you think it can be?"</p> + +<p>But I considered her inquiries too ridiculous to be worth replying to.</p> + +<p>After dinner we gave up hoeing for the day, and went to our usual +afternoon occupation of picking the next morning's supply for the widow. +She not only sold readily all we could gather, and at excellent prices, +but even called for more. It seemed that her customers were also +increasing, as well as those of our neighbors. Indeed, her urgency for +more fruit was such, during the entire season, that the question +repeatedly crossed my mind, whether we could not appropriate more ground +to strawberries by getting rid of some of the flowers. They were +beautiful things, but then they paid no profit.</p> + +<p>When one strikes a vein that happens to be profitable, he is apt to +become impatient of doing well in a small way, and forthwith casts about +for ways and means to increase its productiveness, as he thinks, by +enlarging his operations. It was natural for me to conclude, that, if I +were thus fortunate on one acre, I could do much better by cultivating +more. I presume this hankering after additional acres must be a national +weakness, as there were numerous disquisitions on the subject scattered +through my agricultural papers,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span> in many of which I noticed that there +was great fault-finding because men in this country undertook the +cultivation of twice as much land as they could properly manage. The +propensity for going on and enlarging their possessions seemed a very +general one. Thus even I, in my small way, was insensibly becoming a +disciple of these deluded people. But there was this comfort in my case, +that, while others were able to enlarge, even to their ruin, there was a +limit to my expansion, as it was impossible for me to go beyond an acre +and a half.</p> + +<p>That afternoon we had just got well under way at picking, when a man +came into the garden with a bundle of hoes and rakes on his shoulder, +and coming up to us, took off his hat and bowed with the utmost +deference, then drew from his pocket a letter, which, singularly enough, +he handed to me, instead of giving it either to my mother or Jane. On +opening it, I found it to be a note from Mr. Logan, in which he said he +had noticed that our garden-tools were so heavy as to be entirely unfit +for ladies' use, and he had therefore taken the liberty of sending me a +variety of others that were made expressly for female gardeners, asking +me to do him the great favor to accept them. Both my mother and Jane had +stopped picking, as this unexpected donation was laid before us, so I +read the note aloud to them, the messenger having previously taken his +leave. I think, altogether, it was the greatest surprise we had ever +had.</p> + +<p>"The next thing, I suppose," said Jane, "you'll have him down here to +show you how to use them"; and she laughed so heartily as quite to +mortify me. I understood her meaning, but my mother did not appear to +comprehend it, for she replied, with the utmost gravity,—</p> + +<p>"No need of his coming to teach us; haven't we been hoeing all our +lives?"</p> + +<p>"Not <i>us</i>, mother," interrupted Jane, in her peculiarly provoking way, +"but <i>her</i>; he won't come to teach <i>us</i>,—one will be enough. As to the +<i>need</i> of his coming, it looks to me to be growing stronger and +stronger."</p> + +<p>She fairly screamed with laughter, as she said this. I was so provoked +at her, that I was almost ready to cry; and as to answering her as she +deserved, it seemed beyond my power. My mother could not understand what +she meant; but while Jane was going on in this foolish way, she had +untied the bundle and was examining the tools. There were three hoes, +and as many rakes. Observing this, Jane again cried out,—</p> + +<p>"What! all for <i>you</i>? Well, Lizzie, you are making a nice beginning! I +suppose you will now have more conversational topics than ever, though +there seemed to be plenty of them this morning!"</p> + +<p>One would think that this was quite enough, but she went on with,—</p> + +<p>"Don't you wish the weeds would last all summer? for what is to become +of you when they are gone?"</p> + +<p>Still I made no reply, and Jane persisted in her jokes and laughter. But +I think one can always tell when one is blushing. So I held down my head +and concealed my face in my sun-bonnet, as I felt the blood rushing up +into my cheeks, and was determined that she should not have the +satisfaction of discovering it.</p> + +<p>These garden-tools were the most beautiful I had ever seen, and there +was evidently a hoe and a rake for each of us. They were made of +polished steel, with slender handles, all rubbed so smooth as to make it +a pleasure to take hold of them. The blades had been sharpened beyond +anything that Fred had been able to achieve. Being semicircular in +shape, they had points at the corners, adapted to reaching into +out-of-the-way places,—as after a weed that had grown up in the middle +of a strawberry-row, thinking, perhaps, that a shelter of that kind +would preserve it from destruction. Then they were so light that even a +child could ply them all day without their weight occasioning the least +fatigue. The rakes were equally complete, with long and sharp teeth, +which entered the ground with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span> far greater facility than the old-time +implements we had been using. Indeed, they were the very tools we had +been promising ourselves out of the profits of our second year. My +mother was especially pleased with them, as she was not of very robust +constitution, and found the old heavy tools a great drag upon her +strength. I think no small present I have ever received was so +acceptable as this.</p> + +<p>Whoever first manufactured and introduced these beautiful and +appropriate garden-tools for ladies has probably done as much to make +garden-work attractive to the sex as half the writers on fruits and +flowers. It is vain to expect them to engage in horticulture, unless the +most complete facilities are provided for them. Their physical strength +is not equal to several hours' labor with implements made exclusively +for the hands of strong men; and when garden-work, instead of proving a +pleasant recreation, degenerates into drudgery, one is apt to become +disgusted with it, and will thus give up an occupation truly feminine, +invariably healthful, and in many cases highly profitable.</p> + +<p>True to his promise of the preceding day, Mr. Logan came down next +morning to help us through with our job of hoeing, but rather better +prepared to operate under a broiling June sun. My mother, seeing his +determination to assist us, invited him to take off his coat, and +brought out Fred's straw hat for him to wear. He seemed truly grateful +for these marks of consideration for his comfort, and in consequence +there sprung up quite a cordiality between them. There was of course a +profusion of thanks given to him for the handsome and appropriate +present he had made, but he seemed to consider it a very small affair. +Still, I think he appeared as much gratified at finding he had thus +anticipated our wishes as we were ourselves. It is singular how far a +little act of kindness, especially when its value is enhanced by its +appropriateness and the delicacy with which it is performed, will go +toward establishing a bond of sympathy between giver and receiver.</p> + +<p>I may here say, that, the better we became acquainted with Mr. Logan, +the more evident it was that his heart was made up of kindness. He +seemed to consider himself as almost nothing, and his neighbor as +everything. His spirit was of that character that wins its way through +life, tincturing every action with good-will for others, and seeking to +promote the happiness of all around him in preference to his own. He +once remarked, that we must not look for happiness in the things of the +world, but within ourselves, in our hearts, our tempers, and our +dispositions. On another occasion he quoted to me something he had just +been reading in an old author, who said that men's lives should be like +the day, most beautiful at eventide,—or like the autumn rich with +golden sheaves, where good works have ripened into an abundant harvest.</p> + +<p>Of course, at that time, we knew nothing of who or what he was, beyond +an assurance incidentally given by our pastor, that he was the worthiest +young man of his acquaintance, and that he hoped we would entertain him +in the best way we could, as his passion for the pursuits he discovered +me to be engaged in, coupled with what he had learned of the great +object I had in view, had so much interested him in my behalf that he +thought it likely Mr. Logan would often come down to watch my progress, +and very possibly in some way assist me. This recommendation was quite +sufficient to make him a welcome visitor at our little homestead. But +even without that, we all felt he would have no difficulty in winning +his way wherever he might think it desirable to make a favorable +impression. Though he was evidently highly educated, and had been +brought up in a superior circle to ours, and, for aught we knew, might +be very wealthy, yet his whole manner was so free from pretension to +superiority of any kind, that we never felt the least constraint in his +company.</p> + +<p>Well, as I was saying, Mr. Logan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span> came down to assist me in my weeding. +Jane had gone to the factory, telling me that I should have help enough +to do her share of the hoeing. I was really not sorry for her absence, +as she seemed to have taken up some very strange notions, which led her +into remarks that annoyed me. Besides, she was sometimes so impetuous in +giving utterance to these notions, that I was afraid she might +thoughtlessly break out where he would overhear. I might have had other +reasons, not worth while to allude to, for not regretting her absence; +but this dangerous propensity was quite sufficient. Hence that was a +most agreeable morning. It is true that my mother was a good deal +absent, having something extra to do within doors, thus leaving Mr. +Logan and myself sole tenants of the garden for probably an hour at a +time. But it did not occur to me that her presence would have made the +time pass away any more quickly, or that any remarks from her would have +made our interchange of ideas more interesting. There was abundance of +conversation between us, as he seemed at no fault for either words or +topics. Then there were long pauses in the work, when we would rest upon +the handles of our hoes, and discuss some point that one of us had +started. On these occasions I was struck with the extreme politeness and +deference of his manner toward me. The very tones of his voice were +different from any I had ever heard. How different, indeed, from those +of the coarse and mercenary creatures it had been my fortune to +encounter elsewhere! It was impossible to overlook the contrast. What +wonder, then, that the softness with which they were modulated, when +conversing with me, should fall with grateful impressiveness on my +heart?</p> + +<p>But this pleasant acquaintance occasioned no interruption of my labors +in harvesting my strawberry-crop. It was picked regularly every +afternoon, and I went with Fred every morning by daylight to see it +safely delivered to the widow. The sale kept up as briskly as ever, +though the price gradually declined as the season advanced,—not, as the +widow informed me, because the people had become tired of strawberries, +but because the crops from distant fields were now crowding into market. +Then, too, she said, as other delicacies came forward, buyers were +disposed to change a little for something different.</p> + +<p>It was a striking feature of the business, that, however abundant the +strawberries might be, selected fruit always commanded a higher price +than that which went to market in a jumble just as it came from the +vines. This is a matter which it is important for all cultivators to +keep in remembrance, as attention to it is a source of considerable +profit. We all know that the large berries are no better or sweeter than +the smaller ones; but then we are the growers, not the consumers, and +the public have set their hearts on having the largest that can be +produced. In fruits, as in other things, it seems that "the world is +still deceived by ornament." Moreover, people are willing to pay liberal +prices for it, and thus the producer is sure of being rewarded for a +choice article. I never discovered that a pumpkin or a turnip possessed +any superior flavor because it had been stimulated to mammoth size. But +such being the public craving for vegetable monsters, the shrewd +cultivator is constantly on the alert to minister to it, knowing that it +pays.</p> + +<p>Fred kept his usual tally of the number of baskets we took to market, +and how much money each lot produced. His ridiculous miscalculation, the +previous year, of what our profits would be, had so moderated his +enthusiasm, that during all this season his anticipations were confined +within very modest bounds. But as his column of figures lengthened, and +he ciphered out for us the average price for each day's sales, it was +remarkable how much higher it stood than that of most of the fruit I saw +in the market. It was evident that our care in assorting our berries was +giving a good account of itself. Besides, I saw that the widow had the +jumbled-up berries of others on her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</a></span> stand, and heard her complain that +they remained on hand some hours after all mine had been sold. Then, was +it not the superiority of mine that had drawn forth such strong +commendation from my first customer, Mr. Logan? and had he not continued +to admire all that I did in the strawberry way? Setting aside the high +prices, I sometimes thought that this alone was worth all the pains we +had taken.</p> + +<p>The season lasted about three weeks, during all which time our pastor +was a frequent visitor at our garden. As both he and Mr. Logan had been +made acquainted with my general object and plans, so from generals they +were at last taken into confidence as to particulars. I showed them +Fred's tally, and it appeared to me they entered into the study of it +with almost as much interest as we did ourselves. Though in many +respects a very small affair, yet it involved great results for me, and +our visitors both thought it might be turned to the advantage of others +also.</p> + +<p>"I am astonished," said Mr. Seeley, one day, after examining Fred's +tally, and expressing himself in terms of admiration at the success of +our enterprise,—"I am astonished at the wasteful lives which so many of +our women are living. They seem utterly destitute of purpose. They make +no effort to give them shape or plan, or to set up a goal in the +distance, to be reached by some kind of industrious application. They +drift along listlessly and mechanically, in the old well-worn tracks, +trusting to accident to give them a new direction. It is a sad thing, +this waste of human existence!"</p> + +<p>"But consider, Sir," I replied, "how limited are our opportunities, how +circumscribed the circle in which we are compelled to move, and with how +much jealousy the world stands guard upon its boundaries, as if it were +determined we should not overstep them. When women succeed, is it not +solely by accident, or, if there be such a thing, by luck?"</p> + +<p>"Accident, Miss," replied Mr. Logan, "undoubtedly has something to do +with it. But observation, energy, and tact are much more important +elements of success. More than sixty years ago a young New-England girl +fell desperately in love with an imported straw bonnet which she +accidentally met with in a shop. The price was too large for her slender +purse, so she determined to make one for herself. With no guide but +recollection of the charming novelty she had seen, no other pattern to +work by, no opportunity of unbraiding it to see how it was made, no +instruction whatever, she persevered until she had produced a bonnet +that filled the hearts of her female friends with envy, as well as with +ambition to copy it. This was the origin of the once famous Dunstable +bonnet. From this accidental beginning there sprung up a manufacture +which now employs ten thousand persons, most of whom are women, and the +product of which, in Massachusetts alone, amounts to six millions of +hats and bonnets annually. This girl thus became a public benefactor. +She opened a new and profitable employment to women, and at the same +time enriched herself."</p> + +<p>"Yes," added Mr. Seeley, "and there are many other employments for +female skill and labor that may yet be opened up. This that you are +toiling in, Lizzie, may turn out something useful. I presume that even +bonnets cannot be more popular than strawberries."</p> + +<p>"I should think so," interrupted Fred, "It is the women only who wear +the one, but it looks to me as if the whole world wanted the other."</p> + +<p>Well, when our little crop had all been sold, I found that it amounted +to nearly twelve hundred quarts, and that it produced three hundred and +eighty dollars clear of expenses. This was quite as much as we expected; +besides, it was enough to enable me to quit the factory altogether, and +stay at home with my mother. And there was a fair prospect of this +release being a permanent one, as it was very certain I now understood +the whole art and mystery of cultivating strawberries. There was another +encouraging incident connected with this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</a></span> season's operations. It +appeared that our pastor had mentioned me and my labors to a number of +his friends, among whom was one who wanted to set out a large field with +plants, all of which he purchased of me, amounting to sixty dollars. +This was a most unexpected addition to our income.</p> + +<p>But my sister Jane did not seem at all anxious to give up the factory. I +had, a good while before, let in an idea that there was some other +attraction about the establishment besides the sewing-machine. I +noticed, that, now we had so considerably increased our means, she was +more dressy than ever, and spent a great deal more time at her toilet +before leaving for the factory, as if there were some one there to whom +she wanted to appear more captivating than usual. Poor girl! I know it +was very natural for her to do so. Indeed, I must confess to some little +weakness of the same description myself. We had drawn to us quite a new +set of visitors, and it was natural that I should endeavor to make our +house as attractive to them as possible. As all our previous earnings +had gone into a common purse, from which my mother made distribution +among us, so the new accession from the garden went into the same +repository. Jane was much more set up with this flourishing condition of +our finances than myself. In addition to beautiful new bonnets and very +gay shawls which we bought, she began to tease my mother for a silk +dress, an article which had never been seen in our house. But as the +latter prudently insisted on treating us with equal indulgence, and as I +thought my time for such finery had not come, I was unwilling to go to +that expense, so Jane was obliged to do without it. But I was now to +have a sewing-machine.</p> + +<p>Time passed more pleasantly than I had ever known. It was a great +happiness to be able to devote an hour or two to reading every day, and +leisure prompted me to some little enterprises for the improvement of +the surroundings of the old homestead. It seemed to me the easiest thing +in the world to invest even the rudest exterior with true elegance, and +I found that the indulgence of a little taste in this way could be had +for a very small outlay. A silk dress, in my opinion, was not to be +compared with such an object.</p> + +<p>I scarcely know how it happened, but, instead of the end of the +strawberry-season being the termination of Mr. Logan's visits, they +continued full as frequent as when there was really pressing work for +him to assist in. It could not have been because his curiosity to see +how my crop would turn out was still ungratified, as he knew all about +it, how much we had sold, and what money it produced. But he seemed to +have quite fallen in love with the garden; and, indeed, he one day +observed, that "there would ever be something in that garden to interest +him." Then in my little improvements about the house, in fixing up some +of our old trellises, in planting new vines and flowers, and in +transplanting trees and shrubs, he insisted on helping me nearly half +the week. He really performed far more work of this kind than Fred had +ever done, and appeared to be perfectly familiar with such matters. +Moreover, he approved so generally of my plans that I at last felt it +would be difficult to do without him. But I could not help considering +it strange that he should so frequently give up the higher society to +which he was accustomed in the city, and spend so much of his time at +our humble cottage.</p> + +<p>Thus the season went on until August came in, when the strawberry-ground +was becoming thickly covered with runners, especially from the newly +planted half-acre. I had intended bestowing no particular care on these, +except to keep down the weeds so that the runners could take root. But +when Mr. Logan learned this, he said it would never do. Besides, he +said, the ground looked to him as if it were not rich enough. So, if he +could have his own way, he would show me how the thing should be +managed. Well, as by this time he really appeared to have as much to say +about the garden as any of us, what could I do but consent? First,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</a></span> +then, with my assistance, he turned back the runners into the rows, and +then had the spaces between covered with a thick coat of fine old +compost, which he probably bought somewhere in the neighborhood,—but +how much it cost we could never get him to say. Then he brought in a man +with a plough, who broke up the ground, turning the manure thoroughly +in, and then harrowing it until the surface was as finely pulverized as +if done with a rake. Then we spread out the runners again, and he showed +me how to fasten them by letting them down into the soft earth with the +point of my hoe. I told him I never should have thought of taking so +much trouble; but he said there was no other way by which the runners +could be converted into robust plants, certain to produce a heavy crop +the next season. They must have a freshly loosened soil to run over, and +in which to form strong roots; and as to enriching the ground, it was +absolutely indispensable. To be sure, I could produce fruit without it, +but it would be of very inferior quality.</p> + +<p>One may well suppose that this intimate association, this almost daily +companionship, this grateful interchange of thoughts and feelings that +seemed to flow in one harmonious current from a common fountain, should +have exerted a powerful influence over me. Such intercourse with one so +singularly gifted with the faculty of winning favor from all who knew +him gave birth to emotions within me such as I had never experienced. Am +I to blame for being thus affected, or in confessing that every long +October evening was doubly pleasant when it brought him down to see us? +Indeed, I had insensibly begun to expect him. There was an indescribable +something in his manner, especially when we happened to be alone, that I +thought it impossible to misunderstand. Once, when strolling round the +garden, I directed his attention to a group of charming autumn flowers. +But, instead of noticing them, he looked at me, and replied,—</p> + +<p>"Ah, Miss Lizzie, I long since discovered that this garden contains a +sweeter flower than any of these!"</p> + +<p>I turned away from him, abashed and silent, for I was confused and +frightened by the idea that he was alluding to me, and it was a long +time before I could venture to raise my eyes to his. I thought of what +he had said, and of the studied tenderness of voice with which he had +spoken, all through our lengthened walk, and until I rested upon my +pillow; and the strange sensations it awakened came over my spirit in +repeated dreams.</p> + +<p>Thus forewarned, as I thought, I was not slow in afterwards detecting +fresh manifestations of a tenderer interest for me than I had supposed +it possible for him to entertain.</p> + +<p>One evening in November, when the moon was shining with her softest +lustre through the deep haze peculiar to our Indian summer, he came as +usual to our little homestead. Somehow, I can scarcely tell why, I had +been expecting him. He had dropped something the previous evening which +had awakened in my mind the deepest feeling, and I was half sure that he +would come. I felt that there were quicker pulses dancing through my +veins, a flutter in my heart such as no previous experience had brought, +a doubt, a fear, an expectation, as well as an alarm, which no +reflection could analyze, no language could describe, all contending +within me for ascendancy. Who that has human sympathies, who that is +young as I was, diffident of herself, and comparatively alone and +friendless, will wonder that I should be thus overcome, or reproach me +for giving way to impulses which I felt it impossible to control? There +was a terror of the future, which even recollection of the happy past +was powerless to dissipate. Society, even books, became irksome, and I +went out into the garden alone, there to have uninterrupted communion +with myself.</p> + +<p>There was an old arbor in a by-place of the garden, covered with creeper +and honeysuckle, and though rudely built, yet there was a quiet +retirement about it that I felt would be grateful to my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</a></span> spirit. Its +rustic fittings, its heavy old seats, its gravelled floor, had been the +scene of a thousand childish gambols with my brother and sister. Old +memories clung to it with a loving fondness. Even when the sports of +childhood gave place to graver thoughts and occupations, the cool +retirement of this rustic solitude had never failed to possess the +strongest attractions for me. The songbirds built their little nests +within the overhanging foliage, and swarms of bees gave melodious voices +to the summer air as they hovered over its honey-yielding flowers. The +past united with the present to direct my steps toward this favorite +spot I entered, and, seating myself on one of the old low branches that +encircled it, was looking up through the straggling vines that festooned +the entrance, admiring the soft haze through, which the cloudless moon +was shedding a peculiar brilliancy on all around, when I heard a step +approaching from the house.</p> + +<p>I stopped the song which I had been humming, and listened. It is said +that there are steps which have music in them. I am sure, the cadences +of that music which the poet has so immortalized sounded distinctly in +my listening ear. It was the melody of recognition. I knew instinctively +the approaching step, and in a moment Mr. Logan stood before me.</p> + +<p>"What!" said he, extending his hand as I rose, and pressing mine with a +warmth that was unusual, even retaining it until we were seated,—"ever +happy! There must be a perpetual sunshine in your heart!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" I replied. "Happiness is a creation of the fireside. One does +not find it in his neighbor's garden, and many times not even in his +own."</p> + +<p>"For once, dear Lizzie, I only half agree with you," he replied, again +taking my hand, and pressing it in both of his.</p> + +<p>I sought in vain to withdraw it, but he held it with an embarrassing +tenacity. He had never spoken such words before, never used my name +even, without the usual prefix which politeness exacts. I was glad that +the moonlight found but feeble entrance into the arbor, as the blood +mounted from my heart into my face, and I felt that I must be a +spectacle of confusion. I cannot now remember how long this +indescribable embarrassment kept possession of me, but I did summon +strength to say,—</p> + +<p>"Your language surprises me, Mr. Logan."</p> + +<p>"But, dear Lizzie," he rejoined, "my deportment toward you ought to +lessen that surprise, and become the apology for my words. Others may +find no happiness in their neighbor's garden, but I have discovered that +mine is concentrated in yours. You, dear Lizzie, are its fairest, +choicest flower, which I seek to transplant into my own, there to +flourish in the warmth of an affection such as I have felt for no one +but yourself. Never has woman been so loved as you. Let me add fresh +blessings to the day on which I first met you here, by claiming you as +my wife."</p> + +<p>Oh, how can I write all this? But memory covers every incident of the +past with flowers. What I said in reply to that overwhelming declaration +has all gone from me. I may have been silent,—I think I must have +been,—under the crowd of conflicting sensations,—amazement, modesty, a +happiness unspeakable,—which came thronging over my heart I cannot +remember all, but I covered my face, and the tears came into my eyes. +Still keeping my hand, he placed his arm around me, drew me yet closer +to him,—my head fell upon his breast,—I think he must have kissed me.</p> + +<p>If other evenings fled on hasty wings, how rapid was the flight of what +remained of this! I cannot repeat the thoughts we uttered to each other, +the confidences we exchanged, the glimpses of the happy future that +broke upon me. Joy seemed to fill my cup even to overflowing; happiness +danced before my bewildered mind; the longing of my womanly nature was +satisfied with the knowledge that my affection was returned. Out of all +the world in which he had to choose, he had preferred <i>me</i>.</p> + +<p>That night was made restless by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</a></span> very fulness of my happiness. At +breakfast the next morning, Jane questioned me on my somewhat haggard +looks, and was inquisitive to know if anything had happened. Somehow she +was unusually pertinacious; but I parried her inquiries. I was unwilling +that others, as yet, should become sharers of my joy. But when she left +upon her usual duties, I put on my best attire, with all the little +novelties in dress which we had recently been able to purchase, making +my appearance as genteel as possible. For the first time in my life I +did think that silk would be becoming, and was vexed with myself for +being without it. I was now anxious to be found agreeable. But it really +made no difference.</p> + +<p>Presently a knock was heard at the front door; and on my mother's +opening it, Mr. Logan entered, with a young lady whom he introduced as +his sister. The room was so indifferently lighted that I could not at +first distinguish her features, but, on her throwing up her veil, I +instantly recognized in her my fellow-pupil at the sewing-school,—my +"guide, philosopher, and friend," Miss Effie Logan!</p> + +<p>"Two years, dear Lizzie, since we met!" she exclaimed, "and what a +meeting now! You see I know it all. Henry has told me everything. I am +half as happy as yourself!"</p> + +<p>She took me in her arms, embraced me, kissed me with passionate +tenderness, and called me "sister." What a recognition it was for me! +Her beautiful face, lighted up with a new animation, appeared more +lovely than ever. There was the same open-hearted manner of other days, +now made doubly engaging by the warmest manifestation of genuine +affection. I had never dreamed that Mr. Logan was the brother of whom +this loving girl had so often spoken to me at the sewing-school, nor +that the inexpressible happiness of calling her my sister was in store +for me. But now I could readily discover resemblances which it was no +wonder I had heretofore overlooked. If he, in sweetness of disposition, +were to prove the counterpart of herself, what more could woman ask? It +was not possible for a recognition to be more joyful than this.</p> + +<p>My mother stood by, witnessing these incomprehensible proceedings, +silent, yet anxious as to their meaning. Effie took her into the +adjoining room,—she was far readier of speech than myself,—and there +explained to her the mystery of my new position with Mr. Logan. She told +me that my mother was overcome with surprise, for, dearly as she loved +her children, she had been strangely dull in her apprehension of what +had been so long enacting within her own domestic circle. But why should +I amplify these homely details? They are daily incidents the world over, +varied, it is true, by circumstances; for everywhere the human heart is +substantially the same mysterious fountain of emotion.</p> + +<p>A secret of this sort, once known, even to one's mother only, travels +with miraculous rapidity, until the whole gaping neighborhood becomes +confidentially intrusted with its keeping. It seems that ours had been +more observant and suspicious than even my dear mother. But such eager +care-takers of other people's affairs exist wherever human beings may +chance to congregate. Humble life secured us no exemption.</p> + +<p>Our pastor was one of the first to hear of the interesting event. It may +be that Mr. Logan had given him some inkling of it beforehand, for he +was early in his congratulations. Jane, as might be expected, declared +that it was no surprise to her, and was sure that my mother would not +think of having the wedding without indulging her in her long-coveted +silk. Fred took to Mr. Logan with almost as much kindliness as even +myself. Throughout the neighborhood the affair created an immense +sensation, as it was currently believed that Mr. Logan was exceedingly +rich, and that now I was likely to become a lady. While poor, I was only +a strawberry-girl; but rich, I would be a lady! Who is to account<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</a></span> for +these false estimates of human life? Who is mighty enough to correct +them?</p> + +<p>Nothing had ever so melted down the rude stiffness of the Tetchy family +as this wonderful revolution in my domestic prospects. They became +amusingly disposed to sociability, as well as to inquisitiveness. But I +was glad to see my mother stiffen up in proportion to their sudden +condescension, for she would have nothing to do with them.</p> + +<p>Who, among casuists, can account for the contagious sympathy that seems +to govern the affections? I had often heard it said that one wedding +generally leads the way to another. Not a fortnight after these +important events, Jane gave a new surprise to the household by +introducing to us a lover of her own. It appeared that everything had +been arranged between them before we knew a word about it. The happy +young man in this case was a junior partner in the factory; and this, as +I had long suspected, was the great secret of her attraction there. How +my mother could have been so blind to the signs of coming events, such +as were developing around her, I could not understand. But both affairs +were real surprises to her. If we had depended on her genius as a +matchmaker, I fear that both Jane and myself would have had a very +discouraging experience!</p> + +<p>Thus the services of our pastor were likely to be in great request, for +Jane insisted that he should officiate at her wedding, and Mr. Logan +would think of no other for his own; and for myself, I thought it best, +as this was the first time, not to let it be said that I had volunteered +to make a difficulty by being contrary on such a point! Effie offered to +be my bridesmaid, and Mr. Logan declared that Fred should be his first +groomsman. It was a hazardous venture, Fred being as much a novice at +such performances as myself,—who had never officiated even as bride! +With a little tutoring, however, he turned out a surprising success. +Lucy, no longer a little barefoot fruit-peddler, was promoted to be my +waiting-maid.</p> + +<p>The new year came, bringing with it silks and jewels, and the double +wedding. If I write that I am married, I must add that I am still +without a sewing-machine. To me the garden has been better than the +needle.</p> + +<p>There is a moral to be drawn from all that I have written, wherein it +may be seen that the field of my choice is wide enough for many others. +If I retire from market as a strawberry-girl, it must not be inferred +that it is because the business has been overdone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="JOHN_JORDAN" id="JOHN_JORDAN"></a>JOHN JORDAN,</h2> + +<h3>FROM THE HEAD OF BAINE.</h3> + + +<p>Among the many brave men who have taken part in this war,—whose dying +embers are now being trodden out by a "poor white man,"—none, perhaps, +have done more service to the country, or won less glory for themselves, +than the "poor whites" who have acted as scouts for the Union armies. +The issue of battles, the result of campaigns, and the possession of +wide districts of country, have often depended on their sagacity, or +been determined by the information they have gathered; and yet they have +seldom been heard of in the newspapers, and may never be read of in +history.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</a></span></p> + +<p>Romantic, thrilling, and sometimes laughable adventures have attended +the operations of the scouts of both sections; but more difficulty and +danger have undoubtedly been encountered by the partisans of the North +than of the South. Operating mostly within the circle of their own +acquaintance, the latter have usually been aided and harbored by the +Southern people, who, generally friendly to Secession, have themselves +often acted as spies, and conveyed dispatches across districts occupied +by our armies, and inaccessible to any but supposed loyal citizens.</p> + +<p>The service rendered the South by these volunteer scouts has often been +of the most important character. One stormy night, early in the war, a +young woman set out from a garrisoned town to visit a sick uncle +residing a short distance in the country. The sick uncle, mounting his +horse at midnight, rode twenty miles in the rain to Forrest's +head-quarters. The result was, the important town of Murfreesboro' and a +promising Major-General fell into the hands of the Confederates; and all +because the said Major-General permitted a pretty woman to pass his +lines on "a mission of mercy."</p> + +<p>At another time, a Rebel citizen, professing disgust with Secession for +having the weakness to be on "its last legs," took the oath of +allegiance and assumed the Union uniform. Informing himself fully of the +disposition of our forces along the Nashville Railroad, he suddenly +disappeared, to reappear with Basil Duke and John Morgan in a midnight +raid on our slumbering outposts.</p> + +<p>Again, a column on the march came upon a wretched woman, with a child in +her arms, seated by the dying embers of a burning homestead,—burning, +she said, because her sole and only friend, her uncle, (these ladies +seldom have any nearer kin,) "stood up stret fur the kentry." No +American soldier ever refused a "lift" to a woman in distress. This +woman was soon "lifted" into an empty saddle by the side of a +staff-officer, who, with many wise winks and knowing nods, was +discussing the intended route of the expedition with a brother +simpleton. A little farther on the woman suddenly remembered that +another uncle, who did not stand up quite so "stret fur the kentry," +and, consequently, had a house still standing up for him, lived "plumb +up thet 'ar' hill ter the right o' the high-road." She was set down, the +column moved on, and—Streight's well planned expedition miscarried. But +no one wasted a thought on the forlorn woman and the sallow baby whose +skinny faces were so long within earshot of the wooden-headed +staff-officer.</p> + +<p>Means quite as ingenious and quite as curious were often adopted to +conceal dispatches, when the messenger was in danger of capture by an +enemy. A boot with a hollow heel, a fragment of corn-pone too stale to +tempt a starving man, a strip of adhesive plaster over a festering +wound, or a ball of cotton-wool stuffed into the ear to keep out the +west wind, often hid a message whose discovery would cost a life, and +perhaps endanger an army. The writer has himself seen the hollow +half-eagle which bore to Burnside's beleaguered force the welcome +tidings that in thirty hours Sherman would relieve Knoxville.</p> + +<p>The perils which even the "native" scout encountered can be estimated +only by those familiar with the vigilance that surrounds an army. The +casual meeting with an acquaintance, the slightest act inconsistent with +his assumed character, or the smallest incongruity between his speech +and that of the district to which he professed to belong, has sent many +a good man to the gallows. One of the best of Rosecrans's scouts—a +native of East Kentucky—lost his life because he would "bounce" (mount) +his nag, "pack" (carry) his gun, eat his bread "dry so," (without +butter,) and "guzzle his peck o' whiskey," in the midst of Bragg's camp, +when no such things were done there, nor in the mountains of Alabama, +whence he professed to come. Acquainted only with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[Pg 436]</a></span> a narrow region, the +poor fellow did not know that every Southern district has its own +dialect, and that the travelled ear of a close observer can detect the +slightest deviation from its customary phrases. But he was not alone in +this ignorance. Almost every Northern writer who has undertaken to +describe Southern life has fallen into the same error. Even Olmstead, +who has caught the idioms wonderfully, confounds the dialects of +different regions, and makes a Northern Georgian "right smart," when he +had been only "powerful stupid" all his life.</p> + +<p>The professional scout generally was a native of the South,—some +illiterate and simple-minded, but brave and self-devoted "poor white +man," who, if he had worn shoulder-straps, and been able to write +"interesting" dispatches, might now be known as a hero half the world +over. Some of these men, had they been born at the North, where free +schools are open to all, would have led armies, and left a name to live +after them. But they were born at the South, had their minds cramped and +their souls stunted by a system which dwarfs every noble thing; and so, +their humble mission over, they have gone down unknown and unhonored, +amid the silence and darkness of their native woods.</p> + +<p>I hope to rescue the memory of one of these men—John Jordan, from the +head of Baine—from utter oblivion by writing this article. He is now +beyond the hearing of my words; but I would record one act in his short +career, that his pure patriotism may lead some of us to know better and +love more the much-abused and misunderstood class to which he belonged.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Early in the war the command of an important military expedition was +intrusted to the president of a Western college. Though a young man, +this scholar had already achieved a "character" and a history. Beginning +life a widow's son, his first sixteen years were passed between a farm, +a canal, and a black-saltern. Being an intelligent, energetic lad, his +friends formed the usual hopes of him; but when he apprenticed himself +to a canal-boat, their faith failed, and, after the fashion of Job's +friends, they comforted his mother with the assurance that her son had +taken the swift train to the Devil. But, like Job, she knew in whom she +believed, and the boy soon justified her confidence. An event shortly +occurred which changed the current of his life, gave him a purpose, and +made him a man.</p> + +<p>One dark midnight, as the boat on which he was employed was leaving one +of those long reaches of slackwater which abound in the Ohio and +Pennsylvania Canal, he was called up to take his turn at the bow. +Tumbling out of bed, his eyes heavy with sleep, he took his stand on the +narrow platform below the bow-deck, and began uncoiling a rope to steady +the boat through a lock it was approaching. Slowly and sleepily he +unwound it, till it knotted, and caught in a narrow cleft in the edge of +the deck. He gave it a sudden pull, but it held fast; then another and a +stronger pull, and it gave way, but sent him over the bow into the +water. Down he went into the dark night and the still darker river; and +the boat glided on to bury him among the fishes. No human help was near. +God only could save him, and He only by a miracle. So the boy thought, +as he went down saying the prayer his mother had taught him. +Instinctively clutching the rope, he sunk below the surface; but then it +tightened in his grasp, and held firmly. Seizing it hand over hand, he +drew himself up on deck, and was again a live boy among the living. +Another kink had caught in another crevice, and saved him! Was it that +prayer, or the love of his praying mother, which wrought this miracle? +He did not know, but, long after the boat had passed the lock, he stood +there, in his dripping clothes, pondering the question.</p> + +<p>Coiling the rope, he tried to throw it again into the crevice; but it +had lost the knack of kinking. Many times<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[Pg 437]</a></span> he tried,—six hundred, says +my informant,—and then sat down and reflected. "I have thrown this +rope," he thought, "six hundred times; I might throw it ten times as +many without its catching. Ten times six hundred are six thousand,—so, +there were six thousand chances against my life. Against such odds, +Providence only could have saved it. Providence, therefore, thinks it +worth saving; and if that's so, I won't throw it away on a canal-boat. +I'll go home, get an education, and be a man."</p> + +<p>He acted on this resolution, and not long afterwards stood before a +little log cottage in the depths of the Ohio wilderness. It was late at +night; the stars were out, and the moon was down; but by the fire-light +that came through the window, he saw his mother kneeling before an open +book which lay on a chair in the corner. She was reading; but her eyes +were off the page, looking up to the Invisible. "Oh, turn unto me," she +said, "and have mercy upon me! give Thy strength unto Thy servant, and +save the son of Thine handmaid!" More she read, which sounded like a +prayer, but this is all that the boy remembers. He opened the door, put +his arm about her neck, and his head upon her bosom. What words he said +I do not know; but there, by her side, he gave back to God the life +which He had given. So the mother's prayer was answered. So sprang up +the seed which in toil and tears she had planted.</p> + +<p>The boy worked, the world rolled round, and twelve years later Governor +Dennison offered him command of a regiment. He went home, opened his +mother's Bible, and pondered upon the subject. He had a wife, a child, +and a few thousand dollars. If he gave his life to the country, would +God and the few thousand dollars provide for his wife and child? He +consulted the Book about it. It seemed to answer in the affirmative; and +before morning he wrote to a friend,—"I regard my life as given to the +country. I am only anxious to make as much of it as possible before the +mortgage on it is foreclosed."</p> + +<p>To this man, who thus went into the war with a life not his own, was +given, on the 16th of December, 1861, command of the little army which +held Kentucky to her moorings in the Union.</p> + +<p>He knew nothing of war beyond its fundamental principles,—which are, I +believe, that a big boy can whip a little boy, and that one big boy can +whip two little boys, if he take them singly, one after the other. He +knew no more about it; yet he was called upon to solve a military +problem which has puzzled the heads of the greatest generals: namely, +how two small bodies of men, stationed widely apart, can unite in the +presence of an enemy, and beat him, when he is of twice their united +strength, and strongly posted behind intrenchments. With the help of +many "good men and true," he solved this problem; and in telling how he +solved it, I shall come naturally to speak of John Jordan, from the head +of Baine.</p> + +<p>Humphrey Marshall with five thousand men had invaded Kentucky. Entering +it at Pound Gap, he had fortified a strong natural position near +Paintville, and, with small bands, was overrunning the whole Piedmont +region. This region, containing an area larger than the whole of +Massachusetts, was occupied by about four thousand blacks and one +hundred thousand whites,—a brave, hardy, rural population, with few +schools, scarcely any churches, and only one newspaper, but with that +sort of patriotism which grows among mountains and clings to its barren +hillsides as if they were the greenest spots in the universe. Among this +simple people Marshall was scattering firebrands. Stump-orators were +blazing away at every cross-road, lighting a fire which threatened to +sweep Kentucky from the Union. That done,—so early in the +war,—dissolution might have followed. To the Ohio canal-boy was +committed the task of extinguishing this conflagration. It was a +difficult task, one which, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[Pg 438]</a></span> the means at command, would have +appalled any man not made equal to it by early struggles with hardship +and poverty, and entire trust in the Providence that guards his country.</p> + +<p>The means at command were twenty-five hundred men, divided into two +bodies, and separated by a hundred miles of mountain country. This +country was infested with guerrillas, and occupied by a disloyal people. +The sending of dispatches across it was next to impossible; but +communication being opened, and the two columns set in motion, there was +danger that they would be fallen on and beaten in detail before they +could form a junction. This was the great danger. What remained—the +beating of five thousand Rebels, posted behind intrenchments, by half +their number of Yankees, operating in the open field—seemed to the +young Colonel less difficult of accomplishment.</p> + +<p>Evidently, the first thing to be done was to find a trustworthy +messenger to convey dispatches between the two halves of the Union army. +To this end, the Yankee commander applied to the Colonel of the +Fourteenth Kentucky.</p> + +<p>"Have you a man," he asked, "who will die, rather than fail or betray +us?"</p> + +<p>The Kentuckian reflected a moment, then answered: "I think I have,—John +Jordan, from the head of Baine."<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></p> + +<p>Jordan was sent for. He was a tall, gaunt, sallow man of about thirty, +with small gray eyes, a fine, falsetto voice, pitched in the minor key, +and his speech the rude dialect of the mountains. His face had as many +expressions as could be found in a regiment, and he seemed a strange +combination of cunning, simplicity, undaunted courage, and undoubting +faith; yet, though he might pass for a simpleton, he talked a quaint +sort of wisdom which ought to have given him to history.</p> + +<p>The young Colonel sounded him thoroughly; for the fate of the little +army might depend on his fidelity. The man's soul was as clear as +crystal, and in ten minutes the Yankee saw through it. His history is +stereotyped in that region. Born among the hills, where the crops are +stones, and sheep's noses are sharpened before they can nibble the thin +grass between them, his life had been one of the hardest toil and +privation. He knew nothing but what Nature, the Bible, the "Course of +Time," and two or three of Shakspeare's plays had taught him; but +somehow in the mountain air he had grown to be a man,—a man as +civilized nations account manhood.</p> + +<p>"Why did you come into the war?" at last asked the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"To do my sheer fur the kentry, Gin'ral," answered the man. "And I +didn't druv no barg'in wi' th' Lord. I guv Him my life squar' out; and +ef He's a mind ter tuck it on this tramp, why, it's a His'n; I've +nothin' ter say agin it."</p> + +<p>"You mean that you've come into the war not expecting to get out of it?"</p> + +<p>"That's so, Gin'ral."</p> + +<p>"Will you die rather than let the dispatch be taken?"</p> + +<p>"I wull."</p> + +<p>The Colonel recalled what had passed in his own mind when poring over +his mother's Bible that night at his home in Ohio; and it decided him. +"Very well," he said; "I will trust you."</p> + +<p>The dispatch was written on tissue paper, rolled into the form of a +bullet, coated with warm lead, and put into the hand of the Kentuckian. +He was given a carbine, a brace of revolvers, and the fleetest horse in +his regiment, and, when the moon was down, started on his perilous +journey. He was to ride at night, and hide in the woods or in the houses +of loyal men in the day-time.</p> + +<p>It was pitch-dark when he set out; but he knew every inch of the way, +having travelled it often, driving mules to market. He had gone twenty +miles by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[Pg 439]</a></span> early dawn, and the house of a friend was only a few miles +beyond him. The man himself was away; but his wife was at home, and she +would harbor him till nightfall. He pushed on, and tethered his horse in +the timber; but it was broad day when he rapped at the door, and was +admitted. The good woman gave him breakfast, and showed him to the +guest-chamber, where, lying down in his boots, he was soon in a deep +slumber.</p> + +<p>The house was a log cabin in the midst of a few acres of +deadening,—ground from which trees have been cleared by girdling. Dense +woods were all about it; but the nearest forest was a quarter of a mile +distant, and should the scout be tracked, it would be hard to get away +over this open space, unless he had warning of the approach of his +pursuers. The woman thought of this, and sent up the road, on a mule, +her whole worldly possessions, an old negro, dark as the night, but +faithful as the sun in the heavens. It was high noon when the mule came +back, his heels striking fire, and his rider's eyes flashing, as if +ignited from the sparks the steel had emitted.</p> + +<p>"Dey 'm comin', Missus!" he cried,—"not haff a mile away,—twenty +Secesh,—ridin' as ef de Debil wus arter 'em!"</p> + +<p>She barred the door, and hastened to the guest-chamber.</p> + +<p>"Go," she cried, "through the winder,—ter the woods! They'll be here in +a minute."</p> + +<p>"How many is thar?" asked the scout.</p> + +<p>"Twenty,—go,—go at once,—or you'll be taken!"</p> + +<p>The scout did not move; but, fixing his eyes on her face, he said,—</p> + +<p>"Yes, I yere 'em. Thar's a sorry chance for my life a'ready. But, +Rachel, I've thet 'bout me thet's wuth more 'n my life,—thet, may-be, +'ll save Kaintuck. If I'm killed, wull ye tuck it ter Cunnel Cranor, at +Paris?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I will. But go: you've not a minnit to lose, I tell you."</p> + +<p>"I know, but wull ye swar it,—swar ter tuck this ter Cunnel Cranor +'fore th' Lord thet yeres us?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I will," she said, taking the bullet. But horses' hoofs were +already sounding in the door-yard. "It's too late," cried the woman. +"Oh, why did you stop to parley?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Rachel," answered the scout. "Don't tuck on. Tuck ye keer +o' th' dispatch. Valu' it loike yer life,—loike Kaintuck. The Lord's +callin' fur me, and I'm a'ready."</p> + +<p>But the scout was mistaken. It was not the Lord, but a dozen devils at +the door-way.</p> + +<p>"What does ye want?" asked the woman, going to the door.</p> + +<p>"The man as come from Garfield's camp at sun-up,—John Jordan, from the +head o' Baine," answered a voice from the outside.</p> + +<p>"Ye karn't hev him fur th' axin'," said the scout. "Go away, or I'll +send some o' ye whar the weather is warm, I reckon."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw!" said another voice,—from his speech one of the chivalry. +"There are twenty of us. We'll spare your life, if you give up the +dispatch; if you don't, we'll hang you higher than Haman."</p> + +<p>The reader will bear in mind that this was in the beginning of the war, +when swarms of spies infested every Union camp, and treason was only a +gentlemanly pastime, not the serious business it has grown to be since +traitors are no longer dangerous.</p> + +<p>"I've nothin' but my life thet I'll guv up," answered the scout; "and ef +ye tuck thet, ye'll hev ter pay the price,—six o' yourn."</p> + +<p>"Fire the house!" shouted one.</p> + +<p>"No, don't do thet," said another. "I know him,—he's cl'ar grit,—he'll +die in the ashes; and we won't git the dispatch."</p> + +<p>This sort of talk went on for half an hour; then there was a dead +silence, and the woman went to the loft, whence she could see all that +was passing outside. About a dozen of the horsemen were posted around +the house; but the remainder, dismounted, had gone to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</a></span> edge of the +woods, and were felling a well-grown sapling, with the evident intention +of using it as a battering-ram to break down the front door.</p> + +<p>The woman, in a low tone, explained the situation; and the scout said,—</p> + +<p>"It 'r' my only chance. I must run fur it. Bring me yer red shawl, +Rachel."</p> + +<p>She had none, but she had a petticoat of flaming red and yellow. +Handling it as if he knew how such articles can be made to spread, the +scout softly unbarred the door, and, grasping the hand of the woman, +said,—</p> + +<p>"Good bye, Rachel. It 'r' a right sorry chance; but I may git through. +Ef I do, I'll come ter night; ef I don't, git ye the dispatch ter the +Cunnel. Good bye."</p> + +<p>To the right of the house, midway between it and the woods, stood the +barn. That way lay the route of the scout. If he could elude the two +mounted men at the door-way, he might escape the other horsemen; for +they would have to spring the barn-yard fences, and their horses might +refuse the leap. But it was foot of man against leg of horse, and "a +right sorry chance."</p> + +<p>Suddenly he opened the door, and dashed at the two horses with the +petticoat. They reared, wheeled, and bounded away like lightning just +let out of harness. In the time that it takes to tell it, the scout was +over the first fence, and scaling the second; but a horse was making the +leap with him. The scout's pistol went off, and the rider's earthly +journey was over. Another followed, and his horse fell mortally wounded. +The rest made the circuit of the barn-yard, and were rods behind when +the scout reached the edge of the forest. Once among those thick +laurels, nor horse nor rider can reach a man, if he lies low, and says +his prayer in a whisper.</p> + +<p>The Rebels bore the body of their comrade back to the house, and said to +the woman,—</p> + +<p>"We'll be revenged for this. We know the route he'll take, and will have +his life before to-morrow; and you—we'd burn your house over your head, +if you were not the wife of Jack Brown."</p> + +<p>Brown was a loyal man, who was serving his country in the ranks of +Marshall. Thereby hangs a tale, but this is not the time to tell it. +Soon the men rode away, taking the poor woman's only wagon as a hearse +for their dead comrade.</p> + +<p>Night came, and the owls cried in the woods in a way they had not cried +for a fortnight. "T'whoot! t'whoot!" they went, as if they thought there +was music in hooting. The woman listened, put on a dark mantle, and +followed the sound of their voices. Entering the woods, she crept in +among the bushes, and talked with the owls as if they had been human.</p> + +<p>"They know the road ye'll take," she said; "ye must change yer route. +Here ar' the bullet."</p> + +<p>"God bless ye, Rachel!" responded the owl, "ye 'r' a true 'ooman!"—and +he hooted louder than before, to deceive pursuers, and keep up the +music.</p> + +<p>"Ar' yer nag safe?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and good for forty mile afore sun-up."</p> + +<p>"Well, here ar' suthin' ter eat: ye'll need it. Good bye, and God go wi' +ye!"</p> + +<p>"He'll go wi' ye, fur He loves noble wimmin."</p> + +<p>Their hands clasped, and then they parted: he to his long ride; she to +the quiet sleep of those who, out of a true heart, serve their country.</p> + +<p>The night was dark and drizzly; but before morning the clouds cleared +away, leaving a thick mist hanging low on the meadows. The scout's mare +was fleet, but the road was rough, and a slosh of snow impeded the +travel. He had come by a strange way, and did not know how far he had +travelled by sunrise; but lights were ahead, shivering in the haze of +the cold, gray morning. Were they the early candles of some sleepy +village, or the camp-fires of a band of guerrillas? He did not know, and +it would not be safe to go on till he did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</a></span> know. The road was lined with +trees, but they would give no shelter; for they were far apart, and the +snow lay white between them. He was in the blue grass region. Tethering +his horse in the timber, he climbed a tall oak by the roadside; but the +mist was too thick to admit of his discerning anything distinctly. It +seemed, however, to be breaking away, and he would wait until his way +was clear; so he sat there, an hour, two hours, and ate his breakfast +from the satchel John's wife had slung over his shoulder. At last the +fog lifted a little, and he saw close at hand a small hamlet,—a few +rude huts gathered round a cross-road. No danger could lurk in such a +place, and he was about to descend, and pursue his journey, when +suddenly he heard, up the road by which he came, the rapid tramp of a +body of horsemen. The mist was thicker below; so half-way down the tree +he went, and waited their coming. They moved at an irregular pace, +carrying lanterns, and pausing every now and then to inspect the road, +as if they had missed their way or lost something. Soon they came near, +and were dimly outlined in the gray mist, so the scout could make out +their number. There were thirty of them,—the original band, and a +reinforcement. Again they halted when abreast of the tree, and searched +the road narrowly.</p> + +<p>"He must have come this way," said one,—he of the chivalry. "The other +road is six miles longer, and he would take the shortest route. It's an +awful pity we didn't head him on both roads."</p> + +<p>"We kin come up with him yit, ef we turn plumb round, and foller on +t'other road,—whar we lost the trail,—back thar, three miles ter the +deadnin'."</p> + +<p>Now another spoke, and his voice the scout remembered. He belonged to +his own company in the Fourteenth Kentucky. "It 'so," he said; "he has +tuck t' other road. I tell ye, I'd know thet mar's shoe 'mong a million. +Nary one loike it wus uver seed in all Kaintuck,—only a d——d Yankee +could ha' invented it."</p> + +<p>"And yere it ar'," shouted a man with one of the lanterns, "plain as +sun-up."</p> + +<p>The Fourteenth Kentuckian clutched the light, and, while a dozen +dismounted and gathered round, closely examined the shoe-track. The +ground was bare on the spot, and the print of the horse's hoof was +clearly cut in the half-frozen mud. Narrowly the man looked, and life +and death hung on his eyesight. The scout took out the bullet, and +placed it in a crotch of the tree. If they took him, the Devil should +not take the dispatch. Then he drew a revolver. The mist was breaking +away, and he would surely be discovered, if the men lingered much +longer; but he would have the value of his life to the uttermost +farthing.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the horsemen crowded around the foot-print, and one of them +inadvertently trod upon it. The Kentuckian looked long and earnestly, +but at last he said,—</p> + +<p>"'Ta'n't the track. Thet 'ar' mar' has a sand-crack on her right +fore-foot. She didn't take kindly to a round shoe; so the Yank, he guv +her one with the cork right in the middle o' the quarter. 'Twas a durned +smart contrivance; fur ye see, it eased the strain, and let the nag go +nimble as a squirrel. The cork ha'n't yere,—'ta'n't her track,—and +we're wastin,' time in luckin'."</p> + +<p>The cork was not there, because the trooper's tread had obliterated it. +Reader, let us thank him for that one good step, if he never take +another; for it saved the scout, and, may-be, it saved Kentucky. When +the scout returned that way, he halted abreast of that tree, and +examined the ground about it. Right there, in the road, was the mare's +track, with the print of the man's foot still upon the inner quarter! He +uncovered his head, and from his heart went up a simple thanksgiving.</p> + +<p>The horsemen gone, the scout came down from the tree, and pushed on into +the misty morning. There might be danger ahead, but there surely was +danger behind him. His pursuers were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</a></span> only half convinced that they had +struck his trail; and some sensible fiend might put it into their heads +to divide and follow, part by one route, part by the other.</p> + +<p>He pushed on over the sloshy road, his mare every step going slower and +slower. The poor beast was jaded out; for she had travelled sixty miles, +eaten nothing, and been stabled in the timber. She would have given out +long before, had her blood not been the best in Kentucky. As it was, she +staggered along as if she had taken a barrel of whiskey. Five miles +farther on was the house of a Union man. She must reach it, or die by +the wayside; for the merciful man regardeth not the life of his beast, +when he carries dispatches.</p> + +<p>The loyalist did not know the scout, but his honest face secured him a +cordial welcome. He explained that he was from the Union camp on the Big +Sandy, and offered any price for a horse to go on with.</p> + +<p>"Yer nag is wuth ary two o' my critters," said the man. "Ye kin take the +best beast I've got; and when ye 'r' ag'in this way, we'll swop back +even."</p> + +<p>The scout thanked him, mounted the horse, and rode off into the mist +again, without the warm breakfast which the good woman had, half-cooked, +in the kitchen. It was eleven o'clock; and at twelve that night he +entered Colonel Cranor's quarters at Paris,—having ridden a hundred +miles with a rope round his neck, for thirteen dollars a month, +hard-tack, and a shoddy uniform.</p> + +<p>The Colonel opened the dispatch. It was dated, Louisa, Kentucky, +December 24th, midnight; and directed him to move at once with his +regiment, (the Fortieth Ohio, eight hundred strong,) by the way of Mount +Sterling and McCormick's Gap, to Prestonburg. He would incumber his men +with as few rations and as little luggage as possible, bearing in mind +that the safety of his command depended on his expedition. He would also +convey the dispatch to Lieutenant-Colonel Woolford, at Stamford, and +direct him to join the march with his three hundred cavalry.</p> + +<p>Hours now were worth months of common time, and on the following morning +Cranor's column began to move. The scout lay by till night, then set out +on his return, and at daybreak swapped his now jaded horse for the fresh +Kentucky mare, even. He ate the housewife's breakfast, too, and took his +ease with the good man till dark, when he again set out, and rode +through the night in safety. After that his route was beset with perils. +The Providence which so wonderfully guarded his way out seemed to leave +him to find his own way in; or, as he expressed it, "Ye see, the Lord, +He keered more fur the dispatch nor He keered fur me: and 'twas nateral +He should; 'case my life only counted one, while the dispatch, it stood +fur all Kaintuck."</p> + +<p>Be that as it may, he found his road a hard one to travel. The same gang +which followed him out waylaid him back, and one starry midnight he fell +among them. They lined the road forty deep, and seeing he could not run +the gauntlet, he wheeled his mare and fled backwards. The noble beast +did her part; but a bullet struck her, and she fell in the road dying. +Then—it was Hobson's choice—he took to his legs, and, leaping a fence, +was at last out of danger. Two days he lay in the woods, not daring to +come out; but hunger finally forced him to ask food at a negro shanty. +The dusky patriot loaded him with bacon, brown bread, and blessings, and +at night piloted him to a Rebel barn, where he enforced the Confiscation +Act, to him then "the higher law,"—necessity.</p> + +<p>With his fresh horse he set out again; and after various adventures and +hair-breadth escapes, too numerous to mention,—and too incredible to +believe, had not similar things occurred all through the war,—he +entered, one rainy midnight, (the 6th of January,) the little log hut, +seven miles from Paintville, where Colonel Garfield was sleeping.</p> + +<p>The Colonel rubbed his eyes, and raised himself upon his elbow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Back safe?" he asked. "Have you seen Cranor?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Gin'ral. He can't be more 'n two days ahind o' me, nohow."</p> + +<p>"God bless you, Jordan! You have done us great service," said Garfield, +warmly.</p> + +<p>"I thanks ye, Gin'ral," said the scout, his voice trembling, "Thet's +more pay 'n I expected."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>To give the reader a full understanding of the result of the scout's +ride, I must now move on with the little army. They are only fourteen +hundred men, worn out with marching, but boldly they move down upon +Marshall. False scouts have made him believe they are as strong as he: +and they are; for every one is a hero, and they are led by a general. +The Rebel has five thousand men,—forty-four hundred infantry and six +hundred cavalry,—besides twelve pieces of artillery,—so he says in a +letter to his wife, which Buell has intercepted and Garfield has in his +pocket. Three roads lead to Marshall's position: one at the east, +bearing down to the river, and along its western bank; another, a +circuitous one, to the west, coming in on Paint Creek, at the mouth of +Jenny's Creek, on the right of the village; and a third between the +others, a more direct route, but climbing a succession of almost +impassable ridges. These three roads are held by strong Rebel pickets, +and a regiment is outlying at the village of Paintville.</p> + +<p>To deceive Marshall as to his real strength and designs, Garfield orders +a small force of infantry and cavalry to advance along the river, drive +in the Rebel pickets, and move rapidly after them as if to attack +Paintville. Two hours after this force goes off, a similar one, with the +same orders, sets out on the road to the westward; and two hours later +still, another small body takes the middle road. The effect is, that the +pickets on the first route, being vigorously attacked and driven, +retreat in confusion to Paintville, and dispatch word to Marshall that +the Union army is advancing along the river. He hurries off a thousand +infantry and a battery to resist the advance of this imaginary column. +When this detachment has been gone an hour and a half, he hears, from +the routed pickets on the right, that the Federals are advancing along +the western road. Countermanding his first order, he now directs the +thousand men and the battery to check the new danger; and hurries off +the troops at Paintville to the mouth of Jenny's Creek to make a stand +there. Two hours later the pickets on the central route are driven in, +and, finding Paintville abandoned, flee precipitately to the fortified +camp, with the story that the Union army is close at their heels and +occupying the town. Conceiving that he has thus lost Paintville, +Marshall hastily withdraws the detachment of one thousand men to his +fortified camp; and Garfield, moving rapidly over the ridges of the +central route, occupies the abandoned position.</p> + +<p>So affairs stand on the evening of the 8th of January, when a spy enters +the camp of Marshall, with tidings that Cranor, with thirty-three +hundred (!) men, is within twelve hours' march at the westward. On +receipt of these tidings, the "big boy,"—he weighs three hundred pounds +by the Louisville hay-scales,—conceiving himself outnumbered, breaks up +his camp, and retreats precipitately, abandoning or burning a large +portion of his supplies. Seeing the fires, Garfield mounts his horse, +and, with a thousand men, enters the deserted camp at nine in the +evening, while the blazing stores are yet unconsumed. He sends off a +detachment to harass the retreat, and waits the arrival of Cranor, with +whom he means to follow and bring Marshall to battle in the morning.</p> + +<p>In the morning Cranor comes, but his men are footsore, without rations, +and completely exhausted. They cannot move one leg after the other. But +the canal-boy is bound to have a fight; so every man who has strength to +march is ordered to come forward. Eleven hundred—among them four +hundred of Cranor's tired heroes—step from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</a></span> ranks, and with them, +at noon of the 9th, Garfield sets out for Prestonburg, sending all his +available cavalry to follow the line of the enemy's retreat and harass +and delay him.</p> + +<p>Marching eighteen miles, he reaches at nine o'clock that night the mouth +of Abbott's Creek, three miles below Prestonburg,—he and the eleven +hundred. There he hears that Marshall is encamped on the same stream, +three miles higher up; and throwing his men into bivouac, in the midst +of a sleety rain, he sends an order back to Lieutenant-Colonel Sheldon, +who is left in command at Paintville, to bring up every available man, +with all possible dispatch, for he shall force the enemy to battle in +the morning. He spends the night in learning the character of the +surrounding country and the disposition of Marshall's forces; and now +again John Jordan comes into action.</p> + +<p>A dozen Rebels are grinding at a mill, and a dozen honest men come upon +them, steal their corn, and make them prisoners. The miller is a tall, +gaunt man, and his clothes fit the scout as if they were made for him. +He is a Disunionist, too, and his very raiment should bear witness +against this feeding of his enemies. It does. It goes back to the Rebel +camp, and—the scout goes in it. That chameleon face of his is smeared +with meal, and looks the miller so well that the miller's own wife might +not detect the difference. The night is dark and rainy, and that lessens +the danger; but still he is picking his teeth in the very jaws of the +lion,—if he can be called a lion, who does nothing but roar like unto +Marshall.</p> + +<p>Space will not permit me to detail this midnight ramble; but it gave +Garfield the exact position of the enemy. They had made a stand, and +laid an ambuscade for him. Strongly posted on a semicircular hill, at +the forks of Middle Creek, on both sides of the road, with cannon +commanding its whole length, and hidden by the trees, they were waiting +his coming.</p> + +<p>The Union commander broke up his bivouac at four in the morning and +began to move forward. Reaching the valley of Middle Creek, he +encountered some of the enemy's mounted men, and captured a quantity of +stores they were trying to withdraw from Prestonburg. Skirmishing went +on until about noon, when the Rebel pickets were driven back upon their +main body, and then began the battle. It is not my purpose to describe +it; for that has already been ably done, in thirty lines, by the man who +won it.</p> + +<p>It was a wonderful battle. In the history of this war there is not +another like it. Measured by the forces engaged, the valor displayed, +and the results which followed, it throws into the shade even the +achievements of the mighty hosts which saved the nation. Eleven hundred +men, without cannon, charge up a rocky hill, over stumps, over stones, +over fallen trees, over high intrenchments, right into the face of five +thousand, and twelve pieces of artillery!</p> + +<p>For five hours the contest rages. Now the Union forces are driven back; +then, charging up the hill, they regain the lost ground, and from behind +rocks and trees pour in their murderous volleys. Then again they are +driven back, and again they charge up the hill, strewing the ground with +corpses. So the bloody work goes on; so the battle wavers, till the +setting sun, wheeling below the hills, glances along the dense lines of +Rebel steel moving down to envelop the weary eleven hundred. It is an +awful moment, big with the fate of Kentucky. At its very crisis two +figures stand out against the fading sky, boldly defined in the +foreground.</p> + +<p>One is in Union blue. With a little band of heroes about him, he is +posted on a projecting rock, which is scarred with bullets, and in full +view of both armies. His head is uncovered, his hair streaming in the +wind, his face upturned in the darkening daylight, and from his soul is +going up a prayer,—a prayer for Sheldon and Cranor. He turns his eyes +to the northward, and his lip tightens, as he throws off his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[Pg 445]</a></span> coat, and +says to his hundred men,—"Boys, <i>we</i> must go at them!"</p> + +<p>The other is in Rebel gray. Moving out to the brow of the opposite hill, +and placing a glass to his eye, he, too, takes a long look to the +northward. He starts, for he sees something which the other, on lower +ground, does not distinguish. Soon he wheels his horse, and the word +"<span class="smcap">Retreat</span>" echoes along the valley between them. It is his last +word; for six rifles crack, and the Rebel Major lies on the ground +quivering.</p> + +<p>The one in blue looks to the north again, and now, floating proudly +among the trees, he sees the starry banner. It is Sheldon and Cranor! +The long ride of the scout is at last doing its work for the nation. On +they come like the rushing wind, filling the air with their shouting. +The rescued eleven hundred take up the strain, and then, above the swift +pursuit, above the lessening conflict, above the last boom of the +wheeling cannon, goes up the wild huzza of Victory. The gallant Garfield +has won the day, and rolled back the disastrous tide which has been +sweeping on ever since Big Bethel. In ten days Thomas routs Zollicoffer, +and then we have and hold Kentucky.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Every one remembers a certain artist, who, after painting a "neighing +steed," wrote underneath the picture, "This is a horse," lest it should +be mistaken for an alligator. I am tempted to imitate his example, lest +the reader, otherwise, may not detect the rambling parallel I have +herein drawn between a Northern and a Southern "poor white man."</p> + +<p>President Lincoln, when he heard of the Battle of Middle Creek, said to +a distinguished officer, who happened to be with him,—</p> + +<p>"Why did Garfield in two weeks do what would have taken one of you +Regular folks two months to accomplish?"</p> + +<p>"Because he was not educated at West Point," answered the West-Pointer, +laughing.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Mr. Lincoln. "That wasn't the reason. It was because, when +he was a boy, he had to work for a living."</p> + +<p>But our good President, for once, was wrong,—for once, he did not get +at the core of the matter. Jordan, as well as Garfield, "had, when a +boy, to work for a living." The two men were, perhaps, of about equal +natural abilities,—both were born in log huts, both worked their own +way to manhood, and both went into the war consecrating their very lives +to their country: but one came out of it with a brace of stars on his +shoulder, and honored by all the nation; the other never rose from the +ranks, and went down to an unknown grave, mourned only among his native +mountains. Something more than <i>work</i> was at the bottom of this contrast +in their lives and their destinies. It was <span class="smcap">Free Schools</span>, which +the North gave the one, and of which the South robbed the other. Plant a +free school at every Southern cross-road, and every Southern Jordan will +become a Garfield. Then, and not till then, will this Union be +"reconstructed."</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> The Baine is a small stream which puts into the Big Sandy, +a short distance from the town of Louisa, Ky.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[Pg 446]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="NOELC" id="NOELC"></a>NOËL.<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">L'Académie en respect,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nonobstant l'incorrection,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A la faveur du sujet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ture-lure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">N'y fera point de rature;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Noël! ture-lure-lure.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20"><span class="smcap">Gui-Barôzai.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">1.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Quand les astres de Noël<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brillaient, palpitaient au ciel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Six gaillards, et chacun ivre,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chantaient gaîment dans le givre,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Bons amis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Allons done chez Agassiz!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">2.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ces illustres Pèlerins<br /></span> +<span class="i0">D'Outre-Mer, adroits et fins,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Se donnant des airs de prêtre,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A l'envi se vantaient d'être<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Bons amis<br /></span> +<span class="i0">De Jean Rudolphe Agassiz!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">3.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Œil-de-Perdrix, grand farceur,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sans reproche et sans pudeur,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dans son patois de Bourgogne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bredouillait comme un ivrogne,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Bons amis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">J'ai dansé chez Agassiz!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">4.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Verzenay le Champenois,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bon Français, point New-Yorquois,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mais des environs d'Avize,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fredonne, à mainte reprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Bons amis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">J'ai chanté chez Agassiz!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">5.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A côté marchait un vieux<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hidalgo, mais non mousseux;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dans le temps de Charlemagne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fut son père Grand d'Espagne!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Bons amis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">J'ai dîné chez Agassiz!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[Pg 447]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">6.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Derrière eux un Bordelais,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gascon, s'il en fut jamais,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Parfumé de poésie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Riait, chantait plein de vie,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Bons amis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">J'ai soupé chez Agassiz!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">7.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Avec ce beau cadet roux,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bras dessus et bras dessous,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine altière et couleur terne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vint le Sire de Sauterne:<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Bons amis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">J'ai couché chez Agassiz!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">8.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mais le dernier de ces preux<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Était un pauvre Chartreux,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Qui disait, d'un ton robuste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Bénédictions sur le Juste!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Bons amis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bénissons Père Agassiz!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">9.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ils arrivent trois à trois,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Montent l'escalier de bois<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clopin-clopant! quel gendarme<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peut permettre ce vacarme,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Bons amis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A la porte d'Agassiz!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">10.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ouvrez donc, mon bon Seigneur,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ouvrez vite et n'ayez peur;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ouvrez, ouvrez, car nous sommes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gens de bien et gentilshommes,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Bons amis<br /></span> +<span class="i0">De la famille Agassiz!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i9">11.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Chut, ganaches! taisez-vous!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">C'en est trop de vos glouglous;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Épargnez aux Philosophes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vos abominables strophes!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Bons amis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Respectez mon Agassiz!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> Sent to Mr. Agassiz, with a basket of wine, on Christmas +Eve, 1864.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[Pg 448]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="WILHELM_MEISTERS_APPRENTICESHIP" id="WILHELM_MEISTERS_APPRENTICESHIP"></a>WILHELM MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.</h2> + +<h3>SECOND PAPER.</h3> + + +<p>In a preceding paper I have sought to trace the main lines of spiritual +growth, as these appear in Goethe's great picture. But is such growth +possible in this world? Do the circumstances in which modern men are +placed comport with it? Or is it, perhaps, a cherub only <i>painted</i> with +wings, and despite the laws of anatomy? These questions are pertinent. +It concerns us little to know what results the crescent powers of life +might produce, if, by good luck, Eden rather than our struggling +century, another world instead of this world, were here. This world, it +happens, is here undoubtedly; our century and our place in it are facts, +which decline to take their leave, bid them good morning and show them +the door how one may. Let us know, then, what of good sufficing may be +achieved in their company. If Goethe's picture be only a picture, and +not a possibility, we will be pleased with him, provided his work prove +pleasant; we will partake of his literary dessert, and give him his meed +of languid praise. But if, on the other hand, his book be written in +full, unblinking view of all that is fixed and limitary in man and +around him, and if, in face of this, it conduct growth to its +consummation, then we may give him something better than any +praise,—namely, heed.</p> + +<p>Is it, then, written in this spirit of reality? In proof that it is so, +I call to witness the most poignant reproach, save one, ever uttered +against it by a superior man. Novalis censured it as "thoroughly modern +and prosaic." Well, <i>on one side</i>, it is so,—just as modern and prosaic +as the modern world and actual European civilization. What is this but +to say that Goethe faces the facts? What is it but to say that he +accepts the conditions of his problem? He is to show that the high +possibilities of growth can be realized <i>here</i>. To run off, get up a +fancy world, and then picture these possibilities as coming to fruition +<i>there</i>, would be a mere toying with his readers. Here is modern +civilization, with its fixed forms, its rigid limits, its traditional +mechanisms. Here is this life, where men make, execute, and obey laws, +own and manage property, buy and sell, plant, sail, build, marry and +beget children and maintain households, pay taxes, keep out of debt, if +they are wise, and go to the poorhouse, or beg, or do worse, if they are +unwise or unfortunate. Here such trivialities as starched collars, +blacked boots, and coats according to the mode compel attention. Society +has its fixed rules, by which it enforces social continuity and +connection. To neglect these throws one off the ring; and, with rare +exceptions, isolation is barrenness and death. One cannot even go into +the street in a wilfully strange costume, without establishing +repulsions and balking relations between him and his neighbors which +destroy their use to each other. Every man is bound to the actual form +of society by his necessities at least, if not by his good-will.</p> + +<p>To step violently out of all this puts one in a social vacuum,—a +position in which few respire well, while most either perish or become +in some degree monstrous. It is necessary that one should live and work +with his fellows, if he is to obtain the largest growth. On the other +hand, to be merely in and of this—a wheel, spoke, or screw, in this +vast social mechanism—makes one, not a man, but a thing, and precludes +all growth but such as is obscure and indirect. Thousands, indeed, have +no desire but to obtain some advantageous place in this machinery. +Meanwhile this enormous conventional civilization strives, and must +strive, to make every soul its puppet. Let each fall into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[Pg 449]</a></span> routine, +pursue it in some shining manner, asking no radical questions, and he +shall have his heart's desire. "Blessed is he," it cries, "who +handsomely and with his whole soul reads upwards from man to position +and estate,—from man to millionnaire, judge, lord, bishop! Cursed is he +who questions, who aims to strike down beneath this great mechanism, and +to connect himself with the primal resources of his being! There are no +such resources. It is a wickedness to dream of them. Man has no root but +in tradition and custom, no blessing but in serving them."</p> + +<p>As that assurance is taken, and as that spirit prevails, man forfeits +his manhood. His life becomes mechanical. Ideas disappear in the forms +that once embodied them; imagination is buried beneath symbol; belief +dies of creed, and morality of custom. Nothing remains but a world-wide +pantomime. Worship itself becomes only a more extended place-hunting, +and man the walking dummy of society. And then, since man no longer is +properly vitalized, disease sets in, consumption, decay, putrefaction, +filling all the air with the breath of their foulness.</p> + +<p>The earlier part of the eighteenth century found all Europe in this +stage. Then came a stir in the heart of man: for Nature would not let +him die altogether. First came recoil, complaint, reproach, mockery. +Voltaire's light, piercing, taunting laugh—with a screaming wail inside +it, if one can hear well—rang over Europe. "Aha, you are found out! Up, +toad, in your true shape!" Then came wild, shallow theories, half true; +then wild attempt to make the theories real; then carnage and chaos.</p> + +<p>Accompanying and following this comes another and purer phase of +reaction. "Let us get out of this dead, conventional world!" cry a few +noble spirits, in whose hearts throbs newly the divine blood of life. +"Leave it behind; it is dead. Leave behind all formal civilization; let +us live only from within, and let the outward be formless,—momentarily +created by our souls, momentarily vanishing."</p> + +<p>The noblest type I have ever known of this <i>extra-vagance</i>, this +wandering outside of actual civilization, was Thoreau. With his purity, +as of a newborn babe,—with his moral steadiness, unsurpassed in my +observation,—with his indomitable persistency,—by the aid also of that +all-fertilizing imaginative sympathy with outward Nature which was his +priceless gift,—he did, indeed, lend to his mode of life an +indescribable charm. In him it came at once to beauty and to +consecration.</p> + +<p>Yet even he must leave out marriage, to make his scheme of life +practicable. He must ignore Nature's demand that humanity continue, or +recognize it only with loathing. "Marriage is that!" said he to a +friend,—and held up a carrion-flower.</p> + +<p>Moreover, the success of his life—nay, the very quality of his +being—implied New England and its civilization. To suppose him born +among the Flathead Indians were to suppose <i>him</i>, the Thoreau of our +love and pride, unborn still. The civilization he slighted was an air +that he breathed; it was implied, as impulse and audience, in those +books of his, wherein he enshrined his spirit, and whereby he kept its +health.</p> + +<p>A fixed social order is indirectly necessary even to him who, by rare +gifts of Nature, can stand nobly and unfalteringly aside from it. And it +is directly, instantly necessary to him who, either by less power of +self-support or by a more flowing human sympathy, <i>must</i> live with men, +and <i>must</i> comply with the conditions by which social connection is +preserved.</p> + +<p>The problem, therefore, recurs. Here are the two terms: the soul, the +primal, immortal imagination of man, on the one side; the enormous, +engrossing, dehumanizing mechanism of society, on the other. A noble few +elect the one; an ignoble multitude pray to its opposite. The +reconciling word,—is there a reconciling word?</p> + +<p>Here, now, comes one who answers,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[Pg 450]</a></span> Yes. And he answers thus, not by a +bald assertion, but by a picture wherein these opposites lose their +antagonism,—by a picture which is true to both, yet embraces both, and +shapes them into a unity. That is Goethe. This attempt represents the +grand <i>nisus</i> of his life. It is most fully made in "Wilhelm Meister."</p> + +<p>Above the world he places the growing spirit of man, the vessel of all +uses, with his resource in eternal Nature. Then he seizes with a +sovereign hand upon actual society, upon formal civilization, and of it +all makes food and service for man's spirit. This prosaic civilization, +he says, is prosaic only in itself, not when put in relation to its true +end. So he first recognizes it with remorseless verity, depicts it in +all its littleness and limitation; then strikes its connection with +growth: and lo, the littleness becomes great in serving the greater; the +harsh prosaicism begins to move in melodious measure; and out of that +jarring, creaking mechanism of conventional society arise the grand +rolling organ-harmonies of life.</p> + +<p>That he succeeds to perfection I do not say. I could find fault enough +with his book, if there were either time or need. There is no need: its +faults are obvious. In binding himself by such unsparing oaths to +recognize and admit all the outward truth of society, he has, indeed, +grappled with the whole problem, but also made its solution a little +cumbrous and incomplete. Nay, this which he so admits in his picture was +also sufficiently, perhaps a touch more than sufficiently, admitted in +his own being. He would have been a conventionalist and epicurean, +unless he had been a seer. He would have been a mere man of the world, +had he not been Goethe. But whereas a man of the world reads up from man +to dignity, estate, and social advantage, he reverses the process, and +reads up from these to man. Say that he does it with some stammering, +with some want of the last nicety. What then? It were enough, if he set +forth upon the true road, though his own strength fail before the end is +reached. It is enough, if, falling midway, even though it be by excess +of the earthly weight he bears, he still point forward, and his voice +out of the dust whisper, "There lies your way!" This alone makes him a +benefactor of mankind.</p> + +<p>This specific aim of Goethe's work makes it, indeed, a novel. +Conventional society and the actual conditions of life are, with respect +to eternal truth, but the <i>novelties</i> of time. The novelist is to +picture these, and, in picturing, subordinate them to that which is +perpetual and inspiring. Just so far as he opens the ravishing +possibilities of life in commanding reconciliation with the formal +civilization of a particular time, he does his true work.</p> + +<p>The function of the poet is different. His business it is simply to +<i>refresh</i> the spirit of man. To its lip he holds the purest ichors of +existence; with ennobling draughts of awe, pity, sympathy, and joy, he +quickens its blood and strengthens its vital assimilations. The +particular circumstances he uses are merely the cup wherein this wine of +life is contained. This he may obtain as most easily he can; the world +is all before him where to choose.</p> + +<p>The novelist has no such liberty. His business it is to find the ideal +possibilities of man <i>here</i>, in the midst of actual society. He shall +teach us to free the heart, while respecting the bonds of circumstance. +And the more strictly he clings to that which is central in man on the +one hand, and the more broadly and faithfully he embraces the existing +prosaic limitations on the other, the more his work answers to the whole +nature of his function. Goethe has done the latter thoroughly, his +accusers themselves being judges; that he has done the other, and how he +has done it, I have sought to show in a preceding paper. He looks on +actual men and actual society with an eye of piercing observation; he +depicts them with remorseless verity; and through and by all builds, +builds at the great architectures of spiritual growth.</p> + +<p>Hence the difference between him and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[Pg 451]</a></span> satirists like Thackeray, who +equal him in keenness of observation, are not behind him in verity of +report, while surpassing him often in pictorial effect,—but who bring +to the picture out of themselves only a noble indignation against +baseness. They contemn; he uses. They cry, "Fie!" upon unclean +substances; he ploughs the offence into the soil, and sows wheat over +it. They see the world as it is; he sees it, and through it. They probe +sores; he leads forth into the air and the sunshine. They tinge the +cheek with blushes of honorable shame; he paints it with the glow of +wholesome activity. Their point of view is that of pathology; his, that +of physiology. The great satirists, at best, give a medicine to +sickness; Goethe gives a task to health. They open a door into a +hospital; he opens a door <i>out</i> of one, and cries, "Lo, the green earth +and blue heaven, the fields of labor, the skies of growth!"</p> + +<p>On the other hand, by this relentless fidelity to observation, by his +stern refusal to give men supposititious qualities and characters, by +his resolute acceptance of European civilization, by his unalterable +determination to practicable results, by always limiting himself <i>to +that which all superior men might be expected not merely to read of with +gusto, but to do</i>, he is widely differenced from novelists like the +authoress of "Consuelo." He does not propose to furnish a moral luxury, +over which at the close one may smack the lips, and cry, "How sweet!" No +gardener's manual ever looked more simply to results. His aim is, to get +something <i>done</i>, to get <i>all</i> done which he suggests. Accordingly, he +does not gratify us with vasty magnanimities, holy beggaries voluntarily +assumed, Bouddhistic "missions"; he shows us no more than high-minded, +incorruptible men, fixed in their regards upon the high ends of life, +established in noble, fruitful fellowship, willing and glad to help +others so far as they can clearly see their way, not making public +distribution of their property, but managing it so that it shall in +themselves and others serve culture, health, and all well-being of body +and mind. Wealth here is a trust; it is held for use; its uses are, to +subserve the high ends of Nature in the spirit of man. Lothario seeks +association with all who can aid him in these applications. So intent is +he, that he <i>loves</i> Theresa because she has a genius at once for +economizing means and for seeing where they may be applied to the +service of the more common natures. He keeps the great-minded, +penetrating, providential Abbé in his pay, that this inevitable eye may +distinguish for him the more capable natures, and find out whether or +how they may be forwarded on their proper paths. Here are no sublime +professions, but a steady, modest, resolute, discriminate doing.</p> + +<p>For suggestion of what one may really <i>do</i>, and for impelling one toward +the practicable best, I find this book worth a moonful of "Consuelos." +The latter work has, indeed, beautiful pictures; and simply as a picture +of a fresh, sweet, young life, it is charming. But in its aim at a +higher import I find it simply an arrow shot into the air, going <i>so</i> +high, but at—nothing! If one crave a moral luxury, it is here. If he +desire a lash for egoism, this, perhaps, is also here. If he is already +praying the heavens for a sufficing worth and work in life, and is +asking only the <i>what</i> and <i>how</i>, this book, taken in connection with +its sequel, says, "Distribute your property, and begin wandering about +and 'doing good.'"</p> + +<p>I decline. After due consideration, I have fully determined to own a +house, and provide each day a respectable dinner for my table, if the +fates agree; to secure, still in submission to the fates, such a +competency as will give me leisure for the best work I can do; to +further justice and general well-being, so far as is in me to further or +hinder, but always on the basis of the existing civilization; to cherish +sympathy and good-will in myself, and in others by cherishing them in +myself; to help another when I clearly can; and to give, when what I +give will obviously do more service toward the high ends of life, in +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[Pg 452]</a></span> hands of another than in my own. Toward carrying out these purposes +"Consuelo" has not given me a hint, not one; "Wilhelm Meister" has given +me invaluable hints. Therefore I feel no great gratitude to the one, and +am profoundly grateful to the other.</p> + +<p>It is not the mere absence of suffering, it is not a pound of beef on +every peasant's plate, that makes life worth living. Health, happiness, +even education, however diffused, do not alone make life worth living. +Tell me the quality of a man's happiness before I can very rapturously +congratulate him upon it; tell me the quality of his suffering before I +can grieve over it without solace. Noble pain is worth more than ignoble +pleasure; and there is a health in the <i>dying</i> Schiller which beggars in +comparison that of the fat cattle on a thousand hills. All the world +might be well fed, well clothed, well sheltered, and very properly +behaved, and be a pitiful world nevertheless, were this all.</p> + +<p>Let us get out of this business of merely improving <i>conditions</i>. There +are two things which make life worth living. First, the absolute worth +and significance of man's spirit in its harmonious completeness; and +hence the absolute value of culture and growth in the deepest sense of +the words. Secondly, the relevancy of actual experience and the actual +world to these ends. Goethe attends to both these, and to both in a +spirit of great sanity. He fixes his eye with imperturbable steadiness +on the central fact, then with serene, intrepid modesty suggests the +relevancy to this of the world as it is around us, and <i>then trusts the +healthy attraction of the higher to modify and better the lower</i>. Give +man, he says, something to work <i>for</i>, namely, the high uses of his +spirit; give him next something to work <i>with</i>, namely, actual +civilization, the powers, limits, and conditions which actually exist in +and around him; and if these instruments be poor, be sure he will begin +to improve upon them, the moment he has found somewhat inspiring and +sufficing to do with them. Actual conditions will improve precisely in +proportion as <i>all</i> conditions are utilized, are placed in relations of +service to a result which contents the soul of men. And to establish in +this relation all the existing conditions of life, natural and +artificial, is the task which Goethe has undertaken.</p> + +<p>I invite the reader to dwell upon this fact, that, the moment life has +an inspiring significance, and the moment also the men, industries, and +conditions around us become instrumental toward resolving that, in this +moment one must begin, so far as he may, bettering these conditions. If +I hire a man to work in my garden, how much is it worth to me, if he +bring not merely his hands and gardening skill, but also an appreciable +soul, with him! So soon as that fact is apparent, fruitful relations are +established between us, and sympathies begin to fly like bees, bearing +pollen and winning honey, from each heart to the other. To let a man be +degraded, or stupid, or thwarted in all his inward life, when I <i>can</i> +make it otherwise? Not unless I am insensate. To allow anywhere a +disserviceable condition, when I could make it serviceable? Not in full +view of the fact that all which thwarts the inward being of another +thwarts me. If there be in the world a man who might write a grand book, +but through ill conditions cannot write it, then in me and you a door +will remain closed, which might have opened—who knows upon what +treasure? With the high ends of life before him, no man can <i>afford</i> to +be selfish. With the fact before him that formal civilization is +instrumental, no man can afford to run away from it. With the fact in +view that each man needs every other, and needs that every other should +do and be the best he can, no one can afford to withhold help, where it +can be rendered. Finally, seeing that means are limited, and that the +means and services which are crammed into others, without being +spiritually assimilated, breed only indigestion, no one must throw his +services about at random, but see where Nature has prepared the way for +him, and there in modesty do what he can.</p> + +<p>To strike the connection, then, between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[Pg 453]</a></span> the inward and the outward, +between the spiritual and the conventional, between man and society, +between moral possibility and formal civilization,—to give growth, with +all its immortal issues, a place, and means, and opportunity,—this was +Goethe's aim; and if the execution be less than perfect, as I admit, it +yet suggests the whole; and if the shortcoming be due in part to his +personal imperfections, which doubtless may be affirmed, it yet does not +mar the sincerity of his effort. His hand trembles, his aim is not +nicely sure, but it is an aim at the right object nevertheless.</p> + +<p>There are limits and conditions in man, as well as around him, to which +the like justice is done. Such are Special Character, Natural Degree and +Vocation, Moral Imperfection, and Limitation of Self-Knowledge. Each of +these plays a part of vast importance in life; each is portrayed and +used in Goethe's picture. But, though with reluctance, I must merely +name and pass them by. Enough to say here, that he sees them and sees +through them. Enough that they appear, and as means and material. Nor +does he merely distinguish and harp upon them, after the hard analytic +fashion one would use here; but, as the violinist sweeps all the strings +of his instrument, not to show that one sounds <i>so</i> and another <i>so</i>, +but out of all to bring a complete melody, so does this master touch the +chords of life, and, in thus recognizing, bring out of them the +melodious completeness of a human soul.</p> + +<p>One inquiry remains. What of inspirational impulse does Goethe bring to +his work? He depicts growth; what leads him to do so? Is it nothing but +cold curiosity? and does he leave the reader in a like mood? Or is he +commanded by some imperial inward necessity? and does he awaken in the +reader a like noble necessity, not indeed to write, but to <i>live</i>?</p> + +<p>The inspiration which he feels and communicates is art infinite, +unspeakable reverence for Personality, for the completed, spiritual +reality of man. Literally unspeakable, it is the silent spirit in which +he writes, sovereign in him and in his work,—the soul of every +sentence, and professed in none. You find it scarcely otherwise than in +his manner of treating his material. But there you <i>may</i> find it: the +silent, majestic homage that he pays to every <i>real</i> grace and spiritual +accomplishment of man or woman. Any smallest trait of this is delineated +with a heed that makes no account of time or pains, with a venerating +fidelity and religious care that <i>unutterably</i> imply its preciousness. +Indeed, it is one point of his art to bestow elaborate, reverential +attention upon some minor grace of manhood or womanhood, that one may +say, "If this be of such price, how priceless is the whole!" He resorts +habitually to this inferential suggestion,—puzzling hasty readers, who +think him frivolously exalting little things, rather than hinting beyond +all power of direct speech at the worth of the greater. In landscape +paintings a bush in the foreground may occupy more space than a whole +range of mountains in the distance: perhaps the bush is there to show +the scale of the drawing, and intimate the greatness, rather than +littleness, of the mountains.</p> + +<p>The undertone of every page, should we mask its force in hortatives, +would be,—"Buy manhood; buy verity and completeness of being; buy +spiritual endowment and accomplishment; buy insight and clearness of +heart and wholeness of spirit; pay ease, estimation, estate,—never +consider what you pay: for though pleasure is not despicable, though +wealth, leisure, and social regard are good, yet there is no tint of +inherent grace, no grain nor atom of man's spiritual substance, but it +outweighs kingdoms, outweighs all that is external to itself."</p> + +<p>But hortatives and assertions represent feebly, and without truth of +tone, the subtile, sovereign persuasion of the book. This is said +sovereignly by <i>not</i> being said expressly. We are at pains to affirm +only that which may be conceived of as doubtful, therefore admit a +certain doubtfulness by the act of asserting. When one begins to +asseverate his honesty, his hearers begin to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[Pg 454]</a></span> question it. The last +persuasion lies in assumptions,—not in assumptions made consciously and +with effort, but in those which one makes because he cannot help it, and +even without being too much aware what he does. All that a man of power +assumes utterly, so that he were not himself without assuming it, he +will impress upon others with a persuasion that has in it somewhat of +the infinite. Jesus never said, "There is a God,"—nor even, "God is our +Father,"—nor even, "Man is immortal"; he took all this as implicit +basis of labor and prayer. Implicit assumptions rule the world; they +build and destroy cities, make and unmake empires, open and close +epochs; and whenever Destiny in any powerful soul has ripened a new +truth to this degree,—made it for him an <i>inevitable</i> assumption—then +there is in history an end and a beginning. Goethe's homage to +Personality, to the full spiritual being of man, is of this degree, and +is a soul of eloquence in his book.</p> + +<p>Nor can we set this aside as a piece of blind and gratuitous sentiment. +Blind and gratuitous sentiment is clearly not his forte. Every line of +every page exhibits to us a man who has betaken himself, once for all, +to the use of his eyes. All sentiment, as such, he ruled back, with a +sovereign energy, into his heart,—and then, as it were, compelling his +heart into his eyes, made it an organ for discerning truth. His head was +an observatory, and every power of his soul did duty there. He enjoyed, +he suffered, intensely; but behind joy and pain alike lay the sleepless +questioner, demanding of each its message. And this, the supreme +function, the exceeding praise and preciousness of the man, the one +thing that he was born to do, and religiously did, this has been made +his chief reproach.</p> + +<p>No zealot, then, no sentimentalist, no devotee of the god Wish, have we +here; but an imperturbable beholder, whose dauntless and relentless +eyeballs, telescopic and microscopic by turns, can and will see what the +fact <i>is</i>. If the universe be bad, as some dream, he will see how bad; +if good, he will perceive and respect its goodness. A man, for once, +equal to the act of seeing! Having, as the indispensable preliminary, +encountered himself, and victoriously fought on all the fields of his +being the battle against self-deception, he now comes armed with new and +strange powers of vision to encounter life and the world,—ready either +to soar of dive,—above no fact, beneath none, by none appalled, by none +dazzled,—a falcon, whose prey is truth, and whose wing and eye are well +mated. And <i>he</i> it is who sets that ineffable price on the being of a +real man.</p> + +<p>This is manifested in many ways, all of them silent, rather than +obstreperous and obtrusive. It is shown by a certain gracious, ineffable +expectation with which for the first time he approaches any human soul, +as if unknown and incalculable possibilities were opening here; by a +noble ceremonial which he ever observes toward his higher characters, +standing uncovered in their presence; by the space in his eye, not +altogether measurable, which a man of worth is perceived to fill. Each +of his principal characters has an atmosphere about him, like the earth +itself; each has a vast perspective, and rounds off into mystery and +depths of including sky.</p> + +<p>The common novelist holds his characters in the palm of his hand, as he +would his watch; winds them up, regulates, pockets them, is exceedingly +handy with them. He may continue some little, pitiful puzzle about them +for his readers; but <i>he</i> can see over, under, around them, and can make +them stop or go, tick or be silent, altogether at pleasure. To Goethe +his characters are as intelligible and as mysterious as Nature herself. +He sees them, studies them, and with an eye how penetrating, how subtile +and sure! But over, under, and around them he would hold it for no less +than a profanity to pretend that he sees. They come upon the scene to +prove what they are; he and the reader study them together; and when +best known, their possibilities are obviously unexhausted, the unknown +remains<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[Pg 455]</a></span> in them still. They go forward into their future, with a real +future before them, with an unexplained life to live: not goblets whose +contents have been drained, but fountains that still flow when the +traveller who drank from them has passed on. Jarno, for example, a man +of firm and definite outlines, and drawn here with masterly +distinctness, without a blur or a wavering of the hand in the whole +delineation, is yet the unexplained, unexhausted Jarno, when the book +closes. He goes forward with the rest, known and yet unknown, a man of +very definite limitations, and yet also of possibilities which the +future will ever be defining.</p> + +<p>In this sense, the book, almost alone among novels, consists with the +hope of immortality. In average novels, there is nothing left of the +hero when the book ends. "He is utterly married," as "Eothen" says. +Utterly, sure enough! He ends at the altar, like a burnt-out candle over +which the priest puts an extinguisher to keep it from smoking. One yawns +over the last page, not considering himself any longer in company. Think +of giving perpetuity to such lives! What could they do but get +unmarried, and begin fussing at courtship again? But when Goethe's +characters leave the stage, they seem to be rather entering upon life +than quitting it; possibility opens, expectation runs before them, and +our interest grows where observation ceases.</p> + +<p>Goethe looks at Personality as through a telescope, and sees it shade +away, beyond its cosmic systems, into star-dust and shining nebulæ; he +inspects it as with a microscope, and on that side also resolves it only +in part. He brings to it all the most spacious, all the most delicate +interpretations of his wit, yet confessedly leaves more beyond.</p> + +<p>Now it is this large-eyed, liberal regard of man, this grand, childlike, +all-credent appreciation, which distinguishes the earlier and Scriptural +literatures. Abraham fills up all the space between earth and heaven. +Later, we arrive at limitations and secondary laws; we heap these up +till the primal fact is obscured, is hidden by them. Then ensues an +impression of man's littleness, emptiness, insignificance, utter, +mechanical limitation. Then sharp-eyed gentlemen discover that man has a +trick of dressing up his littleness in large terms,—liberty, intuition, +inspiration, immortality,—and that he only is a philosopher, who cannot +be deceived by this shallow stratagem. Your "philosopher" sees what men +are made of. Populaces may fancy that man is central in the world, that +he is the all-containing vessel of its uses: but your philosopher, +admirable gentleman, sees through all that; he is superior to any such +vulgar partiality for that particular species of insect to which he +happens to belong. "A fly thinks himself the greatest of created +beings," says philosopher; "man flatters himself in the same way; but I, +I am not merely man, I am philosopher, and know better."</p> + +<p>The early seers and poets had not attained to this sublime +superciliousness of self-contempt; for this, of course, is a fruit to be +borne only by the "progress of the species." They are still weak enough +to believe in gods and godlike men, in spirit and inspiration, in the +ineffable fulness and meaning of a noble life, in the cosmic +relationship of man, in the <i>divineness</i> of speech and thought. In their +books man is placed in a large light; honor and estimation come to him +out of the heavens; what he does, if it be in any profound way +characteristic, is told without misgiving, without fear to be +superfluous; he is the care, or even the companion, of the immortals. To +go forth, therefore, from our little cells of criticism and controversy, +and to enter upon the pages where man's being appears so spacious and +significant,—where, at length, it is really <i>imagined</i>,—is like +leaving stove-heated, paper-walled rooms, and passing out beneath the +blue cope and into the sweet air of heaven.</p> + +<p>Quite this epic boldness and wholeness we cannot attribute to Goethe. He +is still a little straitened, a little pestered by the doubting and +critical optics which our time turns upon man, a little victimized<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[Pg 456]</a></span> by +his knowledge of limitary conditions and secondary laws. Nevertheless, a +noble man is not to his eye "contained between hat and boots," but is of +untold depth and dimension. He indicates traits of the soul with that +repose in his facts and respect for them which Lyell shows in spelling +out terrestrial history, or Herschel in tracing that of the solar +system. Observe how he relates the plays of a child,—with what grave, +imperial respect, with what undoubting, reverential minuteness! He does +not say, "Bear with me, ladies and gentlemen; I will come to something +of importance soon." This is important,—the formation of suns not more +so.</p> + +<p>In this respect he stands in wide contrast to the prevailing tone of the +time. It seems right and admirable that Tyndale should risk life and +limb in learning the laws of glaciers, that large-brained Agassiz should +pursue for years, if need be, his microscopic researches into the +natural history of turtles; and were life or eyesight lost so, we should +all say, "Lost, but well and worthily." But ask a conclave of sober +<i>savans</i> to listen to reports on the natural-spiritual history of babies +and little children,—ask them to join, one and all, in this piece of +discovery, spending labor and lifetime in watching the sports, the +moods, the imaginations, the fanciful loves and fears, the whole baby +unfolding of these budding revelations of divine uses in Nature,—and +see what they will think of your sanity. You may, indeed, if such be +your humor, observe these matters, nay, even write books upon them, and +still escape the lunatic asylum,—<i>provided</i> you do so in the way of +pleasantry. In this case, the gravest <i>savant</i>, if he have children, may +condescend to listen, and even to smile. But ask him to attend to this +<i>in his quality of man of science</i>, and no less seriously than he would +investigate the history of mud-worms, and you become ridiculous in his +eyes.</p> + +<p>Goethe is guiltless of this inversion of interest. Truth of outward +Nature he respects; truth of the soul he reverences. He can really +<i>imagine</i> men,—that is, can so depict them that they shall not be mere +bundles of finite quantities, a yard of this and a pound of that, but so +that the illimitable possibilities and immortal ancestries of man shall +look forth from their eyes, shall show in their features, and give to +them a certain grace of the infinite. The powers which created for the +Greeks their gods are active in him, even in his observation of men; and +this gives him that other eye, without which the effigies of men are +seen, but never man himself. And because he has this divine eye for the +inner reality of personal being, and yet also that eagle eye of his for +conditions and limits,—because he can see man as central in Nature, the +sum of all uses, the vessel of all significance, and yet has no +"carpenter theory" of the universe,—and because he can discern the +substance and the <i>revealing</i> form of man, while yet no satirist sees +more clearly man's accidental and concealing form,—because of this, +history comes in him to new blood, regaining its inspirations without +forfeiture of its experience.</p> + +<p>Carlyle has the same eye, but less creative, and tinctured always with +the special humors of his temperament; yet the attitude he can hold +toward a human personality, the spirit in which he can contemplate it, +gives that to his books which will keep them alive, I think, while the +world lasts.</p> + +<p>Among the recent writers of prose fiction in England, I know of but one +who, in a degree worth naming in this connection, has regarded and +delineated persons in the large, old, believing way. That one is the +author of "Counterparts." In many respects her book seems to me weak; +its theories are crude, its tone extravagant. But man and woman are +wonderful to her; and when she names them in full voice of admiration, +one thinks he has never heard the words before. And this merit is so +commanding, that, despite faults and imbecilities, it renders the book +almost unique in excellence. Sarona is impossible: thanks for that noble +impossibility!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[Pg 457]</a></span> Impossible, he yet embodies more reality, more true +suggestion of human possibility and resource, than a whole swarming +limbo of the ordinary heroes of fiction,—very credible, and the more's +the pity! He is finely <i>imagined</i>, and poorly <i>conceived</i>,—true, that +is, to the inspiring substance of man, but not true to his limitary +form: for imagination gives the revealing form, conception the form +which limits and conceals.</p> + +<p>In spite, therefore, of marked infirmities and extravagances, the book +remains a superior, perhaps a great work. The writer can look at a human +existence with childlike, all-believing, Homeric eyes. That creative +vision which of old peopled Olympus still peoples the world for her, +beholding gods where the skeptic, critical eye sees only a medical +doctor and a sick woman. So is she stamped a true child of the Muse, +descended on the one side from Memory, or superficial fact, but on the +other from Zeus, the <i>soul</i> of fact; and being gifted to discern the +divine halo on the brows of humanity, she rightly obtains the laurel +upon her own.</p> + +<p>Goethe, at least, rivals her in this Olympic intelligence, while he +combines it with a practical wisdom far profounder, with a survey and +fulness of knowledge incomparably wider and more various, with a tone +tempered to the last sobriety, for the whole of actual life, which no +man of the world ever surpassed, and no seer ever equalled. And thus I +must abide in my opinion, that he has given us the one prose epic of the +world, up to this date. In other words, he has best reconciled World +with the final vessel of its uses, Man,—and best reconciled actual +civilization and the fixed conditions of man with the uses of that in +which all the meaning of his existence is summed, his seeing and unseen +spirit.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="DOCTOR_JOHNS" id="DOCTOR_JOHNS"></a>DOCTOR JOHNS.</h2> + + +<h3>XXXIV.</h3> + +<p>Reuben has in many respects vastly improved under his city education. It +would be wrong to say that the good Doctor did not take a very human +pride in his increased alertness of mind, in his vivacity, in his +self-possession,—nay, even in that very air of world-acquaintance which +now covered entirely the old homely manner of the country lad. He +thought within himself, what a glad smile of triumph would have been +kindled upon the face of the lost Rachel, could she but have seen this +tall youth with his kindly attentions and his graceful speech. May-be +she did see it all,—but with far other eyes, now. Was the child +ripening into fellowship with the sainted mother?</p> + +<p>The Doctor underneath all his pride carried a great deal of anxious +doubt; and as he walked beside his boy upon the thronged street, elated +in some strange way by the touch of that strong arm of the youth, whose +blood was his own,—so dearly his own,—he pondered gravely with +himself, if the mocking delusions of the Evil One were not the occasion +of his pride? Was not Satan setting himself artfully to the work of +quieting all sense of responsibility in regard to the lad's future, by +thus kindling in his old heart anew the vanities of the flesh and the +pride of life?</p> + +<p>"I say, father, I want to put you through now. It'll do you a great deal +of good to see some of our wonders here in the city."</p> + +<p>"The very voice,—the very voice of Rachel!" says the Doctor to himself, +quickening his laggard step to keep pace with Reuben.</p> + +<p>"There are such lots of things to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[Pg 458]</a></span> show you, father! Look in this store, +now. You can step in, if you like. It's the largest carpet-store in the +United States, three stories packed full. There's the head man of the +firm,—the stout man in a white choker; with half a million, they say: +he's a deacon in Mowry's church."</p> + +<p>"I hope, then, Reuben, that he makes a worthy use of his wealth."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he gives thunderingly to the missionary societies," said Reuben, +with a glibness that grated on the father's ear.</p> + +<p>"You see that building yonder? That's Gothic. They've got the finest +bowling-alleys in the world there."</p> + +<p>"I hope, my son, you never go to such places?"</p> + +<p>"Bowl? Oh, yes, I bowl sometimes: the physicians recommend it; good +exercise for the chest. Besides, it's kept by a fine man, and he's got +one of the prettiest little trotting horses you ever saw in your life."</p> + +<p>"Why, my son, you don't mean to tell me that you know the keeper of this +bowling-alley?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, father,—we fellows all know him; and he gave me a splendid +cigar the last time I was there."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say that you smoke, Reuben?" said the old gentleman, +gravely.</p> + +<p>"Not much, father: but then everybody smokes now and then. Mowry—Dr. +Mowry smokes, you know; and they say he has prime cigars."</p> + +<p>"Is it possible? Well, well!"</p> + +<p>"You see that fine building over there?" said Reuben, as they passed on.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my son."</p> + +<p>"That's the theatre,—the Old Park."</p> + +<p>The Doctor ran his eye over it, and its effigy of Shakspeare upon the +niche in the wall, as Gabriel might have looked upon the armor of +Beelzebub.</p> + +<p>"I hope, Reuben, you never enter those doors?"</p> + +<p>"Well, father, since Kean and Mathews are gone, there's really nothing +worth the seeing."</p> + +<p>"Kean! Mathews!" said the Doctor, stopping in his walk and confronting +Reuben with a stern brow,—"is it possible, my son, that I hear you +talking in this familiar way of play-actors? You don't tell me that you +have been a participant in such orgies of Satan?"</p> + +<p>"Why, father," says Reuben, a little startled by the Doctor's +earnestness, "the truth is, Aunt Mabel goes occasionally, like 'most all +the ladies; but we go, you know, to see the moral pieces, generally."</p> + +<p>"Moral pieces! moral pieces!" says the Doctor, with a withering scowl. +"Reuben! those who go thither take hold on the door-posts of hell!"</p> + +<p>"That's the Tract Society building yonder," said Reuben, wishing to +divert the Doctor, if possible, from the special object of his +reflections.</p> + +<p>"Rachel's voice!—always Rachel's voice!"—said the Doctor to himself.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to go in, father?"</p> + +<p>"No, my son, we have no time; and yet"—meditating, and thrusting his +hand in his pocket—"there is a tract or two I would like to buy for +you, Reuben."</p> + +<p>"Go in, then," says Reuben. "Let me tell them who you are, father, and +you can get them at wholesale prices. It's the merest song."</p> + +<p>"No, my son, no," said the Doctor, disheartened by the blithe air of +Reuben. "I fear it would be wasted effort. Yet I trust that you do not +wholly neglect the opportunities for religious instruction on the +Sabbath?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," says Reuben, gayly. "I see Dr. Mowry off and on, pretty often. +He's a clever old gentleman,—Dr. Mowry."</p> + +<p>Clever old gentleman!</p> + +<p>The Doctor walked on oppressed with grief,—silent, but with lips moving +in prayer,—beseeching God to take away the stony heart from this poor +child of his, and to give him a heart of flesh.</p> + +<p>Reuben had improved, as we said, by his New York schooling. He was quick +of apprehension, well informed; and his familiarity with the +counting-room of Mr. Brindlock had given him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[Pg 459]</a></span> a business promptitude +that was specially agreeable to the Doctor, whose habits in that regard +were of woful slackness. But religiously, the good man looked upon his +son as a castaway. It was only too apparent that Reuben had not derived +the desired improvement from attendance at the Fulton-Street Church. +That attendance had been punctual, indeed, for nearly all the first year +of his city life, in virtue of the inexorable habit of his education; +but Dr. Mowry had not won upon him by any personal magnetism. The city +Doctor was a ponderously good man, preaching for the most part ponderous +sermons, and possessed of a most imposing friendliness of manner. When +Reuben had presented to him the credentials from his father, (which he +could hardly have done, save for the urgency of the Brindlocks,) the +ponderous Doctor had patted him upon the shoulder, and said,—</p> + +<p>"My young friend, your father is a most worthy man,—most worthy. I +should be delighted to see you following in his steps. I shall be most +glad to be of service to you. Our meetings for Bible instruction are on +Wednesdays, at seven: the young men upon the left, the young ladies on +the right."</p> + +<p>The Doctor appeared to Reuben a man solemnly preoccupied with the +immensity of his charge; and it seemed to him (though it was doubtless a +wicked thought of the boy) that the ponderous minister would have +counted it a matter of far smaller merit to instruct, and guide, and +save a wanderer from the country, than to perform the same offices for a +good fat sinner of the city.</p> + +<p>As we have said, the memory of old teachings for a year or more made any +divergence from the severe path of boyhood seem to Reuben a sin; and +these divergencies so multiplied by easy accessions as to have made him, +after a time, look upon himself very confidently, and almost cheerily, +as a reprobate. And if a reprobate, why not taste the Devil's cup to the +full?</p> + +<p>That first visit to the theatre was like a bold push into the very +domain of Satan. Even the ticket-seller at the door seemed to him on +that eventful night an understrapper of Beelzebub, who looked out at him +with the goggle eyes of a demon. That such a man could have a family, or +family affections, or friendships, or any sense of duty or honor, was to +him a thing incomprehensible; and when he passed the wicket for the +first time into the vestibule of the old Park Theatre, the very usher in +the corridor had to his eye a look like the Giant Dagon, and he +conceived of him as mumbling, in his leisure moments, the flesh from +human bones. And when at last the curtain rose, and the damp air came +out upon him from behind the scenes as he sat in the pit, and the play +began with some wonderful creature in tight bodice and painted cheeks, +sailing across the stage, it seemed to him that the flames of Divine +wrath might presently be bursting out over the house, or a great +judgment of God break down the roof and destroy them all.</p> + +<p>But it did not; and he took courage. It is so easy to find courage in +those battles where we take no bodily harm! If conscience, sharpened by +the severe discipline he had known, pricked him awkwardly at the first, +he bore the stings with a good deal of sturdiness. A sinner, no +doubt,—that he knew long ago: a little slip, or indeed no slip at all, +had ranked him with the unregenerate. Once a sinner, (thus he pleasantly +reasoned,) and a fellow may as well be ten times a sinner: a bad job +anyhow. If in his moments of reflection—these being not yet wholly +crowded out from his life—there comes a shadowy hope of better things, +of some moral poise that should be in keeping with the tenderer +recollections of his boyhood,—all this can never come, (he bethinks +himself, in view of his old teaching,) except on the heel of some +terrible conviction of sin; and the conviction will hardly come without +some deeper and more damning weight of it than he feels as yet. A heavy +cumulation of the weight may some day serve him a good turn. Thus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[Pg 460]</a></span> the +Devil twists his vague yearning for a condition of spiritual repose into +a pleasantly smacking lash with which to scourge his grosser appetites; +so that, upon the whole, Reuben drives a fine, showy team along the +high-road of indulgence.</p> + +<p>Yet the minister's son had no love for gross vices; there were human +instincts in him (if it maybe said) that rebelled against his more +deliberate sinnings. Nay, he affected with his boon companions an +enjoyment of wanton excesses that he only half felt. A certain +adventurous, dare-devil reach in him craved exercise. The character of +Reuben at this stage would surely have offered a good subject for the +study and the handling of Dr. Mowry, if that worthy gentleman could have +won his way to the lad's confidence; but the ponderous methods of the +city parson showed no fineness of touch. Even the father, as we have +seen, could not reach down to any religious convictions of the son; and +Reuben keeps him at bay with a banter, and an exaggerated attention to +the personal comforts of the old gentleman, that utterly baffle him. +Reuben holds too much in dread the old catechismal dogmas and the +ultimate "anathema maran-atha."</p> + +<p>So it was with a profound sigh that the father bade his son adieu after +this city visit.</p> + +<p>"Good bye, father! Love to them all in Ashfield."</p> + +<p>So like Rachel's voice! So like Rachel's! And the heart of the old man +yearned toward him and ached bitterly for him. <i>"O my son Absalom! my +son! my son Absalom!"</i></p> + + +<h3>XXXV.</h3> + +<p>Maverick hurried his departure from the city; and Adèle, writing to Rose +to announce the programme of her journey, says only this much of +Reuben:—"We have of course seen R——, who was very attentive and kind. +He has grown tall,—taller, I should think, than Phil; and he is quite +well-looking and gentlemanly. I think he has a very good opinion of +himself."</p> + +<p>The summer's travel offered a season of rare enjoyment to Adèle. The +lively sentiment of girlhood was not yet wholly gone, and the +thoughtfulness of womanhood was just beginning to tone, without +controlling, her sensibilities. The delicate attentions of Maverick were +more like those of a lover than of a father. Through his ever watchful +eyes, Adèle looked upon the beauties of Nature with a new halo on them. +How the water sparkled to her vision! How the days came and went like +golden dreams!</p> + +<p>Ah, happy youth-time! The Hudson, Lake George, Saratoga, the Mountains, +the Beach,—to us old stagers, who have breasted the tide of so many +years, and flung off long ago all the iridescent sparkles of our +sentiment, these are only names of summer thronging-places. Upon the +river we watch the growth of the crops, or ask our neighbors about the +cost of our friend Faro's new country-seat; we lounge upon the piazzas +of the hotels, reading price-lists, or (if not too old) an editorial; we +complain of the windy currents upon the lake, and find our chiefest +pleasure in a trout boiled plain, with a dressing of Champagne sauce; we +linger at Fabian's on a sunny porch, talking politics with a rheumatic +old gentleman in his overcoat, while the youngsters go ambling through +the fir woods and up the mountains with shouts and laughter. Yet it was +not always thus. There were times in the lives of us old travellers—let +us say from sixteen to twenty—when the great river was a glorious +legend trailing its storied length through the Highlands; when in every +opening valley there lay purple shadows whereon we painted castles; when +the corridors and shaded walks of the "United States" were like a fairy +land, with flitting skirts and waving plumes, and some delicately gloved +hand beating its reveille upon the heart; and when every floating film +of mist along the sea, whether at Newport or Nahant, tenderly entreated +the fancy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[Pg 461]</a></span></p> + +<p>But we forget ourselves, and we forget Adèle. In her wild exuberance of +joy Maverick shares with a spirit that he had believed to be dead in him +utterly. And if he finds it necessary to check from time to time the +noisy effervescence of her pleasure, as he certainly does at the first, +he does it in the most tender and considerate way; and Adèle learns, +what many of her warm-hearted sisters never do learn, that a well-bred +control over our enthusiasms in no way diminishes the exquisiteness of +their savor.</p> + +<p>Maverick should be something over fifty now, and his keenness of +observation in respect to feminine charms is not perhaps so great as it +once was; but even he cannot fail to see, with a pride that he makes no +great effort to conceal, the admiring looks that follow the lithe, +graceful figure of Adèle, wherever their journey may lead them. Nor, +indeed, were there any more comely toilettes for a young girl to be met +with anywhere than those which had been provided for the young traveller +under the advice of Mrs. Brindlock.</p> + +<p>It may be true—what his friend Papiol had predicted—that Maverick will +be too proud of his child to keep her in a secluded corner of New +England. For his pride there is certainly abundant reason; and what +father does not love to see the child of whom he is proud admired?</p> + +<p>Yet weeks had run by and Maverick had never once broached the question +of a return. The truth was, that the new experience was so charming and +so engrossing for him, the sweet, intelligent face ever at his side was +so full of eager wonder, and he so delightfully intent upon providing +new sources of pleasure and calling out again and again the gushes of +her girlish enthusiasm, that he shrunk instinctively from a decision in +which must be involved so largely her future happiness.</p> + +<p>At last it was Adèle herself who suggested the inquiry,—</p> + +<p>"Is it true, dear papa, what the Doctor tells me, that you may possibly +take, me back to France with you?"</p> + +<p>"What say you, Adèle? Would you like to go?"</p> + +<p>"Dearly!"</p> + +<p>"But," said Maverick, "your friends here,—can you so easily cast them +away?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, no!" said Adèle,—"not cast them away! Couldn't I come again +some day? Besides, there is your home, papa; I should love any home of +yours, and love your friends."</p> + +<p>"For instance, Adèle, there is my book-keeper, a lean Savoyard, who +wears a red wig and spectacles,—and Lucille, a great, gaunt woman, with +a golden crucifix about her neck, who keeps my little parlor in +order,—and Papiol, a fat Frenchman, with a bristly moustache and +iron-gray hair, who, I dare say, would want to kiss the pet of his dear +friend,—and Jeannette, who washes the dishes for us, and wears great +wooden sabots"——</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, papa! I am sure you have other friends; and then there's the +good godmother."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes,—she indeed," said Maverick; "what a precious hug she would +give you, Adèle!"</p> + +<p>"And then—and then—should I see mamma?"</p> + +<p>The pleasant humor died out of the face of Maverick on the instant; and +then, in a slow, measured tone,—</p> + +<p>"Impossible, Adèle,—impossible! Come here, darling!" and as he fondled +her in a wild, passionate way, "I will love you for both, Adèle; she was +not worthy of you, child."</p> + +<p>Adèle, too, is overcome with a sudden seriousness.</p> + +<p>"Is she living, papa?" And she gives him an appealing look that must be +answered.</p> + +<p>And Maverick seems somehow appalled by that innocent, confiding +expression of hers.</p> + +<p>"May-be, may-be, my darling; she was living not long since; yet it can +never matter to you or me more. You will trust me in this, Adèle?" And +he kisses her tenderly.</p> + +<p>And she, returning the caress, but bursting into tears as she does so, +says,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[Pg 462]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"I will, I do, papa."</p> + +<p>"There, there, darling!"—as he folds her to him; "no more tears,—no +more tears, <i>chérie</i>!"</p> + +<p>But even while he says it, he is nervously searching his pockets, since +there is a little dew that must be wiped from his own eyes. Maverick's +emotion, however, was but a little momentary contagious sympathy with +the daughter,—he having no understanding of that unsatisfied yearning +in her heart of which this sudden tumult of feeling was the passionate +outbreak.</p> + +<p>Meantime Adèle is not without her little mementos of the life at +Ashfield, which come in the shape of thick double letters from that good +girl Rose,—her dear, dear friend, who has been advised by the little +traveller to what towns she should direct these tender missives; and +Adèle is no sooner arrived at these postal stations than she sends for +the budget which she knows must be waiting for her. And of course she +has her own little pen in a certain travelling-escritoire the good papa +has given her; and she plies her white fingers with it often and often +of an evening, after the day's sight-seeing is over, to tell Rose, in +return, what a charming journey she is having, and how kind papa is, and +what a world of strange things she is seeing; and there are descriptions +of sunsets and sunrises, and of lakes and of mountains, on those +close-written sheets of hers, which Rose, in her enthusiasm, declares to +be equal to many descriptions in print. We dare say they were better +than a great many such.</p> + +<p>Poor Rose feels that she has only very humdrum stories to tell in return +for these; but she ekes out her letters pretty well, after all, and what +they lack in novelty is made up in affection.</p> + +<p>"There is really nothing new to tell," she writes, "except it be that +our old friend, Miss Almira Tourtelot, astonished us all with a new +bonnet last Sunday, and with new saffron ribbons; and she has come out, +too, in the new tight sleeves, in which she looks drolly enough. Phil is +very uneasy, now that his schooling is done, and talks of going to the +West Indies about some business in which papa is concerned. I hope he +will go, if he doesn't stay too long. He is such a dear, good fellow! +Madame Arles asks after you, when I see her, which is not very often +now; for since the Doctor has come back from New York, he has had a new +talk with mamma, and has quite won her over to <i>his view of the matter</i>. +So good bye to French for the present! Heigho! But I don't know that I'm +sorry, now that you are not here, dear Ady.</p> + +<p>"Another queer thing I had almost forgotten to tell you. The poor Boody +girl,—you must remember her? Well, she has come back on a sudden; and +they say her father would not receive her in his house,—there are +<i>terrible stories</i> about it!—and now she is living with an old woman +far out upon the river-road,—only a little garret-chamber for herself +and <i>the child she brought back with her</i>. Of course <i>nobody</i> goes near +her, or looks at her, if she comes on the street. But—the queerest +thing!—when Madame Arles heard of it and of her story, what does she do +but <i>walk far out to visit her</i>, and talked with her in her broken +English for an hour, they say. Papa says she (Madame A.) must be a very +bad woman or a very good woman. Miss Johns says <i>she always thought she +was a bad woman</i>. The Bowriggs are, of course, very indignant, and I +doubt if Madame A. comes to Ashfield again with them."</p> + +<p>And again, at a later date, Rose writes,—</p> + +<p>"The Bowriggs are all off for the winter, and the house closed. Reuben +has been here on a flying visit to the parsonage; and how proud Miss +Eliza was of <i>her nephew</i>! He came over to see Phil, I suppose; but Phil +had gone two weeks before. Mamma thinks he is <i>fine-looking</i>. I fancy he +will never live in the country again. When shall I see you again, <i>dear, +dear</i> Ady? I have <i>so much</i> to talk to you about!"</p> + +<p>A month thereafter Maverick and his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[Pg 463]</a></span> daughter find their way back to +Ashfield. Of course Miss Johns has made magnificent preparations to +receive them. She surpassed herself in her toilette on the day of their +arrival, and fairly astonished Maverick with the warmth of her welcome +to his child. Yet he could not help observing that Adèle met it more +coolly than was her wont, and that her tenderest words were reserved for +the good Doctor. And how proud she was to walk with her father upon the +village street, glancing timidly up at the windows from which she knew +those stiff old Miss Hapgoods must be peeping out! How proud to sit +beside him in the parson's pew, feeling that the eyes of half the +congregation were fastened on the tall gentleman beside her! Ah, happy +daughter! may your beautiful filial pride never have a fall!</p> + +<p>Important business letters command Maverick's early presence abroad; +and, after conference with the Doctor, he decides to leave Adèle once +more under the roof of the parsonage.</p> + +<p>"Under God, I will do for her what I can," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"I know it, I know it, my good friend," says Maverick. "Teach her +self-reliance; she may need it some day. And mind what I have said of +this French woman. Adèle seems to have a <i>tendresse</i> that way. Those +French women are very insidious, Johns."</p> + +<p>"You know their ways better than I," said the Doctor, dryly.</p> + +<p>"Good! a smack of the old college humor there, Johns. Well, well, at +least you don't doubt the sacredness of my love for Adèle?"</p> + +<p>"I trust, Maverick, I may never doubt the sacredness of your love in any +direction. I only hope you may direct it where I fear you do not."</p> + +<p>"God bless you, Johns! I wish I were as good a man as you."</p> + +<p>A little afterwards Maverick was humming a snatch from an opera under +the trees of the orchard; and Adèle went bounding toward him, to take +the last walk with him for so long,—so long!</p> + + +<h3>XXXVI.</h3> + +<p>Autumn and winter passed by, and the summer of 1838 opened upon the old +quiet life of Ashfield. The stiff Miss Johns, busy with her household +duties, or with her stately visitings. The Doctor's hat and cane in +their usual place upon the little table within the door, and of a Sunday +his voice is lifted up under the old meeting-house roof in earnest +expostulation. The birds pipe their old songs, and the orchard has shown +once more its wondrous glory of bloom. But all these things have lost +their novelty for Adèle. Would it be strange, if the tranquil life of +the little town had lost something of its early charm? That swift French +blood of hers has been stirred by contact with the outside world. She +has, perhaps, not been wholly insensible to those admiring glances which +so quickened the pride of the father. Do not such things leave a hunger +in the heart of a girl of seventeen which the sleepy streets of a +country town can but poorly gratify?</p> + +<p>The young girl is, moreover, greatly disturbed at the thought of the new +separation from her father for some indefinite period. Her affections +have knitted themselves around him, during that delightful journey of +the summer, in a way that has made her feel with new weight the parting. +It is all the worse that she does not clearly perceive the necessity for +it. Is she not of an age now to contribute to the cheer of whatever home +he may have beyond the sea? Why, pray, has he given her such uninviting +pictures of his companions there? Or what should she care for his +companions, if only she could enjoy his tender watchfulness? Or is it +that her religious education is not yet thoroughly complete, and that +she still holds out against a full and public avowal of all the +doctrines which the Doctor urges upon her acceptance? And the thought of +this makes his kindly severities appear more irksome than ever.</p> + +<p>Another cause of grief to Adèle is the extreme disfavor in which she +finds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[Pg 464]</a></span> that Madame Arles is now regarded by the townspeople. Her +sympathies had run out towards the unfortunate woman in some +inexplicable way, and held there even now, so strongly that contemptuous +mention of her stung like a reproach to herself. At least she was a +countrywoman, and alone among strangers; and in this Adèle found +abundant reason for a generous sympathy. As for her religion, was it not +the religion of her mother and of her good godmother? And with this +thought flaming in her, is it wonderful, if Adèle toys more fondly than +ever, in the solitude of her chamber, with the little rosary she has +guarded so long? Not, indeed, that she has much faith in its efficacy; +but it is a silent protest against the harsh speeches of Miss Eliza, who +had been specially jealous of the influence of the French teacher.</p> + +<p>"I never liked her countenance, Adèle," said the spinster, in her solemn +manner; "and I am rejoiced that you will not be under her influence the +present summer."</p> + +<p>"And I'm sorry," said Adèle, petulantly.</p> + +<p>"It is gratifying to me," continued Miss Eliza, without notice of +Adèle's interruption, "that Mr. Maverick has confirmed my own +impressions, and urged the Doctor against permitting so unwise +association."</p> + +<p>"When? how?" said Adèle, sharply. "Papa has never seen her."</p> + +<p>"But he has seen other French women, Adèle, and he fears their +influence."</p> + +<p>Adèle looked keenly at the spinster for a moment, as if to fathom the +depth of this reply, then burst into tears.</p> + +<p>"Oh, why, why didn't he take me with him?" But this she says under +breath, and to herself, as she rushes into the Doctor's study to +question him.</p> + +<p>"Is it true, New Papa, that papa thought badly of Madame Arles?"</p> + +<p>"Not personally, my child, since he had never seen her. But, Adaly, your +father, though I fear he is far away from the true path, wishes you to +find it, my child. He has faith in the religion we teach so imperfectly; +he wishes you to be exposed to no influences that will forbid your full +acceptance of it."</p> + +<p>"But Madame Arles never talked of religion to me"; and Adèle taps +impatiently upon the floor.</p> + +<p>"That may be true, Adaly,—it may be true; but we cannot be thrown into +habits of intimacy with those reared in iniquity without fear of +contracting stain. I could wish, my child, that you would so far subdue +your rebellious heart, and put on the complete armor of righteousness, +as to be able to resist all attacks."</p> + +<p>"And it was for this papa left me here?" And Adèle says it with a smile +of mockery that alarms the good Doctor.</p> + +<p>"I trust, Adaly, that he had that hope."</p> + +<p>The good man does not know what swift antagonism to his pleadings he has +suddenly kindled in her. The little foot taps more and more impatiently +as he goes on to set forth (as he had so often done) the heinousness of +her offences and the weight of her just condemnation. Yet the antagonism +did not incline her to open doubt; but after she had said her evening +prayer that night, (taught her by the parson,) she drew out her little +rosary and kissed reverently the crucifix. It is so much easier at this +juncture for her tried and distracted spirit to bolster its faith upon +such material symbol than to find repose in any merely intellectual +conviction of truth!</p> + +<p>Adèle's intimacy with Rose and with her family retained all its old +tenderness, but that good fellow Phil was gone. A blithe and merry +companion he had been! Adèle missed his kindly attentions more than she +would have believed. The Bowriggs have come to Ashfield, but their +clamorous friendship is more than ever distasteful to Adèle. Over and +over she makes a feint of illness to escape the noisy hilarity. Nor, +indeed, is it wholly a feint. Whether it were that her state of moral +perturbation and unrest reacted upon the physical system, or that there +were other disturbing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[Pg 465]</a></span> causes, certain it was that the roses were fading +from her cheeks, and that her step was losing day by day something of +its old buoyancy. It is even thought best to summon the village doctor +to the family council. He is a gossiping, kindly old gentleman, who +spends an easy life, free from much mental strain, in trying to make his +daily experiences tally with the little fund of medical science which he +accumulated thirty years before.</p> + +<p>The serene old gentleman feels the pulse, with his head reflectively on +one side,—tells his little jokelet about Sir Astley Cooper, or some +other worthy of the profession,—shakes his fat sides with a cheery +laugh,—"And now, my dear," he says, "let us look at the tongue. Ah, I +see, I see,—the stomach lacks tone."</p> + +<p>"And there's dreadful lassitude, sometimes, Doctor," speaks up Miss +Eliza.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see,—a little exhaustion after a long walk,—isn't it so, Miss +Maverick? I see, I see; we must brace up the system, Miss Johns,—brace +up the system."</p> + +<p>And the kindly old gentleman prescribes his little tonics, of which +Adèle takes some, and throws more out of the window.</p> + +<p>Adèle does not mend, and the rumor is presently current upon the street +that "Miss Adeel is in a decline." The spinster shows a solicitude in +the matter which almost touches the heart of the French girl. For Adèle +had long before decided that there could be no permanent sympathy +between them, and had indulged latterly in no little bitterness of +speech toward her. But the acute spinster had forgiven all. Never once +had she lost sight of her plan for the ultimate disposal of Adèle and of +her father's fortune. Of course the life of Adèle was very dear to her, +and the absence of Phil she looked upon as Providential.</p> + +<p>Weeks pass by, but still the tonics of the kindly old physician prove of +little efficacy. One day the Bowriggs come blustering in, as is their +wont.</p> + +<p>"Such assurance! Did you ever hear the like? Madame Arles writes us that +she is coming to see Ashfield again, and of course coming to us. The air +of the town agrees with her, and she hopes to find lodgings."</p> + +<p>The eyes of Adèle sparkle with satisfaction,—not so much, perhaps, by +reason of her old sympathy with the poor woman, which is now almost +forgotten, as because it will give some change at least to the dreary +monotony of the town life.</p> + +<p>"Lodgings, indeed!" says the younger Miss Bowrigg. "I wonder where she +will find them!"</p> + +<p>It is a matter of great doubt, to be sure,—since the sharp speech of +the spinster has so spread the story of her demerits, that not a +parishioner of the Doctor but would have feared to give the poor woman a +home.</p> + +<p>Adèle still has strength enough for an occasional stroll with Rose, and, +in the course of one of them, comes upon Madame Arles, whom she meets +with a good deal of her old effusion. And Madame, touched by her +apparent weakness, more than reciprocates it.</p> + +<p>"But you suffer, you are unhappy, my child,—pining at last for the sun +of Provence. Isn't it so, <i>mon ange</i>? No, no, you were never meant to +grow up among these cold people. You must see the vineyards, and the +olives, and the sea, Adèle; you must! you must!"</p> + +<p>All this, uttered in a torrent, which, with its <i>tutoiements</i>, Rose can +poorly comprehend.</p> + +<p>Yet it goes straight to the heart of Adèle, and her tongue is loosened +to a little petulant, fiery <i>roulade</i> against the severities of the life +around her, which it would have greatly pained poor Rose to listen to in +any speech of her own.</p> + +<p>But such interviews, once or twice repeated, come to the knowledge of +the watchful spinster, who clearly perceives that Adèle is chafing more +and more under the wonted family regimen. With an affectation of tender +solicitude, she volunteers herself to attend Adèle upon her short +morning strolls, and she learns presently, with great triumph, that +Madame<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[Pg 466]</a></span> Arles has established herself at last under the same roof which +gives refuge to the outcast Boody woman. Nothing more was needed to seal +the opinion of the spinster, and to confirm the current village belief +in the heathenish character of the French lady. Dame Tourtelot was +shrewdly of the opinion that the woman represented some Popish plot for +the abduction of Adèle, and for her incarceration in a nunnery,—a +theory which Miss Almira, with her natural tendency to romance, +industriously propagated.</p> + +<p>Meantime the potions of the village doctor have little effect, and +before July is ended a serious illness has declared itself, and Adèle is +confined to her chamber. Madame Arles is among the earliest who come +with eager inquiries, and begs to see the sufferer. But she is +confronted by the indefatigable spinster, who, cloaking her denial under +ceremonious form, declares that her state of nervous prostration will +not admit of it. Madame withdraws, sadly; but the visit and the claim +are repeated from time to time, until the stately civility of Miss Johns +arouses her suspicions.</p> + +<p>"You deny me, Madame. You do wrong. I love Adèle; she loves me. I know +that I could comfort her. You do not understand her nature. She was born +where the sky is soft and warm. You are all cold and harsh,—cold and +harsh in your religion. She has told me as much. I know how she suffers. +I wish I could carry her back to France with me. I pray you, let me see +her, good Madame!"</p> + +<p>"It is quite impossible, I assure you," said the spinster, in her most +aggravating manner. "It would be quite against the wishes of my brother, +the Doctor, as well as of Mr. Maverick."</p> + +<p>"Monsieur Maverick! <i>Mon Dieu</i>, Madame! He is no father to her; he +leaves her to die with strangers; he has no heart; I have better right: +I love her. I must see her!"</p> + +<p>And with a passionate step,—those eyes of hers glaring in that strange +double way upon the amazed Miss Eliza,—she strides toward the door, as +if she would overcome all opposition. But before she has gone out, that +cruel pain has seized her, and she sinks upon a chair, quite prostrated, +and with hands clasped wildly over that burden of a heart.</p> + +<p>"Too hard! too hard!" she murmurs, scarce above her breath.</p> + +<p>The spinster is attentive, but is untouched. Her self-poise never +deserts her. And not then, or at any later period, did poor Madame Arles +succeed in overcoming the iron resolve of Miss Johns.</p> + +<p>The good Doctor is greatly troubled by the report of Miss Eliza. Can it +be possible that Adèle has given a confidence to this strange woman that +she has not given to them? Cold and harsh! Can Adèle, indeed, have said +this? Has he not labored with a full heart? Has he not agonized in +prayer to draw in this wandering lamb to the fold? He has seen, indeed, +that the poor child has chafed much latterly, that the old serenity and +gayety are gone. But is it not a chafing under the fetters of sin? Is it +not that she begins to see more clearly the fiery judgments of God which +will certainly overwhelm the wrongdoers, whatever may be the +unsubstantial and evanescent graces of their mortal life?</p> + +<p>Yet, with all the rigidity of his doctrine, which he cannot in +conscience mollify, even for the tender ears of Adèle, it disturbs him +strangely to hear that she has qualified his regimen as harsh or severe. +Has he not taught, in season and out of season, the fulness of God's +promises? Has he not labored and prayed? Is it not the ungodly heart in +her that finds his teaching a burden? Is not his conscience safe? Yet, +for all this, it touches him to the quick to think that her childlike, +trustful confidence is at last alienated from him,—that her affection +for him is so distempered by dread and weariness. For, unconsciously, he +has grown to love her as he loves no one save his boy Reuben; +unconsciously his heart has mellowed under her influence. Through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[Pg 467]</a></span> her +winning, playful talk, he has taken up that old trail of worldly +affections which he had thought buried forever in Rachel's grave. That +tender touch of her little fingers upon his cheek has seemed to say, +"Life has its joys, old man!" The patter of her feet along the house has +kindled the memories of other gentle steps that tread now silently in +the courts of air. Those songs of hers,—how he has loved them! Never +confessing even to Miss Eliza, still less to himself, how much his heart +is bound up in this little winsome stranger, who has shone upon his +solitary parsonage like a sunbeam.</p> + +<p>And the good man, with such thoughts thronging on him, falls upon his +knees, beseeching God to "be over the sick child, to comfort her, to +heal her, to pour down His divine grace upon her, to open her blind eyes +to the richness of His truth, to keep her from all the machinations and +devices of Satan, to arm her with true holiness, to make her a golden +light in the household, to give her a heart of love toward all, and most +of all toward Him who so loved her that He gave His only begotten Son."</p> + +<p>And the Doctor, rising from his attitude of prayer, and going toward the +little window of his study to arrange it for the night, sees a slight +figure in black pacing up and down upon the opposite side of the way, +and looking up from time to time to the light that is burning in the +window of Adèle. He knows on the instant who it must be, and fears more +than ever the possible influence which this strange woman, who is so +persistent in her attention, may have upon the heart of the girl. The +Doctor had heretofore been disposed to turn a deaf ear to the current +reproaches of Madame Arles for her association with the poor outcast +daughter of the village; but her appearance at this unseemly hour of the +night, coupled with his traditional belief in the iniquities of the +Romish Church, excited terrible suspicions in his mind. Like most holy +men, ignorant of the crafts and devices of the world, he no sooner +blundered into a suspicion of some deep Devil's cunning than every +footfall and every floating zephyr seemed to confirm it. He bethought +himself of Maverick's earnest caution; and before he went to bed that +night, he prayed that no designing Jezebel might corrupt the poor child +committed to his care.</p> + +<p>The next night the Doctor looked again from his window, after blowing +out his lamp, and there once more was the figure in black, pacing up and +down. What could it mean? Was it possible that some Satanic influence +could pass over from this emissary of the Evil One, (as he firmly +believed her to be,) for the corruption of the sick child who lay in the +delirium of a fever above?</p> + +<p>The extreme illness of Adèle was subject of common talk in the village, +and the sympathy was very great. On the following night Adèle was far +worse, and the Doctor, at about his usual bedtime, went out to summon +the physician. At a glance he saw in the shadow of the opposite houses +the same figure pacing up and down. He hurried his steps, fearing she +might seek occasion to dart in upon the sick-chamber before his return. +But he had scarcely gone twenty paces from his door, when he heard a +swift step behind, and in another instant there was a grip, as of a +tigress, upon his arm.</p> + +<p>"Adèle,—how is she? Tell me!"</p> + +<p>"Ill,—very ill," said the Doctor, shaking himself from her grasp, and +continued in his solemn manner, "it is an hour to be at home, woman!"</p> + +<p>But she, paying no heed to his admonition, says,—</p> + +<p>"I must see her,—I <i>must</i>!"—and dashes back toward the parsonage.</p> + +<p>The Doctor, terrified, follows after. But he can keep no manner of pace +with that swift, dark figure that glides before him. He comes to the +porch panting. The door is closed. Has the infuriated woman gone in? No, +for presently her grasp is again upon his arm: for a moment she had +sunk, exhausted by fatigue, or overcome by emotion, upon the porch. Her +tone is more subdued.</p> + +<p>"I entreat you, good Doctor, let me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[Pg 468]</a></span> see Adèle!—for Christ's sake, if +you be His minister, let me see her!"</p> + +<p>"Impossible, woman, impossible!" says the Doctor, more than ever +satisfied of her Satanic character by what he counts her blasphemous +speech. "Adaly is delirious,—fearfully excited; it would destroy her. +The only hope is in perfect quietude."</p> + +<p>The woman releases her grasp.</p> + +<p>"Please, Doctor, let me come to-morrow. I must see her! I will see her!"</p> + +<p>"You shall not," said the Doctor, with solemnity,—"never, with my +permission. Go to your home, woman, and pray God to have mercy on you."</p> + +<p>"Monster!" exclaimed she, passionately, as she shook the Doctor's arm, +still under her grasp; and murmuring other words in language the good +man did not comprehend, she slipped silently down the yard,—away into +the darkness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="DOWN_THE_RIVER" id="DOWN_THE_RIVER"></a>DOWN THE RIVER.</h2> + + +<p>She was of pure race, black as her first ancestor,—if, indeed, she ever +had an ancestor, and were not an indigenous outcrop of African soil,—so +black that the sun could gild her. Her countenance was as unlovely as it +is possible for one to be that owns the cheeriest of smiles and the most +dazzling of teeth. It would have been difficult to say how old she was, +though she had the effect of being undersized, and, with sharp +shoulders, elbows, and knees, seemed scarcely possessed of a rounded +muscle in all her lithe and agile frame.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, she was a dancer by profession,—if she could have +dignified her most frequent occupation by the title of profession. With +a thin blue scarf turbaned round her head in floating ends, and with +scanty and clinging array otherwise, tossing a tambourine, and singing +wild, meaningless songs, she used to whirl and spring on the grass-plot +of an evening, the young masters and mistresses smiling and applauding +from the verandah, while the wind-blown flame of a flaring pitch-pine +knot, held by little Pluto, gave her strange careering shadows for +partner.</p> + +<p>She had not yet been allotted to any particular task by day, now running +errands of the house, now tending the sick, now, in punishment of +misdemeanors, relieving an exhausted hand in the field,—for, though all +along the upland lay the piny woods of the turpentine-orchards, she +belonged to an estate whose rich lowlands were devoted to +cotton-bearing. But whatever she did by day, she danced by night, with +her wild gyration and gesture, as naturally as a moth flies; and when +not in demand with the seigniory, was wont to perform in even keener +force and fire at the quarters, to an admiring circle of her own kind, +with ambitious imitators on the outskirts.</p> + +<p>It was not, however, an indiscriminate assemblage even there that +encouraged her rude art. There are circles within circles, and the more +decorous of the slaves gave small favor to the young posturer, although +the patronage she received from the house enabled her to meet their +disapprobation defiantly; while to the younger portion, in the vague +sense that there was something wrong about it, her dance became +surrounded by all the attraction and allurement of seeing life. It was +not that the frowning ones did not go through many of the same motions +themselves; but theirs were occasioned by the frenzy of the religious +excitement, where pious rapture<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[Pg 469]</a></span> and ecstasy were to be expressed by +nothing but the bodily exertion of the Shout: the objectless dance of +the dancer was a thing beyond their comprehension, dimly at first, and +then positively, associated with sin. But she laughed them down with a +gibe; she felt triumphant in the possession of her secret, known to none +of them: her dance was not objectless, but the perpetual expression of +all emotions, whether of beauty or joy or gratitude or praise. Some one +at the house had given her a pair of little hoops with bells attached, +which she was wont to wear about her ankles, and it afforded her +malicious enjoyment to scatter her opponents by the tintinnabulation of +her step. For all that levity, she was not destitute of her peculiar +mode of adoration. For the religion of the Shout she had no absorbents +whatever; she furtively watched it, and openly ridiculed it; but she had +a religion of her own, notwithstanding,—a sort of primitive and grand +religion, Fetich though it was. She reasoned, that the kindly brown +earth produces us, bears us along on its flight, nourishes us, gives us +the delights of life, takes us back into its bosom at last. She +worshipped the great dark earth, imparted to it her confidence, asked of +it her boons. As she grew older, and her logic or her fancy +strengthened, she might have felt the sun supplying the earth, and the +beings of the earth, with all their force, and have become a +fire-worshipper, until further light broke on her, and she sought and +found the Power that feeds the very sun himself. But at present the dust +of which she was made was what she could best comprehend. So, fortified +by her inward faith, and feeling herself fast friends with the ancient +earth, she continued to ring her silver bells and spin her bare +twinkling feet with contented disregard of those, few of whom in their +unseemly worship had the faintest idea of what it was that ailed them.</p> + +<p>Although known by various titles on the plantation, objurgatory among +the hands, facetious among the heads, such as Dancing Devil, Spinning +Jenny, Tarantella, Herodias's Daughter,—which last, simplifying itself +into Salome, became in its diminutives the most prevalent,—the creature +had a name of her own, the softest of syllables. Black and uncouth as +she was, a word, one of those the whitest and most beautiful, named her; +and since they tell us that every appellation has its significance for +the wearer, we must suppose that somewhere in her soul that white and +blossoming thing was to be found which answered to the name of Flor.</p> + +<p>She possessed a kind of freehold in the cabin of an old negress yclept +Zoë; but she seldom claimed it, for Zoë was outspoken; she preferred, +instead, to lie down by night on a mat in Miss Emma's room, in a corner +of the staircase, on the hall-floor, oftenest fallen wherever sleep +happened to overtake her;—having so many places in which to lay her +head was very like having none at all. She was at the bidding of every +one, but seldom received a heavy blow; as for a round of angry words, +she liked nothing better. She fell heir to much flimsy finery, as a +matter of course, and to many a tidbit, cake or sweetmeat; she made +herself gaudy as a butterfly with the one, and never went into a corner +with the other. Of late, however, the finery and the delicates had +become more uncommon things: Miss Emma wore a homespun gingham, her +muslins, and Miss Agatha's, draped the windows,—for curtains and +carpets had all gone to camp; bacon had ceased to be given out to the +hands, who lived now on corn-meal and yams; the people at the house were +scarcely better off,—for, though, as no army had passed that way, the +chickens still peopled the place, they were reserved for special +occasions, and it was only at rare intervals that one indulged at table +in the luxury of a fowl. This was no serious regret to Flor on her own +account: the less viands, the less dishes, she could oftener pause in +the act of wiping a plate and perform an original hornpipe by herself, +tossing the thin translucent china, and rapping it with her knuckles +till it rang again. She had, however, a pang once when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[Pg 470]</a></span> she saw Miss +Emma lunching with relish on cold sweet potato. She spent all the rest +of the day floating on the tide in an old abandoned scow secured by a +long rope to the bank, and afterwards wading up and down the bed of a +brook that ran into the river, until, having left a portion of her +provision, to be sure, at Aunt Zoë's cabin, she busied herself over a +fire out-of-doors, and served up at last before Miss Emma as savory a +little terrapin stew as ever simmered on coals, capering over her +success, and standing on her head in the midst of all her scattered +embers, afterwards, with pure delight. The next day she came in at noon +from the woods, a mile down the river-bank, with her own dark lips cased +and coated in golden sweets, and, after a wordy skirmish with the cook, +presented to Miss Emma a great cake of brown and fragrant honey from a +nest she had discovered and neglected in better seasons, and said +nothing about her half-dozen swollen and smarting stings. Mas'r Rob +having shouldered his gun and taken himself off, and Mas'r Andersen +having followed his example, but not his footsteps, long ago, there was +nobody to fill the deficiencies of the larder with game; and thus Flor, +with her traps and nets and devices, making her value felt every day, +became, for Miss Emma's sake, a petted person, was put on more generous +terms with those above her, and allowed a freedom of action that no +other servant on the place dreamed of desiring. Such consideration was +very acceptable to the girl, who was well content to go fasting herself +a whole day, provided Miss Emma condescended to her offerings, and, in +turn, vouchsafed her her friendship. She had no such daring aspirations +towards the beautiful Miss Agatha, young Mas'r Andersen's wife, and +admired her at an awful distance, never venturing to offer her a bit of +broiled lark, or set before her a dish of crabs,—beaming back with a +grin from ear to ear, if Miss Agatha so much as smiled on her, breaking +into the wildest of dances and shuffling out the shrillest of tunes +after every such incident. Moreover, Miss Agatha was hedged about with a +dignity of grief, and the indistinct pity given her made her safe from +other intrusion; for Mas'r Andersen, in bringing home a Northern wife, +had brought home Northern principles, and, in his sudden escape forced +to leave her in the only home she had, was away fighting Northern +battles. This was a dreadful thing, and Mas'r Andersen was a traitor to +somebody,—so much Flor knew,—it might be the Government, it might be +the South, it might be Miss Agatha; her ideas were nebulous. Whatever it +was, Mas'r Rob and his gun were on the other side, and woe be to Mas'r +Andersen when they met! Mas'r Rob and his friends were beating back the +men that meant to take away Flor and all her kind to freeze and starve; +'twas very good of him, Flor thought, and there ceased consideration. +Meanwhile, wherever Mas'r Andersen might be, and whether he were so much +as alive or not, Miss Agatha was not the one that knew; and Flor adapted +many a rigadoon to her conjectured feelings, now swaying and bending +with sorrow and longing, head fallen, arms outstretched, now hands +clasped on bosom, exultant in welcome and possession.</p> + +<p>The importance to which Flor gradually rose by no means led her to the +exhibition of any greater decorum; on the contrary, it seemed to impart +to her the secret of perpetual motion; and, aware of her impunity, she +danced with fresher vigor in the very teeth of her censurers and their +reproaches.</p> + +<p>"Go 'long wid yer capers, ye Limb!" said Zoë to her, late one afternoon, +as she entered with the half of a rabbit she had caught, and, having +deposited it, went through the intricacies of her most elaborate figure +in breathless listening to an unheard tune. "Ef I had dem sticks o' +legs, dey'd do berrer work nor twirlin' me like I was a factotum."</p> + +<p>At this, Flor suddenly spun about on the tip of one toe for the space of +three minutes, with a buzzing noise like that of a top in hot motion, +pausing at last to inquire, "Well, Maum Zoë, an'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[Pg 471]</a></span> w'at's dat?" and be +off again in another whirl.</p> + +<p>"I'd red Mas'r Henry ob sich a wurfless nigger."</p> + +<p>"Wurfless?" inquired Flor, still spinning.</p> + +<p>"Wuss 'n wurfless."</p> + +<p>"How 'd y' do it?"</p> + +<p>"I'd jus' foller dat ar Sarp," said Zoë, turning over the rabbit, and +considering whether a pepper-corn and a little onion out of her own +patch wouldn't improve the broth she meant to make of it.</p> + +<p>"Into de swamps?" said Flor, in a high key. "Sarp's a fool. I heerd +Mas'r Henry say so. Dey'll gib him a blue-pill, for sartain."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Aunt Zoë, as if she could say a great deal more.</p> + +<p>"Tell ye w'at, Maum Zoë," replied Flor, shaking her sidelong head at +every syllable, and accentuating her remarks with her forefinger and +both her little sparkling eyes, "I'll 'form on ye for 'ticin' Mas'r +Henry's niggers run away."</p> + +<p>"None o' yer sass here!" said Maum Zoë, with a flashing glance.</p> + +<p>"You take my rabbit, you mus' <i>hab</i> my sass," answered Flor, delicacy +not being ingrain with her. "W'at 'ud I cut for to de swamps, d' ye +s'pose?" she said, slapping the soles of her feet in her emphasis, and +pausing for breath. "Dar neber was a lash laid on dat back"——</p> + +<p>"No fault o' dat back, dough," interposed Aunt Zoë.</p> + +<p>"Dar neber was a lash on dat back. Dar a'n't a person on de place hab +sich treatem as dis yere Limb o' yourn. Miss Emma done gib me her red +ribbins on'y Sa'd'y for my har. An' Mas'r Henry, he jus' pass an' say to +me, 'Dono w'at Miss Emma 'd do widout ye, Lomy. Scairt, ye hussy!' So!"</p> + +<p>"'Zackly. We's 'mos' w'ite, we be! How much dey do make ob us up to de +house! De leopard hab change him spots, an' we hab change our skin! W'at +'s de use o' bein' free, w'en we's w'ite folks a'ready? Tell me dat!" +said Aunt Zoë, turning on her witheringly, rising from a deep curtsy and +smoothing down her apron. "Tell ye w'at, ye Debil's spinster!" added +she, with a sudden change of tone, as Flor began to mimic one of Miss +Agatha's opera-tunes and with her hands on her hips slowly balance up +and down the room, and came at last, bending far on one side, to leer up +in the face of her elder with such a smile as Cubas was wont to give her +Spanish lover in the dance. "So mighty free wid yer dancin', 'pears like +you'll come to dance at a rope's end! W'at's de use o' talkin' to you? +'Mortal sperit, it 's my b'lief dat ar mockin'-bird in de branches hab +as good a lookout!"</p> + +<p>"Heap better," said Flor acquiescently, and beginning to hold a +whistling colloquy with the hidden voice.</p> + +<p>"You won't bring him down wid yer tunes. He knows w'en he's well off; +he's free, he is,—swingin' onto de bough, an' 'gwine whar he like."</p> + +<p>"Leet de chil' alone, Zoë," said a superannuated old woman sitting in +the corner by the fire always smouldering on Zoë's hearth, and leaning +her white head on her cane. "You be berrer showin' her her duty in her +place dan be makin' her discontented."</p> + +<p>"She doan' make me disconnected, Maum Susie," said Flor. "'F he's free, +w'at's he stayin' here for? Dar 's law for dat. Doan' want none o' yer +free niggers hangin' roun' dis yere. Chirrup!"</p> + +<p>"Dar's a right smart chance ob 'em, dough, jus' now," said Aunt Zoë, +chuckling at first, and then breaking into the most boisterous of +laughs, "Seems like we's all ob us, ebery one, free as Sarp hisse'f. +Mas'r Linkum say so. Yah, ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>"Linkum!" said Flor. "Who dat ar? Some o' yer poor w'ite trash? Mas'r +Henry doan' say so!"</p> + +<p>"W'a' 's de matter wid dat ar boy Sarp, Zoë?" recommenced Flor, after a +pause. "Mus' hab wanted suffin,—powerful,—to lib in de swamp, hab de +dogs after him, an' a bullet troo de head mos' likely."</p> + +<p>"Jus' dat. Wanted him freedom,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[Pg 472]</a></span> said Zoë suddenly, with crackling +stress, her eyes getting angry in their fervor, as she went on. "Wanted +him body for him own. Tired o' usin' 'noder man's eyes, 'noder man's +han's. Wanted him han's him own, wanted him heart him own! Had n' no +breff to breathe 'cep' w'at Mas'r Henry gib out. Di'n' t'ink no t'oughts +but Mas'r Henry's. Wanted him wife some day to hisse'f, wanted him +chillen for him own property. Wanted to call no man mas'r but de Lord in +heaben!"</p> + +<p>"Wy, Maum Zoë, how you talk! Sarp had n' no wife."</p> + +<p>"Neber would, w'ile he wor a slave."</p> + +<p>"Hist now, Zoë!" said the old woman.</p> + +<p>"I jus' done b'lieve you's a bobolitionist!" said Flor, with wide eyes +and a battery of nods.</p> + +<p>"No 'casion, no 'casion," said Zoë, with the deep inner chuckle again. +"We's done 'bolished,—dat's w'at we is! We's a free people now. No more +work for de 'bominationists!" And on the point of uncontrollable +hilarity, she checked herself with the dignity becoming her new +position. "You's your own nigger now, Salome," said she.</p> + +<p>"We? No, t'ank you. I 'longs to Miss Emma."</p> + +<p>"You haan' no understandin' for liberty, chil'. Seems ef 'twas like +religion"——</p> + +<p>"Ef I wor to tell Mas'r Henry, oh, wouldn' you cotch it?"</p> + +<p>"Go 'long!" cried Zoë, looking out for a missile. "Doan' ye bring no +more o' yer rabbits here, ef ye 'r' gwine to fetch an' carry"——</p> + +<p>"Lors, Aunt Zoë, 'pears like you's out o' sorts. Haan' I got nof'n +berrer to do dan be tellin' tales ob old women dat's a-waitin' for de +Lord's salvation?" said Flor, with a twang of great gravity,—and +proceeded thereat to make her exit in a series of lively somersaults +through the room and over the threshold.</p> + +<p>Aunt Zoë, who, ever since she had lost the use of her feet, had been a +little wild on the subject of freedom, knew very well within that Flor +would make no mischief for her; but, except for the excited state into +which the news brought by some mysterious plantation runner had thrown +her, she would scarcely have been so incautious. As it was, she had +dropped a thought into Flor's head to ferment there and do its work. It +was almost the first time in her life that the girl had heard freedom +discussed as anything but a doubtful privilege. First awakening to +consciousness in this state, it was with effort and only lately she had +comprehended that there could be any other: a different condition from +one in which Miss Emma was mistress and she was maid seemed at first +preposterous, then fabulous, and still unnatural: nevertheless, there +was a flavor of wicked pleasure in the thought. Flor looked with a sort +of contempt on the little tumbling darkies who had never entertained it. +Ever since she was born, however, she had frequently fancied she would +like the liberty of rambling that the little wild creatures of the wood +possess, but had felt criminal in the desire, and recently she had found +herself enjoying the immunity of the mocking-bird on the bough, and was +nearly as free in her going and coming as the same bird on the wing.</p> + +<p>During the weeks that followed this conversation Flor's dances flagged. +They existed, to be sure, but with an angularity that made them seem +solutions of problems, rather than expressions of emotion; they were +merely mechanical, for she had lost all interest in them. They became at +last so listless as to exhibit, to more serious eyes, signs of grace in +the girl. Flor wondered, if Zoë had spoken the truth, that nothing +appeared changed on the plantation: all their own masters, why so +obsequious to the driver still? This was one of the last of the great +places; behind it, the small farms, with few hands, ran up the +mountains; why was there no stampede of these unguarded slaves? She +hardly understood. She listened outside the circle of the fire on the +ground at night, where two or three old women mumbled together; she +inferred,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[Pg 473]</a></span> that, though no one of them would desert Mas'r Henry, they +enjoyed the knowledge that they were at liberty to do so, if they +wished. Flor laughed a bit at this, thinking where the poor things could +possibly go, and how they could get there, if they would; but in her +heart of hearts—though all the world but this one spot was a barren +wilderness, and she never could desire to leave her dear Miss Emma, nor +could find happiness away from her—it seemed a very pleasant thing to +think that her devotion might be a voluntary affair, and she stayed +because she chose. Still she was skeptical. The abstract question +puzzled her a little, too. How came Mas'r Henry to be free? Because he +was white; that explained itself. But Miss Emma—she was white, too, and +yet somehow she seemed to belong to Mas'r Henry. She wondered if Mas'r +Henry could sell Miss Emma; and then the thought occurred, and with the +thought the fear, that, possibly, some day, he might sell her, Flor +herself, away from Miss Emma and all these pleasant scenes. After such a +thought had once come, it did not go readily. Flor let it +linger,—turned it over in her mind; gradually familiarized with its +hurt, it seemed as if she had half said farewell to the place. Better +far to be a runaway than to be sold. But if it came to that, whither +should she run? what was this world beyond? who was there in this sad +wide world to take care of a little black image? And if she waited for +it to come to that, could she get away at all? It was no wonder that in +the midst of such new and grave speculations the girl's dance grew +languid and her sharp tongue still. The earth was just as beautiful as +ever, the skies were as deep, the flowers as intense in tint, the +evening air laden with jasmine-scents as delicious as of old; but in +these few weeks Flor had reached another standpoint. It seemed as if a +film had fallen from her eyes, and she saw a blight on every blossom.</p> + +<p>It was about this time, spring being at its flush, that some passing +guest mentioned the march of a regiment, the next day, from Cotesworth +Court-House to the first railroad-station, on its way to the seat of +war. The idea of the thing filled Miss Emma with enthusiasm. How they +would look, so many together, in the beautiful gray uniform too, to any +one standing on Longfer Hill! She longed to see the faces of men when +they took their lives in their hand for a principle. She had practised +the Bonny Blue Flag till there was nothing left of it; but if a band +played it in the open air, with the rising and falling of the wind, and +under waving banners and glittering guidons all the men with their pale +faces and shining eyes went marching by——</p> + +<p>The end of it was, that, as her father would never have listened to +anything of the kind, Flor privately informed her of a short cut down +the river-bank and round the edge of the swamp to the foot of Longfer +Hill,—a walk they could easily take in a couple of hours. And as nobody +was in the habit of missing Flor much, and her young mistress would be +supposed, after her custom, to be spending half the day in naps, they +accordingly took it. Nevertheless, it was an exceedingly secret affair, +for Mas'r Henry had always strictly forbidden his daughter to leave his +own grounds without fit escort.</p> + +<p>This expedition seemed to Flor such a proud and gratifying confidence, +that in her pleasure she forgot to think; she only danced round about +her mistress, with a return of her old exuberance, till the more quiet +path of the latter resembled a straight line surrounded by an arabesque +of fantastic flourishes. But, in fact, the young patrician, unaccustomed +to exertion, was well wearied before they reached the river-bank. They +had yet the long border of the swamp to skirt, and there towered Longfer +Hill. Why could they not go across, she wondered. They would sink, Flor +answered her; and then the moccasins! But there were all those green +hummocks,—skipping from one to another would be mere play,—and there +were no moccasins for miles. And before Flor could gainsay her, she had +sprung on, keeping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[Pg 474]</a></span> steadily ahead, in a determination to have her own +way; and with no other course left her, Flor followed, though, at every +spring, alighting on the hummocks that Miss Emma had trodden, the water +splashed up about her bare ankles, and her heart shook within her at the +thought of fierce runaways haunting these inaccessible hollows, and the +myths of the deeper district. Before long, she had overtaken her young +mistress, and they paused a moment for parley. Miss Emma was convinced, +that, if it were no worse than this, it would be delightful. Flor +assured her that she did not know the way any longer, for their winding +path between the tall cypresses veiled in their swinging tangles of +funereal moss had confused her, and she could only guess at the +direction of Longfer Hill. This, then, was an adventure. Miss Emma took +the responsibility all upon herself, and plunged forward. Miss Emma must +know best, of course, concerning everything. Nothing loth, and gayly, +Flor plunged after.</p> + +<p>The hummocks on which they went were light, spongy masses of greenery. +Their footprints filled at once behind them with clear dark water; there +were glistening little pools everywhere about them; the ground was so +covered with mats of brilliant blossoms that what appeared solid for the +foot was oftenest the most treacherous place of all; and at last they +stayed to take breath, planting themselves on the trunk of a fallen tree +so twisted and twined with variegated vines and flowers, and deadly, +damp fungi, that it was like some gorgeous daïs-seat. Behind them and +beside them was the darkness of the cypress groves. Before them extended +a smooth floor, a wide level region, carpeted in the most vivid verdure +and sheeted with the sunshine, an immense bed of softest moss, underlaid +with black bog, quaking at every step, and shaking a thousand diamonds +into the light. Scarcely anything stirred through all the stretch; at +some runnel along its nearer margin, where upon one side the more broken +swamp recommenced, a rosy flamingo stood and fished, and, still remoter, +the melancholy note of a bird tolled its refrain, answered by an echoing +voice from some yet inner depth of forest far away. Save for this, the +silence was as intense as the vastness and color of the scene, till it +opened and resolved itself into one broad insect hum. The children took +a couple of steps forward, under their feet the elastic sod sank and +rose with a spurt of silver jets; they sprang back to their seats, and +the shading tree above shook down a shining shower in rillets of silver +rain. They remained for a minute, then, resting there. Singularly +enough, Longfer Hill, which had previously been upon their left, now +rose far away upon the right. When at length they comprehended its +apparition, they looked at one another in complete bewilderment. Miss +Emma began to cry; but Flor took it as only a fresh complication of this +world, that was becoming for her feet a maze of intricacy.</p> + +<p>"We must go back," said Miss Emma, at last. "I'm sure, if I'd +known——Of course we never can cross here. The very spoonbill wades. +Oh, why didn't——Well, there's no blame to you, Floss. I've nobody to +thank but myself; that's a comfort."</p> + +<p>"Lors, Miss Emma, it's my fault altogeder. I should n' neber told ye. +An' as for gwine back, it's jus' as bad as torrer."</p> + +<p>"We can't stay here all night! Oh, I'm right tired out! If I could lie +down"——</p> + +<p>"'Twouldn' do no way, Miss Emma," answered Flor, in a fright for her +friend, as a quick, poisonous-looking lizard slid along the log, like a +streak of light, in the wake of a spider which was one blotch of scarlet +venom.</p> + +<p>Far ahead, the strong sun, piercing the marsh, drew up a vapor, that, +blue as any distant haze in one part and lint-white in another, made +itself aslant into low, delicious, broken prisms, melting all between. +This, more than anything else, told the extent of the bog before them, +and, hot as it was now, betrayed the deathly chill lurking under such a +coverlet at night. In every other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[Pg 475]</a></span> direction lay the cypress jungle; and +whether they saw the front or back of Longfer Hill, and on which side +the river ran, steering for which they could steer for home, they had +not the skill to say. Thus, what way to go they still were undecided, +when, at something moving near them, they started to their feet in a +faint terror, delaying only a single instant to gaze at it,—a serpent, +that, coiled round the stem above, had previously seemed nothing but a +splendid parasite, and that just lifted its hooded head crusted with +gems, and flickered a long cleft tongue of flame over them, while +loosening in great loops from its basking-place. They vouchsafed it no +second look, but, with one leap over the log, through the black mire, +and from clump to clump of moss, sped away,—if that could be called +speed which was hindered at each moment by waylaying briers and +entangling ropes of blossoming vines, by delays in threatening quagmires +and bewilderments in thickets beset by clouds of insects, by trips and +stumbles and falls and bruises, and many a pause for tears and +complaints and ejaculations of despair.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the heat of the day was mitigated by thin clouds sliding over +the sun and banking up the horizon, though the hot wind still blew +sweetly and steadily from the open quarter of the sky.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what has become of us?" cried Miss Emma at length, when the shadows +began to thicken, and out of the impenetrable forest and morass about +them they could detect no path.</p> + +<p>"We's los' into de swamp, Miss Emma," answered Flor, in a kind of gloomy +defiance of the worst of it,—"da' 's all."</p> + +<p>"And here we shall die!" cried the other.</p> + +<p>And she flung herself, face down, upon the floor.</p> + +<p>Flor was beside her instantly, taking her head upon her knee. Her own +heart was sinking like lead; but she plucked it up, and for the other's +sake snapped her fingers at Fortune.</p> + +<p>"Lors, Miss, dar's so many berries we caan' starve nowes. I's 'bout to +build a fire soon's it's dark; dis yere's a dry spot, ye see now. An', +bress you, dey'll be out after us afore mornin',—de whole farm-full."</p> + +<p>"With the dogs!" cried Miss Emma. "Oh, Floss, that I should live for +that! to be hunted in the swamp with dogs!"</p> + +<p>Flor was silent a moment or two. The custom personally affected her for +the first time; worse than the barbarity was the indignity.</p> + +<p>"Dey aren't trained to hunt for you, Miss Emma," she said, more gloomily +than she had ever spoken before. "Dey knows de diff'unce 'tween de dark +meat and de light."</p> + +<p>And then she laughed, as if her words meant nothing.</p> + +<p>"They never shall touch <i>you</i>, Flor, while I'm alive!" suddenly +exclaimed Miss Emma, throwing her arms about her.</p> + +<p>"Lors, Miss, how you talk!" cried Flor, and then broke into a gust of +tears. "To t'ink ob you a-carin' so much for a little darky, Miss!"—and +she set up a loud howl of joyful sorrow.</p> + +<p>"You're the best friend I've got!" answered Miss Emma, hugging her with +renewed warmth. "I love you worlds better than Agatha! And I'll never +let you leave me! Oh, Flor! what shall we do?"</p> + +<p>Flor looked about her for reply, and then scrambled up a sycamore like a +squirrel.</p> + +<p>It was apparently an island in the swamp on which they were: for the +earth, though damp, was firm beneath them; and there was a thick growth +of various trees about, although most were draped to the ground in the +long, dark tresses of Spanish moss, waving dismally to and fro, with a +dull, heavy motion of grief. On every other side from that by which they +had come it appeared to be inaccessible, surrounded, as well as Flor +could see, by glimmering sheets of water, which probably were too full +of snags and broken stumps, still upright, for the navigation of boats<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[Pg 476]</a></span> +by any hands but those thoroughly acquainted with their wide region of +stagnant pools. This island was not, however, a small spot, but one that +comprised a variety of surfaces, having not only marsh and upland within +itself, but something that in the distance bore a fearful resemblance to +a young patch of standing corn, a suspicion confirmed into certainty by +a blue thread of smoke ascending a little way and falling again in a +cloud. Once, upon seeing such a sight, Flor might have fallen to the +ground herself,—this could be no less than the abode of those sad +runaways, those mythical Goblins of the Swamp,—but it would have been +because she had forgotten then that she was not one of the strong white +race that reared her. Now, at this moment, she felt a thrill of kinship +with these creatures, hunted for with bloodhounds, as she would be +to-morrow, perhaps.</p> + +<p>"May-be I'll not go back," said Flor.</p> + +<p>She slipped down the tree, and went silently to work, heaping a bed of +the hanging moss, less wet than the ground itself, for her young +mistress. Miss Emma accepted it passively.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's like sleeping on hearse-curtains!" was all she said.</p> + +<p>It was already evening, but growing darker with the clouds that went on +piling their purple masses and awaiting their signal. Suddenly the +sweet, soft breeze trembled and veered, there was a brief calm, and the +wind had hauled round the other way. A silence of preparation, answered +by a long, low note of thunder, and the war had begun in heaven.</p> + +<p>Miss Emma buried her face in the moss. But Flor, secretly relishing a +good thunder-gust, drew up her knees and sat with equanimity, like a +little black judge of the clouds; for, in the moment's dull, indifferent +mood, she felt prepared for either fate. It was long before the rain +came; then it plunged, a brief downfall, as if a cloud had been ripped +and emptied,—a suffocating terror of rain, teeming with more appalling +intimations than anything else in the world. But the wind was a blind +tornado. The boughs swung over them and swept them; the swamp-water was +lifted, and gluts of it slapped in Flor's face. She saw, not far away, a +great solitary cypress rearing its head, and bearing aloft a broad +eagle's nest, hurriedly seized in the grasp of the gale, twisted, +raised, and snapped like a straw. The child began to shudder strangely +at the breath of this blast that cried with such clamor out of the black +vaults above, this unknown and tremendous power beneath which she was +nothing but a mote; she suffered an unexplained awe, as if this fearful +wind were some supernatural assemblage of souls fleeting through space +and making the earth tremble under their wild rush. All the while the +heavy thunders charged on high in one unbroken roar, across whose base +sharp bolts broke and burst perpetually; and with the outer world +wrapped in quivering curtains of blue flame, now and then a shaft of +fire lanced its straight spear down the dense darkness of the woods +behind in ghastly illumination, and a responsive spire shot up in some +burning bush that blackened almost as instantly. Flor fancied that the +lightning was searching for her, a runaway herself, and the burning bush +answered, like a sentinel, that here she was. She cowered at length and +sought the protection of the blind earth, full of awe and quaking, till +by-and-by the last discharge, muffled and ponderous, rolled away, and, +save for a muttered growl in some far distant den, the world was still +and dark again.</p> + +<p>Flor spoke to her mistress, and found, that, utterly worn out with +fatigue and fright and exhausted electricity, she was asleep. She then +got up and wrung out the rain from portions of her own and Miss Emma's +dress, and heaped fresh armfuls of moss upon the sleeper in an original +attempt at the pack; then she proceeded to explore the neighborhood, to +see if there were any exit in other directions from the terrors of the +swamp.</p> + +<p>Stars began to struggle through and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[Pg 477]</a></span> confuse their rays with the +ravelled edges of the clouds. She groped along from tree to tree, +looking constantly behind her at the clear, light opening of sky beneath +which Miss Emma lay.</p> + +<p>Perhaps she had come farther than she knew; for all at once, in the +dread stillness that nothing but the dripping dampness broke, a sound +smote her like a pang. It was an innocent and simple sound enough, a +man's voice, clear and sweet, though measured somewhat, and suppressed +in volume, chanting a slow, sad hymn, that had yet a kind of rejoicing +about it:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, no longer bond in Egypt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No longer bond in Egypt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No longer bond in Egypt.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Lord hath set him free!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It came from a hollow below her. Flor pushed aside the great, glistening +leaves in silence, and looked tremblingly in. There were half-burnt +brands on a broad stone, throwing out an uncertain red glimmer; there +was an awning of plaited reeds reaching from bough to bough; there was +an old man stretched upon the ground, and a stalwart man sitting beside +him and chanting this song, as if it were a burial-service: for the old +man was dead.</p> + +<p>Flor began to tremble again, with that instinctive animal antipathy to +death and dissolution. But in an instant a rekindling gleam of the +embers, hardly quenched, shot over the singer's face. In the same +instant Flor shook before the secret she had learned, Sarp was a +runaway, to be sure; and runaways ate little girls, she knew. But Flor, +having lately encouraged incredulity, could hardly find it in her heart +to believe that the fact of having stolen himself could have so utterly +changed the old nature of Sarp, the kind butler, who always had a +pleasant word for her when others had a cuff. Yet should she hail him? +Ah, no, never! But then—Miss Emma! Her young mistress would die of +starvation and the damp.</p> + +<p>"Sarp!" whispered Flor, huskily.</p> + +<p>The man started and sprang to his feet, alert and ready, waiting for his +unseen enemy,—then half relapsed, thinking it might be nothing but the +twitter of a bird.</p> + +<p>"It's me, Sarp."</p> + +<p>Who that was did not seem so plain to Sarp; he darted his swift glance +in her direction, then at one step parted the bushes and dragged her +through, as if it were game that he had trapped.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sarp!" cried Flor, falling at his feet. "Doan' yer kill me now! I +di'n' mean to ha' found yer. I's done los' in de swamp, wid"——</p> + +<p>But Flor thought better of that.</p> + +<p>The man raised her, but still held her out at arm's length, while he +listened for further sound behind her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, jus' le' go, Sarp, an' I'll dance for you till I drap!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"Is it a time for dancing," he replied, "and the earth open for +burying?"</p> + +<p>"Lors, Sarp!" cried Flor, shrinking from the shallow grave she had not +seen, "how's I to know dat?"—and she gave herself safe distance.</p> + +<p>"Help me yere, then," said he.</p> + +<p>But Flor remained immovable, and Sarp was obliged to perform by himself +the last offices for the old slave, who, living out his term of +harassments and hungers, had grown gray and died in the swamps. He went +at last and brought an armful of broken sweet-flowering boughs and +spread them over the place.</p> + +<p>"Free among the dead," he said; then turned to Flor, who, having long +since seen daylight through the darkness of her fears, proceeded glibly +and volubly to pour out her troubles, on his beckoning her away, and to +demand the help she had refused to render.</p> + +<p>"There's the boat," said Sarp, reflectively. "And the rain will float it +'most anywheres to-night. But—come so far and troo so much to go back?"</p> + +<p>Flor flung up her face and held her head back proudly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sah! Doan' s'pose I'd be stealin' Mas'r Henry's niggers?"</p> + +<p>For, having meditated upon it an hour<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[Pg 478]</a></span> ago, she was able to repel the +charge vigorously.</p> + +<p>"Go'n' to stay a slave all your life?"</p> + +<p>"All Miss Emma's life."</p> + +<p>"And—afterwards"——</p> + +<p>"Den I'll go back to de good brown earth wid her," said Flor, solving +the problem promptly.—"I doan' see de boat."</p> + +<p>"Ah, she'll make as brown dust as you,—Miss Emma,—that's so! But the +spirit, Lome!"</p> + +<p>"Sperit?" said Flor, looking uneasily over her shoulder with her +twinkling eyes.</p> + +<p>"The part of you that doan' die, Lome."</p> + +<p>"I haan' nof'n ter do wid dat; dat 'longs to dem as made it; none o' my +lookout; dono nof'n 'bout it, an' doan' want ter hear nof'n about it!" +said Flor; for, reasoning on the old adage of a bird in the hand being +worth two in the bush, she thought it more important just at present to +save her body than to save her soul, admitting that she had one, and +felt haste to be of more behoof than metaphysics.</p> + +<p>There was a moon up now, and Flor could see her companion's dark face +above her, a mere mass of shade; it did not reassure her any to remember +that her own was just as black.</p> + +<p>"Lome," said Sarp, setting his back against a tree like one determined +to have attention, "never mind about the boat yet. You 've heard Aunt +Zoë say how't the grace of the Lord was free?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I's heerd her kerwhoopin'. I 's in a hurry, Sarp!"</p> + +<p>"But 's how't the man that refuses to accept it, when it's set before +him, is done reckoned a sinner?"</p> + +<p>"S'pose I has?"—and in her impatience she began to dance outright.</p> + +<p>"It's jus' so with the present hour," he continued, not giving her time +to interpose about escape again. "You have liberty offered you. If you +refuses, how can you answer for it when your spirit 'pears afore the +Judge? You choose him, and you choose righteousness, you chooses the +chance to make yourself white in the Lord's eyes,—your spirit, Lome. +Refuse, and you take sin and chains and darkness; you gets to deserve +the place where they hab their share of fire and brimstone."</p> + +<p>"Take mine wid 'lasses," said Flor, who, though inwardly a trifle cowed, +never meant to show it. "W'a' 's de use o' boderin' 'bout all dat ar, +w'en dar 's Miss Emma a-cotchin' her deff, an' I 's jus' starved? Ef you +'s go'n' to help us, Sarp"——</p> + +<p>"You don' know what chains means, chil'," said the imperturbable Sarp. +"They're none the lighter because you can't see 'em. It a'n't jus' the +power to sell your body and the work of your hands; it's the power to +sell your soul! Ef Mas'r Henry hab de min',—ef Mas'r Henry have the +mind, I say, to make you go wrong, can you help it while you 's a +slave?"</p> + +<p>"'Taan' no fault o' mine ter be bad, ef I caan' help it. Come now," said +Flor sullenly, seeing little hope of respite,—"should t'ink 'twas de +Ol' Sarpint hisself!"</p> + +<p>"And 'taan' no virtue of yours to be good, ef you caan' help it; you 'd +jus' stay put—jus' between—in de brown earth, as you said. You 'd +never see that beautiful land beyond the grave, wid the river of light +flowing troo der place, an' the people singing songs before the great +white t'rone."</p> + +<p>"Tell me 'bout dat ar, Sarp," said Flor, forgetfully.</p> + +<p>"Dey 's all free there, Lome."</p> + +<p>"How was dis dey got dere? Could n' walk nowes, an' could n' fly"——</p> + +<p>"Haan' you seen into Miss Emma's prayer-book the angels with wings high +and shining all from head to foot?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Flor,—"<i>Angels</i>."</p> + +<p>"And one of them you 'll be, Lome, ef you jus' choose,—ef, for +instance, you choose liberty to-day."</p> + +<p>"Lors now, Sarp, I doan' b'lieb a word you say! Get out wid yer +conundrums! Likely story, little black nigger like dis yere am be put +into de groun' an' 'come out all so great an' w'ite an' shinin'-like!"</p> + +<p>"'For God shall deliver my soul from the power of the grave.' +<i>'Shall.'</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">[Pg 479]</a></span> That's a promise,—a promise in the Book. Di'n't yer eber +plant a bean, Lome,—little hard black bean? And did a little hard black +bean come up? No, but two wings of leaves, and a white blossom jus' +ready to fly itself, and so sweet you could smell it acrost de field. So +they plant your body in the earth, Lome"——</p> + +<p>"You go 'long, Sarp! Ef you plant beans, beans come up," said Flor, +decisively.</p> + +<p>This direct and positive confutation rather nonplussed Sarp, his theory +not being able at once to assimilate his fact, and he himself feeling, +that, if he pushed the comparison farther, he would reach some such +atrocity as that, if the white and shining flower produced in its season +again the black bean from which it sprung, so the white and shining soul +must once more clothe itself in the same sordid, unpurified body from +which it first had sprung. He had a vague glimmer that perhaps his +simile was too material, and that this very body was the clay in which +the springing, germinating soul was planted to bloom out in heaven, but +dared not pursue it unadvised, for fear of the quicksands into which it +might betray him. He merely tied a knot in the thread of his discourse +by answering,—</p> + +<p>"Jus' so. The bean planted, the bean comes up. You planted, and what +follows?"</p> + +<p>"I come up," said Flor, consentingly, and quite as if he had got the +better of the discussion.</p> + +<p>Then he rose, and Flor led the way back to Miss Emma,—having first, +upon Sarp's serious hesitation, pledged herself for Miss Emma's secrecy +and gratitude with tears and asseverations.</p> + +<p>In spite of the fact that he had never meant nor cared to see it again, +there was something pleasant to Sarp in the face of the sleeper upturned +in a moonbeam. He stooped and lifted her tenderly, and laid her head on +his shoulder. The young girl opened her eyes vacantly, but heard Flor's +voice beside her still,—</p> + +<p>"Doan' ye be scaret now, honey! Bress you, 's a true frien': he'll get +us shet ob dis yere swamp mighty sudd'n!"</p> + +<p>And soothed by the dreamy motion, entirely fatigued, borne swiftly along +in strong arms, under the low, waving boughs in the dim forest darkness, +she was drowsed again with slumber, from which she woke only on being +placed in the bottom of a skiff to turn over into a deeper dream than +before. Flor nodded triumphantly to her companion, in the beginning, +keeping pace beside him with short runs,—there could be no fear of +babble about that of which one knew nothing,—and took her seat at last +in the boat as he directed, while with a long pole he pushed out into +the deeper water away from the shadow of the shore, and then went +steering between the jags and gnarls, that, half protruding from the +dark expanses, seemed the heads of strange and preternatural monsters. +Now and then a current carried them; now and then their boatman sculled, +now and then in shallower places poled along; sometimes he rested, and +in the intervals took occasion to continue his missionary labor upon +Flor,—his first object being to convince her she had a soul, and his +second that in bondage every chance to save that soul alive was against +her. Then he drew slight pictures of a different way of things, such as +had solaced his own imagination, rude, but happy idyls of freedom: the +small house, one's own; the red light in the window, a guiding star for +weary feet at night coming home to comfort and smiles and cheer; no +dark, haunting fear of a hand to reach between one and those loved +dearest; no more branding like cattle, manhood and womanhood +acknowledged, met with help and welcome and kind hands, cringing no +more, but standing erect, drinking God's free sunshine, and growing +nearer heaven. How much or how little of all his dream poor Sarp +realized, if ever he reached the land of his desire at all, Heaven only +knows. But Flor listened to him as if he recited some delightful +fairy-tale,—charming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480">[Pg 480]</a></span> indeed, but all as improbable as though one were +telling her that black was white. Then, too, there was another dream of +Sarp's,—the dream of a whole race loosening itself from the clinging +clod. Flor got a glimmer of his meaning,—only a glimmer; it made her +heart beat faster, but it was so grand she liked the other best.</p> + +<p>So, creeping through narrow creeks, now they skirted the edges of the +long, low, flat morass,—now wound round the giant trunk of a fallen +tree that nearly bridged the pool whose dark mantle they severed,—now +pushed the boat's head up into a wall of weeds, that bent back and let +it through the deep cut flooded by the rain, where the wild growth shut +off everything but the high hollow of a luminous sky, with +ribbon-grasses and long prickly leaves brushing across their faces from +either side, here and there a sudden dwarf palmetto bristling all its +bayonets against the peaceful night, and all the way singular uncouth +shapes of vegetation, like conjurations of magic, cutting themselves out +with minuteness upon the vast clear background so darkly and weirdly +that the voyagers seemed to be sliding along the shores of some new, +strange under-world,—now they got out, and, wading ankle-deep in plashy +bog, drew the boat and its slumberer heavily after them,—now went +slowly along, afloat again, on the broad lagoons, which the moon, from +the deep far heaven, shot into silver reaches, and, with the trees, a +phantom company of shadows, weeping in their veils along the farther +shore, with all the quaint outlines of darkness, the gauzy wings that +flitted by, the sweet, wild scents across whose lingering current they +drifted, the broad silence disturbed only by the lazy wash of a seldom +ripple, made their progress, through heavy gloom and vivid light, an +enchanted journey.</p> + +<p>At length they lifted overhanging branches, and glided out upon a sheet +of open water, a little lake fed by natural springs; and here, paddling +over to the outlet, a tide took them down a swift brook to the river. +Sarp stemmed this tide, made the opposite bank of the brook, and paused.</p> + +<p>"Have you chosen, Lome?" said he. "Will you go back with me, and so on +to the Happy Land of Freedom? Not that I'll have my own liberty till +I've earned it,—till I've won a country by fighting for it. But I'll +see you safe; and if I'm spared, one day I'll come to you. Will you go?"</p> + +<p>Flor hung back a moment. "I'd like to go, Sarp, right well," said she, +twisting up the corner of her little tatter of an apron. "But dar am +Miss Emma, you see."</p> + +<p>"We can leave her on the bank here. She'll be all right when de day +breaks, and fin' the house herself. There's as good as she without a +roof this night."</p> + +<p>"She's neber been use' to it. She would n' know a step o' de way. Oh, +no, Sarp! I 'longs to Miss Emma; she could n' do widout me. She'd jus' +done cry her eyes out an' die,—'way here in de wood. No, Sarp, I mus' +take her back. She's delicate, Miss Emma is. I'd like to go right well, +Sarp,—'ta'n't much ob a 'sapp'intment,—I's use' to 'em,—I'd like for +to go wid you."</p> + +<p>Lingering, irresolute, she stood up in the swaying skiff, keeping her +balance as if she were dancing; then, the motion, perhaps, throwing her +back into her old identity, she sprang to the shore like a cat. Sarp +laid Miss Emma beside her, and then shot away, back over all the +desolate reaches and lonely shining pools; and Flor, with a little wail +of despair, hid her face on the ground, that her weakened and bewildered +little mistress might not see the flood of tears that wet the grass +beneath it.</p> + +<p>It was between two and three o'clock in the morning, when, chilled, +draggled, and dripping wet, they reached the house. Lights were moving +everywhere about it: no one had slept there that night. There was a +great shout from high and low as the two forlorn little objects crept +into the ray. Miss Emma was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481">[Pg 481]</a></span> met with severe reproaches, afterwards with +tears and embraces; and cordial drinks and hot flannels were made ready +for her in a trice. As for Flor, she was warmed after another +fashion,—being sent off for punishment; and, in spite of the +implorations of Miss Emma and the interference of Miss Agatha, the order +was executed. It was the first time she had ever received such reward of +merit in form; and though it was a slight affair, after all, the hurt +and wrong rankled for weeks, and, instead of the gay, dancing imp of +former days, henceforth a silent, sullen shadow slipped about and +haunted all the dark places of the house.</p> + +<p>Mas'r Henry, being a native of Charleston, was also a gentleman of +culture, and fond of the fine arts to some extent. Indeed, looking at it +in a poetical view, the feudality of slavery, even more than the +inevitable relation of property, was his strong tie to the institution. +He had a contempt for modern progress so deeply at the root of his +opinions that he was only half aware of it; and any impossible scheme to +restore the political condition of what we call the Dark Ages, and +retain the comforts of the present one, would have found in him a hearty +advocate. One of his favorite books was a little green-covered volume, +printed on coarse paper, and smelling of the sea which it had crossed: a +book that seemed to bring one period of those past centuries up like a +pageant,—so vividly, with all the flying dust of their struggle in the +sunbeam before him, did its opulent vitality reproduce, in their +splendors and their sins, the actual presences of those dead men and +women, now more unreal substance than the dust of their shrouds. He +liked to carry this mediaeval Iliad round with him, and, taking it out +at propitious places, go jotting his pencil down the page. He had heard +it called an incomprehensible puzzle of poetry; it gave him pleasure, +then, to unriddle and proclaim it plain as print. He was thus +delectating himself one day, while Flor, still in her phase of +moodiness, stood behind Miss Agatha's chair; and, the passage pleasing +him, he read it aloud to Miss Agatha, whom, in the absence of his son, +her husband, he was wont to consider his opponent in the abstract, +however dear and precious in the concrete.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"As, shall I say, some Ethiop, past pursuit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all enslavers, dips a shackled foot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burnt to the blood, into the drowsy, black,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enormous watercourse which guides him back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his own tribe again, where he is king;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And laughs, because he guesses, numbering<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The yellower poison-wattles on the pouch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the first lizard wrested from its couch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the slime, (whose skin, the while, he strips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To cure his nostril with, and festered lip,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And eyeballs bloodshot through the desert blast,)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he has reached its boundary, at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May breathe; thinks o'er enchantments of the South,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sovereign to plague his enemies, their mouth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eyes, nails, and hair; but, these enchantments tried<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fancy, puts them soberly aside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For truth, projects a cool return with friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The likelihood of winning mere amends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Erelong; thinks that, takes comfort silently,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then from the river's brink his wrongs and he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hugging revenge close to their hearts, are soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Offstriding to the Mountains of the Moon."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Flor stood listening, with eyes that shone strangely out of the gloom of +her face.</p> + +<p>"Well, child," said her master to Miss Agatha, "how does that little +monodrame strike you? Which do you find preferable, tell me, Ashantee at +home or Ashantee abroad? civilized or barbarized? the institution or the +savage? Eh, Blossom," turning to Flor, "what do you think of the +condition of that ancestor of yours?"</p> + +<p>"Mas'r Henry," said Flor, gravely, "he was free."</p> + +<p>"Eh? Free? What! are you bitten, too?"</p> + +<p>And Mas'r Henry laughed at the thought, and pictured to himself his +dancer dancing off altogether, like the swamp-fire she was. Then his +tone changed.</p> + +<p>"Flor," said he, sternly, "who has been talking to you lately? Do you +know, Agatha? I have seen this for some time. I must learn what one +among the hands it is that in these times dares breed disaffection."</p> + +<p>"No one's talked to me, Sah," said Flor,—"no one onter der place."</p> + +<p>"Some one off of it, then."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482">[Pg 482]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mas'r Henry, I's been havin' my own t'oughts. Mas'r knows I could n' +lebe Miss Emma nowes. Could n' tief her property nowes. But ef Mas'r +Henry 'd on'y jus' 'sider an' ask li'l' Missy for to make dis chil' a +presen' ob myse'f"——</p> + +<p>"So that's what it means!" And Mas'r Henry smiled a moment at the +ludicrous idea presented to him.</p> + +<p>"Flor," said he then, abruptly, "I have never heard the whole of that +night in the swamp. It must be told."</p> + +<p>"Lors, Sah! So long ago, I's done forgot it!"</p> + +<p>"You may have till to-morrow morning to quicken your memory."</p> + +<p>"Haan' nof'n' more to 'member, Mas'r."</p> + +<p>"You heard me. You have your choice to repeat it either now or to-morrow +morning."</p> + +<p>"Could n' make suf'n', whar nof'n' was. Could n' tink o' nof'n' all ter +once. Could n' tell nof'n' at all in a hurry," said Flor, with a +twinkle. "Guess I'll take tell de mornin', any-wes, Mas'r." And she was +off.</p> + +<p>And Mas'r Henry went, back to his book,—the watcher nodding on his +spear,—and all the stormy scenes he expected soon to realize in his own +life, when the sword of conscription had numbered his old head with the +others.</p> + +<p>Flor went out from the presence defiant, as became a rebel.</p> + +<p>Although that special mode of martyrdom was not proper to the +plantation, and Flor felt in herself few particles of the stuff of which +martyrs are made, she was determined, that, as to telling so much as +that Sarp was still in the swamp, let alone betraying the way to his +late habitat,—even were she able,—she never would do it, though burned +at the stake. The determination had a dark look; nevertheless, two +glimmers lighted it: one was the hope, in a mistrust of her own +strength, that Sarp had already gone; the other was a perception that +the best way to keep Sarp's secret was to make off with it. She began to +question what authority Mas'r Henry had to demand this secret from her; +she answered in her own mind, that he had no authority at all;—then she +was doubly determined that he should not have it. She had heard talk of +chivalry at table and among guests; she had half a comprehension of what +it meant; she wondered if this were not a case in point,—if it were, +after all, the color, and not the sex, that weighed. That aroused her +indignation, aroused also a feeling of race: she would not have changed +color that moment with the fairest Circassian of a harem, could the +white slave have appeared in all the dazzle of her beauty.—Mas'r Henry +had called that man, of whom he read aloud to-day, her ancestor. She +knew what that was, for she had heard Miss Emma boast of her +progenitors. But he was free; then it followed that she was not a slave +by nature, only by vicious force of circumstance. Mas'r Henry had no +right to her whatever; instead of her stealing herself, he was the thief +who retained her against her will. What could be the name of the country +where that man had lived? It was somewhere a long way from this place, +down the river, perhaps beyond the sea;—there were others there, then, +still, most likely. Flor had an idea that among them she might be a +superior, possibly received with welcome, invested with honors;—she +lingered over the pleasant vision. But how was one ever to find the +spot? Ah, that book of Mas'r Henry's would tell, if she could but take +it away to those kind people Sarp had told of. So she meditated awhile +on the curious travels with Sordello for a guide-book, till old +affections smote her for having thought of taking the thing, when "Mas'r +Henry set so by it," and she put the vision aside, endeavoring to recall +in its place all that Sarp had told her of the North. She realized then, +personally, what a wide world it was. Why should she stay shut in this +one point upon it all: a hill and the fir wood behind her; marshes on +this side; woods again on the other; low hills far away before her; out +of them all, the dark torrent of the river showing the swift way to +freedom and the great sea? She drew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483">[Pg 483]</a></span> in a full breath, as if close air +oppressed her.—A bird flew over her then, high above her head, +careering in fickle circles, and at length sailing down out of sight far +into other heavens. Flor watched him bitterly; she comprehended Zoë's +scorn of her past content;—if only she had wings to spread! But Sarp +had told her, that, if she went away, she would one day have wings. None +of Sarp's other arguments weighed a doit,—but wings to roam with over +this beautiful world! The liberty of vagabondage! She watched the clouds +chasing one another through the sunny heaven, watched their shadows +chasing along the fields and hills below; her heart burned that +everything in the world should be more free than she herself. She felt +the wind fanning over her on its way, she took the rich odors that it +brought, she looked after the flower-petal that fluttered away with it, +she saw the strong sunshine penetrating among the shadows of a jungly +spot and catching a thousand points of color in the gloom, she +recognized the constant fluent interchange among all the atoms of the +universe;—why was she alone, capable of flight, chained to one +spot?—She gazed around her at the squalor and the want, the brutish +shapes and faces, her own no better, at the narrow huts; thought of the +dull routine of work never to enrich herself, the possibility of +purchase and cruelty;—she sprung to her feet, all her blood boiling; it +seemed out of the question for her to endure it another moment.—Mas'r +Henry had told her once that he could make his fortune with her dancing, +if he chose; she stood as much in need of a fortune as Mas'r Henry,—why +not make it for herself? why not be off and away, her own mistress, +earning and eating her own bread, sending some day for Zoë, finding Sarp +in those far-off happy latitudes?—It occurred to her, like a discovery +of her own, that, doing the work she was bidden, taking the food she was +given, whipped at will, and bought and sold, she was no better than one +among the cattle of the place;—the sudden sense of degradation made +even her dark cheek burn. She laid a hand down on the earth, her great +Teraph, to see if it were possible it could still be warm and such a +wrong done to her its child. Then, all at once, she understood that wood +and river were open to her fugitive feet, and if she stayed longer in +slavery, it was the fault of no one but herself.—She stood up, for some +one called her; she obeyed the call with alacrity, for she found it in +her power to do so or not as she chose. She felt taller as she stepped +along, and held up her head with the dignity of personality. She +acknowledged, perhaps, that she was no equal of Miss Emma's,—that the +creative hand, making its first essay on her, rounded its complete work +in Miss Emma; but she declared herself now no mere offshoot of the +sod,—she was a human being, a being of beating pulses and affections, +and something within her, stifled here, longing to soar and away.</p> + +<p>It was dark before Flor had ceased her novel course of thinking, pursued +through all her little tasks,—beautiful star-lighted dark, full of +broken breezes, soft and warm, and loaded with passionate spices and +flower-breaths; she was alone again, under the shadows of the trees, +entirely surrendered to her whirling fancies. In these few hours she had +lived to the effect of years. She was neither hungry nor tired; she was +conscious of but a single thing,—her whole being seemed effervescing +into one wild longing after liberty. It was not that she could no longer +brook control and be at the beck of each; it was a natural instinct, +awakened at last in all the strength of maturity, that would not let her +breathe another breath in peace unless it were her own,—that made her +feel as though her chains were chafing into the bone,—that taught her +the unutterable vileness and loathliness of bonds,—that convicted her, +in being a slave, of being something foul upon the fair face of +creation. She sat casting about for ways of escape. It was absurd to +think she could again blunder on that secure retreat of the swamp before +being overtaken; no boats ever passed along down the foaming river;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484">[Pg 484]</a></span> if +she were some little mole to hide and burrow in the ground till danger +were over,—but no, she would rather front fear and ruin than lose one +iota of her newly recognized identity. But there was no other path of +safety; she clutched the ground with both hands in her powerlessness; in +all the heaven and earth there seemed to be nothing to help her.</p> + +<p>So at last Flor rose; since she could not get away, she must stay; as +for the next day's punishment, she could laugh at it,—it was not its +weight, but its wickedness, that troubled her; but escape, some time, +she would. Lying in wait for method, ambushed for opportunity, it would +go hard, if all failed. Of what value would life be then? she could but +throw that after. So at some time, that was certain, she would +go,—when, it was idle to say; it might be years before affairs were +more propitious than now,—but then, at last, one day, the place that +had known her should know her no more. Nevertheless, despite all this +will and resolution, the heart of the child had sunk like a plummet at +thought of leaving everything, at fear of future fortune; this +deferring, after all, was half like respite.</p> + +<p>Flor drew near the out-door fire, where Zoë and one or two others busied +themselves. Something excited them extremely, it was plain to see and +hear. Flor, beyond the circle of the light, strained her ears to listen. +It was only a crumb of comfort that she obtained, but one of those +miraculous crumbs to which there are twelve baskets of fragments: the +Linkum gunboats were down at the mouth of the river. Oh! heaven a boat's +length off! A day and night's drifting and rowing; then climbing the +side slaves, treading the deck freemen,—the shackles fallen, the hands +loosened, the soul saved!</p> + +<p>But the boat? There was not such a thing along these banks. Improvise +one. That was not possible. Flor listened, and the wild gasps of hope +died out again into the dulness of despair. Some other time,—not this. +As she stood still, idly and hopelessly hearkening to the mutter of the +old women, with the patches of flickering fire-light falling on their +faces in strange play and revelation, there stole upon her ear a sweeter +and distincter sound, the voice of Miss Agatha, as, leaning out upon the +night, she sang a plaint that consorted with her melancholy mood, +learned in her Northern home in happier hours, without a thought of the +moment of misery that might make it real.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sooner or later the storms shall beat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over my slumber from head to feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sooner or later the winds shall rave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the long grass above my grave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I shall not heed them where I lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing their sound shall signify,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing the headstone's fret of rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing to me the dark day's pain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sooner or later the sun shall shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tender warmth on that mound of mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sooner or later, in summer air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clover and violet blossom there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I shall not feel in that deep-laid rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sheeted light fall over my breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ever note in those hidden hours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wind-blown breath of the tossing flowers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sooner or later the stainless snows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall add their hush to my mute repose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sooner or later shall slant and shift<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heap my bed with their dazzling drift.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Chill though that frozen pall shall seem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its touch no colder can make the dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That recks not the sweet and sacred dread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrouding the city of the dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sooner or later the bee shall come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fill the noon with his golden hum;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sooner or later on half-paused wing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blue-bird's warble about me ring,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ring and chirrup and whistle with glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing his music means to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None of these beautiful things shall know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How soundly their lover sleeps below.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sooner or later, far out in the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stars shall over me wing their flight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sooner or later my darkling dews<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Catch the white spark in their silent ooze.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Never a ray shall part the gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wraps me round in the kindly tomb;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace shall be perfect for lip and brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sooner or later,—oh, why not now!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Little of this wobegone song touched Flor even enough to let her know +there was some one in the world more wretched than herself. The last +word, the last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_485" id="Page_485">[Pg 485]</a></span> phrase, rang in her ears like a command,—now, why not +now?—waiting for times and chances, hesitating, delaying, since go she +must,—then why not now? What more did she need than a board and two +sticks? Here they were in plenty. And with that, a bright thought, a +fortunate memory,—the old abandoned scow! And if, after all, she +failed, and went to watery death, did not the singer tell in how little +time all would be quiet and oblivious once again? Oh, why not now?</p> + +<p>Perhaps Flor would never have been entirely subjected to this state of +mind but for an injury that she had suffered. Miss Emma had been +rendered ill by the night's exposure in the swamp. In consequence of her +complicity in this crime, Flor had been excluded from her young +mistress's room during her indisposition, and ever since had not only +been deprived of her companionship, but had not even been allowed to +look upon her from a distance. A single week of that made life a desert. +Too proud to complain, Flor saw in this the future, and so recognized, +it may be, that it would be easy to part from the place, having already +parted with Miss Emma. She drew nearer to the group now, and stood there +long, while they wondered at her, gazing into the fire, her head fallen +upon her breast. There was only one thing more to do: her little +squirrel; nothing but her front of battle had kept it safe this many a +day; were she once gone, it would be at the mercy of the first gridiron. +Nobody saw the tears, in the dark and the distance, fast falling over +the tiny sacrifice; but the cook might have guessed at them, when Flor +brought her last offering, and begged that it might be prepared and +taken in to Miss Emma.</p> + +<p>How many things there were to do that evening! One wanted water, and +another wanted towels, and a third wanted everything there was to want. +Last of all, little Pluto came running with his unkindled torch,—Mas'r +Henry wanted dancing.</p> + +<p>Flor rummaged for her castanets, her tambourine, her ankle-rings,—they +had all been thrown hither and thither,—and at length, as Pluto's torch +flared up, ran tinkling along the turf, into the glow; and her voice +broke, as she danced, into high, clear singing, triumphant singing, that +welled up to the very sky, and made the air echo with sweetness. As she +sang, all her slender form swayed to the tune, posturing, gesturing, +bending now, now almost soaring, while, falling in showers of twinkling +steps, her fleet feet seemed to weave their way on air. What ailed the +girl? all asked;—such a play of emotion of mingled sorrow and ecstasy, +never before had been interpreted by measure; so a disembodied spirit +might have danced, and her dusky hue, the strange glancing lights thrown +upon her here and there by the torch, going and coming and glittering at +pleasure, made her appear like a shadow disporting before them. At +length and slowly, note by note, with wild lingering turns to which the +movement languished, her tone fell from its lofty jubilance to a happy +flute-like humming; she waved her arms in the mimic tenderness of +repeated and passionate farewells; then, still humming, faint and low +and sweet, tripped off again, through the glow, along the turf, into the +shadow, and out of sight; and it seemed to the beholders as if a +fountain of gladness had gushed from the sod, and, playing in the light +a moment, had run away down to join the river and the breaking sea.</p> + +<p>Mas'r Henry called after Flor to throw her a penny; but she failed to +reappear, and he tossed it to Pluto instead, and forgot about her.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>So, bailed out and stuffed with marsh-grass in its crazy cracks, the old +scow was afloat, the rope was cut, and by midnight it went drifting down +the river. Waist-deep in shoal water, its appropriator had dragged it +round inside the channel's ledge of rocks, with their foam and +commotion, to the somewhat more placid flow below, and now it shot away +over the smooth, slippery surface of the stream, that gave back +reflections of the starbeams like a polished mirror.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_486" id="Page_486">[Pg 486]</a></span></p> + +<p>Terrified by the course along the rapid river, the little creature +crouched in the bottom of the scow, now breathless as it sped along the +slope, now catching at the edge as in some chance eddy or flow it +swirled from side to side, or, spinning quite round, went down the other +way. But by-and-by gathering courage, she took her station, kneeling +where with the long poles, previously provided, she could best direct +her galley and avoid the dangers of a castaway. Peering this way and +that through the darkness, carried along without labor, spying countless +dangers where none existed, passing safely by them all, coming into a +strange region of the river, she began to feel the exhilaration of +venturous voyagers close upon unknown shores; the rush of the river and +the rustle of the forest were all the sounds she heard; she was speeding +alone through the darks of space to find another world. But, with time, +a more material sensation called her back,—her feet were wet. What if +the scow should founder! She flew to the old sun-dried gourd, and bailed +away again till her arms were tired. When she dared leave the gourd, she +was more calmly floating along and piercing an avenue of mighty gloom; +the river-banks had reared themselves two walls of stone, and over them +a hanging forest showed the heavens only like a scarf of stars caught +upon its tree-tops and shaking in the wind. The deep loneliness made +Flor tremble; the water that upbuoyed her was blackness itself; the way +before her was impenetrable; far up above her opened that rent of +sky,—so far, that she, a little dark waif among such tremendous +shadows, was all unguessed by any guardian eye.</p> + +<p>But not for heaven itself bodily before her would she have turned about, +she who was all but free. The thought of that rose in her heart like +strong wings beating onward;—feverishly she followed.</p> + +<p>Flor perceived now that the old scow was being borne along with a +strong, steady-motion, unlike its first fitful drift; it brought her +heart to her throat,—for just so, it seemed to her, would a torrent set +that was hastening to plunge over the side of the earth. She remembered, +with a start of cold horror, Zoë's dim tradition of a fall far off in +the river. She had never seen one, but Zoë had stamped its terrors +deeply. Still down in the gloom itself she could see nothing but the +slowly lightening sky overhead, the drowning stars, the rosy flush upon +the dark old tips feathering against a dewy grayness that was like +powdered light. But gradually she heard what conquered all necessity of +seeing,—heard a continuous murmurous sound that filled all the air and +grew to be a sullen roar. It seemed like the dread murmur from the world +beyond the grave, the roar in earthly ears of that awful silence. Flor's +quick senses were not long at fault. She seized her poles, and with all +her might endeavored to push in towards the side and out of the main +channel. Straws would have availed nearly as much; far faster than she +went in shore she drove down stream. It was getting to be morning +twilight all below; a soft, damp wind was blowing in her face; in the +distance she could see, like the changing outline of a phantom, a low +cloud of mist, wavering now on this side, now on that, but forever +rising and falling and hovering before her. She knew what it was. If she +could only bring her boat to that bank,—precipice though it was,—there +must be some broken piece to catch by! She toiled with all her puny +strength, and the great stream laughed at her and roared on. Suddenly, +what her wildest efforts failed to do, the river did itself,—dividing +into twenty currents for its plunge, some one of the eddies caught the +old scow in its teeth and sent it whirling along the inmost current of +all, close upon the shore. The rock, whose cleft the river had +primevally chosen, was here more broken than above; various edges +protruded maddeningly as Flor skimmed by almost within reach. Twice she +plucked at them and missed. One flat shelf, over which the thin water +slipped like a sheet of molten glass, remained<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_487" id="Page_487">[Pg 487]</a></span> and caught her eye; she +was no longer cold or stiff with terror, but frantic to save herself; it +was the only chance, the last; shooting by, she sprang forward, pole in +hand, touched it, fell, caught a ledge with her hands while the fierce +flow of the water lifted her off her feet, scrambled up breathlessly and +was safe, while the scow swept past, two flashing furlongs, poised a few +moments after on the brink of the fall, went majestically over, and came +up to the surface below in pieces.</p> + +<p>Flor wrung her hands in dismay. She had not understood her situation +before. There was no escape now, it seemed,—not even to return. Nothing +was possible save starving to death on this ledge,—and after that, the +vultures. She sat there for a little while in a kind of stupor. She saw +the light falling slowly down, as it had fallen millions of mornings +before, and bringing out all blue and purple shadows on the wet old +rock; she saw the current ever hurrying by to join the tumult of the +cataract; she heard the deep, sweet music of the waters like a noisy +dream in her ears. With the shock of her wreck coming at the instant +when she fancied herself so swiftly and securely speeding on towards +safety and freedom, she felt indifferent to all succeeding fate. What if +she did die? who was she? what was she? nothing but an atom. What odds, +after all? The solution of her soliloquy was, that, before the first ray +of sunshine reached down and smote the dark torrent into glancing +emerald, she began to feel ravenously hungry, and found it a great deal +of odds, after all. She rose to her feet, grasping cautiously at the +slippery rock, and searched about her. There was another ledge close at +hand, corresponding to the one on which she stood; she crept forward and +transferred herself, with an infinitude of tremors, from this to that; +there was a foothold just beyond; she gained it. Up and down and all +along there were other projections, just enough for a hand, a foot: a +wet and terrible pathway; to follow it might be death, to neglect it +certainly was. What had she danced for all her days, if it had not made +her sure and nimble footed? Under her the foam leaped up, the spectral +mist crept like an icy breath, the spray sprinkled all about her, +swinging herself along from ledge to ledge, from jag to jag, like a +spider on a viewless thread. Now she hung just above the fall, looking +down and longing to leap, with nothing but a shining laurel-branch +between her and the boiling pits below; now, at last, a green hillside +sloped to the water's edge, sparkling across all its solitude with ten +thousand drops of dew, a broad, blue morning heaven bent and shone +overhead, and having raced the river in the moment's light-heartedness +of glee at her good hap, she sat some rods below, looking up at the fall +and dipping her bleeding and blistered feet in and out of the cool and +rapid-running river.</p> + +<p>What was there now to do? To go back,—to go back,—not if she were torn +by lions! That was as impossible for her as to reverse a fiat of +creation. God had said to her,—"Let there be light." How could she, +then, return to darkness? To keep along on land,—it might be weeks +before she reached the quarter of the gunboats,—she would be seized as +a stray, and lodged in jail, and sold for whom it might concern. But +with her scow gone to pieces, what other thing was there to do? So she +sat looking up at the spurting cascades, with their horns of silver +leaping into the light, and all the clear brown and beryl rush of their +crystalline waters, and longing for her scow. If she had so much as the +bit of bark on which the squirrels crossed the river! She looked again +about her for relief. The rainbow at the foot of all the falls, in its +luminous, steady arch, seemed a bridge solid enough for even her little +black feet, had one side of the stream been any surer haven than the +other; and as she sought out its bases, her eye lighted on something +curiously like a weed swaying up and down. She picked her way to it, and +found it wedged where she could loosen it,—two planks still nailed to a +stout crossbar.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488">[Pg 488]</a></span> She floated it, and held it fast a moment. What if she +trusted to it,—with neither sail nor rudder, as before, but now with +neither oar nor pole? On shore, for her there were only ravening wolves; +waterfalls were no worse than they, and perhaps there were no more +waterfalls. She stepped gingerly upon the fragment, seated and balanced +herself, paddled with her two hands, and thought to slip away. In spite +of everything, a kind of exultation bubbled up within her,—she felt as +if she were defying Destiny itself.</p> + +<p>When, however, Flor intrusted herself to the stream, the stream received +the trust and seemed inclined to keep it; for there she stayed: the +planks tilted up and down, the water washed over her, but there were the +falls at nearly the same distance as when she embarked, and there they +stayed as well. The water, too, was no more fresh and sweet, but had a +salt and brackish taste. The sun was nearly overhead, and she was in an +agony of apprehension before she saw the falls slide slowly back, and in +one of a fresh succession of wonders, understanding nothing of it, she +found herself, with a strange sucking heave under her, falling on the +ebb-tide as before she had fallen on the mountain-current.</p> + +<p>Gentle undulations of friendly hills seemed now to creep by; and through +their openings she caught glimpses of cotton-fields. There was a wicked +relish in her thoughts, as she pictured the dusky laborers at work +there, and she gliding by unseen in the idle sunshine. She passed again +between high banks of red earth, scored by land-slides, with springs +oozing out half-way up, and now and then clad in a mantle of vivid +growth and color,—a thicket of blossoming pomegranate darkening on a +sunburst of creamy dogwood, or a wild fig-tree sending its roots down to +drink, with a sweet-scented and gorgeous epiphyte weaving a flowery +enchantment about-them, and making the whole atmosphere reel with +richness. But all this verdant beauty, the lush luxuriance of +grape-vines, of dark myrtle-masses, of swinging curtains of convolvuli +almost brushing her head as she floated by,—nothing of this was new to +Flor, nothing precious; she could have given all the beauty of earth and +heaven for a crust of bread just then. She thought of the plantation +with a dry sob, but would not turn her face. She could not move much, +indeed, her position was so ticklish; hardy wretch as she was, she had +already become faint and famished: she contrived, resting her arms on +the crossbar, at last, to lay her head upon them; and thus lying, +perpetually bathed by the soft, warm dip and rise of the water, the pain +of hunger left her, and she saw the world waft by like a dream.</p> + +<p>Slowly the evening began to fall. Flor marked the bright waters dim and +put on a bloomy purple along which rosy and golden shadows wandered and +mingled, stars looked timidly up from beneath her, and just over her +shoulder, as if all the daylight left had gathered in that one little +curved line, lay the suspicion of the tenderest new moon, like some +boatman of the skies essaying to encourage her with his apparition as he +floated lightly down the west. Flor paid heed to the spectacle in its +splendid quiet but briefly; her eyes were fixed on a great trail of +passion-flowers that blew out a gale of sweetness from their broad blue +disks. She had reached that hanging branch, lavishly blossoming here on +the wilderness, and had hung upon the tide beneath it for a while, till +she found herself gently moving back again; and now she swung slightly +to and fro, neither making nor losing headway, and, fond of such +sensuous delights, half content to lie thus and do nothing but breathe +the delicious odor stealing towards her, and resting in broad airy +swaths, it seemed, upon the bosom of the stream around her. By-and-by, +when the great blue star, that last night at the zenith seemed to +suspend all the tented drapery of the sky, hung there large and lovely +again, Flor, gazing up at it with a confused sense of passion-flowers in +heaven, half woke to find herself sliding down stream<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_489" id="Page_489">[Pg 489]</a></span> at last in +earnest. Her brain was very light and giddy; all her powers of +perception were momentarily heightened; she took notice of her seesawing +upon the ebb and flow, and understood that washing up and down the +shores, a mere piece of driftwood, life would long have left her ere she +attained the river's mouth, if she were not stranded by the way. The +branch of a cedar-tree came dallying by with that, brought down from +above the falls; she half rose, and caught at it, and fell back, but she +kept hold of it by just a twig, and, fatigued with the exertion, drowsed +away awhile. Waking again, after a little, her fingers still fast upon +it, she drew it over, fixed it upright as she could, and spread her +petticoat about it at the risk of utter capsize. The soft sweet wind +beat against the sail as happily as if it had been Cleopatra's weft of +purple silk, and carried her on, while she lay back, one arm around her +jury-mast, and half indifferently unconscious again. She had meant, on +reaching the gunboats,—ah, inconceivable bliss!—to win her way with +her feet; with willowy graces and eloquent pantomime, to have danced +along the deck and into favor trippingly: now, if she should have +strength enough left to fall on her knees, it would be strange. She +clung to the crossbar in a little while from blind habit; the rest of +her body seemed light and powerless. She was neither asleep nor awake +now, suffering nothing save occasionally a wild flutter of hope which +was joy and anguish together; but all things began mingling in her mind +in a species of delirium while she gave them attention, afterwards slid +by blank of all meaning but beauty. The lofty cypresses on the edge +above loomed into obelisks, and stood like shafts of ebony against a +glow of sunrise that stirred down deep in the night; dew-clouds, it +seemed, hung on them, and lifted and lowered when their veils of moss +waved here and there; the glistering laurel-leaves shivered in a network +of light and shade like imprisoned spirits troubling to be free; but +where the great magnolias stood were massed the white wings of angels +fanning forth fragrances untold and heavenly, and one by one slowly +revealing themselves in the dawn of another day. It seemed as if great +and awful spirits must be leading this little being into light and +freedom.</p> + +<p>So the river lapsed along, and the sun blazed, and a torture of thirst +came and went as it had come and gone before; and sometimes swiftly, +sometimes slowly, the veering winds and the pendulous tides carried the +wreck and its burden along. Flor had planned, before she started, that +all her progress should be made by night; by day she would haul up among +the tall rushes or under the lee of some stump or rock, and so escape +strange sail and spying eyes. But there had been no need of this, for no +other boat had passed up or down the river since she sailed. If there +had, she could no more have feared it. She stole by a high deserted +garden, the paling broken half away. A tardy almond-tree was stirring +its tower of bloom in the sunshine up there; oranges were reddening on +an overhanging bough, whose wreaths of snowy sweetness made the air a +passionate delight; a luscious fruit dropped, with all its royal gloss, +into the river beside her, and she could not put out a hand to catch it. +She saw now all that passed, but no longer with any afterthoughts of +reference to herself; so sights might slip across the retina of a dead +man's eye; her identity seemed fading from her, as from some substance +on the point of dissolution into the wide universe. She felt like one +who, under an æsthetic influence, seems to himself careering through +mid-air, conscious only of motion and vanishing forms. Cultured uplands +and thick woods peopled with melodies all stole by, mere picture; the +long snake of the river crept through green meadowy shores haunted by +the cluck and clutter of the marsh-hen; from a bluff of the bank broke a +blaze of fire and a yelping roar, and something slapped and skipped +along the water,—a ball from a Rebel battery to bring the strange craft +to,—others<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490">[Pg 490]</a></span> followed and danced like demons through the hissing tide +that rocked under her and plunged up and down, tilting and turning and +half drowning the wreck. Flor looked at them all with wide eyes, at the +battery and at the bluff, and went by without any more sensation than +that dazed quiet in which, at the time, she would have gone down to +death with the soft waters laying their warm weight on her head, not +even thanking Fortune that in giving her a slippery plank gave her +something to elude either canister or catapult. Occasionally she felt a +pain, a strange parched pain; it burned awhile, and left her once more +oblivious. She slept a little, by fits and starts; sometimes the very +stillness stirred her. She listened and heard the turtle plumping down +into the stream, now and then the little fishes leaping and plashing, +the eels slipping in and out among the reeds and sedges at the side; far +away in the broad marshes, that, bathed in dim vapor, now lay all about +her, the cry of a bittern boomed; she saw a pair of herons flapping +inland over the gray swell of the water; there were some great purple +phantoms, darkly imagined monsters; looming near at hand:—all the +phantasmagoria drifted by,—and then, caught in the currents playing +forever by noon or night round the low edges of sand-bars and islets, +she was sweeping out to sea like chaff.</p> + +<p>The sun was going down, a mere redness in the curdling fleecy haze; the +weltering seas rose and fell in broad sheets of burnished silver, the +monotone of their music followed them, a cool salt wind blew over them +and freshened them for storm. Flor rose on her arm and looked back,—the +breeze roused her; pain and fear and hope rose with her and looked back +too. Eager, feverish, fierce, recollecting and desiring and imprecating, +her dry lips parted for a shriek that the dryer throat had at first no +power to utter. In such wild longing pangs it seemed her heart would +burst as it beat. The low land, the great gunboats, all were receding, +and she was washing out to sea, a weed.—Well, then, wash!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The stem of the boat rose lightly, riding over the rollers; the sturdy +arms kept flashing stroke; the great gulfs gaped for a life, no matter +whose; night would darken down on them soon;—pull with a will!</p> + +<p>They heard her voice as they drew near: she had found it again, singing, +as the swan sings his death-song, loud and clear,—singing to herself +some song of her old happy dancing-days, while the spray powdered over +her and one broad wave lifted and tossed her on to the next,—no note of +sorrow in the song, and no regret.</p> + +<p>It was but brief delay beside her; then they pulled back, the wind +piping behind them,—nearer to that purple cloud with its black plume of +smoke, up the side and over; all the white faces crowding round her, +pallid blots; one dark face smiling on her like Sarp's; friendship and +succor everywhere about her; and over her, blowing out broadly upon the +stormy wind, that flag whose starry shadow nowhere shelters a slave.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_491" id="Page_491">[Pg 491]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ABRAHAM_LINCOLN" id="ABRAHAM_LINCOLN"></a>ABRAHAM LINCOLN.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Summer</span>, 1865.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dead is the roll of the drums,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the distant thunders die,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They fade in the far-off sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a lovely summer comes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like the smile of Him on high.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lulled the storm and the onset.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Earth lies in a sunny swoon;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stiller splendor of noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Softer glory of sunset,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Milder starlight and moon!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For the kindly Seasons love us;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They smile over trench and clod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Where we left the bravest of us,)—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There's a brighter green of the sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a holier calm above us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the blesséd Blue of God.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The roar and ravage were vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Nature, that never yields,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is busy with sun and rain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At her old sweet work again<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the lonely battle-fields.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How the tall white daisies grow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the grim artillery rolled!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Was it only a moon ago?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It seems a century old,)—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the bee hums in the clover,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the pleasant June comes on;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aye, the wars are all over,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But our good Father is gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was tumbling of traitor fort,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flaming of traitor fleet,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lighting of city and port,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clasping in square and street.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was thunder of mine and gun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cheering by mast and tent,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When—his dread work all done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his high fame full won—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Died the Good President.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In his quiet chair he sate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pure of malice or guile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stainless of fear or hate,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And there played a pleasant smile<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_492" id="Page_492">[Pg 492]</a></span> +<span class="i0">On the rough and careworn face;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For his heart was all the while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On means of mercy and grace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The brave old Flag drooped o'er him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(A fold in the hard hand lay,)—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He looked, perchance, on the play,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the scene was a shadow before him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For his thoughts were far away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas but the morn, (yon fearful<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Death-shade, gloomy and vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lifting slowly at last,)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His household heard him say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis long since I've been so cheerful,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So light of heart as to-day."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas dying, the long dread clang,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But, or ever the blesséd ray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of peace could brighten to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Murder stood by the way,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Treason struck home his fang!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One throb—and, without a pang,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That pure soul passed away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Idle, in this our blindness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To marvel we cannot see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherefore such things should be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or to question Infinite Kindness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of this or of that Decree,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Or to fear lest Nature bungle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That in certain ways she errs:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cobra in the jungle,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The crotalus in the sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Evil and good are hers;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Murderers and torturers!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ye, too, were made by God.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All slowly heaven is nighing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Needs that offence must come;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ever the Old Wrong dying<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will sting, in the death-coil lying,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hiss till its fork be dumb.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But dare deny no further,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Black-hearted, brazen-cheeked!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye on whose lips yon murther<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These fifty moons hath reeked,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From the wretched scenic dunce,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Long a-hungered to rouse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Nation's heart for the nonce,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Hugging his hell, so that once<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He might yet bring down the house!)—<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_493" id="Page_493">[Pg 493]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From the commons, gross and simple,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of a blind and bloody land,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">(Long fed on venomous lies!)—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the horrid heart and hand<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That sumless murder dyes,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hand that drew the wimple<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Over those cruel eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pass on,—your deeds are done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever sets your sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Vainly ye lived or died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Gainst Freedom and the Laws,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your memory and your cause<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall haunt o'er the trophied tide<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like some Pirate Caravel floating<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dreadful, adrift—whose crew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From her yard-arms dangle rotting,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The old Horror of the blue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Avoid ye,—let the morrow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sentence or mercy see.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass to your place: our sorrow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is all too dark to borrow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One shade from such as ye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But if one, with merciful eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the forgiving skies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Looks, 'mid our gloom, to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yonder where Murder lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stripped of the woman guise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And waiting the doom,—'tis he.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Kindly Spirit!—Ah, when did treason<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bid such a generous nature cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mild by temper and strong by reason,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But ever leaning to love and peace?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A head how sober! a heart how spacious!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A manner equal with high or low;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rough, but gentle; uncouth, but gracious;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And still inclining to lips of woe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Patient when saddest, calm when sternest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grieved when rigid for justice' sake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Given to jest, yet ever in earnest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If aught of right or truth were at stake.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Simple of heart, yet shrewd therewith;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Slow to resolve, but firm to hold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still with parable and with myth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seasoning truth, like Them of old;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aptest humor and quaintest pith!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Still we smile o'er the tales he told.)<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_494" id="Page_494">[Pg 494]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And if, sometimes, in saddest stress,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That mind, over-meshed by fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Ringed round with treason and hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And guiding the State by guess,)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could doubt and could hesitate,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, alas! had done less<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the world's most deadly strait?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But how true to the Common Cause!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of his task how unweary!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How hard he worked, how good he was,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How kindly and cheery!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How, while it marked redouble<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The howls and hisses and sneers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That great heart bore our trouble<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through all these terrible years,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, cooling passion with state,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ever counting the cost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kept the Twin World-Robbers in wait<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till the time for their clutch was lost!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How much he cared for the State,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How little for praise or pelf!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A man too simply great<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To scheme for his proper self.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But in mirth that strong heart rested<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From its strife with the false and violent,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A jester!—So Henry jested,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So jested William the Silent.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Orange, shocking the dull<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With careless conceit and quip,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet holding the dumb heart full<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Holland's life on his lip!<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Navarre, bonhomme and pleasant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pitying the poor man's lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wishing that every peasant<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A chicken had in his pot;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Feeding the stubborn bourgeois,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though Paris still held out;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holding the League in awe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But jolly with all about.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495">[Pg 495]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Out of an o'erflowed fulness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those deep hearts seemed too light,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(And so 'twas, murder's dulness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was set with sullener spite.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet whoso might pierce the guise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of mirth in the man we mourn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would mark, and with grieved surprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All the great soul had borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the piteous lines, and the kind, sad eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So dreadfully wearied and worn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And we trusted (the last dread page<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Once turned of our Doomsday Scroll)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To have seen him, sunny of soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a cheery, grand old age.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, Father, 'tis well with thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And since ever, when God draws nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some grief for the good must be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas well, even so to die,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Mid the thunder of Treason's fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The yielding of haughty town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The crashing of cruel wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The trembling of tyrant crown!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The ringing of hearth and pavement<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the clash of falling chains,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The centuries of enslavement<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead, with their blood-bought gains!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And through trouble weary and long<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Well hadst thou seen the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaving the State so strong<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It did not reel for a day;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And even in death couldst give<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A token for Freedom's strife,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A proof how republics live,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And not by a single life,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the Right Divine of man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the many, trained to be free,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And none, since the world began,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ever was mourned like thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dost thou feel it, O noble Heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(So grieved and so wronged below,)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the rest wherein thou art?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do they see it, those patient eyes?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is there heed in the happy skies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For tokens of world-wide woe?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_496" id="Page_496">[Pg 496]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Land's great lamentations,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mighty mourning of cannon,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The myriad flags half-mast,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The late remorse of the nations,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grief from Volga to Shannon!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">(Now they know thee at last.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How, from gray Niagara's shore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Canaveral's surfy shoal,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the rough Atlantic roar<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the long Pacific roll,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For bereavement and for dole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every cottage wears its weed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">White as thine own pure soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And black as the traitor deed!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How, under a nation's pall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dust so dear in our sight<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To its home on the prairie passed,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leagues of funeral,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The myriads, morn and night,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pressing to look their last!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nor alone the State's Eclipse;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But how tears in hard eyes gather,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on rough and bearded lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the regiments and the ships,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Oh, our dear Father!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And methinks of all the million<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That looked on the dark dead face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Neath its sable-plumed pavilion,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The crone of a humbler race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is saddest of all to think on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the old swart lips that said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sobbing, "Abraham Lincoln!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, he is dead, he is dead!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hush! let our heavy souls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To-day be glad; for agen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stormy music swells and rolls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stirring the hearts of men.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And under the Nation's Dome,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They've guarded so well and long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our boys come marching home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Two hundred thousand strong.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All in the pleasant month of May,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With war-worn colors and drums,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still, through the livelong summer's day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Regiment, regiment comes.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_497" id="Page_497">[Pg 497]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like the tide, yesty and barmy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That sets on a wild lee-shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surge the ranks of an army<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never reviewed before!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who shall look on the like agen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or see such host of the brave?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mighty River of marching men<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rolls the Capital through,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rank on rank, and wave on wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of bayonet-crested blue!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How the chargers neigh and champ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Their riders weary of camp,)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With curvet and with caracole!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cavalry comes with thundrous tramp,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the cannons heavily roll.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And ever, flowery and gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Staff sweeps on in a spray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of tossing forelocks and manes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But each bridle-arm has a weed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of funeral, black as the steed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That fiery Sheridan reins.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Grandest of mortal sights<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sun-browned ranks to view,—-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Colors ragg'd in a hundred fights,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the dusty Frocks of Blue!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And all day, mile on mile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With cheer, and waving, and smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The war-worn legions defile<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the nation's noblest stand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Great Lieutenant looks on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the Flower of a rescued Land,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the terrible work is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Good Fight is won<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For God and for Fatherland.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So, from the fields they win,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our men are marching home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A million are marching home!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the cannon's thundering din,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And banners on mast and dome,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the ships come sailing in<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With all their ensigns dight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As erst for a great sea-fight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let every color fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Every pennon flaunt in pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wave, Starry Flag, on high!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_498" id="Page_498">[Pg 498]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Float in the sunny sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stream o'er the stormy tide!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For every stripe of stainless hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every star in the field of blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten thousand of the brave and true<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have laid them down and died.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And in all our pride to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We think, with a tender pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those so far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They will not come home again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And our boys had fondly thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To-day, in marching by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the ground so dearly bought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the fields so bravely fought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To have met their Father's eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But they may not see him in place,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor their ranks be seen of him;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We look for the well-known face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the splendor is strangely dim.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Perished?—who was it said<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our Leader had passed away?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dead? Our President dead?—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He has not died for a day!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We mourn for a little breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such as, late or soon, dust yields;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the Dark Flower of Death<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blooms in the fadeless fields.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We looked on a cold, still brow:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But Lincoln could yet survive;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He never was more alive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never nearer than now.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For the pleasant season found him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Guarded by faithful hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the fairest of Summer Lands:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his own brave Staff around him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There our President stands.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There they are all at his side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The noble hearts and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That did all men might do,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then slept, with their swords, and died.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of little the storm has reft us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the brave and kindly clay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">('Tis but dust where Lander left us,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And but turf where Lyon lay).<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499">[Pg 499]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's Winthrop, true to the end,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Ellsworth of long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(First fair young head laid low!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There 's Baker, the brave old friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Douglas, the friendly foe:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">(Baker, that still stood up<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When 'twas death on either hand:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis a soldier's part to stoop,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the Senator must stand.")<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The heroes gather and form:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There's Cameron, with his scars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sedgwick, of siege and storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Mitchell, that joined his stars.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Winthrop, of sword and pen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wadsworth, with silver hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mansfield, ruler of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And brave McPherson are there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Birney, who led so long,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Abbott, born to command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Elliott the bold, and Strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who fell on the hard-fought strand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lytle, soldier and bard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the Ellets, sire and son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ransom, all grandly scarred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Redfield, no more on guard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(But Alatoona is won!)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Reno, of pure desert,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kearney, with heart of flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Russell, that hid his hurt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till the final death-bolt came.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Terrill, dead where he fought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wallace, that would not yield,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Sumner, who vainly sought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A grave on the foughten field<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">(But died ere the end he saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With years and battles outworn).<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's Harmon of Kenesaw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Ulric Dahlgren, and Shaw,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That slept with his Hope Forlorn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bayard, that knew not fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(True as the knight of yore,)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Putnam, and Paul Revere,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Worthy the names they bore.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500">[Pg 500]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Allen, who died for others,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bryan, of gentle fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the brave New-England brothers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That have left us Lowell's name.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Home, at last, from the wars,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stedman, the staunch and mild,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Janeway, our hero-child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Home, with his fifteen scars!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's Porter, ever in front,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">True son of a sea-king sire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Christian Foote, and Dupont<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Dupont, who led his ships<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rounding the first Ellipse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of thunder and of fire).<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's Ward, with his brave death-wounds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Cummings, of spotless name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Smith, who hurtled his rounds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When deck and hatch were aflame;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wainwright, steadfast and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rodgers, of brave sea-blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Craven, with ship and crew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sunk in the salt sea flood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, a little later to part,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our Captain, noble and dear—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Did they deem thee, then, austere?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drayton!—O pure and kindly heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thine is the seaman's tear.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All such,—and many another,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Ah, list how long to name!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That stood like brother by brother,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And died on the field of fame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And around—(for there can cease<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This earthly trouble)—they throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The friends that had passed in peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The foes that have seen their wrong.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">(But, a little from the rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sad eyes looking down,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And brows of softened frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With stern arms on the chest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are two, standing abreast,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stonewall and Old John Brown.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the stainless and the true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These by their President stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To look on his last review,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or march with the old command.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501">[Pg 501]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And lo, from a thousand fields,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From all the old battle-haunts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A greater Army than Sherman wields,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A grander Review than Grant's!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gathered home from the grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Risen from sun and rain,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rescued from wind and wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of the stormy main,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Legions of our Brave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are all in their lines again!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Many a stout Corps that went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full-ranked, from camp and tent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And brought back a brigade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Many a brave regiment,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That mustered only a squad.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The lost battalions,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That, when the fight went wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood and died at their guns,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stormers steady and strong,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With their best blood that bought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Scarp, and ravelin, and wall,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The companies that fought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till a corporal's guard was all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Many a valiant crew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That passed in battle and wreck,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, so faithful and true!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They died on the bloody deck,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They sank in the soundless blue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All the loyal and bold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That lay on a soldier's bier,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stretchers borne to the rear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hammocks lowered to the hold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The shattered wreck we hurried,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In death-fight, from deck and port,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Blacks that Wagner buried,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That died in the Bloody Fort!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Comrades of camp and mess,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Left, as they lay, to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the battle's sorest stress,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the storm of fight swept by:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They lay in the Wilderness,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah, where did they not lie?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the tangled swamp they lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They lay so still on the sward!—<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_502" id="Page_502">[Pg 502]</a></span> +<span class="i0">They rolled in the sick-bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moaning their lives away;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They flushed in the fevered ward.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They rotted in Libby yonder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They starved in the foul stockade,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hearing afar the thunder<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the Union cannonade!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the old wounds all are healed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the dungeoned limbs are free,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Blue Frocks rise from the field,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Blue Jackets out of the sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They've 'scaped from the torture-den,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They've broken the bloody sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They're all come to life agen!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Third of a Million men<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That died for Thee and for God!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A tenderer green than May<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Eternal Season wears,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blue of our summer's day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is dim and pallid to theirs,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Horror faded away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And 'twas heaven all unawares!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tents on the Infinite Shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flags in the azuline sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sails on the seas once more!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To-day, in the heaven on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All under arms once more!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The troops are all in their lines,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The guidons flutter and play;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But every bayonet shines,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For all must march to-day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What lofty pennons flaunt?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What mighty echoes haunt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As of great guns, o'er the main?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hark to the sound again!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Congress is all-ataunt!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Cumberland's manned again!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All the ships and their men<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are in line of battle to-day,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All at quarters, as when<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their last roll thundered away,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All at their guns, as then,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the Fleet salutes to-day.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503">[Pg 503]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The armies, have broken camp<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the vast and sunny plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The drums are rolling again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With steady, measured tramp,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They're marching all again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With alignment firm and solemn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Once again they form<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In mighty square and column,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But never for charge and storm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Old Flag they died under<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Floats above them on the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on the great ships yonder<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ensigns dip once more,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And once again the thunder<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the thirty guns and four!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In solid platoons of steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under heaven's triumphal arch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long lines break and wheel;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the word is, "Forward, march!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The colors ripple o'erhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The drums roll up to the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with martial time and tread<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The regiments all pass by,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ranks of our faithful Dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Meeting their President's eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With a soldier's quiet pride<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They smile o'er the perished pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For their anguish was not vain,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thee, O Father, we died!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And we did not die in vain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">March on, your last brave mile!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Salute him, Star and Lace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Form round him, rank and file,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And look on the kind, rough face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the quaint and homely smile<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has a glory and a grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It never had known erewhile,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never, in time and space.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Close round him, hearts of pride!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Press near him, side by side,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our Father is not alone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the Holy Right ye died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Christ, the Crucified,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Waits to welcome his own.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> "His temperament was cheerful. At table, the pleasures of +which in moderation were his only relaxation, he was always animated and +merry; and this jocoseness was partly natural, partly intentional. In +the darkest hours of his country's trial, he affected a serenity he was +far from feeling; so that his apparent gayety at momentous epochs was +even censured by dullards, who could not comprehend its philosophy, nor +applaud the flippancy of William the Silent. He went through life +bearing the load of a people's sorrows with a smiling face."—Motley's +<i>Rise of the Dutch Republic</i>. +</p><p> +Perhaps a lively national sense of humor is one of the surest exponents +of advanced civilization. Certainly a grim sullenness and fierceness +have been the leading traits of the Rebellion for Slavery; while +Freedom, like a Brave at the stake, has gone through her long agony with +a smile and a jest ever on her lips.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_504" id="Page_504">[Pg 504]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="REVIEWS_AND_LITERARY_NOTICES" id="REVIEWS_AND_LITERARY_NOTICES"></a>REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.</h2> + + +<p><i>Letters to Various Persons</i>, By <span class="smcap">Henry D. Thoreau</span>. Boston: +Ticknor & Fields.</p> + +<p>The prose of Thoreau is daily winning recognition as possessing some of +the very highest qualities of thought and utterance, in a degree +scarcely rivalled in contemporary literature. In spite of whim and +frequent over-refining, and the entire omission of many important +aspects of human life, these wondrous merits exercise their charm, and +we value everything which lets us into the workshop of so rare a mind. +These letters, most of which were addressed to a single confidential +friend, give us Thoreau's thoughts in undress, and there has been no +previous book in which we came so near him. It is like engraving the +studies of an artist,—studies many of which were found too daring or +difficult for final execution, and which must be shown in their original +shape or not at all. To any one who was more artist than thinker this +exhibition would be doing wrong; but to one like Thoreau, more thinker +than artist, it is an act of justice.</p> + +<p>The public, being always eager for the details of personal life, and +therefore especially hungry for private letters, will hardly make this +distinction. All is held to be right which gives us more personality in +print. One can fancy the exasperation of a gossip, however, on opening +these profound and philosophic leaves. There is almost no private +history in them; and even of Thoreau's beloved science of Natural +History, very little. He does, indeed, begin one letter with "Dear +Mother, ... Pray have you the seventeen-year locust in Concord?" which +recalls Mendelssohn's birthday letter to his mother, opening with two +bars of music. But even such mundane matters as these occur rarely in +the book, which is chiefly made up of pure thought, and that of the +highest and often of the most subtile quality.</p> + +<p>Thoreau had, in literature as in life, a code of his own, which, if +sometimes lax where others were stringent, was always stringent in +higher matters, where others were lax. Even the friendship of Emerson +could not coerce him into that careful elaboration which gives dignity +and sometimes a certain artistic monotony to the works of our great +essayist. Emerson never wilfully leaves a point unguarded, never allows +himself to be caught in undress. Thoreau spurns this punctiliousness, +and thus impairs his average execution; while for the same reason he +attains, in favored moments, a diction more flowing and a more lyric +strain than his teacher ever allows himself, at least in prose. He also +secures, through this daring, the occasional expression of more delicate +as well as more fantastic thoughts. And there is an interesting passage +in these letters where he rather unexpectedly recognizes the dignity of +literary art as art, and states very finely its range of power. "To look +at literature,—how many fine thoughts has every man had! how few fine +thoughts are expressed! Yet we never have a fantasy so subtile and +ethereal, but that <i>talent merely</i>, with more resolution and faithful +persistency, after a thousand failures, might fix and engrave it in +distinct and enduring words, and we should see that our dreams are the +solidest facts that we know." The Italics are his own, and the glimpse +at his literary method is very valuable.</p> + +<p>One sees also, in these letters, how innate in him was that grand +simplicity of spiritual attitude, compared with which most confessions +of faith seem to show something hackneyed and second-hand. It seems the +first resumption—unless here again we must link his name with +Emerson's—of that great strain of thought of which Epictetus the slave +and Marcus Aurelius Antoninus the sovereign were the last previous +examples. Amid the general <i>Miserere</i>, here is one hymn of lofty cheer. +There is neither weak conceit nor weak contrition, but gratitude for +existence, and a sublime aim. "My actual life," he says, "is a fact in +view of which I have no occasion to congratulate myself; but for my +faith and aspiration I have respect. It is from these that I speak. +Every man's position is, in fact, too simple to be described.... I am +simply what I am, or I begin to be that.... I know that I am. I know +that another is who knows more than I, who takes interest in me, whose +creature, and yet whose kindred, in one sense, am I. I know that the +enterprise is worthy. I know that things work well. I have heard no bad +news." (p. 45.)</p> + +<p>"Happy the man," he elsewhere nobly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505">[Pg 505]</a></span> says, "who observes the heavenly +and the terrestrial law in just proportion; whose every faculty, from +the soles of his feet to the crown of his head, obeys the law of its +level; who neither stoops nor goes on tiptoe, but lives a balanced life, +acceptable to Nature and to God." And then he manfully adds,—"These +things I say; other things I do." Manfully, not mournfully; for his +life, though in many ways limited, was never, in any high sense, +unsuccessful; nor did he ever assume for one moment the attitude of +apology.</p> + +<p>These limitations of his life no doubt impaired his thought also, in +certain directions. The letters might sometimes exhibit the record of +Carlyle's lion, attempting to live on chicken-weed. Here is a man of +vast digestive power, who, prizing the flavor of whortleberries and wild +apples, insists on making these almost his only food. It is amazing to +see what nutriment he extracts from them; yet would not, after all, an +ampler bill of fare have done better? Is there not something to be got +from the caucus and from the opera, which Thoreau abhorred, as well as +from the swamps which he justly loved? Could he not have spent two hours +rationally in Boston elsewhere than at the station-house of the railway +that led to Concord? His habits suggest a perpetual feeling of privation +and effort, and he has to be constantly on the alert to repel +condolence. This one-sidedness of result is a constant drawback on the +reader's enjoyment, and it is impossible to leave it out of sight. Yet +all criticism seems like cavilling, when one comes upon a series of +sentences like these:—</p> + +<p>"Do what you love.... Aim above morality. Be not simply good; be good +for something. All fables, indeed, have their morals; but the innocent +enjoy the story. Let nothing come between you and the light. Respect men +as brothers only. When you travel to the Celestial City, carry no letter +of introduction. When you knock, ask to see God,—none of the servants. +In what concerns you much, do not think that you have companions; know +that you are alone in the world." (p. 46.)</p> + +<p>This suggests those wonderful strokes in the "Indenture" in "Wilhelm +Meister," and Goethe cannot surpass it.</p> + +<p>His finest defence of his habitual solitude occurs in these letters +also, and has some statements whose felicitousness can hardly be +surpassed. "As for any dispute about solitude and society, any +comparison is impertinent.... It is not that we love to be alone, but +that we love to soar; and when we do soar, the company grows thinner and +thinner, till there is none at all. It is either the tribune on the +plain, a sermon on the mount, or a very private ecstasy still higher up. +We are not the less to aim at the summits, though the multitude does not +ascend them. Use all the society that will abet you." (p. 139.)</p> + +<p>And since the unsocial character of Thoreau's theory of life has been +one of the most serious charges against it, his fine series of thoughts +on love and marriage in this volume become peculiarly interesting. "Love +must be as much a light as a flame." "Love is a severe critic. Hate can +pardon more than love." "A man of fine perceptions is more truly +feminine than a merely sentimental woman." "It is not enough that we are +truthful; we must cherish and carry out high purposes to be truthful +about." These are sentences on which one might spin commentaries and +scholia to the end of life; and there are many others as admirable.</p> + +<p>His few verses close the volume,—few and choice, with a rare flavor of +the seventeenth century in them. The best poem of all, "My life is like +a stroll upon the beach," is not improved by its new and inadequate +title, "The Fisher's Boy." The three poems near the end, "Smoke," +"Mist," and "Haze," are marvellous triumphs of language; the thoughts +and fancies are as subtile as the themes, and yet are embodied as +delicately and accurately as if uttered in Greek.</p> + + +<p><i>France and England in North America.</i> A Series of Historical +Narratives. By <span class="smcap">Francis Parkman</span>, Author of "History of the +Conspiracy of Pontiac," "Prairie and Rocky Mountain Life," etc. Part +First. Pioneers of France in the New World. Boston: Little, Brown, & Co.</p> + +<p>It has been known for nearly a score of years within our literary +circles, that one of the richest and least wrought themes of our +American history had been appropriated by the zeal and research of a +student eminently qualified by nature, culture, and personal experience +to develop its wealth of interest. While very many among us may have +been aware that Mr. Parkman had devoted himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506">[Pg 506]</a></span> to the task of which we +have before us some of the results, only a narrower circle of friends +have known under what severe physical embarrassments and disabilities he +has been restrained from maturing those results. He has fully and sadly +realized, within his own different range, the experience which he so +aptly phrases as endured by his hero, the adventurous and dauntless +Champlain. When that great pioneer, midway in his splendid career, was +planning one of his almost annual voyages hitherward, at one of the most +emergent periods of his enterprise, he was seized on board his vessel in +France with a violent illness, and reduced, as Mr. Parkman says, to that +"most miserable of all conflicts, the battle of the eager spirit against +the treacherous and failing flesh." Mr. Parkman has known well what +these words mean. In his case, as in that of Champlain, it was not from +the burden of years and natural decay, but from the touch of disease in +the period of life's full vigor in its midway course, that mental +activity was restrained. When, besides the inflictions of a racked +nervous system, the author suffered in addition a malady of the eyes, +which limited him, as he says, to intervals of five minutes for reading +or writing, when it did not wholly preclude them, we may well marvel at +what he has accomplished. And the reader will marvel all the more that +the hindrances and pains under which the matter of these pages has been +wrought have left no traces or transfer of themselves here. It may be +possible that an occasional twinge or pang may have concentrated the +terse narrative, or pointed the sharp and shrewd moralizings of these +pages; for there is an amazing conciseness and a keen epigrammatic +sagacity in them. But there is no languor, no feebleness, no sleepy +prosiness, to indicate where vivacity flagged, and where an episode or +paragraph was finished after the glow had yielded to exhaustion.</p> + +<p>Mr. Parkman's theme is one of adventure on the grandest scale, with +novel conditions and elements, and under the quickening of master +passions of a sort to give to incidents and achievements a most romantic +and soul-absorbing interest. Only incidentally, and then most slightly, +does he have to deal with state affairs, with court intrigues, or with +diplomatic complications. He has to follow men into regions and scenes +in which there is so much raw material, and so much of the originality +of human conditions and qualities, that no precedents are of avail, and +it is even doubtful whether there are principles that have authority to +guide or that may be safely recognized. Nor could he have treated his +grand theme with that amazing facility and skill, which, as his work +manifests them, will satisfy all his readers that the theme belongs to +him and he to it, had not his native tastes, his training, and his +actual experience brought him into a most intelligent sympathy with his +subject-matter. Without being an adventurer, in the modern sense of the +term, he has the spirit which filled the best old sense of the word. He +has been a wide traveller and an explorer. Familiar by actual +observation with the scenes through which he has to follow the track of +the pioneers whom he chronicles, he has also acquainted himself by +foot-journeys and canoe-navigation under Indian guides with scenes and +regions still unspoiled of their wilderness features. He has crossed the +Rocky Mountains by the war-path of the savages, and penetrated far +beyond the borders of civilization in the direction of the northern ice +on our continent. He is skilled in native woodcraft, in the phenomena of +the forest and the lake, the winding river and the cataract. He has +watched the aspects of Nature through all the seasons in regions far +away from the havoc and the finish of culture. He has been alone as a +white man in the squalid lodges of the Indians, has lived after their +manner up to the edge of the restraints which a civilized man must +always take with him, and has consented to forego all that is meant by +the word comfort, that he might learn actually what our +transcendentalists and sentimentalists are so taken with theoretically. +He knows the inner make and furnishings of the savage brain and heart, +the qualities of their thought and passions, their superstitions, +follies, and vices; and while he deals with them and their ways with the +right spirit and consideration of a high-toned Christian man, he yields +to no silly inventiveness of fancy or romance in portraying them. They +are barely human, and they are hideous and revolting in his pages, as +they are in real life. Mr. Parkman knows them for just what they are, +and as they are. Helped by natural adaptation and sympathy to put +himself into communication with them sufficiently to analyze their +composition and to scan their range of being, he has presented such a +portraiture and estimate of them as will be increasingly valuable while +they are wasting away, to be known to future generations only by the +record.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507">[Pg 507]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is through Mr. Parkman's keen observation and discernment, as a +traverser of wild regions and a student of aboriginal life and +character, that his pages are made to abound with such vivid and +vigorous delineations. He has great skill in description, whether on a +grand scale or in the minutest details of adventure or of scenery. He +can touch by a phrase, most delicately or massively, the outline and the +features of what he would communicate. He can strip from field, +river-bank, hill-top, and the partially cleared forests all the things +and aspects which civilization has superinduced, and can restore to them +their primitive, unsullied elements. He gives us the aroma of the wild +woods, the tints of tree, shrub, and berry as the autumn paints them, +the notes and screams and howls of the creatures which held these haunts +before or with man; and though we were reading some of his pages on one +of the hottest of our dog-days, we felt a grateful chill come over us as +we were following his description of a Canadian winter.</p> + +<p>Mr. Parkman's subject required, for its competent treatment, a vast +amount of research and a judicious use of authorities in documents +printed or still in manuscript. Happily, there is abundance of material, +and that, for the most part, of prime value. The period which his theme +covers, though primeval in reference to the date of our own English +beginnings here, opens within the era when pens and types were +diligently employed to record all real occurrences, and when rival +interests induced a multiplication of narratives of the same events, to +the extent even of telling many important stories in two very different +ways. The element of the marvellous and the superstitious is so +inwrought with the documentary history and the personal narratives of +the time, exaggeration and misrepresentation were then almost so +consistent with honesty, that any one who essays to digest trustworthy +history from them may be more embarrassed by the abundance than he would +be by the paucity of his materials. Our author has spared no pains or +expense in the gathering of plans, pamphlets, and solid volumes, in +procuring copies of unpublished documents, and in consulting all the +known sources of information. He discriminates with skill, and knows +when to trust himself and to encourage his readers in relying upon them.</p> + +<p>It has been with all these means for faithful and profitable work in his +possession, gathered around him in aggravating reminders of their +unwrought wealth, and with a spirit of craving ardor to digest and +reproduce them, that Mr. Parkman has been compelled to suffer the +discipline of a form of invalidism which disables without destroying or +even impairing the power and will for continuous intellectual +employment. Brief intervals of relief and a recent period of promise and +hopefulness of full restoration have been heroically devoted to the +production of that instalment of his whole plan which we have in the +volume before us.</p> + +<p>That plan, as his first and comprehensive title indicates, covers a +narration of the initiatory schemes and measures for the exploration and +settlement of the New World by France and England. As France had the +precedence in that enterprise, this first volume is fitly devoted to its +rehearsal. The French story is also far more picturesque, more brilliant +and sombre, too, in its details. There is more of the wild, the +romantic, and the tragic in it. Mr. Parkman briefly, but strikingly, +contrasts the spirit which animated and the fortunes which befell the +representatives of the two European nations,—the one of which has +wrought the romance, the other of which has moulded the living +development, of North America.</p> + +<p>Under the specific title of this volume,—the "Pioneers of France in the +New World,"—the author gives us historical narratives of stirring and +even heroic enterprise in two localities at extreme points of our +present territory: first, the story of the sadly abortive attempt made +by the Huguenots to effect a settlement in Florida; and second, the +adventures, undertakings, and discoveries of Champlain, his predecessors +and associates, in and near Canada. The volume is touchingly dedicated +to three near kinsmen of the author,—young men who in the glory and +beauty of their youth, the joy and hope of parents who yielded the +costly sacrifice, gave themselves to the deliverance of our country from +the ruin plotted for it by a slave despotism.</p> + +<p>Mr. Parkman mentions—allowing to it in his brief reference all the +weight which it probably deserves—a vague tradition, which, had it been +sustained by fact, would have introduced an entirely new element into +the conditions involved in the rival claims to the right of colonizing +and possessing America, as practically contested by European nations. +The Pope's Bull which deeded the whole continent to Spain, as if it +were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508">[Pg 508]</a></span> a farm, reinforced the claim already conventionally yielded to her +through right of discovery. For anything, however, to the knowledge of +which Columbus came before his death, or even his immediate successors +before their death, all the parts of America which he saw or knew might +have been insulated spaces, like those in which he actually set up +Spanish authority. What might have been the issue for this continent, or +rather for the spaces which it covers, had it been really divided by the +high seas into three immense islands like Australasia, so that Spain, +France, and England might have made an amicable division between them, +would afford curious matter for speculation. The tradition referred to +is, that the continent had been actually discovered by a Frenchman four +years before the first voyage of Columbus hitherward. A vessel from +Dieppe, while at sea off the coast of Africa, was said to have been +blown to sight of land across the ocean on our shores. A mariner, +Pinzon, who was on board of her, being afterwards discharged from French +service in disgrace, joined himself to Columbus, and was with him when +he made his great discovery. It may have been so. But the story, +slenderly rooted in itself, has no support. Spain was the claimant, and, +so far as the bold and repeated attempt of the Huguenots to contest her +claims in Florida was thwarted by a diabolical, yet not unavenged +ruthlessness of resistance, Spain made good her asserted right.</p> + +<p>Mr. Parkman sketches rapidly some preliminary details relating to +Huguenot colonization in Brazil and early Spanish adventures. The zeal +of the French Huguenots had anticipated that of the English Puritans in +seeking a Transatlantic field for its development. A philosophical +historian might find an engaging theme, in tracing to diversities of +national character, to the aims which stirred in human spirits, and to +fickle circumstances of date or place, the contrasted issues of failure +and success in the different enterprises. To human sight or foresight, +the Huguenots had the more hopeful omens at the start. But religious +zeal and avarice, combined in a way most cunningly adapted to +contravene, if that were possible, the Saviour's profound warning, "No +man can serve two masters," were, after all, only combined in a way to +bring them into the most shameful conflict. The Huguenot at the South +shared with the Spaniard the lust for gold; and the backers alike of +Roman and Protestant zeal in Canada divided their interest between the +souls of the Indians and the furs and skins of wild animals.</p> + +<p>The heroic and the chivalric elements in the spirit and prowess of these +early adventurers give a charm even to the narratives which reveal to us +their fearful sufferings and their atrocities. Physically and morally +they must have been endowed unlike those who now hoe fields, make shoes, +and watch the wheels of our thrifty mechanisms. Avarice and zeal, the +latter being sometimes substituted by a daring passion for the romantic, +nerved men, and women too, to undertakings and endurances which shame +our enfeebled ways. The partners in these enterprises were never +homogeneous in character, as were eminently the Colonists of New +England. They were of most mixed and discordant materials. Prisons were +ransacked for convicts and desperadoes; humble artisans and peasants +were accepted as laborers; roving mariners, whose only sure port of rest +would be in the abyss, were bribed for transient service, the condition +always exacted being that they must be ready for the nonce to turn +landsmen for fighting in swamp or bush. These, with a sprinkling of +young and impoverished nobles, and one or two really towering and master +spirits, in whom either of the two leading passions was the spur, and +who could win through court patronage a patent or a commission, made in +every case, either South or North, the staple material of French +adventure.</p> + +<p>After a graphic sketch of the line of Spanish notables in the New +World,—of Ponce de Leon, of Garay, Ayllon, De Narvaez, and De +Soto,—Mr. Parkman concisely reviews the successive attempts at a +settlement in Florida by Frenchmen. His central figures here are Admiral +De Coligny and his agents, Villegagnon, Ribaut, and Laudonnière. They +had no fixed policy towards the Indians, and they followed the worst +possible course with them. They wholly neglected tillage, and so were in +constant peril of starvation. They were lawless and disorderly in their +fellowship, and were always at the mercy of conspirators among +themselves.</p> + +<p>Beginning about the year 1550, and embracing the quarter of a century +following, there transpired on the coast of Florida a series of acts of +mingled heroism and barbarity not easily paralleled in any chapter of +the world's history. Menendez, under his commission as Adelantado, +having effected<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">[Pg 509]</a></span> the first European settlement in North America at St. +Augustine, and the French having established a river fort named +Caroline, the struggle which could not long have been deferred was +invited. We have here a double narrative. While the French commander, +Ribaut, is shipwrecked in an enterprise by sea against St. Augustine, +Menendez, by land, after a most harassing tramp through forest and +swamp, successfully assails Fort Caroline. Though he has pledged his +honor to spare those who surrendered to his mercy, he foully breaks his +pledge, as no faith was to be kept with heretics. A brutal massacre, +which shocked even his Indian allies, signalized his victory. An +inscription on the trees under which he slaughtered his victims +announced that vengeance was wreaked on them, "not as Frenchmen, but as +heretics."</p> + +<p>These atrocities were in their turn avenged, after a similar fashion and +in the same spirit, by Dominique de Gourgues. It is doubtful whether he +was a Huguenot; but he felt, as the French monarch and court did not, +the rankling disgrace of this bloody catastrophe. An intense hater of +the Spaniards, he gave his whole spirit of chivalry and prowess, in the +approved fashion of the age, to avenge the insult to France. Providing +himself with three small vessels, navigable by sail or oar, he gathered +a fit company for his enterprise; but not till well on his way did he +reveal to them his real purpose, in which they proved willing +coadjutors. He found the Spaniards at their forts had alienated the +Indians, who readily leagued with him. By a bold combination and a +fierce onslaught he carries the Spanish works, and retaliates on his +fiendish and now cowering prisoners by hanging them, "not as Spaniards, +but as traitors, robbers, and murderers." De Gourgues came to do this, +not to make another attempt for a permanent settlement in the interest +of France. He therefore destroyed the forts, and with a friendly parting +from his red allies, much to their sorrow, returned home. Thus closes +one episode in the world's tragic history.</p> + +<p>Turning now towards the North, Mr. Parkman takes a comprehensive review +of the hazy period of history covered by traditions and imperfect +records, with vague relations of adventure by Normans, Basques, and +Bretons, on fishing expeditions to Newfoundland and the main coast. +These were followed by three exploring enterprises and partial +settlements, between 1506 and 1518. Verrazzano, with four ships, coasted +along our shores, and was for fifteen days the guest of some friendly +Indians at Newport, the centre of our modern fashionable summer-life. +Jaques Cartier made two voyages in 1534-5, gave the name of St. Lawrence +to the river, and visited the sites of Quebec and Montreal. A third +voyage was planned for 1541, to be followed by a reinforcement by J. F. +de la Roque, Sieur de Roberval. Its arrival being delayed, the famished +settlers, wasted by the scurvy, and dreading another horrid winter of +untold sufferings, returned home. Roberval renewed the occupancy of +Quebec, and then there is a chasm and a broken story.</p> + +<p>La Roche, in 1598, left forty convicts, adventurers in his crew, on +Sable Island, merely for a temporary sojourn while he should coast on. +Being blown back to France in his vessel, these forlorn exiles were left +for five years on that dreary waste, and only twelve survivors then +remained to be rescued. Some wild cattle that had propagated from +predecessors left by luckless wanderers on a previous voyage, or which +had swum ashore from a wreck, had furnished them a partial supply. +Pontgravé and Chauvin attempted a settlement at Tadoussac, the dismal +wilderness at the mouth of the Saguenay, thenceforward the rendezvous of +European and Indian traders. All these were preliminary anticipations of +the real occupancy of New France. Champlain, Poutrincourt, and +Lescarbot, in 1607, established at Port Royal the first agricultural +colony in the New World. Then began that series of futile and vexatious +dealings on the part of the French court, in granting and withdrawing +monopolies, conflicting commissions and patents, with confused purposes +of feudalism and restricted privilege, which embarrassed all effective +progress, and visited chagrin and disappointment on every devoted +adventurer.</p> + +<p>The great picture on Mr. Parkman's canvas is Champlain. That really +noble-souled, heroic, and marvellous man, whom our author appreciates, +yet with sagacious discrimination presents to the life, is a splendid +subject for his admirable rehearsal. At the age of thirty-three he +becomes the most conspicuous, and, on the whole, the most intelligent, +agent of the French interest in these parts of the world. Dying at +Quebec at the age of sixty-eight, and after twenty-seven years of +service to the colony, he had probably drawn his life through more and +a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">[Pg 510]</a></span> greater variety of perils than have ever been encountered by man. He +was dauntless and all-enduring, fruitful in resource, self-controlled +and persevering, and, though not wiser than his age, purer and more +true. He was as lithesome as an Indian, and could outdo him in some +physical efforts and endurance. His almost yearly voyages between France +and Quebec led him through strange contrasts of court and wilderness +life; but he was the same man in both. His discovery of the lake which +bears his name, his journey to Lake Huron, under the lure of the +impostor Vignau, encouraging his own dream of a passage through the +continent to India, and his many tramps for Indian warfare or discovery, +are most attractive episodes for our author.</p> + +<p>Mr. Parkman relates incidentally the massacre in Frenchman's Bay, the +efforts and cross purposes of the Recollets and the Jesuit missionaries, +and furnishes a vivid sketch of the fortunes of the settlement under +threatened assaults from Indians and in a temporary surrender to the +English. He intimates the matter which he has yet in store. May we enjoy +the coveted pleasure of reading it!</p> + + +<p><i>Hesperus, or Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days.</i> A Biography. From the German of +J. P. Fr. Richter. Translated by <span class="smcap">Charles T. Brooks</span>. In Two +Volumes. Boston: Ticknor and Fields.</p> + +<p>This romance, the first work of Jean Paul's which won the attention of +his countrymen, is called "Hesperus," apparently for no reason more +definite than that the heroine, like a fair evening-star, beams over the +fortunes of the other personages, and becomes at length the morning-star +of one. The supplementary title of "Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days" is a +quaint subdivision of the volumes into as many chapters, each of which +is a "Dog-Post-Day," because it purports to be dispatched in a bottle +round a dog's neck to an island within the whimsical geography which the +author loved to construct, and in which he pretended to dwell. Truly, +the ordinary <i>terra-firma</i> was of little consequence for home-keeping +purposes to Jean Paul, as the reader will doubtless confess before he +has proceeded far through the maze of Extra Leaves, Intercalary Days, +Extra Lines, Extra Shoots, and Extorted Anti-critique. And the divisions +which are busied with the story, instead of carrying it forward, stray +with it in all directions, like a genuine summer vagabond to whom direct +travel is a crime against the season. Many charming things are gathered +by the way; but if the reader is in haste to arrive, or thinks it would +not be amiss at least to put up somewhere, his patience will be severely +tried. We do not recommend the volumes for railway-reading, nor to +clergymen for the entertainment of sewing-bees, nor to the devourer of +novels, in whose life the fiction that must be read at one sitting forms +an epoch. It is a good <i>vade-mecum</i> for a voyage round either Cape; its +digressive character suits the listless mood of the sea-goer, and he can +drop, we will not say the thread, but the entanglement, in whatever +watch he pleases.</p> + +<p>Let no one expect the critic to sketch the plot of this romance. It is a +grouping of motives and temperaments under the names of men and women, +concerning whom many subtile things are said and hinted; and they are +pushed into and out of complicated situations, by stress of brilliant +authorship, without lifting their fingers. There is no necessary +development nor movement: the people are like the bits of glass which +shake into the surprising patterns of the kaleidoscope. The relation of +the parties to each other is a great mystification, bunglingly managed: +we cannot understand at last how Victor, the hero of the chief +love-passage, turns out to be the son of a clergyman instead of a lord, +and Flamin the son of a lord in spite of the plain declaration on the +first page that he belongs to a clergyman. No key-notes of expectation +and surmise are struck; the reader is as blind as the old lord who is +Victor's reputed father, and not a glimmer of light reaches him till +suddenly and causelessly he is dazed. The author has emphasized his +sentiments, but has not shaded and brought out the features of his +story. It is plain, that, when he began to write, not the faintest +notion of a <i>dénouement</i> had dawned upon his fancy. The best-defined +action in the book results from Flamin's ignorance that he is Clotilde's +brother, for he is thus jealous of his friend Victor's love for her. How +break off Flamin's love for his unknown sister? How rescue Victor from +his self-imposed delicacy and win for him a bride? This is the substance +of the story, hampered by wild, spasmodic interpolations and intrigues +and didactic explanations.</p> + +<p>The reader must also become inured, by a course of physical training, to +resist the fiery onslaughts of a sentimentality which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">[Pg 511]</a></span> was the first +ferment of Jean Paul's sincere and huge imagination. See, for instance, +Vol. II. p. 229. And we cannot too much admire the tact which Mr. Brooks +has brought to the decanting of these seething passages into tolerable +vernacular limits. Sometimes, indeed, he misses a help which he might +have procured for the reader, to lift him, with less danger of +dislocation, to these pinnacles of passion, by transferring more of the +elevated idiom of the style: for, in some of the complicated paragraphs, +a too English rendering of the clauses gives the sentiment a dowdy and +prosaic air. We should not object to an occasional inversion of the +order, even where Jean Paul himself is more direct than usual; for this +always appeared to us to lend a racy German flavor to the page. No doubt +Jean Paul needs, first of all, to be made comprehensible; but if his +style is too persistently Anglicized, many places will be reached where +the sense itself must suffer for want of the picturesqueness of the +German idiom. The quaintness will grow flat, the color of the sentiment +will almost disappear, the rich paragraphs will run thinly clad, +disenchanted like Cinderella at midnight. Some of Mr. Carlyle's +translations from the German are invigorated by this Teutonicizing of +the English, and by the sincerity of phrases transferred directly as +they first came molten from the pen. This may be pushed to the point of +affectation; but judiciously used, it is suited to Jean Paul's fervor +and abandonment.</p> + +<p>There is also a rhythm in his exalted moments, a delicate and noble +swing of the clauses, not easy to transfer: as in the Eighth +Dog-Post-Day, the paragraph commencing, "Wehe gröszere Wellen auf mich +zu, Morgenluft!" "Thou morning-air, break over me in greater waves! +Bathe me in thy vast billows which roll above our woods and meadows, and +bear me in blossom clouds past radiant gardens and glimmering streams, +and let me die gently floating above the earth, rocked amid flying +flowers and butterflies, and dissolving with outspread arms beneath the +sun; while all my veins fall blended into red morning-flakes down to the +flowers," etc. But this may appear finical to Mr. Brooks. We certainly +do not press it critically against his great and general success. Such a +paragraph as, for instance, the closing one upon page 340 of Vol. II. is +very trying to the resources of the translator. Here Mr. Brooks has +sacrificed to literalness an opportunity to sort the confused clauses +and stop their jostling: this may be done without diluting the +sentiment, and is within the translator's liberty.</p> + +<p>It always seemed to us that the finest part of "Hesperus," and one of +the finest passages of German literature, is contained in the Ninth +Dog-Post-Day and some pages of the Tenth. The Ninth, in particular, +which is a perfect idyl, describes Victor's walk to Kussewitz: all the +landscape is made to share and symbolize his rapture: the people in the +fields, the framework of an unfinished house, the two-wheeled hut of the +shepherd, are not only well painted, but turned most naturally to the +help of interpreting his feeling. The chapter has also a direct and +unembarrassed movement, which is rare in this romance. And it is +beautifully translated.</p> + +<p>The reader must understand that Victor is called by various names; so +that, if he merely dips into the book, as we suspect he will until his +sympathy is enlisted by some fine thought, his ignorance will increase +the frantic and dishevelled state of the story. Victor is Horion, +Sebastian, and Bastian; a susceptible youth, profoundly affected by the +presence of noble or handsome women, and brought into situations that +test his delicacy. He smuggles a declaration of love into a watch which +he sells, in the disguise of an Italian merchant, to the Princess +Agnola, on occasion of her first reception at the court of her husband. +He is ashamed of this after he begins to know Clotilde, who is one of +Jean Paul's pure and noble women; and he is at one time full of dread +lest the Princess had read his watch-paper, and at another full of pique +at the suspicion that she had not. Being court-physician and oculist, he +has frequent opportunities to visit Agnola, and there is one rather +florid occasion which the midnight cry of the street-watch man +interrupts. But all this time, the inflammable Victor was indulging a +kind of tenderness for Joachime, maid-of-honor and attractive female. As +the love for Clotilde deepens, he must destroy these partialities for +Agnola and Joachime. This is no easy matter; what with the watch-paper +and various emphatic passages of something more than friendship, the +true love does not at once stand forth, that he may find "the +partition-wall between love and friendship with women to be very visible +and very thick." But one day the accursed watch-paper flutters into +Joachime's hand, who at once takes it for a declaration of love to +herself, and beams with appropriate tenderness. Victor, seized with +sudden<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">[Pg 512]</a></span> coldness and resolution, confesses all to Joachime; and the +story, released from its feminine embarrassments, would soon reach a +honeymoon, if it were not for the difficulty of deciding the parentage +and relationship of the various characters. A wise child knows its own +father; but no endowment of wisdom in the reader will harmonize the +genealogy of this romance. A birth-mark of a Stettin apple, which is +visible only in autumn when that fruit is ripening, plays the part of +Box's strawberry in the farce, and with as much perspicuity.</p> + +<p>However, the characters are all respectably connected at last, and the +reader does not care to understand how they were ever disconnected: for +Lord Horion's motive in putting the children of the old Prince out of +the way, and keeping up such an expensive mystification, can be +justified only by an interesting plot. But American readers have learned +by this time, much to their credit, not to apply to Jean Paul for the +sensation of a cunningly woven narrative, like that of the English +school, which furnishes verisimilitude to real life that is quite as +improbable, though less glaringly so, than his departures from it. +"Hesperus" is filled with pure and noble thought. The different types of +female character are particularly well-defined; and if Jean Paul +sometimes affects to say cynical things of women, he cannot veil his +passionate regard for them, nor his profound appreciation of the +elements of their influence in forming true society and refining the +hearts of men. Notice the delicacy of the "Extra Leaf on Houses full of +Daughters." It is chiefly with the women of his romances that Jean Paul +succeeds in depicting individuals. And when we recollect the corrupt and +decaying generation out of which his genius sprang, like a newly created +species, to give a salutary shock to Gallic tastes, and lend a sturdy +country vigor to the new literature, we reverence his faithfulness, his +incorruptible humanity, his contempt for petty courts and faded manners, +his passion for Nature, and his love of God. All these characteristics +are so broadly printed upon his pages that the obsoleteness of the +narrative does not hide them.</p> + +<p>In view of a second edition, we refer to Mr. Brooks's consideration a +few places, with wonder at his general accuracy in the translation of +obscure passages and the explanation of allusions.</p> + +<p>Vol. I. page 22. <i>Sakeph-Katon</i> (Zaqueph Qaton) is an occasional +pause-accent of the Hebrew, having the sense of "elevator minor," and is +peculiar to prose.</p> + +<p>Page 68. The famous African Prince Le Boo deserves a note.</p> + +<p>Page 111. <i>Ripieno</i> is an Italian musical term, meaning that which +accompanies and strengthens.</p> + +<p>Page 114. <i>Gränswildpret</i> does not mean "frontier wild-game," but game +that, straying out of one precinct into another, gets captured: stray +game, or impounded waif.</p> + +<p>Page 139. The note gives the sense, but the corresponding passage in the +text would stand clearer thus: "not a noble heart, by any means; for +such things Le Baut's golden key, though bored like a cannon, could +fasten rather."</p> + +<p>Page 179. A note required: the passage of Shakspeare is, "Antony and +Cleopatra," Act V., Scene 2:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sun and moon; which kept their course, and lighted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little O, the earth."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><i>Territory of an old lady</i> should be "prayer of an old lady." <i>Gebet</i>, +not <i>Gebiet</i>.</p> + +<p>Page 209. <i>Eirunde Loch</i> would be better represented by its anatomical +equivalent, <i>foramen ovale</i>. It should be closed before birth; in the +rare cases where it is left open after birth, the child lives half +asphyxiated.</p> + +<p>Page 224, note. <i>Semperfreie</i> is not from the Latin, but comes from +<i>sendbarfreie</i>, that is, eligible, free to be sent or elected to +offices, and consequently, immediately subject to the <i>Reich</i>, or Holy +Roman Empire.</p> + +<p>Page 235. An <i>Odometer</i> is an apparatus for measuring distances +travelled by whatsoever vehicle.</p> + +<p>Page 275. <i>Incunabula</i> means specimens of the first printed edition of a +work; also the first impressions of the first edition, the firstlings of +old editions.</p> + +<p>Page 317. <i>Wackelfiguren</i> means figures made of <i>Wacke</i>, a greenish-gray +mineral, soft and easily broken.</p> + +<p>Page 322. The note is equivocal, since the phrase is used by fast women +who keep some one in their pay.</p> + +<p>Vol. II., page 122. <i>Columbine</i> is not equivalent to ballet-dancer; it +is the old historical personage of the pantomime, confederate and lover +of Harlequin, who protects her from false love.</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. +96, October 1865, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY *** + +***** This file should be named 19996-h.htm or 19996-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/9/9/19996/ + +Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by Cornell University Digital Collections). + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 96, October 1865 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: December 2, 2006 [EBook #19996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY *** + + + + +Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by Cornell University Digital Collections). + + + + + + + + + +THE + +ATLANTIC MONTHLY. + +_A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics._ + +VOL. XVI.--OCTOBER, 1865.--NO. XCVI. + +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by TICKNOR +AND FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the +District of Massachusetts. + + +Transcriber's Note: Minor typos have been corrected and footnotes moved +to the end of the article. + + + + +SAINTS WHO HAVE HAD BODIES. + + +All doubtless remember the story which is told of the witty Charles II. +and the Royal Society: How one day the King brought to the attention of +its members a most curious and inexplicable phenomenon, which he stated +thus: "When you put a trout into a pail full of water, why does not the +water overflow?" The savans, naturally enough, were surprised, and +suggested many wise, but fruitless explanations; until at last one of +their number, having no proper reverence for royalty in his heart, +demanded that the experiment should actually be tried. Then, of course, +it was proved that there was no phenomenon to be explained. The water +overflowed fast enough. Indeed, it is chronicled that the evolutions of +this lively member of the piscatory tribe were so brisk, that the +difficulty was the exact opposite of what was anticipated, namely, how +to keep the water in. + +This story may be a pure fable, but the lesson it teaches is true and +important. It illustrates forcibly the facility with which even wise men +accept doubtful propositions, and then apply the whole power of their +minds to explain them, and perhaps to defend them. Latterly one hears +constantly of the physical decay which threatens the American people, +because of their unwise and disproportioned stimulation of the brain. It +is assumed, almost as an axiom, that there is "a deficiency of physical +health in America." Especially is it assumed that great mental progress, +either of races or of individuals, has been generally purchased at the +expense of the physical frame. Indeed, it is one of the questions of the +day, how the saints, that is, those devoted to literary and professional +pursuits, shall obtain good and serviceable bodies; or, to widen the +query, how the finest intellectual culture can exist side by side with +the noblest physical development; or, to bring this question into a form +that shall touch us most sharply, how our boys and girls can obtain all +needful knowledge and mental discipline, and yet keep full of graceful +and buoyant vitality. + +What do we say to the theories and convictions which are underneath this +language? What answer shall we make to these questions? What answer +ought we to make? Our first reply would be, We doubt the proposition. +We ask for the broad and firm basis of undoubted facts upon which it +rests. And we enter an opposite plea. We affirm that the saints have as +good bodies as other people, and that they always did have. We deny that +they need to be patched up or watched over any more than their +neighbors. They live as long and enjoy as much as the rest of mankind. +They can endure as many hard buffets, and come out as tough and strong, +as the veriest dolt whose intellectual bark foundered in the unsounded +depths of his primer. The world's history through, the races which are +best taught have the best endowment of health. Nay, in our own New +England, with just such influences, physical, mental, and moral, as +actually exist, there is no deterioration in real vitality to weep over. + +We hold, then, on this subject very different opinions from those which +prevail in many quarters. We believe in the essential healthfulness of +literary culture, and in the invigorating power of sound knowledge. +Emphatically do we believe that our common schools have been in the +aggregate a positive physical benefit. We are confident, that, just to +the degree that the unseen force within a man receives its rightful +development, does vigorous life flow in every current that beats from +heart to extremities. With entire respect for the opinions of others, +even while we cannot concur with them, with a readiness to admit that +the assertion of those opinions may have been indirectly beneficial, we +wish to state the truth as it looks to us, to exhibit the facts which +bear upon this subject in the shape and hue they have to our own minds, +and to give the grounds of our conviction that a cultivated mind is the +best friend and ally of the body. + + * * * * * + +Would it not be singular, if anything different were true? You say, and +you say rightly, that the best part of a man is his mind and soul, those +spiritual elements which divide him from all the rest of the creation, +animate or inanimate, and make him lord and sovereign over them all. You +say, and you say wisely, that the body, however strong and beautiful, is +nothing,--that the senses, however keen and vigorous, are nothing,--that +the outward glories, however much they may minister to sensual +gratification, are nothing,--unless they all become the instruments for +the upbuilding of the immortal part in man. But what a tremendous +impeachment of the wisdom or power of the Creator you are bringing, if +you assert that the development of this highest part, whether by its +direct influence on the body, or indirectly by the habits of life which +it creates, is destructive of all the rest, nay, self-destructive! You +may show that every opening bud in spring, and every joint, nerve, and +muscle in every animate creature, are full of proofs of wise designs +accomplishing their purposes, and it shall all count for less than +nothing, if you can demonstrate that the mind, in its highest, broadest +development, brings anarchy into the system,--or, mark it well, +produces, or tends to produce, habits of living ruinous to health, and +so ruinous to true usefulness. At the outset, therefore, the very fact +that the mind is the highest creation of Divine wisdom would force us to +believe that that development of it, that increase of knowledge, that +sharpening of the faculties, that feeding of intellectual hunger, which +does not promote joy and health in every part, must be false and +illegitimate indeed. + +And it is hardly too much to say, that, in a rational being, thought is +almost synonymous with vitality of all sorts. The brain throws out its +network of nerves to every part of the body; and those nerves are the +pathways along which it sends, not alone physical volitions, but its +mental force and high intelligence, to mingle by a subtile chemistry +with every fibre, and give it a finer life and a more bounding +elasticity. So one might foretell, before the study of a single fact of +experience, that, other things being equal, he who had few or no +thoughts would have not only a dormant mind, but also a sluggish and +inert body, less active than another, less enduring, and especially less +defiant of physical ills. And one might prophesy, too, that he who had +high thoughts and wealth of knowledge would have stored up in his brain +a magazine of reserved power wherewith to support the faltering body: a +prophecy not wide apart, perhaps, from any broad and candid observation +of human life. + +And who can fail to remember what superior resources a cultivated mind +has over one sunk in sloth and ignorance,--how much wider an outlook, +how much larger and more varied interests, and how these things support +when outward props fail, how they strengthen in misfortune and pain, and +keep the heart from anxieties which might wear out the body? Scott, +dictating "Ivanhoe" in the midst of a torturing sickness, and so rising, +by force of a cultivated imagination, above all physical anguish, to +revel in visions of chivalric splendor, is but the type of men +everywhere, who, but for resources supplied by the mind, would have sunk +beneath the blows of adverse fortune, or else sought forgetfulness in +brutalizing and destructive pleasures. Sometimes a book is better far +than medicine, and more truly soothing than the best anodyne. Sometimes +a rich-freighted memory is more genial than many companions. Sometimes a +firm mind, that has all it needs within itself, is a watchtower to which +we may flee, and from which look down calmly upon our own losses and +misfortunes. He who does not understand this has either had a most +fortunate experience, or else has no culture, which is really a part of +himself, woven into the very texture of the soul. So, if there were no +facts, considering the mind, and who made it, and how it is related to +the body, and how, when it is a good mind and a well-stored mind, it +seems to stand for all else, to be food and shelter and comfort and +friend and hope, who could believe anything else than that a +well-instructed soul could do nought but good to its servant the body? + + * * * * * + +After all, we cannot evade, and we ought not to seek to evade, the +testimony of facts. No cause can properly stand on any theory, however +pleasant and cheering, or however plausible. What, then, of the facts, +of the painful facts of experience, which are said to tell so different +a tale? This,--that the physical value of education is in no way so +clearly demonstrated as by these very facts. We know what is the +traditional picture of the scholar,--pale, stooping, hectic, hurrying +with unsteady feet to a predestined early grave; or else morbid, +dyspeptic, cadaverous, putting into his works the dark tints of his own +inward nature. At best, he is painted as a mere bookworm, bleached and +almost mildewed in some learned retirement beneath the shadow of great +folios, until he is out of joint with the world, and all fresh and +hearty life has gone out of him. Who cannot recall just such pictures, +wherein one knows not which predominates, the ludicrous or the pitiful? +We protest against them all. In the name of truth and common-sense +alike, we indignantly reject them. We have a vision of a sturdier +manhood: of the genial, open countenance of an Irving; of the homely, +honest strength that shone in every feature of a Walter Scott; of the +massive vigor of a Goethe or a Humboldt. How much, too, is said of the +physical degeneracy of our own people,--how the jaw is retreating, how +the frame is growing slender and gaunt, how the chest flattens, and how +tenderly we ought to cherish every octogenarian among us, for that we +are seeing the last of them! If this is intended to be a piece of +pleasant badinage, far be it from us to arrest a single smile it may +awaken. But if it is given as a serious description, from which serious +deductions can be drawn, then we say, that, as a delineation, it is, to +a considerable extent, purely fanciful,--as an argument, utterly so. The +facts, so far as they are ascertained, point unwaveringly to this +conclusion,--that every advance of a people in knowledge and refinement +is accompanied by as striking an advance in health and strength. + +Try this question, if you please, on the largest possible scale. Compare +the uneducated savage with his civilized brother. His form has never +been bent by confinement in the school-room. Overburdening thoughts have +never wasted his frame. And if unremitting exercise amid the free airs +of heaven will alone make one strong, then he will be strong. Is the +savage stronger? Does he live more years? Can he compete side by side +with civilized races in the struggle for existence? Just the opposite is +true. Our puny boys, as we sometimes call them, in our colleges, will +weigh more, lift more, endure more than any barbarian race of them all. +This day the gentle Sandwich-Islanders are wasting like snow-wreaths, in +contact with educated races. This day our red men are being swept before +advancing civilization like leaves before the breath of the hurricane. +And it requires no prophet's eye to see, that, if we do not give the +black man education as well as freedom, an unshackled mind as well as +unshackled limbs, he, too, will share the same fate. + +To all this it may naturally be objected, that the reason so many savage +races do not display the greatest physical stamina is not so much +intellectual barrenness as their vices, native or acquired,--or because +they bring no wisdom to the conduct of life, but dwell in smoky huts, +eat unhealthy food, go from starvation to plethora and from plethora to +starvation again, exchange the indolent lethargy which is the law of +savage life for the frantic struggles of war or the chase which +diversify and break up its monotony. Allow the objection; and then what +have we accomplished, but carrying the argument one step back? For what +are self-control and self-care, but the just fruits of intelligence? But +in truth it is a combination of all these influences, and not any of +them alone, that enables the civilized man to outlive and outrival his +barbarian brother. He succeeds, not simply because of the superior +address and sagacity which education gives him, though that, no doubt, +has much to do with it; not altogether because his habits of life are +better, though we would not underrate their value; but equally because +the culture of the brain gives a finer life to every red drop in his +arteries, and greater hardihood to every fibre which is woven into his +flesh. If it is not so, how do you explain the fact that our colored +soldier, fighting in his native climate, with the same exposure in +health and the same care in sickness, succumbs to wounds and diseases +over which his white comrade triumphs? Or how will you explain analogous +facts in the history of disease among other uneducated races? Our +explanation is simple. As the slightest interfusion of carbon may change +the dull iron into trenchant steel, so intelligence working through +invisible channels may add a new temper to the physical nature. And thus +it may be strictly true that it is not only the mind and soul which +slavery and ignorance wrong, but the body just as much. + + * * * * * + +It may be said, and perhaps justly, that a comparison between races so +unlike is not a fair comparison. Take, then, if you prefer, the +intelligent and unintelligent periods in the history of the same race. +The old knights! Those men with mail-clad bodies and iron natures, who +stand out in imagination as symbols of masculine strength! The old +knights! They were not scholars. Their constitutions were not ruined by +study, or by superfluous sainthood of any kind. They were more at home +with the sword than the pen. They loved better "to hear the lark sing +than the mouse squeak." So their minds were sufficiently dormant. How +was it with their bodies? Were they sturdier men? Did they stand heavier +on their feet than their descendants? It is a familiar fact that the +armor which inclosed them will not hold those whom we call their +degenerate children. A friend tells me that in the armory of London +Tower there are preserved scores, if not hundreds, of the swords of +those terrible Northmen, those Vikings, who, ten centuries ago, swept +the seas and were the dread of all Europe, and that scarcely one of them +has a hilt large enough to be grasped by a man of this generation. Of +races who have left behind them no methodical records, and whose story +is preserved only in the rude rhymes of their poets and ruder +chronicles, it is not safe to make positive affirmations; but all the +indications are that the student of to-day is a larger and stronger man +than the warrior of the Middle Ages. + +If we come down to periods of historical certainty, no one will doubt +that the England of the present hour is more educated than the England +of fifty years ago, or that the England of fifty years since had a +broader diffusion of intelligence than the England of a century +previous. Yet that very intelligence has prolonged life. An Englishman +lives longer to-day than he did in 1800, and longer yet than in 1700. +Here is a curious proof. Annuities calculated on a certain rate of life +in 1694 would yield a fortune to those who issued them. Calculated at +the same rate in 1794, they would ruin them; for the more general +diffusion of knowledge and refinement had added, I am not able to say +how many years to the average British life. Observe how this statement +is confirmed by some wonderful statistics preserved at Geneva. From 1600 +to 1700 the average length of life in that city was 13 years 3 months. +From 1700 to 1750 it was 27 years 9 months. From 1750 to 1800, 31 years +3 months. From 1800 to 1833, 43 years 6 months. + +One more pertinent fact. Take in England any number of families you +please, whose parents can read and write, and an equal number of +families whose parents cannot read and write, and the number of children +in the latter class of families who will die before the age of five +years will greatly exceed that in the former class,--some thirty or +forty per cent. So surely does a thoughtful ordering of life come in the +train of intelligence. If faith is to be placed in statistics of any +sort, then it holds true in foreign countries that human life is long in +proportion to the degree that knowledge, refinement, and virtue are +diffused. That is, sainthood, so far from destroying the body, preserves +it. + + * * * * * + +I anticipate the objection which may be made to our last argument. +Abroad, we are told, there is such an element of healthy, out-door life, +that any ill effects which might naturally follow in the train of +general education are neutralized. Abroad, too, education with the +masses is elementary, and advanced also with more moderation than with +us. Abroad, moreover, the whole social being is not pervaded with the +intense intellectual activity and fervor which are so characteristic +especially of New England life. + +Come home, then, to our own Massachusetts, which some will have is +school-mad. What do you find? Here, in a climate proverbially changeable +and rigorous,--here, where mental and moral excitements rise to +fever-heat,--here, where churches adorn every landscape, and +school-houses greet us at every corner, and lyceums are established in +every village,--here, where newspapers circulate by the hundred +thousand, and magazines for our old folks, and "Our Young Folks," too, +reach fifty thousand,--here, in Massachusetts, health is at its climax: +greater and more enduring than in bonnie England, or vine-clad France, +or sunny Italy. I read some statistics the other day, and I have ever +since had a greater respect for the land of "east-winds, and salt-fish +and school-houses," as scandalous people have termed Massachusetts. What +do these statistics say? That, while in England the deaths reach +annually 2.21 per cent of the whole population, and in France 2.36 per +cent, and in Italy 2.94 per cent, and in Austria 3.34 per cent, in +Massachusetts, the deaths are only 1.82 per cent annually. Even in +Boston, with its large proportion of foreign elements, the percentage of +deaths is only 2.35. It may be said, in criticism of these statements, +that in our country statistics are not kept with sufficient accuracy to +furnish correct data. However this may be in our rural districts, it +certainly is not true of the metropolis. The figures are not at hand, +but they exist, and they prove conclusively that those wards in Boston +which have a population most purely native reach a salubrity unexcelled. +So that, with all the real drawbacks of climate, and the pretended +drawbacks of unnatural or excessive mental stimulus, the health here is +absolutely unequalled by that of any country in Europe. Certainly, if +the mental and moral sainthood which we have does not build up the body, +it cannot be said that it does any injury to it. + +Have we noted what a splendid testimony the war which has just closed +has given to the physical results of our New England villages and put +into the ranks of our army--young men who learned the alphabet at four, +who all through boyhood had the advantages of our common-school system, +who had felt to the full the excitement of the intellectual life about +them--have stood taller, weighed heavier, fought more bravely and +intelligently, won victory out of more adverse circumstances, and, what +is more to the point, endured more hardship with less sickness, than a +like number of any other race on earth. We care not where you look for +comparison, whether to Britain, or to France, or to Russia, where the +spelling-book has almost been tabooed, or to Spain, where in times past +the capacity to read the Bible was scarcely less than rank heresy, at +least for the common people. This war has been brought to a successful +issue by the best educated army that ever fought on battle-field, or, as +the new book has it, by "the thinking bayonet," by men whose physical +manhood has received no detriment from their intellectual culture. + +These assertions are founded upon statistics which have been preserved +regiments whose members were almost exclusively native-born. And the +results are certainly in accordance with all candid observation. It may, +indeed, be said that the better health of our army has been after all +the result of the better care which the soldier has taken of himself. We +answer, the better care was the product of his education. It may be said +again that this health was owing in a great measure to the superior +watchfulness exercised over the soldier by others, by the Government, by +the Sanitary Commission, and by State agencies. Then we reply, that this +tenderness of the soldier, if tenderness it be, and this sagacity, if +sagacity prompted the care, were both the offspring of that high +intelligence which is the proper result of popular education. + + * * * * * + +There is but one possible mode of escape from such testimony. This whole +train of argument is inconclusive, it may be asserted, because what is +maintained is not that intellectual culture is unhealthful, where it is +woven into the web of active life, but only where the pursuit of +knowledge is one's business. It may be readily allowed, that, where the +whole nature is kept alive by the breath of outward enterprise, when the +great waves of this world's excitements are permitted to roll with +purifying tides into the inmost recesses of the soul, the results of +mental culture may be modified. But what of the saints? What of the +literary men _par excellence_? + +Ah! if you restrain us to that line of inquiry, the argument will be +trebly strong, and the facts grow overwhelmingly pertinent and +conclusive. Will you examine the careful registry of deaths in +Massachusetts which has been kept the last twenty years? It will inform +you that the classes whose average of life is high up, almost the +highest up, are with us the classes that work with the brain,--the +judges, the lawyers, the physicians, the clergymen, the professors in +your colleges. The very exception to this statement rather confirms than +contradicts our general position, that intellectual culture is +absolutely invigorating. The cultivators of the soil live longest. But +note that it is the educated, intelligent farmers, the farmers of +Massachusetts, the farmers of a State of common schools, the farmers who +link thought to labor, who live long. And doubtless, if they carried +more thought into their labor, if they were more intelligent, if they +were better educated, they would live yet longer. At any rate, in +England the cultivators of her soil, her down-trodden peasantry, +sluggish and uneducated, do not live out half their days. Very likely +the farmer's lot, _plus_ education and _plus_ habits of mental activity, +is the healthiest as it is the primal condition of man. Nevertheless, +considering what is the general opinion, it is surprising how slight is +the advantage which he has even then over the purely literary classes. + +Will you go to Harvard University and ascertain what becomes of her +children? Take up, then, Dr. Palmer's Necrology of the Alumni of Harvard +from 1851 to 1863. You will learn, that, while the average age of all +persons who in Massachusetts die after they have attained the period of +twenty years is but fifty years, the average age of Harvard graduates, +who die in like manner, is fifty-eight years. Thus you have, in favor of +the highest form of public education known in the State, a clear average +of eight years. You may examine backward the Triennial Catalogue as far +as you please, and you will not find the testimony essentially +different. The statement will stand impregnable, that, from the time +John Harvard founded our little College in the wilderness, to this hour, +when it is fast becoming a great University, with its schools in every +department, and its lectures covering the whole field of human +knowledge, the graduates have always attained a longevity surpassing +that of their generation. + +And you are to observe that this comparison is a strictly just +comparison. We contrast not the whole community, old and young, with +those who must necessarily have attained manhood before they are a class +at all; but adults with adults, graduates with those of other avocations +who have arrived at the period of twenty years. Neither do we compare +the bright and peculiar luminaries of Harvard with the mass of +men,--though, in fact, it is well known that the best scholars live the +most years,--but we compare the whole body of the graduates, bright and +dull, studious and unstudious, with the whole body of the community. + + * * * * * + +To the array of evidence which may be brought from all the registries of +all the states and universities under heaven, some may triumphantly +exclaim, "Statistics are unworthy of trust." "To lie like statistics," +"false as a fact," these are the stalest of witticisms. But the +objection to which they give point is practically frivolous. Grant that +statistics are to a certain degree doubtful, are they not the most +trustworthy evidence we have? And in the question at issue, are they not +the only evidence which has real force? And allowing their general +defectiveness, how shall we explain, that, though gathered from all +sides and by all kinds of people, they so uniformly favor education? +Why, if they must err, do they err so pertinaciously in one direction? +How does it happen, that, summon as many witnesses as you please, and +cross-question them as severely as you can, they never falter in this +testimony, that, where intelligence abounds, there physical vigor does +much more abound? that, where education is broad and generous, there the +years are many and happy? + +If, therefore, facts can prove anything, it is that just such a +condition of life as that which is growing more and more general among +us, and which our common-school system directly fosters, where every man +is becoming an educated man,--where the farmer upon his acres, the +merchant at his desk, and the mechanic in his shop, no less than the +scholar poring over his books shall be in the truest sense +educated,--that such a condition is the one of all others which promotes +habits of thought and action, an elasticity of temper and a breadth of +vision and interest most conducive to health and vigor. It is the +fashion to talk of the appearance of superior robustness so +characteristic of our English brethren. But we suspect that in this +case, too, appearances are deceitful. That climate may produce in us a +restless energy inconsistent with rounded forms and rosy cheeks we +freely allow. But in strength and real endurance the New England +constitution will yield to none. And the stern logic of facts shows +beyond a peradventure, that here there are no influences, climatic or +intellectual, which war with longevity. What may be hidden in the +future, what results may come from a still wider diffusion of education, +we cannot tell, but hitherto nothing but good has come of +ever-increasing knowledge. + + * * * * * + +We hasten now to inquire concerning the health and years of special +classes of literary men: not, indeed, to prove that there is no real war +between the mind and the body,--for we consider that point to be already +demonstrated,--but rather to show that we need shrink from no field of +inquiry, and that from every fresh field will come new evidence of the +substantial truth of our position. + +We have taken the trouble to ascertain the average age of all the +English poets of whom Johnson wrote lives, some fifty or sixty in all. +Here are great men and small men, men with immortal names and men whose +names were long since forgotten, men of good habits and men whose habits +would undermine any constitution, flourishing, too, in a period when +human life was certainly far shorter in England than now. And how long +did they live? What do you think? Thirty, forty years? No; they endured +their sainthood, or their want of it, for the comfortable period of +fifty-six years. Nor is the case a particle different, if you take only +the great and memorable names of English poetry. Chaucer, living at the +dawn almost of English civilization; Shakspeare, whose varied and +marvellous dramas might well have exhausted any vitality; Milton, +struggling with domestic infelicity, with political hatred, and with +blindness; Dryden, Pope, Swift: none of these burning and shining lights +of English literature went out at mid-day. The result is not altered, if +you come nearer our own time. That galaxy of talent and genius which +shone with such brilliancy in the Scottish capital at the beginning of +the century,--Sydney Smith, Lord Jeffrey, Christopher North, Macaulay, +Mackintosh, De Quincey, Brougham,--all these, with scarcely an +exception, have lived far beyond the average of human life. So was it +with the great poets and romancers of that period. Wordsworth, living +the life of a recluse near the beautiful lakes of Westmoreland, lasted +to fourscore. Southey, after a life of unparalleled literary industry, +broke down at sixty-six. Coleridge, with habits which ought to have +destroyed him early, lingered till sixty-two. Scott, struggling to throw +off a mountain-load of debt, endured superhuman labor till more than +sixty. Even Byron and Burns, who did not live as men who desired length +of days, died scarcely sooner than their generation. + +You are not willing, perhaps, to test this question by the longevity of +purely literary men. You ask what can be said about the great preachers. +You have always heard, that, while the ministers were, no doubt, men of +excellent intentions and much sound learning, what with their morbid +notions of life, and what with the weight of a rather heavy sort of +erudition, they were saints with the very poorest kind of bodies. Just +the contrary. No class lives longer. We once made out a list of the +thirty most remarkable preachers of the last four centuries that we +could call to mind. Of the age to which most of these attained we had at +the outset no idea whatever. In that list were included the men who must +figure in every candid account of preaching. The great men of the +Reformation, Luther, Melancthon, Calvin, Beza, Knox, were there. That +resplendent group which adorned the seventeenth century, and whose +names are synonymes for pulpit eloquence, Barrow, South, Jeremy Taylor, +and Tillotson, were prominent in it. The milder lights of the last +century, Paley, Blair, Robertson, Priestley, were not forgotten. The +Catholics were represented by Massillon, Bossuet, Bourdaloue, and +Fenelon. The Protestants as truly by Robert Hall and Chalmers, by Wesley +and Channing. In short, it was a thoroughly fair list. We then proceeded +to ascertain the average life of those included in it. It was just +sixty-nine years. And we invite all persons who are wedded to the notion +that the saints are always knights of the broken body, to take pen and +paper and jot down the name of every remarkable preacher since the year +1500 that they can recall, and add, if they wish, every man in their own +vicinity who has risen in learning and talent above the mass of his +profession. We will insure the result without any premium. They will +produce a list that would delight the heart of a provident director of a +life-insurance company. And their average will come as near the old +Scripture pattern of threescore years and ten as that of any body of men +who have lived since the days of Isaac and Jacob. + +If now any one has a lurking doubt of the physical value of an active +and well-stored mind, let him pass from the preachers to the statesmen, +from the men who teach the wisdom of the world to come to the men who +administer the things of this world. Let him begin with the grand names +of the Long Parliament,--Hampden, Pym, Vane, Cromwell,--and then gather +up all the great administrators of the next two centuries, down to the +octogenarians who are now foremost in the conduct of British affairs; +and if he wishes to widen his observation, let him pass over the Channel +to the Continent, and in France recall such names as Sully and +Richelieu, Mazarin and Colbert, Talleyrand and Guizot; in Austria, +Kaunitz and Metternich. And when he has made his list as broad, as +inclusive of all really great statesmanship everywhere as he can, find +his average; and if he can bring it much beneath seventy, he will be +more fortunate than we were when we tried the experiment. + +Do not by any means omit the men of science. There are the astronomers. +If any employment would seem to draw a man up to heaven, it would be +this. Yet, of all men, astronomers apparently have had the most wedded +attachment to earth. Galileo, Newton, La Place, Herschel,--these are the +royal names, the fixed stars, set, as it were, in that very firmament +which for so many years they searched with telescopic eye. And yet +neither of them lived less than seventy-eight years. As for the men of +natural science, it looks as though they were spared by some +Providential provision, in order that they might observe and report for +long epochs the changes of this old earth of ours. Cuvier dying at +seventy-five, Sir Joseph Banks at seventy-seven, Buffon at eighty-one, +Blumenbach at eighty-eight, and Humboldt at fourscore and ten, are some +of the cases which make such a supposition altogether reasonable. + +Cross the ocean, and you will find the same testimony, that mental +culture is absolutely favorable to physical endurance. The greatest men +in our nation's history, whether in walks of statesmanship, science, or +literature, almost without exception, have lived long. Franklin, +Washington, Jefferson, Madison, the elder Adams, and Patrick Henry, in +earlier periods,--the younger Adams, Clay, Calhoun, Webster, Choate, and +Everett, Irving, Prescott, Cooper, and Hawthorne, in later times,--are +cases in point. These men did not die prematurely. They grew strong by +the toil of the brain. And to-day the quartette of our truest +poets--Bryant, Whittier, Longfellow, and Holmes--are with us in the hale +years of a green age, never singing sweeter songs, never harping more +inspiring strains. Long may our ears hear their melodies! + + * * * * * + +If now we could enter the walks of private life, and study widely the +experience of individual men, we should have an interesting record +indeed, and a manifold and wellnigh irresistible testimony. Consider a +few remarkable, yet widely differing cases. + +Who can read attentively the life of John Wesley, and not exclaim, if +varied and exhausting labor, if perpetual excitement and constant drafts +upon the brain, would ever wear a man out, he would have worn out? It +was his creative energy that called into existence a denomination, his +ardent piety that inspired it, his clear mind that legislated for it, +his heroic industry that did no mean part of the incessant daily toil +needful for its establishment. Yet this man of many labors, who through +a long life never knew practically the meaning of the word _leisure_, +says, at seventy-two, "How is it that I find the same strength that I +did thirty years ago, that my nerves are firmer, that I have none of the +infirmities of old age, and have lost several that I had in youth." And +ten years later, he devoutly records, "Is anything too hard for God? It +is now eleven years since I have felt such a thing as weariness." And he +continued till eighty-eight in full possession of his faculties, +laboring with body and mind alike to within a week of his death. + +Joseph Priestley was certainly a very different man, but scarcely less +remarkable. No mean student in all branches of literature, a +metaphysician, a theologian, a man of science, he began life with a +feeble frame, and ended a hearty old age at seventy-one. He himself +declares at fifty-four, that, "so far from suffering from application to +study, I have found my health steadily improve from the age of eighteen +to the present time." + +You would scarcely find a life more widely divided from these than that +of Washington Irving. Nevertheless, it is like them in one respect, that +it bears emphatic testimony to the real healthiness of mental exertion. +He was the feeblest of striplings at eighteen. At nineteen, Judge Kent +said, "He is not long for this world." His friends sent him abroad at +twenty-one, to see if a sea voyage would not husband his strength. So +pale, so broken, was he, that, when he stepped on board the ship, the +captain whispered, "There is a chap who will be overboard before we are +across!" Irving had, too, his share of misfortunes,--failure in +business, loss of investments, in earlier life some anxiety as to the +ways and means of support. Even his habits of study were hardly what the +highest wisdom would direct. While he was always genial and social, and +at times easy almost to indolence, when the mood seized him, he would +write incessantly for weeks and even for months, sometimes fourteen, +fifteen, or sixteen hours in a day. But he grew robust for half a +century, and writes, at seventy-five, that he has now "a streak of old +age." + + * * * * * + +The example of some of those who are said to have been worn out by +intense mental application furnishes perhaps the most convincing proof +of all that no reasonable activity of the mind ever warred with the best +health of the body. Walter Scott, we are told, wore out. And very +likely, to a certain extent, the statement is true. But what had he not +accomplished before he wore out? He had astonished the world with that +wonderful series of romances which place him scarcely second to any name +in English literature. He had sung those border legends which delighted +the ears of his generation. He had produced histories which show, that, +had he chosen, he might have been as much a master in the region of +historic fact as in the realm of imagination. He had edited other men's +works; he had written essays; he had lent himself with a royal +generosity to every one who asked his time or influence; and when, +almost an old man, commercial bankruptcy overtook him, and he sought to +lift the mountain of his debt by pure intellectual toil, he wore out. +But declining years, disappointed hopes, desperate exertions, may wear +anybody out. He wore out, but it was at more than threescore years, when +nine tenths of his generation had long slept in quiet graves,--when the +crowd of the thoughtless and indolent, who began life with him, had +rusted out in inglorious repose. Yes, Walter Scott wore out, if you call +that wearing out. + +John Calvin, all his biographers say, wore out. Perhaps so;--but not +without a prolonged resistance. Commencing life with the frailest +constitution, he was, as early as twenty-five, a model of erudition, and +had already written his immortal work. For thirty years he was in the +heat and ferment of a great religious revolution. For thirty years he +was one of the controlling minds of his age. For thirty years he was the +sternest soldier in the Church Militant, bearing down stubborn +resistance by a yet more stubborn will. For thirty years neither his +brain nor his pen knew rest. And so at fifty-six this man of broken body +and many labors laid down the weapons of his warfare; but it was at +Geneva, where the public registers tell us that the average of human +life in that century was only nine years. + +One writes words like these:--"John Kitto died, and his death was the +judgment for overwork, and overwork of a single organ,--the brain." And +who was John Kitto? A poor boy, the son a drunken father, subject from +infancy to agonizing headache. An unfortunate lad, who at thirteen fell +from a scaffolding and was taken up for dead, and escaped only with +total deafness and a supposed permanent injury to the brain. A hapless +apprentice, who suffered at the hands of a cruel taskmaster all that +brutality and drunken fury could suggest. A youth, thirsting for +knowledge, but able to obtain it only by the hardest ways, peering into +booksellers' windows, reading at book-stalls, purchasing cheap books +with pennies stained all over with the sweat of his toil. An heroic +student, who labored for more than twenty years with almost unparalleled +industry, and with an equally unparalleled neglect of the laws of +health; of whom it is scarcely too much to say literally, that he knew +no change, but from his desk to his bed, and from his bed to his desk +again. A voluminous writer, who, if he produced no work of positive +genius, has done more than any other man to illustrate the Scriptures, +and to make familiar and vivid the scenery, the life, the geography, and +the natural history of the Holy Land. And he died in the harness,--but +not so very early,--at fifty. And we say that he would have lived much +longer, had he given his constitution a fair chance. But when we +remember his passionate fondness for books, how they compensated him for +the want of wealth, comforts, and the pleasant voices of wife and +children that he could not hear, we grow doubtful. And we hear him +exclaim almost in rhapsody,--"If I were blind as well as deaf, in what a +wretched situation should I be! If I could not read, how deplorable +would be my condition! What earthly pleasure equal to the reading of a +good book? O dearest tomes! O princely and august folios! to obtain you, +I would work night and day, and forbid myself every sensual joy!" When +we behold the forlorn man, shut out by his misfortune from so many +resources, and finding more than recompense for this privation within +the four walls of his library, we are tempted to say, No, he would not +have lived as long; had he studied less, he would have remembered his +griefs more. + +Of course it is easy to take exception to all evidence drawn from the +life and experience of individual men,--natural to say that one must +needs be somewhat old before he can acquire a great name at all, and +that our estimate considers those alone to whom mere prolongation of day +has given reputation, and forgets "the village Hampdens, the mute, +inglorious Miltons," the unrecorded Newtons, the voiceless orators, +sages, or saints who have died and made no sign. To this the simple +reply is, that individual cases, however numerous and striking, are not +relied upon to prove any position, but only to illustrate and confirm +one which general data have already demonstrated. Grant the full force +of every criticism, and then it remains true that the widest record of +literary life exhibits no tendency of mental culture to shorten human +life or to create habits which would shorten it. Indeed, we do not know +where to look for any broad range of facts which would indicate that +education here or anywhere else has decreased or is likely to decrease +health. And were it not for the respect which we cherish towards those +who hold it, we should say that such a position was as nearly pure +theory or prejudice or opinion founded on fragmentary data as any view +well could be. + + * * * * * + +But do you mean to assert that there is no such thing as intellectual +excess? that intellectual activity never injures? that unremitting +attention to mental pursuits, with an entire abstinence from proper +exercise and recreation, is positively invigorating? that robbing the +body of sleep, and bending it sixteen or eighteen hours over the desk, +is the best way to build it up in grace and strength? Of course no one +would say any such absurd things. There is a right and wrong use of +everything. Any part of the system will wear out with excessive use. +Overwork kills, but certainly not any quicker when it is overwork of the +mind than when it is overwork of the body. Overwork in the study is just +as healthful as overwork on the farm or at the ledger or in the smoky +shop, toiling and moiling, with no rest and no quickening thoughts. +Especially is it true that education does not peculiarly tempt a man to +excess. + +But are you ready to maintain that there is no element of excess infused +into our common-school system? Certainly. Most emphatically there is +not. What, then, is there to put over against these terrible statements +of excessive labor of six or seven hours a day, under which young brains +are reeling and young spines are bending until there are no rosy-checked +urchins and blooming maids left among us? The inexorable logic of facts. +The public schools of Massachusetts were taught in the years 1863-4 on +an average just thirty-two weeks, just five days in a week, and, making +proper allowance for recesses and opening exercises, just five and a +quarter hours in a day. Granting now that all the boys and girls studied +during these hours faithfully, you have an average for the three hundred +and thirteen working days of the year of two hours and forty-one minutes +a day,--an amount of study that never injured any healthy child. But, +going back a little to youthful recollections, and considering the +amazing proclivity of the young mind to idleness, whispering, and fun +and frolic in general, it seems doubtful whether our children ever yet +attained to so high an average of actual study as two hours a day. As a +modification of this statement, it may be granted that in the cities and +larger towns the school term reaches forty weeks in a year. If you add +one hour as the average amount of study at home, given by pupils of over +twelve years, (and the allowance is certainly ample,) you have four +hours as the utmost period ever given by any considerable class of +children. That there is excess we freely admit. That there are easy +committee-men who permit too high a pressure, and infatuated teachers +who insist upon it, that there are ambitious children whom nobody can +stop, and silly parents who fondly wish to see their children +monstrosities of brightness, lisping Latin and Greek in their cradles, +respiring mathematics as they would the atmosphere, and bristling all +over with facts of natural science like porcupines, till every bit of +childhood is worked out of them,--that such things are, we are not +inclined to deny. But they are rare exceptions,--no more a part of the +system than white crows are proper representatives of the dusky and +cawing brotherhood. + +Or yet again, do we mean to assert that no attention need be given to +the formation of right physical habits? or that bodily exercise ought +not to be joined to mental toils? or that the walk in the woods, the row +upon the quiet river, the stroll with rod in hand by the babbling brook, +or with gun on shoulder over the green prairies, or the skating in the +crisp December air on the glistening lake, ought to be discouraged? Do +we speak disrespectfully of dumb-bells and clubs and parallel bars, and +all the paraphernalia of the gymnasium? Are we aggrieved at the mention +of boxing-gloves or single-stick or foils? Would it shock our nervous +sensibilities, if our next-door neighbor the philosopher, or some +near-by grave and reverend doctor of divinity, or even the learned judge +himself, should give unmistakable evidence that he had in his body the +two hundred and odd bones and the five hundred and more muscles, with +all their fit accompaniments of joints and sinews, of which the +anatomists tell us? Not at all. Far from it. We exercise, no doubt, too +little. We know of God's fair world too much by description, too little +by the sight of our own eyes. Welcome anything which leads us out into +this goodly and glorious universe! Welcome all that tends to give the +human frame higher grace and symmetry! Welcome the gymnastics, too, +heavy or light either, if they will guide us to a more harmonious +physical development. + +We ourselves own a set of heavy Indian-clubs, of middling Indian-clubs, +and of light Indian-clubs. We have iron dumb-bells and wooden +dumb-bells. We recollect with considerable satisfaction a veritable +bean-bag which did good service in the household until it unfortunately +sprung a-leak. In an amateur way we have tried both systems, and felt +the better for them. We have a dim remembrance of rowing sundry leagues, +and even of dabbling with the rod and line. We always look with friendly +eye upon the Harvard Gymnasium, whenever it looms up in actual or mental +vision. Never yet could we get by an honest game of cricket or base-ball +without losing some ten minutes in admiring contemplation. We bow with +deep respect to Dr. Windship and his heavy weights. We bow, if anything, +with a trifle more of cordiality to Dr. Lewis and his light weights. +They both have our good word. We think that they would have our example, +were it not for the fatal proclivity of solitary gymnastics to dulness. +If we have not risen to the high degrees in this noble order of muscular +Christians, we claim at least to be a humble craftsman and faithful +brother. + +Speaking with all seriousness, we have no faith in mental activity +purchased at the expense of physical sloth. It is well to introduce into +the school, into the family, and into the neighborhood any movement +system which will exercise all the muscles of the body. But the educated +man is not any more likely to need this general physical development +than anybody else. Establish your gymnasium in any village, and the +farmer fresh from the plough, the mechanic from swinging the hammer or +driving the plane, will be just as sure to find new muscles that he +never dreamed of as the palest scholar of them all. And the diffusion of +knowledge and refinement, so far from promoting inactivity and banishing +recreations from life, directly feeds that craving for variety out of +which healthful changes come, and awakens that noble curiosity which at +fit seasons sends a man out to see how the wild-flower grows in the +woods, how the green buds open in the spring, how the foliage takes on +its painted autumn glory, which leads him to struggle through tangled +thickets or through pathless woods that he may behold the brook laughing +in cascade from rock to rock, or to breast the steep mountain that he +may behold from a higher outlook the wonders of the visible creation. +Other things being equal, the educated man in any vocation is quite as +likely as another to be active, quick in every motion and free in every +limb. + + * * * * * + +But admit all that is claimed. Admit that increasing intelligence has +changed the average of man's life from the twenty-five years of the +seventeenth century to the thirty-five of the eighteenth or the +forty-five years of the nineteenth century. Admit, too, that the best +educated men of this generation will live five or ten years more than +the least educated men. Ought we to be satisfied with things as they +are? Should we not look for more than the forty or fifty years of human +life? Assuredly. But it is not our superfluous sainthood which is +destroying life. It is not that we have too much saintliness, but too +little, too limited wisdom, too narrow intelligence, too small an +endowment of virtue and conscience. It is our fierce absorption in +outward plans which plants anxieties like thorns in the heart. It is out +sloth and gluttony which eat out vitality. It is our unbridled appetites +and passions which burn like a consuming fire in our breasts. It is our +unwise exposure which saps the strength and gives energy and force to +latent disease. These, tenfold more than any intense application of the +brain to its legitimate work, limit and destroy human life. The truly +cultivated mind tends to give just aims, moderate desires, and good +habits. + +Ay, and when the true sainthood shall possess and rule humanity,--when +the fields of knowledge with their wholesome fruits shall tempt every +foot away from the forbidden paths of vice and sensual indulgence,--when +a wise intelligence shall cool the hot passions which dry up the +refreshing fountains of peace and joy in the heart,--when a heavenly +wisdom shall lift us above any bondage to this world's fortunes, and +when a good conscience and a lofty trust shall forbid us to be slaves to +any occupation lower than the highest,--when we stand erect and free, +clothed with a real saintliness,--then the years of our life may +increase, and man may go down to his grave "in a full age, like as a +shock of corn cometh in in his season." + +Meanwhile we must stand firmly on this assertion, that, the more of +mental and moral sainthood our people achieve, the more that sainthood +will write fair inscriptions on their bodies, will shine out in +intelligence in their faces, will exhibit itself in graceful form and +motion, and thus add to the deeper and more lasting virtues physical +power, a body which shall be at once a good servant and the proper +representative of a refined and elevated soul. + + + + +NO TIME LIKE THE OLD TIME. + + + There is no time like the old time, when you and I were young, + When the buds of April blossomed, and the birds of spring-time sung! + The garden's brightest glories by summer suns are nursed, + But, oh, the sweet, sweet violets, the flowers that opened first! + + There is no place like the old place where you and I were born, + Where we lifted first our eyelids on the splendors of the morn + From the milk-white breast that warmed us, from the clinging arms that bore, + Where the dear eyes glistened o'er us that will look on us no more! + + There is no friend like the old friend who has shared our morning days, + No greeting like his welcome, no homage like his praise: + Fame is the scentless sunflower, with gaudy crown of gold; + But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold. + + There is no love like the old love that we courted in our pride; + Though our leaves are falling, falling, and we're fading side by side, + There are blossoms all around us with the colors of our dawn, + And we live in borrowed sunshine when the light of day is gone. + + There are no times like the old times,--they shall never be forgot! + There is no place like the old place,--keep green the dear old spot! + There are no friends like our old friends,--may Heaven prolong their lives! + There are no loves like our old loves,--God bless our loving wives! + + + + +COUPON BONDS. + + +PART II. + +Mr. Ducklow had scarcely turned the corner of the street, when, looking +anxiously in the direction of his homestead, he saw a column of smoke. +It was directly over the spot where he knew his house to be situated. He +guessed at a glance what had happened. The frightful catastrophe he +foreboded had befallen. Taddy had set the house afire. + +"Them bonds! them bonds!" he exclaimed, distractedly. He did not think +so much of the house: house and furniture were insured; if they were +burned, the inconvenience would be great indeed, and at any other time +the thought of such an event would have been a sufficient cause for +trepidation,--but now his chief, his only anxiety was the bonds. They +were not insured. They would be a dead loss. And what added sharpness to +his pangs, they would be a loss which he must keep a secret, as he had +kept their existence a secret,--a loss which he could not confess, and +of which he could not complain. Had he not just given his neighbors to +understand that he held no such property? And his wife,--was she not at +that very moment, if not serving up a lie on the subject, at least +paring the truth very thin indeed? + +"A man would think," observed Ferring, "that Ducklow had some o' them +bonds on his hands, and got scaret, he took such a sudden start. He has, +hasn't he, Mrs. Ducklow?" + +"Has what?" said Mrs. Ducklow, pretending ignorance. + +"Some o' them cowpon bonds. I ruther guess he's got some." + +"You mean Gov'ment bonds? Ducklow got some? 'Ta'n't at all likely he'd +spec'late in them, without saying something to _me_ about it! No, he +couldn't have any without my knowing it, I'm sure!" + +How demure, how innocent she looked, plying her knitting-needles, and +stopping to take up a stitch! How little at that moment she knew of +Ducklow's trouble, and its terrible cause! + +Ducklow's first impulse was to drive on and endeavor at all hazards to +snatch the bonds from the flames. His next was, to return and alarm his +neighbors, and obtain their assistance. But a minute's delay might be +fatal; so he drove on, screaming "Fire! fire!" at the top of his voice. + +But the old mare was a slow-footed animal; and Ducklow had no whip. He +reached forward and struck her with the reins. + +"Git up! git up!--Fire! fire!" screamed Ducklow. "Oh, them bonds! them +bonds! Why didn't I give the money to Reuben? Fire! fire! fire!" + +By dint of screaming and slapping, he urged her from a trot into a +gallop, which was scarcely an improvement as to speed, and certainly +not as to grace. It was like the gallop of an old cow. "Why don't ye go +'long!" he cried despairingly. + +Slap, slap! He knocked his own hat off with the loose ends of the reins. +It fell under the wheels. He cast one look behind, to satisfy himself +that it had been very thoroughly run over and crushed into the dirt, and +left it to its fate. + +Slap, slap! "Fire, fire!" Canter, canter, canter! Neighbors looked out +of their windows, and, recognizing Ducklow's wagon and old mare in such +an astonishing plight, and Ducklow himself, without his hat, rising from +his seat, and reaching forward in wild attitudes, brandishing the reins, +at the same time rending the azure with yells, thought he must be +insane. + +He drove to the top of the hill, and looking beyond, in expectation of +seeing his house wrapped in flames, discovered that the smoke proceeded +from a brush-heap which his neighbor Atkins was burning in a field near +by. + +The revulsion of feeling that ensued was almost too much for the +excitable Ducklow. His strength went out of him. For a little while +there seemed to be nothing left of him but tremor and cold sweat. +Difficult as it had been to get the old mare in motion, it was now even +more difficult to stop her. + +"Why! what has got into Ducklow's old mare? She's running away with him! +Who ever heard of such a thing!" And Atkins, watching the ludicrous +spectacle from his field, became almost as weak from laughter as Ducklow +was from the effects of fear. + +At length Ducklow succeeded in checking the old mare's speed, and in +turning her about. It was necessary to drive back for his hat. By this +time he could hear a chorus of shouts, "Fire! fire! fire!" over the +hill. He had aroused the neighbors as he passed, and now they were +flocking to extinguish the flames. + +"A false alarm! a false alarm!" said Ducklow, looking marvellously +sheepish, as he met them. "Nothing but Atkins's brush-heap!" + +"Seems to me you ought to have found that out 'fore you raised all +creation with your yells!" said one hyperbolical fellow. "You looked +like the Flying Dutchman! This your hat? I thought 'twas a dead cat in +the road. No fire, no fire!"--turning back to his comrades,--"only one +of Ducklow's jokes." + +Nevertheless, two or three boys there were who would not be convinced, +but continued to leap up, swing their caps, and scream "Fire!" against +all remonstrance. Ducklow did not wait to enter into explanations, but, +turning the old mare about again, drove home amid the laughter of the +bystanders and the screams of the misguided youngsters. As he approached +the house, he met Taddy rushing wildly up the street. + +"Thaddeus! Thaddeus! where ye goin', Thaddeus?" + +"Goin' to the fire!" cried Taddy. + +"There isn't any fire, boy!" + +"Yes, there is! Didn't ye hear 'em? They've been yellin' like fury." + +"It's nothin' but Atkins's brush." + +"That all?" And Taddy appeared very much disappointed. "I thought there +was goin' to be some fun. I wonder who was such a fool as to yell fire +jest for a darned old brush-heap!" + +Ducklow did not inform him. + +"I've got to drive over to town and git Reuben's trunk. You stand by the +mare while I step in and brush my hat." + +Instead of applying himself at once to the restoration of his beaver, he +hastened to the sitting-room, to see that the bonds were safe. + +"Heavens and 'arth!" said Ducklow. + +The chair, which had been carefully planted in the spot where they were +concealed, had been removed. Three or four tacks had been taken out, and +the carpet pushed from the wall. There was straw scattered about. +Evidently Taddy had been interrupted, in the midst of his ransacking, by +the alarm of fire. Indeed, he was even now creeping into the house to +see what notice Ducklow would take of these evidences of his mischief. + +In great trepidation the farmer thrust in his hand here and there, and +groped, until he found the envelope precisely where it had been placed +the night before, with the tape tied around it, which his wife had put +on to prevent its contents from slipping out and losing themselves. +Great was the joy of Ducklow. Great also was the wrath of him, when he +turned and discovered Taddy. + +"Didn't I tell you to stand by the old mare?" + +"She won't stir," said Taddy, shrinking away again. + +"Come here!" And Ducklow grasped him by the collar. "What have you been +doin'? Look at that!" + +"'Twa'n't me!"--beginning to whimper, and ram his fists into his eyes. + +"Don't tell me 'twa'n't you!" Ducklow shook him till his teeth +chattered. "What was you pullin' up the carpet for?" + +"Lost a marble!" snivelled Taddy. + +"Lost a marble! Ye didn't lose it under the carpet, did ye? Look at all +that straw pulled out!"--shaking him again. + +"Didn't know but it might 'a' got under the carpet, marbles roll so," +explained Taddy, as soon as he could get his breath. + +"Wal, Sir!" Ducklow administered a resounding box on his ear. "Don't you +do such a thing again, if you lose a million marbles!" + +"Ha'n't got a million!" Taddy wept, rubbing his cheek. "Ha'n't got but +four! Won't ye buy me some to-day?" + +"Go to that mare, and don't you leave her again till I come, or I'll +_marble_ ye in a way you won't like!" + +Understanding, by this somewhat equivocal form of expression, that +flagellation was threatened, Taddy obeyed, still feeling his smarting +and burning ear. + +Ducklow was in trouble. What should he do with the bonds? The floor was +no place for them, after what had happened; and he remembered too well +the experience of yesterday to think for a moment of carrying them about +his person. With unreasonable impatience, his mind reverted to Mrs. +Ducklow. + +"Why a'n't she to home? These women are forever a-gaddin'! I wish +Reuben's trunk was in Jericho!" + +Thinking of the trunk reminded him of one in the garret, filled with old +papers of all sorts,--newspapers, letters, bills of sale, children's +writing-books,--accumulations of the past quarter of a century. Neither +fire nor burglar nor ransacking youngster had ever molested those +ancient records during all those five-and-twenty years. A bright thought +struck him. + +"I'll slip the bonds down into that wuthless heap o' rubbish, where no +one 'u'd ever think o' lookin' for 'em, and resk 'em." + +Having assured himself that Taddy was standing by the wagon, he paid a +hasty visit to the trunk in the garret, and concealed the envelope, +still bound in its band of tape, among the papers. He then drove away, +giving Taddy a final charge to beware of setting anything afire. + +He had driven about half a mile when he met a peddler. There was nothing +unusual or alarming in such a circumstance, surely; but as Ducklow kept +on, it troubled him. + +"He'll stop to the house now, most likely, and want to trade. Findin' +nobody but Taddy, there's no knowin' what he'll be tempted to do. But I +a'n't a-goin' to worry. I'll defy anybody to find them bonds. Besides, +she may be home by this time. I guess she'll hear of the fire-alarm, and +hurry home: it'll be jest like her. She'll be there, and--trade with the +peddler?" thought Ducklow, uneasily. Then a frightful fancy possessed +him. "She has threatened two or three times to sell that old trunkful of +papers. He'll offer a big price for 'em, and ten to one she'll let him +have 'em. Why _didn't_ I think on 't? What a stupid blunderbuss I be!" + +As Ducklow thought of it, he felt almost certain that Mrs. Ducklow had +returned home, and that she was bargaining with the peddler at that +moment. He fancied her smilingly receiving bright tin-ware for the old +papers; and he could see the tape-tied envelope going into the bag with +the rest! The result was, that he turned about and whipped the old mare +home again in terrific haste, to catch the departing peddler. + +Arriving, he found the house as he had left it, and Taddy occupied in +making a kite-frame. + +"Did that peddler stop here?" + +"I ha'n't seen no peddler." + +"And ha'n't yer Ma Ducklow been home, neither?" + +"No." + +And with a guilty look, Taddy put the kite-frame behind him. + +Ducklow considered. The peddler had turned up a cross-street: he would +probably turn down again and stop at the house, after all: Mrs. Ducklow +might by that time be at home: then the sale of old papers would be very +likely to take place. Ducklow thought of leaving word that he did not +wish any old papers in the house to be sold, but feared lest the request +might excite Taddy's suspicions. + +"I don't see no way but for me to take the bonds with me," thought he, +with an inward groan. + +He accordingly went to the garret, took the envelope out of the trunk, +and placed it in the breast-pocket of his overcoat, to which he pinned +it, to prevent it by any chance from getting out. He used six large, +strong pins for the purpose, and was afterwards sorry he did not use +seven. + +"There's suthin' losin' out of yer pocket!" bawled Taddy, as he was once +more mounting the wagon. + +Quick as lightning, Ducklow clapped his hand to his breast. In doing so, +he loosed his hold of the wagon-box and fell, raking his shin badly on +the wheel. + +"Yer side-pocket! it's one o' yer mittens!" said Taddy. + +"You rascal! how you scared me!" + +Seating himself in the wagon, Ducklow gently pulled up his trousers-leg +to look at the bruised part. + +"Got anything in yer boot-leg to-day, Pa Ducklow?" asked Taddy, +innocently. + +"Yes, a barked shin!--all on your account, too! Go and put that straw +back, and fix the carpet; and don't ye let me hear ye speak of my +boot-leg again, or I'll _boot-leg_ ye!" + +So saying, Ducklow departed. + +Instead of repairing the mischief he had done in the sitting-room, Taddy +devoted his time and talents to the more interesting occupation of +constructing his kite-frame. He worked at that, until Mr. Grantley, the +minister, driving by, stopped to inquire how the folks were. + +"A'n't to home: may I ride?" cried Taddy, all in a breath. + +Mr. Grantley was an indulgent old gentleman, fond of children; so he +said, "Jump in"; and in a minute Taddy had scrambled to a seat by his +side. + +And now occurred a circumstance which Ducklow had foreseen. The alarm of +fire had reached Reuben's; and although the report of its falseness +followed immediately, Mrs. Ducklow's inflammable fancy was so kindled by +it that she could find no comfort in prolonging her visit. + +"Mr. Ducklow'll be going for the trunk, and I _must_ go home and see to +things, Taddy's _such_ a fellow for mischief! I can foot it; I sha'n't +mind it." + +And off she started, walking herself out of breath in her anxiety. + +She reached the brow of the hill just in time to see a chaise drive away +from her own door. + +"Who _can_ that be? I wonder if Taddy's there to guard the house! If +anything should happen to them bonds!" + +Out of breath as she was, she quickened her pace, and trudged on, +flushed, perspiring, panting, until she reached the house. + +"Thaddeus!" she called. + +No Taddy answered. She went in. The house was deserted. And lo! the +carpet torn up, and the bonds abstracted! + +Mr. Ducklow never would have made such work, removing the bonds. Then +somebody else must have taken them, she reasoned. + +"The man in the chaise!" she exclaimed, or rather made an effort to +exclaim, succeeding only in bringing forth a hoarse, gasping sound. Fear +dried up articulation. _Vox faucibus hoesit._ + +And Taddy? He had disappeared; been murdered, perhaps,--or gagged and +carried away by the man in the chaise. + +Mrs. Ducklow flew hither and thither, (to use a favorite phrase of her +own,) "like a hen with her head cut off"; then rushed out of the house, +and up the street, screaming after the chaise,-- + +"Murder! murder! Stop thief! stop thief!" + +She waved her hands aloft in the air frantically. If she had trudged +before, now she trotted, now she cantered; but if the cantering of the +old mare was fitly likened to that of a cow, to what thing, to what +manner of motion under the sun, shall we liken the cantering of Mrs. +Ducklow? It was original; it was unique; it was prodigious. Now, with +her frantically waving hands, and all her undulating and flapping +skirts, she seemed a species of huge, unwieldy bird attempting to fly. +Then she sank down into a heavy, dragging walk,--breath and strength all +gone,--no voice left even to scream murder. Then the awful realization +of the loss of the bonds once more rushing over her, she started up +again. "Half running, half flying, what progress she made!" Then +Atkins's dog saw her, and, naturally mistaking her for a prodigy, came +out at her, bristling up and bounding and barking terrifically. + +"Come here!" cried Atkins, following the dog. "What's the matter? What's +to pay, Mrs. Ducklow?" + +Attempting to speak, the good woman could only pant and wheeze. + +"Robbed!" she at last managed to whisper, amid the yelpings of the cur +that refused to be silenced. + +"Robbed? How? Who?" + +"The chaise. Ketch it." + +Her gestures expressed more than her words; and Atkins's horse and +wagon, with which he had been drawing out brush, being in the yard near +by, he ran to them, leaped to the seat, drove into the road, took Mrs. +Ducklow aboard, and set out in vigorous pursuit of the slow two-wheeled +vehicle. + +"Stop, you, Sir! Stop, you, Sir!" shrieked Mrs. Ducklow, having +recovered her breath by the time they came up with the chaise. + +It stopped, and Mr. Grantley the minister put out his good-natured, +surprised face. + +"You've robbed my house! You've took"---- + +Mrs. Ducklow was going on in wild, accusatory accents, when she +recognized the benign countenance. + +"What do you say? I have robbed you?" he exclaimed, very much +astonished. + +"No, no! not you! You wouldn't do such a thing!" she stammered forth, +while Atkins, who had laughed himself weak at Mr. Ducklow's plight +earlier in the morning, now laughed himself into a side-ache at Mrs. +Ducklow's ludicrous mistake. "But did you--did you stop at my house? +Have you seen our Thaddeus?" + +"Here I be, Ma Ducklow!" piped a small voice; and Taddy, who had till +then remained hidden, fearing punishment, peeped out of the chaise from +behind the broad back of the minister. + +"Taddy! Taddy! how came the carpet"---- + +"I pulled it up, huntin' for a marble," said Taddy, as she paused, +overmastered by her emotions. + +"And the--the thing tied up in a brown wrapper?" + +"Pa Ducklow took it." + +"Ye sure?" + +"Yes, I seen him!" + +"Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Ducklow, "I never was so beat! Mr. Grantley, I +hope--excuse me--I didn't know what I was about! Taddy, you notty boy, +what did you leave the house for? Be ye quite sure yer Pa Ducklow"---- + +Taddy repeated that he was quite sure, as he climbed from the chaise +into Atkins's wagon. The minister smilingly remarked that he hoped she +would find no robbery had been committed, and went his way. Atkins, +driving back, and setting her and Taddy down at the Ducklow gate, +answered her embarrassed "Much obleeged to ye," with a sincere "Not at +all," considering the fun he had had a sufficient compensation for his +trouble. And thus ended the morning's adventures, with the exception of +an unimportant episode, in which Taddy, Mrs. Ducklow, and Mrs. Ducklow's +rattan were the principal actors. + +At noon Mr. Ducklow returned. + +"Did ye take the bonds?" was his wife's first question. + +"Of course I did! Ye don't suppose I'd go away and leave 'em in the +house, not knowin' when you'd be comin' home?" + +"Wal, I didn't know. And I didn't know whuther to believe Taddy or not. +Oh, I've had such a fright!" + +And she related the story of her pursuit of the minister. + +"How could ye make such a fool of yerself? It'll git all over town, and +I shall be mortified to death. Jest like a woman, to git frightened!" + +"If _you_ hadn't got frightened, and made a fool of _yourself_, yelling +fire, 'twouldn't have happened!" retorted Mrs. Ducklow. + +"Wal! wal! say no more about it! The bonds are safe." + +"I was in hopes you'd change 'em for them registered bonds Reuben spoke +of." + +"I did try to, but they told me to the bank it couldn't be did. Then I +asked 'em if they would keep 'em for me, and they said they wouldn't +object to lockin' on 'em up in their safe; but they wouldn't give me no +receipt, nor hold themselves responsible for 'em. I didn't know what +else to do, so I handed 'em the bonds to keep." + +"I want to know if you did now!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow, disapprovingly. + +"Why not? What else could I do? I didn't want to lug 'em around with me +forever. And as for keepin' 'em hid in the house, we've tried that!" and +Ducklow unfolded his weekly newspaper. + +Mrs. Ducklow was placing the dinner on the table, with a look which +seemed to say, "_I_ wouldn't have left the bonds in the bank; _my_ +judgment would have been better than all that. If they are lost, _I_ +sha'n't be to blame!" when suddenly Ducklow started and uttered a cry of +consternation over his newspaper. + +"Why, what have ye found?" + +"Bank robbery!" + +"Not _your_ bank? Not the bank where _your bonds_"---- + +"Of course not; but in the very next town! The safe blown open with +gunpowder! Five thousand dollars in Gov'ment bonds stole!" + +"How strange!" said Mrs. Ducklow. "Now what did I tell ye?" + +"I believe you're right," cried Ducklow, starting to his feet. "They'll +be safer in my own house, or even in my own pocket!" + +"If you was going to put 'em in any safe, why not put 'em in Josiah's? +He's got a safe, ye know." + +"So he has! We might drive over there and make a visit Monday, and ask +him to lock up----yes, we might tell him and Laury all about it, and +leave 'em in their charge." + +"So we might!" said Mrs. Ducklow. + +Laura was their daughter, and Josiah her husband, in whose honor and +sagacity they placed unlimited confidence. The plan was resolved upon at +once. + +"To-morrow's Sunday," said Ducklow, pacing the floor. "If we leave the +bonds in the bank over night, they must stay there till Monday." + +"And Sunday is jest the day for burglars to operate!" added Mrs. +Ducklow. + +"I've a good notion--let me see!" said Ducklow, looking at the clock. +"Twenty minutes after twelve! Bank closes at two! An hour and a half,--I +believe I could git there in an hour and a half. I will. I'll take a +bite and drive right back." + +Which he accordingly did, and brought the tape-tied envelope home with +him again. That night he slept with it under his pillow. The next day +was Sunday; and although Mr. Ducklow did not like to have the bonds on +his mind during sermon-time, and Mrs. Ducklow "dreaded dreadfully," as +she said, "to look the minister in the face," they concluded that it was +best, on the whole, to go to meeting, and carry the bonds. With the +envelope once more in his breast-pocket, (stitched in this time by Mrs. +Ducklow's own hand,) the farmer sat under the droppings of the +sanctuary, and stared up at the good minister, but without hearing a +word of the discourse, his mind was so engrossed by worldly cares, until +the preacher exclaimed vehemently, looking straight at Ducklow's pew,-- + +"What said Paul? 'I would to God that not only thou, but also all that +hear me this day, were both almost and altogether such as I am, _except +these bonds_.' _'Except these bonds'!_" he repeated, striking the Bible. +"Can you, my hearers,--can you say, with Paul, 'Would that all were as I +am, _except these bonds_'?" + +A point which seemed for a moment so personal to himself, that Ducklow +was filled with confusion, and would certainly have stammered out some +foolish answer, had not the preacher passed on to other themes. As it +was, Ducklow contented himself with glancing around to see if the +congregation was looking at him, and carelessly passing his hand across +his breast-pocket to make sure the bonds were still there. + +Early the next morning, the old mare was harnessed, and Taddy's adopted +parents set out to visit their daughter,--Mrs. Ducklow having postponed +her washing for the purpose. It was afternoon when they arrived at their +journey's end. Laura received them joyfully, but Josiah was not expected +home until evening. Mr. Ducklow put the old mare in the barn, and fed +her, and then went in to dinner, feeling very comfortable indeed. + +"Josiah's got a nice place here. That's about as slick a little barn as +ever I see. Always does me good to come over here and see you gittin' +along so nicely, Laury." + +"I wish you'd come oftener, then," said Laura. + +"Wal, it's hard leavin' home, ye know. Have to git one of the Atkins +boys to come and sleep with Taddy the night we're away." + +"We shouldn't have come to-day, if 't hadn't been for me," remarked Mrs. +Ducklow. "Says I to your father, says I, 'I feel as if I wanted to go +over and see Laury; it seems an age since I've seen her,' says I. 'Wal,' +says he, 's'pos'n' we go!' says he. That was only last Saturday; and +this morning we started." + +"And it's no fool of a job to make the journey with the old mare!" said +Ducklow. + +"Why don't you drive a better horse?" said Laura, whose pride was always +touched when her parents came to visit her with the old mare and the +one-horse wagon. + +"Oh, she answers my purpose. Hossflesh is high, Laury. Have to +economize, these times." + +"I'm sure there's no need of your economizing!" exclaimed Laura, leading +the way to the dining-room. "Why don't you use your money, and have the +good of it?" + +"So I tell him," said Mrs. Ducklow, faintly.--"Why, Laury! I didn't want +you to be to so much trouble to git dinner jest for us! A bite would +have answered. Do see, father!" + +At evening Josiah came home; and it was not until then that Ducklow +mentioned the subject which was foremost in his thoughts. + +"What do ye think o' Gov'ment bonds, Josiah?" he incidentally inquired, +after supper. + +"First-rate!" said Josiah. + +"About as safe as anything, a'n't they?" said Ducklow, encouraged. + +"Safe?" cried Josiah. "Just look at the resources of this country! +Nobody has begun yet to appreciate the power and undeveloped wealth of +these United States. It's a big rebellion, I know; but we're going to +put it down. It'll leave us a big debt, very sure; but we handle it now +easy as that child lifts that stool. It makes him grunt and stagger a +little, not because he isn't strong enough for it, but because he don't +understand his own strength, or how to use it: he'll have twice the +strength, and know just how to apply it, in a little while. Just so with +this country. It makes me laugh to bear folks talk about repudiation and +bankruptcy." + +"But s'pos'n' we do put down the Rebellion, and the States come back: +then what's to hender the South, and Secesh sympathizers in the North, +from j'inin' together and votin' that the debt sha'n't be paid?" + +"Don't you worry about that! Do ye suppose we're going to be such fools +as to give the Rebels, after we've whipped 'em, the same political power +they had before the war? Not by a long chalk! Sooner than that, we'll +put the ballot into the hands of the freedmen. They're our friends. +They've fought on the right side, and they'll vote on the right side. I +tell ye, spite of all the prejudice there is against black skins, we +a'n't such a nation of ninnies as to give up all we're fighting for, and +leave our best friends and allies, not to speak of our own interests, in +the hands of our enemies." + +"You consider Gov'ments a good investment, then, do ye?" said Ducklow, +growing radiant. + +"I do, decidedly,--the very best. Besides, you help the Government; and +that's no small consideration." + +"So I thought. But how is it about the cowpon bonds? A'n't they rather +ticklish property to have in the house?" + +"Well, I don't know. Think how many years you'll keep old bills and +documents and never dream of such a thing as losing them! There's not a +bit more danger with the bonds. I shouldn't want to carry 'em around +with me, to any great amount,--though I did once carry three +thousand-dollar bonds in my pocket for a week. I didn't mind it." + +"Curi's!" said Ducklow: "I've got three thousan'-dollar bonds in my +pocket this minute!" + +"Well, it's so much good property," said Josiah, appearing not at all +surprised at the circumstance. + +"Seems to me, though, if I had a safe, as you have, I should lock 'em up +in it." + +"I was travelling that week. I locked 'em up pretty soon after I got +home, though." + +"Suppose," said Ducklow, as if the thought had but just occurred to +him,--"suppose you put my bonds into your safe: I shall feel easier." + +"Of course," replied Josiah. "I'll keep 'em for you, if you like." + +"It will be an accommodation. They'll be safe, will they?" + +"Safe as mine are; safe as anybody's: I'll insure 'em for twenty-five +cents." + +Ducklow was happy. Mrs. Ducklow was happy. She took her husband's coat, +and with a pair of scissors cut the threads that stitched the envelope +to the pocket. + +"Have you torn off the May coupons?" asked Josiah. + +"No." + +"Well, you'd better. They'll be payable now soon; and if you take them, +you won't have to touch the bonds again till the interest on the +November coupons is due." + +"A good idea!" said Ducklow. + +He took the envelope, untied the tape, and removed its contents. +Suddenly the glow of comfort, the gleam of satisfaction, faded from his +countenance. + +"Hello! What ye got there?" cried Josiah. + +"Why, father! massy sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow. + +As for Ducklow himself, he could not utter a word; but, dumb with +consternation, he looked again in the envelope, and opened and turned +inside out, and shook, with trembling hands, its astonishing contents. +The bonds were not there: they had been stolen, and three copies of the +"Sunday Visitor" had been inserted in their place. + + * * * * * + +Very early on the following morning a dismal-faced middle-aged couple +might have been seen riding away from Josiah's house. It was the +Ducklows returning home, after their fruitless, their worse than +fruitless, journey. No entreaties could prevail upon them to prolong +their visit. It was with difficulty even that they had been prevented +from setting off immediately on the discovery of their loss, and +travelling all night, in their impatience to get upon the track of the +missing bonds. + +"There'll be not the least use in going to-night," Josiah had said. "If +they were stolen at the bank, you can't do anything about it till +to-morrow. And even if they were taken from your own house, I don't see +what's to be gained now by hurrying back. It isn't probable you'll ever +see 'em again, and you may just as well take it easy,--go to bed and +sleep on it, and get a fresh start in the morning." + +So, much against their inclination, the unfortunate owners of the +abstracted bonds retired to the luxurious chamber Laura gave them, and +lay awake all night, groaning and sighing, wondering and surmising, and +(I regret to add) blaming each other. So true it is, that "modern +conveniences," hot and cold water all over the house, a pier-glass, and +the most magnificently canopied couch, avail nothing to give +tranquillity to the harassed mind. Hitherto the Ducklows had felt great +satisfaction in the style their daughter, by her marriage, was enabled +to support. To brag of her nice house and furniture and two servants was +almost as good as possessing them. Remembering her rich dining-room and +silver service and porcelain, they were proud. Such things were enough +for the honor of the family; and, asking nothing for themselves, they +slept well in their humblest of bed-chambers, and sipped their tea +contentedly out of clumsy earthen. But that night the boasted style in +which their "darter" lived was less appreciated than formerly: fashion +and splendor were no longer a consolation. + +"If we had only given the three thousan' dollars to Reuben!" said +Ducklow, driving homewards with a countenance as long as his whip-lash. +"'Twould have jest set him up, and been some compensation for his +sufferin's and losses goin' to the war." + +"Wal, I had no objections," replied Mrs. Ducklow. "I always thought he +ought to have the money eventooally. And, as Miss Beswick said, no doubt +it would 'a' been ten times the comfort to him now it would be a number +o' years from now. But you didn't seem willing." + +"I don't know! 'twas you that wasn't willin'!" + +And they expatiated on Reuben's merits, and their benevolent intentions +towards him, and, in imagination, endowed him with the price of the +bonds over and over again: so easy is it to be generous with lost money! + +"But it's no use talkin'!" said Ducklow. "I've not the least idee we +shall ever see the color o' them bonds again. If they was stole to the +bank, I can't prove anything." + +"It does seem strange to me," Mrs. Ducklow replied, "that you should +have had no more gumption than to trust the bonds with strangers, when +they told you in so many words they wouldn't be responsible." + +"If you have flung that in my teeth once, you have fifty times!" And +Ducklow lashed the old mare, as if she, and not Mrs. Ducklow, had +exasperated him. + +"Wal," said the lady, "I don't see how we're going to work to find 'em, +now they're lost, without making inquiries; and we can't make inquiries +without letting it be known we had bought." + +"I been thinkin' about that," said her husband. "Oh, dear!" with a +groan; "I wish the pesky cowpon bonds had never been invented!" + +They drove first to the bank, where they were of course told that the +envelope had not been untied there. "Besides, it was sealed, wasn't +it?" said the cashier. "Indeed!" He expressed great surprise, when +informed that it was not. "It should have been: I supposed any child +would know enough to look out for that!" + +And this was all the consolation Ducklow could obtain. + +"Just as I expected," said Mrs. Ducklow, as they resumed their journey. +"I just as much believe that man stole your bonds as that you trusted +'em in his hands in an unsealed wrapper! Beats all, how you could be so +careless!" + +"Wal, wal! I s'pose I never shall hear the last on 't!" + +And again the poor old mare had to suffer for Mrs. Ducklow's offences. + +They had but one hope now,--that perhaps Taddy had tampered with the +envelope, and that the bonds might be found somewhere about the house. +But this hope was quickly extinguished on their arrival. Taddy, being +accused, protested his innocence with a vehemence which convinced even +Mr. Ducklow that the cashier was probably the guilty party. + +"Unless," said he, brandishing the rattan, "somebody got into the house +that morning when the little scamp run off to ride with the minister!" + +"Oh, don't lick me for that! I've been licked for that once; ha'n't I, +Ma Ducklow?" shrieked Taddy. + +The house was searched in vain. No clew to the purloined securities +could be obtained,--the copies of the "Sunday Visitor," which had been +substituted for them, affording not the least; for that valuable little +paper was found in almost every household, except Ducklow's. + +"I don't see any way left but to advertise, as Josiah said," remarked +the farmer, with a deep sigh of despondency. + +"And that'll bring it all out!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow. "If you only +hadn't been so imprudent!" + +"Wal, wal!" said Ducklow, cutting her short. + +Before resorting to public measures for the recovery of the stolen +property, it was deemed expedient to acquaint their friends with their +loss in a private way. The next day, accordingly, they went to pay +Reuben a visit. It was a very different meeting from that which took +place a few mornings before. The returned soldier had gained in health, +but not in spirits. The rapture of reaching home once more, the flush of +hope and happiness, had passed away with the visitors who had flocked to +offer their congratulations. He had had time to reflect: he had reached +home, indeed; but now every moment reminded him how soon that home was +to be taken from him. He looked at his wife and children, and clenched +his teeth hard to stifle the emotions that arose at the thought of their +future. The sweet serenity, the faith and patience and cheerfulness, +which never ceased to illumine Sophronia's face as she moved about the +house, pursuing her daily tasks, and tenderly waiting upon him, deepened +at once his love and his solicitude. He was watching her thus when the +Ducklows entered with countenances mournful as the grave. + +"How are you gittin' along, Reuben?" said Ducklow, while his wife +murmured a solemn "good morning" to Sophronia. + +"I am doing well enough. Don't be at all concerned about me! It a'n't +pleasant to lie here, and feel it may be months, months, before I'm able +to be about my business; but I wouldn't mind it,--I could stand it +first-rate,--I could stand anything, anything, but to see her working +her life out for me and the children! To no purpose, either; that's the +worst of it. We shall have to lose this place, spite of fate!" + +"Oh, Reuben!" said Sophronia, hastening to him, and laying her soothing +hands upon his hot forehead; "why won't you stop thinking about that? Do +try to have more faith! We shall be taken care of, I'm sure!" + +"If I had three thousand dollars,--yes, or even two,--then I'd have +faith!" said Reuben. "Miss Beswick has proposed to send a +subscription-paper around town for us; but I'd rather die than have it +done. Besides, nothing near that amount could be raised, I'm confident. +You needn't groan so, Pa Ducklow, for I a'n't hinting at you. I don't +expect you to help me out of my trouble. If you had felt called upon to +do it, you'd have done it before now; and I don't ask, I don't beg of +any man!" added the soldier, proudly. + +"That's right; I like your sperit!" said the miserable Ducklow. "But I +was sighing to think of something,--something you haven't known anything +about, Reuben." + +"Yes, Reuben, we should have helped you," said Mrs. Ducklow, "and did, +did take steps towards it"---- + +"In fact," resumed Ducklow, "you've met with a great misfortin', Reuben. +Unbeknown to yourself, you've met with a great misfortin'! Yer Ma +Ducklow knows." + +"Yes, Reuben, the very day you came home, your Pa Ducklow made an +investment for your benefit. We didn't mention it,--you know I wouldn't +own up to it, though I didn't exactly say the contrary, the morning we +was over here"---- + +"Because," said Ducklow, as she faltered, "we wanted to surprise you; we +was keepin' it a secret till the right time, then we was goin' to make +it a pleasant surprise to ye." + +"What in the name of common-sense are you talking about?" cried Reuben, +looking from one to the other of the wretched, prevaricating pair. + +"Cowpon bonds!" groaned Ducklow. "Three thousan'-dollar cowpon bonds! +The money had been lent, but I wanted to make a good investment for you, +and I thought there was nothin' so good as Gov'ments"---- + +"That's all right," said Reuben. "Only, if you had money to invest for +my benefit, I should have preferred to pay off the mortgage the first +thing." + +"Sartin! sartin!" said Ducklow; "and you could have turned the bonds +right in, if you had so chosen, like so much cash. Or you could have +drawed your interest on the bonds in gold, and paid the interest on your +mortgage in currency, and made so much, as I rather thought you would." + +"But the bonds?" eagerly demanded Reuben, with trembling hopes, just as +Miss Beswick, with her shawl over her head, entered the room. + +"We was jest telling about our loss, Reuben's loss," said Mrs. Ducklow +in a manner which betrayed no little anxiety to conciliate that terrible +woman. + +"Very well! don't let me interrupt." And Miss Beswick, slipping the +shawl from her head, sat down. + +Her presence, stiff and prim and sarcastic, did not tend in the least to +relieve Mr. Ducklow from the natural embarrassment he felt in giving his +version of Reuben's loss. However, assisted occasionally by a judicious +remark thrown in by Mrs. Ducklow, he succeeded in telling a sufficiently +plausible and candid-seeming story. + +"I see! I see!" said Reuben, who had listened with astonishment and pain +to the narrative. "You had kinder intentions towards me than I gave you +credit for. Forgive me, if I wronged you!" He pressed the hand of his +adopted father, and thanked him from a heart filled with gratitude and +trouble. "But don't feel so bad about it. You did what you thought best +I can only say, the fates are against me." + +"Hem!" coughing, Miss Beswick stretched up her long neck and cleared her +throat "So them bonds you had bought for Reuben was in the house the +very night I called!" + +"Yes, Miss Beswick," replied Mrs. Ducklow; "and that's what made it so +uncomfortable to us to have you talk the way you did." + +"Hem!" The neck was stretched up still farther than before, and the +redoubtable throat cleared again. "'Twas too bad! Ye ought to have told +me. You'd actooally bought the bonds,--bought 'em for Reuben, had ye?" + +"Sartin! sartin!" said Ducklow. + +"To be sure!" said Mrs. Ducklow. + +"We designed 'em for his benefit, a surprise, when the right time +come," said both together. + +"Hem! well!" (It was evident that the Beswick was clearing her decks for +action.) "When the right time come! yes! That right time wasn't +somethin' indefinite, in the fur futur', of course! Yer losin' the bonds +didn't hurry up yer benevolence the least grain, I s'pose! Hem! let in +them boys, Sophrony!" + +Sophronia opened the door, and in walked Master Dick Atkins, (son of the +brush-burner,) followed, not without reluctance and concern, by Master +Taddy. + +"Thaddeus! what you here for?" demanded the adopted parents. + +"Because I said so," remarked Miss Beswick, arbitrarily. "Step along, +boys, step along. Hold up yer head, Taddy, for ye a'n't goin' to be hurt +while I'm around. Take yer fists out o' yer eyes, and stop blubberin'. +Mr. Ducklow, that boy knows somethin' about Reuben's cowpon bonds." + +"Thaddeus!" ejaculated both Ducklows at once, "did you touch them +bonds?" + +"Didn't know what they was!" whimpered Taddy. + +"Did you take them?" And the female Ducklow grasped his shoulder. + +"Hands off, if you please!" remarked Miss Beswick, with frightfully +gleaming courtesy. "I told him, if he'd be a good boy, and come along +with Richard, and tell the truth, he shouldn't be hurt. _If_ you +please," she repeated, with a majestic nod; and Mrs. Ducklow took her +hands off. + +"Where are they now? where are they?" cried Ducklow, rushing headlong to +the main question. + +"Don't know," said Taddy. + +"Don't know? you villain!" And Ducklow was rising in wrath. But Miss +Beswick put up her hand deprecatingly. + +"If _you_ please!" she said, with grim civility; and Ducklow sank down +again. + +"What did you do with 'em? what did you want of 'em?" said Mrs. Ducklow, +with difficulty restraining an impulse to wring his neck. + +"To cover my kite," confessed the miserable Taddy. + +"Cover your kite! your kite!" A chorus of groans from the Ducklows. +"Didn't you know no better?" + +"Didn't think you'd care," said Taddy. "I had some newspapers Dick give +me to cover it; but I thought them things 'u'd be pootier. So I took +'em, and put the newspapers in the wrapper." + +"Did ye cover yer kite?" + +"No. When I found out you cared so much about 'em, I dars'n't; I was +afraid you'd see 'em." + +"Then what _did_ you do with 'em?" + +"When you was away, Dick come over to sleep with me, and I--I sold 'em +to him." + +"Sold 'em to Dick!" + +"Yes," spoke up Dick, stoutly, "for six marbles, and one was a +bull's-eye, and one agate, and two alleys. Then, when you come home and +made such a fuss, he wanted 'em ag'in. But he wouldn't give me back but +four, and I wa'n't going to agree to no such nonsense as that." + +"I'd lost the bull's-eye and one common," whined Taddy. + +"But the bonds! did you destroy 'em?" + +"Likely I'd destroy 'em, after I'd paid six marbles for 'em!" said Dick. +"I wanted 'em to cover _my_ kite with." + +"Cover _your_--oh! then _you_'ve made a kite of 'em?" said Ducklow. + +"Well, I was going to, when Aunt Beswick ketched me at it. She made me +tell where I got 'em, and took me over to your house jest now; and Taddy +said you was over here, and so she put ahead, and made us follow her." + +Again, in an agony of impatience, Ducklow demanded to know where the +bonds were at that moment. + +"If Taddy'll give me back the marbles," began Master Dick. + +"That'll do!" said Miss Beswick, silencing him with a gesture. "Reuben +will give you twenty marbles; for I believe you said they was Reuben's +bonds, Mr. Ducklow?" + +"Yes, that is"----stammered the adopted father. + +"Eventooally," struck in the adopted mother. + +"Now look here! What am I to understand? Be they Reuben's bonds, or be +they not? That's the question!" And there was that in Miss Beswick's +look which said, "If they are not Reuben's, then your eyes shall never +behold them more!" + +"Of course they're Reuben's!" "We intended all the while"----"His +benefit"----"To do jest what he pleases with 'em," chorused Pa and Ma +Ducklow. + +"Wal! now it's understood! Here, Reuben, are your cowpon bonds!" + +And Miss Beswick, drawing them from her bosom, placed the precious +documents, with formal politeness, in the glad soldier's agitated hands. + +"Glory!" cried Reuben, assuring himself that they were genuine and real. +"Sophrony, you've got a home! Ruby, Carrie, you've got a home! Miss +Beswick! you angel from the skies! order a bushel and a half of marbles +for Dick, and have the bill sent to me! Oh, Pa Ducklow! you never did a +nobler or more generous thing in your life. These will lift the +mortgage, and leave me a nest-egg besides. Then when I get my back pay, +and my pension, and my health again, we shall be independent." + +And the soldier, overcome by his feelings, sank back in the arms of his +wife. + +"We always told you we'd do well by ye, you remember?" said the +Ducklows, triumphantly. + +The news went abroad. Again congratulations poured in upon the returned +volunteer. Everybody rejoiced in his good fortune,--especially certain +rich ones who had been dreading to see Miss Beswick come round with her +proposed subscription-paper. + +Among the rest, the Ducklows rejoiced not the least; for selfishness was +with them, as it is with many, rather a thing of habit than a fault of +the heart. The catastrophe of the bonds broke up that life-long habit, +and revealed good hearts underneath. The consciousness of having done an +act of justice, although by accident, proved very sweet to them: it was +really a fresh sensation; and Reuben and his dear little family, saved +from ruin and distress, happy, thankful, glad, was a sight to their old +eyes such as they had never witnessed before. Not gold itself, in any +quantity, at the highest premium, could have given them so much +satisfaction; and as for coupon bonds, they are not to be mentioned in +the comparison. + +"Won't you do well by me some time, too?" teased little Taddy, who +overheard his adopted parents congratulating themselves on having acted +so generously by Reuben. "I don't care for no cowpen bonds, but I do +want a new drum!" + +"Yes, yes, my son!" said Ducklow, patting the boy's shoulder. + +And the drum was bought. + +Taddy was delighted. But he did not know what made the Ducklows so much +happier, so much gentler and kinder, than formerly. Do you? + + + + +THE AUTHOR OF "SAUL."[A] + + +We are not one of those who believe that the manifestation of any +native, vigorous faculty of the mind is dependent upon circumstances. It +is true that education, in its largest sense, modifies development; but +it cannot, to any serious extent, add to, or take from, the power to be +developed. In the lack of encouragement and contemporary appreciation, +certain of the finer faculties may not give forth their full and perfect +fragrance; but the rose is always seen to be a rose, though never a bud +come to flower. The "mute, inglorious Milton" is a pleasant poetic +fiction. Against the "hands that the rod of empire _might_ have swayed" +we have nothing to object, knowing to what sort of hands the said rod +has so often been intrusted. + +John Howard Payne once read to us--and it was something of an +infliction--a long manuscript on "The Neglected Geniuses of America,"--a +work which only death, we suspect, prevented him from giving to the +world. There was not one name in the list which had ever before reached +our ears. Nicholas Blauvelt and William Phillips and a number of other +utterly forgotten rhymesters were described and eulogized at length, the +quoted specimens of their poetry proving all the while their admirable +right to the oblivion which Mr. Payne deprecated. They were men of +culture, some of them wealthy, and we could detect no lack of +opportunity in the story of their lives. Had they been mechanics, they +would have planed boards and laid bricks from youth to age. The Ayrshire +ploughman and the Bedford tinker were made of other stuff. Our inference +then was, and still is, that unacknowledged (or at least unmanifested) +genius is no genius at all, and that the lack of sympathy which many +young authors so bitterly lament is a necessary test of their fitness +for their assumed vocation. + +Gerald Massey is one of the most recent instances of the certainty with +which a poetic faculty by no means of the highest order will enforce its +own development, under seemingly fatal discouragements. The author of +"Saul" is a better illustration of the same fact; for, although, in our +ignorance of the circumstances of his early life, we are unable to +affirm what particular difficulties he had to encounter, we know how +long he was obliged to wait for the first word of recognition, and to +what heights he aspired in the course of many long and solitary years. + +The existence of "Saul" was first made known to the world by an article +in the "North British Review," in the year 1858, when the author had +already attained his forty-second year. The fact that the work was +published in Montreal called some attention to it on this side of the +Atlantic, and a few critical notices appeared in our literary +periodicals. It is still, however, comparatively unknown; and those into +whose hands it may have fallen are, doubtless, ignorant of the author's +name and history. An outline of the latter, so far as we have been able +to ascertain its features, will help the reader to a more intelligent +judgment, when we come to discuss the author's claim to a place in +literature. + +Charles Heavysege was born in Liverpool, England, in the year 1816. We +know nothing in regard to his parents, except that they were poor, yet +able to send their son to an ordinary school. His passion for reading, +especially such the poetry as fell into his hands, showed itself while +he was yet a child. Milton seems to have been the first author who made +a profound impression upon his mind; but it is also reported that the +schoolmaster once indignantly snatched Gray's "Elegy" from his hand, +because he so frequently selected that poem for his reading-lesson. +Somewhat later, he saw "Macbeth" performed, and was immediately seized +with the ambition to become an actor,--a profession for which few +persons could be less qualified. The impression produced by this +tragedy, combined with the strict religious training which he appears to +have received, undoubtedly fixed the character and manner of his +subsequent literary efforts. + +There are but few other facts of his life which we can state with +certainty. His chances of education were evidently very scanty, for he +must have left school while yet a boy, in order to learn his +trade,--that of a machinist. He had thenceforth little time and less +opportunity for literary culture. His reading was desultory, and the +poetic faculty, expending itself on whatever subjects came to hand, +produced great quantities of manuscripts, which were destroyed almost as +soon as written. The idea of publishing them does not seem to have +presented itself to his mind. Either his life must have been devoid of +every form of intellectual sympathy, or there was some external +impediment formidable enough to keep down that ambition which always +co-exists with the creative power. + +In the year 1843 he married, and in 1853 emigrated to Canada, and +settled in Montreal. Even here his literary labor was at first performed +in secrecy; he was nearly forty years old before a line from his pen +appeared in type. He found employment in a machine-shop, and it was only +very gradually--probably after much doubt and hesitation--that he came +to the determination to subject his private creations to the ordeal of +print. His first venture was a poem in blank verse, the title of which +we have been unable to ascertain. A few copies were printed anonymously +and distributed among personal friends. It was a premature birth, which +never knew a moment's life, and the father of it would now be the last +person to attempt a resuscitation. + +Soon afterwards appeared--also anonymously--a little pamphlet, +containing fifty "so-called" sonnets. They are, in reality, fragmentary +poems of fourteen lines each, bound to no metre or order of rhyme. In +spite of occasional crudities of expression, the ideas are always poetic +and elevated, and there are many vigorous couplets and quatrains. They +do not, however, furnish any evidence of sustained power, and the +reader, who should peruse them as the only productions of the author, +would be far from inferring the latter's possession of that lofty epical +utterance which he exhibits in "Saul" and "Jephthah's Daughter." + +We cannot learn that this second attempt to obtain a hearing was +successful, so far as any public notice of the pamphlet is concerned; +but it seems, at least, to have procured for Mr. Heavysege the first +private recognition of his poetic abilities which he had ever received, +and thereby given him courage for a more ambitious venture. "Saul," as +an epical subject, must have haunted his mind for years. The greater +portion of it, indeed, had been written before he had become familiar +with the idea of publication; and even after the completion of the work, +we can imagine the sacrifices which must have delayed its appearance in +print. For a hard-working mechanic, in straitened circumstances, courage +of another kind was required. It is no slight expense to produce an +octavo volume of three hundred and thirty pages; there must have been +much anxious self-consultation, a great call for patience, fortitude, +and hope, with who may know what doubts and despondencies, before, in +1857 "Saul" was given to the world. + +Nothing could have been more depressing than its reception, if, indeed, +the term "reception" can be applied to complete indifference. A country +like Canada, possessing no nationality, and looking across the Atlantic, +not only for its political rule, but also (until very recently, at +least) for its opinions, tastes, and habits, is especially unfavorable +to the growth of an independent literature. Although there are many men +of learning and culture among the residents of Montreal, they do not +form a class to whom a native author could look for encouragement or +appreciation sufficient to stamp him as successful. The reading public +there accept the decrees of England and the United States, and they did +not detect the merits of "Saul," until the discovery had first been made +in those countries. + +Several months had elapsed since the publication of the volume; it +seemed to be already forgotten, when the notice to which we have +referred appeared in the "North British Review." The author had sent a +copy to Mr. Hawthorne, then residing in Liverpool, and that gentleman, +being on friendly terms with some of the writers for the "North +British," procured the insertion of an appreciative review of the poem. +Up to that time, we believe, no favorable notice of the work had +appeared in Canada. The little circulation it obtained was chiefly among +the American residents. A few copies found their way across the border, +and some of our authors (among whom we may mention Mr. Emerson and Mr. +Longfellow) were the first to recognize the genius of the poet. With +this double indorsement, his fellow-townsmen hastened to make amends for +their neglect. They could not be expected to give any very enthusiastic +welcome, nor was their patronage extensive enough to confer more than +moderate success; but the remaining copies of the first small edition +were sold, and a second edition--which has not yet been +exhausted--issued in 1859. + +In February, 1860, we happened to visit Montreal. At that time we had +never read the poem, and the bare fact of its existence had almost faded +from memory, when it was recalled by an American resident who was +acquainted with Mr. Heavysege, and whose account of his patience, his +quiet energy, and serene faith in his poetic calling strongly interested +us. It was but a few hours before our departure; there was a furious +snow-storm; yet the gentleman ordered a sleigh, and we drove at once to +a large machine-shop, in the outskirts of the city. Here, amid the noise +of hammers, saws, and rasps, in a great grimy hall smelling of oil and +iron-dust, we found the poet at his work-bench. A small, slender man, +with a thin, sensitive face, bright blonde hair, and eyes of that +peculiar blue which burns warm, instead of cold, under excitement,--in +the few minutes of our interview the picture was fixed, and remains so. +His manner was quiet, natural, and unassuming: he received us with the +simple good-breeding which a gentleman always possesses, whether we find +him on a throne or beside an anvil. Not a man to assert his claim +loudly, or to notice injustice or neglect by a single spoken word; but +one to take quietly success or failure, in the serenity of a mood +habitually untouched by either extreme. + +In that one brief first and last interview, we discovered, at least, the +simple, earnest sincerity of the man's nature,--a quality too rare, even +among authors. When we took our seat in the train for Rouse's Point, we +opened the volume of "Saul." The first part was finished as we +approached St. Albans; the second at Vergennes; and twilight was falling +as we closed the book between Bennington and Troy. Whatever crudities of +expression, inaccuracies of rhythm, faults of arrangement, and +violations of dramatic law met us from time to time, the earnest purpose +of the writer carried us over them all. The book has a fine flavor of +the Elizabethan age,--a sustained epic rather than dramatic character, +an affluence of quaint, original images; yet the construction was +frequently that of a school-boy. In opulence and maturity of ideas, and +poverty of artistic skill, the work stands almost alone in literature. +What little we have learned of the history of the author suggests an +explanation of this peculiarity. Never was so much genuine power so long +silent. + +"Saul" is yet so little known, that a descriptive outline of the poem +will be a twice-told tale to very few readers of the "Atlantic." The +author strictly follows the history of the renowned Hebrew king, as it +is related in I Samuel, commencing with the tenth chapter, but divides +the subject into three dramas, after the manner of Schiller's +"Wallenstein." The first part embraces the history of Saul, from his +anointing by Samuel at Ramah to David's exorcism of the evil spirit, +(xvi. 23,) and contains five acts. The second part opens with David as a +guest in the palace at Gibeah. The defeat of the Philistines at Elah, +Saul's jealousy of David, and the latter's marriage with Michal form the +staple of the _four_ acts of this part. The third part consists of _six_ +acts of unusual length, (some of them have thirteen scenes,) and is +devoted to the pursuits and escapes of David, the Witch of Endor, and +the final battle, wherein the king and his three sons are slain. No +liberties have been taken with the order of the Scripture narrative, +although a few subordinate characters have here and there been +introduced to complete the action. The author seems either to lack the +inventive faculty, or to have feared modifying the sacred record for the +purposes of Art. In fact, no considerable modification was necessary. +The simple narrative fulfils almost all the requirements of dramatic +writing, in its succession of striking situations, and its cumulative +interest. From beginning to end, however, Mr. Heavysege makes no attempt +to produce a dramatic effect. It is true that he has availed himself of +the phrase "an evil spirit from the Lord," to introduce a demoniac +element, but, singularly enough, the demons seem to appear and to act +unwillingly, and manifest great relief when they are allowed to retire +from the stage. + +The work, therefore, cannot be measured by dramatic laws. It is an epic +in dialogue; its chief charm lies in the march of the story and the +detached individual monologues, rather than in contrast of characters or +exciting situations. The sense of proportion--the latest developed +quality of the poetic mind--is dimly manifested. The structure of the +verse, sometimes so stately and majestic, is frequently disfigured by +the commonest faults; yet the breath of a lofty purpose has been +breathed upon every page. The personality of the author never pierces +through his theme. The language is fresh, racy, vigorous, and utterly +free from the impress of modern masters: much of it might have been +written by a contemporary of Shakspeare. + +In the opening of the first part, Saul, recently anointed king, receives +the messengers of Jabesh Gilead, and promises succor. A messenger +says,-- + + "The winds of heaven, + Behind thee blow: and on our enemies' eyes + May the sun smite to-morrow, and blind them for thee! + But, O Saul, do not fail us. + + "_Saul._ Fail ye + Let the morn fail to break; I will not break + My word. Haste, or I'm there before you. Fail? + Let the morn fail the east; I'll not fail you, + But, swift and silent as the streaming wind, + Unseen approach, then, gathering up my force + At dawning, sweep on Ammon, as Night's blast + Sweeps down the Carmel on the dusky sea." + +This is a fine picture of Saul steeling his nature to cruelty, when be +has reluctantly resolved to obey Samuel's command "to trample out the +living fire of Amalek":-- + + "Now let me tighten every cruel sinew, + And gird the whole up in unfeeling hardness, + That my swollen heart, which bleeds within me tears, + May choke itself to stillness. I am as + A shivering bather, that, upon the shore, + Looking and shrinking from the cold, black waves, + Quick starting from his reverie, with a rush + Abbreviates his horror." + +And this of the satisfied lust of blood, uttered by a Hebrew soldier, +after the slaughter:-- + + "When I was killing, such thoughts came to me, like + The sound of cleft-dropped waters to the ear + Of the hot mower, who thereat stops the oftener + To whet his glittering scythe, and, while he smiles, + With the harsh, sharpening hone beats their fall's time, + And dancing to it in his heart's straight chamber, + Forgets that he is weary." + +After the execution of Agag by the hand of Samuel, the demons are +introduced with more propriety than in the opening of the poem. The +following passage has a subtle, sombre grandeur of its own:-- + + "_First Demon._ Now let us down to hell: we've seen the last. + + "_Second Demon._ Stay; for the road thereto is yet incumbered + With the descending spectres of the killed. + _'Tis said they choke hell's gates, and stretch from thence + Out like a tongue upon the silent gulf_; + Wherein our spirits--even as terrestrial ships + That are detained by foul winds in an offing-- + Linger perforce, _and feel broad gusts of sighs + That swing them on the dark and billowless waste_, + O'er which come sounds more dismal than the boom, + At midnight, of the salt flood's foaming surf,-- + Even dead Amalek's moan and lamentation." + +The reader will detect the rhythmical faults of the poem, even in these +passages. But there is a vast difference between such blemishes of the +unrhymed heroic measure as terminating a line with "and," "of," or +"but," or inattention to the caesural pauses, and that mathematical +precision of foot and accent, which, after all, can scarcely be +distinguished from prose. Whatever may be his shortcomings, Mr. +Heavysege speaks in the dialect of poetry. Only rarely he drops into +bald prose, as in these lines:-- + + "But let us go abroad, and in the twilight's + Cool, tranquillizing air discuss this matter." + +We remember, however, that Wordsworth wrote,-- + + "A band of officers + Then stationed in the city were among the chief + Of my associates." + +We had marked many other fine passages of "Saul" for quotation, but must +be content with a few of those which are most readily separated from the +context. + + "Ha! ha! the foe, + Having taken from us our warlike tools, yet leave us + The little scarlet tongue to scratch and sting with." + + "Here's lad's-love, and the flower which even death + Cannot unscent, the all-transcending rose." + + "The loud bugle, + And the hard-rolling drum, and clashing cymbals, + Now reign the lords o' the air. These crises, David, + Bring with them their own music, as do storms + Their thunders." + + "Ere the morn + Shall tint the orient with the soldier's color, + We must be at the camp." + + "But come, I'll disappoint thee; for, remember, + Samuel will not be roused for thee, although + I knock with thunder at his resting-place." + +The lyrical portions, of the work--introduced in connection with the +demoniac characters--are inferior to the rest. They have occasionally a +quaint, antique flavor, suggesting the diction of the Elizabethan +lyrists, but without their delicate, elusive richness of melody. Here +most we perceive the absence of that highest, ripest intellectual +culture which can be acquired only through contact and conflict with +other minds. It is not good for a poet to be alone. Even where the +constructive faculty is absent, its place may be supplied through the +development of that artistic sense which files, weighs, and +adjusts,--which reconciles the utmost freedom and force of thought with +the mechanical symmetries of language,--and which, first a fetter to the +impatient mind, becomes at length a pinion, holding it serenely poised +in the highest ether. Only the rudiment of the sense is born with the +poet, and few literary lives are fortunate enough, or of sufficiently +varied experience, to mature it. + +Nevertheless, before closing the volume, we must quote what we consider +to be the author's best lyrical passage. Zaph, one of the attendants of +Malzah, the "evil spirit from the Lord," sings as follows to one of his +fellows:-- + + "Zepho, the sun's descended beam + Hath laid his rod on th' ocean stream, + And this o'erhanging wood-top nods + Like golden helms of drowsy gods. + Methinks that now I'll stretch for rest, + With eyelids sloping toward the west; + That, through their half transparencies, + The rosy radiance passed and strained, + Of mote and vapor duly drained, + I may believe, in hollow bliss, + My rest in the empyrean is. + Watch thou; and when up comes the moon, + Atowards her turn me; and then, boon, + Thyself compose, 'neath wavering leaves + That hang these branched, majestic eaves: + That so, with self-imposed deceit, + Both, in this halcyon retreat, + By trance possessed, imagine may + We couch in Heaven's night-argent ray." + +In 1860 Mr. Heavysege published by subscription a drama entitled "Count +Filippo; or, the Unequal Marriage." This work, of which we have seen +but one critical notice, added nothing to his reputation. His genius, as +we have already remarked, is not dramatic; and there is, moreover, +internal evidence that "Count Philippo" did not grow, like "Saul," from +an idea which took forcible possession of the author's mind. The plot is +not original, the action languid, and the very names of the _dramatis +personae_ convey an impression of unreality. Though we know there never +was a Duke of Pereza in Italy, this annoys us less than that he should +bear such a fantastic name as "Tremohla"; nor does the feminine "Volina" +inspire us with much respect for the heroine. The characters are +intellectual abstractions, rather than creatures of flesh and blood; and +their love, sorrow, and remorse fail to stir our sympathies. They have +an incorrigible habit of speaking in conceits. As "Saul" is pervaded +with the spirit of the Elizabethan writers, so "Count Filippo" suggests +the artificial manner of the rivals of Dryden. It is the work of a poet, +but of a poet working from a mechanical impulse. There are very fine +single passages, but the general effect is marred by the constant +recurrence of such forced metaphors as these:-- + + "Now shall the he-goat, black Adultery, + With the roused ram, Retaliation, twine + Their horns in one to butt at Filippo." + + "As the salamander, cast in fire, + Exudes preserving mucus, so my mind, + Cased in thick satisfaction of success, + Shall be uninjured." + +The work, nevertheless, appears to have had some share in improving its +author's fortunes. From that time, he has received at least a partial +recognition in Canada. Soon after its publication, he succeeded in +procuring employment on the daily newspaper press of Montreal, which +enabled him to give up his uncongenial labor at the work-bench. The +Montreal Literary Club elected him one of its Fellows, and the +short-lived literary periodicals of the Province no longer ignored his +existence. In spite of a change of circumstances which must have given +him greater leisure as well as better opportunities of culture, he has +published but two poems in the last five years,--an Ode for the +ter-centenary anniversary of Shakspeare's birth, and the sacred idyl of +"Jephthah's Daughter." The former is a production the spirit of which is +worthy of its occasion, although, in execution, it is weakened, by an +overplus of imagery and epithet. It contains between seven and eight +hundred lines. The grand, ever-changing music of the Ode will not bear +to be prolonged beyond a certain point, as all the great Masters of Song +have discovered: the ear must not be allowed to become _quite_ +accustomed to the surprises of the varying rhythm, before the closing +Alexandrine. + +"Jephthah's Daughter" contains between thirteen and fourteen hundred +lines. In careful finish, in sustained sweetness and grace, and solemn +dignity of language, it is a marked advance upon any of the author's +previous works. We notice, indeed, the same technical faults as in +"Saul," but they occur less frequently, and may be altogether corrected +in a later revision of the poem. Here, also, the Scriptural narrative is +rigidly followed, and every temptation to adorn its rare simplicity +resisted. Even that lament of the Hebrew girl, behind which there seems +to lurk a romance, and which is so exquisitely paraphrased by Tennyson, +in his "Dream of Fair Women,"-- + + "And I went, mourning: 'No fair Hebrew boy + Shall smile away my maiden blame among + The Hebrew mothers,'"-- + +is barely mentioned in the words of the text. The passion of Jephthah, +the horror, the piteous pleading of his wife and daughter, and the final +submission of the latter to her doom, are elaborated with a careful and +tender hand. From the opening to the closing line, the reader is lifted +to the level of the tragic theme, and inspired, as in the Greek tragedy, +with a pity which makes lovely the element of terror. The central +sentiment of the poem, through all its touching and sorrowful changes, +is that of repose. Observe the grave harmony of the opening lines:-- + + "'Twas in the olden days of Israel, + When from her people rose up mighty men + To judge and to defend her: ere she knew, + Or clamored for, her coming line of kings, + A father, rashly vowing, sacrificed + His daughter on the altar of the Lord;-- + 'Twas in those ancient days, coeval deemed + With the song-famous and heroic ones, + When Agamemnon, taught divinely, doomed + _His_ daughter to expire at Dian's shrine,-- + So doomed, to free the chivalry of Greece, + In Aulis lingering for a favoring wind + To waft them to the fated walls of Troy. + Two songs with but one burden, twin-like tales. + Sad tales! but this the sadder of the twain,-- + This song, a wail more desolately wild; + More fraught this story with grim fate fulfilled." + +The length to which this article has grown warns us to be sparing of +quotations, but we all the more earnestly recommend those in whom we may +have inspired some interest in the author to procure the poem for +themselves. We have perused it several times, with increasing enjoyment +of its solemn diction, its sad, monotonous music, and with the hope that +the few repairing touches, which alone are wanting to make it a perfect +work of its class, may yet be given. This passage, for example, where +Jephthah prays to be absolved from his vow, would be faultlessly +eloquent, but for the prosaic connection of the first and second +lines:-- + + "'Choose Tabor for thine altar: I will pile + It with the choice of Bashan's lusty herds, + And flocks of fallings, _and for fuel, thither + Will bring umbrageous Lebanon to burn_.' + + * * * * * + + "He said, and stood awaiting for the sign, + And heard, above the hoarse, bough-bending wind, + The hill-wolf howling on the neighboring height, + And bittern booming in the pool below. + Some drops of rain fell from the passing cloud + That sudden hides the wanly shining moon, + And from the scabbard instant dropped his sword, + And, with long, living leaps, and rock-struck clang, + From side to side, and slope to sounding slope, + In gleaming whirls swept down the dim ravine." + +The finest portion of the poem is the description of that transition of +feeling, through which the maiden, warm with young life and clinging to +life for its own unfulfilled promise, becomes the resigned and composed +victim. No one but a true poet could have so conceived and represented +the situation. The narrative flows in one unbroken current, detached +parts whereof hint but imperfectly of the whole, as do goblets of water +of the stream wherefrom they are dipped. We will only venture to present +two brief passages. The daughter speaks:-- + + "Let me not need now disobey you, mother, + But give me leave to knock at Death's pale gate, + Whereat indeed I must, by duty drawn, + By Nature shown the sacred way to yield. + Behold, the coasting cloud obeys the breeze; + The slanting smoke, the invisible sweet air; + the towering tree its leafy limbs resigns + To the embraces of the wilful wind: + Shall I, then, wrong, resist the hand of Heaven! + Take me, my father! take, accept me, Heaven! + Slay me or save me, even as you will!" + + "Light, light, I leave thee!--yet am I a lamp, + Extinguished now, to be relit forever. + Life dies: but in its stead death lives." + +In "Jephthah's Daughter," we think, Mr. Heavysege has found that form of +poetic utterance for which his genius is naturally qualified. It is +difficult to guess the future of a literary life so exceptional +hitherto,--difficult to affirm, without a more intimate knowledge of the +man's nature, whether he is capable of achieving that rhythmical +perfection (in the higher sense wherein sound becomes the symmetrical +garment of thought) which, in poets, marks the line between imperfect +and complete success. What he most needs, of _external_ culture, we have +already indicated: if we might be allowed any further suggestion, he +supplies it himself, in one of his fragmentary poems:-- + + "Open, my heart, thy ruddy valves,-- + It is thy master calls: + Let me go down, and, curious, trace + Thy labyrinthine halls. + Open, O heart! and let me view + The secrets of thy den: + Myself unto myself now show + With introspective ken. + Expose thyself, thou covered nest + Of passions, and be seen: + Stir up thy brood, that in unrest + Are ever piping keen:-- + Ah! what a motley multitude, + Magnanimous and mean!" + +FOOTNOTES: + +[A] _Saul._ A Drama, in Three Parts. Montreal: John Lovell. 1850. + +_Count Fillippo; or The Unequal Marriage._ By the Author of "Saul." +Montreal: Printed for the Author. 1860. + +_Jephthah's Daughter._ By Charles Heavysege, Author of "Saul." Montreal: +Dawson Brothers. 1865. + + + + +NEEDLE AND GARDEN. + +THE STORY OF A SEAMSTRESS WHO LAID DOWN HER NEEDLE AND BECAME A +STRAWBERRY-GIRL. + +WRITTEN BY HERSELF. + + +CHAPTER X. + +CONCLUSION. + +Although two thirds of our little patrimony had thus been devoted to the +cultivation of fruit, yet the other third was far from being suffered to +remain unproductive. We thoroughly understood the art of raising all the +household vegetables, as we had been brought up to assist our father at +intervals throughout the season. Then none of us were indifferent to +flowers. There were little clumps and borders of them in numerous +places. Nowhere did the crocus come gayly up into the soft atmosphere of +early spring in advance of ours. The violets perfumed the air for us +with the same rich profusion as in the carefully tended parterre of the +wealthiest citizen. There were rows of flowering almonds, which were +sought after by the bees as diligently as if holding up their delicate +heads in the most patrician garden; and they flashed as gorgeously in +the sun. The myrtle displayed its blue flowers in abundance, and the +lilacs unfolded their paler clusters in a dozen places. Over a huge +cedar in the fence-corner there clambered up a magnificent wistaria, +whose great blue flowers, covering the entire tree, became a monument of +floral beauty so striking, that the stranger, passing by the spot, would +pause to wonder and admire. In the care of these flowers all of us +united with a common fondness for the beautiful as well as the useful. +It secured to us, from the advent of the earliest crocus to the +departure of the last lingering rose that dropped its reluctant flowers +only when the premonitory blasts of autumn swept across the garden, all +that innocent enjoyment which comes of admiration for these bright +creations of the Divine hand. + +These little incidental recompenses of the most perfect domestic harmony +were realized in everything we undertook. That harmony was the animating +as well as sustaining power of my horticultural enterprise. Had there +been wrangling, opposition, or ridicule, it is probable that I should +never have ventured on the planting of a single strawberry. Success, +situated as I was, was dependent on united effort, the cooeperation of +all. This cooeperation of the entire family must be still more necessary +in agricultural undertakings on a large scale. A wife, taken reluctantly +from the city to a farm, with no taste for rural life, no love of +flowers, no fondness for the garden, no appreciation of the mysteries of +seed-time and harvest, no sensibility to fields of clover, to green +meadows, to the grateful silence of the woods, or to the voices of +birds, and who pines for the unforgotten charms of city life, may mar +the otherwise assured happiness of the household. One refractory inmate +in ours would have been especially calamitous. + +The floral world is pervaded with miraculous sympathies. Another spring +had opened on our garden, and flower after flower came out into gorgeous +bloom. My strawberries, as if conscious of the display around them, and +ambitious to increase it, opened their white blossoms toward the close +of April. Those set the preceding autumn gave promise of an abundant +yield, but not equal to that presented by the runners which crowded +around the parent plants on the original half-acre. The winter had been +unfriendly, sending no heavy covering of snow to shelter them; while +the frost, in making its first escape from the earth, had loosened many +plants, bringing some of them half-way out of the ground, while a few +had been thrown entirely upon the surface, where they quickly perished. + +I had read that accidents of this kind would sometimes happen, and that, +when plants were thus partially dislodged by frost, the roller must be +passed over them to crowd back the roots into their proper places. I had +discovered this derangement immediately on the frost escaping, but we +had neither roller nor substitute. As pressure alone was needed, I set +Fred to walking over the entire acre, and with his heavy winter boots to +trample down each plant in its old place. The operation was every way as +beneficial as if the ground had been well rolled. When performed before +the roots have been many days exposed to the air, it not only does no +injury, but effectually repairs all damage committed by the frost. + +Everything, this second season, was on a larger scale than before, +requiring greater care and labor, but at the same time brightening my +hopes and doubling my anticipations. I was compelled to hire a gardener +occasionally to assist in keeping the ground clean and mellow, although +among us we contrived to perform a large portion of the work ourselves. +I found that constant watchfulness secured an immense economy of labor. +It was far easier to cut off a weed when only an inch high than when +grown up to the stature of a young tree. It was the same with the white +clover or a grass-root. These two seem native to the soil, and will come +in and take possession, smothering and routing out the strawberries, +unless cut up as fast as they appear. When attacked early, before their +rambling, but deeply penetrating roots obtain a strong hold, they are +easily destroyed. I consider, therefore, that watchfulness may be made +an effective substitute for labor, really preventing all necessity for +hard work. This watchfulness we could generally exercise, though +physically unable to perform much labor. Hence, when ladies undertake +the management of an established strawberry-bed, a daily attention to +it, with a light hoe, will be found as useful as a laborious clearing up +by an able-bodied man, with the additional advantage of occasioning no +injurious disturbance to the roots in removing great quantities of +full-grown weeds. + +The blossoms fell to the ground, the berries set in thick clusters, +turning downward as they increased in size, and changing, as they +enlarged, from a pale green to a delicate white, then becoming suffused +with a slight blush, which gradually deepened into an intense red. It +was a joyful time, when, with my mother and sister, I made the first +picking. All of us were struck with the improved appearance of the fruit +on the first half-acre. This was natural, as well as what is commonly +observed. The plants had acquired strength with age. They had had +another season in which to send out new and longer roots; and these, +rambling into wider and deeper fountains of nourishment, had drawn from +them supplies so copious, that the berries were not only much more +numerous than the year before, but they were every way larger and finer. +The contrast between the fruit on these and the new plants was very +decided. Hence we had a generous gathering to begin with. It was all +carefully assorted, as before; but the quantity was so large that +additional baskets were required, and Fred was obliged to employ an +assistant to carry it to market. + +While engaged in making our second picking, carefully turning aside the +luxuriant foliage to reach the berries which had ripened in concealment, +with capacious sun-bonnets that shut out from observation all objects +but those immediately before us, it was no wonder that a stranger could +come directly up without being noticed. Thus intently occupied one +afternoon, we were surprised at hearing a subdued and timid voice +asking,-- + +"May I sell some strawberries for you?" + +I looked round,--for the voice came from behind us,--and beheld a girl +of some ten years old, having in her hand a basket, which she had +probably found on the common, as, in place of the original bottom, a +pasteboard substitute had been fitted into it. It was filled with little +pasteboard boxes, stitched at the corners, but strong enough to hold +fruit. I noticed, that, old as it was, it had been scoured up into +absolute cleanness. The child's attire was in keeping with her basket. +Though she had no shoes, and the merest apology for a bonnet, with a +dress that was worn and faded, as well as frayed out into a ragged +fringe about her feet, yet it was all scrupulously clean. Her features +struck me as even beautiful, and her soft hazel eyes would command +sympathy from all who might look into them. Her manner and appearance +prepossessed me in her favor. + +"But did you ever sell strawberries?" I inquired. + +"No, Ma'am, but I can try," she answered. + +"But it will never do to trust her," interrupted my mother. "We do not +know who she is, and may never see her again." + +"Oh, Ma'am, I will bring the money back to you. Dear lady, let me have +some to sell," she entreated, with childish earnestness, her voice +trembling and her eyes moistening with apprehension of refusal. + +"Mother," said I, "this child is a beginner. Is it right for us to +refuse so trifling an encouragement? Who knows to what useful ends it +may lead? You remember how difficult it was for me to procure the +plants, and how keenly you felt my trouble. Will you inflict a keener +one on this child, whose heart seems bent on doing something for +herself, and on whom disappointment will fall even more painfully than +it did on me? Are we not all bound to do something for those who are +more destitute than ourselves? and even if we lose what we let her have, +it will never be missed." + +The poor girl looked up imploringly into my face as I pleaded for her, +her eyes brightened with returning hopefulness, and again she besought +us,-- + +"Dear lady, let me have a few; my mother knows you." + +"Tell me your name," I replied. + +"Lucy Varick,--mother says she knows you," was the answer. + +"Varick!" replied my mother, quickly, surprised as well as evidently +pleased. "You shall have all you can sell." + +She was the daughter of the miserable man whose terrible deathbed we had +both witnessed, and my mother had no difficulty in trusting to her +honesty. Her basket would contain but a few quarts, and these we had +already gathered. I filled her little pasteboard boxes immediately, with +the fruit just as picked from the vines. The poor child fairly capered +with joy as she witnessed the operation. She saw her fortune in a few +quarts of strawberries! I think that as she tripped nimbly through the +gate, my gratification at seeing how cheerfully she thus began her life +of toil was equal to all that she could have experienced herself. + +Before the afternoon was half gone, Lucy surprised us by returning with +an empty basket. She had found customers wherever she went, and wanted a +fresh supply of fruit. This was promptly given to her, for she had +obtained even better prices than the widow was getting for us in the +market. That afternoon she made the first half-dollar she ever earned, +and during the entire season she continued to find plenty of the best of +customers at their own doors. + +I had long since made up my mind that our pastor was entitled to some +recognition of the substantial kindnesses he had extended to us at the +time of our deep affliction. We had seen him regularly at the Sunday +school, but he knew nothing of my conversion into a strawberry-girl. +What else could we do, in remembrance of his friendship, but to make him +a present of our choicest fruit? Never were strawberries more carefully +selected than those with which I filled a new basket of ample size, as a +gift for him. On my way to the factory the next morning, I delivered +the basket at his door, with a little note expressive of our continued +gratitude, and begging him to accept its contents as being fruit which I +had myself raised. I knew it was but a trifle, but what else than +trifles had I to offer even to the kindest friend we had ever known? + +That very afternoon, while my mother and I were at our usual occupation +of picking, I heard the gate open at the other end of the garden, and, +looking up, saw two gentlemen approaching us. They advanced slowly +around the strawberry-beds, apparently examining the plants and fruit, +frequently stooping to turn over the great clusters on a portion of the +ground which we had not yet picked. I saw that one of them was our +pastor, but the other was a stranger. As they drew nearer, we rose to +receive them. No words can describe the confusion which overcame me as I +recognized in the stranger the same gentleman whom I had encountered, +the preceding summer, as the first customer for my strawberries, at the +widow's stand in the market-house. I had never forgotten his face. Mr. +Seeley introduced him as his friend Mr. Logan. Somehow I felt certain +that he also recognized me. I was confused enough at being thus taken by +surprise. It is true that my sun-bonnet, though of prodigious size, was +neatly cut and handsomely fashioned, even becoming, as I supposed, and +that I was fortunately habited in a plain, but entirely new dress, that +was more than nice enough for the work I was performing. But the hot +sun, in spite of my bonnet, had already turned my face brown. My hands, +exposed to its fiercest rays, were even more tanned, while the stain of +fruit was visible on my fingers. I was in no condition to receive +company of this unexpected description. + +But the gentlemen were affable, and I soon became at ease with them. Mr. +Seeley had received my basket, and had come to thank me for it. Mr. +Logan had been dining with him, and was enthusiastic over the quality of +my strawberries. He had never seen them equalled, though devoting all +his leisure to horticulture; and learning that they were raised by a +lady, insisted on coming down, not only to look into her mode of +culture, but to see the lady herself. It was pleasant thus to meet our +friend the pastor, and I did my utmost to render the visit agreeable to +him and his companion. My mother gave up the care of their entertainment +to me; so, dropping my basket in the unfinished strawberry-row, I left +her to continue the afternoon picking alone. + +The gentlemen seemed in no haste to leave us. I was surprised that they +could find so much to interest them in a spot which I had supposed could +be interesting only to ourselves. Mr. Seeley was pleased with all that +he saw, but Mr. Logan was polite enough to be much more demonstrative in +his admiration. I think the visit of the former would have been much +briefer but for the presence of the latter, who seemed in no hurry to +depart. He was generous in praise of my flowers, and was inquisitive +about my strawberries. He had many of the most celebrated varieties, and +was kind enough to offer me such as I might desire. He thought that I +could teach him lessons in horticulture more valuable than any he had +yet picked up, either in books or in his own garden, and asked +permission to come down often during the fruit season, to see and learn. +I was surprised that he should think it possible for a young +strawberry-girl like myself to teach anything to one who was evidently +so much better informed. Then I told him that what he saw was the result +of an endeavor to determine whether there was not some better dependence +for a woman than the needle, that I had accomplished all this by my own +zeal and perseverance, and that this season promised complete success. + +"I cannot give you too much praise," he observed. "Your tastes harmonize +admirably with my own. I have long believed that women are confined to +too small a circle of useful occupations. They too seldom teach +themselves, and are too little taught by others whose duty it is to +enlarge their sphere of action. All my sisters have learned what you may +call trades,--that is, to support themselves, if ever required to do so, +by employments particularly adapted to their talents. You have chosen +the garden, and you seem in a fair way to succeed. I must know how much +your strawberry-crop will yield you." + +On thus discovering the object I had in view, and that this was my own +experiment, his interest in all that he saw appeared to increase. The +very tones of his voice became softer and kinder. There was nothing +patronizing in his manner; it was deferential, and so sympathetic as to +impress me very strongly. I felt that he understood the train of thought +that had been running through my mind, and that he heartily entered into +and approved of my plans. + +My first false shame at being known as a strawberry-girl now gave place +to a feeling of pride and emulation. Here was one who could appreciate +as well as encourage. Hence my explanations were as full as it was +proper to set before a stranger. Our pastor listened to them with +surprise, as most of them were new even to him, nor did he fail to unite +with his companion in encouragement and congratulation. Long +acquaintance gave him the privilege to be familiar and inquisitive. It +is possible that in place of being abashed and humble, I may now have +been confident and boastful. + +Our visitors left us with promises to repeat their call; and with a +lighter heart than ever, I went again to assist in picking. + +The fruit continued to turn out well, and our widow in the market-house +proved true to the promises she had made,--there was no difficulty in +finding a sale for it, and somehow it yielded even better prices than +the year before. She said that others were complaining of a drought, and +that the fruit in consequence was generally inferior in size, so that +those who, like myself, had been lucky enough, or painstaking enough, to +secure a full crop, were doing better than ever. Then our little +strawberry-peddler, Lucy Varick, was doing a thriving business. She +established a list of customers among the great ladies in the city, who +bought large daily supplies from her, paying her the highest prices. Her +young heart seemed overflowing with joyfulness at her unexpected +success. It enabled her to take home many a dollar to her mother. Alas! +she seemed to think--if, indeed, she thought at all upon the +subject--that the strawberry season would be a perpetual harvest. + +We throve so satisfactorily that my mother seemed to have given up her +cherished longing for a strawberry-garden. Now that we had a new class +of visitors who were likely to be frequent in their calls, I think she +felt a kind of pride in abandoning the project. There was a sort of +dignity in the production of fruit, but something humiliating in the +idea of keeping an eating-house. She even went so far as to decline all +applications from transient callers who had mistaken our premises for +those of our neighbors, thus leaving the latter in undisturbed +possession of their long trains of customers. They were not slow in +discovering that we had ceased to be rivals in this branch of their +business; and finding themselves mistaken in supposing that my +strawberry-crop would come into ruinous competition with theirs, they +seemed disposed to be a little friendly toward us. Indeed, on one or two +occasions, Mrs. Tetchy herself came to us for a large basketful of +fruit, declaring that their own supply was not equal to the demand. She +was unusually pleasant on those occasions, but at the same time insisted +on having the fruit at less than we were getting for it. My mother could +not contend with such a woman, and so submitted to her exactions. I feel +satisfied, however, that her visits were to be attributed quite as much +to a desire to gratify her curiosity as to any want of strawberries; for +I noticed that she never came on these errands without impudently +walking all over our garden, scrutinizing whatever we were doing, how +the beds were arranged, and particularly inspecting and even handling +the fruit. Of course we had nothing to be ashamed of; but though +everything about the garden was much neater than hers, she never dropped +a word of commendation. + +Only a day or two after the gentlemen had been down to see us, we found +it necessary to resume the task of weeding between the rows. The drought +at the beginning of the season had been succeeded by copious rains, with +warm southerly winds, under which the weeds were making an alarming +growth, notwithstanding the trampling which they received from the +pickers. I confess that our heavy hoes made this so laborious an +operation that I rather dreaded its necessity; but a hot sun was now +shining, which would be sure to kill the weeds, if we cut them off, so +all hands were turned in to accomplish the work. While thus busily +occupied, whom should I see coming into the gate but Mr. Logan? + +"Capital exercise, Miss, and a fine day for it!" he exclaimed, as he +came up to me. "No successful gardening where the weeds are permitted to +grow! I have the same pests to contend against, but I apply the same +remedy. There is nothing like a sharp hoe." + +"Nothing indeed, if one only knew how to make it so," I replied. + +As he spoke, his eye glanced at the uncouth implement I was using, and +reaching forth his hand he took it from me. Examining it carefully, a +smile came over his handsome face, and he shook his head, as if thinking +that would never do. It was one of the old tools my father had used, +heavy and tiresome for a woman's hand, with a blade absurdly large for +working among strawberries, and so dull as to hack off instead of +cutting up a weed at one stroke. Fred had undertaken to keep our hoes +sharp for us, but this season he had somehow neglected to put them in +order. + +"This will never do, Miss," he observed. "Your hoe is heavy enough to +break you down. This is not exercise such as a lady should take, but +downright hard work. I must get you such as my sisters use; and now I +mean to do your day's work for you." + +Then, taking my place, he proceeded during the entire morning to act as +my substitute. We were surprised at his affability, as well as at his +industry. It was evident that grubbing up weeds was no greater novelty +to him than to us. All the time he had something pleasant to say, and +thus conversation and work went on together: for, not thinking it polite +to leave him to labor alone, I procured a rake, and contrived to keep +him company in turning up the weeds to the sun, the more effectually to +kill them. + +Now I had never been able to learn the botanical names of any of these +pests of the garden, nor whether any of them were useful to man, nor how +it was that the earth was so crowded with them. Neither did I know the +annuals from the perennials, nor why one variety was invariably found +flourishing in moist ground, while another preferred a drier situation. +If I had had a desire to learn these interesting particulars of things +that were my daily acquaintances, I had neither books to consult nor +time to devote to them. + +But it was evident from Mr. Logan's conversation that he was not only a +horticulturist, but an accomplished botanist. Both my mother and myself +were surprised at the new light which he threw upon the subject. I was +tugging with my fingers at a great dandelion which had come up directly +between two strawberry-plants, trying to pull it up, when its brittle +leaves broke off in my hand, leaving the root in the ground. Mr. Logan, +seeing the operation, observed,-- + +"No use in cutting it off; the root must come out, or it will grow +thicker and stronger, and plague you every season"; and plying the +corner of his hoe all round the neck of the dandelion, so as to loosen +the earth a considerable depth, he thrust his fingers down, seized the +root, and drew forth a thick white fibre at least a foot long. + +"That fellow must be three years old," said he, holding it up for me to +examine. "Very likely you have cut off the top every season, supposing +you were killing it. But the dandelion can be exterminated only by +destroying the root. + +"Then," he continued, "there is the dock, more prolific of seeds than +the dandelion, and the red-sorrel, worse than either, because its roots +travel under ground in all directions, throwing up suckers at every +inch, while its tops are hung with myriads of seeds,--the hoe will never +exterminate these pests. You must get rid of the roots; throw them out +to such a sun as this, and then you may hope to be somewhat clear of +them." + +All this was entirely new to me, as well as the botanical names, with +which he seemed to be as familiar as with the alphabet. I had often +wondered how it was that the dandelions in our garden never diminished +in number, though not one had usually been allowed to go to seed. I now +saw, that, instead of destroying the plant itself, we had only been +removing the tops. + +"But how is it, Mr. Logan," I inquired, "that the weeds are everywhere +more numerous than the flowers?" + +"Ah, Miss," he replied, resting the hoe upon his shoulder, taking off +his hat, and wiping the perspiration from his forehead, "I sometimes +think the weeds are immortal, but that the flowers are not. Some one has +said that the earth is mother of the weeds, but only step-mother to the +flowers. I think it is really so. We who cultivate the soil must +maintain against them, as against sin, a perpetual warfare." + +"This is hoeing made easy," said my sister, as Mr. Logan walked away +toward the house for a glass of water. "A nice journeyman, Lizzie, eh? +Don't seem as if he could ever be tired! Will you ask him to come +again?" + +"Why, Jane, you are foolish!" I replied. + +But there was an arch smirk on her countenance, and she continued +looking at me with so much latent meaning in the expression of her eye, +that I was fairly compelled to turn away. + +Noon came, that witching time with all who labor in the fields or woods, +and not until then did Mr. Logan lay down his clumsy hoe. I half pitied +his condition as we came out of the hot sun into the shelter of a +trellis which ran along the side of the house, over which a dozen +grape-vines were hanging so thickly as to exclude even the noonday +glare. It was a sweltering day for a gentleman to work among the weeds +in a strawberry-field, in coat and cravat. But he made very light of it, +and declared that he would come the next morning and see us through the +job, and even another, if we thought there would be room for him. After +he had gone, Jane reminded me of these offers; adding,-- + +"I felt quite sure he would be down again, even without your inviting +him. He seems to admire something else here besides strawberries. What +do you think it can be?" + +But I considered her inquiries too ridiculous to be worth replying to. + +After dinner we gave up hoeing for the day, and went to our usual +afternoon occupation of picking the next morning's supply for the widow. +She not only sold readily all we could gather, and at excellent prices, +but even called for more. It seemed that her customers were also +increasing, as well as those of our neighbors. Indeed, her urgency for +more fruit was such, during the entire season, that the question +repeatedly crossed my mind, whether we could not appropriate more ground +to strawberries by getting rid of some of the flowers. They were +beautiful things, but then they paid no profit. + +When one strikes a vein that happens to be profitable, he is apt to +become impatient of doing well in a small way, and forthwith casts about +for ways and means to increase its productiveness, as he thinks, by +enlarging his operations. It was natural for me to conclude, that, if I +were thus fortunate on one acre, I could do much better by cultivating +more. I presume this hankering after additional acres must be a national +weakness, as there were numerous disquisitions on the subject scattered +through my agricultural papers, in many of which I noticed that there +was great fault-finding because men in this country undertook the +cultivation of twice as much land as they could properly manage. The +propensity for going on and enlarging their possessions seemed a very +general one. Thus even I, in my small way, was insensibly becoming a +disciple of these deluded people. But there was this comfort in my case, +that, while others were able to enlarge, even to their ruin, there was a +limit to my expansion, as it was impossible for me to go beyond an acre +and a half. + +That afternoon we had just got well under way at picking, when a man +came into the garden with a bundle of hoes and rakes on his shoulder, +and coming up to us, took off his hat and bowed with the utmost +deference, then drew from his pocket a letter, which, singularly enough, +he handed to me, instead of giving it either to my mother or Jane. On +opening it, I found it to be a note from Mr. Logan, in which he said he +had noticed that our garden-tools were so heavy as to be entirely unfit +for ladies' use, and he had therefore taken the liberty of sending me a +variety of others that were made expressly for female gardeners, asking +me to do him the great favor to accept them. Both my mother and Jane had +stopped picking, as this unexpected donation was laid before us, so I +read the note aloud to them, the messenger having previously taken his +leave. I think, altogether, it was the greatest surprise we had ever +had. + +"The next thing, I suppose," said Jane, "you'll have him down here to +show you how to use them"; and she laughed so heartily as quite to +mortify me. I understood her meaning, but my mother did not appear to +comprehend it, for she replied, with the utmost gravity,-- + +"No need of his coming to teach us; haven't we been hoeing all our +lives?" + +"Not _us_, mother," interrupted Jane, in her peculiarly provoking way, +"but _her_; he won't come to teach _us_,--one will be enough. As to the +_need_ of his coming, it looks to me to be growing stronger and +stronger." + +She fairly screamed with laughter, as she said this. I was so provoked +at her, that I was almost ready to cry; and as to answering her as she +deserved, it seemed beyond my power. My mother could not understand what +she meant; but while Jane was going on in this foolish way, she had +untied the bundle and was examining the tools. There were three hoes, +and as many rakes. Observing this, Jane again cried out,-- + +"What! all for _you_? Well, Lizzie, you are making a nice beginning! I +suppose you will now have more conversational topics than ever, though +there seemed to be plenty of them this morning!" + +One would think that this was quite enough, but she went on with,-- + +"Don't you wish the weeds would last all summer? for what is to become +of you when they are gone?" + +Still I made no reply, and Jane persisted in her jokes and laughter. But +I think one can always tell when one is blushing. So I held down my head +and concealed my face in my sun-bonnet, as I felt the blood rushing up +into my cheeks, and was determined that she should not have the +satisfaction of discovering it. + +These garden-tools were the most beautiful I had ever seen, and there +was evidently a hoe and a rake for each of us. They were made of +polished steel, with slender handles, all rubbed so smooth as to make it +a pleasure to take hold of them. The blades had been sharpened beyond +anything that Fred had been able to achieve. Being semicircular in +shape, they had points at the corners, adapted to reaching into +out-of-the-way places,--as after a weed that had grown up in the middle +of a strawberry-row, thinking, perhaps, that a shelter of that kind +would preserve it from destruction. Then they were so light that even a +child could ply them all day without their weight occasioning the least +fatigue. The rakes were equally complete, with long and sharp teeth, +which entered the ground with far greater facility than the old-time +implements we had been using. Indeed, they were the very tools we had +been promising ourselves out of the profits of our second year. My +mother was especially pleased with them, as she was not of very robust +constitution, and found the old heavy tools a great drag upon her +strength. I think no small present I have ever received was so +acceptable as this. + +Whoever first manufactured and introduced these beautiful and +appropriate garden-tools for ladies has probably done as much to make +garden-work attractive to the sex as half the writers on fruits and +flowers. It is vain to expect them to engage in horticulture, unless the +most complete facilities are provided for them. Their physical strength +is not equal to several hours' labor with implements made exclusively +for the hands of strong men; and when garden-work, instead of proving a +pleasant recreation, degenerates into drudgery, one is apt to become +disgusted with it, and will thus give up an occupation truly feminine, +invariably healthful, and in many cases highly profitable. + +True to his promise of the preceding day, Mr. Logan came down next +morning to help us through with our job of hoeing, but rather better +prepared to operate under a broiling June sun. My mother, seeing his +determination to assist us, invited him to take off his coat, and +brought out Fred's straw hat for him to wear. He seemed truly grateful +for these marks of consideration for his comfort, and in consequence +there sprung up quite a cordiality between them. There was of course a +profusion of thanks given to him for the handsome and appropriate +present he had made, but he seemed to consider it a very small affair. +Still, I think he appeared as much gratified at finding he had thus +anticipated our wishes as we were ourselves. It is singular how far a +little act of kindness, especially when its value is enhanced by its +appropriateness and the delicacy with which it is performed, will go +toward establishing a bond of sympathy between giver and receiver. + +I may here say, that, the better we became acquainted with Mr. Logan, +the more evident it was that his heart was made up of kindness. He +seemed to consider himself as almost nothing, and his neighbor as +everything. His spirit was of that character that wins its way through +life, tincturing every action with good-will for others, and seeking to +promote the happiness of all around him in preference to his own. He +once remarked, that we must not look for happiness in the things of the +world, but within ourselves, in our hearts, our tempers, and our +dispositions. On another occasion he quoted to me something he had just +been reading in an old author, who said that men's lives should be like +the day, most beautiful at eventide,--or like the autumn rich with +golden sheaves, where good works have ripened into an abundant harvest. + +Of course, at that time, we knew nothing of who or what he was, beyond +an assurance incidentally given by our pastor, that he was the worthiest +young man of his acquaintance, and that he hoped we would entertain him +in the best way we could, as his passion for the pursuits he discovered +me to be engaged in, coupled with what he had learned of the great +object I had in view, had so much interested him in my behalf that he +thought it likely Mr. Logan would often come down to watch my progress, +and very possibly in some way assist me. This recommendation was quite +sufficient to make him a welcome visitor at our little homestead. But +even without that, we all felt he would have no difficulty in winning +his way wherever he might think it desirable to make a favorable +impression. Though he was evidently highly educated, and had been +brought up in a superior circle to ours, and, for aught we knew, might +be very wealthy, yet his whole manner was so free from pretension to +superiority of any kind, that we never felt the least constraint in his +company. + +Well, as I was saying, Mr. Logan came down to assist me in my weeding. +Jane had gone to the factory, telling me that I should have help enough +to do her share of the hoeing. I was really not sorry for her absence, +as she seemed to have taken up some very strange notions, which led her +into remarks that annoyed me. Besides, she was sometimes so impetuous in +giving utterance to these notions, that I was afraid she might +thoughtlessly break out where he would overhear. I might have had other +reasons, not worth while to allude to, for not regretting her absence; +but this dangerous propensity was quite sufficient. Hence that was a +most agreeable morning. It is true that my mother was a good deal +absent, having something extra to do within doors, thus leaving Mr. +Logan and myself sole tenants of the garden for probably an hour at a +time. But it did not occur to me that her presence would have made the +time pass away any more quickly, or that any remarks from her would have +made our interchange of ideas more interesting. There was abundance of +conversation between us, as he seemed at no fault for either words or +topics. Then there were long pauses in the work, when we would rest upon +the handles of our hoes, and discuss some point that one of us had +started. On these occasions I was struck with the extreme politeness and +deference of his manner toward me. The very tones of his voice were +different from any I had ever heard. How different, indeed, from those +of the coarse and mercenary creatures it had been my fortune to +encounter elsewhere! It was impossible to overlook the contrast. What +wonder, then, that the softness with which they were modulated, when +conversing with me, should fall with grateful impressiveness on my +heart? + +But this pleasant acquaintance occasioned no interruption of my labors +in harvesting my strawberry-crop. It was picked regularly every +afternoon, and I went with Fred every morning by daylight to see it +safely delivered to the widow. The sale kept up as briskly as ever, +though the price gradually declined as the season advanced,--not, as the +widow informed me, because the people had become tired of strawberries, +but because the crops from distant fields were now crowding into market. +Then, too, she said, as other delicacies came forward, buyers were +disposed to change a little for something different. + +It was a striking feature of the business, that, however abundant the +strawberries might be, selected fruit always commanded a higher price +than that which went to market in a jumble just as it came from the +vines. This is a matter which it is important for all cultivators to +keep in remembrance, as attention to it is a source of considerable +profit. We all know that the large berries are no better or sweeter than +the smaller ones; but then we are the growers, not the consumers, and +the public have set their hearts on having the largest that can be +produced. In fruits, as in other things, it seems that "the world is +still deceived by ornament." Moreover, people are willing to pay liberal +prices for it, and thus the producer is sure of being rewarded for a +choice article. I never discovered that a pumpkin or a turnip possessed +any superior flavor because it had been stimulated to mammoth size. But +such being the public craving for vegetable monsters, the shrewd +cultivator is constantly on the alert to minister to it, knowing that it +pays. + +Fred kept his usual tally of the number of baskets we took to market, +and how much money each lot produced. His ridiculous miscalculation, the +previous year, of what our profits would be, had so moderated his +enthusiasm, that during all this season his anticipations were confined +within very modest bounds. But as his column of figures lengthened, and +he ciphered out for us the average price for each day's sales, it was +remarkable how much higher it stood than that of most of the fruit I saw +in the market. It was evident that our care in assorting our berries was +giving a good account of itself. Besides, I saw that the widow had the +jumbled-up berries of others on her stand, and heard her complain that +they remained on hand some hours after all mine had been sold. Then, was +it not the superiority of mine that had drawn forth such strong +commendation from my first customer, Mr. Logan? and had he not continued +to admire all that I did in the strawberry way? Setting aside the high +prices, I sometimes thought that this alone was worth all the pains we +had taken. + +The season lasted about three weeks, during all which time our pastor +was a frequent visitor at our garden. As both he and Mr. Logan had been +made acquainted with my general object and plans, so from generals they +were at last taken into confidence as to particulars. I showed them +Fred's tally, and it appeared to me they entered into the study of it +with almost as much interest as we did ourselves. Though in many +respects a very small affair, yet it involved great results for me, and +our visitors both thought it might be turned to the advantage of others +also. + +"I am astonished," said Mr. Seeley, one day, after examining Fred's +tally, and expressing himself in terms of admiration at the success of +our enterprise,--"I am astonished at the wasteful lives which so many of +our women are living. They seem utterly destitute of purpose. They make +no effort to give them shape or plan, or to set up a goal in the +distance, to be reached by some kind of industrious application. They +drift along listlessly and mechanically, in the old well-worn tracks, +trusting to accident to give them a new direction. It is a sad thing, +this waste of human existence!" + +"But consider, Sir," I replied, "how limited are our opportunities, how +circumscribed the circle in which we are compelled to move, and with how +much jealousy the world stands guard upon its boundaries, as if it were +determined we should not overstep them. When women succeed, is it not +solely by accident, or, if there be such a thing, by luck?" + +"Accident, Miss," replied Mr. Logan, "undoubtedly has something to do +with it. But observation, energy, and tact are much more important +elements of success. More than sixty years ago a young New-England girl +fell desperately in love with an imported straw bonnet which she +accidentally met with in a shop. The price was too large for her slender +purse, so she determined to make one for herself. With no guide but +recollection of the charming novelty she had seen, no other pattern to +work by, no opportunity of unbraiding it to see how it was made, no +instruction whatever, she persevered until she had produced a bonnet +that filled the hearts of her female friends with envy, as well as with +ambition to copy it. This was the origin of the once famous Dunstable +bonnet. From this accidental beginning there sprung up a manufacture +which now employs ten thousand persons, most of whom are women, and the +product of which, in Massachusetts alone, amounts to six millions of +hats and bonnets annually. This girl thus became a public benefactor. +She opened a new and profitable employment to women, and at the same +time enriched herself." + +"Yes," added Mr. Seeley, "and there are many other employments for +female skill and labor that may yet be opened up. This that you are +toiling in, Lizzie, may turn out something useful. I presume that even +bonnets cannot be more popular than strawberries." + +"I should think so," interrupted Fred, "It is the women only who wear +the one, but it looks to me as if the whole world wanted the other." + +Well, when our little crop had all been sold, I found that it amounted +to nearly twelve hundred quarts, and that it produced three hundred and +eighty dollars clear of expenses. This was quite as much as we expected; +besides, it was enough to enable me to quit the factory altogether, and +stay at home with my mother. And there was a fair prospect of this +release being a permanent one, as it was very certain I now understood +the whole art and mystery of cultivating strawberries. There was another +encouraging incident connected with this season's operations. It +appeared that our pastor had mentioned me and my labors to a number of +his friends, among whom was one who wanted to set out a large field with +plants, all of which he purchased of me, amounting to sixty dollars. +This was a most unexpected addition to our income. + +But my sister Jane did not seem at all anxious to give up the factory. I +had, a good while before, let in an idea that there was some other +attraction about the establishment besides the sewing-machine. I +noticed, that, now we had so considerably increased our means, she was +more dressy than ever, and spent a great deal more time at her toilet +before leaving for the factory, as if there were some one there to whom +she wanted to appear more captivating than usual. Poor girl! I know it +was very natural for her to do so. Indeed, I must confess to some little +weakness of the same description myself. We had drawn to us quite a new +set of visitors, and it was natural that I should endeavor to make our +house as attractive to them as possible. As all our previous earnings +had gone into a common purse, from which my mother made distribution +among us, so the new accession from the garden went into the same +repository. Jane was much more set up with this flourishing condition of +our finances than myself. In addition to beautiful new bonnets and very +gay shawls which we bought, she began to tease my mother for a silk +dress, an article which had never been seen in our house. But as the +latter prudently insisted on treating us with equal indulgence, and as I +thought my time for such finery had not come, I was unwilling to go to +that expense, so Jane was obliged to do without it. But I was now to +have a sewing-machine. + +Time passed more pleasantly than I had ever known. It was a great +happiness to be able to devote an hour or two to reading every day, and +leisure prompted me to some little enterprises for the improvement of +the surroundings of the old homestead. It seemed to me the easiest thing +in the world to invest even the rudest exterior with true elegance, and +I found that the indulgence of a little taste in this way could be had +for a very small outlay. A silk dress, in my opinion, was not to be +compared with such an object. + +I scarcely know how it happened, but, instead of the end of the +strawberry-season being the termination of Mr. Logan's visits, they +continued full as frequent as when there was really pressing work for +him to assist in. It could not have been because his curiosity to see +how my crop would turn out was still ungratified, as he knew all about +it, how much we had sold, and what money it produced. But he seemed to +have quite fallen in love with the garden; and, indeed, he one day +observed, that "there would ever be something in that garden to interest +him." Then in my little improvements about the house, in fixing up some +of our old trellises, in planting new vines and flowers, and in +transplanting trees and shrubs, he insisted on helping me nearly half +the week. He really performed far more work of this kind than Fred had +ever done, and appeared to be perfectly familiar with such matters. +Moreover, he approved so generally of my plans that I at last felt it +would be difficult to do without him. But I could not help considering +it strange that he should so frequently give up the higher society to +which he was accustomed in the city, and spend so much of his time at +our humble cottage. + +Thus the season went on until August came in, when the strawberry-ground +was becoming thickly covered with runners, especially from the newly +planted half-acre. I had intended bestowing no particular care on these, +except to keep down the weeds so that the runners could take root. But +when Mr. Logan learned this, he said it would never do. Besides, he +said, the ground looked to him as if it were not rich enough. So, if he +could have his own way, he would show me how the thing should be +managed. Well, as by this time he really appeared to have as much to say +about the garden as any of us, what could I do but consent? First, +then, with my assistance, he turned back the runners into the rows, and +then had the spaces between covered with a thick coat of fine old +compost, which he probably bought somewhere in the neighborhood,--but +how much it cost we could never get him to say. Then he brought in a man +with a plough, who broke up the ground, turning the manure thoroughly +in, and then harrowing it until the surface was as finely pulverized as +if done with a rake. Then we spread out the runners again, and he showed +me how to fasten them by letting them down into the soft earth with the +point of my hoe. I told him I never should have thought of taking so +much trouble; but he said there was no other way by which the runners +could be converted into robust plants, certain to produce a heavy crop +the next season. They must have a freshly loosened soil to run over, and +in which to form strong roots; and as to enriching the ground, it was +absolutely indispensable. To be sure, I could produce fruit without it, +but it would be of very inferior quality. + +One may well suppose that this intimate association, this almost daily +companionship, this grateful interchange of thoughts and feelings that +seemed to flow in one harmonious current from a common fountain, should +have exerted a powerful influence over me. Such intercourse with one so +singularly gifted with the faculty of winning favor from all who knew +him gave birth to emotions within me such as I had never experienced. Am +I to blame for being thus affected, or in confessing that every long +October evening was doubly pleasant when it brought him down to see us? +Indeed, I had insensibly begun to expect him. There was an indescribable +something in his manner, especially when we happened to be alone, that I +thought it impossible to misunderstand. Once, when strolling round the +garden, I directed his attention to a group of charming autumn flowers. +But, instead of noticing them, he looked at me, and replied,-- + +"Ah, Miss Lizzie, I long since discovered that this garden contains a +sweeter flower than any of these!" + +I turned away from him, abashed and silent, for I was confused and +frightened by the idea that he was alluding to me, and it was a long +time before I could venture to raise my eyes to his. I thought of what +he had said, and of the studied tenderness of voice with which he had +spoken, all through our lengthened walk, and until I rested upon my +pillow; and the strange sensations it awakened came over my spirit in +repeated dreams. + +Thus forewarned, as I thought, I was not slow in afterwards detecting +fresh manifestations of a tenderer interest for me than I had supposed +it possible for him to entertain. + +One evening in November, when the moon was shining with her softest +lustre through the deep haze peculiar to our Indian summer, he came as +usual to our little homestead. Somehow, I can scarcely tell why, I had +been expecting him. He had dropped something the previous evening which +had awakened in my mind the deepest feeling, and I was half sure that he +would come. I felt that there were quicker pulses dancing through my +veins, a flutter in my heart such as no previous experience had brought, +a doubt, a fear, an expectation, as well as an alarm, which no +reflection could analyze, no language could describe, all contending +within me for ascendancy. Who that has human sympathies, who that is +young as I was, diffident of herself, and comparatively alone and +friendless, will wonder that I should be thus overcome, or reproach me +for giving way to impulses which I felt it impossible to control? There +was a terror of the future, which even recollection of the happy past +was powerless to dissipate. Society, even books, became irksome, and I +went out into the garden alone, there to have uninterrupted communion +with myself. + +There was an old arbor in a by-place of the garden, covered with creeper +and honeysuckle, and though rudely built, yet there was a quiet +retirement about it that I felt would be grateful to my spirit. Its +rustic fittings, its heavy old seats, its gravelled floor, had been the +scene of a thousand childish gambols with my brother and sister. Old +memories clung to it with a loving fondness. Even when the sports of +childhood gave place to graver thoughts and occupations, the cool +retirement of this rustic solitude had never failed to possess the +strongest attractions for me. The songbirds built their little nests +within the overhanging foliage, and swarms of bees gave melodious voices +to the summer air as they hovered over its honey-yielding flowers. The +past united with the present to direct my steps toward this favorite +spot I entered, and, seating myself on one of the old low branches that +encircled it, was looking up through the straggling vines that festooned +the entrance, admiring the soft haze through, which the cloudless moon +was shedding a peculiar brilliancy on all around, when I heard a step +approaching from the house. + +I stopped the song which I had been humming, and listened. It is said +that there are steps which have music in them. I am sure, the cadences +of that music which the poet has so immortalized sounded distinctly in +my listening ear. It was the melody of recognition. I knew instinctively +the approaching step, and in a moment Mr. Logan stood before me. + +"What!" said he, extending his hand as I rose, and pressing mine with a +warmth that was unusual, even retaining it until we were seated,--"ever +happy! There must be a perpetual sunshine in your heart!" + +"Oh, no!" I replied. "Happiness is a creation of the fireside. One does +not find it in his neighbor's garden, and many times not even in his +own." + +"For once, dear Lizzie, I only half agree with you," he replied, again +taking my hand, and pressing it in both of his. + +I sought in vain to withdraw it, but he held it with an embarrassing +tenacity. He had never spoken such words before, never used my name +even, without the usual prefix which politeness exacts. I was glad that +the moonlight found but feeble entrance into the arbor, as the blood +mounted from my heart into my face, and I felt that I must be a +spectacle of confusion. I cannot now remember how long this +indescribable embarrassment kept possession of me, but I did summon +strength to say,-- + +"Your language surprises me, Mr. Logan." + +"But, dear Lizzie," he rejoined, "my deportment toward you ought to +lessen that surprise, and become the apology for my words. Others may +find no happiness in their neighbor's garden, but I have discovered that +mine is concentrated in yours. You, dear Lizzie, are its fairest, +choicest flower, which I seek to transplant into my own, there to +flourish in the warmth of an affection such as I have felt for no one +but yourself. Never has woman been so loved as you. Let me add fresh +blessings to the day on which I first met you here, by claiming you as +my wife." + +Oh, how can I write all this? But memory covers every incident of the +past with flowers. What I said in reply to that overwhelming declaration +has all gone from me. I may have been silent,--I think I must have +been,--under the crowd of conflicting sensations,--amazement, modesty, a +happiness unspeakable,--which came thronging over my heart I cannot +remember all, but I covered my face, and the tears came into my eyes. +Still keeping my hand, he placed his arm around me, drew me yet closer +to him,--my head fell upon his breast,--I think he must have kissed me. + +If other evenings fled on hasty wings, how rapid was the flight of what +remained of this! I cannot repeat the thoughts we uttered to each other, +the confidences we exchanged, the glimpses of the happy future that +broke upon me. Joy seemed to fill my cup even to overflowing; happiness +danced before my bewildered mind; the longing of my womanly nature was +satisfied with the knowledge that my affection was returned. Out of all +the world in which he had to choose, he had preferred _me_. + +That night was made restless by the very fulness of my happiness. At +breakfast the next morning, Jane questioned me on my somewhat haggard +looks, and was inquisitive to know if anything had happened. Somehow she +was unusually pertinacious; but I parried her inquiries. I was unwilling +that others, as yet, should become sharers of my joy. But when she left +upon her usual duties, I put on my best attire, with all the little +novelties in dress which we had recently been able to purchase, making +my appearance as genteel as possible. For the first time in my life I +did think that silk would be becoming, and was vexed with myself for +being without it. I was now anxious to be found agreeable. But it really +made no difference. + +Presently a knock was heard at the front door; and on my mother's +opening it, Mr. Logan entered, with a young lady whom he introduced as +his sister. The room was so indifferently lighted that I could not at +first distinguish her features, but, on her throwing up her veil, I +instantly recognized in her my fellow-pupil at the sewing-school,--my +"guide, philosopher, and friend," Miss Effie Logan! + +"Two years, dear Lizzie, since we met!" she exclaimed, "and what a +meeting now! You see I know it all. Henry has told me everything. I am +half as happy as yourself!" + +She took me in her arms, embraced me, kissed me with passionate +tenderness, and called me "sister." What a recognition it was for me! +Her beautiful face, lighted up with a new animation, appeared more +lovely than ever. There was the same open-hearted manner of other days, +now made doubly engaging by the warmest manifestation of genuine +affection. I had never dreamed that Mr. Logan was the brother of whom +this loving girl had so often spoken to me at the sewing-school, nor +that the inexpressible happiness of calling her my sister was in store +for me. But now I could readily discover resemblances which it was no +wonder I had heretofore overlooked. If he, in sweetness of disposition, +were to prove the counterpart of herself, what more could woman ask? It +was not possible for a recognition to be more joyful than this. + +My mother stood by, witnessing these incomprehensible proceedings, +silent, yet anxious as to their meaning. Effie took her into the +adjoining room,--she was far readier of speech than myself,--and there +explained to her the mystery of my new position with Mr. Logan. She told +me that my mother was overcome with surprise, for, dearly as she loved +her children, she had been strangely dull in her apprehension of what +had been so long enacting within her own domestic circle. But why should +I amplify these homely details? They are daily incidents the world over, +varied, it is true, by circumstances; for everywhere the human heart is +substantially the same mysterious fountain of emotion. + +A secret of this sort, once known, even to one's mother only, travels +with miraculous rapidity, until the whole gaping neighborhood becomes +confidentially intrusted with its keeping. It seems that ours had been +more observant and suspicious than even my dear mother. But such eager +care-takers of other people's affairs exist wherever human beings may +chance to congregate. Humble life secured us no exemption. + +Our pastor was one of the first to hear of the interesting event. It may +be that Mr. Logan had given him some inkling of it beforehand, for he +was early in his congratulations. Jane, as might be expected, declared +that it was no surprise to her, and was sure that my mother would not +think of having the wedding without indulging her in her long-coveted +silk. Fred took to Mr. Logan with almost as much kindliness as even +myself. Throughout the neighborhood the affair created an immense +sensation, as it was currently believed that Mr. Logan was exceedingly +rich, and that now I was likely to become a lady. While poor, I was only +a strawberry-girl; but rich, I would be a lady! Who is to account for +these false estimates of human life? Who is mighty enough to correct +them? + +Nothing had ever so melted down the rude stiffness of the Tetchy family +as this wonderful revolution in my domestic prospects. They became +amusingly disposed to sociability, as well as to inquisitiveness. But I +was glad to see my mother stiffen up in proportion to their sudden +condescension, for she would have nothing to do with them. + +Who, among casuists, can account for the contagious sympathy that seems +to govern the affections? I had often heard it said that one wedding +generally leads the way to another. Not a fortnight after these +important events, Jane gave a new surprise to the household by +introducing to us a lover of her own. It appeared that everything had +been arranged between them before we knew a word about it. The happy +young man in this case was a junior partner in the factory; and this, as +I had long suspected, was the great secret of her attraction there. How +my mother could have been so blind to the signs of coming events, such +as were developing around her, I could not understand. But both affairs +were real surprises to her. If we had depended on her genius as a +matchmaker, I fear that both Jane and myself would have had a very +discouraging experience! + +Thus the services of our pastor were likely to be in great request, for +Jane insisted that he should officiate at her wedding, and Mr. Logan +would think of no other for his own; and for myself, I thought it best, +as this was the first time, not to let it be said that I had volunteered +to make a difficulty by being contrary on such a point! Effie offered to +be my bridesmaid, and Mr. Logan declared that Fred should be his first +groomsman. It was a hazardous venture, Fred being as much a novice at +such performances as myself,--who had never officiated even as bride! +With a little tutoring, however, he turned out a surprising success. +Lucy, no longer a little barefoot fruit-peddler, was promoted to be my +waiting-maid. + +The new year came, bringing with it silks and jewels, and the double +wedding. If I write that I am married, I must add that I am still +without a sewing-machine. To me the garden has been better than the +needle. + +There is a moral to be drawn from all that I have written, wherein it +may be seen that the field of my choice is wide enough for many others. +If I retire from market as a strawberry-girl, it must not be inferred +that it is because the business has been overdone. + + + + +JOHN JORDAN, + +FROM THE HEAD OF BAINE. + + +Among the many brave men who have taken part in this war,--whose dying +embers are now being trodden out by a "poor white man,"--none, perhaps, +have done more service to the country, or won less glory for themselves, +than the "poor whites" who have acted as scouts for the Union armies. +The issue of battles, the result of campaigns, and the possession of +wide districts of country, have often depended on their sagacity, or +been determined by the information they have gathered; and yet they have +seldom been heard of in the newspapers, and may never be read of in +history. + +Romantic, thrilling, and sometimes laughable adventures have attended +the operations of the scouts of both sections; but more difficulty and +danger have undoubtedly been encountered by the partisans of the North +than of the South. Operating mostly within the circle of their own +acquaintance, the latter have usually been aided and harbored by the +Southern people, who, generally friendly to Secession, have themselves +often acted as spies, and conveyed dispatches across districts occupied +by our armies, and inaccessible to any but supposed loyal citizens. + +The service rendered the South by these volunteer scouts has often been +of the most important character. One stormy night, early in the war, a +young woman set out from a garrisoned town to visit a sick uncle +residing a short distance in the country. The sick uncle, mounting his +horse at midnight, rode twenty miles in the rain to Forrest's +head-quarters. The result was, the important town of Murfreesboro' and a +promising Major-General fell into the hands of the Confederates; and all +because the said Major-General permitted a pretty woman to pass his +lines on "a mission of mercy." + +At another time, a Rebel citizen, professing disgust with Secession for +having the weakness to be on "its last legs," took the oath of +allegiance and assumed the Union uniform. Informing himself fully of the +disposition of our forces along the Nashville Railroad, he suddenly +disappeared, to reappear with Basil Duke and John Morgan in a midnight +raid on our slumbering outposts. + +Again, a column on the march came upon a wretched woman, with a child in +her arms, seated by the dying embers of a burning homestead,--burning, +she said, because her sole and only friend, her uncle, (these ladies +seldom have any nearer kin,) "stood up stret fur the kentry." No +American soldier ever refused a "lift" to a woman in distress. This +woman was soon "lifted" into an empty saddle by the side of a +staff-officer, who, with many wise winks and knowing nods, was +discussing the intended route of the expedition with a brother +simpleton. A little farther on the woman suddenly remembered that +another uncle, who did not stand up quite so "stret fur the kentry," +and, consequently, had a house still standing up for him, lived "plumb +up thet 'ar' hill ter the right o' the high-road." She was set down, the +column moved on, and--Streight's well planned expedition miscarried. But +no one wasted a thought on the forlorn woman and the sallow baby whose +skinny faces were so long within earshot of the wooden-headed +staff-officer. + +Means quite as ingenious and quite as curious were often adopted to +conceal dispatches, when the messenger was in danger of capture by an +enemy. A boot with a hollow heel, a fragment of corn-pone too stale to +tempt a starving man, a strip of adhesive plaster over a festering +wound, or a ball of cotton-wool stuffed into the ear to keep out the +west wind, often hid a message whose discovery would cost a life, and +perhaps endanger an army. The writer has himself seen the hollow +half-eagle which bore to Burnside's beleaguered force the welcome +tidings that in thirty hours Sherman would relieve Knoxville. + +The perils which even the "native" scout encountered can be estimated +only by those familiar with the vigilance that surrounds an army. The +casual meeting with an acquaintance, the slightest act inconsistent with +his assumed character, or the smallest incongruity between his speech +and that of the district to which he professed to belong, has sent many +a good man to the gallows. One of the best of Rosecrans's scouts--a +native of East Kentucky--lost his life because he would "bounce" (mount) +his nag, "pack" (carry) his gun, eat his bread "dry so," (without +butter,) and "guzzle his peck o' whiskey," in the midst of Bragg's camp, +when no such things were done there, nor in the mountains of Alabama, +whence he professed to come. Acquainted only with a narrow region, the +poor fellow did not know that every Southern district has its own +dialect, and that the travelled ear of a close observer can detect the +slightest deviation from its customary phrases. But he was not alone in +this ignorance. Almost every Northern writer who has undertaken to +describe Southern life has fallen into the same error. Even Olmstead, +who has caught the idioms wonderfully, confounds the dialects of +different regions, and makes a Northern Georgian "right smart," when he +had been only "powerful stupid" all his life. + +The professional scout generally was a native of the South,--some +illiterate and simple-minded, but brave and self-devoted "poor white +man," who, if he had worn shoulder-straps, and been able to write +"interesting" dispatches, might now be known as a hero half the world +over. Some of these men, had they been born at the North, where free +schools are open to all, would have led armies, and left a name to live +after them. But they were born at the South, had their minds cramped and +their souls stunted by a system which dwarfs every noble thing; and so, +their humble mission over, they have gone down unknown and unhonored, +amid the silence and darkness of their native woods. + +I hope to rescue the memory of one of these men--John Jordan, from the +head of Baine--from utter oblivion by writing this article. He is now +beyond the hearing of my words; but I would record one act in his short +career, that his pure patriotism may lead some of us to know better and +love more the much-abused and misunderstood class to which he belonged. + + * * * * * + +Early in the war the command of an important military expedition was +intrusted to the president of a Western college. Though a young man, +this scholar had already achieved a "character" and a history. Beginning +life a widow's son, his first sixteen years were passed between a farm, +a canal, and a black-saltern. Being an intelligent, energetic lad, his +friends formed the usual hopes of him; but when he apprenticed himself +to a canal-boat, their faith failed, and, after the fashion of Job's +friends, they comforted his mother with the assurance that her son had +taken the swift train to the Devil. But, like Job, she knew in whom she +believed, and the boy soon justified her confidence. An event shortly +occurred which changed the current of his life, gave him a purpose, and +made him a man. + +One dark midnight, as the boat on which he was employed was leaving one +of those long reaches of slackwater which abound in the Ohio and +Pennsylvania Canal, he was called up to take his turn at the bow. +Tumbling out of bed, his eyes heavy with sleep, he took his stand on the +narrow platform below the bow-deck, and began uncoiling a rope to steady +the boat through a lock it was approaching. Slowly and sleepily he +unwound it, till it knotted, and caught in a narrow cleft in the edge of +the deck. He gave it a sudden pull, but it held fast; then another and a +stronger pull, and it gave way, but sent him over the bow into the +water. Down he went into the dark night and the still darker river; and +the boat glided on to bury him among the fishes. No human help was near. +God only could save him, and He only by a miracle. So the boy thought, +as he went down saying the prayer his mother had taught him. +Instinctively clutching the rope, he sunk below the surface; but then it +tightened in his grasp, and held firmly. Seizing it hand over hand, he +drew himself up on deck, and was again a live boy among the living. +Another kink had caught in another crevice, and saved him! Was it that +prayer, or the love of his praying mother, which wrought this miracle? +He did not know, but, long after the boat had passed the lock, he stood +there, in his dripping clothes, pondering the question. + +Coiling the rope, he tried to throw it again into the crevice; but it +had lost the knack of kinking. Many times he tried,--six hundred, says +my informant,--and then sat down and reflected. "I have thrown this +rope," he thought, "six hundred times; I might throw it ten times as +many without its catching. Ten times six hundred are six thousand,--so, +there were six thousand chances against my life. Against such odds, +Providence only could have saved it. Providence, therefore, thinks it +worth saving; and if that's so, I won't throw it away on a canal-boat. +I'll go home, get an education, and be a man." + +He acted on this resolution, and not long afterwards stood before a +little log cottage in the depths of the Ohio wilderness. It was late at +night; the stars were out, and the moon was down; but by the fire-light +that came through the window, he saw his mother kneeling before an open +book which lay on a chair in the corner. She was reading; but her eyes +were off the page, looking up to the Invisible. "Oh, turn unto me," she +said, "and have mercy upon me! give Thy strength unto Thy servant, and +save the son of Thine handmaid!" More she read, which sounded like a +prayer, but this is all that the boy remembers. He opened the door, put +his arm about her neck, and his head upon her bosom. What words he said +I do not know; but there, by her side, he gave back to God the life +which He had given. So the mother's prayer was answered. So sprang up +the seed which in toil and tears she had planted. + +The boy worked, the world rolled round, and twelve years later Governor +Dennison offered him command of a regiment. He went home, opened his +mother's Bible, and pondered upon the subject. He had a wife, a child, +and a few thousand dollars. If he gave his life to the country, would +God and the few thousand dollars provide for his wife and child? He +consulted the Book about it. It seemed to answer in the affirmative; and +before morning he wrote to a friend,--"I regard my life as given to the +country. I am only anxious to make as much of it as possible before the +mortgage on it is foreclosed." + +To this man, who thus went into the war with a life not his own, was +given, on the 16th of December, 1861, command of the little army which +held Kentucky to her moorings in the Union. + +He knew nothing of war beyond its fundamental principles,--which are, I +believe, that a big boy can whip a little boy, and that one big boy can +whip two little boys, if he take them singly, one after the other. He +knew no more about it; yet he was called upon to solve a military +problem which has puzzled the heads of the greatest generals: namely, +how two small bodies of men, stationed widely apart, can unite in the +presence of an enemy, and beat him, when he is of twice their united +strength, and strongly posted behind intrenchments. With the help of +many "good men and true," he solved this problem; and in telling how he +solved it, I shall come naturally to speak of John Jordan, from the head +of Baine. + +Humphrey Marshall with five thousand men had invaded Kentucky. Entering +it at Pound Gap, he had fortified a strong natural position near +Paintville, and, with small bands, was overrunning the whole Piedmont +region. This region, containing an area larger than the whole of +Massachusetts, was occupied by about four thousand blacks and one +hundred thousand whites,--a brave, hardy, rural population, with few +schools, scarcely any churches, and only one newspaper, but with that +sort of patriotism which grows among mountains and clings to its barren +hillsides as if they were the greenest spots in the universe. Among this +simple people Marshall was scattering firebrands. Stump-orators were +blazing away at every cross-road, lighting a fire which threatened to +sweep Kentucky from the Union. That done,--so early in the +war,--dissolution might have followed. To the Ohio canal-boy was +committed the task of extinguishing this conflagration. It was a +difficult task, one which, with the means at command, would have +appalled any man not made equal to it by early struggles with hardship +and poverty, and entire trust in the Providence that guards his country. + +The means at command were twenty-five hundred men, divided into two +bodies, and separated by a hundred miles of mountain country. This +country was infested with guerrillas, and occupied by a disloyal people. +The sending of dispatches across it was next to impossible; but +communication being opened, and the two columns set in motion, there was +danger that they would be fallen on and beaten in detail before they +could form a junction. This was the great danger. What remained--the +beating of five thousand Rebels, posted behind intrenchments, by half +their number of Yankees, operating in the open field--seemed to the +young Colonel less difficult of accomplishment. + +Evidently, the first thing to be done was to find a trustworthy +messenger to convey dispatches between the two halves of the Union army. +To this end, the Yankee commander applied to the Colonel of the +Fourteenth Kentucky. + +"Have you a man," he asked, "who will die, rather than fail or betray +us?" + +The Kentuckian reflected a moment, then answered: "I think I have,--John +Jordan, from the head of Baine."[B] + +Jordan was sent for. He was a tall, gaunt, sallow man of about thirty, +with small gray eyes, a fine, falsetto voice, pitched in the minor key, +and his speech the rude dialect of the mountains. His face had as many +expressions as could be found in a regiment, and he seemed a strange +combination of cunning, simplicity, undaunted courage, and undoubting +faith; yet, though he might pass for a simpleton, he talked a quaint +sort of wisdom which ought to have given him to history. + +The young Colonel sounded him thoroughly; for the fate of the little +army might depend on his fidelity. The man's soul was as clear as +crystal, and in ten minutes the Yankee saw through it. His history is +stereotyped in that region. Born among the hills, where the crops are +stones, and sheep's noses are sharpened before they can nibble the thin +grass between them, his life had been one of the hardest toil and +privation. He knew nothing but what Nature, the Bible, the "Course of +Time," and two or three of Shakspeare's plays had taught him; but +somehow in the mountain air he had grown to be a man,--a man as +civilized nations account manhood. + +"Why did you come into the war?" at last asked the Colonel. + +"To do my sheer fur the kentry, Gin'ral," answered the man. "And I +didn't druv no barg'in wi' th' Lord. I guv Him my life squar' out; and +ef He's a mind ter tuck it on this tramp, why, it's a His'n; I've +nothin' ter say agin it." + +"You mean that you've come into the war not expecting to get out of it?" + +"That's so, Gin'ral." + +"Will you die rather than let the dispatch be taken?" + +"I wull." + +The Colonel recalled what had passed in his own mind when poring over +his mother's Bible that night at his home in Ohio; and it decided him. +"Very well," he said; "I will trust you." + +The dispatch was written on tissue paper, rolled into the form of a +bullet, coated with warm lead, and put into the hand of the Kentuckian. +He was given a carbine, a brace of revolvers, and the fleetest horse in +his regiment, and, when the moon was down, started on his perilous +journey. He was to ride at night, and hide in the woods or in the houses +of loyal men in the day-time. + +It was pitch-dark when he set out; but he knew every inch of the way, +having travelled it often, driving mules to market. He had gone twenty +miles by early dawn, and the house of a friend was only a few miles +beyond him. The man himself was away; but his wife was at home, and she +would harbor him till nightfall. He pushed on, and tethered his horse in +the timber; but it was broad day when he rapped at the door, and was +admitted. The good woman gave him breakfast, and showed him to the +guest-chamber, where, lying down in his boots, he was soon in a deep +slumber. + +The house was a log cabin in the midst of a few acres of +deadening,--ground from which trees have been cleared by girdling. Dense +woods were all about it; but the nearest forest was a quarter of a mile +distant, and should the scout be tracked, it would be hard to get away +over this open space, unless he had warning of the approach of his +pursuers. The woman thought of this, and sent up the road, on a mule, +her whole worldly possessions, an old negro, dark as the night, but +faithful as the sun in the heavens. It was high noon when the mule came +back, his heels striking fire, and his rider's eyes flashing, as if +ignited from the sparks the steel had emitted. + +"Dey 'm comin', Missus!" he cried,--"not haff a mile away,--twenty +Secesh,--ridin' as ef de Debil wus arter 'em!" + +She barred the door, and hastened to the guest-chamber. + +"Go," she cried, "through the winder,--ter the woods! They'll be here in +a minute." + +"How many is thar?" asked the scout. + +"Twenty,--go,--go at once,--or you'll be taken!" + +The scout did not move; but, fixing his eyes on her face, he said,-- + +"Yes, I yere 'em. Thar's a sorry chance for my life a'ready. But, +Rachel, I've thet 'bout me thet's wuth more 'n my life,--thet, may-be, +'ll save Kaintuck. If I'm killed, wull ye tuck it ter Cunnel Cranor, at +Paris?" + +"Yes, yes, I will. But go: you've not a minnit to lose, I tell you." + +"I know, but wull ye swar it,--swar ter tuck this ter Cunnel Cranor +'fore th' Lord thet yeres us?" + +"Yes, yes, I will," she said, taking the bullet. But horses' hoofs were +already sounding in the door-yard. "It's too late," cried the woman. +"Oh, why did you stop to parley?" + +"Never mind, Rachel," answered the scout. "Don't tuck on. Tuck ye keer +o' th' dispatch. Valu' it loike yer life,--loike Kaintuck. The Lord's +callin' fur me, and I'm a'ready." + +But the scout was mistaken. It was not the Lord, but a dozen devils at +the door-way. + +"What does ye want?" asked the woman, going to the door. + +"The man as come from Garfield's camp at sun-up,--John Jordan, from the +head o' Baine," answered a voice from the outside. + +"Ye karn't hev him fur th' axin'," said the scout. "Go away, or I'll +send some o' ye whar the weather is warm, I reckon." + +"Pshaw!" said another voice,--from his speech one of the chivalry. +"There are twenty of us. We'll spare your life, if you give up the +dispatch; if you don't, we'll hang you higher than Haman." + +The reader will bear in mind that this was in the beginning of the war, +when swarms of spies infested every Union camp, and treason was only a +gentlemanly pastime, not the serious business it has grown to be since +traitors are no longer dangerous. + +"I've nothin' but my life thet I'll guv up," answered the scout; "and ef +ye tuck thet, ye'll hev ter pay the price,--six o' yourn." + +"Fire the house!" shouted one. + +"No, don't do thet," said another. "I know him,--he's cl'ar grit,--he'll +die in the ashes; and we won't git the dispatch." + +This sort of talk went on for half an hour; then there was a dead +silence, and the woman went to the loft, whence she could see all that +was passing outside. About a dozen of the horsemen were posted around +the house; but the remainder, dismounted, had gone to the edge of the +woods, and were felling a well-grown sapling, with the evident intention +of using it as a battering-ram to break down the front door. + +The woman, in a low tone, explained the situation; and the scout said,-- + +"It 'r' my only chance. I must run fur it. Bring me yer red shawl, +Rachel." + +She had none, but she had a petticoat of flaming red and yellow. +Handling it as if he knew how such articles can be made to spread, the +scout softly unbarred the door, and, grasping the hand of the woman, +said,-- + +"Good bye, Rachel. It 'r' a right sorry chance; but I may git through. +Ef I do, I'll come ter night; ef I don't, git ye the dispatch ter the +Cunnel. Good bye." + +To the right of the house, midway between it and the woods, stood the +barn. That way lay the route of the scout. If he could elude the two +mounted men at the door-way, he might escape the other horsemen; for +they would have to spring the barn-yard fences, and their horses might +refuse the leap. But it was foot of man against leg of horse, and "a +right sorry chance." + +Suddenly he opened the door, and dashed at the two horses with the +petticoat. They reared, wheeled, and bounded away like lightning just +let out of harness. In the time that it takes to tell it, the scout was +over the first fence, and scaling the second; but a horse was making the +leap with him. The scout's pistol went off, and the rider's earthly +journey was over. Another followed, and his horse fell mortally wounded. +The rest made the circuit of the barn-yard, and were rods behind when +the scout reached the edge of the forest. Once among those thick +laurels, nor horse nor rider can reach a man, if he lies low, and says +his prayer in a whisper. + +The Rebels bore the body of their comrade back to the house, and said to +the woman,-- + +"We'll be revenged for this. We know the route he'll take, and will have +his life before to-morrow; and you--we'd burn your house over your head, +if you were not the wife of Jack Brown." + +Brown was a loyal man, who was serving his country in the ranks of +Marshall. Thereby hangs a tale, but this is not the time to tell it. +Soon the men rode away, taking the poor woman's only wagon as a hearse +for their dead comrade. + +Night came, and the owls cried in the woods in a way they had not cried +for a fortnight. "T'whoot! t'whoot!" they went, as if they thought there +was music in hooting. The woman listened, put on a dark mantle, and +followed the sound of their voices. Entering the woods, she crept in +among the bushes, and talked with the owls as if they had been human. + +"They know the road ye'll take," she said; "ye must change yer route. +Here ar' the bullet." + +"God bless ye, Rachel!" responded the owl, "ye 'r' a true 'ooman!"--and +he hooted louder than before, to deceive pursuers, and keep up the +music. + +"Ar' yer nag safe?" she asked. + +"Yes, and good for forty mile afore sun-up." + +"Well, here ar' suthin' ter eat: ye'll need it. Good bye, and God go wi' +ye!" + +"He'll go wi' ye, fur He loves noble wimmin." + +Their hands clasped, and then they parted: he to his long ride; she to +the quiet sleep of those who, out of a true heart, serve their country. + +The night was dark and drizzly; but before morning the clouds cleared +away, leaving a thick mist hanging low on the meadows. The scout's mare +was fleet, but the road was rough, and a slosh of snow impeded the +travel. He had come by a strange way, and did not know how far he had +travelled by sunrise; but lights were ahead, shivering in the haze of +the cold, gray morning. Were they the early candles of some sleepy +village, or the camp-fires of a band of guerrillas? He did not know, and +it would not be safe to go on till he did know. The road was lined with +trees, but they would give no shelter; for they were far apart, and the +snow lay white between them. He was in the blue grass region. Tethering +his horse in the timber, he climbed a tall oak by the roadside; but the +mist was too thick to admit of his discerning anything distinctly. It +seemed, however, to be breaking away, and he would wait until his way +was clear; so he sat there, an hour, two hours, and ate his breakfast +from the satchel John's wife had slung over his shoulder. At last the +fog lifted a little, and he saw close at hand a small hamlet,--a few +rude huts gathered round a cross-road. No danger could lurk in such a +place, and he was about to descend, and pursue his journey, when +suddenly he heard, up the road by which he came, the rapid tramp of a +body of horsemen. The mist was thicker below; so half-way down the tree +he went, and waited their coming. They moved at an irregular pace, +carrying lanterns, and pausing every now and then to inspect the road, +as if they had missed their way or lost something. Soon they came near, +and were dimly outlined in the gray mist, so the scout could make out +their number. There were thirty of them,--the original band, and a +reinforcement. Again they halted when abreast of the tree, and searched +the road narrowly. + +"He must have come this way," said one,--he of the chivalry. "The other +road is six miles longer, and he would take the shortest route. It's an +awful pity we didn't head him on both roads." + +"We kin come up with him yit, ef we turn plumb round, and foller on +t'other road,--whar we lost the trail,--back thar, three miles ter the +deadnin'." + +Now another spoke, and his voice the scout remembered. He belonged to +his own company in the Fourteenth Kentucky. "It 'so," he said; "he has +tuck t' other road. I tell ye, I'd know thet mar's shoe 'mong a million. +Nary one loike it wus uver seed in all Kaintuck,--only a d----d Yankee +could ha' invented it." + +"And yere it ar'," shouted a man with one of the lanterns, "plain as +sun-up." + +The Fourteenth Kentuckian clutched the light, and, while a dozen +dismounted and gathered round, closely examined the shoe-track. The +ground was bare on the spot, and the print of the horse's hoof was +clearly cut in the half-frozen mud. Narrowly the man looked, and life +and death hung on his eyesight. The scout took out the bullet, and +placed it in a crotch of the tree. If they took him, the Devil should +not take the dispatch. Then he drew a revolver. The mist was breaking +away, and he would surely be discovered, if the men lingered much +longer; but he would have the value of his life to the uttermost +farthing. + +Meanwhile, the horsemen crowded around the foot-print, and one of them +inadvertently trod upon it. The Kentuckian looked long and earnestly, +but at last he said,-- + +"'Ta'n't the track. Thet 'ar' mar' has a sand-crack on her right +fore-foot. She didn't take kindly to a round shoe; so the Yank, he guv +her one with the cork right in the middle o' the quarter. 'Twas a durned +smart contrivance; fur ye see, it eased the strain, and let the nag go +nimble as a squirrel. The cork ha'n't yere,--'ta'n't her track,--and +we're wastin,' time in luckin'." + +The cork was not there, because the trooper's tread had obliterated it. +Reader, let us thank him for that one good step, if he never take +another; for it saved the scout, and, may-be, it saved Kentucky. When +the scout returned that way, he halted abreast of that tree, and +examined the ground about it. Right there, in the road, was the mare's +track, with the print of the man's foot still upon the inner quarter! He +uncovered his head, and from his heart went up a simple thanksgiving. + +The horsemen gone, the scout came down from the tree, and pushed on into +the misty morning. There might be danger ahead, but there surely was +danger behind him. His pursuers were only half convinced that they had +struck his trail; and some sensible fiend might put it into their heads +to divide and follow, part by one route, part by the other. + +He pushed on over the sloshy road, his mare every step going slower and +slower. The poor beast was jaded out; for she had travelled sixty miles, +eaten nothing, and been stabled in the timber. She would have given out +long before, had her blood not been the best in Kentucky. As it was, she +staggered along as if she had taken a barrel of whiskey. Five miles +farther on was the house of a Union man. She must reach it, or die by +the wayside; for the merciful man regardeth not the life of his beast, +when he carries dispatches. + +The loyalist did not know the scout, but his honest face secured him a +cordial welcome. He explained that he was from the Union camp on the Big +Sandy, and offered any price for a horse to go on with. + +"Yer nag is wuth ary two o' my critters," said the man. "Ye kin take the +best beast I've got; and when ye 'r' ag'in this way, we'll swop back +even." + +The scout thanked him, mounted the horse, and rode off into the mist +again, without the warm breakfast which the good woman had, half-cooked, +in the kitchen. It was eleven o'clock; and at twelve that night he +entered Colonel Cranor's quarters at Paris,--having ridden a hundred +miles with a rope round his neck, for thirteen dollars a month, +hard-tack, and a shoddy uniform. + +The Colonel opened the dispatch. It was dated, Louisa, Kentucky, +December 24th, midnight; and directed him to move at once with his +regiment, (the Fortieth Ohio, eight hundred strong,) by the way of Mount +Sterling and McCormick's Gap, to Prestonburg. He would incumber his men +with as few rations and as little luggage as possible, bearing in mind +that the safety of his command depended on his expedition. He would also +convey the dispatch to Lieutenant-Colonel Woolford, at Stamford, and +direct him to join the march with his three hundred cavalry. + +Hours now were worth months of common time, and on the following morning +Cranor's column began to move. The scout lay by till night, then set out +on his return, and at daybreak swapped his now jaded horse for the fresh +Kentucky mare, even. He ate the housewife's breakfast, too, and took his +ease with the good man till dark, when he again set out, and rode +through the night in safety. After that his route was beset with perils. +The Providence which so wonderfully guarded his way out seemed to leave +him to find his own way in; or, as he expressed it, "Ye see, the Lord, +He keered more fur the dispatch nor He keered fur me: and 'twas nateral +He should; 'case my life only counted one, while the dispatch, it stood +fur all Kaintuck." + +Be that as it may, he found his road a hard one to travel. The same gang +which followed him out waylaid him back, and one starry midnight he fell +among them. They lined the road forty deep, and seeing he could not run +the gauntlet, he wheeled his mare and fled backwards. The noble beast +did her part; but a bullet struck her, and she fell in the road dying. +Then--it was Hobson's choice--he took to his legs, and, leaping a fence, +was at last out of danger. Two days he lay in the woods, not daring to +come out; but hunger finally forced him to ask food at a negro shanty. +The dusky patriot loaded him with bacon, brown bread, and blessings, and +at night piloted him to a Rebel barn, where he enforced the Confiscation +Act, to him then "the higher law,"--necessity. + +With his fresh horse he set out again; and after various adventures and +hair-breadth escapes, too numerous to mention,--and too incredible to +believe, had not similar things occurred all through the war,--he +entered, one rainy midnight, (the 6th of January,) the little log hut, +seven miles from Paintville, where Colonel Garfield was sleeping. + +The Colonel rubbed his eyes, and raised himself upon his elbow. + +"Back safe?" he asked. "Have you seen Cranor?" + +"Yes, Gin'ral. He can't be more 'n two days ahind o' me, nohow." + +"God bless you, Jordan! You have done us great service," said Garfield, +warmly. + +"I thanks ye, Gin'ral," said the scout, his voice trembling, "Thet's +more pay 'n I expected." + + * * * * * + +To give the reader a full understanding of the result of the scout's +ride, I must now move on with the little army. They are only fourteen +hundred men, worn out with marching, but boldly they move down upon +Marshall. False scouts have made him believe they are as strong as he: +and they are; for every one is a hero, and they are led by a general. +The Rebel has five thousand men,--forty-four hundred infantry and six +hundred cavalry,--besides twelve pieces of artillery,--so he says in a +letter to his wife, which Buell has intercepted and Garfield has in his +pocket. Three roads lead to Marshall's position: one at the east, +bearing down to the river, and along its western bank; another, a +circuitous one, to the west, coming in on Paint Creek, at the mouth of +Jenny's Creek, on the right of the village; and a third between the +others, a more direct route, but climbing a succession of almost +impassable ridges. These three roads are held by strong Rebel pickets, +and a regiment is outlying at the village of Paintville. + +To deceive Marshall as to his real strength and designs, Garfield orders +a small force of infantry and cavalry to advance along the river, drive +in the Rebel pickets, and move rapidly after them as if to attack +Paintville. Two hours after this force goes off, a similar one, with the +same orders, sets out on the road to the westward; and two hours later +still, another small body takes the middle road. The effect is, that the +pickets on the first route, being vigorously attacked and driven, +retreat in confusion to Paintville, and dispatch word to Marshall that +the Union army is advancing along the river. He hurries off a thousand +infantry and a battery to resist the advance of this imaginary column. +When this detachment has been gone an hour and a half, he hears, from +the routed pickets on the right, that the Federals are advancing along +the western road. Countermanding his first order, he now directs the +thousand men and the battery to check the new danger; and hurries off +the troops at Paintville to the mouth of Jenny's Creek to make a stand +there. Two hours later the pickets on the central route are driven in, +and, finding Paintville abandoned, flee precipitately to the fortified +camp, with the story that the Union army is close at their heels and +occupying the town. Conceiving that he has thus lost Paintville, +Marshall hastily withdraws the detachment of one thousand men to his +fortified camp; and Garfield, moving rapidly over the ridges of the +central route, occupies the abandoned position. + +So affairs stand on the evening of the 8th of January, when a spy enters +the camp of Marshall, with tidings that Cranor, with thirty-three +hundred (!) men, is within twelve hours' march at the westward. On +receipt of these tidings, the "big boy,"--he weighs three hundred pounds +by the Louisville hay-scales,--conceiving himself outnumbered, breaks up +his camp, and retreats precipitately, abandoning or burning a large +portion of his supplies. Seeing the fires, Garfield mounts his horse, +and, with a thousand men, enters the deserted camp at nine in the +evening, while the blazing stores are yet unconsumed. He sends off a +detachment to harass the retreat, and waits the arrival of Cranor, with +whom he means to follow and bring Marshall to battle in the morning. + +In the morning Cranor comes, but his men are footsore, without rations, +and completely exhausted. They cannot move one leg after the other. But +the canal-boy is bound to have a fight; so every man who has strength to +march is ordered to come forward. Eleven hundred--among them four +hundred of Cranor's tired heroes--step from the ranks, and with them, +at noon of the 9th, Garfield sets out for Prestonburg, sending all his +available cavalry to follow the line of the enemy's retreat and harass +and delay him. + +Marching eighteen miles, he reaches at nine o'clock that night the mouth +of Abbott's Creek, three miles below Prestonburg,--he and the eleven +hundred. There he hears that Marshall is encamped on the same stream, +three miles higher up; and throwing his men into bivouac, in the midst +of a sleety rain, he sends an order back to Lieutenant-Colonel Sheldon, +who is left in command at Paintville, to bring up every available man, +with all possible dispatch, for he shall force the enemy to battle in +the morning. He spends the night in learning the character of the +surrounding country and the disposition of Marshall's forces; and now +again John Jordan comes into action. + +A dozen Rebels are grinding at a mill, and a dozen honest men come upon +them, steal their corn, and make them prisoners. The miller is a tall, +gaunt man, and his clothes fit the scout as if they were made for him. +He is a Disunionist, too, and his very raiment should bear witness +against this feeding of his enemies. It does. It goes back to the Rebel +camp, and--the scout goes in it. That chameleon face of his is smeared +with meal, and looks the miller so well that the miller's own wife might +not detect the difference. The night is dark and rainy, and that lessens +the danger; but still he is picking his teeth in the very jaws of the +lion,--if he can be called a lion, who does nothing but roar like unto +Marshall. + +Space will not permit me to detail this midnight ramble; but it gave +Garfield the exact position of the enemy. They had made a stand, and +laid an ambuscade for him. Strongly posted on a semicircular hill, at +the forks of Middle Creek, on both sides of the road, with cannon +commanding its whole length, and hidden by the trees, they were waiting +his coming. + +The Union commander broke up his bivouac at four in the morning and +began to move forward. Reaching the valley of Middle Creek, he +encountered some of the enemy's mounted men, and captured a quantity of +stores they were trying to withdraw from Prestonburg. Skirmishing went +on until about noon, when the Rebel pickets were driven back upon their +main body, and then began the battle. It is not my purpose to describe +it; for that has already been ably done, in thirty lines, by the man who +won it. + +It was a wonderful battle. In the history of this war there is not +another like it. Measured by the forces engaged, the valor displayed, +and the results which followed, it throws into the shade even the +achievements of the mighty hosts which saved the nation. Eleven hundred +men, without cannon, charge up a rocky hill, over stumps, over stones, +over fallen trees, over high intrenchments, right into the face of five +thousand, and twelve pieces of artillery! + +For five hours the contest rages. Now the Union forces are driven back; +then, charging up the hill, they regain the lost ground, and from behind +rocks and trees pour in their murderous volleys. Then again they are +driven back, and again they charge up the hill, strewing the ground with +corpses. So the bloody work goes on; so the battle wavers, till the +setting sun, wheeling below the hills, glances along the dense lines of +Rebel steel moving down to envelop the weary eleven hundred. It is an +awful moment, big with the fate of Kentucky. At its very crisis two +figures stand out against the fading sky, boldly defined in the +foreground. + +One is in Union blue. With a little band of heroes about him, he is +posted on a projecting rock, which is scarred with bullets, and in full +view of both armies. His head is uncovered, his hair streaming in the +wind, his face upturned in the darkening daylight, and from his soul is +going up a prayer,--a prayer for Sheldon and Cranor. He turns his eyes +to the northward, and his lip tightens, as he throws off his coat, and +says to his hundred men,--"Boys, _we_ must go at them!" + +The other is in Rebel gray. Moving out to the brow of the opposite hill, +and placing a glass to his eye, he, too, takes a long look to the +northward. He starts, for he sees something which the other, on lower +ground, does not distinguish. Soon he wheels his horse, and the word +"RETREAT" echoes along the valley between them. It is his last +word; for six rifles crack, and the Rebel Major lies on the ground +quivering. + +The one in blue looks to the north again, and now, floating proudly +among the trees, he sees the starry banner. It is Sheldon and Cranor! +The long ride of the scout is at last doing its work for the nation. On +they come like the rushing wind, filling the air with their shouting. +The rescued eleven hundred take up the strain, and then, above the swift +pursuit, above the lessening conflict, above the last boom of the +wheeling cannon, goes up the wild huzza of Victory. The gallant Garfield +has won the day, and rolled back the disastrous tide which has been +sweeping on ever since Big Bethel. In ten days Thomas routs Zollicoffer, +and then we have and hold Kentucky. + + * * * * * + +Every one remembers a certain artist, who, after painting a "neighing +steed," wrote underneath the picture, "This is a horse," lest it should +be mistaken for an alligator. I am tempted to imitate his example, lest +the reader, otherwise, may not detect the rambling parallel I have +herein drawn between a Northern and a Southern "poor white man." + +President Lincoln, when he heard of the Battle of Middle Creek, said to +a distinguished officer, who happened to be with him,-- + +"Why did Garfield in two weeks do what would have taken one of you +Regular folks two months to accomplish?" + +"Because he was not educated at West Point," answered the West-Pointer, +laughing. + +"No," replied Mr. Lincoln. "That wasn't the reason. It was because, when +he was a boy, he had to work for a living." + +But our good President, for once, was wrong,--for once, he did not get +at the core of the matter. Jordan, as well as Garfield, "had, when a +boy, to work for a living." The two men were, perhaps, of about equal +natural abilities,--both were born in log huts, both worked their own +way to manhood, and both went into the war consecrating their very lives +to their country: but one came out of it with a brace of stars on his +shoulder, and honored by all the nation; the other never rose from the +ranks, and went down to an unknown grave, mourned only among his native +mountains. Something more than _work_ was at the bottom of this contrast +in their lives and their destinies. It was FREE SCHOOLS, which +the North gave the one, and of which the South robbed the other. Plant a +free school at every Southern cross-road, and every Southern Jordan will +become a Garfield. Then, and not till then, will this Union be +"reconstructed." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[B] The Baine is a small stream which puts into the Big Sandy, a short +distance from the town of Louisa, Ky. + + + + +NOEL.[C] + + + L'Academie en respect, + Nonobstant l'incorrection, + A la faveur du sujet, + Ture-lure, + N'y fera point de rature; + Noel! ture-lure-lure. + + GUI-BAROZAI. + + + 1. + + Quand les astres de Noel + Brillaient, palpitaient au ciel, + Six gaillards, et chacun ivre, + Chantaient gaiment dans le givre, + "Bons amis, + Allons done chez Agassiz!" + + 2. + + Ces illustres Pelerins + D'Outre-Mer, adroits et fins, + Se donnant des airs de pretre, + A l'envi se vantaient d'etre + "Bons amis + De Jean Rudolphe Agassiz!" + + 3. + + Oeil-de-Perdrix, grand farceur, + Sans reproche et sans pudeur, + Dans son patois de Bourgogne, + Bredouillait comme un ivrogne, + "Bons amis, + J'ai danse chez Agassiz!" + + 4. + + Verzenay le Champenois, + Bon Francais, point New-Yorquois, + Mais des environs d'Avize, + Fredonne, a mainte reprise, + "Bons amis, + J'ai chante chez Agassiz!" + + 5. + + A cote marchait un vieux + Hidalgo, mais non mousseux; + Dans le temps de Charlemagne + Fut son pere Grand d'Espagne! + "Bons amis, + J'ai dine chez Agassiz!" + + 6. + + Derriere eux un Bordelais, + Gascon, s'il en fut jamais, + Parfume de poesie + Riait, chantait plein de vie, + "Bons amis, + J'ai soupe chez Agassiz!" + + 7. + + Avec ce beau cadet roux, + Bras dessus et bras dessous, + Mine altiere et couleur terne, + Vint le Sire de Sauterne: + "Bons amis, + J'ai couche chez Agassiz!" + + 8. + + Mais le dernier de ces preux + Etait un pauvre Chartreux, + Qui disait, d'un ton robuste, + "Benedictions sur le Juste! + Bons amis, + Benissons Pere Agassiz!" + + 9. + + Ils arrivent trois a trois, + Montent l'escalier de bois + Clopin-clopant! quel gendarme + Peut permettre ce vacarme, + Bons amis, + A la porte d'Agassiz! + + 10. + + "Ouvrez donc, mon bon Seigneur, + Ouvrez vite et n'ayez peur; + Ouvrez, ouvrez, car nous sommes + Gens de bien et gentilshommes, + Bons amis + De la famille Agassiz!" + + 11. + + Chut, ganaches! taisez-vous! + C'en est trop de vos glouglous; + Epargnez aux Philosophes + Vos abominables strophes! + Bons amis, + Respectez mon Agassiz! + +FOOTNOTES: + +[C] Sent to Mr. Agassiz, with a basket of wine, on Christmas Eve, 1864. + + + + +WILHELM MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP. + +SECOND PAPER. + + +In a preceding paper I have sought to trace the main lines of spiritual +growth, as these appear in Goethe's great picture. But is such growth +possible in this world? Do the circumstances in which modern men are +placed comport with it? Or is it, perhaps, a cherub only _painted_ with +wings, and despite the laws of anatomy? These questions are pertinent. +It concerns us little to know what results the crescent powers of life +might produce, if, by good luck, Eden rather than our struggling +century, another world instead of this world, were here. This world, it +happens, is here undoubtedly; our century and our place in it are facts, +which decline to take their leave, bid them good morning and show them +the door how one may. Let us know, then, what of good sufficing may be +achieved in their company. If Goethe's picture be only a picture, and +not a possibility, we will be pleased with him, provided his work prove +pleasant; we will partake of his literary dessert, and give him his meed +of languid praise. But if, on the other hand, his book be written in +full, unblinking view of all that is fixed and limitary in man and +around him, and if, in face of this, it conduct growth to its +consummation, then we may give him something better than any +praise,--namely, heed. + +Is it, then, written in this spirit of reality? In proof that it is so, +I call to witness the most poignant reproach, save one, ever uttered +against it by a superior man. Novalis censured it as "thoroughly modern +and prosaic." Well, _on one side_, it is so,--just as modern and prosaic +as the modern world and actual European civilization. What is this but +to say that Goethe faces the facts? What is it but to say that he +accepts the conditions of his problem? He is to show that the high +possibilities of growth can be realized _here_. To run off, get up a +fancy world, and then picture these possibilities as coming to fruition +_there_, would be a mere toying with his readers. Here is modern +civilization, with its fixed forms, its rigid limits, its traditional +mechanisms. Here is this life, where men make, execute, and obey laws, +own and manage property, buy and sell, plant, sail, build, marry and +beget children and maintain households, pay taxes, keep out of debt, if +they are wise, and go to the poorhouse, or beg, or do worse, if they are +unwise or unfortunate. Here such trivialities as starched collars, +blacked boots, and coats according to the mode compel attention. Society +has its fixed rules, by which it enforces social continuity and +connection. To neglect these throws one off the ring; and, with rare +exceptions, isolation is barrenness and death. One cannot even go into +the street in a wilfully strange costume, without establishing +repulsions and balking relations between him and his neighbors which +destroy their use to each other. Every man is bound to the actual form +of society by his necessities at least, if not by his good-will. + +To step violently out of all this puts one in a social vacuum,--a +position in which few respire well, while most either perish or become +in some degree monstrous. It is necessary that one should live and work +with his fellows, if he is to obtain the largest growth. On the other +hand, to be merely in and of this--a wheel, spoke, or screw, in this +vast social mechanism--makes one, not a man, but a thing, and precludes +all growth but such as is obscure and indirect. Thousands, indeed, have +no desire but to obtain some advantageous place in this machinery. +Meanwhile this enormous conventional civilization strives, and must +strive, to make every soul its puppet. Let each fall into the routine, +pursue it in some shining manner, asking no radical questions, and he +shall have his heart's desire. "Blessed is he," it cries, "who +handsomely and with his whole soul reads upwards from man to position +and estate,--from man to millionnaire, judge, lord, bishop! Cursed is he +who questions, who aims to strike down beneath this great mechanism, and +to connect himself with the primal resources of his being! There are no +such resources. It is a wickedness to dream of them. Man has no root but +in tradition and custom, no blessing but in serving them." + +As that assurance is taken, and as that spirit prevails, man forfeits +his manhood. His life becomes mechanical. Ideas disappear in the forms +that once embodied them; imagination is buried beneath symbol; belief +dies of creed, and morality of custom. Nothing remains but a world-wide +pantomime. Worship itself becomes only a more extended place-hunting, +and man the walking dummy of society. And then, since man no longer is +properly vitalized, disease sets in, consumption, decay, putrefaction, +filling all the air with the breath of their foulness. + +The earlier part of the eighteenth century found all Europe in this +stage. Then came a stir in the heart of man: for Nature would not let +him die altogether. First came recoil, complaint, reproach, mockery. +Voltaire's light, piercing, taunting laugh--with a screaming wail inside +it, if one can hear well--rang over Europe. "Aha, you are found out! Up, +toad, in your true shape!" Then came wild, shallow theories, half true; +then wild attempt to make the theories real; then carnage and chaos. + +Accompanying and following this comes another and purer phase of +reaction. "Let us get out of this dead, conventional world!" cry a few +noble spirits, in whose hearts throbs newly the divine blood of life. +"Leave it behind; it is dead. Leave behind all formal civilization; let +us live only from within, and let the outward be formless,--momentarily +created by our souls, momentarily vanishing." + +The noblest type I have ever known of this _extra-vagance_, this +wandering outside of actual civilization, was Thoreau. With his purity, +as of a newborn babe,--with his moral steadiness, unsurpassed in my +observation,--with his indomitable persistency,--by the aid also of that +all-fertilizing imaginative sympathy with outward Nature which was his +priceless gift,--he did, indeed, lend to his mode of life an +indescribable charm. In him it came at once to beauty and to +consecration. + +Yet even he must leave out marriage, to make his scheme of life +practicable. He must ignore Nature's demand that humanity continue, or +recognize it only with loathing. "Marriage is that!" said he to a +friend,--and held up a carrion-flower. + +Moreover, the success of his life--nay, the very quality of his +being--implied New England and its civilization. To suppose him born +among the Flathead Indians were to suppose _him_, the Thoreau of our +love and pride, unborn still. The civilization he slighted was an air +that he breathed; it was implied, as impulse and audience, in those +books of his, wherein he enshrined his spirit, and whereby he kept its +health. + +A fixed social order is indirectly necessary even to him who, by rare +gifts of Nature, can stand nobly and unfalteringly aside from it. And it +is directly, instantly necessary to him who, either by less power of +self-support or by a more flowing human sympathy, _must_ live with men, +and _must_ comply with the conditions by which social connection is +preserved. + +The problem, therefore, recurs. Here are the two terms: the soul, the +primal, immortal imagination of man, on the one side; the enormous, +engrossing, dehumanizing mechanism of society, on the other. A noble few +elect the one; an ignoble multitude pray to its opposite. The +reconciling word,--is there a reconciling word? + +Here, now, comes one who answers, Yes. And he answers thus, not by a +bald assertion, but by a picture wherein these opposites lose their +antagonism,--by a picture which is true to both, yet embraces both, and +shapes them into a unity. That is Goethe. This attempt represents the +grand _nisus_ of his life. It is most fully made in "Wilhelm Meister." + +Above the world he places the growing spirit of man, the vessel of all +uses, with his resource in eternal Nature. Then he seizes with a +sovereign hand upon actual society, upon formal civilization, and of it +all makes food and service for man's spirit. This prosaic civilization, +he says, is prosaic only in itself, not when put in relation to its true +end. So he first recognizes it with remorseless verity, depicts it in +all its littleness and limitation; then strikes its connection with +growth: and lo, the littleness becomes great in serving the greater; the +harsh prosaicism begins to move in melodious measure; and out of that +jarring, creaking mechanism of conventional society arise the grand +rolling organ-harmonies of life. + +That he succeeds to perfection I do not say. I could find fault enough +with his book, if there were either time or need. There is no need: its +faults are obvious. In binding himself by such unsparing oaths to +recognize and admit all the outward truth of society, he has, indeed, +grappled with the whole problem, but also made its solution a little +cumbrous and incomplete. Nay, this which he so admits in his picture was +also sufficiently, perhaps a touch more than sufficiently, admitted in +his own being. He would have been a conventionalist and epicurean, +unless he had been a seer. He would have been a mere man of the world, +had he not been Goethe. But whereas a man of the world reads up from man +to dignity, estate, and social advantage, he reverses the process, and +reads up from these to man. Say that he does it with some stammering, +with some want of the last nicety. What then? It were enough, if he set +forth upon the true road, though his own strength fail before the end is +reached. It is enough, if, falling midway, even though it be by excess +of the earthly weight he bears, he still point forward, and his voice +out of the dust whisper, "There lies your way!" This alone makes him a +benefactor of mankind. + +This specific aim of Goethe's work makes it, indeed, a novel. +Conventional society and the actual conditions of life are, with respect +to eternal truth, but the _novelties_ of time. The novelist is to +picture these, and, in picturing, subordinate them to that which is +perpetual and inspiring. Just so far as he opens the ravishing +possibilities of life in commanding reconciliation with the formal +civilization of a particular time, he does his true work. + +The function of the poet is different. His business it is simply to +_refresh_ the spirit of man. To its lip he holds the purest ichors of +existence; with ennobling draughts of awe, pity, sympathy, and joy, he +quickens its blood and strengthens its vital assimilations. The +particular circumstances he uses are merely the cup wherein this wine of +life is contained. This he may obtain as most easily he can; the world +is all before him where to choose. + +The novelist has no such liberty. His business it is to find the ideal +possibilities of man _here_, in the midst of actual society. He shall +teach us to free the heart, while respecting the bonds of circumstance. +And the more strictly he clings to that which is central in man on the +one hand, and the more broadly and faithfully he embraces the existing +prosaic limitations on the other, the more his work answers to the whole +nature of his function. Goethe has done the latter thoroughly, his +accusers themselves being judges; that he has done the other, and how he +has done it, I have sought to show in a preceding paper. He looks on +actual men and actual society with an eye of piercing observation; he +depicts them with remorseless verity; and through and by all builds, +builds at the great architectures of spiritual growth. + +Hence the difference between him and satirists like Thackeray, who +equal him in keenness of observation, are not behind him in verity of +report, while surpassing him often in pictorial effect,--but who bring +to the picture out of themselves only a noble indignation against +baseness. They contemn; he uses. They cry, "Fie!" upon unclean +substances; he ploughs the offence into the soil, and sows wheat over +it. They see the world as it is; he sees it, and through it. They probe +sores; he leads forth into the air and the sunshine. They tinge the +cheek with blushes of honorable shame; he paints it with the glow of +wholesome activity. Their point of view is that of pathology; his, that +of physiology. The great satirists, at best, give a medicine to +sickness; Goethe gives a task to health. They open a door into a +hospital; he opens a door _out_ of one, and cries, "Lo, the green earth +and blue heaven, the fields of labor, the skies of growth!" + +On the other hand, by this relentless fidelity to observation, by his +stern refusal to give men supposititious qualities and characters, by +his resolute acceptance of European civilization, by his unalterable +determination to practicable results, by always limiting himself _to +that which all superior men might be expected not merely to read of with +gusto, but to do_, he is widely differenced from novelists like the +authoress of "Consuelo." He does not propose to furnish a moral luxury, +over which at the close one may smack the lips, and cry, "How sweet!" No +gardener's manual ever looked more simply to results. His aim is, to get +something _done_, to get _all_ done which he suggests. Accordingly, he +does not gratify us with vasty magnanimities, holy beggaries voluntarily +assumed, Bouddhistic "missions"; he shows us no more than high-minded, +incorruptible men, fixed in their regards upon the high ends of life, +established in noble, fruitful fellowship, willing and glad to help +others so far as they can clearly see their way, not making public +distribution of their property, but managing it so that it shall in +themselves and others serve culture, health, and all well-being of body +and mind. Wealth here is a trust; it is held for use; its uses are, to +subserve the high ends of Nature in the spirit of man. Lothario seeks +association with all who can aid him in these applications. So intent is +he, that he _loves_ Theresa because she has a genius at once for +economizing means and for seeing where they may be applied to the +service of the more common natures. He keeps the great-minded, +penetrating, providential Abbe in his pay, that this inevitable eye may +distinguish for him the more capable natures, and find out whether or +how they may be forwarded on their proper paths. Here are no sublime +professions, but a steady, modest, resolute, discriminate doing. + +For suggestion of what one may really _do_, and for impelling one toward +the practicable best, I find this book worth a moonful of "Consuelos." +The latter work has, indeed, beautiful pictures; and simply as a picture +of a fresh, sweet, young life, it is charming. But in its aim at a +higher import I find it simply an arrow shot into the air, going _so_ +high, but at--nothing! If one crave a moral luxury, it is here. If he +desire a lash for egoism, this, perhaps, is also here. If he is already +praying the heavens for a sufficing worth and work in life, and is +asking only the _what_ and _how_, this book, taken in connection with +its sequel, says, "Distribute your property, and begin wandering about +and 'doing good.'" + +I decline. After due consideration, I have fully determined to own a +house, and provide each day a respectable dinner for my table, if the +fates agree; to secure, still in submission to the fates, such a +competency as will give me leisure for the best work I can do; to +further justice and general well-being, so far as is in me to further or +hinder, but always on the basis of the existing civilization; to cherish +sympathy and good-will in myself, and in others by cherishing them in +myself; to help another when I clearly can; and to give, when what I +give will obviously do more service toward the high ends of life, in +the hands of another than in my own. Toward carrying out these purposes +"Consuelo" has not given me a hint, not one; "Wilhelm Meister" has given +me invaluable hints. Therefore I feel no great gratitude to the one, and +am profoundly grateful to the other. + +It is not the mere absence of suffering, it is not a pound of beef on +every peasant's plate, that makes life worth living. Health, happiness, +even education, however diffused, do not alone make life worth living. +Tell me the quality of a man's happiness before I can very rapturously +congratulate him upon it; tell me the quality of his suffering before I +can grieve over it without solace. Noble pain is worth more than ignoble +pleasure; and there is a health in the _dying_ Schiller which beggars in +comparison that of the fat cattle on a thousand hills. All the world +might be well fed, well clothed, well sheltered, and very properly +behaved, and be a pitiful world nevertheless, were this all. + +Let us get out of this business of merely improving _conditions_. There +are two things which make life worth living. First, the absolute worth +and significance of man's spirit in its harmonious completeness; and +hence the absolute value of culture and growth in the deepest sense of +the words. Secondly, the relevancy of actual experience and the actual +world to these ends. Goethe attends to both these, and to both in a +spirit of great sanity. He fixes his eye with imperturbable steadiness +on the central fact, then with serene, intrepid modesty suggests the +relevancy to this of the world as it is around us, and _then trusts the +healthy attraction of the higher to modify and better the lower_. Give +man, he says, something to work _for_, namely, the high uses of his +spirit; give him next something to work _with_, namely, actual +civilization, the powers, limits, and conditions which actually exist in +and around him; and if these instruments be poor, be sure he will begin +to improve upon them, the moment he has found somewhat inspiring and +sufficing to do with them. Actual conditions will improve precisely in +proportion as _all_ conditions are utilized, are placed in relations of +service to a result which contents the soul of men. And to establish in +this relation all the existing conditions of life, natural and +artificial, is the task which Goethe has undertaken. + +I invite the reader to dwell upon this fact, that, the moment life has +an inspiring significance, and the moment also the men, industries, and +conditions around us become instrumental toward resolving that, in this +moment one must begin, so far as he may, bettering these conditions. If +I hire a man to work in my garden, how much is it worth to me, if he +bring not merely his hands and gardening skill, but also an appreciable +soul, with him! So soon as that fact is apparent, fruitful relations are +established between us, and sympathies begin to fly like bees, bearing +pollen and winning honey, from each heart to the other. To let a man be +degraded, or stupid, or thwarted in all his inward life, when I _can_ +make it otherwise? Not unless I am insensate. To allow anywhere a +disserviceable condition, when I could make it serviceable? Not in full +view of the fact that all which thwarts the inward being of another +thwarts me. If there be in the world a man who might write a grand book, +but through ill conditions cannot write it, then in me and you a door +will remain closed, which might have opened--who knows upon what +treasure? With the high ends of life before him, no man can _afford_ to +be selfish. With the fact before him that formal civilization is +instrumental, no man can afford to run away from it. With the fact in +view that each man needs every other, and needs that every other should +do and be the best he can, no one can afford to withhold help, where it +can be rendered. Finally, seeing that means are limited, and that the +means and services which are crammed into others, without being +spiritually assimilated, breed only indigestion, no one must throw his +services about at random, but see where Nature has prepared the way for +him, and there in modesty do what he can. + +To strike the connection, then, between the inward and the outward, +between the spiritual and the conventional, between man and society, +between moral possibility and formal civilization,--to give growth, with +all its immortal issues, a place, and means, and opportunity,--this was +Goethe's aim; and if the execution be less than perfect, as I admit, it +yet suggests the whole; and if the shortcoming be due in part to his +personal imperfections, which doubtless may be affirmed, it yet does not +mar the sincerity of his effort. His hand trembles, his aim is not +nicely sure, but it is an aim at the right object nevertheless. + +There are limits and conditions in man, as well as around him, to which +the like justice is done. Such are Special Character, Natural Degree and +Vocation, Moral Imperfection, and Limitation of Self-Knowledge. Each of +these plays a part of vast importance in life; each is portrayed and +used in Goethe's picture. But, though with reluctance, I must merely +name and pass them by. Enough to say here, that he sees them and sees +through them. Enough that they appear, and as means and material. Nor +does he merely distinguish and harp upon them, after the hard analytic +fashion one would use here; but, as the violinist sweeps all the strings +of his instrument, not to show that one sounds _so_ and another _so_, +but out of all to bring a complete melody, so does this master touch the +chords of life, and, in thus recognizing, bring out of them the +melodious completeness of a human soul. + +One inquiry remains. What of inspirational impulse does Goethe bring to +his work? He depicts growth; what leads him to do so? Is it nothing but +cold curiosity? and does he leave the reader in a like mood? Or is he +commanded by some imperial inward necessity? and does he awaken in the +reader a like noble necessity, not indeed to write, but to _live_? + +The inspiration which he feels and communicates is art infinite, +unspeakable reverence for Personality, for the completed, spiritual +reality of man. Literally unspeakable, it is the silent spirit in which +he writes, sovereign in him and in his work,--the soul of every +sentence, and professed in none. You find it scarcely otherwise than in +his manner of treating his material. But there you _may_ find it: the +silent, majestic homage that he pays to every _real_ grace and spiritual +accomplishment of man or woman. Any smallest trait of this is delineated +with a heed that makes no account of time or pains, with a venerating +fidelity and religious care that _unutterably_ imply its preciousness. +Indeed, it is one point of his art to bestow elaborate, reverential +attention upon some minor grace of manhood or womanhood, that one may +say, "If this be of such price, how priceless is the whole!" He resorts +habitually to this inferential suggestion,--puzzling hasty readers, who +think him frivolously exalting little things, rather than hinting beyond +all power of direct speech at the worth of the greater. In landscape +paintings a bush in the foreground may occupy more space than a whole +range of mountains in the distance: perhaps the bush is there to show +the scale of the drawing, and intimate the greatness, rather than +littleness, of the mountains. + +The undertone of every page, should we mask its force in hortatives, +would be,--"Buy manhood; buy verity and completeness of being; buy +spiritual endowment and accomplishment; buy insight and clearness of +heart and wholeness of spirit; pay ease, estimation, estate,--never +consider what you pay: for though pleasure is not despicable, though +wealth, leisure, and social regard are good, yet there is no tint of +inherent grace, no grain nor atom of man's spiritual substance, but it +outweighs kingdoms, outweighs all that is external to itself." + +But hortatives and assertions represent feebly, and without truth of +tone, the subtile, sovereign persuasion of the book. This is said +sovereignly by _not_ being said expressly. We are at pains to affirm +only that which may be conceived of as doubtful, therefore admit a +certain doubtfulness by the act of asserting. When one begins to +asseverate his honesty, his hearers begin to question it. The last +persuasion lies in assumptions,--not in assumptions made consciously and +with effort, but in those which one makes because he cannot help it, and +even without being too much aware what he does. All that a man of power +assumes utterly, so that he were not himself without assuming it, he +will impress upon others with a persuasion that has in it somewhat of +the infinite. Jesus never said, "There is a God,"--nor even, "God is our +Father,"--nor even, "Man is immortal"; he took all this as implicit +basis of labor and prayer. Implicit assumptions rule the world; they +build and destroy cities, make and unmake empires, open and close +epochs; and whenever Destiny in any powerful soul has ripened a new +truth to this degree,--made it for him an _inevitable_ assumption--then +there is in history an end and a beginning. Goethe's homage to +Personality, to the full spiritual being of man, is of this degree, and +is a soul of eloquence in his book. + +Nor can we set this aside as a piece of blind and gratuitous sentiment. +Blind and gratuitous sentiment is clearly not his forte. Every line of +every page exhibits to us a man who has betaken himself, once for all, +to the use of his eyes. All sentiment, as such, he ruled back, with a +sovereign energy, into his heart,--and then, as it were, compelling his +heart into his eyes, made it an organ for discerning truth. His head was +an observatory, and every power of his soul did duty there. He enjoyed, +he suffered, intensely; but behind joy and pain alike lay the sleepless +questioner, demanding of each its message. And this, the supreme +function, the exceeding praise and preciousness of the man, the one +thing that he was born to do, and religiously did, this has been made +his chief reproach. + +No zealot, then, no sentimentalist, no devotee of the god Wish, have we +here; but an imperturbable beholder, whose dauntless and relentless +eyeballs, telescopic and microscopic by turns, can and will see what the +fact _is_. If the universe be bad, as some dream, he will see how bad; +if good, he will perceive and respect its goodness. A man, for once, +equal to the act of seeing! Having, as the indispensable preliminary, +encountered himself, and victoriously fought on all the fields of his +being the battle against self-deception, he now comes armed with new and +strange powers of vision to encounter life and the world,--ready either +to soar of dive,--above no fact, beneath none, by none appalled, by none +dazzled,--a falcon, whose prey is truth, and whose wing and eye are well +mated. And _he_ it is who sets that ineffable price on the being of a +real man. + +This is manifested in many ways, all of them silent, rather than +obstreperous and obtrusive. It is shown by a certain gracious, ineffable +expectation with which for the first time he approaches any human soul, +as if unknown and incalculable possibilities were opening here; by a +noble ceremonial which he ever observes toward his higher characters, +standing uncovered in their presence; by the space in his eye, not +altogether measurable, which a man of worth is perceived to fill. Each +of his principal characters has an atmosphere about him, like the earth +itself; each has a vast perspective, and rounds off into mystery and +depths of including sky. + +The common novelist holds his characters in the palm of his hand, as he +would his watch; winds them up, regulates, pockets them, is exceedingly +handy with them. He may continue some little, pitiful puzzle about them +for his readers; but _he_ can see over, under, around them, and can make +them stop or go, tick or be silent, altogether at pleasure. To Goethe +his characters are as intelligible and as mysterious as Nature herself. +He sees them, studies them, and with an eye how penetrating, how subtile +and sure! But over, under, and around them he would hold it for no less +than a profanity to pretend that he sees. They come upon the scene to +prove what they are; he and the reader study them together; and when +best known, their possibilities are obviously unexhausted, the unknown +remains in them still. They go forward into their future, with a real +future before them, with an unexplained life to live: not goblets whose +contents have been drained, but fountains that still flow when the +traveller who drank from them has passed on. Jarno, for example, a man +of firm and definite outlines, and drawn here with masterly +distinctness, without a blur or a wavering of the hand in the whole +delineation, is yet the unexplained, unexhausted Jarno, when the book +closes. He goes forward with the rest, known and yet unknown, a man of +very definite limitations, and yet also of possibilities which the +future will ever be defining. + +In this sense, the book, almost alone among novels, consists with the +hope of immortality. In average novels, there is nothing left of the +hero when the book ends. "He is utterly married," as "Eothen" says. +Utterly, sure enough! He ends at the altar, like a burnt-out candle over +which the priest puts an extinguisher to keep it from smoking. One yawns +over the last page, not considering himself any longer in company. Think +of giving perpetuity to such lives! What could they do but get +unmarried, and begin fussing at courtship again? But when Goethe's +characters leave the stage, they seem to be rather entering upon life +than quitting it; possibility opens, expectation runs before them, and +our interest grows where observation ceases. + +Goethe looks at Personality as through a telescope, and sees it shade +away, beyond its cosmic systems, into star-dust and shining nebulae; he +inspects it as with a microscope, and on that side also resolves it only +in part. He brings to it all the most spacious, all the most delicate +interpretations of his wit, yet confessedly leaves more beyond. + +Now it is this large-eyed, liberal regard of man, this grand, childlike, +all-credent appreciation, which distinguishes the earlier and Scriptural +literatures. Abraham fills up all the space between earth and heaven. +Later, we arrive at limitations and secondary laws; we heap these up +till the primal fact is obscured, is hidden by them. Then ensues an +impression of man's littleness, emptiness, insignificance, utter, +mechanical limitation. Then sharp-eyed gentlemen discover that man has a +trick of dressing up his littleness in large terms,--liberty, intuition, +inspiration, immortality,--and that he only is a philosopher, who cannot +be deceived by this shallow stratagem. Your "philosopher" sees what men +are made of. Populaces may fancy that man is central in the world, that +he is the all-containing vessel of its uses: but your philosopher, +admirable gentleman, sees through all that; he is superior to any such +vulgar partiality for that particular species of insect to which he +happens to belong. "A fly thinks himself the greatest of created +beings," says philosopher; "man flatters himself in the same way; but I, +I am not merely man, I am philosopher, and know better." + +The early seers and poets had not attained to this sublime +superciliousness of self-contempt; for this, of course, is a fruit to be +borne only by the "progress of the species." They are still weak enough +to believe in gods and godlike men, in spirit and inspiration, in the +ineffable fulness and meaning of a noble life, in the cosmic +relationship of man, in the _divineness_ of speech and thought. In their +books man is placed in a large light; honor and estimation come to him +out of the heavens; what he does, if it be in any profound way +characteristic, is told without misgiving, without fear to be +superfluous; he is the care, or even the companion, of the immortals. To +go forth, therefore, from our little cells of criticism and controversy, +and to enter upon the pages where man's being appears so spacious and +significant,--where, at length, it is really _imagined_,--is like +leaving stove-heated, paper-walled rooms, and passing out beneath the +blue cope and into the sweet air of heaven. + +Quite this epic boldness and wholeness we cannot attribute to Goethe. He +is still a little straitened, a little pestered by the doubting and +critical optics which our time turns upon man, a little victimized by +his knowledge of limitary conditions and secondary laws. Nevertheless, a +noble man is not to his eye "contained between hat and boots," but is of +untold depth and dimension. He indicates traits of the soul with that +repose in his facts and respect for them which Lyell shows in spelling +out terrestrial history, or Herschel in tracing that of the solar +system. Observe how he relates the plays of a child,--with what grave, +imperial respect, with what undoubting, reverential minuteness! He does +not say, "Bear with me, ladies and gentlemen; I will come to something +of importance soon." This is important,--the formation of suns not more +so. + +In this respect he stands in wide contrast to the prevailing tone of the +time. It seems right and admirable that Tyndale should risk life and +limb in learning the laws of glaciers, that large-brained Agassiz should +pursue for years, if need be, his microscopic researches into the +natural history of turtles; and were life or eyesight lost so, we should +all say, "Lost, but well and worthily." But ask a conclave of sober +_savans_ to listen to reports on the natural-spiritual history of babies +and little children,--ask them to join, one and all, in this piece of +discovery, spending labor and lifetime in watching the sports, the +moods, the imaginations, the fanciful loves and fears, the whole baby +unfolding of these budding revelations of divine uses in Nature,--and +see what they will think of your sanity. You may, indeed, if such be +your humor, observe these matters, nay, even write books upon them, and +still escape the lunatic asylum,--_provided_ you do so in the way of +pleasantry. In this case, the gravest _savant_, if he have children, may +condescend to listen, and even to smile. But ask him to attend to this +_in his quality of man of science_, and no less seriously than he would +investigate the history of mud-worms, and you become ridiculous in his +eyes. + +Goethe is guiltless of this inversion of interest. Truth of outward +Nature he respects; truth of the soul he reverences. He can really +_imagine_ men,--that is, can so depict them that they shall not be mere +bundles of finite quantities, a yard of this and a pound of that, but so +that the illimitable possibilities and immortal ancestries of man shall +look forth from their eyes, shall show in their features, and give to +them a certain grace of the infinite. The powers which created for the +Greeks their gods are active in him, even in his observation of men; and +this gives him that other eye, without which the effigies of men are +seen, but never man himself. And because he has this divine eye for the +inner reality of personal being, and yet also that eagle eye of his for +conditions and limits,--because he can see man as central in Nature, the +sum of all uses, the vessel of all significance, and yet has no +"carpenter theory" of the universe,--and because he can discern the +substance and the _revealing_ form of man, while yet no satirist sees +more clearly man's accidental and concealing form,--because of this, +history comes in him to new blood, regaining its inspirations without +forfeiture of its experience. + +Carlyle has the same eye, but less creative, and tinctured always with +the special humors of his temperament; yet the attitude he can hold +toward a human personality, the spirit in which he can contemplate it, +gives that to his books which will keep them alive, I think, while the +world lasts. + +Among the recent writers of prose fiction in England, I know of but one +who, in a degree worth naming in this connection, has regarded and +delineated persons in the large, old, believing way. That one is the +author of "Counterparts." In many respects her book seems to me weak; +its theories are crude, its tone extravagant. But man and woman are +wonderful to her; and when she names them in full voice of admiration, +one thinks he has never heard the words before. And this merit is so +commanding, that, despite faults and imbecilities, it renders the book +almost unique in excellence. Sarona is impossible: thanks for that noble +impossibility! Impossible, he yet embodies more reality, more true +suggestion of human possibility and resource, than a whole swarming +limbo of the ordinary heroes of fiction,--very credible, and the more's +the pity! He is finely _imagined_, and poorly _conceived_,--true, that +is, to the inspiring substance of man, but not true to his limitary +form: for imagination gives the revealing form, conception the form +which limits and conceals. + +In spite, therefore, of marked infirmities and extravagances, the book +remains a superior, perhaps a great work. The writer can look at a human +existence with childlike, all-believing, Homeric eyes. That creative +vision which of old peopled Olympus still peoples the world for her, +beholding gods where the skeptic, critical eye sees only a medical +doctor and a sick woman. So is she stamped a true child of the Muse, +descended on the one side from Memory, or superficial fact, but on the +other from Zeus, the _soul_ of fact; and being gifted to discern the +divine halo on the brows of humanity, she rightly obtains the laurel +upon her own. + +Goethe, at least, rivals her in this Olympic intelligence, while he +combines it with a practical wisdom far profounder, with a survey and +fulness of knowledge incomparably wider and more various, with a tone +tempered to the last sobriety, for the whole of actual life, which no +man of the world ever surpassed, and no seer ever equalled. And thus I +must abide in my opinion, that he has given us the one prose epic of the +world, up to this date. In other words, he has best reconciled World +with the final vessel of its uses, Man,--and best reconciled actual +civilization and the fixed conditions of man with the uses of that in +which all the meaning of his existence is summed, his seeing and unseen +spirit. + + + + +DOCTOR JOHNS. + + +XXXIV. + +Reuben has in many respects vastly improved under his city education. It +would be wrong to say that the good Doctor did not take a very human +pride in his increased alertness of mind, in his vivacity, in his +self-possession,--nay, even in that very air of world-acquaintance which +now covered entirely the old homely manner of the country lad. He +thought within himself, what a glad smile of triumph would have been +kindled upon the face of the lost Rachel, could she but have seen this +tall youth with his kindly attentions and his graceful speech. May-be +she did see it all,--but with far other eyes, now. Was the child +ripening into fellowship with the sainted mother? + +The Doctor underneath all his pride carried a great deal of anxious +doubt; and as he walked beside his boy upon the thronged street, elated +in some strange way by the touch of that strong arm of the youth, whose +blood was his own,--so dearly his own,--he pondered gravely with +himself, if the mocking delusions of the Evil One were not the occasion +of his pride? Was not Satan setting himself artfully to the work of +quieting all sense of responsibility in regard to the lad's future, by +thus kindling in his old heart anew the vanities of the flesh and the +pride of life? + +"I say, father, I want to put you through now. It'll do you a great deal +of good to see some of our wonders here in the city." + +"The very voice,--the very voice of Rachel!" says the Doctor to himself, +quickening his laggard step to keep pace with Reuben. + +"There are such lots of things to show you, father! Look in this store, +now. You can step in, if you like. It's the largest carpet-store in the +United States, three stories packed full. There's the head man of the +firm,--the stout man in a white choker; with half a million, they say: +he's a deacon in Mowry's church." + +"I hope, then, Reuben, that he makes a worthy use of his wealth." + +"Oh, he gives thunderingly to the missionary societies," said Reuben, +with a glibness that grated on the father's ear. + +"You see that building yonder? That's Gothic. They've got the finest +bowling-alleys in the world there." + +"I hope, my son, you never go to such places?" + +"Bowl? Oh, yes, I bowl sometimes: the physicians recommend it; good +exercise for the chest. Besides, it's kept by a fine man, and he's got +one of the prettiest little trotting horses you ever saw in your life." + +"Why, my son, you don't mean to tell me that you know the keeper of this +bowling-alley?" + +"Oh, yes, father,--we fellows all know him; and he gave me a splendid +cigar the last time I was there." + +"You don't mean to say that you smoke, Reuben?" said the old gentleman, +gravely. + +"Not much, father: but then everybody smokes now and then. Mowry--Dr. +Mowry smokes, you know; and they say he has prime cigars." + +"Is it possible? Well, well!" + +"You see that fine building over there?" said Reuben, as they passed on. + +"Yes, my son." + +"That's the theatre,--the Old Park." + +The Doctor ran his eye over it, and its effigy of Shakspeare upon the +niche in the wall, as Gabriel might have looked upon the armor of +Beelzebub. + +"I hope, Reuben, you never enter those doors?" + +"Well, father, since Kean and Mathews are gone, there's really nothing +worth the seeing." + +"Kean! Mathews!" said the Doctor, stopping in his walk and confronting +Reuben with a stern brow,--"is it possible, my son, that I hear you +talking in this familiar way of play-actors? You don't tell me that you +have been a participant in such orgies of Satan?" + +"Why, father," says Reuben, a little startled by the Doctor's +earnestness, "the truth is, Aunt Mabel goes occasionally, like 'most all +the ladies; but we go, you know, to see the moral pieces, generally." + +"Moral pieces! moral pieces!" says the Doctor, with a withering scowl. +"Reuben! those who go thither take hold on the door-posts of hell!" + +"That's the Tract Society building yonder," said Reuben, wishing to +divert the Doctor, if possible, from the special object of his +reflections. + +"Rachel's voice!--always Rachel's voice!"--said the Doctor to himself. + +"Would you like to go in, father?" + +"No, my son, we have no time; and yet"--meditating, and thrusting his +hand in his pocket--"there is a tract or two I would like to buy for +you, Reuben." + +"Go in, then," says Reuben. "Let me tell them who you are, father, and +you can get them at wholesale prices. It's the merest song." + +"No, my son, no," said the Doctor, disheartened by the blithe air of +Reuben. "I fear it would be wasted effort. Yet I trust that you do not +wholly neglect the opportunities for religious instruction on the +Sabbath?" + +"Oh, no," says Reuben, gayly. "I see Dr. Mowry off and on, pretty often. +He's a clever old gentleman,--Dr. Mowry." + +Clever old gentleman! + +The Doctor walked on oppressed with grief,--silent, but with lips moving +in prayer,--beseeching God to take away the stony heart from this poor +child of his, and to give him a heart of flesh. + +Reuben had improved, as we said, by his New York schooling. He was quick +of apprehension, well informed; and his familiarity with the +counting-room of Mr. Brindlock had given him a business promptitude +that was specially agreeable to the Doctor, whose habits in that regard +were of woful slackness. But religiously, the good man looked upon his +son as a castaway. It was only too apparent that Reuben had not derived +the desired improvement from attendance at the Fulton-Street Church. +That attendance had been punctual, indeed, for nearly all the first year +of his city life, in virtue of the inexorable habit of his education; +but Dr. Mowry had not won upon him by any personal magnetism. The city +Doctor was a ponderously good man, preaching for the most part ponderous +sermons, and possessed of a most imposing friendliness of manner. When +Reuben had presented to him the credentials from his father, (which he +could hardly have done, save for the urgency of the Brindlocks,) the +ponderous Doctor had patted him upon the shoulder, and said,-- + +"My young friend, your father is a most worthy man,--most worthy. I +should be delighted to see you following in his steps. I shall be most +glad to be of service to you. Our meetings for Bible instruction are on +Wednesdays, at seven: the young men upon the left, the young ladies on +the right." + +The Doctor appeared to Reuben a man solemnly preoccupied with the +immensity of his charge; and it seemed to him (though it was doubtless a +wicked thought of the boy) that the ponderous minister would have +counted it a matter of far smaller merit to instruct, and guide, and +save a wanderer from the country, than to perform the same offices for a +good fat sinner of the city. + +As we have said, the memory of old teachings for a year or more made any +divergence from the severe path of boyhood seem to Reuben a sin; and +these divergencies so multiplied by easy accessions as to have made him, +after a time, look upon himself very confidently, and almost cheerily, +as a reprobate. And if a reprobate, why not taste the Devil's cup to the +full? + +That first visit to the theatre was like a bold push into the very +domain of Satan. Even the ticket-seller at the door seemed to him on +that eventful night an understrapper of Beelzebub, who looked out at him +with the goggle eyes of a demon. That such a man could have a family, or +family affections, or friendships, or any sense of duty or honor, was to +him a thing incomprehensible; and when he passed the wicket for the +first time into the vestibule of the old Park Theatre, the very usher in +the corridor had to his eye a look like the Giant Dagon, and he +conceived of him as mumbling, in his leisure moments, the flesh from +human bones. And when at last the curtain rose, and the damp air came +out upon him from behind the scenes as he sat in the pit, and the play +began with some wonderful creature in tight bodice and painted cheeks, +sailing across the stage, it seemed to him that the flames of Divine +wrath might presently be bursting out over the house, or a great +judgment of God break down the roof and destroy them all. + +But it did not; and he took courage. It is so easy to find courage in +those battles where we take no bodily harm! If conscience, sharpened by +the severe discipline he had known, pricked him awkwardly at the first, +he bore the stings with a good deal of sturdiness. A sinner, no +doubt,--that he knew long ago: a little slip, or indeed no slip at all, +had ranked him with the unregenerate. Once a sinner, (thus he pleasantly +reasoned,) and a fellow may as well be ten times a sinner: a bad job +anyhow. If in his moments of reflection--these being not yet wholly +crowded out from his life--there comes a shadowy hope of better things, +of some moral poise that should be in keeping with the tenderer +recollections of his boyhood,--all this can never come, (he bethinks +himself, in view of his old teaching,) except on the heel of some +terrible conviction of sin; and the conviction will hardly come without +some deeper and more damning weight of it than he feels as yet. A heavy +cumulation of the weight may some day serve him a good turn. Thus the +Devil twists his vague yearning for a condition of spiritual repose into +a pleasantly smacking lash with which to scourge his grosser appetites; +so that, upon the whole, Reuben drives a fine, showy team along the +high-road of indulgence. + +Yet the minister's son had no love for gross vices; there were human +instincts in him (if it maybe said) that rebelled against his more +deliberate sinnings. Nay, he affected with his boon companions an +enjoyment of wanton excesses that he only half felt. A certain +adventurous, dare-devil reach in him craved exercise. The character of +Reuben at this stage would surely have offered a good subject for the +study and the handling of Dr. Mowry, if that worthy gentleman could have +won his way to the lad's confidence; but the ponderous methods of the +city parson showed no fineness of touch. Even the father, as we have +seen, could not reach down to any religious convictions of the son; and +Reuben keeps him at bay with a banter, and an exaggerated attention to +the personal comforts of the old gentleman, that utterly baffle him. +Reuben holds too much in dread the old catechismal dogmas and the +ultimate "anathema maran-atha." + +So it was with a profound sigh that the father bade his son adieu after +this city visit. + +"Good bye, father! Love to them all in Ashfield." + +So like Rachel's voice! So like Rachel's! And the heart of the old man +yearned toward him and ached bitterly for him. _"O my son Absalom! my +son! my son Absalom!"_ + + +XXXV. + +Maverick hurried his departure from the city; and Adele, writing to Rose +to announce the programme of her journey, says only this much of +Reuben:--"We have of course seen R----, who was very attentive and kind. +He has grown tall,--taller, I should think, than Phil; and he is quite +well-looking and gentlemanly. I think he has a very good opinion of +himself." + +The summer's travel offered a season of rare enjoyment to Adele. The +lively sentiment of girlhood was not yet wholly gone, and the +thoughtfulness of womanhood was just beginning to tone, without +controlling, her sensibilities. The delicate attentions of Maverick were +more like those of a lover than of a father. Through his ever watchful +eyes, Adele looked upon the beauties of Nature with a new halo on them. +How the water sparkled to her vision! How the days came and went like +golden dreams! + +Ah, happy youth-time! The Hudson, Lake George, Saratoga, the Mountains, +the Beach,--to us old stagers, who have breasted the tide of so many +years, and flung off long ago all the iridescent sparkles of our +sentiment, these are only names of summer thronging-places. Upon the +river we watch the growth of the crops, or ask our neighbors about the +cost of our friend Faro's new country-seat; we lounge upon the piazzas +of the hotels, reading price-lists, or (if not too old) an editorial; we +complain of the windy currents upon the lake, and find our chiefest +pleasure in a trout boiled plain, with a dressing of Champagne sauce; we +linger at Fabian's on a sunny porch, talking politics with a rheumatic +old gentleman in his overcoat, while the youngsters go ambling through +the fir woods and up the mountains with shouts and laughter. Yet it was +not always thus. There were times in the lives of us old travellers--let +us say from sixteen to twenty--when the great river was a glorious +legend trailing its storied length through the Highlands; when in every +opening valley there lay purple shadows whereon we painted castles; when +the corridors and shaded walks of the "United States" were like a fairy +land, with flitting skirts and waving plumes, and some delicately gloved +hand beating its reveille upon the heart; and when every floating film +of mist along the sea, whether at Newport or Nahant, tenderly entreated +the fancy. + +But we forget ourselves, and we forget Adele. In her wild exuberance of +joy Maverick shares with a spirit that he had believed to be dead in him +utterly. And if he finds it necessary to check from time to time the +noisy effervescence of her pleasure, as he certainly does at the first, +he does it in the most tender and considerate way; and Adele learns, +what many of her warm-hearted sisters never do learn, that a well-bred +control over our enthusiasms in no way diminishes the exquisiteness of +their savor. + +Maverick should be something over fifty now, and his keenness of +observation in respect to feminine charms is not perhaps so great as it +once was; but even he cannot fail to see, with a pride that he makes no +great effort to conceal, the admiring looks that follow the lithe, +graceful figure of Adele, wherever their journey may lead them. Nor, +indeed, were there any more comely toilettes for a young girl to be met +with anywhere than those which had been provided for the young traveller +under the advice of Mrs. Brindlock. + +It may be true--what his friend Papiol had predicted--that Maverick will +be too proud of his child to keep her in a secluded corner of New +England. For his pride there is certainly abundant reason; and what +father does not love to see the child of whom he is proud admired? + +Yet weeks had run by and Maverick had never once broached the question +of a return. The truth was, that the new experience was so charming and +so engrossing for him, the sweet, intelligent face ever at his side was +so full of eager wonder, and he so delightfully intent upon providing +new sources of pleasure and calling out again and again the gushes of +her girlish enthusiasm, that he shrunk instinctively from a decision in +which must be involved so largely her future happiness. + +At last it was Adele herself who suggested the inquiry,-- + +"Is it true, dear papa, what the Doctor tells me, that you may possibly +take, me back to France with you?" + +"What say you, Adele? Would you like to go?" + +"Dearly!" + +"But," said Maverick, "your friends here,--can you so easily cast them +away?" + +"No, no, no!" said Adele,--"not cast them away! Couldn't I come again +some day? Besides, there is your home, papa; I should love any home of +yours, and love your friends." + +"For instance, Adele, there is my book-keeper, a lean Savoyard, who +wears a red wig and spectacles,--and Lucille, a great, gaunt woman, with +a golden crucifix about her neck, who keeps my little parlor in +order,--and Papiol, a fat Frenchman, with a bristly moustache and +iron-gray hair, who, I dare say, would want to kiss the pet of his dear +friend,--and Jeannette, who washes the dishes for us, and wears great +wooden sabots"---- + +"Nonsense, papa! I am sure you have other friends; and then there's the +good godmother." + +"Ah, yes,--she indeed," said Maverick; "what a precious hug she would +give you, Adele!" + +"And then--and then--should I see mamma?" + +The pleasant humor died out of the face of Maverick on the instant; and +then, in a slow, measured tone,-- + +"Impossible, Adele,--impossible! Come here, darling!" and as he fondled +her in a wild, passionate way, "I will love you for both, Adele; she was +not worthy of you, child." + +Adele, too, is overcome with a sudden seriousness. + +"Is she living, papa?" And she gives him an appealing look that must be +answered. + +And Maverick seems somehow appalled by that innocent, confiding +expression of hers. + +"May-be, may-be, my darling; she was living not long since; yet it can +never matter to you or me more. You will trust me in this, Adele?" And +he kisses her tenderly. + +And she, returning the caress, but bursting into tears as she does so, +says,-- + +"I will, I do, papa." + +"There, there, darling!"--as he folds her to him; "no more tears,--no +more tears, _cherie_!" + +But even while he says it, he is nervously searching his pockets, since +there is a little dew that must be wiped from his own eyes. Maverick's +emotion, however, was but a little momentary contagious sympathy with +the daughter,--he having no understanding of that unsatisfied yearning +in her heart of which this sudden tumult of feeling was the passionate +outbreak. + +Meantime Adele is not without her little mementos of the life at +Ashfield, which come in the shape of thick double letters from that good +girl Rose,--her dear, dear friend, who has been advised by the little +traveller to what towns she should direct these tender missives; and +Adele is no sooner arrived at these postal stations than she sends for +the budget which she knows must be waiting for her. And of course she +has her own little pen in a certain travelling-escritoire the good papa +has given her; and she plies her white fingers with it often and often +of an evening, after the day's sight-seeing is over, to tell Rose, in +return, what a charming journey she is having, and how kind papa is, and +what a world of strange things she is seeing; and there are descriptions +of sunsets and sunrises, and of lakes and of mountains, on those +close-written sheets of hers, which Rose, in her enthusiasm, declares to +be equal to many descriptions in print. We dare say they were better +than a great many such. + +Poor Rose feels that she has only very humdrum stories to tell in return +for these; but she ekes out her letters pretty well, after all, and what +they lack in novelty is made up in affection. + +"There is really nothing new to tell," she writes, "except it be that +our old friend, Miss Almira Tourtelot, astonished us all with a new +bonnet last Sunday, and with new saffron ribbons; and she has come out, +too, in the new tight sleeves, in which she looks drolly enough. Phil is +very uneasy, now that his schooling is done, and talks of going to the +West Indies about some business in which papa is concerned. I hope he +will go, if he doesn't stay too long. He is such a dear, good fellow! +Madame Arles asks after you, when I see her, which is not very often +now; for since the Doctor has come back from New York, he has had a new +talk with mamma, and has quite won her over to _his view of the matter_. +So good bye to French for the present! Heigho! But I don't know that I'm +sorry, now that you are not here, dear Ady. + +"Another queer thing I had almost forgotten to tell you. The poor Boody +girl,--you must remember her? Well, she has come back on a sudden; and +they say her father would not receive her in his house,--there are +_terrible stories_ about it!--and now she is living with an old woman +far out upon the river-road,--only a little garret-chamber for herself +and _the child she brought back with her_. Of course _nobody_ goes near +her, or looks at her, if she comes on the street. But--the queerest +thing!--when Madame Arles heard of it and of her story, what does she do +but _walk far out to visit her_, and talked with her in her broken +English for an hour, they say. Papa says she (Madame A.) must be a very +bad woman or a very good woman. Miss Johns says _she always thought she +was a bad woman_. The Bowriggs are, of course, very indignant, and I +doubt if Madame A. comes to Ashfield again with them." + +And again, at a later date, Rose writes,-- + +"The Bowriggs are all off for the winter, and the house closed. Reuben +has been here on a flying visit to the parsonage; and how proud Miss +Eliza was of _her nephew_! He came over to see Phil, I suppose; but Phil +had gone two weeks before. Mamma thinks he is _fine-looking_. I fancy he +will never live in the country again. When shall I see you again, _dear, +dear_ Ady? I have _so much_ to talk to you about!" + +A month thereafter Maverick and his daughter find their way back to +Ashfield. Of course Miss Johns has made magnificent preparations to +receive them. She surpassed herself in her toilette on the day of their +arrival, and fairly astonished Maverick with the warmth of her welcome +to his child. Yet he could not help observing that Adele met it more +coolly than was her wont, and that her tenderest words were reserved for +the good Doctor. And how proud she was to walk with her father upon the +village street, glancing timidly up at the windows from which she knew +those stiff old Miss Hapgoods must be peeping out! How proud to sit +beside him in the parson's pew, feeling that the eyes of half the +congregation were fastened on the tall gentleman beside her! Ah, happy +daughter! may your beautiful filial pride never have a fall! + +Important business letters command Maverick's early presence abroad; +and, after conference with the Doctor, he decides to leave Adele once +more under the roof of the parsonage. + +"Under God, I will do for her what I can," said the Doctor. + +"I know it, I know it, my good friend," says Maverick. "Teach her +self-reliance; she may need it some day. And mind what I have said of +this French woman. Adele seems to have a _tendresse_ that way. Those +French women are very insidious, Johns." + +"You know their ways better than I," said the Doctor, dryly. + +"Good! a smack of the old college humor there, Johns. Well, well, at +least you don't doubt the sacredness of my love for Adele?" + +"I trust, Maverick, I may never doubt the sacredness of your love in any +direction. I only hope you may direct it where I fear you do not." + +"God bless you, Johns! I wish I were as good a man as you." + +A little afterwards Maverick was humming a snatch from an opera under +the trees of the orchard; and Adele went bounding toward him, to take +the last walk with him for so long,--so long! + + +XXXVI. + +Autumn and winter passed by, and the summer of 1838 opened upon the old +quiet life of Ashfield. The stiff Miss Johns, busy with her household +duties, or with her stately visitings. The Doctor's hat and cane in +their usual place upon the little table within the door, and of a Sunday +his voice is lifted up under the old meeting-house roof in earnest +expostulation. The birds pipe their old songs, and the orchard has shown +once more its wondrous glory of bloom. But all these things have lost +their novelty for Adele. Would it be strange, if the tranquil life of +the little town had lost something of its early charm? That swift French +blood of hers has been stirred by contact with the outside world. She +has, perhaps, not been wholly insensible to those admiring glances which +so quickened the pride of the father. Do not such things leave a hunger +in the heart of a girl of seventeen which the sleepy streets of a +country town can but poorly gratify? + +The young girl is, moreover, greatly disturbed at the thought of the new +separation from her father for some indefinite period. Her affections +have knitted themselves around him, during that delightful journey of +the summer, in a way that has made her feel with new weight the parting. +It is all the worse that she does not clearly perceive the necessity for +it. Is she not of an age now to contribute to the cheer of whatever home +he may have beyond the sea? Why, pray, has he given her such uninviting +pictures of his companions there? Or what should she care for his +companions, if only she could enjoy his tender watchfulness? Or is it +that her religious education is not yet thoroughly complete, and that +she still holds out against a full and public avowal of all the +doctrines which the Doctor urges upon her acceptance? And the thought of +this makes his kindly severities appear more irksome than ever. + +Another cause of grief to Adele is the extreme disfavor in which she +finds that Madame Arles is now regarded by the townspeople. Her +sympathies had run out towards the unfortunate woman in some +inexplicable way, and held there even now, so strongly that contemptuous +mention of her stung like a reproach to herself. At least she was a +countrywoman, and alone among strangers; and in this Adele found +abundant reason for a generous sympathy. As for her religion, was it not +the religion of her mother and of her good godmother? And with this +thought flaming in her, is it wonderful, if Adele toys more fondly than +ever, in the solitude of her chamber, with the little rosary she has +guarded so long? Not, indeed, that she has much faith in its efficacy; +but it is a silent protest against the harsh speeches of Miss Eliza, who +had been specially jealous of the influence of the French teacher. + +"I never liked her countenance, Adele," said the spinster, in her solemn +manner; "and I am rejoiced that you will not be under her influence the +present summer." + +"And I'm sorry," said Adele, petulantly. + +"It is gratifying to me," continued Miss Eliza, without notice of +Adele's interruption, "that Mr. Maverick has confirmed my own +impressions, and urged the Doctor against permitting so unwise +association." + +"When? how?" said Adele, sharply. "Papa has never seen her." + +"But he has seen other French women, Adele, and he fears their +influence." + +Adele looked keenly at the spinster for a moment, as if to fathom the +depth of this reply, then burst into tears. + +"Oh, why, why didn't he take me with him?" But this she says under +breath, and to herself, as she rushes into the Doctor's study to +question him. + +"Is it true, New Papa, that papa thought badly of Madame Arles?" + +"Not personally, my child, since he had never seen her. But, Adaly, your +father, though I fear he is far away from the true path, wishes you to +find it, my child. He has faith in the religion we teach so imperfectly; +he wishes you to be exposed to no influences that will forbid your full +acceptance of it." + +"But Madame Arles never talked of religion to me"; and Adele taps +impatiently upon the floor. + +"That may be true, Adaly,--it may be true; but we cannot be thrown into +habits of intimacy with those reared in iniquity without fear of +contracting stain. I could wish, my child, that you would so far subdue +your rebellious heart, and put on the complete armor of righteousness, +as to be able to resist all attacks." + +"And it was for this papa left me here?" And Adele says it with a smile +of mockery that alarms the good Doctor. + +"I trust, Adaly, that he had that hope." + +The good man does not know what swift antagonism to his pleadings he has +suddenly kindled in her. The little foot taps more and more impatiently +as he goes on to set forth (as he had so often done) the heinousness of +her offences and the weight of her just condemnation. Yet the antagonism +did not incline her to open doubt; but after she had said her evening +prayer that night, (taught her by the parson,) she drew out her little +rosary and kissed reverently the crucifix. It is so much easier at this +juncture for her tried and distracted spirit to bolster its faith upon +such material symbol than to find repose in any merely intellectual +conviction of truth! + +Adele's intimacy with Rose and with her family retained all its old +tenderness, but that good fellow Phil was gone. A blithe and merry +companion he had been! Adele missed his kindly attentions more than she +would have believed. The Bowriggs have come to Ashfield, but their +clamorous friendship is more than ever distasteful to Adele. Over and +over she makes a feint of illness to escape the noisy hilarity. Nor, +indeed, is it wholly a feint. Whether it were that her state of moral +perturbation and unrest reacted upon the physical system, or that there +were other disturbing causes, certain it was that the roses were fading +from her cheeks, and that her step was losing day by day something of +its old buoyancy. It is even thought best to summon the village doctor +to the family council. He is a gossiping, kindly old gentleman, who +spends an easy life, free from much mental strain, in trying to make his +daily experiences tally with the little fund of medical science which he +accumulated thirty years before. + +The serene old gentleman feels the pulse, with his head reflectively on +one side,--tells his little jokelet about Sir Astley Cooper, or some +other worthy of the profession,--shakes his fat sides with a cheery +laugh,--"And now, my dear," he says, "let us look at the tongue. Ah, I +see, I see,--the stomach lacks tone." + +"And there's dreadful lassitude, sometimes, Doctor," speaks up Miss +Eliza. + +"Ah, I see,--a little exhaustion after a long walk,--isn't it so, Miss +Maverick? I see, I see; we must brace up the system, Miss Johns,--brace +up the system." + +And the kindly old gentleman prescribes his little tonics, of which +Adele takes some, and throws more out of the window. + +Adele does not mend, and the rumor is presently current upon the street +that "Miss Adeel is in a decline." The spinster shows a solicitude in +the matter which almost touches the heart of the French girl. For Adele +had long before decided that there could be no permanent sympathy +between them, and had indulged latterly in no little bitterness of +speech toward her. But the acute spinster had forgiven all. Never once +had she lost sight of her plan for the ultimate disposal of Adele and of +her father's fortune. Of course the life of Adele was very dear to her, +and the absence of Phil she looked upon as Providential. + +Weeks pass by, but still the tonics of the kindly old physician prove of +little efficacy. One day the Bowriggs come blustering in, as is their +wont. + +"Such assurance! Did you ever hear the like? Madame Arles writes us that +she is coming to see Ashfield again, and of course coming to us. The air +of the town agrees with her, and she hopes to find lodgings." + +The eyes of Adele sparkle with satisfaction,--not so much, perhaps, by +reason of her old sympathy with the poor woman, which is now almost +forgotten, as because it will give some change at least to the dreary +monotony of the town life. + +"Lodgings, indeed!" says the younger Miss Bowrigg. "I wonder where she +will find them!" + +It is a matter of great doubt, to be sure,--since the sharp speech of +the spinster has so spread the story of her demerits, that not a +parishioner of the Doctor but would have feared to give the poor woman a +home. + +Adele still has strength enough for an occasional stroll with Rose, and, +in the course of one of them, comes upon Madame Arles, whom she meets +with a good deal of her old effusion. And Madame, touched by her +apparent weakness, more than reciprocates it. + +"But you suffer, you are unhappy, my child,--pining at last for the sun +of Provence. Isn't it so, _mon ange_? No, no, you were never meant to +grow up among these cold people. You must see the vineyards, and the +olives, and the sea, Adele; you must! you must!" + +All this, uttered in a torrent, which, with its _tutoiements_, Rose can +poorly comprehend. + +Yet it goes straight to the heart of Adele, and her tongue is loosened +to a little petulant, fiery _roulade_ against the severities of the life +around her, which it would have greatly pained poor Rose to listen to in +any speech of her own. + +But such interviews, once or twice repeated, come to the knowledge of +the watchful spinster, who clearly perceives that Adele is chafing more +and more under the wonted family regimen. With an affectation of tender +solicitude, she volunteers herself to attend Adele upon her short +morning strolls, and she learns presently, with great triumph, that +Madame Arles has established herself at last under the same roof which +gives refuge to the outcast Boody woman. Nothing more was needed to seal +the opinion of the spinster, and to confirm the current village belief +in the heathenish character of the French lady. Dame Tourtelot was +shrewdly of the opinion that the woman represented some Popish plot for +the abduction of Adele, and for her incarceration in a nunnery,--a +theory which Miss Almira, with her natural tendency to romance, +industriously propagated. + +Meantime the potions of the village doctor have little effect, and +before July is ended a serious illness has declared itself, and Adele is +confined to her chamber. Madame Arles is among the earliest who come +with eager inquiries, and begs to see the sufferer. But she is +confronted by the indefatigable spinster, who, cloaking her denial under +ceremonious form, declares that her state of nervous prostration will +not admit of it. Madame withdraws, sadly; but the visit and the claim +are repeated from time to time, until the stately civility of Miss Johns +arouses her suspicions. + +"You deny me, Madame. You do wrong. I love Adele; she loves me. I know +that I could comfort her. You do not understand her nature. She was born +where the sky is soft and warm. You are all cold and harsh,--cold and +harsh in your religion. She has told me as much. I know how she suffers. +I wish I could carry her back to France with me. I pray you, let me see +her, good Madame!" + +"It is quite impossible, I assure you," said the spinster, in her most +aggravating manner. "It would be quite against the wishes of my brother, +the Doctor, as well as of Mr. Maverick." + +"Monsieur Maverick! _Mon Dieu_, Madame! He is no father to her; he +leaves her to die with strangers; he has no heart; I have better right: +I love her. I must see her!" + +And with a passionate step,--those eyes of hers glaring in that strange +double way upon the amazed Miss Eliza,--she strides toward the door, as +if she would overcome all opposition. But before she has gone out, that +cruel pain has seized her, and she sinks upon a chair, quite prostrated, +and with hands clasped wildly over that burden of a heart. + +"Too hard! too hard!" she murmurs, scarce above her breath. + +The spinster is attentive, but is untouched. Her self-poise never +deserts her. And not then, or at any later period, did poor Madame Arles +succeed in overcoming the iron resolve of Miss Johns. + +The good Doctor is greatly troubled by the report of Miss Eliza. Can it +be possible that Adele has given a confidence to this strange woman that +she has not given to them? Cold and harsh! Can Adele, indeed, have said +this? Has he not labored with a full heart? Has he not agonized in +prayer to draw in this wandering lamb to the fold? He has seen, indeed, +that the poor child has chafed much latterly, that the old serenity and +gayety are gone. But is it not a chafing under the fetters of sin? Is it +not that she begins to see more clearly the fiery judgments of God which +will certainly overwhelm the wrongdoers, whatever may be the +unsubstantial and evanescent graces of their mortal life? + +Yet, with all the rigidity of his doctrine, which he cannot in +conscience mollify, even for the tender ears of Adele, it disturbs him +strangely to hear that she has qualified his regimen as harsh or severe. +Has he not taught, in season and out of season, the fulness of God's +promises? Has he not labored and prayed? Is it not the ungodly heart in +her that finds his teaching a burden? Is not his conscience safe? Yet, +for all this, it touches him to the quick to think that her childlike, +trustful confidence is at last alienated from him,--that her affection +for him is so distempered by dread and weariness. For, unconsciously, he +has grown to love her as he loves no one save his boy Reuben; +unconsciously his heart has mellowed under her influence. Through her +winning, playful talk, he has taken up that old trail of worldly +affections which he had thought buried forever in Rachel's grave. That +tender touch of her little fingers upon his cheek has seemed to say, +"Life has its joys, old man!" The patter of her feet along the house has +kindled the memories of other gentle steps that tread now silently in +the courts of air. Those songs of hers,--how he has loved them! Never +confessing even to Miss Eliza, still less to himself, how much his heart +is bound up in this little winsome stranger, who has shone upon his +solitary parsonage like a sunbeam. + +And the good man, with such thoughts thronging on him, falls upon his +knees, beseeching God to "be over the sick child, to comfort her, to +heal her, to pour down His divine grace upon her, to open her blind eyes +to the richness of His truth, to keep her from all the machinations and +devices of Satan, to arm her with true holiness, to make her a golden +light in the household, to give her a heart of love toward all, and most +of all toward Him who so loved her that He gave His only begotten Son." + +And the Doctor, rising from his attitude of prayer, and going toward the +little window of his study to arrange it for the night, sees a slight +figure in black pacing up and down upon the opposite side of the way, +and looking up from time to time to the light that is burning in the +window of Adele. He knows on the instant who it must be, and fears more +than ever the possible influence which this strange woman, who is so +persistent in her attention, may have upon the heart of the girl. The +Doctor had heretofore been disposed to turn a deaf ear to the current +reproaches of Madame Arles for her association with the poor outcast +daughter of the village; but her appearance at this unseemly hour of the +night, coupled with his traditional belief in the iniquities of the +Romish Church, excited terrible suspicions in his mind. Like most holy +men, ignorant of the crafts and devices of the world, he no sooner +blundered into a suspicion of some deep Devil's cunning than every +footfall and every floating zephyr seemed to confirm it. He bethought +himself of Maverick's earnest caution; and before he went to bed that +night, he prayed that no designing Jezebel might corrupt the poor child +committed to his care. + +The next night the Doctor looked again from his window, after blowing +out his lamp, and there once more was the figure in black, pacing up and +down. What could it mean? Was it possible that some Satanic influence +could pass over from this emissary of the Evil One, (as he firmly +believed her to be,) for the corruption of the sick child who lay in the +delirium of a fever above? + +The extreme illness of Adele was subject of common talk in the village, +and the sympathy was very great. On the following night Adele was far +worse, and the Doctor, at about his usual bedtime, went out to summon +the physician. At a glance he saw in the shadow of the opposite houses +the same figure pacing up and down. He hurried his steps, fearing she +might seek occasion to dart in upon the sick-chamber before his return. +But he had scarcely gone twenty paces from his door, when he heard a +swift step behind, and in another instant there was a grip, as of a +tigress, upon his arm. + +"Adele,--how is she? Tell me!" + +"Ill,--very ill," said the Doctor, shaking himself from her grasp, and +continued in his solemn manner, "it is an hour to be at home, woman!" + +But she, paying no heed to his admonition, says,-- + +"I must see her,--I _must_!"--and dashes back toward the parsonage. + +The Doctor, terrified, follows after. But he can keep no manner of pace +with that swift, dark figure that glides before him. He comes to the +porch panting. The door is closed. Has the infuriated woman gone in? No, +for presently her grasp is again upon his arm: for a moment she had +sunk, exhausted by fatigue, or overcome by emotion, upon the porch. Her +tone is more subdued. + +"I entreat you, good Doctor, let me see Adele!--for Christ's sake, if +you be His minister, let me see her!" + +"Impossible, woman, impossible!" says the Doctor, more than ever +satisfied of her Satanic character by what he counts her blasphemous +speech. "Adaly is delirious,--fearfully excited; it would destroy her. +The only hope is in perfect quietude." + +The woman releases her grasp. + +"Please, Doctor, let me come to-morrow. I must see her! I will see her!" + +"You shall not," said the Doctor, with solemnity,--"never, with my +permission. Go to your home, woman, and pray God to have mercy on you." + +"Monster!" exclaimed she, passionately, as she shook the Doctor's arm, +still under her grasp; and murmuring other words in language the good +man did not comprehend, she slipped silently down the yard,--away into +the darkness. + + + + +DOWN THE RIVER. + + +She was of pure race, black as her first ancestor,--if, indeed, she ever +had an ancestor, and were not an indigenous outcrop of African soil,--so +black that the sun could gild her. Her countenance was as unlovely as it +is possible for one to be that owns the cheeriest of smiles and the most +dazzling of teeth. It would have been difficult to say how old she was, +though she had the effect of being undersized, and, with sharp +shoulders, elbows, and knees, seemed scarcely possessed of a rounded +muscle in all her lithe and agile frame. + +Nevertheless, she was a dancer by profession,--if she could have +dignified her most frequent occupation by the title of profession. With +a thin blue scarf turbaned round her head in floating ends, and with +scanty and clinging array otherwise, tossing a tambourine, and singing +wild, meaningless songs, she used to whirl and spring on the grass-plot +of an evening, the young masters and mistresses smiling and applauding +from the verandah, while the wind-blown flame of a flaring pitch-pine +knot, held by little Pluto, gave her strange careering shadows for +partner. + +She had not yet been allotted to any particular task by day, now running +errands of the house, now tending the sick, now, in punishment of +misdemeanors, relieving an exhausted hand in the field,--for, though all +along the upland lay the piny woods of the turpentine-orchards, she +belonged to an estate whose rich lowlands were devoted to +cotton-bearing. But whatever she did by day, she danced by night, with +her wild gyration and gesture, as naturally as a moth flies; and when +not in demand with the seigniory, was wont to perform in even keener +force and fire at the quarters, to an admiring circle of her own kind, +with ambitious imitators on the outskirts. + +It was not, however, an indiscriminate assemblage even there that +encouraged her rude art. There are circles within circles, and the more +decorous of the slaves gave small favor to the young posturer, although +the patronage she received from the house enabled her to meet their +disapprobation defiantly; while to the younger portion, in the vague +sense that there was something wrong about it, her dance became +surrounded by all the attraction and allurement of seeing life. It was +not that the frowning ones did not go through many of the same motions +themselves; but theirs were occasioned by the frenzy of the religious +excitement, where pious rapture and ecstasy were to be expressed by +nothing but the bodily exertion of the Shout: the objectless dance of +the dancer was a thing beyond their comprehension, dimly at first, and +then positively, associated with sin. But she laughed them down with a +gibe; she felt triumphant in the possession of her secret, known to none +of them: her dance was not objectless, but the perpetual expression of +all emotions, whether of beauty or joy or gratitude or praise. Some one +at the house had given her a pair of little hoops with bells attached, +which she was wont to wear about her ankles, and it afforded her +malicious enjoyment to scatter her opponents by the tintinnabulation of +her step. For all that levity, she was not destitute of her peculiar +mode of adoration. For the religion of the Shout she had no absorbents +whatever; she furtively watched it, and openly ridiculed it; but she had +a religion of her own, notwithstanding,--a sort of primitive and grand +religion, Fetich though it was. She reasoned, that the kindly brown +earth produces us, bears us along on its flight, nourishes us, gives us +the delights of life, takes us back into its bosom at last. She +worshipped the great dark earth, imparted to it her confidence, asked of +it her boons. As she grew older, and her logic or her fancy +strengthened, she might have felt the sun supplying the earth, and the +beings of the earth, with all their force, and have become a +fire-worshipper, until further light broke on her, and she sought and +found the Power that feeds the very sun himself. But at present the dust +of which she was made was what she could best comprehend. So, fortified +by her inward faith, and feeling herself fast friends with the ancient +earth, she continued to ring her silver bells and spin her bare +twinkling feet with contented disregard of those, few of whom in their +unseemly worship had the faintest idea of what it was that ailed them. + +Although known by various titles on the plantation, objurgatory among +the hands, facetious among the heads, such as Dancing Devil, Spinning +Jenny, Tarantella, Herodias's Daughter,--which last, simplifying itself +into Salome, became in its diminutives the most prevalent,--the creature +had a name of her own, the softest of syllables. Black and uncouth as +she was, a word, one of those the whitest and most beautiful, named her; +and since they tell us that every appellation has its significance for +the wearer, we must suppose that somewhere in her soul that white and +blossoming thing was to be found which answered to the name of Flor. + +She possessed a kind of freehold in the cabin of an old negress yclept +Zoe; but she seldom claimed it, for Zoe was outspoken; she preferred, +instead, to lie down by night on a mat in Miss Emma's room, in a corner +of the staircase, on the hall-floor, oftenest fallen wherever sleep +happened to overtake her;--having so many places in which to lay her +head was very like having none at all. She was at the bidding of every +one, but seldom received a heavy blow; as for a round of angry words, +she liked nothing better. She fell heir to much flimsy finery, as a +matter of course, and to many a tidbit, cake or sweetmeat; she made +herself gaudy as a butterfly with the one, and never went into a corner +with the other. Of late, however, the finery and the delicates had +become more uncommon things: Miss Emma wore a homespun gingham, her +muslins, and Miss Agatha's, draped the windows,--for curtains and +carpets had all gone to camp; bacon had ceased to be given out to the +hands, who lived now on corn-meal and yams; the people at the house were +scarcely better off,--for, though, as no army had passed that way, the +chickens still peopled the place, they were reserved for special +occasions, and it was only at rare intervals that one indulged at table +in the luxury of a fowl. This was no serious regret to Flor on her own +account: the less viands, the less dishes, she could oftener pause in +the act of wiping a plate and perform an original hornpipe by herself, +tossing the thin translucent china, and rapping it with her knuckles +till it rang again. She had, however, a pang once when she saw Miss +Emma lunching with relish on cold sweet potato. She spent all the rest +of the day floating on the tide in an old abandoned scow secured by a +long rope to the bank, and afterwards wading up and down the bed of a +brook that ran into the river, until, having left a portion of her +provision, to be sure, at Aunt Zoe's cabin, she busied herself over a +fire out-of-doors, and served up at last before Miss Emma as savory a +little terrapin stew as ever simmered on coals, capering over her +success, and standing on her head in the midst of all her scattered +embers, afterwards, with pure delight. The next day she came in at noon +from the woods, a mile down the river-bank, with her own dark lips cased +and coated in golden sweets, and, after a wordy skirmish with the cook, +presented to Miss Emma a great cake of brown and fragrant honey from a +nest she had discovered and neglected in better seasons, and said +nothing about her half-dozen swollen and smarting stings. Mas'r Rob +having shouldered his gun and taken himself off, and Mas'r Andersen +having followed his example, but not his footsteps, long ago, there was +nobody to fill the deficiencies of the larder with game; and thus Flor, +with her traps and nets and devices, making her value felt every day, +became, for Miss Emma's sake, a petted person, was put on more generous +terms with those above her, and allowed a freedom of action that no +other servant on the place dreamed of desiring. Such consideration was +very acceptable to the girl, who was well content to go fasting herself +a whole day, provided Miss Emma condescended to her offerings, and, in +turn, vouchsafed her her friendship. She had no such daring aspirations +towards the beautiful Miss Agatha, young Mas'r Andersen's wife, and +admired her at an awful distance, never venturing to offer her a bit of +broiled lark, or set before her a dish of crabs,--beaming back with a +grin from ear to ear, if Miss Agatha so much as smiled on her, breaking +into the wildest of dances and shuffling out the shrillest of tunes +after every such incident. Moreover, Miss Agatha was hedged about with a +dignity of grief, and the indistinct pity given her made her safe from +other intrusion; for Mas'r Andersen, in bringing home a Northern wife, +had brought home Northern principles, and, in his sudden escape forced +to leave her in the only home she had, was away fighting Northern +battles. This was a dreadful thing, and Mas'r Andersen was a traitor to +somebody,--so much Flor knew,--it might be the Government, it might be +the South, it might be Miss Agatha; her ideas were nebulous. Whatever it +was, Mas'r Rob and his gun were on the other side, and woe be to Mas'r +Andersen when they met! Mas'r Rob and his friends were beating back the +men that meant to take away Flor and all her kind to freeze and starve; +'twas very good of him, Flor thought, and there ceased consideration. +Meanwhile, wherever Mas'r Andersen might be, and whether he were so much +as alive or not, Miss Agatha was not the one that knew; and Flor adapted +many a rigadoon to her conjectured feelings, now swaying and bending +with sorrow and longing, head fallen, arms outstretched, now hands +clasped on bosom, exultant in welcome and possession. + +The importance to which Flor gradually rose by no means led her to the +exhibition of any greater decorum; on the contrary, it seemed to impart +to her the secret of perpetual motion; and, aware of her impunity, she +danced with fresher vigor in the very teeth of her censurers and their +reproaches. + +"Go 'long wid yer capers, ye Limb!" said Zoe to her, late one afternoon, +as she entered with the half of a rabbit she had caught, and, having +deposited it, went through the intricacies of her most elaborate figure +in breathless listening to an unheard tune. "Ef I had dem sticks o' +legs, dey'd do berrer work nor twirlin' me like I was a factotum." + +At this, Flor suddenly spun about on the tip of one toe for the space of +three minutes, with a buzzing noise like that of a top in hot motion, +pausing at last to inquire, "Well, Maum Zoe, an' w'at's dat?" and be +off again in another whirl. + +"I'd red Mas'r Henry ob sich a wurfless nigger." + +"Wurfless?" inquired Flor, still spinning. + +"Wuss 'n wurfless." + +"How 'd y' do it?" + +"I'd jus' foller dat ar Sarp," said Zoe, turning over the rabbit, and +considering whether a pepper-corn and a little onion out of her own +patch wouldn't improve the broth she meant to make of it. + +"Into de swamps?" said Flor, in a high key. "Sarp's a fool. I heerd +Mas'r Henry say so. Dey'll gib him a blue-pill, for sartain." + +"Humph!" said Aunt Zoe, as if she could say a great deal more. + +"Tell ye w'at, Maum Zoe," replied Flor, shaking her sidelong head at +every syllable, and accentuating her remarks with her forefinger and +both her little sparkling eyes, "I'll 'form on ye for 'ticin' Mas'r +Henry's niggers run away." + +"None o' yer sass here!" said Maum Zoe, with a flashing glance. + +"You take my rabbit, you mus' _hab_ my sass," answered Flor, delicacy +not being ingrain with her. "W'at 'ud I cut for to de swamps, d' ye +s'pose?" she said, slapping the soles of her feet in her emphasis, and +pausing for breath. "Dar neber was a lash laid on dat back"---- + +"No fault o' dat back, dough," interposed Aunt Zoe. + +"Dar neber was a lash on dat back. Dar a'n't a person on de place hab +sich treatem as dis yere Limb o' yourn. Miss Emma done gib me her red +ribbins on'y Sa'd'y for my har. An' Mas'r Henry, he jus' pass an' say to +me, 'Dono w'at Miss Emma 'd do widout ye, Lomy. Scairt, ye hussy!' So!" + +"'Zackly. We's 'mos' w'ite, we be! How much dey do make ob us up to de +house! De leopard hab change him spots, an' we hab change our skin! W'at +'s de use o' bein' free, w'en we's w'ite folks a'ready? Tell me dat!" +said Aunt Zoe, turning on her witheringly, rising from a deep curtsy and +smoothing down her apron. "Tell ye w'at, ye Debil's spinster!" added +she, with a sudden change of tone, as Flor began to mimic one of Miss +Agatha's opera-tunes and with her hands on her hips slowly balance up +and down the room, and came at last, bending far on one side, to leer up +in the face of her elder with such a smile as Cubas was wont to give her +Spanish lover in the dance. "So mighty free wid yer dancin', 'pears like +you'll come to dance at a rope's end! W'at's de use o' talkin' to you? +'Mortal sperit, it 's my b'lief dat ar mockin'-bird in de branches hab +as good a lookout!" + +"Heap better," said Flor acquiescently, and beginning to hold a +whistling colloquy with the hidden voice. + +"You won't bring him down wid yer tunes. He knows w'en he's well off; +he's free, he is,--swingin' onto de bough, an' 'gwine whar he like." + +"Leet de chil' alone, Zoe," said a superannuated old woman sitting in +the corner by the fire always smouldering on Zoe's hearth, and leaning +her white head on her cane. "You be berrer showin' her her duty in her +place dan be makin' her discontented." + +"She doan' make me disconnected, Maum Susie," said Flor. "'F he's free, +w'at's he stayin' here for? Dar 's law for dat. Doan' want none o' yer +free niggers hangin' roun' dis yere. Chirrup!" + +"Dar's a right smart chance ob 'em, dough, jus' now," said Aunt Zoe, +chuckling at first, and then breaking into the most boisterous of +laughs, "Seems like we's all ob us, ebery one, free as Sarp hisse'f. +Mas'r Linkum say so. Yah, ha, ha!" + +"Linkum!" said Flor. "Who dat ar? Some o' yer poor w'ite trash? Mas'r +Henry doan' say so!" + +"W'a' 's de matter wid dat ar boy Sarp, Zoe?" recommenced Flor, after a +pause. "Mus' hab wanted suffin,--powerful,--to lib in de swamp, hab de +dogs after him, an' a bullet troo de head mos' likely." + +"Jus' dat. Wanted him freedom," said Zoe suddenly, with crackling +stress, her eyes getting angry in their fervor, as she went on. "Wanted +him body for him own. Tired o' usin' 'noder man's eyes, 'noder man's +han's. Wanted him han's him own, wanted him heart him own! Had n' no +breff to breathe 'cep' w'at Mas'r Henry gib out. Di'n' t'ink no t'oughts +but Mas'r Henry's. Wanted him wife some day to hisse'f, wanted him +chillen for him own property. Wanted to call no man mas'r but de Lord in +heaben!" + +"Wy, Maum Zoe, how you talk! Sarp had n' no wife." + +"Neber would, w'ile he wor a slave." + +"Hist now, Zoe!" said the old woman. + +"I jus' done b'lieve you's a bobolitionist!" said Flor, with wide eyes +and a battery of nods. + +"No 'casion, no 'casion," said Zoe, with the deep inner chuckle again. +"We's done 'bolished,--dat's w'at we is! We's a free people now. No more +work for de 'bominationists!" And on the point of uncontrollable +hilarity, she checked herself with the dignity becoming her new +position. "You's your own nigger now, Salome," said she. + +"We? No, t'ank you. I 'longs to Miss Emma." + +"You haan' no understandin' for liberty, chil'. Seems ef 'twas like +religion"---- + +"Ef I wor to tell Mas'r Henry, oh, wouldn' you cotch it?" + +"Go 'long!" cried Zoe, looking out for a missile. "Doan' ye bring no +more o' yer rabbits here, ef ye 'r' gwine to fetch an' carry"---- + +"Lors, Aunt Zoe, 'pears like you's out o' sorts. Haan' I got nof'n +berrer to do dan be tellin' tales ob old women dat's a-waitin' for de +Lord's salvation?" said Flor, with a twang of great gravity,--and +proceeded thereat to make her exit in a series of lively somersaults +through the room and over the threshold. + +Aunt Zoe, who, ever since she had lost the use of her feet, had been a +little wild on the subject of freedom, knew very well within that Flor +would make no mischief for her; but, except for the excited state into +which the news brought by some mysterious plantation runner had thrown +her, she would scarcely have been so incautious. As it was, she had +dropped a thought into Flor's head to ferment there and do its work. It +was almost the first time in her life that the girl had heard freedom +discussed as anything but a doubtful privilege. First awakening to +consciousness in this state, it was with effort and only lately she had +comprehended that there could be any other: a different condition from +one in which Miss Emma was mistress and she was maid seemed at first +preposterous, then fabulous, and still unnatural: nevertheless, there +was a flavor of wicked pleasure in the thought. Flor looked with a sort +of contempt on the little tumbling darkies who had never entertained it. +Ever since she was born, however, she had frequently fancied she would +like the liberty of rambling that the little wild creatures of the wood +possess, but had felt criminal in the desire, and recently she had found +herself enjoying the immunity of the mocking-bird on the bough, and was +nearly as free in her going and coming as the same bird on the wing. + +During the weeks that followed this conversation Flor's dances flagged. +They existed, to be sure, but with an angularity that made them seem +solutions of problems, rather than expressions of emotion; they were +merely mechanical, for she had lost all interest in them. They became at +last so listless as to exhibit, to more serious eyes, signs of grace in +the girl. Flor wondered, if Zoe had spoken the truth, that nothing +appeared changed on the plantation: all their own masters, why so +obsequious to the driver still? This was one of the last of the great +places; behind it, the small farms, with few hands, ran up the +mountains; why was there no stampede of these unguarded slaves? She +hardly understood. She listened outside the circle of the fire on the +ground at night, where two or three old women mumbled together; she +inferred, that, though no one of them would desert Mas'r Henry, they +enjoyed the knowledge that they were at liberty to do so, if they +wished. Flor laughed a bit at this, thinking where the poor things could +possibly go, and how they could get there, if they would; but in her +heart of hearts--though all the world but this one spot was a barren +wilderness, and she never could desire to leave her dear Miss Emma, nor +could find happiness away from her--it seemed a very pleasant thing to +think that her devotion might be a voluntary affair, and she stayed +because she chose. Still she was skeptical. The abstract question +puzzled her a little, too. How came Mas'r Henry to be free? Because he +was white; that explained itself. But Miss Emma--she was white, too, and +yet somehow she seemed to belong to Mas'r Henry. She wondered if Mas'r +Henry could sell Miss Emma; and then the thought occurred, and with the +thought the fear, that, possibly, some day, he might sell her, Flor +herself, away from Miss Emma and all these pleasant scenes. After such a +thought had once come, it did not go readily. Flor let it +linger,--turned it over in her mind; gradually familiarized with its +hurt, it seemed as if she had half said farewell to the place. Better +far to be a runaway than to be sold. But if it came to that, whither +should she run? what was this world beyond? who was there in this sad +wide world to take care of a little black image? And if she waited for +it to come to that, could she get away at all? It was no wonder that in +the midst of such new and grave speculations the girl's dance grew +languid and her sharp tongue still. The earth was just as beautiful as +ever, the skies were as deep, the flowers as intense in tint, the +evening air laden with jasmine-scents as delicious as of old; but in +these few weeks Flor had reached another standpoint. It seemed as if a +film had fallen from her eyes, and she saw a blight on every blossom. + +It was about this time, spring being at its flush, that some passing +guest mentioned the march of a regiment, the next day, from Cotesworth +Court-House to the first railroad-station, on its way to the seat of +war. The idea of the thing filled Miss Emma with enthusiasm. How they +would look, so many together, in the beautiful gray uniform too, to any +one standing on Longfer Hill! She longed to see the faces of men when +they took their lives in their hand for a principle. She had practised +the Bonny Blue Flag till there was nothing left of it; but if a band +played it in the open air, with the rising and falling of the wind, and +under waving banners and glittering guidons all the men with their pale +faces and shining eyes went marching by---- + +The end of it was, that, as her father would never have listened to +anything of the kind, Flor privately informed her of a short cut down +the river-bank and round the edge of the swamp to the foot of Longfer +Hill,--a walk they could easily take in a couple of hours. And as nobody +was in the habit of missing Flor much, and her young mistress would be +supposed, after her custom, to be spending half the day in naps, they +accordingly took it. Nevertheless, it was an exceedingly secret affair, +for Mas'r Henry had always strictly forbidden his daughter to leave his +own grounds without fit escort. + +This expedition seemed to Flor such a proud and gratifying confidence, +that in her pleasure she forgot to think; she only danced round about +her mistress, with a return of her old exuberance, till the more quiet +path of the latter resembled a straight line surrounded by an arabesque +of fantastic flourishes. But, in fact, the young patrician, unaccustomed +to exertion, was well wearied before they reached the river-bank. They +had yet the long border of the swamp to skirt, and there towered Longfer +Hill. Why could they not go across, she wondered. They would sink, Flor +answered her; and then the moccasins! But there were all those green +hummocks,--skipping from one to another would be mere play,--and there +were no moccasins for miles. And before Flor could gainsay her, she had +sprung on, keeping steadily ahead, in a determination to have her own +way; and with no other course left her, Flor followed, though, at every +spring, alighting on the hummocks that Miss Emma had trodden, the water +splashed up about her bare ankles, and her heart shook within her at the +thought of fierce runaways haunting these inaccessible hollows, and the +myths of the deeper district. Before long, she had overtaken her young +mistress, and they paused a moment for parley. Miss Emma was convinced, +that, if it were no worse than this, it would be delightful. Flor +assured her that she did not know the way any longer, for their winding +path between the tall cypresses veiled in their swinging tangles of +funereal moss had confused her, and she could only guess at the +direction of Longfer Hill. This, then, was an adventure. Miss Emma took +the responsibility all upon herself, and plunged forward. Miss Emma must +know best, of course, concerning everything. Nothing loth, and gayly, +Flor plunged after. + +The hummocks on which they went were light, spongy masses of greenery. +Their footprints filled at once behind them with clear dark water; there +were glistening little pools everywhere about them; the ground was so +covered with mats of brilliant blossoms that what appeared solid for the +foot was oftenest the most treacherous place of all; and at last they +stayed to take breath, planting themselves on the trunk of a fallen tree +so twisted and twined with variegated vines and flowers, and deadly, +damp fungi, that it was like some gorgeous dais-seat. Behind them and +beside them was the darkness of the cypress groves. Before them extended +a smooth floor, a wide level region, carpeted in the most vivid verdure +and sheeted with the sunshine, an immense bed of softest moss, underlaid +with black bog, quaking at every step, and shaking a thousand diamonds +into the light. Scarcely anything stirred through all the stretch; at +some runnel along its nearer margin, where upon one side the more broken +swamp recommenced, a rosy flamingo stood and fished, and, still remoter, +the melancholy note of a bird tolled its refrain, answered by an echoing +voice from some yet inner depth of forest far away. Save for this, the +silence was as intense as the vastness and color of the scene, till it +opened and resolved itself into one broad insect hum. The children took +a couple of steps forward, under their feet the elastic sod sank and +rose with a spurt of silver jets; they sprang back to their seats, and +the shading tree above shook down a shining shower in rillets of silver +rain. They remained for a minute, then, resting there. Singularly +enough, Longfer Hill, which had previously been upon their left, now +rose far away upon the right. When at length they comprehended its +apparition, they looked at one another in complete bewilderment. Miss +Emma began to cry; but Flor took it as only a fresh complication of this +world, that was becoming for her feet a maze of intricacy. + +"We must go back," said Miss Emma, at last. "I'm sure, if I'd +known----Of course we never can cross here. The very spoonbill wades. +Oh, why didn't----Well, there's no blame to you, Floss. I've nobody to +thank but myself; that's a comfort." + +"Lors, Miss Emma, it's my fault altogeder. I should n' neber told ye. +An' as for gwine back, it's jus' as bad as torrer." + +"We can't stay here all night! Oh, I'm right tired out! If I could lie +down"---- + +"'Twouldn' do no way, Miss Emma," answered Flor, in a fright for her +friend, as a quick, poisonous-looking lizard slid along the log, like a +streak of light, in the wake of a spider which was one blotch of scarlet +venom. + +Far ahead, the strong sun, piercing the marsh, drew up a vapor, that, +blue as any distant haze in one part and lint-white in another, made +itself aslant into low, delicious, broken prisms, melting all between. +This, more than anything else, told the extent of the bog before them, +and, hot as it was now, betrayed the deathly chill lurking under such a +coverlet at night. In every other direction lay the cypress jungle; and +whether they saw the front or back of Longfer Hill, and on which side +the river ran, steering for which they could steer for home, they had +not the skill to say. Thus, what way to go they still were undecided, +when, at something moving near them, they started to their feet in a +faint terror, delaying only a single instant to gaze at it,--a serpent, +that, coiled round the stem above, had previously seemed nothing but a +splendid parasite, and that just lifted its hooded head crusted with +gems, and flickered a long cleft tongue of flame over them, while +loosening in great loops from its basking-place. They vouchsafed it no +second look, but, with one leap over the log, through the black mire, +and from clump to clump of moss, sped away,--if that could be called +speed which was hindered at each moment by waylaying briers and +entangling ropes of blossoming vines, by delays in threatening quagmires +and bewilderments in thickets beset by clouds of insects, by trips and +stumbles and falls and bruises, and many a pause for tears and +complaints and ejaculations of despair. + +Meanwhile the heat of the day was mitigated by thin clouds sliding over +the sun and banking up the horizon, though the hot wind still blew +sweetly and steadily from the open quarter of the sky. + +"Oh, what has become of us?" cried Miss Emma at length, when the shadows +began to thicken, and out of the impenetrable forest and morass about +them they could detect no path. + +"We's los' into de swamp, Miss Emma," answered Flor, in a kind of gloomy +defiance of the worst of it,--"da' 's all." + +"And here we shall die!" cried the other. + +And she flung herself, face down, upon the floor. + +Flor was beside her instantly, taking her head upon her knee. Her own +heart was sinking like lead; but she plucked it up, and for the other's +sake snapped her fingers at Fortune. + +"Lors, Miss, dar's so many berries we caan' starve nowes. I's 'bout to +build a fire soon's it's dark; dis yere's a dry spot, ye see now. An', +bress you, dey'll be out after us afore mornin',--de whole farm-full." + +"With the dogs!" cried Miss Emma. "Oh, Floss, that I should live for +that! to be hunted in the swamp with dogs!" + +Flor was silent a moment or two. The custom personally affected her for +the first time; worse than the barbarity was the indignity. + +"Dey aren't trained to hunt for you, Miss Emma," she said, more gloomily +than she had ever spoken before. "Dey knows de diff'unce 'tween de dark +meat and de light." + +And then she laughed, as if her words meant nothing. + +"They never shall touch _you_, Flor, while I'm alive!" suddenly +exclaimed Miss Emma, throwing her arms about her. + +"Lors, Miss, how you talk!" cried Flor, and then broke into a gust of +tears. "To t'ink ob you a-carin' so much for a little darky, Miss!"--and +she set up a loud howl of joyful sorrow. + +"You're the best friend I've got!" answered Miss Emma, hugging her with +renewed warmth. "I love you worlds better than Agatha! And I'll never +let you leave me! Oh, Flor! what shall we do?" + +Flor looked about her for reply, and then scrambled up a sycamore like a +squirrel. + +It was apparently an island in the swamp on which they were: for the +earth, though damp, was firm beneath them; and there was a thick growth +of various trees about, although most were draped to the ground in the +long, dark tresses of Spanish moss, waving dismally to and fro, with a +dull, heavy motion of grief. On every other side from that by which they +had come it appeared to be inaccessible, surrounded, as well as Flor +could see, by glimmering sheets of water, which probably were too full +of snags and broken stumps, still upright, for the navigation of boats +by any hands but those thoroughly acquainted with their wide region of +stagnant pools. This island was not, however, a small spot, but one that +comprised a variety of surfaces, having not only marsh and upland within +itself, but something that in the distance bore a fearful resemblance to +a young patch of standing corn, a suspicion confirmed into certainty by +a blue thread of smoke ascending a little way and falling again in a +cloud. Once, upon seeing such a sight, Flor might have fallen to the +ground herself,--this could be no less than the abode of those sad +runaways, those mythical Goblins of the Swamp,--but it would have been +because she had forgotten then that she was not one of the strong white +race that reared her. Now, at this moment, she felt a thrill of kinship +with these creatures, hunted for with bloodhounds, as she would be +to-morrow, perhaps. + +"May-be I'll not go back," said Flor. + +She slipped down the tree, and went silently to work, heaping a bed of +the hanging moss, less wet than the ground itself, for her young +mistress. Miss Emma accepted it passively. + +"Oh, it's like sleeping on hearse-curtains!" was all she said. + +It was already evening, but growing darker with the clouds that went on +piling their purple masses and awaiting their signal. Suddenly the +sweet, soft breeze trembled and veered, there was a brief calm, and the +wind had hauled round the other way. A silence of preparation, answered +by a long, low note of thunder, and the war had begun in heaven. + +Miss Emma buried her face in the moss. But Flor, secretly relishing a +good thunder-gust, drew up her knees and sat with equanimity, like a +little black judge of the clouds; for, in the moment's dull, indifferent +mood, she felt prepared for either fate. It was long before the rain +came; then it plunged, a brief downfall, as if a cloud had been ripped +and emptied,--a suffocating terror of rain, teeming with more appalling +intimations than anything else in the world. But the wind was a blind +tornado. The boughs swung over them and swept them; the swamp-water was +lifted, and gluts of it slapped in Flor's face. She saw, not far away, a +great solitary cypress rearing its head, and bearing aloft a broad +eagle's nest, hurriedly seized in the grasp of the gale, twisted, +raised, and snapped like a straw. The child began to shudder strangely +at the breath of this blast that cried with such clamor out of the black +vaults above, this unknown and tremendous power beneath which she was +nothing but a mote; she suffered an unexplained awe, as if this fearful +wind were some supernatural assemblage of souls fleeting through space +and making the earth tremble under their wild rush. All the while the +heavy thunders charged on high in one unbroken roar, across whose base +sharp bolts broke and burst perpetually; and with the outer world +wrapped in quivering curtains of blue flame, now and then a shaft of +fire lanced its straight spear down the dense darkness of the woods +behind in ghastly illumination, and a responsive spire shot up in some +burning bush that blackened almost as instantly. Flor fancied that the +lightning was searching for her, a runaway herself, and the burning bush +answered, like a sentinel, that here she was. She cowered at length and +sought the protection of the blind earth, full of awe and quaking, till +by-and-by the last discharge, muffled and ponderous, rolled away, and, +save for a muttered growl in some far distant den, the world was still +and dark again. + +Flor spoke to her mistress, and found, that, utterly worn out with +fatigue and fright and exhausted electricity, she was asleep. She then +got up and wrung out the rain from portions of her own and Miss Emma's +dress, and heaped fresh armfuls of moss upon the sleeper in an original +attempt at the pack; then she proceeded to explore the neighborhood, to +see if there were any exit in other directions from the terrors of the +swamp. + +Stars began to struggle through and confuse their rays with the +ravelled edges of the clouds. She groped along from tree to tree, +looking constantly behind her at the clear, light opening of sky beneath +which Miss Emma lay. + +Perhaps she had come farther than she knew; for all at once, in the +dread stillness that nothing but the dripping dampness broke, a sound +smote her like a pang. It was an innocent and simple sound enough, a +man's voice, clear and sweet, though measured somewhat, and suppressed +in volume, chanting a slow, sad hymn, that had yet a kind of rejoicing +about it:-- + + "Oh, no longer bond in Egypt, + No longer bond in Egypt, + No longer bond in Egypt. + The Lord hath set him free!" + +It came from a hollow below her. Flor pushed aside the great, glistening +leaves in silence, and looked tremblingly in. There were half-burnt +brands on a broad stone, throwing out an uncertain red glimmer; there +was an awning of plaited reeds reaching from bough to bough; there was +an old man stretched upon the ground, and a stalwart man sitting beside +him and chanting this song, as if it were a burial-service: for the old +man was dead. + +Flor began to tremble again, with that instinctive animal antipathy to +death and dissolution. But in an instant a rekindling gleam of the +embers, hardly quenched, shot over the singer's face. In the same +instant Flor shook before the secret she had learned, Sarp was a +runaway, to be sure; and runaways ate little girls, she knew. But Flor, +having lately encouraged incredulity, could hardly find it in her heart +to believe that the fact of having stolen himself could have so utterly +changed the old nature of Sarp, the kind butler, who always had a +pleasant word for her when others had a cuff. Yet should she hail him? +Ah, no, never! But then--Miss Emma! Her young mistress would die of +starvation and the damp. + +"Sarp!" whispered Flor, huskily. + +The man started and sprang to his feet, alert and ready, waiting for his +unseen enemy,--then half relapsed, thinking it might be nothing but the +twitter of a bird. + +"It's me, Sarp." + +Who that was did not seem so plain to Sarp; he darted his swift glance +in her direction, then at one step parted the bushes and dragged her +through, as if it were game that he had trapped. + +"Oh, Sarp!" cried Flor, falling at his feet. "Doan' yer kill me now! I +di'n' mean to ha' found yer. I's done los' in de swamp, wid"---- + +But Flor thought better of that. + +The man raised her, but still held her out at arm's length, while he +listened for further sound behind her. + +"Oh, jus' le' go, Sarp, an' I'll dance for you till I drap!" she cried. + +"Is it a time for dancing," he replied, "and the earth open for +burying?" + +"Lors, Sarp!" cried Flor, shrinking from the shallow grave she had not +seen, "how's I to know dat?"--and she gave herself safe distance. + +"Help me yere, then," said he. + +But Flor remained immovable, and Sarp was obliged to perform by himself +the last offices for the old slave, who, living out his term of +harassments and hungers, had grown gray and died in the swamps. He went +at last and brought an armful of broken sweet-flowering boughs and +spread them over the place. + +"Free among the dead," he said; then turned to Flor, who, having long +since seen daylight through the darkness of her fears, proceeded glibly +and volubly to pour out her troubles, on his beckoning her away, and to +demand the help she had refused to render. + +"There's the boat," said Sarp, reflectively. "And the rain will float it +'most anywheres to-night. But--come so far and troo so much to go back?" + +Flor flung up her face and held her head back proudly. + +"Yes, Sah! Doan' s'pose I'd be stealin' Mas'r Henry's niggers?" + +For, having meditated upon it an hour ago, she was able to repel the +charge vigorously. + +"Go'n' to stay a slave all your life?" + +"All Miss Emma's life." + +"And--afterwards"---- + +"Den I'll go back to de good brown earth wid her," said Flor, solving +the problem promptly.--"I doan' see de boat." + +"Ah, she'll make as brown dust as you,--Miss Emma,--that's so! But the +spirit, Lome!" + +"Sperit?" said Flor, looking uneasily over her shoulder with her +twinkling eyes. + +"The part of you that doan' die, Lome." + +"I haan' nof'n ter do wid dat; dat 'longs to dem as made it; none o' my +lookout; dono nof'n 'bout it, an' doan' want ter hear nof'n about it!" +said Flor; for, reasoning on the old adage of a bird in the hand being +worth two in the bush, she thought it more important just at present to +save her body than to save her soul, admitting that she had one, and +felt haste to be of more behoof than metaphysics. + +There was a moon up now, and Flor could see her companion's dark face +above her, a mere mass of shade; it did not reassure her any to remember +that her own was just as black. + +"Lome," said Sarp, setting his back against a tree like one determined +to have attention, "never mind about the boat yet. You 've heard Aunt +Zoe say how't the grace of the Lord was free?" + +"Yes, I's heerd her kerwhoopin'. I 's in a hurry, Sarp!" + +"But 's how't the man that refuses to accept it, when it's set before +him, is done reckoned a sinner?" + +"S'pose I has?"--and in her impatience she began to dance outright. + +"It's jus' so with the present hour," he continued, not giving her time +to interpose about escape again. "You have liberty offered you. If you +refuses, how can you answer for it when your spirit 'pears afore the +Judge? You choose him, and you choose righteousness, you chooses the +chance to make yourself white in the Lord's eyes,--your spirit, Lome. +Refuse, and you take sin and chains and darkness; you gets to deserve +the place where they hab their share of fire and brimstone." + +"Take mine wid 'lasses," said Flor, who, though inwardly a trifle cowed, +never meant to show it. "W'a' 's de use o' boderin' 'bout all dat ar, +w'en dar 's Miss Emma a-cotchin' her deff, an' I 's jus' starved? Ef you +'s go'n' to help us, Sarp"---- + +"You don' know what chains means, chil'," said the imperturbable Sarp. +"They're none the lighter because you can't see 'em. It a'n't jus' the +power to sell your body and the work of your hands; it's the power to +sell your soul! Ef Mas'r Henry hab de min',--ef Mas'r Henry have the +mind, I say, to make you go wrong, can you help it while you 's a +slave?" + +"'Taan' no fault o' mine ter be bad, ef I caan' help it. Come now," said +Flor sullenly, seeing little hope of respite,--"should t'ink 'twas de +Ol' Sarpint hisself!" + +"And 'taan' no virtue of yours to be good, ef you caan' help it; you 'd +jus' stay put--jus' between--in de brown earth, as you said. You 'd +never see that beautiful land beyond the grave, wid the river of light +flowing troo der place, an' the people singing songs before the great +white t'rone." + +"Tell me 'bout dat ar, Sarp," said Flor, forgetfully. + +"Dey 's all free there, Lome." + +"How was dis dey got dere? Could n' walk nowes, an' could n' fly"---- + +"Haan' you seen into Miss Emma's prayer-book the angels with wings high +and shining all from head to foot?" + +"Yes," said Flor,--"_Angels_." + +"And one of them you 'll be, Lome, ef you jus' choose,--ef, for +instance, you choose liberty to-day." + +"Lors now, Sarp, I doan' b'lieb a word you say! Get out wid yer +conundrums! Likely story, little black nigger like dis yere am be put +into de groun' an' 'come out all so great an' w'ite an' shinin'-like!" + +"'For God shall deliver my soul from the power of the grave.' +_'Shall.'_ That's a promise,--a promise in the Book. Di'n't yer eber +plant a bean, Lome,--little hard black bean? And did a little hard black +bean come up? No, but two wings of leaves, and a white blossom jus' +ready to fly itself, and so sweet you could smell it acrost de field. So +they plant your body in the earth, Lome"---- + +"You go 'long, Sarp! Ef you plant beans, beans come up," said Flor, +decisively. + +This direct and positive confutation rather nonplussed Sarp, his theory +not being able at once to assimilate his fact, and he himself feeling, +that, if he pushed the comparison farther, he would reach some such +atrocity as that, if the white and shining flower produced in its season +again the black bean from which it sprung, so the white and shining soul +must once more clothe itself in the same sordid, unpurified body from +which it first had sprung. He had a vague glimmer that perhaps his +simile was too material, and that this very body was the clay in which +the springing, germinating soul was planted to bloom out in heaven, but +dared not pursue it unadvised, for fear of the quicksands into which it +might betray him. He merely tied a knot in the thread of his discourse +by answering,-- + +"Jus' so. The bean planted, the bean comes up. You planted, and what +follows?" + +"I come up," said Flor, consentingly, and quite as if he had got the +better of the discussion. + +Then he rose, and Flor led the way back to Miss Emma,--having first, +upon Sarp's serious hesitation, pledged herself for Miss Emma's secrecy +and gratitude with tears and asseverations. + +In spite of the fact that he had never meant nor cared to see it again, +there was something pleasant to Sarp in the face of the sleeper upturned +in a moonbeam. He stooped and lifted her tenderly, and laid her head on +his shoulder. The young girl opened her eyes vacantly, but heard Flor's +voice beside her still,-- + +"Doan' ye be scaret now, honey! Bress you, 's a true frien': he'll get +us shet ob dis yere swamp mighty sudd'n!" + +And soothed by the dreamy motion, entirely fatigued, borne swiftly along +in strong arms, under the low, waving boughs in the dim forest darkness, +she was drowsed again with slumber, from which she woke only on being +placed in the bottom of a skiff to turn over into a deeper dream than +before. Flor nodded triumphantly to her companion, in the beginning, +keeping pace beside him with short runs,--there could be no fear of +babble about that of which one knew nothing,--and took her seat at last +in the boat as he directed, while with a long pole he pushed out into +the deeper water away from the shadow of the shore, and then went +steering between the jags and gnarls, that, half protruding from the +dark expanses, seemed the heads of strange and preternatural monsters. +Now and then a current carried them; now and then their boatman sculled, +now and then in shallower places poled along; sometimes he rested, and +in the intervals took occasion to continue his missionary labor upon +Flor,--his first object being to convince her she had a soul, and his +second that in bondage every chance to save that soul alive was against +her. Then he drew slight pictures of a different way of things, such as +had solaced his own imagination, rude, but happy idyls of freedom: the +small house, one's own; the red light in the window, a guiding star for +weary feet at night coming home to comfort and smiles and cheer; no +dark, haunting fear of a hand to reach between one and those loved +dearest; no more branding like cattle, manhood and womanhood +acknowledged, met with help and welcome and kind hands, cringing no +more, but standing erect, drinking God's free sunshine, and growing +nearer heaven. How much or how little of all his dream poor Sarp +realized, if ever he reached the land of his desire at all, Heaven only +knows. But Flor listened to him as if he recited some delightful +fairy-tale,--charming indeed, but all as improbable as though one were +telling her that black was white. Then, too, there was another dream of +Sarp's,--the dream of a whole race loosening itself from the clinging +clod. Flor got a glimmer of his meaning,--only a glimmer; it made her +heart beat faster, but it was so grand she liked the other best. + +So, creeping through narrow creeks, now they skirted the edges of the +long, low, flat morass,--now wound round the giant trunk of a fallen +tree that nearly bridged the pool whose dark mantle they severed,--now +pushed the boat's head up into a wall of weeds, that bent back and let +it through the deep cut flooded by the rain, where the wild growth shut +off everything but the high hollow of a luminous sky, with +ribbon-grasses and long prickly leaves brushing across their faces from +either side, here and there a sudden dwarf palmetto bristling all its +bayonets against the peaceful night, and all the way singular uncouth +shapes of vegetation, like conjurations of magic, cutting themselves out +with minuteness upon the vast clear background so darkly and weirdly +that the voyagers seemed to be sliding along the shores of some new, +strange under-world,--now they got out, and, wading ankle-deep in plashy +bog, drew the boat and its slumberer heavily after them,--now went +slowly along, afloat again, on the broad lagoons, which the moon, from +the deep far heaven, shot into silver reaches, and, with the trees, a +phantom company of shadows, weeping in their veils along the farther +shore, with all the quaint outlines of darkness, the gauzy wings that +flitted by, the sweet, wild scents across whose lingering current they +drifted, the broad silence disturbed only by the lazy wash of a seldom +ripple, made their progress, through heavy gloom and vivid light, an +enchanted journey. + +At length they lifted overhanging branches, and glided out upon a sheet +of open water, a little lake fed by natural springs; and here, paddling +over to the outlet, a tide took them down a swift brook to the river. +Sarp stemmed this tide, made the opposite bank of the brook, and paused. + +"Have you chosen, Lome?" said he. "Will you go back with me, and so on +to the Happy Land of Freedom? Not that I'll have my own liberty till +I've earned it,--till I've won a country by fighting for it. But I'll +see you safe; and if I'm spared, one day I'll come to you. Will you go?" + +Flor hung back a moment. "I'd like to go, Sarp, right well," said she, +twisting up the corner of her little tatter of an apron. "But dar am +Miss Emma, you see." + +"We can leave her on the bank here. She'll be all right when de day +breaks, and fin' the house herself. There's as good as she without a +roof this night." + +"She's neber been use' to it. She would n' know a step o' de way. Oh, +no, Sarp! I 'longs to Miss Emma; she could n' do widout me. She'd jus' +done cry her eyes out an' die,--'way here in de wood. No, Sarp, I mus' +take her back. She's delicate, Miss Emma is. I'd like to go right well, +Sarp,--'ta'n't much ob a 'sapp'intment,--I's use' to 'em,--I'd like for +to go wid you." + +Lingering, irresolute, she stood up in the swaying skiff, keeping her +balance as if she were dancing; then, the motion, perhaps, throwing her +back into her old identity, she sprang to the shore like a cat. Sarp +laid Miss Emma beside her, and then shot away, back over all the +desolate reaches and lonely shining pools; and Flor, with a little wail +of despair, hid her face on the ground, that her weakened and bewildered +little mistress might not see the flood of tears that wet the grass +beneath it. + +It was between two and three o'clock in the morning, when, chilled, +draggled, and dripping wet, they reached the house. Lights were moving +everywhere about it: no one had slept there that night. There was a +great shout from high and low as the two forlorn little objects crept +into the ray. Miss Emma was met with severe reproaches, afterwards with +tears and embraces; and cordial drinks and hot flannels were made ready +for her in a trice. As for Flor, she was warmed after another +fashion,--being sent off for punishment; and, in spite of the +implorations of Miss Emma and the interference of Miss Agatha, the order +was executed. It was the first time she had ever received such reward of +merit in form; and though it was a slight affair, after all, the hurt +and wrong rankled for weeks, and, instead of the gay, dancing imp of +former days, henceforth a silent, sullen shadow slipped about and +haunted all the dark places of the house. + +Mas'r Henry, being a native of Charleston, was also a gentleman of +culture, and fond of the fine arts to some extent. Indeed, looking at it +in a poetical view, the feudality of slavery, even more than the +inevitable relation of property, was his strong tie to the institution. +He had a contempt for modern progress so deeply at the root of his +opinions that he was only half aware of it; and any impossible scheme to +restore the political condition of what we call the Dark Ages, and +retain the comforts of the present one, would have found in him a hearty +advocate. One of his favorite books was a little green-covered volume, +printed on coarse paper, and smelling of the sea which it had crossed: a +book that seemed to bring one period of those past centuries up like a +pageant,--so vividly, with all the flying dust of their struggle in the +sunbeam before him, did its opulent vitality reproduce, in their +splendors and their sins, the actual presences of those dead men and +women, now more unreal substance than the dust of their shrouds. He +liked to carry this mediaeval Iliad round with him, and, taking it out +at propitious places, go jotting his pencil down the page. He had heard +it called an incomprehensible puzzle of poetry; it gave him pleasure, +then, to unriddle and proclaim it plain as print. He was thus +delectating himself one day, while Flor, still in her phase of +moodiness, stood behind Miss Agatha's chair; and, the passage pleasing +him, he read it aloud to Miss Agatha, whom, in the absence of his son, +her husband, he was wont to consider his opponent in the abstract, +however dear and precious in the concrete. + + "As, shall I say, some Ethiop, past pursuit + Of all enslavers, dips a shackled foot, + Burnt to the blood, into the drowsy, black, + Enormous watercourse which guides him back + To his own tribe again, where he is king; + And laughs, because he guesses, numbering + The yellower poison-wattles on the pouch + Of the first lizard wrested from its couch + Under the slime, (whose skin, the while, he strips + To cure his nostril with, and festered lip, + And eyeballs bloodshot through the desert blast,) + That he has reached its boundary, at last + May breathe; thinks o'er enchantments of the South, + Sovereign to plague his enemies, their mouth, + Eyes, nails, and hair; but, these enchantments tried + In fancy, puts them soberly aside + For truth, projects a cool return with friends, + The likelihood of winning mere amends + Erelong; thinks that, takes comfort silently, + Then from the river's brink his wrongs and he, + Hugging revenge close to their hearts, are soon + Offstriding to the Mountains of the Moon." + +Flor stood listening, with eyes that shone strangely out of the gloom of +her face. + +"Well, child," said her master to Miss Agatha, "how does that little +monodrame strike you? Which do you find preferable, tell me, Ashantee at +home or Ashantee abroad? civilized or barbarized? the institution or the +savage? Eh, Blossom," turning to Flor, "what do you think of the +condition of that ancestor of yours?" + +"Mas'r Henry," said Flor, gravely, "he was free." + +"Eh? Free? What! are you bitten, too?" + +And Mas'r Henry laughed at the thought, and pictured to himself his +dancer dancing off altogether, like the swamp-fire she was. Then his +tone changed. + +"Flor," said he, sternly, "who has been talking to you lately? Do you +know, Agatha? I have seen this for some time. I must learn what one +among the hands it is that in these times dares breed disaffection." + +"No one's talked to me, Sah," said Flor,--"no one onter der place." + +"Some one off of it, then." + +"Mas'r Henry, I's been havin' my own t'oughts. Mas'r knows I could n' +lebe Miss Emma nowes. Could n' tief her property nowes. But ef Mas'r +Henry 'd on'y jus' 'sider an' ask li'l' Missy for to make dis chil' a +presen' ob myse'f"---- + +"So that's what it means!" And Mas'r Henry smiled a moment at the +ludicrous idea presented to him. + +"Flor," said he then, abruptly, "I have never heard the whole of that +night in the swamp. It must be told." + +"Lors, Sah! So long ago, I's done forgot it!" + +"You may have till to-morrow morning to quicken your memory." + +"Haan' nof'n' more to 'member, Mas'r." + +"You heard me. You have your choice to repeat it either now or to-morrow +morning." + +"Could n' make suf'n', whar nof'n' was. Could n' tink o' nof'n' all ter +once. Could n' tell nof'n' at all in a hurry," said Flor, with a +twinkle. "Guess I'll take tell de mornin', any-wes, Mas'r." And she was +off. + +And Mas'r Henry went, back to his book,--the watcher nodding on his +spear,--and all the stormy scenes he expected soon to realize in his own +life, when the sword of conscription had numbered his old head with the +others. + +Flor went out from the presence defiant, as became a rebel. + +Although that special mode of martyrdom was not proper to the +plantation, and Flor felt in herself few particles of the stuff of which +martyrs are made, she was determined, that, as to telling so much as +that Sarp was still in the swamp, let alone betraying the way to his +late habitat,--even were she able,--she never would do it, though burned +at the stake. The determination had a dark look; nevertheless, two +glimmers lighted it: one was the hope, in a mistrust of her own +strength, that Sarp had already gone; the other was a perception that +the best way to keep Sarp's secret was to make off with it. She began to +question what authority Mas'r Henry had to demand this secret from her; +she answered in her own mind, that he had no authority at all;--then she +was doubly determined that he should not have it. She had heard talk of +chivalry at table and among guests; she had half a comprehension of what +it meant; she wondered if this were not a case in point,--if it were, +after all, the color, and not the sex, that weighed. That aroused her +indignation, aroused also a feeling of race: she would not have changed +color that moment with the fairest Circassian of a harem, could the +white slave have appeared in all the dazzle of her beauty.--Mas'r Henry +had called that man, of whom he read aloud to-day, her ancestor. She +knew what that was, for she had heard Miss Emma boast of her +progenitors. But he was free; then it followed that she was not a slave +by nature, only by vicious force of circumstance. Mas'r Henry had no +right to her whatever; instead of her stealing herself, he was the thief +who retained her against her will. What could be the name of the country +where that man had lived? It was somewhere a long way from this place, +down the river, perhaps beyond the sea;--there were others there, then, +still, most likely. Flor had an idea that among them she might be a +superior, possibly received with welcome, invested with honors;--she +lingered over the pleasant vision. But how was one ever to find the +spot? Ah, that book of Mas'r Henry's would tell, if she could but take +it away to those kind people Sarp had told of. So she meditated awhile +on the curious travels with Sordello for a guide-book, till old +affections smote her for having thought of taking the thing, when "Mas'r +Henry set so by it," and she put the vision aside, endeavoring to recall +in its place all that Sarp had told her of the North. She realized then, +personally, what a wide world it was. Why should she stay shut in this +one point upon it all: a hill and the fir wood behind her; marshes on +this side; woods again on the other; low hills far away before her; out +of them all, the dark torrent of the river showing the swift way to +freedom and the great sea? She drew in a full breath, as if close air +oppressed her.--A bird flew over her then, high above her head, +careering in fickle circles, and at length sailing down out of sight far +into other heavens. Flor watched him bitterly; she comprehended Zoe's +scorn of her past content;--if only she had wings to spread! But Sarp +had told her, that, if she went away, she would one day have wings. None +of Sarp's other arguments weighed a doit,--but wings to roam with over +this beautiful world! The liberty of vagabondage! She watched the clouds +chasing one another through the sunny heaven, watched their shadows +chasing along the fields and hills below; her heart burned that +everything in the world should be more free than she herself. She felt +the wind fanning over her on its way, she took the rich odors that it +brought, she looked after the flower-petal that fluttered away with it, +she saw the strong sunshine penetrating among the shadows of a jungly +spot and catching a thousand points of color in the gloom, she +recognized the constant fluent interchange among all the atoms of the +universe;--why was she alone, capable of flight, chained to one +spot?--She gazed around her at the squalor and the want, the brutish +shapes and faces, her own no better, at the narrow huts; thought of the +dull routine of work never to enrich herself, the possibility of +purchase and cruelty;--she sprung to her feet, all her blood boiling; it +seemed out of the question for her to endure it another moment.--Mas'r +Henry had told her once that he could make his fortune with her dancing, +if he chose; she stood as much in need of a fortune as Mas'r Henry,--why +not make it for herself? why not be off and away, her own mistress, +earning and eating her own bread, sending some day for Zoe, finding Sarp +in those far-off happy latitudes?--It occurred to her, like a discovery +of her own, that, doing the work she was bidden, taking the food she was +given, whipped at will, and bought and sold, she was no better than one +among the cattle of the place;--the sudden sense of degradation made +even her dark cheek burn. She laid a hand down on the earth, her great +Teraph, to see if it were possible it could still be warm and such a +wrong done to her its child. Then, all at once, she understood that wood +and river were open to her fugitive feet, and if she stayed longer in +slavery, it was the fault of no one but herself.--She stood up, for some +one called her; she obeyed the call with alacrity, for she found it in +her power to do so or not as she chose. She felt taller as she stepped +along, and held up her head with the dignity of personality. She +acknowledged, perhaps, that she was no equal of Miss Emma's,--that the +creative hand, making its first essay on her, rounded its complete work +in Miss Emma; but she declared herself now no mere offshoot of the +sod,--she was a human being, a being of beating pulses and affections, +and something within her, stifled here, longing to soar and away. + +It was dark before Flor had ceased her novel course of thinking, pursued +through all her little tasks,--beautiful star-lighted dark, full of +broken breezes, soft and warm, and loaded with passionate spices and +flower-breaths; she was alone again, under the shadows of the trees, +entirely surrendered to her whirling fancies. In these few hours she had +lived to the effect of years. She was neither hungry nor tired; she was +conscious of but a single thing,--her whole being seemed effervescing +into one wild longing after liberty. It was not that she could no longer +brook control and be at the beck of each; it was a natural instinct, +awakened at last in all the strength of maturity, that would not let her +breathe another breath in peace unless it were her own,--that made her +feel as though her chains were chafing into the bone,--that taught her +the unutterable vileness and loathliness of bonds,--that convicted her, +in being a slave, of being something foul upon the fair face of +creation. She sat casting about for ways of escape. It was absurd to +think she could again blunder on that secure retreat of the swamp before +being overtaken; no boats ever passed along down the foaming river; if +she were some little mole to hide and burrow in the ground till danger +were over,--but no, she would rather front fear and ruin than lose one +iota of her newly recognized identity. But there was no other path of +safety; she clutched the ground with both hands in her powerlessness; in +all the heaven and earth there seemed to be nothing to help her. + +So at last Flor rose; since she could not get away, she must stay; as +for the next day's punishment, she could laugh at it,--it was not its +weight, but its wickedness, that troubled her; but escape, some time, +she would. Lying in wait for method, ambushed for opportunity, it would +go hard, if all failed. Of what value would life be then? she could but +throw that after. So at some time, that was certain, she would +go,--when, it was idle to say; it might be years before affairs were +more propitious than now,--but then, at last, one day, the place that +had known her should know her no more. Nevertheless, despite all this +will and resolution, the heart of the child had sunk like a plummet at +thought of leaving everything, at fear of future fortune; this +deferring, after all, was half like respite. + +Flor drew near the out-door fire, where Zoe and one or two others busied +themselves. Something excited them extremely, it was plain to see and +hear. Flor, beyond the circle of the light, strained her ears to listen. +It was only a crumb of comfort that she obtained, but one of those +miraculous crumbs to which there are twelve baskets of fragments: the +Linkum gunboats were down at the mouth of the river. Oh! heaven a boat's +length off! A day and night's drifting and rowing; then climbing the +side slaves, treading the deck freemen,--the shackles fallen, the hands +loosened, the soul saved! + +But the boat? There was not such a thing along these banks. Improvise +one. That was not possible. Flor listened, and the wild gasps of hope +died out again into the dulness of despair. Some other time,--not this. +As she stood still, idly and hopelessly hearkening to the mutter of the +old women, with the patches of flickering fire-light falling on their +faces in strange play and revelation, there stole upon her ear a sweeter +and distincter sound, the voice of Miss Agatha, as, leaning out upon the +night, she sang a plaint that consorted with her melancholy mood, +learned in her Northern home in happier hours, without a thought of the +moment of misery that might make it real. + + Sooner or later the storms shall beat + Over my slumber from head to feet; + Sooner or later the winds shall rave + In the long grass above my grave. + + I shall not heed them where I lie, + Nothing their sound shall signify, + Nothing the headstone's fret of rain, + Nothing to me the dark day's pain. + + Sooner or later the sun shall shine + With tender warmth on that mound of mine; + Sooner or later, in summer air, + Clover and violet blossom there. + + I shall not feel in that deep-laid rest + The sheeted light fall over my breast, + Nor ever note in those hidden hours + The wind-blown breath of the tossing flowers. + + Sooner or later the stainless snows + Shall add their hush to my mute repose; + Sooner or later shall slant and shift + And heap my bed with their dazzling drift. + + Chill though that frozen pall shall seem, + Its touch no colder can make the dream + That recks not the sweet and sacred dread + Shrouding the city of the dead. + + Sooner or later the bee shall come + And fill the noon with his golden hum; + Sooner or later on half-paused wing + The blue-bird's warble about me ring,-- + + Ring and chirrup and whistle with glee, + Nothing his music means to me, + None of these beautiful things shall know + How soundly their lover sleeps below. + + Sooner or later, far out in the night, + The stars shall over me wing their flight; + Sooner or later my darkling dews + Catch the white spark in their silent ooze. + + Never a ray shall part the gloom + That wraps me round in the kindly tomb; + Peace shall be perfect for lip and brow + Sooner or later,--oh, why not now! + +Little of this wobegone song touched Flor even enough to let her know +there was some one in the world more wretched than herself. The last +word, the last phrase, rang in her ears like a command,--now, why not +now?--waiting for times and chances, hesitating, delaying, since go she +must,--then why not now? What more did she need than a board and two +sticks? Here they were in plenty. And with that, a bright thought, a +fortunate memory,--the old abandoned scow! And if, after all, she +failed, and went to watery death, did not the singer tell in how little +time all would be quiet and oblivious once again? Oh, why not now? + +Perhaps Flor would never have been entirely subjected to this state of +mind but for an injury that she had suffered. Miss Emma had been +rendered ill by the night's exposure in the swamp. In consequence of her +complicity in this crime, Flor had been excluded from her young +mistress's room during her indisposition, and ever since had not only +been deprived of her companionship, but had not even been allowed to +look upon her from a distance. A single week of that made life a desert. +Too proud to complain, Flor saw in this the future, and so recognized, +it may be, that it would be easy to part from the place, having already +parted with Miss Emma. She drew nearer to the group now, and stood there +long, while they wondered at her, gazing into the fire, her head fallen +upon her breast. There was only one thing more to do: her little +squirrel; nothing but her front of battle had kept it safe this many a +day; were she once gone, it would be at the mercy of the first gridiron. +Nobody saw the tears, in the dark and the distance, fast falling over +the tiny sacrifice; but the cook might have guessed at them, when Flor +brought her last offering, and begged that it might be prepared and +taken in to Miss Emma. + +How many things there were to do that evening! One wanted water, and +another wanted towels, and a third wanted everything there was to want. +Last of all, little Pluto came running with his unkindled torch,--Mas'r +Henry wanted dancing. + +Flor rummaged for her castanets, her tambourine, her ankle-rings,--they +had all been thrown hither and thither,--and at length, as Pluto's torch +flared up, ran tinkling along the turf, into the glow; and her voice +broke, as she danced, into high, clear singing, triumphant singing, that +welled up to the very sky, and made the air echo with sweetness. As she +sang, all her slender form swayed to the tune, posturing, gesturing, +bending now, now almost soaring, while, falling in showers of twinkling +steps, her fleet feet seemed to weave their way on air. What ailed the +girl? all asked;--such a play of emotion of mingled sorrow and ecstasy, +never before had been interpreted by measure; so a disembodied spirit +might have danced, and her dusky hue, the strange glancing lights thrown +upon her here and there by the torch, going and coming and glittering at +pleasure, made her appear like a shadow disporting before them. At +length and slowly, note by note, with wild lingering turns to which the +movement languished, her tone fell from its lofty jubilance to a happy +flute-like humming; she waved her arms in the mimic tenderness of +repeated and passionate farewells; then, still humming, faint and low +and sweet, tripped off again, through the glow, along the turf, into the +shadow, and out of sight; and it seemed to the beholders as if a +fountain of gladness had gushed from the sod, and, playing in the light +a moment, had run away down to join the river and the breaking sea. + +Mas'r Henry called after Flor to throw her a penny; but she failed to +reappear, and he tossed it to Pluto instead, and forgot about her. + + * * * * * + +So, bailed out and stuffed with marsh-grass in its crazy cracks, the old +scow was afloat, the rope was cut, and by midnight it went drifting down +the river. Waist-deep in shoal water, its appropriator had dragged it +round inside the channel's ledge of rocks, with their foam and +commotion, to the somewhat more placid flow below, and now it shot away +over the smooth, slippery surface of the stream, that gave back +reflections of the starbeams like a polished mirror. + +Terrified by the course along the rapid river, the little creature +crouched in the bottom of the scow, now breathless as it sped along the +slope, now catching at the edge as in some chance eddy or flow it +swirled from side to side, or, spinning quite round, went down the other +way. But by-and-by gathering courage, she took her station, kneeling +where with the long poles, previously provided, she could best direct +her galley and avoid the dangers of a castaway. Peering this way and +that through the darkness, carried along without labor, spying countless +dangers where none existed, passing safely by them all, coming into a +strange region of the river, she began to feel the exhilaration of +venturous voyagers close upon unknown shores; the rush of the river and +the rustle of the forest were all the sounds she heard; she was speeding +alone through the darks of space to find another world. But, with time, +a more material sensation called her back,--her feet were wet. What if +the scow should founder! She flew to the old sun-dried gourd, and bailed +away again till her arms were tired. When she dared leave the gourd, she +was more calmly floating along and piercing an avenue of mighty gloom; +the river-banks had reared themselves two walls of stone, and over them +a hanging forest showed the heavens only like a scarf of stars caught +upon its tree-tops and shaking in the wind. The deep loneliness made +Flor tremble; the water that upbuoyed her was blackness itself; the way +before her was impenetrable; far up above her opened that rent of +sky,--so far, that she, a little dark waif among such tremendous +shadows, was all unguessed by any guardian eye. + +But not for heaven itself bodily before her would she have turned about, +she who was all but free. The thought of that rose in her heart like +strong wings beating onward;--feverishly she followed. + +Flor perceived now that the old scow was being borne along with a +strong, steady-motion, unlike its first fitful drift; it brought her +heart to her throat,--for just so, it seemed to her, would a torrent set +that was hastening to plunge over the side of the earth. She remembered, +with a start of cold horror, Zoe's dim tradition of a fall far off in +the river. She had never seen one, but Zoe had stamped its terrors +deeply. Still down in the gloom itself she could see nothing but the +slowly lightening sky overhead, the drowning stars, the rosy flush upon +the dark old tips feathering against a dewy grayness that was like +powdered light. But gradually she heard what conquered all necessity of +seeing,--heard a continuous murmurous sound that filled all the air and +grew to be a sullen roar. It seemed like the dread murmur from the world +beyond the grave, the roar in earthly ears of that awful silence. Flor's +quick senses were not long at fault. She seized her poles, and with all +her might endeavored to push in towards the side and out of the main +channel. Straws would have availed nearly as much; far faster than she +went in shore she drove down stream. It was getting to be morning +twilight all below; a soft, damp wind was blowing in her face; in the +distance she could see, like the changing outline of a phantom, a low +cloud of mist, wavering now on this side, now on that, but forever +rising and falling and hovering before her. She knew what it was. If she +could only bring her boat to that bank,--precipice though it was,--there +must be some broken piece to catch by! She toiled with all her puny +strength, and the great stream laughed at her and roared on. Suddenly, +what her wildest efforts failed to do, the river did itself,--dividing +into twenty currents for its plunge, some one of the eddies caught the +old scow in its teeth and sent it whirling along the inmost current of +all, close upon the shore. The rock, whose cleft the river had +primevally chosen, was here more broken than above; various edges +protruded maddeningly as Flor skimmed by almost within reach. Twice she +plucked at them and missed. One flat shelf, over which the thin water +slipped like a sheet of molten glass, remained and caught her eye; she +was no longer cold or stiff with terror, but frantic to save herself; it +was the only chance, the last; shooting by, she sprang forward, pole in +hand, touched it, fell, caught a ledge with her hands while the fierce +flow of the water lifted her off her feet, scrambled up breathlessly and +was safe, while the scow swept past, two flashing furlongs, poised a few +moments after on the brink of the fall, went majestically over, and came +up to the surface below in pieces. + +Flor wrung her hands in dismay. She had not understood her situation +before. There was no escape now, it seemed,--not even to return. Nothing +was possible save starving to death on this ledge,--and after that, the +vultures. She sat there for a little while in a kind of stupor. She saw +the light falling slowly down, as it had fallen millions of mornings +before, and bringing out all blue and purple shadows on the wet old +rock; she saw the current ever hurrying by to join the tumult of the +cataract; she heard the deep, sweet music of the waters like a noisy +dream in her ears. With the shock of her wreck coming at the instant +when she fancied herself so swiftly and securely speeding on towards +safety and freedom, she felt indifferent to all succeeding fate. What if +she did die? who was she? what was she? nothing but an atom. What odds, +after all? The solution of her soliloquy was, that, before the first ray +of sunshine reached down and smote the dark torrent into glancing +emerald, she began to feel ravenously hungry, and found it a great deal +of odds, after all. She rose to her feet, grasping cautiously at the +slippery rock, and searched about her. There was another ledge close at +hand, corresponding to the one on which she stood; she crept forward and +transferred herself, with an infinitude of tremors, from this to that; +there was a foothold just beyond; she gained it. Up and down and all +along there were other projections, just enough for a hand, a foot: a +wet and terrible pathway; to follow it might be death, to neglect it +certainly was. What had she danced for all her days, if it had not made +her sure and nimble footed? Under her the foam leaped up, the spectral +mist crept like an icy breath, the spray sprinkled all about her, +swinging herself along from ledge to ledge, from jag to jag, like a +spider on a viewless thread. Now she hung just above the fall, looking +down and longing to leap, with nothing but a shining laurel-branch +between her and the boiling pits below; now, at last, a green hillside +sloped to the water's edge, sparkling across all its solitude with ten +thousand drops of dew, a broad, blue morning heaven bent and shone +overhead, and having raced the river in the moment's light-heartedness +of glee at her good hap, she sat some rods below, looking up at the fall +and dipping her bleeding and blistered feet in and out of the cool and +rapid-running river. + +What was there now to do? To go back,--to go back,--not if she were torn +by lions! That was as impossible for her as to reverse a fiat of +creation. God had said to her,--"Let there be light." How could she, +then, return to darkness? To keep along on land,--it might be weeks +before she reached the quarter of the gunboats,--she would be seized as +a stray, and lodged in jail, and sold for whom it might concern. But +with her scow gone to pieces, what other thing was there to do? So she +sat looking up at the spurting cascades, with their horns of silver +leaping into the light, and all the clear brown and beryl rush of their +crystalline waters, and longing for her scow. If she had so much as the +bit of bark on which the squirrels crossed the river! She looked again +about her for relief. The rainbow at the foot of all the falls, in its +luminous, steady arch, seemed a bridge solid enough for even her little +black feet, had one side of the stream been any surer haven than the +other; and as she sought out its bases, her eye lighted on something +curiously like a weed swaying up and down. She picked her way to it, and +found it wedged where she could loosen it,--two planks still nailed to a +stout crossbar. She floated it, and held it fast a moment. What if she +trusted to it,--with neither sail nor rudder, as before, but now with +neither oar nor pole? On shore, for her there were only ravening wolves; +waterfalls were no worse than they, and perhaps there were no more +waterfalls. She stepped gingerly upon the fragment, seated and balanced +herself, paddled with her two hands, and thought to slip away. In spite +of everything, a kind of exultation bubbled up within her,--she felt as +if she were defying Destiny itself. + +When, however, Flor intrusted herself to the stream, the stream received +the trust and seemed inclined to keep it; for there she stayed: the +planks tilted up and down, the water washed over her, but there were the +falls at nearly the same distance as when she embarked, and there they +stayed as well. The water, too, was no more fresh and sweet, but had a +salt and brackish taste. The sun was nearly overhead, and she was in an +agony of apprehension before she saw the falls slide slowly back, and in +one of a fresh succession of wonders, understanding nothing of it, she +found herself, with a strange sucking heave under her, falling on the +ebb-tide as before she had fallen on the mountain-current. + +Gentle undulations of friendly hills seemed now to creep by; and through +their openings she caught glimpses of cotton-fields. There was a wicked +relish in her thoughts, as she pictured the dusky laborers at work +there, and she gliding by unseen in the idle sunshine. She passed again +between high banks of red earth, scored by land-slides, with springs +oozing out half-way up, and now and then clad in a mantle of vivid +growth and color,--a thicket of blossoming pomegranate darkening on a +sunburst of creamy dogwood, or a wild fig-tree sending its roots down to +drink, with a sweet-scented and gorgeous epiphyte weaving a flowery +enchantment about-them, and making the whole atmosphere reel with +richness. But all this verdant beauty, the lush luxuriance of +grape-vines, of dark myrtle-masses, of swinging curtains of convolvuli +almost brushing her head as she floated by,--nothing of this was new to +Flor, nothing precious; she could have given all the beauty of earth and +heaven for a crust of bread just then. She thought of the plantation +with a dry sob, but would not turn her face. She could not move much, +indeed, her position was so ticklish; hardy wretch as she was, she had +already become faint and famished: she contrived, resting her arms on +the crossbar, at last, to lay her head upon them; and thus lying, +perpetually bathed by the soft, warm dip and rise of the water, the pain +of hunger left her, and she saw the world waft by like a dream. + +Slowly the evening began to fall. Flor marked the bright waters dim and +put on a bloomy purple along which rosy and golden shadows wandered and +mingled, stars looked timidly up from beneath her, and just over her +shoulder, as if all the daylight left had gathered in that one little +curved line, lay the suspicion of the tenderest new moon, like some +boatman of the skies essaying to encourage her with his apparition as he +floated lightly down the west. Flor paid heed to the spectacle in its +splendid quiet but briefly; her eyes were fixed on a great trail of +passion-flowers that blew out a gale of sweetness from their broad blue +disks. She had reached that hanging branch, lavishly blossoming here on +the wilderness, and had hung upon the tide beneath it for a while, till +she found herself gently moving back again; and now she swung slightly +to and fro, neither making nor losing headway, and, fond of such +sensuous delights, half content to lie thus and do nothing but breathe +the delicious odor stealing towards her, and resting in broad airy +swaths, it seemed, upon the bosom of the stream around her. By-and-by, +when the great blue star, that last night at the zenith seemed to +suspend all the tented drapery of the sky, hung there large and lovely +again, Flor, gazing up at it with a confused sense of passion-flowers in +heaven, half woke to find herself sliding down stream at last in +earnest. Her brain was very light and giddy; all her powers of +perception were momentarily heightened; she took notice of her seesawing +upon the ebb and flow, and understood that washing up and down the +shores, a mere piece of driftwood, life would long have left her ere she +attained the river's mouth, if she were not stranded by the way. The +branch of a cedar-tree came dallying by with that, brought down from +above the falls; she half rose, and caught at it, and fell back, but she +kept hold of it by just a twig, and, fatigued with the exertion, drowsed +away awhile. Waking again, after a little, her fingers still fast upon +it, she drew it over, fixed it upright as she could, and spread her +petticoat about it at the risk of utter capsize. The soft sweet wind +beat against the sail as happily as if it had been Cleopatra's weft of +purple silk, and carried her on, while she lay back, one arm around her +jury-mast, and half indifferently unconscious again. She had meant, on +reaching the gunboats,--ah, inconceivable bliss!--to win her way with +her feet; with willowy graces and eloquent pantomime, to have danced +along the deck and into favor trippingly: now, if she should have +strength enough left to fall on her knees, it would be strange. She +clung to the crossbar in a little while from blind habit; the rest of +her body seemed light and powerless. She was neither asleep nor awake +now, suffering nothing save occasionally a wild flutter of hope which +was joy and anguish together; but all things began mingling in her mind +in a species of delirium while she gave them attention, afterwards slid +by blank of all meaning but beauty. The lofty cypresses on the edge +above loomed into obelisks, and stood like shafts of ebony against a +glow of sunrise that stirred down deep in the night; dew-clouds, it +seemed, hung on them, and lifted and lowered when their veils of moss +waved here and there; the glistering laurel-leaves shivered in a network +of light and shade like imprisoned spirits troubling to be free; but +where the great magnolias stood were massed the white wings of angels +fanning forth fragrances untold and heavenly, and one by one slowly +revealing themselves in the dawn of another day. It seemed as if great +and awful spirits must be leading this little being into light and +freedom. + +So the river lapsed along, and the sun blazed, and a torture of thirst +came and went as it had come and gone before; and sometimes swiftly, +sometimes slowly, the veering winds and the pendulous tides carried the +wreck and its burden along. Flor had planned, before she started, that +all her progress should be made by night; by day she would haul up among +the tall rushes or under the lee of some stump or rock, and so escape +strange sail and spying eyes. But there had been no need of this, for no +other boat had passed up or down the river since she sailed. If there +had, she could no more have feared it. She stole by a high deserted +garden, the paling broken half away. A tardy almond-tree was stirring +its tower of bloom in the sunshine up there; oranges were reddening on +an overhanging bough, whose wreaths of snowy sweetness made the air a +passionate delight; a luscious fruit dropped, with all its royal gloss, +into the river beside her, and she could not put out a hand to catch it. +She saw now all that passed, but no longer with any afterthoughts of +reference to herself; so sights might slip across the retina of a dead +man's eye; her identity seemed fading from her, as from some substance +on the point of dissolution into the wide universe. She felt like one +who, under an aesthetic influence, seems to himself careering through +mid-air, conscious only of motion and vanishing forms. Cultured uplands +and thick woods peopled with melodies all stole by, mere picture; the +long snake of the river crept through green meadowy shores haunted by +the cluck and clutter of the marsh-hen; from a bluff of the bank broke a +blaze of fire and a yelping roar, and something slapped and skipped +along the water,--a ball from a Rebel battery to bring the strange craft +to,--others followed and danced like demons through the hissing tide +that rocked under her and plunged up and down, tilting and turning and +half drowning the wreck. Flor looked at them all with wide eyes, at the +battery and at the bluff, and went by without any more sensation than +that dazed quiet in which, at the time, she would have gone down to +death with the soft waters laying their warm weight on her head, not +even thanking Fortune that in giving her a slippery plank gave her +something to elude either canister or catapult. Occasionally she felt a +pain, a strange parched pain; it burned awhile, and left her once more +oblivious. She slept a little, by fits and starts; sometimes the very +stillness stirred her. She listened and heard the turtle plumping down +into the stream, now and then the little fishes leaping and plashing, +the eels slipping in and out among the reeds and sedges at the side; far +away in the broad marshes, that, bathed in dim vapor, now lay all about +her, the cry of a bittern boomed; she saw a pair of herons flapping +inland over the gray swell of the water; there were some great purple +phantoms, darkly imagined monsters; looming near at hand:--all the +phantasmagoria drifted by,--and then, caught in the currents playing +forever by noon or night round the low edges of sand-bars and islets, +she was sweeping out to sea like chaff. + +The sun was going down, a mere redness in the curdling fleecy haze; the +weltering seas rose and fell in broad sheets of burnished silver, the +monotone of their music followed them, a cool salt wind blew over them +and freshened them for storm. Flor rose on her arm and looked back,--the +breeze roused her; pain and fear and hope rose with her and looked back +too. Eager, feverish, fierce, recollecting and desiring and imprecating, +her dry lips parted for a shriek that the dryer throat had at first no +power to utter. In such wild longing pangs it seemed her heart would +burst as it beat. The low land, the great gunboats, all were receding, +and she was washing out to sea, a weed.--Well, then, wash! + + * * * * * + +The stem of the boat rose lightly, riding over the rollers; the sturdy +arms kept flashing stroke; the great gulfs gaped for a life, no matter +whose; night would darken down on them soon;--pull with a will! + +They heard her voice as they drew near: she had found it again, singing, +as the swan sings his death-song, loud and clear,--singing to herself +some song of her old happy dancing-days, while the spray powdered over +her and one broad wave lifted and tossed her on to the next,--no note of +sorrow in the song, and no regret. + +It was but brief delay beside her; then they pulled back, the wind +piping behind them,--nearer to that purple cloud with its black plume of +smoke, up the side and over; all the white faces crowding round her, +pallid blots; one dark face smiling on her like Sarp's; friendship and +succor everywhere about her; and over her, blowing out broadly upon the +stormy wind, that flag whose starry shadow nowhere shelters a slave. + + + + +ABRAHAM LINCOLN. + +SUMMER, 1865. + + + Dead is the roll of the drums, + And the distant thunders die, + They fade in the far-off sky; + And a lovely summer comes, + Like the smile of Him on high. + + Lulled the storm and the onset. + Earth lies in a sunny swoon; + Stiller splendor of noon, + Softer glory of sunset, + Milder starlight and moon! + + For the kindly Seasons love us; + They smile over trench and clod, + (Where we left the bravest of us,)-- + There's a brighter green of the sod, + And a holier calm above us + In the blessed Blue of God. + + The roar and ravage were vain; + And Nature, that never yields, + Is busy with sun and rain + At her old sweet work again + On the lonely battle-fields. + + How the tall white daisies grow + Where the grim artillery rolled! + (Was it only a moon ago? + It seems a century old,)-- + + And the bee hums in the clover, + As the pleasant June comes on; + Aye, the wars are all over,-- + But our good Father is gone. + + There was tumbling of traitor fort, + Flaming of traitor fleet,-- + Lighting of city and port, + Clasping in square and street. + + There was thunder of mine and gun, + Cheering by mast and tent,-- + When--his dread work all done, + And his high fame full won-- + Died the Good President. + + In his quiet chair he sate, + Pure of malice or guile, + Stainless of fear or hate,-- + And there played a pleasant smile + On the rough and careworn face; + For his heart was all the while + On means of mercy and grace. + + The brave old Flag drooped o'er him, + (A fold in the hard hand lay,)-- + He looked, perchance, on the play,-- + But the scene was a shadow before him, + For his thoughts were far away. + + 'Twas but the morn, (yon fearful + Death-shade, gloomy and vast, + Lifting slowly at last,) + His household heard him say, + "'Tis long since I've been so cheerful, + So light of heart as to-day." + + 'Twas dying, the long dread clang,-- + But, or ever the blessed ray + Of peace could brighten to-day, + Murder stood by the way,-- + Treason struck home his fang! + One throb--and, without a pang, + That pure soul passed away. + + Idle, in this our blindness, + To marvel we cannot see + Wherefore such things should be, + Or to question Infinite Kindness + Of this or of that Decree, + + Or to fear lest Nature bungle, + That in certain ways she errs: + The cobra in the jungle, + The crotalus in the sod, + Evil and good are hers;-- + Murderers and torturers! + Ye, too, were made by God. + + All slowly heaven is nighing, + Needs that offence must come; + Ever the Old Wrong dying + Will sting, in the death-coil lying, + And hiss till its fork be dumb. + + But dare deny no further, + Black-hearted, brazen-cheeked! + Ye on whose lips yon murther + These fifty moons hath reeked,-- + + From the wretched scenic dunce, + Long a-hungered to rouse + A Nation's heart for the nonce,-- + (Hugging his hell, so that once + He might yet bring down the house!)-- + + From the commons, gross and simple, + Of a blind and bloody land, + (Long fed on venomous lies!)-- + To the horrid heart and hand + That sumless murder dyes,-- + The hand that drew the wimple + Over those cruel eyes. + + Pass on,--your deeds are done, + Forever sets your sun; + Vainly ye lived or died, + 'Gainst Freedom and the Laws,-- + And your memory and your cause + Shall haunt o'er the trophied tide + + Like some Pirate Caravel floating + Dreadful, adrift--whose crew + From her yard-arms dangle rotting,-- + The old Horror of the blue. + + Avoid ye,--let the morrow + Sentence or mercy see. + Pass to your place: our sorrow + Is all too dark to borrow + One shade from such as ye. + + But if one, with merciful eyes, + From the forgiving skies + Looks, 'mid our gloom, to see + Yonder where Murder lies, + Stripped of the woman guise, + And waiting the doom,--'tis he. + + Kindly Spirit!--Ah, when did treason + Bid such a generous nature cease, + Mild by temper and strong by reason, + But ever leaning to love and peace? + + A head how sober! a heart how spacious! + A manner equal with high or low; + Rough, but gentle; uncouth, but gracious; + And still inclining to lips of woe. + + Patient when saddest, calm when sternest, + Grieved when rigid for justice' sake; + Given to jest, yet ever in earnest, + If aught of right or truth were at stake. + + Simple of heart, yet shrewd therewith; + Slow to resolve, but firm to hold; + Still with parable and with myth + Seasoning truth, like Them of old; + Aptest humor and quaintest pith! + (Still we smile o'er the tales he told.) + + And if, sometimes, in saddest stress, + That mind, over-meshed by fate, + (Ringed round with treason and hate, + And guiding the State by guess,) + Could doubt and could hesitate,-- + Who, alas! had done less + In the world's most deadly strait? + + But how true to the Common Cause! + Of his task how unweary! + How hard he worked, how good he was, + How kindly and cheery! + + How, while it marked redouble + The howls and hisses and sneers, + That great heart bore our trouble + Through all these terrible years,-- + + And, cooling passion with state, + And ever counting the cost, + Kept the Twin World-Robbers in wait + Till the time for their clutch was lost! + + How much he cared for the State, + How little for praise or pelf! + A man too simply great + To scheme for his proper self. + + But in mirth that strong heart rested + From its strife with the false and violent,-- + A jester!--So Henry jested, + So jested William the Silent. + + Orange, shocking the dull + With careless conceit and quip, + Yet holding the dumb heart full + With Holland's life on his lip![D] + + Navarre, bonhomme and pleasant, + Pitying the poor man's lot, + Wishing that every peasant + A chicken had in his pot; + + Feeding the stubborn bourgeois, + Though Paris still held out; + Holding the League in awe, + But jolly with all about. + + Out of an o'erflowed fulness + Those deep hearts seemed too light,-- + (And so 'twas, murder's dulness + Was set with sullener spite.) + + Yet whoso might pierce the guise + Of mirth in the man we mourn + Would mark, and with grieved surprise, + All the great soul had borne, + In the piteous lines, and the kind, sad eyes + So dreadfully wearied and worn. + + And we trusted (the last dread page + Once turned of our Doomsday Scroll) + To have seen him, sunny of soul, + In a cheery, grand old age. + + But, Father, 'tis well with thee! + And since ever, when God draws nigh, + Some grief for the good must be, + 'Twas well, even so to die,-- + + 'Mid the thunder of Treason's fall, + The yielding of haughty town, + The crashing of cruel wall, + The trembling of tyrant crown! + + The ringing of hearth and pavement + To the clash of falling chains,-- + The centuries of enslavement + Dead, with their blood-bought gains! + + And through trouble weary and long + Well hadst thou seen the way, + Leaving the State so strong + It did not reel for a day; + + And even in death couldst give + A token for Freedom's strife,-- + A proof how republics live, + And not by a single life, + + But the Right Divine of man, + And the many, trained to be free,-- + And none, since the world began, + Ever was mourned like thee. + + Dost thou feel it, O noble Heart! + (So grieved and so wronged below,) + From the rest wherein thou art? + Do they see it, those patient eyes? + Is there heed in the happy skies + For tokens of world-wide woe? + + The Land's great lamentations, + The mighty mourning of cannon, + The myriad flags half-mast,-- + The late remorse of the nations, + Grief from Volga to Shannon! + (Now they know thee at last.) + + How, from gray Niagara's shore + To Canaveral's surfy shoal,-- + From the rough Atlantic roar + To the long Pacific roll,-- + For bereavement and for dole, + Every cottage wears its weed, + White as thine own pure soul, + And black as the traitor deed! + + How, under a nation's pall, + The dust so dear in our sight + To its home on the prairie passed,-- + The leagues of funeral, + The myriads, morn and night, + Pressing to look their last! + + Nor alone the State's Eclipse; + But how tears in hard eyes gather,-- + And on rough and bearded lips, + Of the regiments and the ships,-- + "Oh, our dear Father!" + + And methinks of all the million + That looked on the dark dead face, + 'Neath its sable-plumed pavilion, + The crone of a humbler race + Is saddest of all to think on, + And the old swart lips that said, + Sobbing, "Abraham Lincoln! + Oh, he is dead, he is dead!" + + Hush! let our heavy souls + To-day be glad; for agen + The stormy music swells and rolls + Stirring the hearts of men. + + And under the Nation's Dome, + They've guarded so well and long, + Our boys come marching home, + Two hundred thousand strong. + + All in the pleasant month of May, + With war-worn colors and drums, + Still, through the livelong summer's day, + Regiment, regiment comes. + + Like the tide, yesty and barmy, + That sets on a wild lee-shore, + Surge the ranks of an army + Never reviewed before! + + Who shall look on the like agen, + Or see such host of the brave? + A mighty River of marching men + Rolls the Capital through,-- + Rank on rank, and wave on wave, + Of bayonet-crested blue! + + How the chargers neigh and champ, + (Their riders weary of camp,) + With curvet and with caracole!-- + The cavalry comes with thundrous tramp, + And the cannons heavily roll. + + And ever, flowery and gay, + The Staff sweeps on in a spray + Of tossing forelocks and manes; + But each bridle-arm has a weed + Of funeral, black as the steed + That fiery Sheridan reins. + + Grandest of mortal sights + The sun-browned ranks to view,--- + The Colors ragg'd in a hundred fights, + And the dusty Frocks of Blue! + + And all day, mile on mile, + With cheer, and waving, and smile, + The war-worn legions defile + Where the nation's noblest stand; + And the Great Lieutenant looks on, + With the Flower of a rescued Land,-- + For the terrible work is done, + And the Good Fight is won + For God and for Fatherland. + + So, from the fields they win, + Our men are marching home, + A million are marching home! + To the cannon's thundering din, + And banners on mast and dome,-- + And the ships come sailing in + With all their ensigns dight, + As erst for a great sea-fight. + + Let every color fly, + Every pennon flaunt in pride; + Wave, Starry Flag, on high! + Float in the sunny sky, + Stream o'er the stormy tide! + For every stripe of stainless hue, + And every star in the field of blue, + Ten thousand of the brave and true + Have laid them down and died. + + And in all our pride to-day + We think, with a tender pain, + Of those so far away, + They will not come home again. + + And our boys had fondly thought, + To-day, in marching by, + From the ground so dearly bought, + And the fields so bravely fought, + To have met their Father's eye. + + But they may not see him in place, + Nor their ranks be seen of him; + We look for the well-known face, + And the splendor is strangely dim. + + Perished?--who was it said + Our Leader had passed away? + Dead? Our President dead?-- + He has not died for a day! + + We mourn for a little breath, + Such as, late or soon, dust yields; + But the Dark Flower of Death + Blooms in the fadeless fields. + + We looked on a cold, still brow: + But Lincoln could yet survive; + He never was more alive, + Never nearer than now. + + For the pleasant season found him, + Guarded by faithful hands, + In the fairest of Summer Lands: + With his own brave Staff around him, + There our President stands. + + There they are all at his side, + The noble hearts and true, + That did all men might do,-- + Then slept, with their swords, and died. + + Of little the storm has reft us + But the brave and kindly clay + ('Tis but dust where Lander left us, + And but turf where Lyon lay). + + There's Winthrop, true to the end, + And Ellsworth of long ago, + (First fair young head laid low!) + There 's Baker, the brave old friend, + And Douglas, the friendly foe: + + (Baker, that still stood up + When 'twas death on either hand: + "'Tis a soldier's part to stoop, + But the Senator must stand.") + + The heroes gather and form:-- + There's Cameron, with his scars, + Sedgwick, of siege and storm, + And Mitchell, that joined his stars. + + Winthrop, of sword and pen, + Wadsworth, with silver hair, + Mansfield, ruler of men, + And brave McPherson are there. + + Birney, who led so long, + Abbott, born to command, + Elliott the bold, and Strong, + Who fell on the hard-fought strand. + + Lytle, soldier and bard, + And the Ellets, sire and son, + Ransom, all grandly scarred, + And Redfield, no more on guard, + (But Alatoona is won!) + + Reno, of pure desert, + Kearney, with heart of flame, + And Russell, that hid his hurt + Till the final death-bolt came. + + Terrill, dead where he fought, + Wallace, that would not yield, + And Sumner, who vainly sought + A grave on the foughten field + + (But died ere the end he saw, + With years and battles outworn). + There's Harmon of Kenesaw, + And Ulric Dahlgren, and Shaw, + That slept with his Hope Forlorn. + + Bayard, that knew not fear, + (True as the knight of yore,) + And Putnam, and Paul Revere, + Worthy the names they bore. + Allen, who died for others, + Bryan, of gentle fame, + And the brave New-England brothers + That have left us Lowell's name. + + Home, at last, from the wars,-- + Stedman, the staunch and mild, + And Janeway, our hero-child, + Home, with his fifteen scars! + + There's Porter, ever in front, + True son of a sea-king sire, + And Christian Foote, and Dupont + (Dupont, who led his ships + Rounding the first Ellipse + Of thunder and of fire). + + There's Ward, with his brave death-wounds, + And Cummings, of spotless name, + And Smith, who hurtled his rounds + When deck and hatch were aflame; + + Wainwright, steadfast and true, + Rodgers, of brave sea-blood, + And Craven, with ship and crew + Sunk in the salt sea flood. + + And, a little later to part, + Our Captain, noble and dear-- + (Did they deem thee, then, austere? + Drayton!--O pure and kindly heart! + Thine is the seaman's tear.) + + All such,--and many another, + (Ah, list how long to name!) + That stood like brother by brother, + And died on the field of fame. + + And around--(for there can cease + This earthly trouble)--they throng, + The friends that had passed in peace, + The foes that have seen their wrong. + + (But, a little from the rest, + With sad eyes looking down, + And brows of softened frown, + With stern arms on the chest, + Are two, standing abreast,-- + Stonewall and Old John Brown.) + + But the stainless and the true, + These by their President stand, + To look on his last review, + Or march with the old command. + + And lo, from a thousand fields, + From all the old battle-haunts, + A greater Army than Sherman wields, + A grander Review than Grant's! + + Gathered home from the grave, + Risen from sun and rain,-- + Rescued from wind and wave, + Out of the stormy main,-- + The Legions of our Brave + Are all in their lines again! + + Many a stout Corps that went, + Full-ranked, from camp and tent, + And brought back a brigade; + Many a brave regiment, + That mustered only a squad. + + The lost battalions, + That, when the fight went wrong, + Stood and died at their guns,-- + The stormers steady and strong, + + With their best blood that bought + Scarp, and ravelin, and wall,-- + The companies that fought + Till a corporal's guard was all. + + Many a valiant crew, + That passed in battle and wreck,-- + Ah, so faithful and true! + They died on the bloody deck, + They sank in the soundless blue. + + All the loyal and bold + That lay on a soldier's bier,-- + The stretchers borne to the rear, + The hammocks lowered to the hold. + + The shattered wreck we hurried, + In death-fight, from deck and port,-- + The Blacks that Wagner buried, + That died in the Bloody Fort! + + Comrades of camp and mess, + Left, as they lay, to die, + In the battle's sorest stress, + When the storm of fight swept by: + They lay in the Wilderness,-- + Ah, where did they not lie? + + In the tangled swamp they lay, + They lay so still on the sward!-- + They rolled in the sick-bay, + Moaning their lives away;-- + They flushed in the fevered ward. + + They rotted in Libby yonder, + They starved in the foul stockade,-- + Hearing afar the thunder + Of the Union cannonade! + + But the old wounds all are healed, + And the dungeoned limbs are free,-- + The Blue Frocks rise from the field, + The Blue Jackets out of the sea. + + They've 'scaped from the torture-den, + They've broken the bloody sod, + They're all come to life agen!-- + The Third of a Million men + That died for Thee and for God! + + A tenderer green than May + The Eternal Season wears,-- + The blue of our summer's day + Is dim and pallid to theirs,-- + The Horror faded away, + And 'twas heaven all unawares! + + Tents on the Infinite Shore! + Flags in the azuline sky, + Sails on the seas once more! + To-day, in the heaven on high, + All under arms once more! + + The troops are all in their lines, + The guidons flutter and play; + But every bayonet shines, + For all must march to-day. + + What lofty pennons flaunt? + What mighty echoes haunt, + As of great guns, o'er the main? + Hark to the sound again! + The Congress is all-ataunt! + The Cumberland's manned again! + + All the ships and their men + Are in line of battle to-day,-- + All at quarters, as when + Their last roll thundered away,-- + All at their guns, as then, + For the Fleet salutes to-day. + + The armies, have broken camp + On the vast and sunny plain, + The drums are rolling again; + With steady, measured tramp, + They're marching all again. + + With alignment firm and solemn, + Once again they form + In mighty square and column,-- + But never for charge and storm. + + The Old Flag they died under + Floats above them on the shore, + And on the great ships yonder + The ensigns dip once more,-- + And once again the thunder + Of the thirty guns and four! + + In solid platoons of steel, + Under heaven's triumphal arch, + The long lines break and wheel; + And the word is, "Forward, march!" + + The colors ripple o'erhead, + The drums roll up to the sky, + And with martial time and tread + The regiments all pass by,-- + The ranks of our faithful Dead, + Meeting their President's eye. + + With a soldier's quiet pride + They smile o'er the perished pain, + For their anguish was not vain,-- + For thee, O Father, we died! + And we did not die in vain. + + March on, your last brave mile! + Salute him, Star and Lace, + Form round him, rank and file, + And look on the kind, rough face; + But the quaint and homely smile + Has a glory and a grace + It never had known erewhile,-- + Never, in time and space. + + Close round him, hearts of pride! + Press near him, side by side,-- + Our Father is not alone! + For the Holy Right ye died, + And Christ, the Crucified, + Waits to welcome his own. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[D] "His temperament was cheerful. At table, the pleasures of which in +moderation were his only relaxation, he was always animated and merry; +and this jocoseness was partly natural, partly intentional. In the +darkest hours of his country's trial, he affected a serenity he was far +from feeling; so that his apparent gayety at momentous epochs was even +censured by dullards, who could not comprehend its philosophy, nor +applaud the flippancy of William the Silent. He went through life +bearing the load of a people's sorrows with a smiling face."--Motley's +_Rise of the Dutch Republic_. + +Perhaps a lively national sense of humor is one of the surest exponents +of advanced civilization. Certainly a grim sullenness and fierceness +have been the leading traits of the Rebellion for Slavery; while +Freedom, like a Brave at the stake, has gone through her long agony with +a smile and a jest ever on her lips. + + + + +REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES. + + +_Letters to Various Persons_, By HENRY D. THOREAU. Boston: +Ticknor & Fields. + +The prose of Thoreau is daily winning recognition as possessing some of +the very highest qualities of thought and utterance, in a degree +scarcely rivalled in contemporary literature. In spite of whim and +frequent over-refining, and the entire omission of many important +aspects of human life, these wondrous merits exercise their charm, and +we value everything which lets us into the workshop of so rare a mind. +These letters, most of which were addressed to a single confidential +friend, give us Thoreau's thoughts in undress, and there has been no +previous book in which we came so near him. It is like engraving the +studies of an artist,--studies many of which were found too daring or +difficult for final execution, and which must be shown in their original +shape or not at all. To any one who was more artist than thinker this +exhibition would be doing wrong; but to one like Thoreau, more thinker +than artist, it is an act of justice. + +The public, being always eager for the details of personal life, and +therefore especially hungry for private letters, will hardly make this +distinction. All is held to be right which gives us more personality in +print. One can fancy the exasperation of a gossip, however, on opening +these profound and philosophic leaves. There is almost no private +history in them; and even of Thoreau's beloved science of Natural +History, very little. He does, indeed, begin one letter with "Dear +Mother, ... Pray have you the seventeen-year locust in Concord?" which +recalls Mendelssohn's birthday letter to his mother, opening with two +bars of music. But even such mundane matters as these occur rarely in +the book, which is chiefly made up of pure thought, and that of the +highest and often of the most subtile quality. + +Thoreau had, in literature as in life, a code of his own, which, if +sometimes lax where others were stringent, was always stringent in +higher matters, where others were lax. Even the friendship of Emerson +could not coerce him into that careful elaboration which gives dignity +and sometimes a certain artistic monotony to the works of our great +essayist. Emerson never wilfully leaves a point unguarded, never allows +himself to be caught in undress. Thoreau spurns this punctiliousness, +and thus impairs his average execution; while for the same reason he +attains, in favored moments, a diction more flowing and a more lyric +strain than his teacher ever allows himself, at least in prose. He also +secures, through this daring, the occasional expression of more delicate +as well as more fantastic thoughts. And there is an interesting passage +in these letters where he rather unexpectedly recognizes the dignity of +literary art as art, and states very finely its range of power. "To look +at literature,--how many fine thoughts has every man had! how few fine +thoughts are expressed! Yet we never have a fantasy so subtile and +ethereal, but that _talent merely_, with more resolution and faithful +persistency, after a thousand failures, might fix and engrave it in +distinct and enduring words, and we should see that our dreams are the +solidest facts that we know." The Italics are his own, and the glimpse +at his literary method is very valuable. + +One sees also, in these letters, how innate in him was that grand +simplicity of spiritual attitude, compared with which most confessions +of faith seem to show something hackneyed and second-hand. It seems the +first resumption--unless here again we must link his name with +Emerson's--of that great strain of thought of which Epictetus the slave +and Marcus Aurelius Antoninus the sovereign were the last previous +examples. Amid the general _Miserere_, here is one hymn of lofty cheer. +There is neither weak conceit nor weak contrition, but gratitude for +existence, and a sublime aim. "My actual life," he says, "is a fact in +view of which I have no occasion to congratulate myself; but for my +faith and aspiration I have respect. It is from these that I speak. +Every man's position is, in fact, too simple to be described.... I am +simply what I am, or I begin to be that.... I know that I am. I know +that another is who knows more than I, who takes interest in me, whose +creature, and yet whose kindred, in one sense, am I. I know that the +enterprise is worthy. I know that things work well. I have heard no bad +news." (p. 45.) + +"Happy the man," he elsewhere nobly says, "who observes the heavenly +and the terrestrial law in just proportion; whose every faculty, from +the soles of his feet to the crown of his head, obeys the law of its +level; who neither stoops nor goes on tiptoe, but lives a balanced life, +acceptable to Nature and to God." And then he manfully adds,--"These +things I say; other things I do." Manfully, not mournfully; for his +life, though in many ways limited, was never, in any high sense, +unsuccessful; nor did he ever assume for one moment the attitude of +apology. + +These limitations of his life no doubt impaired his thought also, in +certain directions. The letters might sometimes exhibit the record of +Carlyle's lion, attempting to live on chicken-weed. Here is a man of +vast digestive power, who, prizing the flavor of whortleberries and wild +apples, insists on making these almost his only food. It is amazing to +see what nutriment he extracts from them; yet would not, after all, an +ampler bill of fare have done better? Is there not something to be got +from the caucus and from the opera, which Thoreau abhorred, as well as +from the swamps which he justly loved? Could he not have spent two hours +rationally in Boston elsewhere than at the station-house of the railway +that led to Concord? His habits suggest a perpetual feeling of privation +and effort, and he has to be constantly on the alert to repel +condolence. This one-sidedness of result is a constant drawback on the +reader's enjoyment, and it is impossible to leave it out of sight. Yet +all criticism seems like cavilling, when one comes upon a series of +sentences like these:-- + +"Do what you love.... Aim above morality. Be not simply good; be good +for something. All fables, indeed, have their morals; but the innocent +enjoy the story. Let nothing come between you and the light. Respect men +as brothers only. When you travel to the Celestial City, carry no letter +of introduction. When you knock, ask to see God,--none of the servants. +In what concerns you much, do not think that you have companions; know +that you are alone in the world." (p. 46.) + +This suggests those wonderful strokes in the "Indenture" in "Wilhelm +Meister," and Goethe cannot surpass it. + +His finest defence of his habitual solitude occurs in these letters +also, and has some statements whose felicitousness can hardly be +surpassed. "As for any dispute about solitude and society, any +comparison is impertinent.... It is not that we love to be alone, but +that we love to soar; and when we do soar, the company grows thinner and +thinner, till there is none at all. It is either the tribune on the +plain, a sermon on the mount, or a very private ecstasy still higher up. +We are not the less to aim at the summits, though the multitude does not +ascend them. Use all the society that will abet you." (p. 139.) + +And since the unsocial character of Thoreau's theory of life has been +one of the most serious charges against it, his fine series of thoughts +on love and marriage in this volume become peculiarly interesting. "Love +must be as much a light as a flame." "Love is a severe critic. Hate can +pardon more than love." "A man of fine perceptions is more truly +feminine than a merely sentimental woman." "It is not enough that we are +truthful; we must cherish and carry out high purposes to be truthful +about." These are sentences on which one might spin commentaries and +scholia to the end of life; and there are many others as admirable. + +His few verses close the volume,--few and choice, with a rare flavor of +the seventeenth century in them. The best poem of all, "My life is like +a stroll upon the beach," is not improved by its new and inadequate +title, "The Fisher's Boy." The three poems near the end, "Smoke," +"Mist," and "Haze," are marvellous triumphs of language; the thoughts +and fancies are as subtile as the themes, and yet are embodied as +delicately and accurately as if uttered in Greek. + + +_France and England in North America._ A Series of Historical +Narratives. By FRANCIS PARKMAN, Author of "History of the +Conspiracy of Pontiac," "Prairie and Rocky Mountain Life," etc. Part +First. Pioneers of France in the New World. Boston: Little, Brown, & Co. + +It has been known for nearly a score of years within our literary +circles, that one of the richest and least wrought themes of our +American history had been appropriated by the zeal and research of a +student eminently qualified by nature, culture, and personal experience +to develop its wealth of interest. While very many among us may have +been aware that Mr. Parkman had devoted himself to the task of which we +have before us some of the results, only a narrower circle of friends +have known under what severe physical embarrassments and disabilities he +has been restrained from maturing those results. He has fully and sadly +realized, within his own different range, the experience which he so +aptly phrases as endured by his hero, the adventurous and dauntless +Champlain. When that great pioneer, midway in his splendid career, was +planning one of his almost annual voyages hitherward, at one of the most +emergent periods of his enterprise, he was seized on board his vessel in +France with a violent illness, and reduced, as Mr. Parkman says, to that +"most miserable of all conflicts, the battle of the eager spirit against +the treacherous and failing flesh." Mr. Parkman has known well what +these words mean. In his case, as in that of Champlain, it was not from +the burden of years and natural decay, but from the touch of disease in +the period of life's full vigor in its midway course, that mental +activity was restrained. When, besides the inflictions of a racked +nervous system, the author suffered in addition a malady of the eyes, +which limited him, as he says, to intervals of five minutes for reading +or writing, when it did not wholly preclude them, we may well marvel at +what he has accomplished. And the reader will marvel all the more that +the hindrances and pains under which the matter of these pages has been +wrought have left no traces or transfer of themselves here. It may be +possible that an occasional twinge or pang may have concentrated the +terse narrative, or pointed the sharp and shrewd moralizings of these +pages; for there is an amazing conciseness and a keen epigrammatic +sagacity in them. But there is no languor, no feebleness, no sleepy +prosiness, to indicate where vivacity flagged, and where an episode or +paragraph was finished after the glow had yielded to exhaustion. + +Mr. Parkman's theme is one of adventure on the grandest scale, with +novel conditions and elements, and under the quickening of master +passions of a sort to give to incidents and achievements a most romantic +and soul-absorbing interest. Only incidentally, and then most slightly, +does he have to deal with state affairs, with court intrigues, or with +diplomatic complications. He has to follow men into regions and scenes +in which there is so much raw material, and so much of the originality +of human conditions and qualities, that no precedents are of avail, and +it is even doubtful whether there are principles that have authority to +guide or that may be safely recognized. Nor could he have treated his +grand theme with that amazing facility and skill, which, as his work +manifests them, will satisfy all his readers that the theme belongs to +him and he to it, had not his native tastes, his training, and his +actual experience brought him into a most intelligent sympathy with his +subject-matter. Without being an adventurer, in the modern sense of the +term, he has the spirit which filled the best old sense of the word. He +has been a wide traveller and an explorer. Familiar by actual +observation with the scenes through which he has to follow the track of +the pioneers whom he chronicles, he has also acquainted himself by +foot-journeys and canoe-navigation under Indian guides with scenes and +regions still unspoiled of their wilderness features. He has crossed the +Rocky Mountains by the war-path of the savages, and penetrated far +beyond the borders of civilization in the direction of the northern ice +on our continent. He is skilled in native woodcraft, in the phenomena of +the forest and the lake, the winding river and the cataract. He has +watched the aspects of Nature through all the seasons in regions far +away from the havoc and the finish of culture. He has been alone as a +white man in the squalid lodges of the Indians, has lived after their +manner up to the edge of the restraints which a civilized man must +always take with him, and has consented to forego all that is meant by +the word comfort, that he might learn actually what our +transcendentalists and sentimentalists are so taken with theoretically. +He knows the inner make and furnishings of the savage brain and heart, +the qualities of their thought and passions, their superstitions, +follies, and vices; and while he deals with them and their ways with the +right spirit and consideration of a high-toned Christian man, he yields +to no silly inventiveness of fancy or romance in portraying them. They +are barely human, and they are hideous and revolting in his pages, as +they are in real life. Mr. Parkman knows them for just what they are, +and as they are. Helped by natural adaptation and sympathy to put +himself into communication with them sufficiently to analyze their +composition and to scan their range of being, he has presented such a +portraiture and estimate of them as will be increasingly valuable while +they are wasting away, to be known to future generations only by the +record. + +It is through Mr. Parkman's keen observation and discernment, as a +traverser of wild regions and a student of aboriginal life and +character, that his pages are made to abound with such vivid and +vigorous delineations. He has great skill in description, whether on a +grand scale or in the minutest details of adventure or of scenery. He +can touch by a phrase, most delicately or massively, the outline and the +features of what he would communicate. He can strip from field, +river-bank, hill-top, and the partially cleared forests all the things +and aspects which civilization has superinduced, and can restore to them +their primitive, unsullied elements. He gives us the aroma of the wild +woods, the tints of tree, shrub, and berry as the autumn paints them, +the notes and screams and howls of the creatures which held these haunts +before or with man; and though we were reading some of his pages on one +of the hottest of our dog-days, we felt a grateful chill come over us as +we were following his description of a Canadian winter. + +Mr. Parkman's subject required, for its competent treatment, a vast +amount of research and a judicious use of authorities in documents +printed or still in manuscript. Happily, there is abundance of material, +and that, for the most part, of prime value. The period which his theme +covers, though primeval in reference to the date of our own English +beginnings here, opens within the era when pens and types were +diligently employed to record all real occurrences, and when rival +interests induced a multiplication of narratives of the same events, to +the extent even of telling many important stories in two very different +ways. The element of the marvellous and the superstitious is so +inwrought with the documentary history and the personal narratives of +the time, exaggeration and misrepresentation were then almost so +consistent with honesty, that any one who essays to digest trustworthy +history from them may be more embarrassed by the abundance than he would +be by the paucity of his materials. Our author has spared no pains or +expense in the gathering of plans, pamphlets, and solid volumes, in +procuring copies of unpublished documents, and in consulting all the +known sources of information. He discriminates with skill, and knows +when to trust himself and to encourage his readers in relying upon them. + +It has been with all these means for faithful and profitable work in his +possession, gathered around him in aggravating reminders of their +unwrought wealth, and with a spirit of craving ardor to digest and +reproduce them, that Mr. Parkman has been compelled to suffer the +discipline of a form of invalidism which disables without destroying or +even impairing the power and will for continuous intellectual +employment. Brief intervals of relief and a recent period of promise and +hopefulness of full restoration have been heroically devoted to the +production of that instalment of his whole plan which we have in the +volume before us. + +That plan, as his first and comprehensive title indicates, covers a +narration of the initiatory schemes and measures for the exploration and +settlement of the New World by France and England. As France had the +precedence in that enterprise, this first volume is fitly devoted to its +rehearsal. The French story is also far more picturesque, more brilliant +and sombre, too, in its details. There is more of the wild, the +romantic, and the tragic in it. Mr. Parkman briefly, but strikingly, +contrasts the spirit which animated and the fortunes which befell the +representatives of the two European nations,--the one of which has +wrought the romance, the other of which has moulded the living +development, of North America. + +Under the specific title of this volume,--the "Pioneers of France in the +New World,"--the author gives us historical narratives of stirring and +even heroic enterprise in two localities at extreme points of our +present territory: first, the story of the sadly abortive attempt made +by the Huguenots to effect a settlement in Florida; and second, the +adventures, undertakings, and discoveries of Champlain, his predecessors +and associates, in and near Canada. The volume is touchingly dedicated +to three near kinsmen of the author,--young men who in the glory and +beauty of their youth, the joy and hope of parents who yielded the +costly sacrifice, gave themselves to the deliverance of our country from +the ruin plotted for it by a slave despotism. + +Mr. Parkman mentions--allowing to it in his brief reference all the +weight which it probably deserves--a vague tradition, which, had it been +sustained by fact, would have introduced an entirely new element into +the conditions involved in the rival claims to the right of colonizing +and possessing America, as practically contested by European nations. +The Pope's Bull which deeded the whole continent to Spain, as if it +were a farm, reinforced the claim already conventionally yielded to her +through right of discovery. For anything, however, to the knowledge of +which Columbus came before his death, or even his immediate successors +before their death, all the parts of America which he saw or knew might +have been insulated spaces, like those in which he actually set up +Spanish authority. What might have been the issue for this continent, or +rather for the spaces which it covers, had it been really divided by the +high seas into three immense islands like Australasia, so that Spain, +France, and England might have made an amicable division between them, +would afford curious matter for speculation. The tradition referred to +is, that the continent had been actually discovered by a Frenchman four +years before the first voyage of Columbus hitherward. A vessel from +Dieppe, while at sea off the coast of Africa, was said to have been +blown to sight of land across the ocean on our shores. A mariner, +Pinzon, who was on board of her, being afterwards discharged from French +service in disgrace, joined himself to Columbus, and was with him when +he made his great discovery. It may have been so. But the story, +slenderly rooted in itself, has no support. Spain was the claimant, and, +so far as the bold and repeated attempt of the Huguenots to contest her +claims in Florida was thwarted by a diabolical, yet not unavenged +ruthlessness of resistance, Spain made good her asserted right. + +Mr. Parkman sketches rapidly some preliminary details relating to +Huguenot colonization in Brazil and early Spanish adventures. The zeal +of the French Huguenots had anticipated that of the English Puritans in +seeking a Transatlantic field for its development. A philosophical +historian might find an engaging theme, in tracing to diversities of +national character, to the aims which stirred in human spirits, and to +fickle circumstances of date or place, the contrasted issues of failure +and success in the different enterprises. To human sight or foresight, +the Huguenots had the more hopeful omens at the start. But religious +zeal and avarice, combined in a way most cunningly adapted to +contravene, if that were possible, the Saviour's profound warning, "No +man can serve two masters," were, after all, only combined in a way to +bring them into the most shameful conflict. The Huguenot at the South +shared with the Spaniard the lust for gold; and the backers alike of +Roman and Protestant zeal in Canada divided their interest between the +souls of the Indians and the furs and skins of wild animals. + +The heroic and the chivalric elements in the spirit and prowess of these +early adventurers give a charm even to the narratives which reveal to us +their fearful sufferings and their atrocities. Physically and morally +they must have been endowed unlike those who now hoe fields, make shoes, +and watch the wheels of our thrifty mechanisms. Avarice and zeal, the +latter being sometimes substituted by a daring passion for the romantic, +nerved men, and women too, to undertakings and endurances which shame +our enfeebled ways. The partners in these enterprises were never +homogeneous in character, as were eminently the Colonists of New +England. They were of most mixed and discordant materials. Prisons were +ransacked for convicts and desperadoes; humble artisans and peasants +were accepted as laborers; roving mariners, whose only sure port of rest +would be in the abyss, were bribed for transient service, the condition +always exacted being that they must be ready for the nonce to turn +landsmen for fighting in swamp or bush. These, with a sprinkling of +young and impoverished nobles, and one or two really towering and master +spirits, in whom either of the two leading passions was the spur, and +who could win through court patronage a patent or a commission, made in +every case, either South or North, the staple material of French +adventure. + +After a graphic sketch of the line of Spanish notables in the New +World,--of Ponce de Leon, of Garay, Ayllon, De Narvaez, and De +Soto,--Mr. Parkman concisely reviews the successive attempts at a +settlement in Florida by Frenchmen. His central figures here are Admiral +De Coligny and his agents, Villegagnon, Ribaut, and Laudonniere. They +had no fixed policy towards the Indians, and they followed the worst +possible course with them. They wholly neglected tillage, and so were in +constant peril of starvation. They were lawless and disorderly in their +fellowship, and were always at the mercy of conspirators among +themselves. + +Beginning about the year 1550, and embracing the quarter of a century +following, there transpired on the coast of Florida a series of acts of +mingled heroism and barbarity not easily paralleled in any chapter of +the world's history. Menendez, under his commission as Adelantado, +having effected the first European settlement in North America at St. +Augustine, and the French having established a river fort named +Caroline, the struggle which could not long have been deferred was +invited. We have here a double narrative. While the French commander, +Ribaut, is shipwrecked in an enterprise by sea against St. Augustine, +Menendez, by land, after a most harassing tramp through forest and +swamp, successfully assails Fort Caroline. Though he has pledged his +honor to spare those who surrendered to his mercy, he foully breaks his +pledge, as no faith was to be kept with heretics. A brutal massacre, +which shocked even his Indian allies, signalized his victory. An +inscription on the trees under which he slaughtered his victims +announced that vengeance was wreaked on them, "not as Frenchmen, but as +heretics." + +These atrocities were in their turn avenged, after a similar fashion and +in the same spirit, by Dominique de Gourgues. It is doubtful whether he +was a Huguenot; but he felt, as the French monarch and court did not, +the rankling disgrace of this bloody catastrophe. An intense hater of +the Spaniards, he gave his whole spirit of chivalry and prowess, in the +approved fashion of the age, to avenge the insult to France. Providing +himself with three small vessels, navigable by sail or oar, he gathered +a fit company for his enterprise; but not till well on his way did he +reveal to them his real purpose, in which they proved willing +coadjutors. He found the Spaniards at their forts had alienated the +Indians, who readily leagued with him. By a bold combination and a +fierce onslaught he carries the Spanish works, and retaliates on his +fiendish and now cowering prisoners by hanging them, "not as Spaniards, +but as traitors, robbers, and murderers." De Gourgues came to do this, +not to make another attempt for a permanent settlement in the interest +of France. He therefore destroyed the forts, and with a friendly parting +from his red allies, much to their sorrow, returned home. Thus closes +one episode in the world's tragic history. + +Turning now towards the North, Mr. Parkman takes a comprehensive review +of the hazy period of history covered by traditions and imperfect +records, with vague relations of adventure by Normans, Basques, and +Bretons, on fishing expeditions to Newfoundland and the main coast. +These were followed by three exploring enterprises and partial +settlements, between 1506 and 1518. Verrazzano, with four ships, coasted +along our shores, and was for fifteen days the guest of some friendly +Indians at Newport, the centre of our modern fashionable summer-life. +Jaques Cartier made two voyages in 1534-5, gave the name of St. Lawrence +to the river, and visited the sites of Quebec and Montreal. A third +voyage was planned for 1541, to be followed by a reinforcement by J. F. +de la Roque, Sieur de Roberval. Its arrival being delayed, the famished +settlers, wasted by the scurvy, and dreading another horrid winter of +untold sufferings, returned home. Roberval renewed the occupancy of +Quebec, and then there is a chasm and a broken story. + +La Roche, in 1598, left forty convicts, adventurers in his crew, on +Sable Island, merely for a temporary sojourn while he should coast on. +Being blown back to France in his vessel, these forlorn exiles were left +for five years on that dreary waste, and only twelve survivors then +remained to be rescued. Some wild cattle that had propagated from +predecessors left by luckless wanderers on a previous voyage, or which +had swum ashore from a wreck, had furnished them a partial supply. +Pontgrave and Chauvin attempted a settlement at Tadoussac, the dismal +wilderness at the mouth of the Saguenay, thenceforward the rendezvous of +European and Indian traders. All these were preliminary anticipations of +the real occupancy of New France. Champlain, Poutrincourt, and +Lescarbot, in 1607, established at Port Royal the first agricultural +colony in the New World. Then began that series of futile and vexatious +dealings on the part of the French court, in granting and withdrawing +monopolies, conflicting commissions and patents, with confused purposes +of feudalism and restricted privilege, which embarrassed all effective +progress, and visited chagrin and disappointment on every devoted +adventurer. + +The great picture on Mr. Parkman's canvas is Champlain. That really +noble-souled, heroic, and marvellous man, whom our author appreciates, +yet with sagacious discrimination presents to the life, is a splendid +subject for his admirable rehearsal. At the age of thirty-three he +becomes the most conspicuous, and, on the whole, the most intelligent, +agent of the French interest in these parts of the world. Dying at +Quebec at the age of sixty-eight, and after twenty-seven years of +service to the colony, he had probably drawn his life through more and +a greater variety of perils than have ever been encountered by man. He +was dauntless and all-enduring, fruitful in resource, self-controlled +and persevering, and, though not wiser than his age, purer and more +true. He was as lithesome as an Indian, and could outdo him in some +physical efforts and endurance. His almost yearly voyages between France +and Quebec led him through strange contrasts of court and wilderness +life; but he was the same man in both. His discovery of the lake which +bears his name, his journey to Lake Huron, under the lure of the +impostor Vignau, encouraging his own dream of a passage through the +continent to India, and his many tramps for Indian warfare or discovery, +are most attractive episodes for our author. + +Mr. Parkman relates incidentally the massacre in Frenchman's Bay, the +efforts and cross purposes of the Recollets and the Jesuit missionaries, +and furnishes a vivid sketch of the fortunes of the settlement under +threatened assaults from Indians and in a temporary surrender to the +English. He intimates the matter which he has yet in store. May we enjoy +the coveted pleasure of reading it! + + +_Hesperus, or Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days._ A Biography. From the German of +J. P. Fr. Richter. Translated by CHARLES T. BROOKS. In Two +Volumes. Boston: Ticknor and Fields. + +This romance, the first work of Jean Paul's which won the attention of +his countrymen, is called "Hesperus," apparently for no reason more +definite than that the heroine, like a fair evening-star, beams over the +fortunes of the other personages, and becomes at length the morning-star +of one. The supplementary title of "Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days" is a +quaint subdivision of the volumes into as many chapters, each of which +is a "Dog-Post-Day," because it purports to be dispatched in a bottle +round a dog's neck to an island within the whimsical geography which the +author loved to construct, and in which he pretended to dwell. Truly, +the ordinary _terra-firma_ was of little consequence for home-keeping +purposes to Jean Paul, as the reader will doubtless confess before he +has proceeded far through the maze of Extra Leaves, Intercalary Days, +Extra Lines, Extra Shoots, and Extorted Anti-critique. And the divisions +which are busied with the story, instead of carrying it forward, stray +with it in all directions, like a genuine summer vagabond to whom direct +travel is a crime against the season. Many charming things are gathered +by the way; but if the reader is in haste to arrive, or thinks it would +not be amiss at least to put up somewhere, his patience will be severely +tried. We do not recommend the volumes for railway-reading, nor to +clergymen for the entertainment of sewing-bees, nor to the devourer of +novels, in whose life the fiction that must be read at one sitting forms +an epoch. It is a good _vade-mecum_ for a voyage round either Cape; its +digressive character suits the listless mood of the sea-goer, and he can +drop, we will not say the thread, but the entanglement, in whatever +watch he pleases. + +Let no one expect the critic to sketch the plot of this romance. It is a +grouping of motives and temperaments under the names of men and women, +concerning whom many subtile things are said and hinted; and they are +pushed into and out of complicated situations, by stress of brilliant +authorship, without lifting their fingers. There is no necessary +development nor movement: the people are like the bits of glass which +shake into the surprising patterns of the kaleidoscope. The relation of +the parties to each other is a great mystification, bunglingly managed: +we cannot understand at last how Victor, the hero of the chief +love-passage, turns out to be the son of a clergyman instead of a lord, +and Flamin the son of a lord in spite of the plain declaration on the +first page that he belongs to a clergyman. No key-notes of expectation +and surmise are struck; the reader is as blind as the old lord who is +Victor's reputed father, and not a glimmer of light reaches him till +suddenly and causelessly he is dazed. The author has emphasized his +sentiments, but has not shaded and brought out the features of his +story. It is plain, that, when he began to write, not the faintest +notion of a _denouement_ had dawned upon his fancy. The best-defined +action in the book results from Flamin's ignorance that he is Clotilde's +brother, for he is thus jealous of his friend Victor's love for her. How +break off Flamin's love for his unknown sister? How rescue Victor from +his self-imposed delicacy and win for him a bride? This is the substance +of the story, hampered by wild, spasmodic interpolations and intrigues +and didactic explanations. + +The reader must also become inured, by a course of physical training, to +resist the fiery onslaughts of a sentimentality which was the first +ferment of Jean Paul's sincere and huge imagination. See, for instance, +Vol. II. p. 229. And we cannot too much admire the tact which Mr. Brooks +has brought to the decanting of these seething passages into tolerable +vernacular limits. Sometimes, indeed, he misses a help which he might +have procured for the reader, to lift him, with less danger of +dislocation, to these pinnacles of passion, by transferring more of the +elevated idiom of the style: for, in some of the complicated paragraphs, +a too English rendering of the clauses gives the sentiment a dowdy and +prosaic air. We should not object to an occasional inversion of the +order, even where Jean Paul himself is more direct than usual; for this +always appeared to us to lend a racy German flavor to the page. No doubt +Jean Paul needs, first of all, to be made comprehensible; but if his +style is too persistently Anglicized, many places will be reached where +the sense itself must suffer for want of the picturesqueness of the +German idiom. The quaintness will grow flat, the color of the sentiment +will almost disappear, the rich paragraphs will run thinly clad, +disenchanted like Cinderella at midnight. Some of Mr. Carlyle's +translations from the German are invigorated by this Teutonicizing of +the English, and by the sincerity of phrases transferred directly as +they first came molten from the pen. This may be pushed to the point of +affectation; but judiciously used, it is suited to Jean Paul's fervor +and abandonment. + +There is also a rhythm in his exalted moments, a delicate and noble +swing of the clauses, not easy to transfer: as in the Eighth +Dog-Post-Day, the paragraph commencing, "Wehe groeszere Wellen auf mich +zu, Morgenluft!" "Thou morning-air, break over me in greater waves! +Bathe me in thy vast billows which roll above our woods and meadows, and +bear me in blossom clouds past radiant gardens and glimmering streams, +and let me die gently floating above the earth, rocked amid flying +flowers and butterflies, and dissolving with outspread arms beneath the +sun; while all my veins fall blended into red morning-flakes down to the +flowers," etc. But this may appear finical to Mr. Brooks. We certainly +do not press it critically against his great and general success. Such a +paragraph as, for instance, the closing one upon page 340 of Vol. II. is +very trying to the resources of the translator. Here Mr. Brooks has +sacrificed to literalness an opportunity to sort the confused clauses +and stop their jostling: this may be done without diluting the +sentiment, and is within the translator's liberty. + +It always seemed to us that the finest part of "Hesperus," and one of +the finest passages of German literature, is contained in the Ninth +Dog-Post-Day and some pages of the Tenth. The Ninth, in particular, +which is a perfect idyl, describes Victor's walk to Kussewitz: all the +landscape is made to share and symbolize his rapture: the people in the +fields, the framework of an unfinished house, the two-wheeled hut of the +shepherd, are not only well painted, but turned most naturally to the +help of interpreting his feeling. The chapter has also a direct and +unembarrassed movement, which is rare in this romance. And it is +beautifully translated. + +The reader must understand that Victor is called by various names; so +that, if he merely dips into the book, as we suspect he will until his +sympathy is enlisted by some fine thought, his ignorance will increase +the frantic and dishevelled state of the story. Victor is Horion, +Sebastian, and Bastian; a susceptible youth, profoundly affected by the +presence of noble or handsome women, and brought into situations that +test his delicacy. He smuggles a declaration of love into a watch which +he sells, in the disguise of an Italian merchant, to the Princess +Agnola, on occasion of her first reception at the court of her husband. +He is ashamed of this after he begins to know Clotilde, who is one of +Jean Paul's pure and noble women; and he is at one time full of dread +lest the Princess had read his watch-paper, and at another full of pique +at the suspicion that she had not. Being court-physician and oculist, he +has frequent opportunities to visit Agnola, and there is one rather +florid occasion which the midnight cry of the street-watch man +interrupts. But all this time, the inflammable Victor was indulging a +kind of tenderness for Joachime, maid-of-honor and attractive female. As +the love for Clotilde deepens, he must destroy these partialities for +Agnola and Joachime. This is no easy matter; what with the watch-paper +and various emphatic passages of something more than friendship, the +true love does not at once stand forth, that he may find "the +partition-wall between love and friendship with women to be very visible +and very thick." But one day the accursed watch-paper flutters into +Joachime's hand, who at once takes it for a declaration of love to +herself, and beams with appropriate tenderness. Victor, seized with +sudden coldness and resolution, confesses all to Joachime; and the +story, released from its feminine embarrassments, would soon reach a +honeymoon, if it were not for the difficulty of deciding the parentage +and relationship of the various characters. A wise child knows its own +father; but no endowment of wisdom in the reader will harmonize the +genealogy of this romance. A birth-mark of a Stettin apple, which is +visible only in autumn when that fruit is ripening, plays the part of +Box's strawberry in the farce, and with as much perspicuity. + +However, the characters are all respectably connected at last, and the +reader does not care to understand how they were ever disconnected: for +Lord Horion's motive in putting the children of the old Prince out of +the way, and keeping up such an expensive mystification, can be +justified only by an interesting plot. But American readers have learned +by this time, much to their credit, not to apply to Jean Paul for the +sensation of a cunningly woven narrative, like that of the English +school, which furnishes verisimilitude to real life that is quite as +improbable, though less glaringly so, than his departures from it. +"Hesperus" is filled with pure and noble thought. The different types of +female character are particularly well-defined; and if Jean Paul +sometimes affects to say cynical things of women, he cannot veil his +passionate regard for them, nor his profound appreciation of the +elements of their influence in forming true society and refining the +hearts of men. Notice the delicacy of the "Extra Leaf on Houses full of +Daughters." It is chiefly with the women of his romances that Jean Paul +succeeds in depicting individuals. And when we recollect the corrupt and +decaying generation out of which his genius sprang, like a newly created +species, to give a salutary shock to Gallic tastes, and lend a sturdy +country vigor to the new literature, we reverence his faithfulness, his +incorruptible humanity, his contempt for petty courts and faded manners, +his passion for Nature, and his love of God. All these characteristics +are so broadly printed upon his pages that the obsoleteness of the +narrative does not hide them. + +In view of a second edition, we refer to Mr. Brooks's consideration a +few places, with wonder at his general accuracy in the translation of +obscure passages and the explanation of allusions. + +Vol. I. page 22. _Sakeph-Katon_ (Zaqueph Qaton) is an occasional +pause-accent of the Hebrew, having the sense of "elevator minor," and is +peculiar to prose. + +Page 68. The famous African Prince Le Boo deserves a note. + +Page 111. _Ripieno_ is an Italian musical term, meaning that which +accompanies and strengthens. + +Page 114. _Graenswildpret_ does not mean "frontier wild-game," but game +that, straying out of one precinct into another, gets captured: stray +game, or impounded waif. + +Page 139. The note gives the sense, but the corresponding passage in the +text would stand clearer thus: "not a noble heart, by any means; for +such things Le Baut's golden key, though bored like a cannon, could +fasten rather." + +Page 179. A note required: the passage of Shakspeare is, "Antony and +Cleopatra," Act V., Scene 2:-- + + "His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck + A sun and moon; which kept their course, and lighted + The little O, the earth." + +_Territory of an old lady_ should be "prayer of an old lady." _Gebet_, +not _Gebiet_. + +Page 209. _Eirunde Loch_ would be better represented by its anatomical +equivalent, _foramen ovale_. It should be closed before birth; in the +rare cases where it is left open after birth, the child lives half +asphyxiated. + +Page 224, note. _Semperfreie_ is not from the Latin, but comes from +_sendbarfreie_, that is, eligible, free to be sent or elected to +offices, and consequently, immediately subject to the _Reich_, or Holy +Roman Empire. + +Page 235. An _Odometer_ is an apparatus for measuring distances +travelled by whatsoever vehicle. + +Page 275. _Incunabula_ means specimens of the first printed edition of a +work; also the first impressions of the first edition, the firstlings of +old editions. + +Page 317. _Wackelfiguren_ means figures made of _Wacke_, a greenish-gray +mineral, soft and easily broken. + +Page 322. The note is equivocal, since the phrase is used by fast women +who keep some one in their pay. + +Vol. II., page 122. _Columbine_ is not equivalent to ballet-dancer; it +is the old historical personage of the pantomime, confederate and lover +of Harlequin, who protects her from false love. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. +96, October 1865, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY *** + +***** This file should be named 19996.txt or 19996.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/9/9/19996/ + +Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by Cornell University Digital Collections). + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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