[Illustration: EMERSON, IRVING, COOPER, HAWTHORNE]

 THE BEST

 of the

 WORLD'S CLASSICS

 RESTRICTED TO PROSE

 HENRY CABOT LODGE

 Editor-in-Chief

 FRANCIS W. HALSEY

 Associate Editor

 With an Introduction, Biographical and Explanatory Notes, etc. 

 IN TEN VOLUMES

 Vol. IX

 AMERICA--I

 FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY

 NEW YORK AND LONDON

 COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY

 FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY

 * * * * *

The Best of the World's Classics

VOL. IX

AMERICA--I

1579-1891

 * * * * *

CONTENTS

VOL. IX--AMERICA--I

 _Page_

JOHN SMITH--(Born in 1579, died in 1631. ) His Story of Pocahontas. (From the "General History of Virginia") 3

WILLIAM BRADFORD--(Born in 1590, died in 1657. ) The Pilgrims Land and Meet the Indians. (From the "History of Plymouth") 11

SAMUEL SEWALL--(Born in 1652, died in 1730. ) How He Courted Madam Winthrop. (From his "Diary") 19

COTTON MATHER--(Born in 1663, died in 1728. ) In Praise of John Eliot. (From the "Magnalia Christi Americana") 33

WILLIAM BYRD--(Born in 1674, died in 1744. ) At the Home of Colonel Spotswood. (From "A Visit to the Mines") 38

JONATHAN EDWARDS--(Born in 1703, died in 1758. ) Of Liberty and Moral Agencies. (From the "Freedom of the Will") 44

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN--(Born in 1706, died in 1790. ) I His First Entry into Philadelphia. (From the "Autobiography") 51

 II Warnings Braddock Did Not Heed. (From the "Autobiography") 55

 III How to Draw Lightning from the Clouds. (From a letter to Peter Collinson) 59

 IV The Way to Wealth. (From "Poor Richard's Almanac") 61

 V Dialog with the Gout 68

 VI A Proposal to Madame Helvetius. (A letter to Madame Helvetius) 76

GEORGE WASHINGTON--(Born in 1732, died in 1799. )

 I To His Wife on Taking Command of the Army. (A letter written on June 18, 1775) 79

 II Of His Army in Cambridge. (A letter to Joseph Reed) 81

 III To the Marquis Chastellux on His Marriage. (A letter of April 25, 1788) 84

JOHN ADAMS--(Born in 1735, died in 1826. )

 I On His Nomination of Washington to Be Commander-in-Chief. (From his "Diary") 87

 II An Estimate of Franklin. (From a letter to the Boston _Patriot_) 90

THOMAS PAINE--(Born in 1737, died in 1809. )

 In Favor of the Separation of the Colonies from Great Britain. (From "Common Sense") 94

THOMAS JEFFERSON--(Born in 1743, died in 1826. )

 I When the Bastile Fell. (From his "Autobiography") 98

 II The Futility of Disputes. (From a letter to his nephew) 106

 III Of Blacks and Whites in the South. (From the "Notes on the State of Virginia") 108

 IV His Account of Logan's Famous Speech. (From the "Notes on Virginia") 114

GOUVERNEUR MORRIS--(Born in 1752, died in 1816. )

 I The Opening of the French States-General. (From a letter to Mrs. Morris) 117

 II Of the Execution of Louis XVI. (From a letter to Thomas Jefferson) 120

ALEXANDER HAMILTON--(Born in 1757, died in 1804. )

 I Of the Failure of Confederation. (From _The Federalist_) 123

 II His Reasons for not Declining Burr's Challenge. (From a statement written before the day of the duel) 129

JOHN QUINCY ADAMS--(Born in 1767, died in 1848. )

 I Of His Mother. (From the "Diary") 133

 II The Moral Taint Inherent in Slavery. (From the "Diary") 135

WILLIAM E. CHANNING--(Born in 1780, died in 1842. )

 Of Greatness in Napoleon. (From a review of Scott's "Life of Napoleon") 139

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON--(Born in 1780, died in 1857. )

 Where the Mocking Bird Dwells. (From the "Birds of America") 144

WASHINGTON IRVING--(Born in 1783, died in 1859. )

 I The Last of the Dutch Governors of New York. (From "Knickerbocker's History of New York") 147

 II The Awakening of Rip Van Winkle. (From the "Sketch Book") 151

 III At Abbotsford with Scott. (From the "Crayon Miscellany") 161

FENIMORE COOPER--(Born in 1789, died in 1851. )

 I His Father's Arrival at Otsego Lake. (From "The Pioneers") 170

 II Running the Gantlet. (From "The Last of the Mohicans") 178

 III Leather-Stocking's Farewell. (From "The Pioneers") 185

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT--(Born in 1794, died in 1878. )

 An October Day in Florence. (From a letter) 194

WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT--(Born in 1796, died in 1859. )

 I The Fate of Egmont and Hoorne. (From "Philip II") 198

 II The Genesis of Don Quixote. (From the "Miscellanies") 209

GEORGE BANCROFT--(Born in 1800, died in 1891. )

 The Fate of Evangeline's Countrymen. (From the "History of the United States") 217

RALPH WALDO EMERSON--(Born in 1803, died in 1882. )

 I Thoreau's Broken Task. (From the "Funeral Address") 223

 II The Intellectual Honesty of Montaigne. (From "Representative Men") 229

 III His Visit to Carlyle at Craigen-puttock. (From "English Traits") 231

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE--(Born in 1804, died in 1864. )

 I Occupants of an Old Manse. (From "Mosses from an Old Manse") 235

 II Arthur Dimmesdale on the Scaffold. (From "The Scarlet Letter") 242

 III Of Life at Brook Farm. (From "The Blithedale Romance") 248

 IV The Death of Judge Pyncheon. (From "The House of the Seven Gables") 252

 * * * * *

AMERICA--I

1579-1891

JOHN SMITH

 Born in England in 1579, died in 1631; served against the Turks, captured, but escaped and returned to England in 1605; sailed for Virginia in 1606, and helped to found Jamestown; captured by Indians and his life saved by Pocahontas the same year; explored the Chesapeake to its head; president of the Colony in 1608; returned to London in 1609; in 1614 explored the coast of New England; captured by the French in 1615 and escaped the same year; received the title of Admiral of New England in 1617; published his "True Relation" in 1608, "Map of Virginia" in 1612, "A Description of New England" in 1616, "New England's Trials" in 1620, and his "General History" in 1624. 

HIS STORY OF POCAHONTAS[1]

Here more than two hundred of those grim Courtiers stood wondering athim [John Smith], as he had beene a monster; till Powhatan[2] and histrain had put themselves in their greatest braveries. Before a fireupon a seat like a bedsted, he sat covered with a great robe, made ofRarowcun skinnes, and all the tayles hanging by. On either hand didsit a young wench of 16 or 18 years, and along on each side the house, two rowes of men, and behind them as many women, with all their headsand shoulders painted red; many of their heads bedecked with thewhite downe of Birds; but every one with something: and a great chainof white beads about their necks. 

[Footnote 1: From Smith's "Generall Historie of Virginia. "]

[Footnote 2: Powhatan was chief of a confederacy of Indians known asthe Powhatans, which he had raised from one comprizing only seventribes to one of thirty. The word Powhatan means "falls in a stream, "and was originally applied to the falls in the James river atRichmond. ]

At his entrance before the King, all the people gave a great shout. The Queene of Appamatuck was appointed to bring him water to wash hishands, and another brought him a bunch of feathers, instead of a towelto dry them. Having feasted him after their best barbarous manner theycould, a long consultation was held, but the conclusion was, two greatstones were brought before Powhatan: then as many as could laid handson him, dragged him to them, and thereon laid his head, and beingready with their clubs, to beate out his braines, Pocahontas theKing's dearest daughter, when no intreaty could prevaile, got his headin her armes, and laid her owne upon his to save him from death:whereat the Emperour was contented he should live to make himhatchets, and her bells, beads, and copper; for they thought him aswell of all occupations as themselves. For the King himselfe will makehis owne robes, shooes, bowes, arrowes, pots; plant, hunt, or doe anything so well as the rest. .. . 

To conclude our peace, thus it happened. Captaine Argall[3] havingentered into a great acquaintance with Japazaws, an old friend ofCaptaine Smith's, and so to all our Nation, ever since hee discoveredthe Countrie: hard by him there was Pocahontas, whom Captaine Smith'sRelations intituleth the Numparell of Virginia, and tho she had beenemany times a preserver of him and the whole Colonie, yet till thisaccident shee was never seene at James towne since his departure, being at Patawomeke, as it seemes, thinking her selfe unknown, waseasily by her friend Japazaws perswaded to goe abroad with him and hiswife to see the ship, for Captaine Argall had promised him a CopperKettle to bring her but to him, promising no way to hurt her, butkeepe her till they could conclude a peace with her father. TheSalvage for this Copper Kettle would have done any thing, it seemed bythe Relation; for tho she had seene and beene in many ships, yet hecaused his wife to faine how desirous she was to see one, and that heoffered to beat her for her importunitie, till she wept. 

[Footnote 3: Argall, through intimidation or bribery, had madePocahontas a captive in 1612, when she was the wife of an Indianattached to her father as a subordinate chief or leader. ]

But at last he told her, if Pocahontas would goe with her, he wascontent: and thus they betrayed the poore innocent Pocahontas aboord, where they were all kindly feasted in the cabin. Japazaws treading ofton the Captaine's foot, to remember he had done his part, the Captainewhen he saw his time, perswaded Pocahontas to the gun-roome, fainingto have some conference with Japazaws, which was only that she shouldnot perceive he was any way guiltie of her captivitie: so sending forher againe, he told her before her friends, she must goe with him, andcompound peace betwixt her Countrie and us, before she ever should seePowhatan, whereat the old Jew and his wife began to howle and crie asfast as Pocahontas, that upon the Captaine's fair perswasions, bydegrees pacifying her selfe, and Japazaws and his wife, with theKettle and other toys, went merrily on shore, and she to James towne. A messenger forthwith was sent to her father, that his daughterPocahontas he loved so dearly, he must ransome with our men, swords, pieces, tooles, etc. , he trecherously had stolne. .. . 

Long before this, Master John Rolfe, an honest Gentleman, and of goodbehaviour, had beene in love with Pocahontas, and she with him, whichthing at that instant I made knowne to Sir Thomas Dale by a letterfrom him, wherein hee intreated his advice, and she acquainted herbrother with it, which resolution Sir Thomas Dale[4] well approved. The bruit of this mariage came soone to the knowledge of Powhatan, athing acceptable to him, as appeared by his sudden consent, for withinten days he sent Opachisco, an old Uncle of hers, and two of his sons, to see the manner of the mariage, and to doe in that behalfe what theyrequested, for the confirmation thereof, as his deputie; which wasaccordingly done about the first of Aprill. And ever since we have hadfriendly trade and commerce, as well with Powhatan himself, as all hissubjects. .. . 

[Footnote 4: Dale was colonial governor of Virginia in 1611 and againin 1614-16. In the latter year he returned to England, taking with himCaptain Rolfe and Pocahontas. ]

The Lady Rebecca, [5] alias Pocahontas, daughter to Powhattan, by thediligent care of Master John Rolfe her husband and his friends, astaught to speake such English as might well bee understood, wellinstructed in Christianitie, and was become very formal and civilafter our English manner; she had also by him a childe which she lovedmost dearely and the Treasurer and Company tooke order both for themaintenance of her and it, besides there were divers persons of greatranke and qualitie had beene very kinde to her; and before she arrivedat London, Captaine Smith to deserve her former courtesies, made herqualities knowne to the Queene's most excellent Majestie and herCourt, and writ a little booke to this effect to the Queene: Anabstract whereof followeth. 

[Footnote 5: Under that name Pocahontas had been baptized in theoriginal Jamestown church. A legend has survived that an old font, nowpreserved in the church at Williamsburg, is the one from which she wasbaptized. ]

"_To the most high and vertuous Princesse Queene Anne of GreatBrittanie. _

"MOST ADMIRED QUEENE, "The love I beare my God, my King, and Countrie hath so oft emboldenedme in the worst of extreme dangers, that now honestie doth constrainemee presume thus far beyond my selfe, to present your Majestie thisshort discourse: If ingratitude be a deadly poyson to all honestvertues, I must bee guiltie of that crime if I should omit any meanesto bee thankful. So it is, that some ten yeers agoe being in Virginia, and taken prisoner by the power of Powhatan their chiefe King, Ireceived from this great Salvage exceeding great courtesie, especiallyfrom his son Nantaquaus, the most manliest, comeliest, boldest spirit, I ever saw in a Salvage, and his sister Pocahontas, the King's mostdeare and well-beloved daughter, being but a childe of twelve orthirteene yeers of age, whose compassionate pitiful heart, ofdesperate estate, gave me much cause to respect her: I being thefirst Christian this proud King and his grim attendants ever saw: andthus inthralled in their barbarous power, I cannot say I felt theleast occasion of want that was in the power of those my mortal foesto prevent, notwithstanding all their threats. After some six weeksfatting among those Salvage Courtiers, at the minute of my execution, she hazarded the beating out of her owne braines to save mine, and notonly that, but so prevaild with her father, that I was safelyconducted to James towne, where I found about eight and thirtiemiserable poore and sicke creatures, to keepe possession of all thoselarge territories of Virginia. Such was the weaknesse of this pooreCommonwealth, as had the Salvages not fed us, we directly had starved. 

"And this reliefe, most gracious Queene, was commonly brought us bythis Lady Pocahontas, notwithstanding all these passages wheninconstant Fortune turned our peace to war, this tender Virgin wouldstill not spare to dare to visit us, and by her our jars have beeneoft appeased, and our wants still supplyed; were it the policie of herfather thus to imploy her, or the ordinance of God thus to make herHis instrument, or her extraordinary affection to our Nation, I knownot: but of this I am sure:--when her father with the utmost of hispolicie and power, sought to surprize mee, having but eighteene withmee, the darke night could not affright her from comming through theirkesome woods, and with watered eyes gave me intelligence, with herbest advice to escape his furie; which had hee knowne, hee had surelyslaine her. James towne with her wild traine she as freelyfrequented, as her father's habitation; and during the time of two orthree yeeres, she next under God, was still the Instrument to preservethis Colonie from death, famine and utter confusion, which if in thosetimes had once beene dissolved, Virginia might have line as it was atour first arrival to this day. Since then, this businesse having beeneturned and varied by many accidents from that I left it at: it is mostcertaine, after a long and troublesome war after my departure, betwixther father and our Colonie, all which time shee was not heard of, about two yeeres after she her selfe was taken prisoner, being sodetained neere two yeeres longer, the Colonie by that meanes wasrelieved, peace concluded, and at last rejecting her barbarouscondition, was maried to an English Gentleman, with whom at thispresent she is in England; the first Christian ever of that Nation, the first Virginian ever spake English, or had a childe in mariage byan Englishman, a matter surely, if my meaning bee truly considered andwell understood, worthy a Prince's understanding. .. . 

"The small time I staid in London, divers Courtiers and others, myacquaintances, hath gone with mee to see her, that generallyconcluded, they did thinke God had a great hand in her conversion, andthey have seen many English Ladies worse favored, proportioned andbehaviored, and as since I have heard, it pleased both the King andQueene's Majestie honorably to esteeme her, accompanied with thathonorable Lady the Lady De la Warre, and that honorable Lord herhusband, and divers other persons of good qualities, both publikelyat the maskes and otherwise, to her great satisfaction and content, which doubtlesse she would have deserved had she lived to arrive inVirginia. "[6]

[Footnote 6: Pocahontas in England gave birth to a son. She died atGravesend in the following year, in 1617. The parish records ofGravesend describe her as "a Virginia lady borne, here was buried inye chauncell. " In London a well-known street preserves a memorial ofher in its name--La Belle Sauvage. Her son, Thomas Rolfe, after livingmany years in England, settled in Virginia. Several families in thatState have traced their descent from him. One of these was the famousJohn Randolph of Roanoke. ]

WILLIAM BRADFORD

 Born in England in 1590, died at Plymouth, Mass. , in 1657; governor of Plymouth Colony from 1627, except for five years, to 1657; wrote a "History of the Plymouth Plantation" for the period 1602-47, the manuscript of which was lost in England, but after the lapse of about seventy-five years it was found in a library in 1855, and in the following year published. 

THE PILGRIMS LAND AND MEET THE INDIANS[7]

(1620)

Having the wind good, we sailed all that day along the coast aboutfifteen leagues; but saw neither river nor creek to put into. After wehad sailed an hour or two, it began to snow and rain, and to be badweather. About the midst of the afternoon the wind increased, and theseas began to be very rough; and the hinges of the rudder broke, sothat we could steer no longer with it, but two men, with much ado, were fain to serve with a couple of oars. The seas were grown so greatthat we were much troubled and in great danger; and night grew on. Anon, Master Coppin bade us be of good cheer; he saw the harbor. As wedrew near, the gale being stiff, and we bearing great sail to get in, split our mast in three pieces, and were like to have cast away ourshallop. Yet, by God's mercy, recovering ourselves, we had the floodwith us, and struck into the harbor. 

[Footnote 7: From what was long known as "Mourt's Relation, " publishedin London in 1622, but more properly, and now generally, called the"Journal, " or diary, of Bradford and Edward Winslow. This importanthistorical document covers the first year of the Plymouth colony. ]

Now he that thought that had been the place, was deceived, it being aplace where not any of us had been before; and coming into the harbor, he that was our pilot, did bear up northward, which if he hadcontinued, we had been cast away. Yet still the Lord kept us and webare up for an island before us, and recovering of that island, beingcompassed about with many rocks, and dark night growing upon us, itpleased the Divine Providence that we fell upon a place of sandyground, where our shallop did ride safe and secure all that night; andcoming upon a strange island, kept our watch all night in the rainupon that island. And in the morning we marched about it, and found noinhabitants at all; and here we made our rendezvous all that day, being Saturday, 10th of December. On the Sabbath day we rested; and onMonday we sounded the harbor, and found it a very good harbor for ourshipping. We marched also into the land, and found divers cornfields, and little running brooks, a place very good for situation. So wereturned to our ship again with good news to the rest of our people, which did much comfort their hearts. .. . 

Some of us, having a good mind, for safety, to plant in the greaterisle, we crossed the bay, which is there five or six miles over, andfound the isle about a mile and half or two miles about, all wooded, and no fresh water but two or three pits, that we doubted of freshwater in summer, and so full of wood as we could hardly clear so muchas to serve us for corn. Besides, we judged it cold for our corn, andsome part very rocky; yet divers thought of it as a place defensible, and of great security. That night we returned again a shipboard, withresolution the next morning to settle on some of those places. 

So in the morning, after we had called on God for direction, we cameto this resolution, to go presently ashore again, and to take a betterview of two places which we thought most fitting for us; for we couldnot now take time for further search or consideration, our victualsbeing much spent, especially our beer, and it being now the 19th ofDecember. After our landing and viewing of the places, so well as wecould, we came to a conclusion, by most voices, to set on the mainland, on the first place, on a high ground, where there is a greatdeal of land cleared, and hath been planted with corn three or fouryears ago; and there is a very sweet brook runs under the hill side, and many delicate springs of as good water as can be drunk, and wherewe may harbor our shallops and boats exceeding well; and in this brookmuch good fish in their seasons; on the further side of the river alsomuch corn-ground cleared. In one field is a great hill, on which wepoint to make a platform, and plant our ordnance, which will commandall round about. From thence we may see into the bay, and far into thesea; and we may see thence Cape Cod. Our greatest labor will befetching of our wood, which is half a quarter of an English mile; butthere is enough so far off. What people inhabit here we yet know not, for as yet we have seen none. So there we made our rendezvous, and aplace for some of our people, about twenty, resolving in the morningto come all ashore and to build houses. 

But the next morning, being Thursday, the 21st of December, it wasstormy and wet, that we could not go ashore; and those that remainedthere all night could do nothing, but were wet, not having daylightenough to make them a sufficient court of guard, to keep them dry. Allthat night it blew and rained extremely. It was so tempestuous thatthe shallop could not go on land so soon as was meet, for they had novictuals on land. About eleven o'clock the shallop went off with muchado with provision, but could not return, it blew so strong; and wassuch foul weather that we were forced to let fall our anchor, and ridewith three anchors ahead. 

Friday, the 22d, the storm still continued, that we could not get aland, nor they come to us aboard. .. . 

Saturday, the 23d, so many of us as could went on shore, felled andcarried timber, to provide themselves stuff for building. 

Sunday, the 24th, our people on shore heard a cry of some savages, asthey thought, which caused an alarm and to stand on their guard, expecting an assault; but all was quiet. 

Friday, the 16th, a fair warm day toward. This morning we determinedto conclude of the military orders, which we had begun to consider ofbefore, but were interrupted by the savages, as we mentioned formerly. And while we were busied, hereabout, we were interrupted again; forthere presented himself a savage, which caused an alarm. He veryboldly came all alone, and along the houses, straight to therendezvous; where we intercepted him, not suffering him to go in, asundoubtedly he would out of his boldness. He saluted us in English, and bade us "Welcome!" for he had learned some broken English amongthe Englishmen that came to fish at Monhiggon, and knew by name themost of the captains, commanders and masters, that usually come. Hewas a man free in speech, so far as he could express his mind, and ofa seemly carriage. We questioned him of many things; he was the firstsavage we could meet withal. He said he was not of these parts, but ofMorattiggon, and one of the sagamores or lords thereof; and had beeneight months in these parts, it lying hence a day's sail with a greatwind, and five days by land. He discoursed of the whole country, andof every province, and of their sagamores, and their number of men andstrength. The wind beginning to rise a little, we cast a horseman'scoat about him; for he was stark naked, only a leather about hiswaist, with a fringe about a span long or little more. He had a bowand two arrows, the one headed, and the other unheaded. He was a tall, straight man, the hair of his head black, long behind, only shortbefore, none on his face at all. He asked some beer, but we gave himstrong water, and biscuit, and butter, and cheese, and pudding, and apiece of mallard; all which he liked well, and had been acquaintedwith such amongst the English. He told us the place where we now liveis called Patuxet, and that about four years ago all the inhabitantsdied of an extraordinary plague, and there is neither man, woman, norchild remaining, as indeed we have found none; so as there is none tohinder our possession, or to lay claim unto it. All the afternoon wespent in communication with him. We would gladly have been rid of himat night, but he was not willing to go this night. Then we thought tocarry him on shipboard, wherewith he was well content, and went intothe shallop; but the wind was high and the water scant, that it couldnot return back. We lodged him that night at Steven Hopkin's house, and watched him. 

The next day he went away back to the Masasoits, from whence he saidhe came, who are our next bordering neighbors. They are sixty strong, as he saith. The Nausites are as near, southeast of them, and are ahundred strong; and those were they of whom our people wereencountered, as we before related. They are much incensed and provokedagainst the English; and about eight months ago slew three Englishmen, and two more hardly escaped by flight to Monhiggon. They were SirFerdinando Gorge's[8] men, as this savage told us; as he did likewiseof the _huggery_, that is, fight, that our discoverers had with theNausites, and of our tools that were taken out of the woods, which wewilled him, should be brought again; otherwise we would rightourselves. These people are ill affected toward the English by reasonof one Hunt, a master of a ship, who deceived the people and got themunder color of trucking with them, twenty out of this very place wherewe inhabit, and seven men from the Nausites, and carried them away, and sold them for slaves, like a wretched man (for twenty pound a man)that cares not what mischief he doth for his profit. 

[Footnote 8: Gorge was an English naval and military commander whocame of an ancient family in Somersetshire. He had undertaken severalschemes of discovery and settlement in America, but with smallsuccess. His pioneer work, however, was of such importance that he hassometimes been called "the father of English colonization inAmerica. "]

Saturday, in the morning, we dismissed the savage, and gave him aknife, a bracelet, and a ring. He promised within a night or two tocome again and to bring with him some of the Masasoits, our neighbors, with such beavers' skins as they had to truck with us. 

Saturday and Sunday reasonable fair days. On this day came again thesavage, and brought with him five other tall, proper men. They hadevery man a deer's skin on him, and the principal of them had a wildcat's skin, or such like, on the one arm. They had most of them longhosen up to their groins, close made, and above their groins to theirwaist another leather; they were altogether like the Irish trousers. They are of complexion like our English gipseys; no hair or verylittle on their faces; on their heads long hair to their shoulders, only cut before; some trussed up before with a feather, broad-wise, like a fan; another a fox-tail, hanging out. These left (according toour charge given him before) their bows and arrows a quarter of a milefrom our town. We gave them entertainment as we thought was fittingthem. They did eat liberally of our English victuals. They madesemblance unto us of friendship and amity. They sang and danced aftertheir manner, like antics. They brought with them in a thing like abow-case (which the principal of them had about his waist) a little oftheir corn pounded to powder, which, put to a little water, they eat. He had a little tobacco in a bag; but none of them drank but when heliked. Some of them had their faces painted black, from the foreheadto the chin, four or five fingers broad; others after other fashions, as they liked. They brought three or four skins; but we would nottruck with them at all that day, but wished them to bring more, and wewould truck for all; which they promised within a night or two, andwould leave these behind them, tho we were not willing they should;and they brought us all our tools again, which were taken in thewoods, in our men's absence. So, because of the day, we dismissed themso soon as we could. But Samoset, [9] our first acquaintance, eitherwas sick or feigned himself so, and would not go with them, and stayedwith us till Wednesday morning. Then we sent him to them to know thereason they came not according to their words; and we gave him a hat, a pair of stockings and shoes, a shirt, and a piece of cloth to tieabout his waist. 

[Footnote 9: Samoset is still famous as an Indian who remained firm inhis friendship with the Plymouth colonists. ]

SAMUEL SEWALL

 Born in England in 1652, died in Boston in 1730; served in the Bay Colony as judge and in other public stations; one of the judges at trials for witchcraft in 1692; chief justice in 1718; a philanthropist, and in 1700 wrote a pamphlet against slavery; his other works: "Queries Respecting America, " published in 1690; "The Kennebec Indians" in 1721, and his "Diary" covering the period 1664-1729 in 1882. 

HOW HE COURTED MADAM WINTHROP[10]

(1720)

September 5, 1720. Mary Hirst goes to Board with Madam Oliver and herMother Loyd. Going to Son Sewall's I there meet with Madam Winthrop, told her I was glad to meet her there, had not seen her a great while;gave her Mr. Homes's Sermon. .. . 

[Footnote 10: From Sewall's "Diary, " as published by the MassachusettsHistorical Society in 1882. 

Mrs. Winthrop was the widow of General Waite Still Winthrop, a son ofJohn Winthrop, Governor of Connecticut, who was a son of JohnWinthrop, Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Her maiden namewas Katharine Brattle. She had first married John Eyre, with whom shelived about twenty years, and by whom she had twelve children. She wasborn in 1664, and at the time of Sewall's courtship of her wasfifty-six and he sixty-nine. General Winthrop and Mrs. Sewall had dieda few years before within a month of each other. Madam Winthrop didnot marry Judge Sewall, nor any one else. She died five years afterthe date of this courtship. ]

September 30. Mr. Colman's Lecture: Daughter Sewall acquaints MadamWinthrop that if she pleas'd to be within at 3 P. M. I would wait onher. She answer'd she would be at home. 

October 1. Satterday, I dine at Mr. Stoddard's: from thence I went toMadam Winthrop's just at 3. Spake to her, saying, my loving wife diedso soon and suddenly, 'twas hardly convenient for me to think ofmarrying again; however I came to this Resolution, that I would notmake my Court to any person without first Consulting with her. Had apleasant discourse about 7 [seven] Single persons sitting in theFore-seat. She propounded one and another for me; but none would do, said Mrs. Loyd was about her Age. 

October 3. 2. Waited on Madam Winthrop again; 'twas a little whilebefore she came in. Her daughter Noyes being there alone with me, Isaid, I hoped my Waiting on her Mother would not be disagreeable toher. She answer'd she should not be against that that might be for herComfort. I Saluted her, and told her I perceived I must shortly wishher a good Time; (her mother had told me, she was with Child, andwithin a Moneth or two of her Time). By and by in came Mr. Airs, Chaplain of the Castle, and hang'd up his Hat, which I was a littlestartled at, it seeming as if he was to lodge there. At last MadamWinthrop came too. After a considerable time, I went up to her andsaid, if it might not be inconvenient I desired to speak with her. Sheassented, and spake of going into another Room; but Mr. Airs and Mrs. Noyes presently rose up, and went out, leaving us there alone. Then Iusher'd in Discourse from the names in the Fore-seat; at last I pray'dthat Katharine [Mrs. Winthrop] might be the person assign'd for me. She instantly took it up in the way of Denyal, as if she had catch'dat an Opportunity to do it, saying she could not do it before she wasasked. Said that was her mind unless she should Change it, which shebelieved she should not; could not leave her Children. I express'd mySorrow that she should do it so Speedily, pray'd her Consideration, and ask'd her when I should wait on her agen. She setting no time, Imentioned that day Sennight. Gave her Mr. Willard's Fountain open'dwith the little print and verses; saying, I hop'd if we did well readthat book, we should meet together hereafter, if we did not now. Shetook the Book, and put it in her Pocket. Took Leave. 

October 5. Midweek, I din'ed with the Court; from thence went andvisited Cousin Jonathan's wife, Lying in with her little Betty. Gavethe Nurse 2s. Altho I had appointed to wait upon her, Madam Winthrop, next Monday, yet I went from my Cousin Sewall's thither about 3 P. M. The Nurse told me Madam dined abroad at her daughter Noyes's, theywere to go out together. I ask'd for the Maid, who was not within. Gave Katee a penny and a Kiss, and came away. Accompanyed my Son anddaughter Cooper in their Remove to their New House. 

October 6. A little after 6 P. M. I went to Madam Winthrop's. She wasnot within. I gave Sarah Chickering the Maid 2s. , Juno, who brought inwood, 1s. Afterward the Nurse came in, I gave her 18d. , having noother small Bill. After awhile Dr. Noyes came in with his Mother; andquickly after his wife came in: They sat talking, I think, till eighta-clock. I said I fear'd I might be some Interruption to theirBusiness: Dr. Noyes reply'd pleasantly: He fear'd they might be anInterruption to me, and went away. Madam seem'd to harp upon the samestring. Must take care of her Children; could not leave that House andNeighborhood where she had dwelt so long. I told her she might doe herchildren as much or more good by bestowing what she laid out inHous-keeping, upon them. Said her Son would be of age the 7th ofAugust. I said it might be inconvenient for her to dwell with herDaughter-in-Law, who must be Mistress of the House. I gave her a pieceof Mr. Belcher's Cake and Ginger-Bread wrapped up in a clean sheet ofPaper; told her of her Father's kindness to me when Treasurer, and IConstable. My Daughter Judith was gon from me and I was morelonesom--might help to forward one another in our Journey toCanaan. --Mr. Eyre[11] came within the door; I saluted him, ask'd howMr. Clark did, and he went away. I took leave about 9 a-clock. I told[her] I came now to refresh her Memory as to Monday night; said shehad not forgot it. In discourse with her, I ask'd leave to speak withher Sister; I meant to gain Madam Mico's favour to persuade herSister. She seem'd surpris'd and displeas'd, and said she was in thesame condition!. .. 

[Footnote 11: A son of Madam Winthrop by her first marriage. ]

October 10. In the Evening I visited Madam Winthrop, who treated mewith a great deal of Curtesy; Wine, Marmalade. I gave her aNews-Letter about the Thanksgiving; Proposals, for sake of the Versesfor David Jeffries. She tells me Dr. Increase Mather visited her thisday, in Mr. Hutchinson's Coach. 

October 11. I writ a few Lines to Madam Winthrop to this purpose:"Madam, These wait on you with Mr. Mayhew's Sermon, and Account of thestate of the Indians on Martha's Vinyard. I thank you for yourUnmerited Favors of yesterday; and hope to have the Happiness ofWaiting on you to-morrow before Eight a-clock after Noon. I pray GODto keep you, and give you a joyfull entrance upon the Two Hundred andtwenty-ninth year of Christopher Columbus his Discovery; and takeLeave, who am, Madam, your humble Servant. S. S. "

Sent this by Deacon Green, who deliver'd it to Sarah Chickering, herMistress not being at home. 

October 12. At Madam Winthrop's Steps I took leave of Capt Hill, &c. Mrs. Anne Cotton came to door (twas before 8. ) said Madam Winthrop waswithin, directed me into the little Room, where she was full of workbehind a Stand Mrs. Cotton came in and stood. Madam Winthrop pointedto her to set me a Chair. Madam Winthrop's Countenance was muchchanged from what 'twas on Monday, look'd dark and lowering. At last, the work, (black stuff or Silk) was taken away, I got my Chair inplace, had some Converse, but very Cold and indifferent to what 'twasbefore. Ask'd her to acquit me of Rudeness if I drew off her Glove. Enquiring the reason, I told her twas great odds between handling adead Goat, and a living Lady. Got it off. I told her I had onePetition to ask of her, that was, that she would take off the Negativeshe laid on me the third of October; She readily answer'd she couldnot, and enlarg'd upon it; She told me of it so soon as she could;could not leave her house, children, neighbours, business. I told hershe might do som Good to help and support me. Mentioning Mrs. Gookin, Nath, the widow Weld was spoken of; said I had visited Mrs. Denison. Itold her Yes! Afterward I said, If after a first and second Vagary shewould Accept of me returning, Her Victorious Kindness and Good Willwould be very Obliging. She thank'd me for my Book, (Mr. Mayhew'sSermon), But said not a word of the Letter. When she insisted on theNegative, I pray'd there might be no more Thunder and Lightening, Ishould not sleep all night. I gave her Dr. Preston, The Church'sMarriage and the Church's Carriage, which cost me 6s. At the Sale. Thedoor standing open, Mr. Airs came in, hung up His hat, and sat down. After awhile, Madam Winthrop moving, he went out. Jno. Eyre look'd in, I said How do ye, or your servant Mr. Eyre: but heard no word fromhim. Sarah fill'd a Glass of Wine, she drank to me, I to her, She sentJuno home with me with a good Lantern, I gave her 6d. And bid herthank her Mistress. In some of our Discourse, I told her I had rathergo the Stone-House adjoining to her, than to come to her against hermind. Told her the reason why I came every other night was lest Ishould drink too deep draughts of Pleasure. She had talk'd of Canary, her Kisses were to me better than the best Canary. Explain'd theexpression Concerning Columbus. 

October 13. I tell my Son and daughter Sewall, that the Weather wasnot so fair as I apprehended. 

October 17. In the Evening I visited Madam Winthrop, who Treated meCourteously, but not in Clean Linen as somtimes. She said, she did notknow whether I would come again, or no. I ask'd her how she could soimpute inconstancy to me. (I had not visited her since Wednesday nightbeing unable to get over the Indisposition received by the Treatmentreceived that night, and _I must_ in it seem'd to sound like a madepiece of Formality. ) Gave her this day's Gazett. Heard David Jeffriessay the Lord's Prayer, and some other portions of the Scriptures. Hecame to the door, and ask'd me to go into Chamber, where hisGrandmother was tending Little Katee, to whom she had given Physick;but I chose to sit below. Dr. Noyes and his wife came in, and sat aconsiderable time; had been visiting Son and daughter Cooper. Junocame home with me. 

October 18. Visited Madam Mico, who came to me in a splendid Dress. Isaid, It may be you have heard of my Visiting Madam Winthrop, herSister. She answered, Her Sister had told her of it. I ask'd her goodWill in the Affair. She answer'd, If her Sister were for it, sheshould not hinder it. I gave her Mr. Homes's Sermon. She gave me aGlass of Canary, entertain'd me with good Discourse, and a RespectfullRemembrance of my first Wife. I took Leave. 

October 19. Midweek, Visited Madam Winthrop; Sarah told me she was atMr. Walley's, would not come home till late. I gave her Hannah 3oranges with her Duty, not knowing whether I should find her or no. Was ready to go home: but said if I knew she was there, I would gothither. Sarah seem'd to speak with pretty good Courage, She would bethere. I went and found her there, with Mr. Walley and his wife in thelittle Room below. At 7 a-clock I mentioned going home; at 8. I put onmy Coat, and quickly waited on her home. She found occasion to speakloud to the servant, as if she had a mind to be known. Was Courteousto me; but took occasion to speak pretty earnestly about my keeping aCoach: I said 'twould cost £100. Per annum: she said twould cost but£40. Spake much against John Winthrop, his false-heartedness. Mr. Eyrecame in and sat awhile; I offer'd him Dr. Incr. Mather's Sermons, whereof Mr. Appleton's Ordination Sermon was one; said he had themalready. I said I would give him another. Exit. Came away somewhatlate. 

October 20. Promis'd to wait on the Governor about 7. Madam Winthropnot being at Lecture, I went thither first; found her very Serene withher daughter Noyes, Mrs. Dering, and the widow Shipreev sitting at alittle Table, she in her arm'd Chair. She drank to me, and I to Mrs. Noyes. After awhile pray'd the favor to speak with her. She took oneof the Candles, and went into the best Room, clos'd the shutters, satdown upon the Couch. She told me Madam Usher had been there, and saidthe Coach must be set on Wheels, and not by Rusting. She spakesomething of my needing a Wigg. Ask'd me what her Sister said to me. Itold her, She said, If her Sister were for it, She would not hinderit. But I told her, she did not say she would be glad to have me forher Brother. Said, I shall keep you in the Cold, and asked her if shewould be within to morrow night, for we had had but a running Feat. She said she could not tell whether she should, or no. I took Leave. As were drinking at the Governour's, he said: In England the Ladiesminded little more than that they might have Money, and Coaches toride in. I said, And New-England brooks its Name. At which Mr. Dudleysmiled. Governour said they were not quite so bad here. 

October 21. Friday, My Son, the Minister, came to me P. M. Byappointment and we pray one for another in the Old Chamber; moreespecially respecting my Courtship. About 6. A-clock I go to MadamWinthrop's; Sarah told me her Mistress was gon out, but did not tellme whither she went. She presently order'd me a Fire; so I went in, having Dr. Sibb's Bowels with me to read. I read the two firstSermons, still no body came in: at last about 9. A-clock Mr. Jno. Eyrecame in; I took the opportunity to say to him as I had done to Mrs. Noyes before, that I hoped my Visiting his Mother would not bedisagreeable to him; He answered me with much Respect. When twas after9. A-clock He of himself said he would go and call her, she was but atone of his Brothers: A while after I heard Madam Winthrop's voice, enquiring somthing about John. After a good while and Clapping theGarden door twice or thrice, she came in. I mention'd somthing of thelateness; she banter'd me, and said I was later. She receiv'd meCourteously. I ask'd when our proceedings should be made publick: Shesaid They were like to be no more publick than they were already. Offer'd me no Wine that I remember. I rose up at 11 a-clock to comeaway, saying I would put on my Coat, She offer'd not to help me. Ipray'd her that Juno might light me home, she open'd the Shutter, andsaid twas pretty light abroad; Juno was weary and gon to bed. So Icame home by Star-light as well as I could. At my first coming in, Igave Sarah five Shillings. I writ Mr. Eyre his name in his book withthe date October 21, 1720. It cost me 8s. Jehovah jireh! Madam told meshe had visited M. Mico, Wendell, and Wm. Clark of the South [Church]. 

October 22. Daughter Cooper visited me before my going out of Town, staid till about Sun set. I brought her going near as far as theOrange Tree. Coming back, near Leg's Corner, Little David Jeffries sawme, and looking upon me very lovingly, ask'd me if I was going to seehis Grandmother? I said, Not to-night. Gave him a peny, and bid himpresent my Service to his Grandmother. 

October 24. I went in the Hackny Coach through the Common, stop'd atMadam Winthrop's (had told her I would take my departure from thence). Sarah came to the door with Katee in her Arms: but I did not think totake notice of the Child. Call'd her Mistress. I told her, beingencourag'd by David Jeffries loving eyes, and sweet Words, I was cometo enquire whether she could find in her heart to leave that House andNeighbourhood, and go and dwell with me at the South-end; I think shesaid softly, Not yet. I told her It did not ly in my Lands to keep aCoach. If I should, I should be in danger to be brought to keepcompany with her Neighbour Brooker, (he was a little before sent toprison for Debt). Told her I had an Antipathy against those who wouldpretend to give themselves; but nothing of their Estate. I would aproportion of my Estate with my self. And I supposed she would do so. As to a Perriwig, My best and greatest Friend, I could not possiblyhave a greater, began to find me with Hair before I was born, and hadcontinued to do so ever since; and I could not find in my heart to goto another. She commended the book I gave her, Dr. Preston, the ChurchMarriage; quoted him saying 'twas inconvenient keeping out of aFashion commonly used. I said the Time and Tide did circumscribe myVisit. She gave me a Dram of Black-Cherry Brandy, and gave me a lumpof the Sugar that was in it. She wish'd me a good Journy. I pray'd Godto keep her, and came away. Had a very pleasant Journy to Salem. 

November 1. I was so taken up that I could not go if I would. 

November 2. Midweek, went again, and found Mrs. Alden there, whoquickly went out. Gave her about 1/2 pound of Sugar Almonds, cost 3s. Per £. Carried them on Monday. She seem'd pleas'd with them, ask'dwhat they cost. Spake of giving her a Hundred pounds per annum if Idy'd before her. Ask'd her what sum she would give me, if she shoulddy first? Said I would give her time to Consider of it. She said sheheard as if I had given all to my Children by Deeds of Gift. I toldher 'twas a mistake, Point-Judith was mine &c. That in England Iown'd, my Father's desire was that it should go to my eldest Son;'twas 20£ per annum; she thought 'twas forty. I think when I seem'd toexcuse pressing this, she seemed to think twas best to speak of it; along winter was coming on. Gave me a Glass or two of Canary. 

November 4. Friday, Went again, about 7. A-clock; found there Mr. JohnWalley and his wife: sat discoursing pleasantly. I shew'd them IsaacMoses's [an Indian] Writing. Madam W. Serv'd Comfeits to us. Afterawhile a Table was spread, and Supper was set. I urg'd Mr. Walley toCrave a Blessing; but he put it upon me. About 9. They went away. Iask'd Madam what fashioned Neck-lace I should present her with, Shesaid, None at all. I ask'd her Whereabout we left off last time;mention'd what I had offer'd to give her; Ask'd her what she wouldgive me; She said she could not Change her Condition: She had said sofrom the beginning; could not be so far from her Children, theLecture. Quoted the Apostle Paul affirming that a single Life wasbetter than a Married. I answered That was for the present Distress. Said she had not pleasure in things of that nature as formerly: Isaid, you are the fitter to make me a Wife. If she held in that mind, I must go home and bewail my Rashness in making more haste than goodSpeed. However, considering the Supper, I desired her to be withinnext Monday night, if we liv'd so long. Assented. She charg'd me withsaying, that she must put away Juno, if she came to me: I utterlydeny'd it, it never came in my heart; yet she insisted upon it;saying it came in upon discourse about the Indian woman that obtainedher Freedom this Court. About 10. I said I would not disturb the goodorders of her House, and came away. She not seeming pleas'd with myComing away. Spake to her about David Jeffries, had not seen him. 

Monday, November 7. My Son pray'd in the Old Chamber. Our time hadbeen taken up by Son and Daughter Cooper's Visit; so that I only readthe 130th and 143. Psalm. Twas on the Account of my Courtship. I wentto Mad. Winthrop; found her rocking her little Katee in the Cradle. Iexcus'd my Coming so late (near Eight). She set me an arm'd Chair andCusheon; and so the Cradle was between her arm'd Chair and mine. Gaveher the remnant of my Almonds; She did not eat of them as before; butlaid them away; I said I came to enquire whether she had alter'd hermind since Friday, or remained of the same mind still. She said, Thereabouts. I told her I loved her, and was so fond as to think thatshe loved me: she said had a great respect for me. I told her, I hadmade her an offer, without asking any advice; she had so many toadvise with, that 'twas an hindrance. The Fire was come to one shortBrand besides the Block, which Brand was set up in end; at last itfell to pieces, and no Recruit was made: She gave me a glass of Wine. I think I repeated again that I would go home and bewail my Rashnessin making more haste than good Speed. I would endeavor to containmyself, and not go on to sollicit her to do that which she could notConsent to. Took leave of her. As came down the steps she bid me havea care. Treated me Courteously. Told her she had enter'd the 4th yearof her Widowhood. I had given her the News-Letter before: I did notbid her draw off her Glove as sometime I had done. Her Dress was notso clean as somtime it had been. Jehovah Jireh. 

Midweek, November 9th. Dine at Brother Stoddard's: were so kind as toenquire of me if they should invite Madam Winthrop; I answer'd No. Thank'd my Sister Stoddard for her Courtesie. Had a noble Treat. Atnight our Meeting was at the Widow Belknap's. Gave each one of theMeeting One of Mr. Holmes's Sermons, 12 in all; She sent her servanthome with me with a Lantern. Madam Winthrop's Shutters were open as Ipass'd by. 

November 11th. Went not to Madam Winthrop's. This is the 2dWithdraw. .. . 

About the middle of December Madam Winthrop made a Treat for herChildren; Mr. Sewall, Prince, Willoughby: I knew nothing of it; butthe same day abode in the Council Chamber for fear of the Rain, anddin'd alone upon Kilby's Pyes and good Beer. [12]

[Footnote 12: In the following summer Judge Sewall made his addressesto an old friend of his, then a widow, Mrs. Ruggles, by whom he wasrejected. In March of the next year he married Mrs. Mary Gibbs. ]

COTTON MATHER

 Born in Boston in 1663, died in 1728; son of Increase Mather; colleague of his father in the North Church of Boston in 1684, remaining in that pulpit until his death; active in the suppression of witchcraft; published his "Magnalia" in 1702, his "Wonders of the Invisible World" in 1692. 

IN PRAISE OF JOHN ELIOT[13]

He that will write of Eliot must write of charity, or say nothing. Hischarity was a star of the first magnitude in the bright constellationof his vertues, and the rays of it were wonderfully various andextensive. His liberality to pious uses, whether publick or private, went much beyond the proportions of his little estate in the world. Many hundreds of pounds did he freely bestow upon the poor; and hewould, with a very forcible importunity, press his neighbors to joinwith him in such beneficences. It was a marvelous alacrity with whichhe imbraced all opportunities of relieving any that were miserable;and the good people of Roxbury doubtless cannot remember (but therighteous God will!) how often, and with what ardors, with whatarguments, he became a beggar to them for collections in theirassemblies, to support such needy objects as had fallen under hisobservation. The poor counted him their father, and repaired stillunto him with a filial confidence in their necessities; and they weremore than seven or eight, or indeed than so many scores, who receivedtheir portions of his bounty. Like that worthy and famous Englishgeneral, he could not perswade himself "that he had anything but whathe gave away, " but he drove a mighty trade at such exercises as hethought would furnish him with bills of exchange, which he hoped"after many days" to find the comfort of; and yet, after all, he wouldsay, like one of the most charitable souls that ever lived in theworld, "that looking over his accounts he could nowhere find the Godof heaven charged a debtor there. " He did not put off his charity tobe put in his last will, as many who therein shew that their charityis against their will; but he was his own administrator; he made hisown hands his executors, and his own eyes his overseers. It has beenremarked that liberal men are often long-lived men; so do they aftermany days find the bread with which they have been willing to keepother men alive. The great age of our Eliot was but agreeable to thisremark; and when his age had unfitted him for almost all employments, and bereaved him of those gifts and parts which once he had beenaccomplished with, being asked, "How he did?" he would sometimesanswer, "Alas, I have lost everything; my understanding leaves me, mymemory fails me, my utterance fails me; but, I thank God, my charityholds out still; I find that rather grows than fails!" And I make noquestion, that at his death his happy soul was received and welcomedinto the "everlasting habitations, " by many scores got thither beforehim, of such as his charity had been liberal unto. 

[Footnote 13: From the "Magnalia Christi Americana. " This workcomprizes an ecclesiastical history of early New England, and has beenin much favor with collectors. John Eliot has commonly been called"The Apostle of the Indians. " He labored among them many years andtranslated into their language the Bible. Copies of the "Eliot Bible"are now among the most valuable of early American books. ]

But besides these more substantial expressions of his charity, he madethe odors of that grace yet more fragrant unto all that were abouthim, by that pitifulness and that peaceableness which rendered him yetfurther amiable. If any of his neighborhood were in distress, he waslike a "brother born for their adversity, " he would visit them, andcomfort them with a most fraternal sympathy; yea, 'tis not easy torecount how many whole days of prayer and fasting he has got hisneighbors to keep with him, on the behalf of those whose calamities hefound himself touched withal. It was an extreme satisfaction to himthat his wife had attained unto a considerable skill in physick andchirurgery, which enabled her to dispense many safe, good and usefulmedicines unto the poor that had occasion for them; and some hundredsof sick and weak and maimed people owed praises to God for the benefitwhich therein they freely received of her. The good gentleman herhusband would still be casting oil into the flame of that charity, wherein she was of her own accord abundantly forward thus to be doingof good unto all; and he would urge her to be serviceable unto theworst enemies that he had in the world. Never had any man fewerenemies than he! but once having delivered something in his ministrywhich displeased one of his hearers, the man did passionately abusehim for it, and this both with speeches and with writings thatreviled him. Yet it happening not long after that this man gavehimself a very dangerous wound, Mr. Eliot immediately sends his wifeto cure him; who did accordingly. When the man was well, he came tothank her, but she took no rewards; and this good man made him stayand eat with him, taking no notice of all the calumnies with which hehad loaded him; but by this carriage he mollified and conquered thestomach of his reviler. 

He was also a great enemy to all contention, and would ring aloudcourfeu bell wherever he saw the fires of animosity. When he heard anyministers complain that such and such in their flocks were toodifficult for them, the strain of his answer still was, "Brother, compass them!" and "Brother, learn the meaning of those three littlewords, bear, forbear, forgive. " Yea, his inclinations for peace, indeed, sometimes almost made him to sacrifice right itself. Whenthere was laid before an assembly of ministers a bundle of paperswhich contained certain matters of difference and contention betweensome people which our Eliot thought should rather unite, with anamnesty upon all their former quarrels, he (with some imitation ofwhat Constantine did upon the like occasion) hastily threw the papersinto the fire before them all, and, with a zeal for peace as hot asthat fire, said immediately, "Brethren, wonder not at what I havedone; I did it on my knees this morning before I came among you. " Suchan excess (if it were one) flowed from his charitable inclinations tobe found among those peace-makers which, by following the example ofthat Man who is our peace, come to be called "the children of God. "Very worthily might he be called an Irenĉus as being all for peace;and the commendation which Epiphanius gives unto the ancient of thatname, did belong unto our Eliot; he was "a most blessed and a mostholy man. " He disliked all sorts of bravery; but yet with an ingeniousnote upon the Greek word in Col. Iii. 15, he propounded, "that peacemight brave it among us. " In short, wherever he came, it was likeanother old John, with solemn and earnest persuasives to love; andwhen he could say little else he would give that charge, "My children, love one another!"

Finally, 'twas his charity which disposed him to continualapplications for, and benedictions on those that he met withal; he hadan heart full of good wishes and a mouth full of kind blessings forthem. And he often made his expressions very wittily agreeable to thecircumstances which he saw the persons in. Sometimes when he came intoa family, he would call for all the young people in it, that so hemight very distinctly lay his holy hands upon every one of them, andbespeak the mercies of heaven for them all. 

WILLIAM BYRD

 Born in Virginia in 1674, died, in 1744; educated in England and the Netherlands; visited the court of France; chosen a Fellow of the Royal Society; receiver-general of the revenue in Virginia and three times colonial agent for Virginia in England; for thirty-seven years member, and finally president, of the Council of Virginia; his home in Virginia the famous ancestral seat called Westover. 

AT THE HOME OF COLONEL SPOTSWOOD[14]

Sept. , 1732. Colonel Spotswood's enchanted castle is on one side ofthe street, and a baker's dozen of ruinous tenements on the other, where so many German families had dwelt some years ago; but are nowremoved ten miles higher, in the Fork of Rappahannock, to land oftheir own. There had also been a chapel about a bow-shot from thecolonel's house, at the end of an avenue of cherry trees, but somepious people had lately burned it down, with intent to get anotherbuilt nearer to their own homes. Here I arrived about three o'clock, and found only Mrs. Spotswood at home, who received her oldacquaintance with many a gracious smile. I was carried into a roomelegantly set off with pier glasses, the largest of which came soonafter to an odd misfortune. Amongst other favorite animals thatcheered this lady's solitude, a brace of tame deer ran familiarlyabout the house, and one of them came to stare at me as a stranger. But unluckily spying his own figure in the glass, he made a springover the tea-table that stood under it, and shattered the glass topieces, and falling back upon the tea-table made a terrible fracasamong the china. 

[Footnote 14: From "A Progress to the Mines, " the date of the visitbeing 1732, which was the year in which Washington was born. Byrd'swork is one of several admired writings by Byrd, now knowncollectively as the "Westover Manuscripts. " Colonel Spotswood, of whomByrd here writes, in early life had been a soldier under Marlborough, and in 1710 Governor of Virginia. In 1714, on his appointment tocommand a British expedition to the West Indies, he was made amajor-general, but he died before embarking. He maintained fineestablishments at Yorktown and on the Rapidan. ]

This exploit was so sudden, and accompanied with such a noise, that itsurprized me, and perfectly frightened Mrs. Spotswood. But 'twas worthall the damage to show the moderation and good humor with which shebore this disaster. In the evening the noble colonel came home fromhis mines, who saluted me very civilly, and Mrs. Spotswood's sister, Miss Theky, who had been to meet him _en cavalier_, was so kind too asto bid me welcome. We talked over a legend of old stories, suppedabout 9, and then prattled with the ladies, till it was time for atraveler to retire. In the mean time I observed my old friend to bevery uxorious, and exceedingly fond of his children. This was soopposite to the maxims he used to preach up before he was married, that I could not forbear rubbing up the memory of them. But he gave avery good-natured turn to his change of sentiments by alleging thatwhoever brings a poor gentlewoman into so solitary a place, from allher friends and acquaintance, would be ungrateful not to use her andall that belongs to her with all possible tenderness. 

We all kept snug in our several apartments till nine, except MissTheky, who was the housewife of the family. At that hour we met over apot of coffee, which was not quite strong enough to give us the palsy. After breakfast the colonel and I left the ladies to their domesticaffairs, and took a turn in the garden, which has nothing beautifulbut three terrace walks that fall in slopes one below another. I lethim understand that, besides the pleasure of paying him a visit, Icame to be instructed by so great a master in the mystery of making ofiron, wherein he had led the way, and was the Tubal Cain of Virginia. He corrected me a little there, by assuring me he was not only thefirst in this country, but the first in North America who had erecteda regular furnace. That they ran altogether upon bloomeries in NewEngland and Pennsylvania till his example had made them attemptgreater works. But in this last colony they have so few ships to carrytheir iron to Great Britain that they must be content to make it onlyfor their own use, and must be obliged to manufacture it when theyhave done. That he hoped he had done the country very great service bysetting so good an example. .. . 

Our conversation on this subject continued till dinner, which was bothelegant and plentiful. The afternoon was devoted to the ladies, whoshowed me one of their most beautiful walks. They conducted me througha shady lane to the landing, and by the way made me drink some veryfine water that issued from a marble fountain, and ran incessantly. Just behind it was a covered bench, where Miss Theky often sat andbewailed her virginity. Then we proceeded to the river, which is thesouth branch of Rappahannock, about fifty yards wide, and so rapidthat the ferry boat is drawn over by a chain, and therefore called theRapidan. At night we drank prosperity to all the colonel's projects ina bowl of rack punch, and then retired to our devotions. 

Having employed about two hours in retirement, I sallied out at thefirst summons to breakfast, where our conversation with the ladies, like whip syllabub, was very pretty, but had nothing in it. This, itseems, was Miss Theky's birthday, upon which I made her mycompliments, and wished she might live twice as long a married womanas she had lived a maid. I did not presume to pry into the secret ofher age, nor was she forward to disclose it, for this humble reason, lest I should think her wisdom fell short of her years. .. . 

We had a Michaelmas goose for dinner, of Miss Theky's own raising, whowas now good-natured enough to forget the jeopardy of her dog. In theafternoon we walked in a meadow by the river side, which winds in theform of a horseshoe about Germanna, making it a peninsula containingabout four hundred acres. Rappahannock forks about fourteen milesbelow this place, the northern branch being the larger, andconsequently must be the river that bounds my Lord Fairfax's grant ofthe northern neck. 

The sun rose clear this morning, and so did I, and finished all mylittle affairs by breakfast. It was then resolved to wait on theladies on horseback, since the bright sun, the fine air, and thewholesome exercise, all invited us to it. We forded the river a littleabove the ferry, and rode six miles up the neck to a fine level pieceof rich land, where we found about twenty plants of ginseng, with thescarlet berries growing on the top of the middle stalk. The root ofthis is of wonderful virtue in many cases, particularly to raise thespirits and promote perspiration, which makes it a specific in coldsand coughs. The colonel complimented me with all we found, in returnfor my telling him the virtues of it. We were all pleased to find somuch of this king of plants so near the colonel's habitation, andgrowing, too, upon his own land; but were, however surprized to findit upon level ground, after we had been told it grew only upon thenorth side of Stony Mountains. I carried home this treasure with asmuch joy as if every root had been a graft of the Tree of Life, andwashed and dried it carefully. This airing made us as hungry as somany hawks, so that between appetite and a very good dinner, 'twasdifficult to eat like a philosopher. In the afternoon the ladieswalked me about amongst all their little animals, with which theyamuse themselves, and furnish the table; the worst of it is, they areso tenderhearted they shed a silent tear every time any of them arekilled. At night the colonel and I quitted the threadbare subject ofiron, and changed the scene to politics. He told me the ministry hadreceded from their demand upon New England, to raise a standingsalary for all succeeding governors, for fear some curious members ofthe House of Commons should inquire how the money was disposed of thathad been raised in the other American colonies for the support oftheir governors. .. . 

Our conversation was interrupted by a summons to supper, for theladies, to show their power, had by this time brought us tamely to goto bed with our bellies full, tho we both at first declared positivelyagainst it. So very pliable a thing is frail man, when women have thebending of him. 

JONATHAN EDWARDS

 Born In Connecticut in 1703, died in Princeton in 1758; pastor at Northampton, Mass. , in 1727-50; missionary to the Indians at Stockbridge in 1751-58; president of Princeton in 1758; his "Treatise Concerning the Religious Affections" published in 1746; "Qualifications for Full Communion" in 1749; "The Freedom of the Will, " his most famous book, in 1754; "Doctrine of Original Sin Defended" in 1758, and "History of the Redemption" in 1772. 

OF LIBERTY AND MORAL AGENCIES[15]

The plain and obvious meaning of the words freedom and liberty, incommon speech, is power, opportunity, or advantage, that any one has, to do as he pleases. Or, in other words, his being free from hindranceor impediment in the way of doing, or conducting in any respect, as hewills. (I say not only doing, but conducting; because a voluntaryforbearing to do, sitting still, keeping silence, etc. , are instancesof persons' conduct, about which liberty is exercised; tho they arenot so properly called doing. ) And the contrary to Liberty, whatevername we call that by, is a person's being hindered or unable toconduct as he will, or being necessitated to do otherwise. 

[Footnote 15: From "The Freedom of the Will. " It is not alone as acontribution to theology that this work has been much admired. It isprobably the most famous theological treatise yet produced in America;one writer has called it "one of the most famous philosophical worksin the world. " But as an intellectual achievement solely, and for theperfection of its style, it has been quite as generally praised. ]

If this which I have mentioned be the meaning of the word liberty, inthe ordinary use of language; as I trust that none that has everlearned to talk, and is unprejudiced, will deny: then it will followthat in propriety of speech neither liberty, nor its contrary, canproperly be ascribed to any being or thing but that which has such afaculty, power or property as is called will. For that which ispossest of no such thing as will, can not have any power oropportunity of doing according to its will, nor be necessitated to actcontrary to its will, nor be restrained from acting agreeably to it. And therefore to talk of liberty, or the contrary, as belonging to thevery will itself is not to speak good sense; if we judge of sense andnonsense by the original and proper signification of words. For thewill itself is not an agent that has a will: the power of choosingitself has not a power of choosing. That which has the power ofvolition or choice is the man or the soul, and not the power ofvolition itself. And he that has the liberty of doing according to hiswill, is the agent or doer who is possest of the will; and not thewill which he is possest of. We say with propriety that a bird letloose has power and liberty to fly; but not that the bird's power offlying has a power and liberty of flying. To be free is the propertyof an agent, who is possest of powers and faculties, as much as to becunning, valiant, bountiful, or zealous. But these qualities are theproperties of men or persons and not the properties of properties. 

There are two things that are contrary to this which is called libertyin common speech. One is constraint; the same is otherwise calledforce, compulsion, and coaction; which is a person's beingnecessitated to do a thing contrary to his will. The other isrestraint; which is his being hindered, and not having power to doaccording to his will. But that which has no will, can not be thesubject of these things. I need say the less on this head, Mr. Lockehaving set the same thing forth, with so great clearness, in his"Essay on the Human Understanding. "

But one thing more I would observe concerning what is vulgarly calledliberty; namely, that power and opportunity for one to do and conductas he will, or according to his choice, is all that is meant by it;without taking into the meaning of the word anything of the cause ororiginal of that choice; or at all considering how the person came tohave such a volition; whether it was caused by some external motive orinternal habitual bias; whether it was determined by some internalantecedent volition, or whether it happened without a cause; whetherit was necessarily connected with something foregoing, or notconnected. Let the person come by his volition or choice how he will, yet, if he is able, and there is nothing in the way to hinder hispursuing and executing his will, the man is fully and perfectly free, according to the primary and common notion of freedom. 

What has been said may be sufficient to show what is meant by liberty, according to the common notions of mankind, and in the usual andprimary acceptation of the word: but the word, as used by Arminians, Pelagians and others, who oppose the Calvinists, has an entirelydifferent signification. These several things belong to their notionof liberty. 1. That it consists in a self-determining power in thewill, or a certain sovereignty the will has over itself, and its ownacts, whereby it determines its own volitions; so as not to bedependent, in its determinations, on any cause without itself, nordetermined by anything prior to its own acts. 2. Indifference belongsto liberty in their notion of it, or that the mind, previous to theact of volition, be in equilibrio. 3. Contingence is another thingthat belongs and is essential to it; not in the common acceptation ofthe word, as that has been already explained, but as opposed to allnecessity, or any fixt and certain connection with some previousground or reason of its existence. They suppose the essence of libertyso much to consist in these things that unless the will of man be freein this sense, he has no real freedom, how much soever he may be atliberty to act according to his will. 

A moral agent is a being that is capable of those actions that have amoral quality, and which can properly be denominated good or evil in amoral sense, virtuous or vicious, commendable or faulty. To moralagency belongs a moral faculty, or sense of moral good and evil, or ofsuch a thing as desert or worthiness, of praise or blame, reward orpunishment; and a capacity which an agent has of being influenced inhis actions by moral inducements or motives, exhibited to the view ofunderstanding and reason, to engage to a conduct agreeable to themoral faculty. 

The sun is very excellent and beneficial in its action and influenceon the earth, in warming it, and causing it to bring forth its fruits;but it is not a moral agent. Its action, tho good, is not virtuous ormeritorious. Fire that breaks out in a city, and consumes great partof it, is very mischievous in its operation; but is not a moral agent. What it does is not faulty or sinful, or deserving of any punishment. The brute creatures are not moral agents. The actions of some of themare very profitable and pleasant; others are very hurtful; yet, seeingthey have no moral faculty, or sense of desert, and do not act fromchoice guided by understanding, or with a capacity of reasoning andreflecting, but only from instinct, and are not capable of beinginfluenced by moral inducements, their actions are not properly sinfulor virtuous; nor are they properly the subjects of any such moraltreatment for what they do, as moral agents are for their faults orgood deeds. 

Here it may be noted that there is a circumstantial difference betweenthe moral agency of a ruler and a subject. I call it circumstantial, because it lies only in the difference of moral inducements they arecapable of being influenced by, arising from the difference ofcircumstances. A ruler, acting in that capacity only, is not capableof being influenced by a moral law, and its sanctions of threateningsand promises, rewards and punishments as the subject is; tho both maybe influenced by a knowledge of moral good and evil. And thereforethe moral agency of the Supreme Being, who acts only in the capacityof a ruler toward His creatures, and never as a subject, differs inthat respect from the moral agency of created intelligent beings. God's actions, and particularly those which are to be attributed toHim as moral governor, are morally good in the highest degree. Theyare most perfectly holy and righteous; and we must conceive of Him asinfluenced in the highest degree by that which, above all others, isproperly a moral inducement, viz. , the moral good which He sees insuch and such things: and therefore He is, in the most proper sense, amoral agent, the source of all moral ability and agency, the fountainand rule of all virtue and moral good; tho by reason of His beingsupreme over all, it is not possible He should be under the influenceof law or command, promises or threatenings, rewards or punishments, counsels or warnings. The essential qualities of a moral agent are inGod, in the greatest possible perfection; such as understanding, toperceive the difference between moral good and evil; a capacity ofdiscerning that moral worthiness and demerit, by which some things arepraiseworthy, others deserving of blame and punishment; and also acapacity of choice, and choice guided by understanding, and a power ofacting according to his choice or pleasure, and being capable of doingthose things which are in the highest sense praiseworthy. And hereindoes very much consist that image of God wherein He made man (which weread of Gen. I. 26, 27, and chapter ix. 6), by which God distinguishesman from the beasts, viz. , in those faculties and principles ofnature, whereby he is capable of moral agency. Herein very muchconsists the natural image of God; as His spiritual and moral image, wherein man was made at first, consisted in that moral excellency, that he was endowed with. 

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

 Born in Boston in 1706, died in 1790; settled in Philadelphia in 1729; Postmaster of Philadelphia in 1737; discovered the identity of lightning with electricity in 1753; proposed a "Plan of Union" at Albany in 1754; Colonial Agent for Pennsylvania in England in 1757-62 and 1764-75; Member of the Second Continental Congress in 1775; Member of the Committee which drew up the Declaration of Independence in 1776; Ambassador to France in 1776; helped to negotiate the treaty of peace with England in 1783; President of Pennsylvania in 1785-88; Member of the Constitutional Convention in 1787. 

I

HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO PHILADELPHIA[16]

(1729)

I have been the more particular in this description of my journey, andshall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may in yourmind compare such unlikely beginnings with the figure I have sincemade there. I was in my working dress, my best clothes being to comeround by sea. I was dirty from my journey; my pockets were stuffed outwith shirts and stockings, and I knew no soul nor where to look forlodging. I was fatigued with traveling, rowing and want of rest, I wasvery hungry; and my whole stock of cash consisted of a Dutch dollar, and about a shilling in copper. The latter I gave the people of theboat for my passage, who at first refused it, on account of my rowing;but I insisted on their taking it. A man being sometimes more generouswhen he has but a little money than when he has plenty, perhapsthrough fear of being thought to have but little. 

[Footnote 16: From Chapters I and II of the "Autobiography. "]

Then I walked up the street, gazing about till near the market-house Imet a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and, inquiringwhere he got it, I went immediately to the baker's he directed me to, in Second street, and asked for biscuit, intending such as we had inBoston; but they, it seems, were not made in Philadelphia. Then Iasked for a three-penny loaf, and was told they had none such. So, notconsidering or knowing the difference of money, and the greatercheapness nor the names of his bread, I had him give me threepennyworth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great puffyrolls. I was surprized at the quantity, but took it, and, having noroom in my pockets, walked off with a roll under each arm, and eatingthe other. Thus I went up Market street as far as Fourth street, passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father;[17] whenshe, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainlydid, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and wentdown Chestnut street and part of Walnut street, eating my roll all theway, and, coming round, found myself again at Market street wharf, near the boat I came in, to which I went for a draft of the riverwater; and, being filled with one of my rolls, gave the other two to awoman and her child that came down the river in the boat with us, andwere waiting to go farther. 

[Footnote 17: Deborah was Mr. Read's daughter's name. Her grave, alongside Franklin's, in Philadelphia, has been a place of muchpilgrimage these many years. One of the letters of Mrs. Franklin thathas survived may be given here in illustration of her limitededucation. It was addrest to Franklin while he was in England, beingdated "October ye 11, 1770":

"My dear Child:--the bairer of this is the Son of Dr. Phinis Bond hisonly son and a worthey young man he is going to studey the Law hedesired a line to you I believe you have such a number of wortheyyoung Jentelmen as ever wonte to gather I hope to give you pleshner tosee such a number of fine youthes from your one country which will bean Honour to thar parentes and Countrey. 

 "I am my dear Child your ffeckshonot Wife D. Franklin. "]

Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time hadmany clean-drest people in it, who were all walking the same way. Ijoined them, and thereby was led into the great meeting-house of theQuakers near the market. I sat down among them, and, after lookinground awhile and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy through laborand want of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, andcontinued so till the meeting broke up, when one was kind enough torouse me. This was, therefore, the first house I was in, or slept in, in Philadelphia. 

Walking down again toward the river, and, looking in the faces ofpeople, I met a young Quaker man, whose countenance I liked, and, accosting him, requested he would tell me where a stranger could getlodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners. "Here, "says he, "is one place that entertains strangers, but it is not areputable house; if thee wilt walk with me, I'll show thee a better. "He brought me to the Crooked Billet in Water street. Here I got adinner; and, while I was eating it, several sly questions were askedme, as it seemed to be suspected, from my youth and appearance, that Imight be some runaway. 

After dinner, my host having shown me to a bed, I laid myself onwithout undressing, and slept till six in the evening, when I wascalled to supper. I went to bed again very early, and slept verysoundly till next morning. Then I drest myself as neat as I could, andwent to Andrew Bradford the printer's. I found in the shop the old manhis father, whom I had seen at New York, and who, traveling onhorseback, had got to Philadelphia before me. He introduced me to hisson, who received me civilly, gave me a breakfast, but told me he didnot at present want a hand, being lately supplied with one; but therewas another printer in town, lately set up, one Keimer, who, perhaps, might employ me; if not, I should be welcome to lodge at his house, and he would give me a little work to do now and then till fullerbusiness should offer. 

II

WARNINGS BRADDOCK DID NOT HEED[18]

This general [Braddock] was, I think, a brave man, and might probablyhave made a figure as a good officer in some European war. But he hadtoo much self-confidence, too high an opinion of the validity ofregular troops, and too mean a one of both Americans and Indians. George Croghan, [19] our Indian interpreter, joined him on his marchwith one hundred of those people, who might have been of great use tohis army as guides, scouts, etc. , if he had treated them kindly; buthe slighted and neglected them, and they gradually left him. 

[Footnote 18: From Chapter X of the "Autobiography. "]

[Footnote 19: Croghan afterward became associated closely with SirWilliam Johnson in the Mohawk and Upper Susquehanna Valleys. Heacquired title to a large tract of land at the foot of Otsego Lake, but, while settling it, mortgaged the land heavily, and eventuallylost it through foreclosure. William Cooper, father of the novelist, subsequently obtained title to these lands and went into the countryto settle them. In the course of his labors, he founded the village ofCooperstown, and made it his home. It was this circumstance which ledto Fenimore Cooper's knowledge of Indian and frontier life as depictedin his writings. The home of William Cooper had previously been inBurlington, N. J. ]

In conversation with him one day he was giving me some account of hisintended progress. "After taking Fort Duquesne, "[20] says he, "I am toproceed to Niagara; and, having taken that, to Frontenac, [21] if theseason will allow time; and I suppose it will, for Duquesne can hardlydetain me above three or four days; and then I see nothing that canobstruct my march to Niagara. " Having before revolved in my mind thelong line his army must make in their march by a very narrow road, tobe cut for them through the woods and bushes, and also what I had readof a former defeat of fifteen hundred French, who invaded the Iroquoiscountry, I had conceived some doubts and some fears for the event ofthe campaign. But I ventured only to say, "To be sure, sir, if youarrive well before Duquesne, with these fine troops, so well providedwith artillery, that place, not yet completely fortified and as wehear with no very strong garrison, can probably make but a shortresistance. The only danger I apprehend of obstruction to your marchis from ambuscades of Indians, who, by constant practise, are dextrousin laying and executing them; and the slender line, near four mileslong, which your army must make, may expose it to be attacked bysurprize in its flanks, and to be cut like a thread into severalpieces, which, from their distance, can not come up in time to supporteach other. "

[Footnote 20: Now Pittsburg. ]

[Footnote 21: In early times commonly called Fort Frontenac, but nowKingston, Ontario, Canada. The name was changed to Kingston byLoyalists who settled at the fort after the American Revolution. ]

He smiled at my ignorance, and replied, "These savages may, indeed, bea formidable enemy to your raw American militia, but upon the King'sregular and disciplined troops, sir, it is impossible they should makeany impression. " I was conscious of an impropriety in my disputingwith a military man in matters of his profession, and said no more. The enemy, however, did not take advantage of his army which Iapprehended its long line of march exposed it to, but let it advancewithout interruption till within nine miles of the place; and then, when more in a body (for it had just passed a river, where the fronthad halted till all were come over), and in a more open part of thewoods than any it had passed, attacked its advanced guard by a heavyfire from behind trees and bushes, which was the first intelligencethe general had of an enemy's being near him. This guard beingdisordered, the general hurried the troops up to their assistance, which was done in great confusion, through wagons, baggage, andcattle; and presently the fire came upon their flank: the officers, being on horseback, were more easily distinguished, picked out asmarks, and fell very fast; and the soldiers were crowded together in ahuddle, having or hearing no orders, and standing to be shot at tilltwo-thirds of them were killed; and then, being seized with a panic, the whole fled with precipitation. 

The wagoners took each a horse out of his team and scampered; theirexample was immediately followed by others; so that all the wagons, provisions, artillery, and stores were left to the enemy. The general, being wounded, was brought off with difficulty; his secretary, Mr. Shirley, was killed by his side; and out of eighty-six officers, sixty-three were killed or wounded, and seven hundred and fourteen menkilled out of eleven hundred. These eleven hundred had been pickedmen from the whole army; the rest had been left behind with ColonelDunbar, who was to follow with the heavier part of the stores, provisions, and baggage. The flyers, not being pursued, arrived atDunbar's camp, and the panic they brought with them instantly seizedhim and all his people; and, tho he had now above one thousand men, and the enemy who had beaten Braddock did not at most exceed fourhundred Indians and French together, instead of proceeding, andendeavoring to recover some of the lost honor, he ordered all thestores, ammunition, etc. , to be destroyed, that he might have morehorses to assist his flight toward the settlements, and less lumber toremove. He was there met with requests from the governors of Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania that he would post his troops on thefrontiers, so as to afford some protection to the inhabitants; but hecontinued his hasty march through all the country, not thinkinghimself safe till he arrived at Philadelphia, where the inhabitantscould protect him. This whole transaction gave us Americans the firstsuspicion that our exalted ideas of the prowess of British regularshad not been well founded. 

In their first march, too, from their landing till they got beyond thesettlements, they had plundered and stript the inhabitants, totallyruining some poor families, besides insulting, abusing, and confiningthe people if they remonstrated. This was enough to put us out ofconceit of such defenders, if we had really wanted any. How differentwas the conduct of our French friends in 1781, who, during a marchthrough the most inhabited part of our country, from Rhode Island toVirginia, near seven hundred miles, occasioned not the smallestcomplaint for the loss of a pig, a chicken, or even an apple. 

III

HOW TO DRAW LIGHTNING FROM THE CLOUDS[22]

As frequent mention is made in public papers from Europe of thesuccess of the Philadelphia experiment for drawing the electric firefrom clouds by means of pointed rods of iron erected on highbuildings, etc. , it may be agreeable to the curious to be informedthat the same experiment has succeeded in Philadelphia, tho made in adifferent and more easy manner, which is as follows. 

[Footnote 22: From a letter to Peter Collinson, dated October 19, 1752, and read before the Royal Society of London in December of thesame year. ]

Make a small cross of two light strips of cedar, the arms so long asto reach to the four corners of a large thin silk handkerchief whenextended; tie the corners of the handkerchief to the extremities ofthe cross, so you have the body of a kite; which, being properlyaccommodated with a tail, loop, and string, will rise in the air, likethose made of paper; but this being of silk is fitter to bear the wetand wind of a thunder-gust without tearing. To the top of the uprightstick of the cross is to be fixt a very sharp pointed wire, rising afoot or more above the wood. To the end of the twine, next the hand, is to be tied a silk ribbon, and where the silk and twine join, a keymay be fastened. This kite is to be raised when a thunder-gust appearsto be coming on, and the person who holds the string must stand withina door or window, or under some cover, so that the silk ribbon may notbe wet; and care must be taken that the twine does not touch the frameof the door or window. As soon as any of the thunder-clouds come overthe kite, the pointed wire will draw the electric fire from them, andthe kite, with all the twine, will be electrified, and the loosefilaments of the twine will stand out every way, and be attracted byan approaching finger. And when the rain has wetted the kite andtwine, so that it can conduct the electric fire freely, you will findit stream out plentifully from the key on the approach of yourknuckle. At this key the vial may be charged; and from electric firethus obtained, spirits may be kindled, and all the other electricexperiments be performed, which are usually done by the help of arubbed glass globe or tube, and thereby the sameness of the electricmatter with that of lightning completely demonstrated. 

IV

THE WAY TO WEALTH[23]

COURTEOUS reader:

I have heard that nothing gives an author so great pleasure as to findhis works respectfully quoted by others. Judge, then, how much I musthave been gratified by an incident I am going to relate to you. Istopt my horse lately, where a great number of people were collectedat an auction of merchants' goods. The hour of the sale not beingcome, they were conversing on the badness of the times; and one of thecompany called to a plain, clean old man, with white locks, "Pray, Father Abraham, what think you of the times? Will not these heavytaxes quite ruin the country? How shall we ever be able to pay them?What would you advise us to do?" Father Abraham stood up and replied, "If you would have my advice, I will give it you in short; for 'A wordto the wise is enough, ' as Poor Richard says. " They joined in desiringhim to speak his mind, and gathering round him he proceeded asfollows. 

[Footnote 23: From "Poor Richard's Almanac" for 1757, where it wasprinted as a preface signed "Richard Saunders. " Franklin began thisAlmanac in 1732. John Bigelow, Franklin's biographer and editor, saysit "attained an astonishing popularity. " For twenty-five years it hadan average circulation of 10, 000 copies. Sometimes it was sent topress as early as October in order to supply remote colonists in timefor the new year. Translations of it have been printed in nearly allwritten languages. ]

"Friends, " said he, "the taxes are indeed very heavy, and, if thoselaid on by the government were the only ones we had to pay, we mightmore easily discharge them; but we have many others, and much moregrievous to some of us. We are taxed twice as much by our idleness, three times as much by our pride, and four times as much by our folly;and from these taxes the commissioners can not ease or deliver us byallowing an abatement. However, let us harken to good advice, andsomething may be done for us; 'God helps them that help themselves, 'as Poor Richard says. 

"I. It would be thought a hard government that should tax its peopleone-tenth part of their time, to be employed in its service; butidleness taxes many of us much more; sloth, by bringing on diseases, absolutely shortens life. 'Sloth, like rust, consumes faster thanlabor wears; while the used key is always bright, ' as Poor Richardsays. 'But dost thou love life, then do not squander time, for that isthe stuff life is made of, ' as Poor Richard says. How much more thanis necessary do we spend in sleep, forgetting that 'The sleeping foxcatches no poultry, ' and that 'There will be sleeping enough in thegrave, ' as Poor Richard says. 

"'If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must be, 'as Poor Richard says, 'the greatest prodigality'; since, as heelsewhere tells us, 'Lost time is never found again; and what we calltime enough, always proves little enough. ' Let us, then, up and bedoing, and doing to the purpose; so by diligence shall we do more withless perplexity. 'Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry alleasy'; and 'He that riseth late must trot all day, and shall scarceovertake his business at night'; while 'Laziness travels so slowlythat Poverty soon overtakes him. Drive thy business, let not thatdrive thee'; and 'Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a manhealthy, wealthy, and wise, ' as Poor Richard says. .. . 

"Methinks I hear some of you say, 'Must a man afford himself noleisure?' I will tell thee, my friend, what Poor Richard says, 'Employthy time well, if thou meanest to gain leisure; and, since thou artnot sure of a minute, throw not away an hour. ' Leisure is time fordoing something useful; this leisure the diligent man will obtain, butthe lazy man never; for 'A life of leisure and a life of laziness aretwo things. Many, without labor, would live by their wits only, butthey break for want of stock'; whereas industry gives comfort, andplenty, and respect. 'Fly pleasures, and they will follow you. Thediligent spinner has a large shift; and now I have a sheep and a cow, everybody bids me good morrow. '

"II. But with our industry we must likewise be steady, settled, andcareful, and oversee our own affairs with our own eye, and not trusttoo much to others; for, as Poor Richard says, 'I never saw an oft-removed tree, Nor yet an oft-removed family, That throve so well as those that settled be. '

And again, 'Three removes are as bad as a fire'; and again, 'Keep thyshop, and thy shop will keep thee'; and again, 'If you would have yourbusiness done, go; if not, send. ' And again, 'He that by the plough would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive. '

And again, 'The eye of a master will do more work than both hishands'; and again, 'Want of care does us more damage than want ofknowledge'; and again, 'Not to oversee workmen, is to leave them yourpurse open. ' Trusting too much to others' care is the ruin of many;for 'In the affairs of this world men are saved not by faith, but bythe want of it'; but a man's own care is profitable; for 'If you wouldhave a faithful servant, and one that you like, serve yourself. Alittle neglect may breed great mischief; for want of a nail the shoewas lost; for want of a shoe the horse was lost; and for want of ahorse the rider was lost, being overtaken and slain by the enemy; allfor want of a little care about a horseshoe nail. '

"III. So much for industry, my friends, and attention to one's ownbusiness; but to these we must add frugality, if we would make ourindustry more certainly successful. A man may, if he knows not how tosave as he gets, keep his nose all his life to the grindstone, and dienot worth a groat at last. 'A fat kitchen makes a lean will'; and

 'Many estates are spent in the getting, Since women for tea forsook spinning and knitting, And men for punch forsook hewing and splitting. '

'If you would be wealthy, think of saving as well as of getting. TheIndies have not made Spain rich, because her outgoes are greater thanher incomes. '

"Away, then, with your expensive follies, and you will not then haveso much cause to complain of hard times, heavy taxes, and chargeablefamilies; for

 'Women and wine, game and deceit, Make the wealth small and the want great. '

"And further, 'What maintains one vice would bring up two children. 'You may think, perhaps, that a little tea, or a little punch now andthen, diet a little more costly, clothes a little finer, and a littleentertainment now and then can be no great matter; but remember, 'Manya little makes a mickle. ' Beware of little expenses; 'A small leakwill sink a great ship, ' as Poor Richard says; and again, 'Whodainties love, shall beggars prove'; and moreover, 'Fools makesfeasts, and wise men eat them. .. . If you would know the value ofmoney, go and try to borrow some; for he that goes a-borrowing goesa-sorrowing, ' as Poor Richard says; and, indeed, so does he that lendsto such people, when he goes to get it in again. Poor Dick furtheradvises, and says, 'Fond pride of dress is sure a very curse; Ere fancy you consult, consult your purse. '

And again, 'Pride is as loud a beggar as Want, and a great deal moresaucy. ' When you have bought one fine thing, you must buy ten more, that your appearance may be all of a piece; but Poor Dick says, 'It iseasier to suppress the first desire than to satisfy all that followit. ' And it is as truly folly for the poor to ape the rich as for thefrog to swell in order to equal the ox. 

 'Vessels large may venture more, But little boats should keep near shore. 

It is, however, a folly soon punished; for, as Poor Richard says, 'Pride that dines on vanity sups on contempt. Pride breakfasted withPlenty, dined with Poverty, and supped with Infamy. ' And, after all, of what use is this pride of appearance, for which so much is risked, so much is suffered? It can not promote health, nor ease pain; itmakes no increase of merit in the person; it creates envy; it hastensmisfortune. 

"But what madness must it be to run in debt for thesesuperfluities. .. . When you have got your bargain, you may, perhaps, think little of payment; but, as Poor Richard says, 'Creditors havebetter memories than debtors; creditors are a superstitious sect, great observers of set days and times. ' The day comes round before youare aware, and the demand is made before you are prepared to satisfyit; or, if you bear your debt in mind, the term, which at first seemedso long, will, as it lessens, appear extremely short. Time will seemto have added wings to his heels as well as his shoulders. 'Those havea short Lent who owe money to be paid at Easter. ' At present, perhaps, you may think yourselves in thriving circumstances, and that you canbear a little extravagance without injury; but

 'For age and want save while you may; No morning sun lasts a whole day. '

Gain may be temporary and uncertain, but ever, while you live, expenseis constant and certain; and 'It is easier to build two chimneys thanto keep one in fuel, ' as Poor Richard says; so, 'Rather go to bedsupperless than rise in debt. '

 'Get what you can, and what you get hold; 'Tis the stone that will turn all your lead into gold. '

And when you have got the philosopher's stone, sure you will no longercomplain of bad times, or the difficulty of paying taxes. 

"IV. This doctrine, my friends, is reason and wisdom; but, after all, do not depend too much upon your own industry, and frugality, andprudence, tho excellent things; for they may all be blasted withoutthe blessing of Heaven; and, therefore, ask that blessing humbly, andbe not uncharitable to those that at present seem to want it, butcomfort and help them. Remember, Job suffered, and was afterwardprosperous. 

"And now, to conclude, 'Experience keeps a dear school, but fools willlearn in no other, ' as Poor Richard says, and scarce in that; for, itis true, 'We may give advice, but we can not give conduct. ' However, remember this, 'They that will not be counseled, can not be helped;'and further, that 'If you will not hear Reason, she will surely rapyour knuckles' as Poor Richard says. "

Thus the old gentleman ended his harangue. The people heard it andapproved the doctrine; and immediately practised the contrary, just asif it had been a common sermon; for the auction opened, and they beganto buy extravagantly. I found the good man had thoroughly studied myAlmanacs, and digested all I had dropt on these topics during thecourse of twenty-five years. The frequent mention he made of me musthave tired any one else; but my vanity was wonderfully delighted withit, tho I was conscious that not a tenth part of the wisdom was myown, which he ascribed to me, but rather the gleanings that I had madeof the sense of all ages and nations. However, I resolved to be thebetter for the echo of it; and tho I had at first determined to buystuff for a new coat, I went away resolved to wear my old one a littlelonger. Reader, if thou wilt do the same, thy profit will be as greatas mine. 

V

A DIALOG WITH THE GOUT

[_Dated at midnight, 22 October, 1780. _]

_Franklin. _ Eh! Oh! Eh! What have I done to merit these cruelsufferings?

_Gout. _ Many things; you have ate and drank too freely, and too muchindulged those legs of yours in their indolence. 

_Franklin. _ Who is it that accuses me?

_Gout. _ It is I, even I, the Gout. 

_Franklin. _ What! my enemy in person?

_Gout. _ No, not your enemy. 

_Franklin. _ I repeat it; my enemy; for you would not only torment mybody to death, but ruin my good name; you reproach me as a gluttonand a tippler; now all the world that knows me will allow that I amneither the one nor the other. 

_Gout. _ The world may think as it pleases; it is always verycomplaisant to itself, and sometimes to its friends; but I very wellknow that the quantity of meat and drink proper for a man who takes areasonable degree of exercise, would be too much for another, whonever takes any. 

_Franklin. _ I take--Eh! Oh!--as much exercise--Eh!--as I can, MadamGout. You know my sedentary state, and on that account, it would seem, Madam Gout, as if you might spare me a little, seeing it is notaltogether my own fault. 

_Gout. _ Not a jot; your rhetoric and your politeness are thrown away;your apology avails nothing. If your situation in life is a sedentaryone, your amusements, your recreations, at least, should be active. You ought to walk or ride; or, if the weather prevents that, play atbilliards. But let us examine your course of life. While the morningsare long, and you have leisure to go abroad, what do you do? Why, instead of gaining an appetite for breakfast, by salutary exercise, you amuse yourself with books, pamphlets, or newspapers, whichcommonly are not worth the reading. Yet you eat an inordinatebreakfast, four dishes of tea, with cream, and one or two butteredtoasts, with slices of hung beef, which I fancy are not things themost easily digested. Immediately afterward you sit down to write atyour desk, or converse with persons who apply to you on business. Thusthe time passes till one, without any kind of bodily exercise. 

But all this I could pardon, in regard, as you say, to your sedentarycondition. But what is your practise after dinner? Walking in thebeautiful gardens of those friends with whom you have dined would bethe choice of men of sense; yours is to be fixt down to chess, whereyou are found engaged for two or three hours! This is your perpetualrecreation, which is the least eligible of any for a sedentary man, because, instead of accelerating the motion of the fluids, the rigidattention it requires helps to retard the circulation and obstructinternal secretions. Wrapt in the speculations of this wretched game, you destroy your constitution. What can be expected from such a courseof living but a body replete with stagnant humors, ready to fall aprey to all kinds of dangerous maladies, if I, the Gout, did notoccasionally bring you relief by agitating those humors, and sopurifying or dissipating them? If it was in some nook or alley inParis, deprived of walks, that you played awhile at chess afterdinner, this might be excusable; but the same taste prevails with youin Passy, Auteuil, Montmartre, or Sanoy, places where there are thefinest gardens and walks, a pure air, beautiful women, and mostagreeable and instructive conversation; all which you might enjoy byfrequenting the walks. But these are rejected for this abominable gameof chess. Fie, then, Mr. Franklin! But amidst my instructions, I hadalmost forgot to administer my wholesome corrections; so take thattwinge--and that. 

_Franklin. _ Oh! Eh! Oh! Ohhh! As much instruction as you please, MadamGout, and as many reproaches; but pray, Madam, a truce with yourcorrections!

_Gout. _ No, Sir, no--I will not abate a particle of what is so muchfor your good--therefore--

_Franklin. _ Oh! Ehhh!--It is not fair to say I take no exercise, whenI do very often, going out to dine and returning in my carriage. 

_Gout. _ That, of all imaginable exercises, is the most slight andinsignificant, if you allude to the motion of a carriage suspended onsprings. By observing the degree of heat obtained by different kindsof motion we may form an estimate of the quantity of exercise given byeach. Thus, for example, if you turn out to walk in winter with coldfeet, in an hour's time you will be in a glow all over; ride onhorseback, the same effect will scarcely be perceived by four hours'round trotting; but if you loll in a carriage, such as you havementioned, you may travel all day, and gladly enter the last inn towarm your feet by a fire. Flatter yourself then no longer that half anhour's airing in your carriage deserves the name of exercise. Providence has appointed few to roll in carriages, while he has givento all a pair of legs, which are machines infinitely more commodiousand serviceable. Be grateful, then, and make a proper use of yours. Would you know how they forward the circulation of your fluids, in thevery action of transporting you from place to place; observe when youwalk that all your weight is alternately thrown from one leg to theother; this occasions a great pressure on the vessels of the foot, andrepels their contents; when relieved, by the weight being thrown onthe other foot, the vessels of the first are allowed to replenish, and, by a return of this weight, this repulsion again succeeds, thusaccelerating the circulation of the blood. The heat produced in anygiven time depends on the degree of this acceleration; the fluids areshaken, the humors attenuated, the secretions facilitated, and allgoes well; the cheeks are ruddy, and health is established. Beholdyour fair friend at Auteuil;[24] a lady who received from bounteousnature more really useful science than half a dozen of such pretendersto philosophy as you have been able to extract from all your books. When she honors you with a visit, it is on foot. She walks all hoursof the day, and leaves indolence, and its concomitant maladies, to beendured by her horses. In this see at once the preservative of herhealth and personal charms. But when you go to Auteuil, you must haveyour carriage, tho it is no farther from Passy to Auteuil than fromAuteuil to Passy. 

[Footnote 24: The reference is to Madame Helvetius, whom Franklin knewas the widow of the writer Claude Adrien Helvetius. Her home was longa center of literary society in France. The friendship with Franklinwas a notable incident in his career as American Ambassador to France. See his letter to her printed here as the sixth of these selectionsfrom Franklin. ]

_Franklin. _ Your reasonings grow very tiresome. 

_Gout. _ I stand corrected. I will be silent and continue my office;take that, and that. 

_Franklin. _ Oh! Ohh! Talk on, I pray you. 

_Gout. _ No, no; I have a good number of twinges for you to-night, andyou may be sure of some more to-morrow. 

_Franklin. _ What, with such a fever! I shall go distracted. Oh! Eh!Can no one bear it for me?

_Gout. _ Ask that of your horses; they have served you faithfully. 

_Franklin. _ How can you so cruelly sport with my torments?

_Gout. _ Sport! I am very serious. I have here a list of offensesagainst your own health distinctly written, and can justify everystroke inflicted on you. 

_Franklin. _ Read it then. 

_Gout. _ It is too long a detail; but I will briefly mention someparticulars. 

_Franklin. _ Proceed. I am all attention. 

_Gout. _ Do you remember how often you have promised yourself, thefollowing morning, a walk in the grove of Boulogne, in the garden dela Muette, or in your own garden, and have violated your promise, alleging at one time it was too cold, at another too warm, too windy, too moist, or what else you pleased; when in truth it was too nothingbut your insuperable love of ease?

_Franklin. _ That I confess may have happened occasionally, probablyten times in a year. 

_Gout. _ Your confession is very far short of the truth; the grossamount is one hundred and ninety-nine times. 

_Franklin. _ Is it possible?

_Gout. _ So possible that it is fact; you may rely on the accuracy ofmy statement. You know Mr. Brillon's gardens, and what fine walks theycontain; you know the handsome flight of a hundred steps, which leadfrom the terrace above to the lawn below. You have been in thepractise of visiting this amiable family twice a week, after dinner, and it is a maxim of your own, that "a man may take as much exercisein walking a mile up and down-stairs as in ten on level ground. " Whatan opportunity was here for you to have had exercise in both theseways! Did you embrace it, and how often?

_Franklin. _ I can not immediately answer that question. 

_Gout. _ I will do it for you; not once. 

_Franklin. _ Not once?

_Gout. _ Even so. During the summer you went there at six o'clock. Youfound the charming lady, with her lovely children and friends, eagerto walk with you, and entertain you with their agreeable conversation;and what has been your choice? Why, to sit on the terrace, satisfyingyourself with the fine prospect, and passing your eye over thebeauties of the garden below, without taking one step to descend andwalk about in them. 

On the contrary, dear sir, you call for tea and the chess-board; andlo! you are occupied in your seat till nine o'clock, and that besidestwo hours' play after dinner; and then, instead of walking home, whichwould have bestirred you a little, you step into your carriage. Howabsurd to suppose that all this carelessness can be reconcilable withhealth, without my interposition!

_Franklin. _ I am convinced now of the justness of Poor Richard'sremark that "Our debts and our sins are always greater than we thinkfor. "

_Gout. _ So it is. You philosophers are sages in your maxims, and foolsin your conduct. 

_Franklin. _ But do you charge, among my crimes, that I return in acarriage from Mr. Brillon's?

_Gout. _ Certainly; for having been seated all the while, you can notobject the fatigue of the day, and can not want, therefore, therelief of a carriage. 

_Franklin. _ What, then, would you have me do with my carriage?

_Gout. _ Burn it, if you choose; you would at least get heat out of itonce in this way, or, if you dislike that proposal, here's another foryou; observe the poor peasants, who work in the vineyards and groundsabout the villages of Passy, Auteuil, Chaillot, etc. ; you may findevery day, among these deserving creatures, four or five old men andwomen, bent and perhaps crippled by weight of years and too long andtoo great labor. After a most fatiguing day, these people have totrudge a mile or two to their smoky huts. Order your coachman to setthem down. This is an act that will be good for your soul; and, at thesame time, after your visit to the Brillons, if you return on foot, that will be good for your body. 

_Franklin. _ Ah! how tiresome you are!

_Gout. _ Well, then, to my office; it should not be forgotten that I amyour physician. There. 

_Franklin. _ Ohhh! what a devil of a physician!

_Gout. _ How ungrateful you are to say so! Is it not I who, in thecharacter of your physician, have saved you from the palsy, dropsy andapoplexy? one or other of which would have done for you long ago butfor me. 

_Franklin. _ I submit, and thank you for the past, but entreat thediscontinuance of your visits for the future; for, in my mind, one hadbetter die than be cured so dolefully. Permit me just to hint that Ihave also not been unfriendly to you. I never feed physician or quackof any kind, to enter the list against you; if, then, you do notleave me to my repose, it may be said you are ungrateful too. 

_Gout. _ I can scarcely acknowledge that as any objection. As toquacks, I despise them; they may kill you, indeed, but can not injureme. And as to regular physicians, they are at last convinced that thegout, in such a subject as you are, is no disease, but a remedy; andwherefore cure a remedy?--but to our business--there. 

_Franklin. _ Oh! Oh!--for Heaven's sake leave me; and I promisefaithfully never more to play at chess, but to take exercise daily, and live temperately. 

_Gout. _ I know you too well. You promise fair; after a few months ofgood health you will return to your old habits; your fine promiseswill be forgotten like the forms of the last year's clouds. Let usthen finish the account, and I will go. But leave you with anassurance of visiting you again at a proper time and place; for myobject is your good, and you are sensible now that I am your realfriend. 

VI

A PROPOSAL TO MADAME HELVETIUS[25]

Mortified at the barbarous resolution pronounced by you so positivelyyesterday evening, that you would remain single for the rest of yourlife as a compliment due to the memory of your husband, I retired tomy chamber. Throwing myself upon my bed I dreamt that I was dead, andwas transported to the Elysian fields. 

[Footnote 25: A letter now printed in Volume VI of the "Works ofFranklin, " edited by John Bigelow. ]

I was asked whether I wished to see any persons in particular; towhich I replied that I wished to see the philosophers. "There are twowho live here at hand in this garden; they are good neighbors and veryfriendly toward one another. " "Who are they?" "Socrates andHelvetius. " "I esteem them both highly; but let me see Helvetiusfirst, because I understand a little French but not a word of Greek. "I was conducted to him; he received me with much courtesy, havingknown me, he said, by character some time past. He asked me a thousandquestions relative to the war, the present state of religion, ofliberty, of the government in France. "You do not inquire, then, " saidI, "after your dear friend, Madame Helvetius; yet she loves youexceedingly. I was in her company not more than an hour ago. " "Ah, "said he, "you make me recur to my past happiness, which ought to beforgotten in order to be happy here. For many years I could think ofnothing but her, tho at length I am consoled. I have taken anotherwife, the most like her that I could find; she is not, indeed, altogether so handsome, but she has a great fund of wit and goodsense, and her whole study is to please me. She is at this moment goneto fetch the nectar and ambrosia to regale me; stay here awhile andyou will see her. " "I perceive, " said I, "that your former friend ismore faithful to you than you are to her; she has had several goodoffers, but has refused them all. I will confess to you that I loveher extremely, but she was cruel to me and rejected me peremptorilyfor your sake. " "I pity you sincerely, " said he, "for she is anexcellent woman, handsome and amiable. But do not the Abbe de la R----and the Abbe M---- visit her?" "Certainly they do; not one of yourfriends has dropt her acquaintance. " "If you had gained the Abbe M----with a bribe of good coffee and cream perhaps you would havesucceeded; for he is as deep a reasoner as Dun Scotus or St. Thomas;he arranges and methodizes his arguments in such a manner that theyare almost irresistible. Or if by a fine edition of some old classicyou had gained the Abbe de la R---- to speak against you, that wouldhave been still better, as I always observed that when he recommendedanything to her, she had a great inclination to do exactly thecontrary. "

As he finished these words the new Madame Helvetius entered with thenectar and I recognized her immediately as my former American friend, Mrs. Franklin! I reclaimed her, but she answered me coldly, "I was agood wife to you for forty-nine years and four months, nearly half acentury; let that content you. I have formed a new condition here, which will last to eternity. "

Indignant at this refusal of my Eurydice, I immediately resolved toquit those ungraceful shades and return to this good world again, tobehold the sun and you. Here am I; let us _avenge ourselves_. 

GEORGE WASHINGTON

 Born in 1732, died in 1799; adjutant of Virginia troops in 1751; sent on a mission to the French beyond the Alleghany River in 1753; defended Fort Necessity in 1754; with Braddock at his defeat in 1755; led the advance guard to Fort Duquesne in 1758; Member of the Continental Congress in 1774-75; made Commander-in-chief of the Continental Army in 1775; resigned his commission in 1783; President of the Constitutional Convention in 1787; elected President of the United States in 1789; reelected President in 1793; Commander-in-chief of the Army in 1798. 

I

TO HIS WIFE ON TAKING COMMAND OF THE ARMY[26]

My Dearest: I am now set down to write to you on a subject which fillsme with inexpressible concern, and this concern is greatly aggravatedand increased when I reflect upon the uneasiness I know it will giveyou. It has been determined in Congress that the whole army raised forthe defense of the American cause shall be put under my care, and thatit is necessary for me to proceed immediately to Boston to take uponme the command of it. 

[Footnote 26: A letter written in Philadelphia on June 18, 1775, threedays after his appointment. ]

You may believe me, my dear Patsy, when I assure you, in the mostsolemn manner, that, so far from seeking this appointment, I have usedevery endeavor in my power to avoid it, not only from myunwillingness to part with you and the family, but from aconsciousness of its being a trust too great for my capacity, and thatI should enjoy more real happiness in one month with you at home thanI have the most distant prospect of finding abroad, if my stay were tobe seven times seven years. But as it has been a kind of destiny thathas thrown me upon this service, I shall hope that my undertaking itis designed to answer some good purpose. 

You might, and I suppose did perceive, from the tenor of my letters, that I was apprehensive I could not avoid this appointment, as I didnot pretend to intimate when I should return. That was the case. Itwas utterly out of my power to refuse this appointment withoutexposing my character to such censures as would have reflecteddishonor upon myself, and given pain to my friends. This, I am sure, could not, and ought not, to be pleasing to you, and must havelessened me considerably in my own esteem. I shall rely, therefore, confidently on that Providence which has heretofore preserved and beenbountiful to me, not doubting but that I shall return safe to you inthe fall. I shall feel no pain from the toil or the danger of thecampaign; my unhappiness will flow from the uneasiness I know you willfeel from being left alone. I therefore beg that you will summon yourwhole fortitude, and pass your time as agreeably as possible. Nothingwill give me so much sincere satisfaction as to hear this, and to hearit from your own pen. My earnest and ardent desire is that you wouldpursue any plan that is most likely to produce content, and atolerable degree of tranquillity; as it must add greatly to my uneasyfeelings to hear that you are dissatisfied or complaining at what Ireally could not avoid. 

As life is always uncertain, and common prudence dictates to every manthe necessity of settling his temporal concerns, while it is in hispower, and while the mind is calm and undisturbed, I have, since Icame to this place (for I had not time to do it before I left home)got Colonel Pendleton to draft a will for me, by the directions I gavehim, which will I now enclose. The provision made for you in case ofmy death will, I hope, be agreeable. 

I shall add nothing more, as I have several letters to write, but todesire that you will remember me to your friends, and to assure youthat I am with the most unfeigned regard, my dear Patsy, youraffectionate, etc. 

II

OF HIS ARMY IN CAMBRIDGE[27]

Nothing would give me more real satisfaction than to know thesentiments which are entertained of me by the public, whether they befavorable or otherwise; and I urged as a reason that the man whowished to steer clear of shelves and rocks must know where they lie. Iknow the integrity of my own heart, but to declare it, unless to afriend, may be an argument of vanity; I know the unhappy predicament Istand in: I know that much is expected of me; I know that without men, without arms, without ammunition, without anything fit for theaccommodation of a soldier, little is to be done; and, what ismortifying, I know that I can not stand justified to the world withoutexposing my own weakness, and injuring the cause by declaring mywants, which I am determined not to do, further than unavoidablenecessity brings every man acquainted with them. 

[Footnote 27: From the letter addrest to Joseph Reed, and datedFebruary 10, 1776. Washington had assumed command in Cambridge on July3d of the previous year. Joseph Reed was President of the PennsylvaniaProvincial Congress in 1775, and afterward became Washington'ssecretary and aide-de-camp. This letter was in reply to two lettersfrom Reed containing "early and regular communication of what ispassing in your quarter. "]

If, under these disadvantages, I am able to keep above water, in theesteem of mankind, I shall feel myself happy; but if, from the unknownpeculiarity of my circumstances, I suffer in the opinion of the world, I shall not think you take the freedom of a friend, if you conceal thereflections that may be cast upon my conduct. My own situation is soirksome to me at times that, if I did not consult the public good morethan my own tranquillity, I should long ere this have put everythingon the cast of a die. So far from my having an army of twenty thousandmen well armed, I have been here with less than one-half of thatnumber, including sick, furloughed, and on command, and those neitherarmed nor clothed, as they should be. In short, my situation has beensuch, that I have been obliged to use art to conceal it from my ownofficers. 

The party sent to Bunker Hill had some good and some bad men engagedin it. One or two courts have been held on the conduct of part ofthem. To be plain, these people are not to be depended upon ifexposed; and any man will fight well if he thinks himself in nodanger. I do not apply this only to these people. I suppose it to bethe case with all raw and undisciplined troops. Yon may rely upon itthat transports left Boston six weeks ago with troops; where they aregone, unless driven to the West Indies, I know not. You may also relyupon General Clinton's sailing from Boston about three weeks ago, withabout four or five hundred men; his destination I am also a strangerto. I am sorry to hear of the failures you speak of from France. Butwhy will not Congress forward part of the powder made in yourprovince? They seem to look upon this as the season for action, butwill not furnish the means. I will not blame them. I dare say thedemands upon them are greater than they can supply. The cause must bestarved till our resources are greater, or more certain withinourselves. 

With respect to myself, I have never entertained an idea of anaccommodation since I heard of the measures which were adopted inconsequence of the Bunker Hill fight. The King's speech has confirmedthe sentiments I entertained upon the news of that affair; and, ifevery man was of my mind, the ministers of Great Britain should know, in a few words, upon what issue the cause should be put. I would notbe deceived by artful declarations, nor specious pretenses; nor wouldI be amused by unmeaning propositions; but in open, undisguised, andmanly terms proclaim our wrongs, and our resolution to be redressed. I would tell them, that we had borne much, that we had long andardently sought for reconciliation upon honorable terms, that it hadbeen denied us, that all our attempts after peace had proved abortive, and had been grossly misrepresented, that we had done everything whichcould be expected from the best of subjects, that the spirit offreedom rises too high in us to submit to slavery, and that, ifnothing else would satisfy a tyrant and his diabolical ministry, weare determined to shake off all connections with a state so unjust andunnatural. This I would tell them, not under covert, but in words asclear as the sun in its meridian brightness. 

III

TO THE MARQUIS DE CHASTELLUX ON HIS MARRIAGE[28]

My Dear Marquis: In reading your very friendly and acceptable letter, which came to hand by the last mail, I was, as you may well suppose, not less delighted than surprized to meet the plain American words, "my wife. " A wife! Well, my dear Marquis, I can hardly refrain fromsmiling to find you are caught at last. I saw by the eulogium youoften made on the happiness of domestic life in America, that you hadswallowed the bait, and that you would as surely be taken, one day oranother, as that you were a philosopher and a soldier. 

[Footnote 28: From a letter, written at Mount Vernon on April 25, 1788, and addrest to the Marquis de Chastellux, author of "Travels inNorth America, " and a major-general in the army of Rochambeau, whoserved under Washington in the American Revolution. ]

So your day has at length come. I am glad of it, with all my heart andsoul. It is quite good enough for you. Now you are well served forcoming to fight in favor of the American rebels, all the way acrossthe Atlantic Ocean, by catching that terrible contagion, domesticfelicity, which, like the smallpox or the plague, a man can have onlyonce in his life, because it commonly lasts him (at least with us inAmerica; I know not how you manage these matters in France), for hiswhole lifetime. And yet, after all, the worst wish which I can find inmy heart to make against Madame de Chastellux and yourself is that youmay neither of you ever get the better of this same domestic felicity, during the entire course of your mortal existence. 

If so wonderful an event should have occasioned me, my dear Marquis, to write in a strange style, you will understand me as clearly as if Ihad said, what in plain English is the simple truth, "Do me thejustice to believe that I take a heartfelt interest in whatsoeverconcerns your happiness. " And, in this view, I sincerely congratulateyou on your auspicious matrimonial connection. I am happy to find thatMadame de Chastellux is so intimately connected with the Duchess ofOrleans; as I have always understood that this noble lady was anillustrious example of connubial love, as well as an excellent patternof virtue in general. 

While you have been making love under the banner of Hymen, the greatpersonages in the north have been making war under the inspiration, or rather under the infatuation, of Mars. Now, for my part, I humblyconceive that you have acted much the best and wisest part; forcertainly it is more consonant to all the principles of reason andreligion, natural and revealed, to replenish the earth withinhabitants than to depopulate it by killing those already inexistence. Besides, it is time for the age of knight-errantry and madheroism to be at an end. Your young military men, who want to reap theharvest of laurels, do not care, I suppose, how many seeds of war aresown; but for the sake of humanity it is devoutly to be wished, thatthe manly employment of agriculture, and the humanizing benefits ofcommerce, would supersede the waste of war and the rage of conquest;that the swords might be turned into plowshares, the spears intopruning-hooks, and, as the Scriptures express it, the "nations learnwar no more. "

Now I will give you a little news from this side of the water, andthen finish. As for us, we are plodding on in the dull road of peaceand politics. We, who live in these ends of the earth, only hear ofthe rumors of war like the roar of distant thunder. It is to be hopedthat our remote local situation will prevent us from being swept intoits vortex. 

JOHN ADAMS

 Born in 1735, died in 1826; second President of the United States; graduated from Harvard in 1755; active in opposing the Stamp Act; elected to the Revolutionary Congress of Massachusetts in 1774; delegate to the first and second Continental Congresses; proposed Washington as commander-in-chief; signed the Declaration of Independence; commissioner to France in 1777; to the Netherlands in 1782, to Great Britain in 1782-83, and to Prussia; minister to England in 1785; vice-president in 1789; elected President in 1796; unsuccessful candidate for President in 1800; his "Life and Works" in ten volumes published in 1850-56. 

I

ON HIS NOMINATION OF WASHINGTON TO BE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF[29]

When Congress had assembled, I rose in my place, and in as short aspeech as the subject would admit, represented the state of thecolonies, the uncertainty in the minds of the people, their greatexpectation and anxiety, the distresses of the army, the danger of itsdissolution, the difficulty of collecting another, and the probabilitythat the British army would take advantage of our delays, march outof Boston, and spread desolation as far as they could go. I concludedwith a motion, in form, that Congress would adopt the army atCambridge, and appoint a general; that tho this was not the propertime to nominate a general, yet, as I had reason to believe, this wasa point of the greatest difficulty. I had no hesitation to declarethat I had but one gentleman in my mind for that important command, and that was a gentleman from Virginia who was among us and very wellknown to all of us, a gentleman whose skill and experience as anofficer, whose independent fortune, great talents, and excellentuniversal character, would command the approbation of all America, andunite the cordial exertions of all the colonies better than any otherperson in the Union. Mr. Washington, who happened to sit near thedoor, as soon as he heard me allude to him, from his usual modesty, darted into the library-room. Mr. Hancock--who was our President, which gave me an opportunity to observe his countenance while I wasspeaking on the state of the colonies, the army at Cambridge, and theenemy--heard me with visible pleasure; but when I came to describeWashington for the commander, I never remarked a more sudden andstriking change of countenance. Mortification and resentment wereexprest as forcibly as his face could exhibit them. Mr. Samuel Adamsseconded the motion, and that did not soften the President'sphysiognomy at all. 

[Footnote 29: From the "Diary, " printed in the "Works of John Adams, "as edited by Charles Francis Adams. In his speech naming Washington, Adams referred to him as "one who could unite the cordial exertions ofall the colonies better than any other person. " Two days later hewrote to his wife that Congress had chosen "the modest and virtuous, the amiable, generous and brave George Washington, Esq. , to be chiefof the American army. "]

The subject came under debate, and several gentlemen declaredthemselves against the appointment of Mr. Washington, not on accountof any personal objection against him, but because the army were allfrom New England, had a general of their own, appeared to be satisfiedwith him, and had proved themselves able to imprison the British armyin Boston, which was all they expected or desired at that time. Mr. Pendleton, of Virginia, Mr. Sherman, of Connecticut, were veryexplicit in declaring this opinion; Mr. Cushing and several othersmore faintly exprest their opposition, and their fears of discontentsin the army and in New England. Mr. Paine exprest a great opinion ofGeneral Ward and a strong friendship for him, having been hisclassmate at college, or at least his contemporary; but gave noopinion upon the question. The subject was postponed to a future day. In the mean time, pains were taken out-of-doors to obtain a unanimity, and the voices were generally so clearly in favor of Washington, thatthe dissentient members were persuaded to withdraw their opposition, and Mr. Washington was nominated, I believe by Mr. Thomas Johnson ofMaryland, unanimously elected, and the army adopted. 

II

AN ESTIMATE OF FRANKLIN[30]

His reputation was more universal than that of Leibnitz or Newton, Frederick or Voltaire, and his character more beloved and esteemedthan any or all of them. Newton had astonished perhaps forty or fiftymen in Europe, for not more than that number probably at any one timehad read him and understood him, by his discoveries anddemonstrations. And these being held in admiration in their respectivecountries, as at the head of the philosophers, had spread amongscientific people a mysterious wonder at the genius of this, perhaps, the greatest man that ever lived. But this fame was confined to men ofletters. The common people knew little and cared nothing about such arecluse philosopher. Leibnitz's name was more confined still. Frederick was hated by more than half of Europe as much as Louis XIVwas and Napoleon is. Voltaire, whose name was more universal than anyof these before mentioned, was considered as a vain, profligate wit, and not much esteemed or beloved by anybody, tho admired by all whoknew his works. But Franklin's fame was universal. His name wasfamiliar to governments and people, to kings, courtiers, nobility, clergy and philosophers, as well as plebeians, to such a degree thatthere was scarcely a peasant or citizen, a valet de chambre, coachman, or footman, a lady's maid, or a scullion in a kitchen, who was notfamiliar with it, and who did not consider him a friend to human kind. When they spoke of him they seemed to think he was to restore theGolden Age. .. . 

[Footnote 30: From a letter to the Boston _Patriot_ of May 15, 1811, now given as an appendix to the "Works of John Adams. " The differencesof Adams and Franklin form a striking incident in the biographies ofthe two men. Colaborers as they were in a common cause, they hadconstant disagreements as to methods while serving their country inEurope. That they never openly quarreled Adams's biographer, John T. Morse, attributes to "their sense of propriety and dignity, and to theage and position of Dr. Franklin. " The radical cause lay in the factthat "they were utterly incompatible, both mentally and morally. "]

Nothing perhaps that ever occurred upon this earth was so wellcalculated to give any man an extensive and universal celebrity as thediscovery of the efficacy of iron points and the invention oflightning-rods. The idea was one of the most sublime that ever entereda human imagination that a mortal should disarm the clouds of heavenand almost "snatch from his hand the scepter and the rod. " Theancients would have enrolled him with Bacchus and Ceres, Hercules andMinerva. .. . 

Franklin had a great genius, original, sagacious, and inventive, capable of discoveries in science no less than of improvements in thefine arts and the mechanic arts. He had a vast imagination, equal tothe comprehension of the greatest objects, and capable of a steady andcool comprehension of them. He had wit at will. He had humor that, when he pleased, was delicate and delightful. He had a satire that wasgood-natured or caustic, Horace or Juvenal, Swift or Rabelais, at hispleasure. He had talents for irony, allegory, and fable, that hecould adapt with great skill to the promotion of moral and politicaltruth. He was master of that infantine simplicity which the Frenchcall _naïveté_, which never fails to charm, in Phĉdrus and LaFontaine, from the cradle to the grave. 

Had he been blest with the same advantages of scholastic education inhis early youth, and pursued a course of studies as unembarrassed withoccupations of public and private life, as Sir Isaac Newton, he mighthave emulated the first philosopher. Altho I am not ignorant that mostof his positions and hypotheses have been controverted, I can not butthink he has added much to the mass of natural knowledge, andcontributed largely to the progress of the human mind, both by his ownwritings and by the controversies and experiments he has excited inall parts of Europe. He had abilities for investigating statisticalquestions, and in some parts of his life has written pamphlets andessays upon public topics with great ingenuity and success; but aftermy acquaintance with him, which commenced in Congress in 1775, hisexcellence as a legislator, a politician, or a negotiator mostcertainly never appeared. No sentiments more weak and superficial wereever avowed by the most absurd philosopher than some of his, particularly one that he procured to be inserted in the firstconstitution of Pennsylvania, and for which he had such a fondness asto insert it in his will. I call it weak, for so it must have been, orhypocritical; unless he meant by one satiric touch to ridicule his ownrepublic, or throw it into everlasting contempt. 

I must acknowledge, after all, that nothing in life has mortified orgrieved me more than the necessity which compelled me to oppose him sooften as I have. He was a man with whom I always wished to live infriendship, and for that purpose omitted no demonstration of respect, esteem, and veneration in my power, until I had unequivocal proofs ofhis hatred, for no other reason under the sun, but because I gave myjudgment in opposition to his, in many points which materiallyaffected the interests of our country, and in many more whichessentially concerned our happiness, safety, and well-being. I couldnot and would not sacrifice the clearest dictates of my understandingand the purest principles of morals and policy in compliance to Dr. Franklin. 

THOMAS PAINE

 Born in England in 1737, died in New York in 1809; came to America in 1774; took a prominent part in the Revolution as a writer; his "Common Sense, " advocating independence, published in 1776; published a periodical, _The Crisis_, in 1776-83; went to Europe in 1787; in 1792 was outlawed from England for publishing his "Rights of Man"; went to France and elected to the National Convention in 1793; imprisoned in France in 1794; published his "Age of Reason" in 1794; returned to the United States in 1802. 

IN FAVOR OF SEPARATION OF THE COLONIES FROM GREAT BRITAIN[31]

The blood of the slain, the weeping voice of nature cries, "'tis timeto part. " Even the distance at which the Almighty hath placed Englandand America, is a strong and natural proof that the authority of theone over the other was never the design of heaven. The time, likewise, at which the continent was discovered, adds weight to the argument, and the manner in which it was peopled, increases the force of it. TheReformation was preceded by the discovery of America, as if theAlmighty graciously meant to open a sanctuary to the persecuted infuture years, when home should afford neither friendship nor safety. 

[Footnote 31: From "Common Sense, " a pamphlet issued by Paine inPhiladelphia on January 1, 1776. In this work Paine advocated completeseparation from England. His arguments helped to consolidate and makeeffective a sentiment which already was drifting in the samedirection. Washington said he effected "a powerful change in the mindsof many men. "]

The authority of Great Britain over this continent is a form ofgovernment which sooner or later must have an end: and a serious mindcan draw no true pleasure by looking forward, under the painful andpositive conviction that what he calls "the present constitution" ismerely temporary. As parents, we can have no joy knowing that thisgovernment is not sufficiently lasting to insure anything which we maybequeath to posterity; and by a plain method of argument, as we arerunning the next generation into debt, we ought to do the work of it, otherwise we use them meanly and pitifully. In order to discover theline of our duty rightly, we should take our children in our hand, andfix our station a few years farther into life; that eminence willpresent a prospect which a few present fears and prejudices concealfrom our sight. 

Tho I would carefully avoid giving unnecessary offense, yet I aminclined to believe that all those who espouse the doctrine ofreconciliation may be included within the following descriptions:

Interested men, who are not to be trusted; weak men, who can not see;prejudiced men, who will not see; and a certain set of moderate men, who think better of the European world than it deserves: and this lastclass, by an ill-judged deliberation, will be the cause of morecalamities to this continent than all the other three. 

It is the good fortune of many to live distant from the scene ofsorrow; the evil is not sufficiently brought to their doors to makethem feel the precariousness with which all American property ispossest. But let our imaginations transport us a few moments toBoston; that seat of wretchedness will teach us wisdom, and instructus forever to renounce a power in whom we can have no trust. Theinhabitants of that unfortunate city, who but a few months ago were inease and affluence, have now no other alternative than to stay andstarve, or turn out to beg. Endangered by the fire of their friends ifthey continue within the city, and plundered by the soldiery if theyleave it. In their present situation they are prisoners without thehope of redemption, and in a general attack for their relief theywould be exposed to the fury of both armies. 

Men of passive tempers look somewhat lightly over the offenses ofBritain, and, still hoping for the best, are apt to call out, "Come, come, we shall be friends again for all this. " But examine thepassions and feelings of mankind, bring the doctrine of reconciliationto the touchstone of nature, and then tell me whether you canhereafter love, honor, and faithfully serve the power that hathcarried fire and sword into your land? If you can not do all these, then are you only deceiving yourselves, and by your delay bringingruin upon your posterity. Your future connection with Britain, whomyou can neither love nor honor, will be forced and unnatural, andbeing formed only on the plan of present convenience, will in a littletime fall into a relapse more wretched than the first. But if you sayyou can still pass the violations over, then I ask, hath your housebeen burnt? Hath your property been destroyed before your face? Areyour wife and children destitute of a bed to lie on, or bread to liveon? Have you lost a parent or a child by their hands, and yourself theruined and wretched survivor? If you have not, then are you not ajudge of those who have. But if you have, and can still shake handswith the murderers, then are you unworthy the name of husband, father, friend, or lover, and, whatever may be your rank or title in life, youhave the heart of a coward and the spirit of a sycophant. 

THOMAS JEFFERSON

 Born In 1743, died in 1826; Member of the Virginia House of Burgesses in 1769-75, and again in 1776-78; Member of the Continental Congress in 1775; drafted the Declaration of Independence in 1776; Governor of Virginia in 1779; Member of Congress in 1783; Minister to France in 1785; Secretary of State in 1790; Vice-President in 1797; elected President in 1801 and reelected in 1805. 

I

WHEN THE BASTILE FELL[32]

In the meantime these troops, to the number of twenty to thirtythousand, had arrived and were posted in and between Paris andVersailles. The bridges and passes were guarded. The King was nowcompletely in the hands of men the principal among whom had beennoted, through their lives, for the Turkish despotism of theircharacters, and who were associated around the King as properinstruments for what was to be executed. The news of this change beganto be known at Paris about one or two o'clock. In the afternoon a bodyof about one hundred German cavalry were advanced, and drawn up in thePlace Louis XV, and about two hundred Swiss posted at a littledistance in their rear. This drew people to the spot, who thusaccidentally found themselves in front of the troops, merely at firstas spectators; but, as their numbers increased, their indignationrose. They retired a few steps, and posted themselves on and behindlarge piles of stones, large and small, collected in that place for abridge, which was to be built adjacent to it. 

[Footnote 32: From the "Autobiography, " now printed in Volume I of the"Writings of Jefferson, " edited by Paul Leicester Ford. ]

In this position, happening to be in my carriage on a visit, I passedthrough the lane they had formed without interruption. But the momentafter I had passed, the people attacked the cavalry with stones. Theycharged, but the advantageous position of the people, and the showersof stones, obliged the horse to retire, and quit the field altogether, leaving one of their number on the ground, and the Swiss in the rearnot moving to their aid. This was the signal for universalinsurrection, and this body of cavalry, to avoid being massacred, retired toward Versailles. The people now armed themselves with suchweapons as they could find in armorers' shops, and private houses, andwith bludgeons; and were roaming all night, through all parts of thecity, without any decided object. 

The next day (the 13th) the Assembly prest on the King to send awaythe troops, to permit the bourgeoisie of Paris to arm for thepreservation of order in the city, and offered to send a deputationfrom their body to tranquillize them; but their propositions wererefused. A committee of magistrates and electors of the city wereappointed by those bodies, to take upon them its government. Thepeople, now openly joined by the French guards, forced the prison ofSt. Lazare, released all the prisoners, and took a great store ofcorn, which they carried to the corn-market. Here they got some arms, and the French guards began to form and train them. The city committeedetermined to raise forty-eight thousand bourgeoisie, or rather torestrain their numbers to forty-eight thousand. 

On the 14th, they sent one of their members (Monsieur de Corny) to theHotel des Invalides, to ask arms for their Garde Bourgeoisie. He wasfollowed by, and he found there, a great collection of people. TheGovernor of the Invalids came out, and represented the impossibilityof his delivering arms without the orders of those from whom hereceived them. De Corny advised the people then to retire, and retiredhimself; but the people took possession of the arms. It was remarkablethat not only the Invalids themselves made no opposition, but that abody of five thousand foreign troops, within four hundred yards, neverstirred. M. De Corny, and five others, were then sent to ask arms ofM. De Launay, Governor of the Bastile. They found a great collectionof people already before the place, and they immediately planted aflag of truce, which was answered by a like flag hoisted on theparapet. The deputation prevailed on the people to fall back a little, advanced themselves to make their demand of the Governor, and in thatinstant a discharge from the Bastile killed four persons of thosenearest to the deputies. The deputies retired. I happened to be at thehouse of M. De Corny, when he returned to it, and received from him anarrative of these transactions. 

On the retirement of the deputies the people rushed forward, and almost inan instant were in possession of a fortification of infinite strength, defended by one hundred men, which in other times had stood several regularsieges, and had never been taken. How they forced their entrance has neverbeen explained. They took all the arms, discharged the prisoners, and suchof the garrison as were not killed in the first moment of fury; carried theGovernor and Lieutenant-Governor to the Place de Grève (the place of publicexecution), cut off their heads, and sent them through the city, intriumph, to the Palais royal. About the same instant a treacherouscorrespondence having been discovered in M. De Flesseles, Prevôt desMarchands, they seized him in the Hotel de Ville, where he was in theexecution of his office, and cut off his head. 

These events, carried imperfectly to Versailles, were the subject oftwo successive deputations from the Assembly to the King, to both ofwhich he gave dry and hard answers; for nobody had as yet beenpermitted to inform him, truly and fully, of what had passed at Paris. But at night the Duke de Liancourt forced his way into the King'sbedchamber, and obliged him to hear a full and animated detail of thedisasters of the day in Paris. He went to bed fearfully imprest. Thedecapitation of de Launay worked powerfully through the night on thewhole Aristocratic party; insomuch that in the morning those of thegreatest influence on the Count d'Artois represented to him theabsolute necessity that the King should give up everything to theAssembly. This according with the dispositions of the King, he wentabout eleven o'clock, accompanied only by his brothers, to theAssembly, and there read to them a speech, in which he asked theirinterposition to reestablish order. Altho couched in terms of somecaution, yet the manner in which it was delivered made it evident thatit was meant as a surrender at discretion. He returned to the Chateauafoot, accompanied by the Assembly. 

They sent off a deputation to quiet Paris, at the head of which wasthe Marquis de La Fayette, who had, the same morning, been namedCommandant en chef of the Milice Bourgeoise; and Monsieur Bailly, former President of the States General, was called for as Prevôt desMarchands. The demolition of the Bastile was now ordered and begun. Abody of the Swiss guards, of the regiment of Ventimille, and the cityhorse guards joined the people. The alarm at Versailles increased. Theforeign troops were ordered off instantly. Every minister resigned. The King confirmed Bailly as Prevôt des Marchands, wrote to M. Necker, to recall him, sent his letter open to the Assembly, to be forwardedby them, and invited them to go with him to Paris the next day, tosatisfy the city of his dispositions; and that night, and the nextmorning, the Count d'Artois, and M. De Montesson, a deputy connectedwith him, Madame de Polignac, Madame de Guiche, and the Count deVaudreuil, favorites of the Queen, the Abbe de Vermont, her confessor, the Prince of Conde, and the Duke of Bourbon fled. 

The King came to Paris, leaving the Queen in consternation for hisreturn. Omitting the less important figures of the procession, theKing's carriage was in the center; on each side of it the Assembly, intwo ranks afoot; at their head the Marquis de La Fayette, asCommander-in-chief, on horseback, and Bourgeois guards before andbehind. About sixty thousand citizens, of all forms and conditions, armed with the conquests of the Bastile and Invalids, as far as theywould go, the rest with pistols, swords, pikes, pruning-hooks, scythes, etc. , lined all the streets through which the processionpassed, and with the crowds of people in the streets, doors, andwindows, saluted them everywhere with the cries of "vive la nation, "but not a single "vive le roi" was heard. The King stopt at the Hotelde Ville. There M. Bailly presented, and put into his hat the popularcockade, and addrest him. The King being unprepared, and unable toanswer, Bailly went to him, gathered from him some scraps ofsentences, and made out an answer, which he delivered to the audienceas from the King. On their return, the popular cries were "vive le Roiet la nation. " He was conducted by a Garde Bourgeoise to his palace atVersailles, and thus concluded an "amende honorable, " as no sovereignever made, and no people ever received. 

And here, again, was lost another precious occasion of sparing toFrance the crimes and cruelties through which she has since passed, and to Europe, and finally America, the evils which flowed on themalso from this mortal source. The King was now become a passivemachine in the hands of the National Assembly, and had he been left tohimself, he would have willingly acquiesced in whatever they shoulddevise as best for the nation. A wise constitution would have beenformed, hereditary in his line, himself placed at its head, withpowers so large as to enable him to do all the good of his station, and so limited as to restrain him from its abuse. This he would havefaithfully administered, and more than this I do not believe he everwished. But he had a Queen of absolute sway over his weak mind andtimid virtue, and of a character the reverse of his in all points. This angel, as gaudily painted in the rhapsodies of Burke, [33] withsome smartness of fancy, but no sound sense, was proud, disdainful ofrestraint, indignant at all obstacles to her will, eager in thepursuit of pleasure, and firm enough to hold to her desires, or perishin their wreck. Her inordinate gambling and dissipations, with thoseof the Count d'Artois, and others of her _clique_, had been a sensibleitem in the exhaustion of the treasury, which called into action thereforming hand of the nation; and her opposition to it, her inflexibleperverseness, and dauntless spirit, led herself to the guillotine, drew the King on with her, and plunged the world into crimes andcalamities which will forever stain the pages of modern history. 

[Footnote 33: See page 214 of Volume IV of this collection for thistribute from Burke. ]

I have ever believed that had there been no Queen there would havebeen no revolution. No force would have been provoked, nor exercised. The King would have gone hand in hand with the wisdom of his soundercounselors, who, guided by the increased lights of the age, wishedonly, with the same pace, to advance the principles of their socialconstitution. The deed which closed the mortal course of thesesovereigns I shall neither approve nor condemn. I am not prepared tosay that the first magistrate of a nation can not commit treasonagainst his country, or is unamenable to its punishment; nor yet thatwhere there is no written law, no regulated tribunal, there is not alaw in our hearts, and a power in our hands, given for righteousemployment in maintaining right and redressing wrong. Of those whojudged the King many thought him wilfully criminal; many, that hisexistence would keep the nation in perpetual conflict with the hordeof kings who would war against a generation which might come home tothemselves, and that it were better that one should die than all. Ishould not have voted with this portion of the Legislature. I shouldhave shut up the Queen in a convent, putting harm out of her power, and placed the King in his station, investing him with limited powers, which, I verily believe, he would have honestly exercised, accordingto the measure of his understanding. In this way no void would havebeen created, courting the usurpation of a military adventurer, noroccasion given for those enormities which demoralized the nations ofthe world, and destroyed, and are yet to destroy millions and millionsof its inhabitants. 

II

THE FUTILITY OF DISPUTES[34]

I have mentioned good humor as one of the preservatives of our peaceand tranquillity. It is among the most effectual, and its effect is sowell imitated and aided, artificially, by politeness that this alsobecomes an acquisition of first-rate value. In truth, politeness isartificial good humor; it covers the natural want of it, and ends byrendering habitual a substitute nearly equivalent to the real virtue. It is the practise of sacrificing to those whom we meet in society allthe little conveniences and preferences which will gratify them, anddeprive us of nothing worth a moment's consideration; it is the givinga pleasing and flattering turn to our expressions, which willconciliate others, and make them pleased with us as well asthemselves. How cheap a price for the good will of another! When thisis in return for a rude thing said by another, it brings him to hissenses, it mortifies and corrects him in the most salutary way, andplaces him at the feet of your good nature in the eyes of the company. 

[Footnote 34: From a letter to Thomas Jefferson Randolph, datedWashington, Nov. 24, 1808. ]

But in stating prudential rules for our government in society I mustnot omit the important one of never entering into dispute or argumentwith another. I never saw an instance of one of two disputantsconvincing the other by argument. I have seen many, on their gettingwarm, becoming rude, and shooting one another. Conviction is theeffect of our own dispassionate reasoning, either in solitude, orweighing within ourselves, dispassionately, what we hear from others, standing uncommitted in argument ourselves. It was one of the ruleswhich, above all others, made Doctor Franklin the most amiable of menin society "never to contradict anybody. " If he was urged to announcean opinion, he did it rather by asking questions, as if forinformation, or by suggesting doubts. When I hear another express anopinion which is not mine, I say to myself he has a right to hisopinion, as I to mine; why should I question it? His error does me noinjury, and shall I become a Don Quixote, to bring all men by force ofargument to one opinion? If a fact be misstated, it is probable he isgratified by a belief of it, and I have no right to deprive him of thegratification. If he wants information, he will ask it, and then Iwill give it in measured terms; but if he still believes his ownstory, and shows a desire to dispute the fact with me, I hear him andsay nothing. It is his affair, not mine, if he prefers error. 

There are two classes of disputants most frequently to be met withamong us. The first is of young students, just entered the thresholdof science, with a first view of its outlines, not yet filled up withthe details and modifications which a further progress would bring totheir knowledge. The other consists of the ill-tempered and rude menin society, who have taken up a passion for politics. (Good humor andpoliteness never introduce into mixt society a question on which theyforesee there will be a difference of opinion. ) From both of thoseclasses of disputants, my dear Jefferson, keep aloof as you would fromthe infected subjects of yellow fever or pestilence. Consideryourself, when with them, as among the patients of Bedlam, needingmedical more than moral counsel. Be a listener only, keep withinyourself, and endeavor to establish with yourself the habit ofsilence, especially on politics. In the fevered state of our countryno good can ever result from any attempt to set one of these fieryzealots to rights, either in fact or principle. They are determined asto the facts they will believe, and the opinions on which they willact. Get by them, therefore, as you would by an angry bull; it is notfor a man of sense to dispute the road with such an animal. 

III

OF BLACKS AND WHITES IN THE SOUTH[35]

It will probably be asked, Why not retain and incorporate the blacksinto the state, and thus save the expense of supplying by importationof white settlers the vacancies they will leave? Deep-rootedprejudices entertained by the whites; ten thousand recollections, bythe blacks, of the injuries they have sustained; new provocations; thereal distinctions which nature has made; and many other circumstanceswill divide us into parties, and produce convulsions which willprobably never end but in the extermination of the one or the otherrace. To these objections, which are political, may be added others, which are physical and moral. 

[Footnote 35: From Query No. 14 of the "Notes on the State ofVirginia, " which, says Jefferson in an "advertisement, " "were writtenin Virginia in the year 1781 and somewhat corrected and enlarged inthe winter of 1782, in answer to queries proposed to the author by aforeigner of distinction then residing among us. "]

The first difference which strikes us is that of color. Whether theblack of the negro resides in the reticular membrane between the skinand the scarf-skin, or in the scarf-skin itself; whether it proceedsfrom the color of the blood, the color of the bile, or from that ofsome other secretion, the difference is fixt in nature, and is as realas if its seat and cause were better known to us. And is thisdifference of no importance? Is it not the foundation of a greater orless share of beauty in the two races? Are not the fine mixtures ofred and white, the expressions of every passion by greater or lesssuffusions of color in the one, preferable to that eternal monotonywhich reigns in the countenances, that immovable veil of black whichcovers all the emotions of the other race?

Add to these flowing hair, a more elegant symmetry of form, their ownjudgment in favor of the whites, declared by their preference of them, as uniformly as is the preference of the orangutan for the black womenover those of his own species. The circumstance of superior beauty isthought worthy attention in the propagation of our horses, dogs, andother domestic animals; why not in that of man? Besides those ofcolor, figure, and hair, there are other physical distinctionsproving a difference of race. They have less hair on the face andbody. They secrete less by the kidneys, and more by the glands of theskin, which gives them a very strong and disagreeable odor. This greatdegree of transpiration renders them more tolerant of heat, and lessso of cold than the whites. 

Perhaps, too, a difference of structure in the pulmonary apparatus, which a late ingenious experimentalist has discovered to be theprincipal regulator of animal heat, may have disabled them fromextricating, in the act of inspiration, so much of that fluid from theouter air, or obliged them in expiration to part with more of it. Theyseem to require less sleep. A black, after hard labor through the day, will be induced by the slightest amusement to sit up till midnight, orlater, tho knowing he must be out with the first dawn of the morning. They are at least as brave, and more adventuresome. 

But this may perhaps proceed from a want of forethought, whichprevents their seeing a danger till it be present. When present, theydo not go through it with more coolness or steadiness than the whites. They are more ardent after their female; but love seems with them tobe more an eager desire than a tender, delicate mixture of sentimentand sensation. Their griefs are transient. Those numberlessafflictions, which render it doubtful whether heaven has given life tous in mercy or in wrath, are less felt, and sooner forgotten withthem. In general, their existence appears to participate more ofsensation than reflection. To this must be ascribed their dispositionto sleep when abstracted from their diversions, and unemployed inlabor. An animal, whose body is at rest and who does not reflect, mustbe disposed to sleep, of course. Comparing them by their faculties ofmemory, reason, and imagination, it appears to me that in memory theyare equal to the whites; in reason much inferior, as I think one couldscarcely be found capable of tracing and comprehending theinvestigations of Euclid; and that in imagination they are dull, tasteless, and anomalous. 

It would be unfair to follow them to Africa for this investigation. Wewill consider them here, on the same stage with the whites, and wherethe facts are not apocryphal on which a judgment is to be formed. Itwill be right to make great allowances for the difference ofcondition, of education, of conversation, of the sphere in which theymove. Many millions of them have been brought to, and born in America. Most of them, indeed, have been confined to tillage, to their ownhomes, and their own society; yet many have been so situated that theymight have availed themselves of the conversation of their masters;many have been brought up to the handicraft arts, and from thatcircumstance have always been associated with the white. Some havebeen liberally educated, and all have lived in countries where thearts and sciences are cultivated to a considerable degree, and havehad before their eyes samples of the best works from abroad. 

The Indians, with no advantages of their kind, will often carvefigures on their pipes not destitute of design and merit. They willcrayon out an animal, a plant, or a country, so as to prove theexistence of a germ in their minds which only wants cultivation. Theyastonish you with strokes of the most sublime oratory; such as provetheir reason and sentiment strong, their imagination glowing andelevated. But never yet could I find that a black had uttered athought above the level of plain narration; never saw even anelementary trait of painting or sculpture. In music they are moregenerally gifted than the whites with accurate ears for tune and time, and they have been found capable of imagining a small catch. Whetherthey will be equal to the composition of a more extensive run ofmelody, or of complicated harmony is yet to be proved. Misery is oftenthe parent of the most affecting touches in poetry. Among the blacksis misery enough, God knows, but no poetry. Love is the peculiaroestrum of the poet. Their love is ardent, but it kindles the sensesonly, not the imagination. 

There must doubtless be an unhappy influence on the manners of ourpeople produced by the existence of slavery among us. The wholecommerce between master and slave is a perpetual exercise of the mostboisterous passions--the most unremitting despotism on the one partand degrading submissions on the other. Our children see this, andlearn to imitate it; for man is an imitative animal. This quality isthe germ of all education in him. From his cradle to his grave he islearning to do what he sees others do. If a parent could find nomotive either in his philanthropy or his self-love for restraining theintemperance of passion toward his slave, it should always be asufficient one that his child is present. 

But generally it is not sufficient. The parent storms; the child lookson, catches the lineaments of wrath, puts on the same airs, in thecircle of smaller slaves gives a loose to the worst of passions, andthus nursed, educated, and daily exercised in tyranny, can not but bestamped by it with odious peculiarities. The man must be a prodigy whocan retain his manners and morals undepraved by such circumstances. And with what execrations should the statesman be loaded who, permitting one-half the citizens thus to trample on the rights of theother, transforms those into despots and these into enemies, destroysthe morals of the one part and the _amor patriĉ_ of the other! For ifa slave can have a country in this world, it must be any other inpreference to that in which he is born to live and labor for another;in which he must lock up the faculties of his nature, contribute asfar as depends on his individual endeavors to the evanishment of thehuman race, or entail his own miserable condition on the endlessgenerations proceeding from him. With the morals of the people, theirindustry is destroyed. For in a warm climate no man will labor forhimself who can make another labor for him. This is so true that ofthe proprietors of slaves a very small proportion indeed are ever seento labor. 

IV

HIS ACCOUNT OF LOGAN'S FAMOUS SPEECH[36]

The principles of their society forbidding all compulsion, they are tobe led to duty and to enterprise by personal influence and persuasion. Hence eloquence in council, bravery and success in war become thefoundations of all consequence with them. To these acquirements alltheir faculties are directed. Of their bravery and address in war wehave multiplied proofs, because we have been the subjects on whichthey were exercised. Of their eminence in oratory we have fewerexamples, because it is displayed chiefly in their own councils. Some, however, we have of very superior luster. I may challenge the wholeorations of Demosthenes and Cicero, and of any more eminent orator, ifEurope has furnished any more eminent, to produce a single passagesuperior to the speech of Logan, a Mingo chief, to Lord Dunmore, whengovernor of this State. And, as a testimony of their talents in thisline, I beg leave to introduce it, first stating the incidentsnecessary for understanding it. 

[Footnote 36: From Query VI of the "Notes on Virginia. "]

In the spring of the year 1774 a robbery was committed by some Indianson certain land adventurers on the river Ohio. The whites in thatquarter, according to their custom, undertook to punish this outragein a summary way. Captain Michael Cresap, and a certain DanielGreathouse leading on these parties, surprized, at different times, traveling and hunting parties of the Indians, having their women andchildren with them, and murdered many. Among these were unfortunatelythe family of Logan, a chief celebrated in peace and war, and longdistinguished as the friend of the whites. This unworthy returnprovoked his vengeance. He accordingly signalized himself in the warwhich ensued. In the autumn of the same year a decisive battle wasfought at the mouth of the Great Kanawha, between the collected forcesof the Shawanese, Mingoes and Delawares, and a detachment of theVirginia militia. The Indians were defeated and sued for peace. Logan, however, disdained to be seen among the suppliants. But lest thesincerity of a treaty should be disturbed, from which so distinguisheda chief absented himself, he sent, by a messenger, the speech, to bedelivered to Lord Dunmore. [37]. .. 

[Footnote 37: For the text of Logan's speech see Volume VIII of "TheWorld's Famous Orations, " William J. Bryan, editor-in-chief; FrancisW. Halsey, associate editor; Funk and Wagnalls Company, publishers. ]

The story of Logan is repeated precisely as it had been current formore than a dozen years before it was published. When Lord Dunmorereturned from the expedition against the Indians, in 1774, he and hisofficers brought the speech of Logan, and related the circumstancesconnected with it. These were so affecting, and the speech itself sofine a morsel of eloquence, that it became the theme of everyconversation, in Williamsburg particularly, and generally, indeed, wheresoever any of the officers resided or resorted. I learned it inWilliamsburgh; I believe at Lord Dunmore's; and I find in mypocket-book of that year (1774) an entry of the narrative, as takenfrom the mouth of some person, whose name, however, is not noted, norrecollected, precisely in the words stated in the "Notes on Virginia. "The speech was published in the _Virginia Gazette_ of that time (Ihave it myself in the volume of gazettes of that year), and tho in astyle by no means elegant, yet it was so admired that it flew throughall the public papers of the continent, and through the magazines andother periodical publications of Great Britain; and those who wereboys at that day will now attest that the speech of Logan used to begiven them as a school exercise for repetition. It was not till aboutthirteen or fourteen years after the newspaper publications that the"Notes on Virginia" were published in America. Combating in these thecontumelious theory of certain European writers, whose celebrity havecurrency and weight to their opinions, that our country, from thecombined effects of soil and climate, degenerated animal nature, inthe general, and particularly the moral faculties of man, I consideredthe speech of Logan as an apt proof of the contrary, and used it assuch; and I copied, verbatim, the narrative I had taken down in 1774and the speech as it had been given us in a better translation by LordDunmore. [38]

[Footnote 38: The above final paragraph is from the appendix to thesecond edition of the "Notes on Virginia, " and was called forth bypublic criticism of the statements made in the text. ]

GOUVERNEUR MORRIS

 Born in 1752, died in 1816; member of the First and Second Continental Congresses; chairman of the committee which conferred with the British peace commissioners in 1778; drafted a scheme for a system of coinage which is the basis of our present system; member of the Convention which drafted the Constitution, taking a leading part in all the debates; went to France in 1789 on private business, and witnessed the outbreak of the Revolution; kept a diary and wrote important letters; minister to France in 1792; United States Senator from New York in 1800; active in promoting the Erie Canal project until his death; his biography written by Theodore Roosevelt; his "Diary and Letters" published in 1888. 

I

THE OPENING OF THE FRENCH STATES-GENERAL[39]

I had the honor to be present on the fifth of this month at theopening of the States-General; a spectacle more solemn to the mindthan gaudy to the eye. And yet, there was displayed everything ofnoble and of royal in this titled country. A great number of finewomen, and a very great number of fine dresses, ranged round the hall. On a kind of stage the throne; on the left of the King and a littlebelow him the Queen; a little behind him to the right, and on chairs, the princes of the blood; on the right and left, at some distancefrom the throne, the various princesses, with the gentlemen and ladiesof their retinue. Advanced on the stage, to the left of the throne, the Keeper of the Seals. Several officers of the household, richlycaparisoned, strewed about in different places. Behind the throne acluster of guards, of the largest size, drest in ancient costumes, taken from the times of chivalry. In front of the throne on the right, below the stage, the ministers of state, with a long table beforethem. On the opposite side of the hall some benches, on which sat themaréchals of France, and other great officers. In front of theministers, on benches facing the opposite side of the hall, sat therepresentatives of the clergy, being priests of all colors, scarlet, crimson, black, white, and gray, to the number of three hundred. Infront of the maréchals of France, on benches facing the clergy, sat anequal number of representatives of the nobility, drest in a robe ofblack, waistcoats of cloth of gold, and over their shoulders, so as tohang forward to their waists, a kind of lapels about a quarter of ayard wide at top, and wider at bottom, made of cloth of gold. Onbenches, which reached quite across the hall, and facing the stage, sat the representatives of the people clothed in black. In the spacebetween the clergy and nobles, directly in front of therepresentatives of the people, and facing the throne, stood theheralds-at-arms, with their staves and in very rich dresses. 

[Footnote 39: From a letter written in 1789 and addrest to Mrs. Morrisof Philadelphia. Copyright, 1888, by Charles Scribner's Sons. ]

When the King entered, he was saluted with a shout of applause. Sometime after he had taken his seat, he put on a round beaver, ornamented with white plumes, the part in front turned up, with alarge diamond button in the center. He read his speech well, and wasinterrupted at a part which affected his audience by a loud shout of_Vive le Roi_. After this had subsided, he finished his speech, andreceived again an animated acclamation of applause. He then took offhis hat, and after a while put it on again, at which the nobles alsoput on their hats, which resembled the King's, excepting the button. The effect of this display of plumage was fine. 

The Keeper of the Seals then performed his genuflexions to the throne, and mumbled out, in a very ungraceful manner, a speech of considerablelength, which nobody pretends to judge of, because nobody heard it. Hewas succeeded by M. Necker, [40] who soon handed his speech to hisclerk, being unable to go through with it. The clerk delivered it muchbetter than the minister, and that is no great praise. It was threehours long, contained many excellent things, but too much ofcompliment, too much of repetition, and indeed too much of everything, for it was too long by two hours, and yet fell short in some capitalpoints of great expectation. He received, however, very repeatedplaudits from the audience, some of which were merited, but more werecertainly paid to his character than to his composition. M. Necker'slong speech now comes to a close, and the King rises to depart. Thehall resounds with a long loud _Vive le Roi_. He passes the Queen, whorises to follow him. At this moment some one, imbued with the milk ofhuman kindness, originates a faint _Vive la Reine_. She makes a humblecourtesy and presents the sinking of the high Austrian spirit; alivelier acclamation in return, and to this her lowlier bending, whichis succeeded by a shout of loud applause. Here drops the curtain onthe first great act of this great drama, in which Bourbon givesfreedom. His courtiers seem to feel what he seems to be insensible of, the pang of greatness going off. 

[Footnote 40: Jacques Necker, director of the Treasury in 1776;resigned in 1781; recalled in 1788; convened the States-General in1789; dismissed in the same year and again recalled, but finallyresigned in 1790. Married Mlle. Suzanne Curchod, Gibbon's early love, and became the father of Madame de Staël. ]

II

OF THE EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI[41]

The late King of this country has been publicly executed. He died in amanner becoming his dignity. Mounting the scaffold, he exprest anewhis forgiveness of those who persecuted him, and a prayer that hisdeluded people might be benefited by his death. On the scaffold heattempted to speak, but the commanding officer, Santerre, ordered thedrums to beat. The King made two unavailing efforts, but with the samebad success. The executioners threw him down, and were in such hasteas to let fall the ax before his neck was properly placed, so that hewas mangled. 

[Footnote 41: From a letter to Thomas Jefferson, dated Paris, January25, 1793, printed in Volume II, Chapter 28, of Morris's "Diary andLetters. " Copyright, 1888, by Charles Scribner's Sons. ]

It would be needless to give you an affecting narrative ofparticulars. I proceed to what is more important, having but a fewminutes to write in by the present good opportunity. The greatest carewas taken to prevent a concourse of people. This proves a convictionthat the majority was not favorable to that severe measure. In fact, the great mass of the people mourned the fate of their unhappy prince. I have seen grief, such as for the untimely death of a beloved parent. Everything wears an appearance of solemnity which is awfullydistressing. I have been told by a gentleman from the spot thatputting the King to death would be a signal for disbanding the army inFlanders. I do not believe this, but incline to think it will havesome effect on the army, already perishing by want and moldering fastaway. The people of that country, if the French army retreats, will, Iam persuaded, take a severe vengeance for the injuries they have feltand the insults they have been exposed to. Both are great. The waragainst France is become popular in Austria, and is becoming so inGermany. If my judgment be good, the testament of Louis the Sixteenthwill be more powerful against the present rulers of this country thanany army of a hundred thousand men. You will learn the effect it hasin England. I believe that the English will be wound up to a pitch ofenthusiastic horror against France, which their cool and steady temperseems to be scarcely susceptible of. 

I enclose you a translation of a letter from Sweden, which I havereceived from Denmark. You will see thereby that the Jacobinprinciples are propagated with zeal in every quarter. Whether theRegent of Sweden intends to make himself king is a moot point. All theworld knows that the young prince is not legitimate, altho born undercircumstances which render it, legally speaking, impossible toquestion his legitimacy. I consider a war between Britain and Franceis inevitable. I have not proof, but some very leading circumstances. Britain will, I think, suspend her blow until she can strike veryhard, unless, indeed, they should think it advisable to seize themoment of indignation against late events for a declaration of war. This is not improbable, because it may be coupled with those generaldeclarations against all kings, under the name of tyrants, whichcontain a determination to destroy them, and the threat that if theministers of England presume to declare war, an appeal shall be madeto the people at the head of an invading army. Of course, a design maybe exhibited of entering into the heart of Great Britain, to overrunthe Constitution, destroy the rights of property, and finally todethrone and murder the King--all which are things the English willneither approve of nor submit to. 

ALEXANDER HAMILTON

 Born in 1757, died in 1804; a pamphleteer in the agitation preceding the Revolution; a captain of artillery in 1776; on Washington's staff in 1777-81: won distinction at Yorktown in 1781; member of the Continental Congress in 1782; member of the Constitutional Convention of 1787; Secretary of the Treasury in 1789; Commander-in-chief of the army in 1799; killed in a duel by Aaron Burr in 1804. 

I

OF THE FAILURE OF CONFEDERATION[42]

In the course of the preceding papers, I have endeavored, my fellowcitizens, to place before you, in a clear and convincing light, theimportance of union to your political safety and happiness. I haveunfolded to you a complication of dangers to which you would beexposed, should you permit that sacred knot, which binds the people ofAmerica together, to be severed or dissolved by ambition or byavarice, by jealousy or by misrepresentation. In the sequel of theinquiry through which I propose to accompany you the truths intendedto be inculcated will receive further confirmation from facts andarguments hitherto unnoticed. If the road over which you will stillhave to pass should in some places appear to you tedious or irksome, you will recollect that you are in quest of information on a subjectthe most momentous which can engage the attention of a free people;that the field through which you have to travel is in itself spacious, and that the difficulties of the journey have been unnecessarilyincreased by the mazes with which sophistry has beset the way. It willbe my aim to remove the obstacles to your progress in as compendious amanner as it can be done without sacrificing utility to dispatch. 

[Footnote 42: From No. 15 of the "Federalist" Papers, now printed inVolume IX of the "Works of Hamilton, " edited by Henry Cabot Lodge. ]

In pursuance of the plan which I have laid down for the discussion ofthe subject, the point next in order to be examined is the"insufficiency of the present confederation to the preservation of theUnion. "

It may perhaps be asked what need there is of reasoning or proof toillustrate a position which is neither controverted nor doubted; towhich the understandings and feelings of all classes of men assent;and which in substance is admitted by the opponents as well as by thefriends of the new constitution? It must in truth be acknowledgedthat, however these may differ in other respects, they in generalappear to harmonize in the opinion that there are materialimperfections in our national system, and that something is necessaryto be done to rescue us from impending anarchy. The facts that supportthis opinion are no longer objects of speculation. They have forcedthemselves upon the sensibility of the people at large, and have atlength extorted from those whose mistaken policy has had the principalshare in precipitating the extremity at which we are arrived, areluctant confession of the reality of many of those defects in thescheme of our federal government which have been long pointed out andregretted by the intelligent friends of the Union. 

We may, indeed, with propriety be said to have reached almost the laststage of national humiliation. There is scarcely anything that canwound the pride, or degrade the character of an independent peoplewhich we do not experience. Are there engagements, to the performanceof which we are held by every tie respectable among men? These are thesubjects of constant and unblushing violation. Do we owe debts toforeigners, and to our own citizens, contracted in a time of imminentperil, for the preservation of our political existence? These remainwithout any proper or satisfactory provision for their discharge. Havewe valuable territories and important posts in the possession of aforeign power, which, by express stipulations, ought long since tohave been surrendered? These are still retained, to the prejudice ofour interests not less than of our rights. Are we in a condition toresent or to repel the aggression? We have neither troops, nortreasury, nor government. Are we even in a condition to remonstratewith dignity? The just imputations on our own faith, in respect to thesame treaty, ought first to be removed. Are we entitled, by nature andcompact, to a free participation in the navigation of the Mississippi?Spain excludes us from it. Is public credit an indispensable resourcein time of public danger? We seem to have abandoned its cause asdesperate and irretrievable. Is commerce of importance to nationalwealth? Ours is at the lowest point of declension. Is respectabilityin the eyes of foreign powers a safeguard against foreignencroachments? The imbecility of our government even forbids them totreat with us: our ambassadors abroad are the mere pageants of mimicsovereignty. 

Is a violent and unnatural decrease in the value of land a symptom ofnational distress? The price of improved land, in most parts of thecountry, is much lower than can be accounted for by the quantity ofwaste land at market, and can only be fully explained by that want ofprivate and public confidence which are so alarmingly prevalent amongall ranks, and which have a direct tendency to depreciate property ofevery kind. Is private credit the friend and patron of industry? Thatmost useful kind which relates to borrowing and lending is reducedwithin the narrowest limits, and this still more from an opinion ofinsecurity than from a scarcity of money. To shorten an enumeration ofparticulars which can afford neither pleasure nor instruction, it mayin general be demanded what indication is there of national disorder, poverty, and insignificance that could befall a community sopeculiarly blest with natural advantages as we are, which does notform a part of the dark catalog of our public misfortunes?

This is the melancholy situation to which we have been brought bythose very maxims and counsels which would now deter us from adoptingthe proposed constitution; and which, not content with havingconducted us to the brink of a precipice, seem resolved to plunge usinto the abyss that awaits us below. Here, my countrymen, impelled byevery motive that ought to influence an enlightened people, let usmake a firm stand for our safety, our tranquillity, our dignity, ourreputation. Let us at last break the fatal charm which has too longseduced us from the paths of felicity and prosperity. 

It is true, as has been before observed, that facts too stubborn to beresisted have produced a species of general assent to the abstractproposition that there exist material defects in our national system;but the usefulness of the concession, on the part of the oldadversaries of federal measures, is destroyed by a strenuousopposition to a remedy, upon the only principles that can give it achance of success. While they admit that the government of the UnitedStates is destitute of energy, they contend against conferring upon itthose powers which are requisite to supply that energy. They seemstill to aim at things repugnant and irreconcilable; at anaugmentation of federal authority, without a diminution of Stateauthority; at sovereignty in the Union, and complete independence inthe members. They still, in fine, seem to cherish with blind devotionthe political monster of an _imperium in imperio_. This renders a fulldisplay of the principal defects of the confederation necessary inorder to show that the evils we experience do not proceed from minuteor partial imperfections, but from fundamental errors in the structureof the building, which can not be amended otherwise than by analteration in the very elements and main pillars of the fabric. 

The great and radical vice in the construction of the existingconfederation is in the principle of legislation for states orgovernments in their corporate or collective capacities, and ascontra-distinguished from the individuals of whom they consist. Thothis principle does not run through all the powers delegated to theUnion; yet it pervades and governs those on which the efficacy of therest depends: except as to the rule of apportionment, the UnitedStates have an indefinite discretion to make requisitions for men andmoney; but they have no authority to raise either by regulationsextending to the individual citizens of America. The consequence ofthis is that, tho in theory their resolutions concerning those objectsare laws constitutionally binding on the members of the Union, yet inpractise they are mere recommendations, which the States observe ordisregard at their option. 

It is a singular instance of the capriciousness of the human mind thatafter all the admonitions we have had from experience on this head, there should still be found men who object to the new constitution fordeviating from a principle which has been found the bane of the old;and which is, in itself, evidently incompatible with the idea of agovernment; a principle, in short, which, if it is to be executed atall, must substitute the violent and sanguinary agency of the sword tothe mild influence of the magistracy. 

II

HIS REASONS FOR NOT DECLINING BURR'S CHALLENGE[43]

On my expected interview with Col. Burr, I think it proper to makesome remarks explanatory of my conduct, motives, and views. I wascertainly desirous of avoiding this interview for the most urgentreasons:

[Footnote 43: Written the day before the duel, which took place inWeehawken, N. J. , on July 11, 1804. Hamilton, wounded, was taken tohis house in the upper part of Manhattan Island and there died on thefollowing day. This statement is now printed in Volume VIII of the"Works of Hamilton. "]

1. My religious and moral principles are strongly opposed to thepractise of duelling, and it would ever give me pain to be obliged toshed the blood of a fellow creature in a private combat forbidden bythe law. 

2. My wife and children are extremely dear to me, and my life is ofthe utmost importance to them in various views. 

3. I feel a sense of obligation toward my creditors, who, in case ofaccident to me, by the forced sale of my property, may be in somedegree sufferers. I did not think myself at liberty, as a man ofprobity, lightly to expose them to this hazard. 

4. I am conscious of no ill-will toward Col. Burr, distinct frompolitical opposition, which, as I trust, has proceeded from pure andupright motives. 

Lastly, I shall hazard much and can probably gain nothing by the issueof this interview. 

But it was, as I conceive, impossible to avoid it. There wereintrinsic difficulties in the thing, an artificial embarrassment fromthe manner of proceeding on the part of Col. Burr. 

Intrinsic, because it is not to be denied that my animadversion on thepolitical principles, character and views of Col. Burr have beenextremely severe; and on different occasions I, in common with manyothers, have made very unfavorable criticisms on particular instancesof the private conduct of this gentleman. In proportion as theseimpressions were entertained with sincerity and uttered with motivesand for purposes which might appear to me commendable would be thedifficulty (until they could be removed by evidence of their beingerroneous) of explanation or apology. The disavowal required of me byCol. Burr in a general and indefinite form was out of my power, if ithad really been proper for me to submit to be questioned, but I wassincerely of the opinion that this could not be, and in this opinion Iwas confirmed by a very moderate and judicious friend whom Iconsulted. Besides that, Col. Burr appeared to me to assume, in thefirst instance, a tone unnecessarily peremptory and menacing, and, inthe second, positively offensive. Yet I wished as far as might bepracticable to leave a door open to accommodation. This, I think, willbe inferred from the written communication made by me and by mydirections, and would be confirmed by the conversation between Mr. VanNess and myself which arose out of the subject. I am not sure whether, under all the circumstances, I did not go further in the attempt toaccommodate than a punctilious delicacy will justify. If so, I hopethe motives I have stated will excuse me. It is not my design by whatI have said to affix any odium on the conduct of Col. Burr in thiscase. He doubtless has heard of animadversions of mine which bore veryhard upon him, and it is probable that, as usual, they wereaccompanied with some falsehoods. He may have supposed himself underthe necessity of acting as he has done. I hope the ground of hisproceeding is such as ought to satisfy his own conscience. I trust, atthe same time, that the world will do me the justice to believe that Ihave not censured him on light grounds nor from unworthy motives. Icertainly have had strong reasons for what I have said, tho it ispossible in some particulars I may have been influenced bymisconstructions or misinformation. It is also my ardent wish that Imay have been more mistaken than I think I have been, and that he, byhis future conduct, may show himself worthy of all confidence andesteem and prove an ornament and a blessing to the country as well, because it is possible I may have injured Col. Burr, however convincedmyself that my opinions and declarations may have been well founded. 

As for my general principles and temper in relation to similaraffairs, I have resolved, if our interview is conducted in the usualmanner, and it pleases God to give me the opportunity, to reserve andthrow away my first fire, and I have thoughts even of reserving mysecond fire, and thus giving a double opportunity to Col. Burr topause and reflect. It is not, however, my intention to enter into anyexplanation on the ground. Apology, from principle, I hope, ratherthan pride, is out of the question. To those who, with me abhorringthe practise of duelling, may think that I ought on no account to haveadded to the number of examples, I answer that my relative situationas well in public as in private, enforcing all the considerationswhich constitute what men of the world denominate honor, inspired inme (as I thought) a peculiar necessity not to decline the call. Theability to be useful in future, whether in resisting mischief or ineffecting good, in those crises of our public affairs which seemlately to happen would probably be inseparable from a conformity withpublic prejudice in this particular. [44]

[Footnote 44: Among the Hamilton papers is a letter addrest as followsto Mrs. Hamilton, dated the day before the duel:

"This letter, my dear Eliza, will not be delivered to you unless Ishall first have terminated my earthly career, to begin, as I humblyhope from redeeming grace and divine mercy, a happy immortality. If ithad been possible for me to have avoided the interview, my love foryou and my precious children would have been alone a decisive motive. But it was not possible without sacrifice which would have rendered meunworthy of your esteem. I need not tell you of the pangs I feel fromthe idea of quitting you and exposing you to the anguish I know youwould feel. Nor could I dwell on the topic lest it should unman me. The consolations of religion, my beloved, can alone support you; andthese you have a right to enjoy. Fly to the bosom of your God and becomforted. With my last idea I shall cherish the sweet hope of meetingyou in a better world. Adieu, best of wives, best of women. Embraceall my darling children for me. "]

JOHN QUINCY ADAMS

 Born in Massachusetts in 1767, died in Washington in 1848; son of John Adams; graduated from Harvard in 1787; admitted to the bar in 1791; minister to the Netherlands in 1794-97; minister to Prussia in 1797-1801; Senator from Massachusetts in 1803-08; professor at Harvard in 1806-09; minister to Russia in 1809-14; minister to England in 1815-17; Secretary of State in 1817-25; elected President in 1824; defeated for the Presidency by Jackson in 1828; Member of Congress in 1831-48; unsuccessful candidate for Governor of Massachusetts in 1834; his "Diary" published in 1874-77. 

I

OF HIS MOTHER[45]

There is not a virtue that can abide in the female heart but it wasthe ornament of hers. She had been fifty-four years the delight of myfather's heart, the sweetener of all his toils, the comforter of allhis sorrows, the sharer and heightener of all his joys. It was but thelast time when I saw my father that he told me, with an ejaculation ofgratitude to the Giver of every good and every perfect gift, that inall the vicissitudes of his fortunes, through all the good report andevil report of the world, in all his struggles and in all hissorrows, the affectionate participation and cheering encouragement ofhis wife had been his never-failing support, without which he was surehe should never have lived through them. .. . 

[Footnote 45: From the "Diary. " Adams's mother was Abigail SmithAdams, daughter of the Rev. William Smith of Weymouth, Mass. Herletters, which have been much admired, have been published in a workentitled "The Familiar Letters of John Adams and his Wife. "]

Never have I known another human being the perpetual object of whoselife was so unremittingly to do good. It was a necessity of hernature. Yet so unostentatious, so unconscious even of her ownexcellence that even the objects of her kindness often knew not whenceit came. She had seen the world--its glories without being dazzled;its vices and follies without being infected by them. She had sufferedoften and severely from fits of long and painful sickness, always withcalmness and resignation. She had a profound, but not an obtrusivesensibility. She was always cheerful, never frivolous; she had neithergall nor guile. 

Her attention to the domestic economy of her family wasunrivaled--rising with the dawn, and superintending the householdconcerns with indefatigable and all-foreseeing care. She had a warmand lively relish for literature, for social conversation, forwhatever was interesting in the occurrences of the time, and even inpolitical affairs. She had been, during the war of our Revolution, anardent patriot, and the earliest lesson of unbounded devotion to thecause of their country that her children received was from her. Shehad the most delicate sense of propriety of conduct, but nothinguncharitable, nothing bitter. Her price was indeed above rubies. 

II

THE MORAL TAINT INHERENT IN SLAVERY[46]

After this meeting I walked home with Calhoun, who said that theprinciples which I had avowed were just and noble; but that in theSouthern country, whenever they were mentioned, they were alwaysunderstood as applying only to white men. Domestic labor was confinedto the blacks, and such was the prejudice that if he, who was the mostpopular man in his district, were to keep a white servant in hishouse, his character and reputation would be irretrievably ruined. 

[Footnote 46: From the "Diary. "]

I said that this confounding of the ideas of servitude and labor wasone of the bad effects of slavery; but he thought it attended withmany excellent consequences. It did not apply to all kinds oflabor--not, for example, to farming. He himself had often held theplow; so had his father. Manufacturing and mechanical labor was notdegrading. It was only manual labor--the proper work of slaves. Nowhite person could descend to that. And it was the best guarantee toequality among the whites. It produced an unvarying level among them. It not only did not excite, but did not even admit of inequalities bywhich one white man could domineer over another. 

I told Calhoun I could not see things in the same light. It is, intruth, all perverted sentiment--mistaking labor for slavery, anddominion for freedom. The discussion of the Missouri question hasbetrayed the secret of their souls. In the abstract they admit thatslavery is an evil, they disclaim all participation in theintroduction of it, and cast it all upon the shoulders of our oldgranddam Britain. But when probed to the quick upon it, they show atthe bottom of their souls pride and vainglory in their condition ofmasterdom. They fancy themselves more generous and noble-hearted thanthe plain freemen who labor for subsistence. They look down upon thesimplicity of a Yankee's manners, because he has no habits ofoverbearing like theirs and can not treat negroes like dogs. 

It is among the evils of slavery that it taints the very sources ofmoral principle. It establishes false estimates of virtue and vice;for what can be more false and heartless than this doctrine whichmakes the first and holiest rights of humanity to depend upon thecolor of the skin? It perverts human reason, and reduces man endowedwith logical powers to maintain that slavery is sanctioned by theChristian religion, that slaves are happy and contented in theircondition, that between master and slave there are ties of mutualattachment and affection, that the virtues of the master are refinedand exalted by the degradation of the slave; while at the same timethey vent execrations upon the slave-trade, curse Britain for havinggiven them slaves, burn at the stake negroes convicted of crimes forthe terror of the example, and writhe in agonies of fear at the verymention of human rights as applicable to men of color. The impressionproduced upon my mind by the progress of this discussion is that thebargain between freedom and slavery contained in the Constitution ofthe United States is morally and politically vicious, inconsistentwith the principles upon which alone our Revolution can be justified;cruel and oppressive, by riveting the chains of slavery, by pledgingthe faith of freedom to maintain and perpetuate the tyranny of themaster; and grossly unequal and impolitic, by admitting that slavesare at once enemies to be kept in subjection, property to be securedor restored to their owners, and persons not to be representedthemselves, but for whom their masters are privileged with nearly adouble share of representation. 

The consequence has been that this slave representation has governedthe Union. Benjamin portioned above his brethren has ravened as awolf. In the morning he has devoured the prey, and at night he hasdivided the spoil. It would be no difficult matter to prove, byreviewing the history of the Union under this Constitution, thatalmost everything which has contributed to the honor and welfare ofthe nation has been accomplished in despite of them or forced uponthem, and that everything unpropitious and dishonorable, including theblunders and follies of their adversaries, may be traced to them. Ihave favored this Missouri compromise, believing it to be all thatcould be effected under the present Constitution, and from extremeunwillingness to put the Union at hazard. But perhaps it would havebeen a wiser as well as a bolder course to have persisted in therestriction upon Missouri, till it should have terminated in aconvention of the States to amend and revise the Constitution. Thiswould have produced a new Union of thirteen or fourteen Statesunpolluted with slavery, with a great and glorious object to effect, namely, that of rallying to their standard the other States by theuniversal emancipation of their slaves. If the Union must bedissolved, slavery is precisely the question upon which it ought tobreak. For the present, however, this contest is laid asleep. 

WILLIAM E. CHANNING

 Born in Rhode Island in 1780, died in Vermont in 1842; clergyman, author and philanthropist; one of the chief founders of Unitarianism; pastor of the Federal Street Church in Boston in 1803; his complete works published in 1848. 

OF GREATNESS IN NAPOLEON[47]

We close our view of Bonaparte's character by saying that his originalpropensities, released from restraint, and pampered by indulgence to adegree seldom allowed to mortals, grew up into a spirit of despotismas stern and absolute as ever usurped the human heart. The love ofpower and supremacy absorbed, consumed him. No other passion, nodomestic attachment, no private friendship, no love of pleasure, norelish for letters or the arts, no human sympathy, no human weakness, divided his mind with the passion for dominion and for dazzlingmanifestations of his power. Before this, duty, honor, love, humanityfell prostrate. Josephine, we are told, was dear to him; but thedevoted wife, who had stood firm and faithful in the day of hisdoubtful fortunes, was cast off in his prosperity to make room for astranger, who might be more subservient to his power. He wasaffectionate, we are told, to his brothers and mother; but hisbrothers, the moment they ceased to be his tools, were disgraced; andhis mother, it is said, was not allowed to sit in the presence of herimperial son. He was sometimes softened, we are told, by the sight ofthe field of battle strewn with the wounded and dead. But, if theMoloch of his ambition claimed new heaps of slain to-morrow, it wasnever denied. With all his sensibility, he gave millions to the swordwith as little compunction as he would have brushed away so manyinsects which had infested his march. To him all human will, desire, power were to bend. His superiority none might question. He insultedthe fallen, who had contracted the guilt of opposing his progress; andnot even woman's loveliness, and the dignity of a queen could giveshelter from his contumely. His allies were his vassals, nor was theirvassalage concealed. Too lofty to use the arts of conciliation, preferring command to persuasion, overbearing, and all-grasping, hespread distrust, exasperation, fear, and revenge through Europe; and, when the day of retribution came, the old antipathies and mutualjealousies of nations were swallowed up in one burning purpose toprostrate the common tyrant, the universal foe. 

[Footnote 47: From a review of Sir Walter Scott's "Life of Napoleon, "printed in the _Christian Examiner_ in 1827 and now included in VolumeI of the collected edition of Channing's writings. ]

Such was Napoleon Bonaparte. But some will say he was still a greatman. This we mean not to deny. But we would have it understood thatthere are various kinds or orders of greatness, and that the highestdid not belong to Bonaparte. There are different orders of greatness. Among these the first rank is unquestionably due to moral greatness, or magnanimity; to that sublime energy by which the soul, smitten withthe love of virtue, binds itself indissolubly, for life and for death, to truth and duty; espouses as its own the interests of human nature;scorns all meanness and defies all peril; hears in its own consciencea voice louder than threatenings and thunders; withstands all thepowers of the universe which would sever it from the cause of freedomand religion; reposes an unfaltering trust in God in the darkest hour, and is ever "ready to be offered up" on the altar of its country or ofmankind. 

Of this moral greatness, which throws all other forms of greatnessinto obscurity, we see not a trace in Napoleon. Tho clothed with thepower of a god, the thought of consecrating himself to theintroduction of a new and higher era, to the exaltation of thecharacter and condition of his race, seems never to have dawned on hismind. The spirit of disinterestedness and self-sacrifice seems not tohave waged a moment's war with self-will and ambition. His rulingpassions, indeed, were singularly at variance with magnanimity. Moralgreatness has too much simplicity, is too unostentatious, tooself-subsistent and enters into others' interests with too muchheartiness, to live an hour for what Napoleon always lived, to makeitself the theme, and gaze, and wonder of a dazzled world. Next tomoral, comes intellectual greatness, or genius in the highest sense ofthat word; and by this we mean that sublime capacity of thought, through which the soul, smitten with the love of the true and thebeautiful, essays to comprehend the universe, soars into the heavens, penetrates the earth, penetrates itself, questions the past, anticipates the future, traces out the general and all-comprehendinglaws of nature, binds together by innumerable affinities and relationsall the objects of its knowledge, rises from the finite and transientto the infinite and the everlasting, frames to itself from its ownfulness lovelier and sublimer forms than it beholds, discerns theharmonies between the world within and the world without us, and findsin every region of the universe types and interpreters of its own deepmysteries and glorious inspirations. This is the greatness whichbelongs to philosophers, and to the master-spirits in poetry and thefine arts. 

Next comes the greatness of action; and by this we mean the sublimepower of conceiving bold and extensive plans; of constructing andbringing to bear on a mighty object a complicated machinery of means, energies, and arrangements, and of accomplishing great outwardeffects. To this head belongs the greatness of Bonaparte, and that hepossest it we need not prove, and none will be hardy enough to deny. Aman who raised himself from obscurity to a throne, who changed theface of the world, who made himself felt through powerful andcivilized nations, who sent the terror of his name across seas andoceans, whose will was pronounced and feared as destiny, whosedonatives were crowns, whose antechamber was thronged by submissiveprinces, who broke down the awful barrier of the Alps and made them ahighway, and whose fame was spread beyond the boundaries ofcivilization to the steppes of the Cossack, and the deserts of theArab; a man who has left this record of himself in history, has takenout of our hands the question whether he shall be called great. Allmust concede to him a sublime power of action, an energy equal togreat effects. 

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON

 Born in New Orleans In 1780, died in New York in 1857; educated in France, where he was a pupil of David; failing to establish himself in business in America, he devoted his time to the study of birds, making long excursions on foot; published his "Birds of America" in 1827-30, the price per copy being $1, 000; published his "Ornithological Biography" in 5 volumes in 1831-39. 

WHERE THE MOCKING-BIRD DWELLS[48]

It is where the great magnolia shoots up its majestic trunk, crownedwith evergreen leaves, and decorated with a thousand beautifulflowers, that perfume the air around; where the forests and fields areadorned with blossoms of every hue; where the golden orange ornamentsthe gardens and groves; where bignonias of various kinds interlacetheir climbing stems around the white-flowered stuartia, and, mountingstill higher, cover the summits of the lofty trees around, accompaniedwith innumerable vines that here and there festoon the dense foliageof the magnificent woods, lending to the vernal breeze a slightportion of the perfume of their clustered flowers; where a genialwarmth seldom forsakes the atmosphere; where berries and fruits of alldescriptions are met with at every step--in a word, it is where Natureseems to have paused, as she passed over the earth, and, opening herstores, to have strewed with unsparing hand the diversified seeds fromwhich have sprung all the beautiful and splendid forms which I shouldin vain attempt to describe, that the mocking-bird should have fixtits abode--there only that its wondrous song should be heard. 

[Footnote 48: From Volume II, page 187, of the "Birds of America, "edition of 1841. ]

But where is that favored land? It is in that great continent to whosedistant shores Europe has sent forth her adventurous sons, to wrestfor themselves a habitation from the wild inhabitants of the forest, and to convert the neglected soil into fields of exuberant fertility. It is, reader, in Louisiana that these bounties of nature are in thegreatest perfection. It is there that you should listen to the lovesong of the mocking-bird, as I at this moment do. See how he fliesround his mate, with motions as light as those of the butterfly! Histail is widely expanded, he mounts in the air to a small distance, describes a circle, and, again alighting, approaches his beloved one, his eyes gleaming with delight, for she has already promised to be hisand his only. His beautiful wings are gently raised, he bows to hislove, and, again bouncing upward, opens his bill and pours forth hismelody, full of exultation at the conquest he has made. 

They are not the soft sounds of the flute or the hautboy that I hear, but the sweeter notes of nature's own music. The mellowness of thesong, the varied modulations and gradations, the extent of itscompass, the great brilliancy of execution are unrivaled. There isprobably no bird in the world that possesses all the musicalqualifications of this king of song, who has derived all from Nature'sself. Yes, reader, all!

No sooner has he again alighted, and the conjugal contract has beensealed, than, as if his breast were about to be rent with delight, heagain pours forth his notes with more softness and richness thanbefore. He now soars higher, glancing around with a vigilant eye, toassure himself that none has witnessed his bliss. When these lovescenes are over, he dances through the air, full of animation anddelight, and, as if to convince his lovely mate that to enrich herhopes he has much more love in store, he that moment begins anew, andimitates all the notes which nature has imparted to the othersongsters of the grove. 

WASHINGTON IRVING

 Born in New York in 1783, died at Sunnyside in 1859; studied law, but owing to ill health went abroad in 1804, remaining two years; returning home, began to publish "Salmagundi" in company with James K. Paulding; published in 1809 his "History of New York, " which established his literary reputation; went abroad in 1815, remaining until 1832; attached to the legation in Madrid in 1826; secretary of legation in London in 1829; minister to Spain in 1842; published the "Sketch Book" in 1819-20, "Bracebridge Hall" in 1822, "Tales of a Traveler" in 1824, "Christopher Columbus" in 1828, "Conquest of Granada" in 1829, "The Alhambra" in 1832, "Life of Washington" in 1855-59; author of many other books; his "Life and Letters" published in 1861-67. 

I

THE LAST OF THE DUTCH GOVERNORS OF NEW YORK[49]

Peter Stuyvesant was the last, and, like the renowned Wouter VanTwiller, the best of our ancient Dutch governors. Wouter havingsurpassed all who preceded him, and Peter, or Piet, as he was sociablycalled by the old Dutch burghers, who were ever prone to familiarizenames, having never been equaled by any successor. He was, in fact, the very man fitted by nature to retrieve the desperate fortunes ofher beloved province, had not the Fates, those most potent andunrelenting of all ancient spinsters, destined them to inextricableconfusion. 

[Footnote 49: From Book V, Chapter I, of "Knickerbocker's History ofNew York. "]

To say merely that he was a hero would be doing him greatinjustice--he was in truth a combination of heroes--for he was of asturdy, raw-boned make like Ajax Telamon, with a pair of roundshoulders that Hercules would have given his hide for (meaning hislion's hide) when he undertook to ease old Atlas of his load. He was, moreover, as Plutarch describes Coriolanus, not only terrible for theforce of his arm, but likewise of his voice, which sounded as tho itcame out of a barrel; and, like the self-same warrior, he possest asovereign contempt for the sovereign people, and an iron aspect, whichwas enough of itself to make the very bowels of his adversaries quakewith terror and dismay. All this martial excellency of appearance wasinexpressibly heightened by an accidental advantage, with which I amsurprized that neither Homer nor Virgil have graced any of theirheroes. This was nothing less than a wooden leg, [50] which was theonly prize he had gained in bravely fighting the battles of hiscountry, but of which he was so proud that he was often heard todeclare he valued it more than all his other limbs put together;indeed, so highly did he esteem it that he had it gallantly enchasedand relieved with silver devices, which caused it to be related indivers histories and legends that he wore a silver leg. 

[Footnote 50: Stuyvesant lost his leg in the West Indies, where he wasserving in a Dutch command. In 1634 he became director of the colonyof Curaçao. In 1636 he was made director-general of the Dutch colonyin North America. He retained this office, in which he was notablyefficient, until the surrender of New Amsterdam to the English in1664. Stuyvesant spent the remainder of his life in New York on a farmcalled the Bowery, where he died in 1672. He was buried in groundswhere now stands St. Mark's Church. ]

Like that choleric warrior Achilles, he was somewhat subject toextempore bursts of passion, which were rather unpleasant to hisfavorites and attendants, whose perceptions he was apt to quicken, after the manner of his illustrious imitator, Peter the Great, byanointing their shoulders with his walking-staff. 

Tho I can not find that he had read Plato, or Aristotle, or Hobbes, orBacon, or Algernon Sydney, or Tom Paine, yet did he sometimes manifesta shrewdness and sagacity in his measures that one would hardly expectfrom a man who did not know Greek, and had never studied the ancients. True it is, and I confess it with sorrow, that he had an unreasonableaversion to experiments, and was fond of governing his province afterthe simplest manner; but then he contrived to keep it in better orderthan did the erudite Kieft, [51] tho he had all the philosophers, ancient and modern, to assist and perplex him. I must likewise ownthat he made but very few laws; but then again he took care that thosefew were rigidly and impartially enforced: and I do not know butjustice on the whole was as well administered as if there had beenvolumes of sage acts and statutes yearly made, and daily neglected andforgotten. 

[Footnote 51: William Kieft, the predecessor of Stuyvesant in thegovernment of New Amsterdam, was a tyrannical, blunderingadministrator, whose rule was marked by disastrous wars with theIndians and dissension among his own people which nearly ruined theprovince. He was recalled by the home government, and while on his wayto Holland was lost in the wreck, on the English coast, of the ship inwhich he had sailed. ]

He was, in fact, the very reverse of his predecessors, being neithertranquil and inert, like Walter the Doubter, nor restless andfidgeting, like William the Testy; but a man, or rather a governor ofsuch uncommon activity and decision of mind that he never sought noraccepted the advice of others; depending bravely upon his single head, as would a hero of yore upon his single arm, to carry him through alldifficulties and dangers. To tell the simple truth, he wanted nothingmore to complete him as a statesman than to think always right; for noone can say but that he always acted as he thought. He was never a manto flinch when he found himself in a scrape; but to dash forwardthrough thick and thin, trusting, by hook or by crook, to make allthings straight in the end. In a word, he possest, in an eminentdegree, that great quality in a statesman, called perseverance by thepolite, but nicknamed obstinacy by the vulgar. A wonderful salve forofficial blunders; since he who perseveres in error without flinchinggets the credit of boldness and consistency, while he who wavers inseeking to do what is right gets stigmatized as a trimmer. This muchis certain; and it is a maxim well worthy the attention of alllegislators, great and small, who stand shaking in the wind, irresolute which way to steer, that a ruler who follows his own willpleases himself; while he who seeks to satisfy the wishes and whims ofothers runs great risk of pleasing nobody. There is nothing, too, likeputting down one's foot resolutely, when in doubt, and letting thingstake their course. The clock that stands still points right twice inthe four-and-twenty hours: while others may keep going continually andbe continually going wrong. 

Nor did this magnanimous quality escape the discernment of the goodpeople of Nieuw Nederlandts; on the contrary, so much were they struckwith the independent will and vigorous resolution displayed on alloccasions by their new governor, that they universally called himHard-Koppig Piet; or Peter the Headstrong--a great compliment to thestrength of his understanding. 

If, from all that I have said, thou dost not gather, worthy reader, that Peter Stuyvesant was a tough, sturdy, valiant, weather-beaten, mettlesome, obstinate, leather-sided, lion-hearted, generous-spiritedold governor, either I have written to but little purpose, or thou artvery dull at drawing conclusions. 

II

THE AWAKENING OF RIP VAN WINKLE[52]

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence he had firstseen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes--it was a brightsunny morning. The birds were hopping and twittering among thebushes, and the eagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the puremountain breeze. "Surely, " thought Rip, "I have not slept here allnight. " He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strangeman with a keg of liquor--the mountain ravine--the wild retreat amongthe rocks--the wo-begone party at nine-pins--the flagon--"Oh! thatflagon! that wicked flagon!" thought Rip--"what excuse shall I make toDame Van Winkle!"

[Footnote 52: From the "Sketch Book, " originally published in parts in1819-20, "Rip Van Winkle" being included in the first number. Irving'sstory has furnished the material for eight or ten plays, the mostsuccessful of which was written by Dion Boucicault. Boucicault's workwas materially altered by Joseph Jefferson into the play now closelyassociated with Jefferson's fame. ]

He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean well-oiledfowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrelincrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave roysterers of the mountain had put atrick upon him, and, having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him ofhis gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed awayafter a squirrel or partridge. He whistled after him and shouted hisname, but all in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, butno dog was to be seen. 

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gambol, andif he met with any of the party, to demand his dog and gun. As he roseto walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in hisusual activity. "These mountain beds do not agree with me, " thoughtRip, "and if this frolic should lay me up with a fit of therheumatism, I shall have a blest time with Dame Van Winkle. " With somedifficulty he got down into the glen: he found the gully up which heand his companion had ascended the preceding evening; but to hisastonishment a mountain stream was now foaming down it, leaping fromrock to rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs. He, however, made shift to scramble up its sides, working his toilsome way throughthickets of birch, sassafras, and witch-hazel, and sometimes tript upor entangled by the wild grape-vines that twisted their coils ortendrils from tree to tree, and spread a kind of network in his path. 

At length he reached to where the ravine had opened through the cliffsto the amphitheater; but no traces of such opening remained. The rockspresented a high impenetrable wall over which the torrent cametumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad deepbasin, black from the shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again called and whistled afterhis dog; he was only answered by the cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting high in air about a dry tree that overhung a sunny precipice;and who, secure in their elevation, seemed to look down and scoff atthe poor man's perplexities. What was to be done? the morning waspassing away, and Rip felt famished for want of his breakfast. Hegrieved to give up his dog and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; butit would not do to starve among the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and, with a heart full of trouble andanxiety, turned his steps homeward. 

As he approached the village he met a number of people, but none whomhe knew, which somewhat surprized him, for he had thought himselfacquainted with every one in the country round. Their dress, too, wasof a different fashion from that to which he was accustomed. They allstared at him with equal marks of surprize, and whenever they casttheir eyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The constantrecurrence of this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when, to his astonishment, he found his beard had grown a foot long!

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of strangechildren ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his graybeard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognized for an oldacquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very village wasaltered; it was larger and more populous. There were rows of houseswhich he had never seen before, and those which had been his familiarhaunts had disappeared. Strange names were over the doors--strangefaces at the windows--everything was strange. His mind now misgavehim; he began to doubt whether both he and the world around him werenot bewitched. Surely this was his native village, which he had leftbut the day before. There stood the Catskill Mountains--there ran thesilver Hudson at a distance--there was every hill and dale preciselyas it had always been--Rip was sorely perplexed--"That flagon lastnight, " thought he, "has addled my poor head sadly!"

It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to bearthe shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone todecay--the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors offthe hinges. A half-starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulkingabout it. Rip called him by name, but the cur snarled, showed histeeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed--"My very dog, "sighed poor Rip, "has forgotten me!"

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van Winkle hadalways kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and apparentlyabandoned. This desolateness overcame all his connubial fears--hecalled loudly for his wife and children--the lonely chambers rang fora moment with his voice, and then all again was silence. 

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the villageinn--but it too was gone. A large rickety wooden building stood in itsplace, with great gaping windows, some of them broken and mended withold hats and petticoats, and over the door was painted, "The UnionHotel, by Jonathan Doolittle. " Instead of the great tree that used toshelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared atall naked pole, with something on the top that looked like a rednight-cap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singularassemblage of stars and stripes--all this was strange andincomprehensible. He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face ofKing George, under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe; buteven this was singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was changed forone of blue and buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of ascepter, the head was decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath waspainted in large characters, GENERAL WASHINGTON. 

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none thatRip recollected. The very character of the people seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, instead of theaccustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for thesage Nicholas Vedder, with his broad face, double chin, and fair longpipe, uttering clouds of tobacco-smoke instead of idle speeches; orVan Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling forth the contents of an ancientnewspaper. In place of these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow, with hispockets full of handbills, was haranguing vehemently about rights ofcitizens--elections--members of Congress--liberty--Bunker Hill--heroesof seventy-six--and other words, which were a perfect Babylonishjargon to the bewildered Van Winkle. 

The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, his rustyfowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army of women and children athis heels, soon attracted the attention of the tavern politicians. They crowded round him, eyeing him from head to foot with greatcuriosity. The orator bustled up to him, and, drawing him partlyaside, inquired "on which side he voted?" Rip stared in vacantstupidity. Another short but busy little fellow pulled him by the arm, and, rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear "whether he was Federal orDemocrat?" Rip was equally at a loss to comprehend the question; whena knowing, self-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, madehis way through the crowd, putting them to right and left with hiselbows as he passed, and planting himself before Van Winkle, with armsakimbo, the other resting on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hatpenetrating, as it were, into his very soul, demanded in an austeretone "what brought him to the election with a gun on his shoulder, anda mob at his heels, and whether he meant to breed a riot in thevillage?" "Alas! gentlemen, " cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I am apoor quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of theKing, God bless him!"

Here a general shout burst from the bystanders--"A Tory! a Tory! aspy! a refugee! hustle him! away with him!" It was with greatdifficulty that the self-important man in the cocked hat restoredorder; and, having assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, demanded againof the unknown culprit what he came there for, and whom he wasseeking? The poor man humbly assured him that he meant no harm, butmerely came there in search of some of his neighbors, who used to keepabout the tavern. 

"Well--who are they?--name them. "

Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, "Where's NicholasVedder?"

There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in athin piping voice, "Nicholas Vedder! why, he is dead and gone theseeighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in the churchyard thatused to tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too. "

"Where's Brom Dutcher?"

"Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war; some say hewas killed at the storming of Stony Point--others say he was drownedin a squall at the foot of Antony's Nose. I don't know--he never cameback again. "

"Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?"

"He went off to the wars too, was a great militia general, and is nowin Congress. "

Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his home andfriends, and finding himself thus alone in the world. Every answerpuzzled him too, by treating of such enormous lapses of time, and ofmatters which he could not understand: war--Congress--Stony Point; hehad no courage to ask after any more friends, but cried out indespair, "Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?"

"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!" exclaimed two or three--"oh, to be sure! that'sRip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree. "

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, as he went upthe mountain: apparently as lazy, and certainly as ragged. The poorfellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own identity, andwhether he was himself or another man. In the midst of hisbewilderment, the man in the cocked hat demanded who he was, and whatwas his name?

"God knows, " exclaimed he, at his wit's end; "I'm not myself--I'msomebody else--that's me yonder--no--that's somebody else got into myshoes--I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, andthey've changed my gun, and everything's changed, and I'm changed, andI can't tell what's my name, or who I am!"

The bystanders began now to look at each other, nod, winksignificantly, and tap their fingers against their foreheads. Therewas a whisper, also, about securing the gun, and keeping the oldfellow from doing mischief, at the very suggestion of which theself-important man in the cocked hat retired with some precipitation. At this critical moment a fresh comely woman prest through the throngto get a peep at the gray-bearded man. She had a chubby child in herarms, which, frightened at his looks, began to cry. "Hush, Rip, " criedshe, "hush, you little fool; the old man won't hurt you. " The name ofthe child, the air of the mother, the tone of her voice, all awakeneda train of recollections in his mind. "What is your name, my goodwoman, " asked he. 

"Judith Gardenier. "

"And your father's name?"

"Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it's twenty yearssince he went away from home with his gun, and never has been heard ofsince--his dog came home without him; but whether he shot himself, orwas carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but alittle girl. "

Rip had but one question more to ask; but he put it with a falteringvoice:

"Where's your mother?"

"Oh, she too had died but a short time since; she broke a blood-vesselin a fit of passion at a New England peddler. "

There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence. Thehonest man could contain himself no longer. He caught his daughter andher child in his arms. "I am your father!" cried he--"Young Rip VanWinkle once--old Rip Van Winkle now!--Does nobody know poor Rip VanWinkle?"

All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from among thecrowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering under it in his face fora moment, exclaimed, "Sure enough! it is Rip Van Winkle--it ishimself! Welcome home again, old neighbor--why, where have you beenthese twenty long years?"

Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been to himbut as one night. The neighbors stared when they heard it; some wereseen to wink at each other, and put their tongues in their cheeks: andthe self-important man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm wasover, had returned to the field, screwed down the corners of hismouth, and shook his head--upon which there was a general shaking ofthe head throughout the assemblage. 

It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old PeterVanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the road. He was adescendant of the historian of that name, who wrote one of theearliest accounts of the province. Peter was the most ancientinhabitant of the village, and well versed in all the wonderful eventsand traditions of the neighborhood. He recollected Rip at once, andcorroborated his story in the most satisfactory manner. He assured thecompany that it was a fact, handed down from his ancestor thehistorian, that the Catskill Mountains had always been haunted bystrange beings. That it was affirmed that the great Hendrick Hudson, the first discoverer of the river and country, kept a kind of vigilthere every twenty years, with his crew of the _Half-moon_; beingpermitted in this way to revisit the scenes of his enterprise, andkeep a guardian eye upon the river, and the great city called by hisname. That his father had once seen them in their old Dutch dressesplaying at nine-pins in a hollow of the mountain; and that he himselfhad heard, one summer afternoon, the sound of their balls, likedistant peals of thunder. 

To make a long story short, the company broke up, and returned to themore important concerns of the election. Rip's daughter took him hometo live with her; she had a snug, well-furnished house, and a stoutcheery farmer for a husband, whom Rip recollected for one of theurchins that used to climb upon his back. As to Rip's son and heir, who was the ditto of himself, seen leaning against the tree, he wasemployed to work on the farm; but evinced an hereditary disposition toattend to anything else but his business. 

III

AT ABBOTSFORD WITH SCOTT[53]

I had a letter of introduction to him from Thomas Campbell the poet, and had reason to think, from the interest he had taken in some of myearlier scribblings, [54] that a visit from me would not be deemed anintrusion. 

[Footnote 53: From the collection of papers entitled "CrayonMiscellany. " Irving's visit was made in 1817. His account of it wasnot published until nearly twenty years afterward--that is, afterScott's death. ]

[Footnote 54: Irving at that time had published little more than the"Salmagundi" papers and "Knickerbocker's History of New York. "]

On the following morning, after an early breakfast, I set off in apost-chaise for the Abbey. 

On the way thither I stopt at the gate of Abbotsford, and sent thepostilion to the house with the letter of introduction and my card, onwhich I had written that I was on my way to the ruins of MelroseAbbey, and wished to know whether it would be agreeable to Mr. Scott(he had not yet been made a baronet) to receive a visit from me in thecourse of the morning. .. . 

In a little while the "lord of the castle" himself made hisappearance. I knew him at once by the descriptions I had read andheard, and the likeness that had been published of him. He was tall, and of a large and powerful frame. His dress was simple, and almostrustic: an old green shooting-coat, with a dog-whistle at thebuttonhole, brown linen pantaloons, stout shoes that tied at theankles, and a white hat that had evidently seen service. He camelimping up the gravel-walk, aiding himself by a stout walking-staff, but moving rapidly and with vigor. By his side jogged along a largeiron-gray stag-hound of most grave demeanor, who took no part in theclamor of the canine rabble, but seemed to consider himself bound, forthe dignity of the house, to give me a courteous reception. 

Before Scott had reached the gate he called out in a hearty tone, welcoming me to Abbotsford, and asking news of Campbell. Arrived atthe door of the chaise, he grasped me warmly by the hand: "Come, drivedown, drive down to the house, " said he, "ye're just in time forbreakfast, and afterward ye shall see all the wonders of the Abbey. "

I would have excused myself, on the plea of having already made mybreakfast. "Hout, man, " cried he, "a ride in the morning in the keenair of the Scotch hills is warrant enough for a second breakfast. " Iwas accordingly whirled to the portal of the cottage, and in a fewmoments found myself seated at the breakfast-table. .. . 

Scott proposed a ramble to show me something of the surroundingcountry. As we sallied forth, every dog in the establishment turnedout to attend us. There was the old stag-hound Maida, a noble animal, and a great favorite of Scott's; and Hamlet, the black greyhound, awild thoughtless youngster, not yet arrived to the years ofdiscretion; and Finette, a beautiful setter, with soft silken hair, long pendent ears, and a mild eye, the parlor favorite. When in frontof the house, we were joined by a superannuated greyhound, who camefrom the kitchen wagging his tail, and was cheered by Scott as an oldfriend and comrade. 

In our walks, Scott would frequently pause in conversation to noticehis dogs and speak to them, as if rational companions; and, indeed, there appears to be a vast deal of rationality in these faithfulattendants on man, derived from their close intimacy with him. Maidadeported himself with a gravity becoming his age and size, and seemedto consider himself called upon to preserve a great degree of dignityand decorum in our society. As he jogged along a little distance aheadof us, the young dogs would gambol about him, leap on his neck, worryat his ears, and endeavor to tease him into a frolic. The old dogwould keep on for a long time with imperturbable solemnity, now andthen seeming to rebuke the wantonness of his young companions. .. . 

We had not walked much further before we saw the two Miss Scottsadvancing along the hillside to meet us. The morning's studies beingover, they had set off to take a ramble on the hills, and gatherheather-blossoms with which to decorate their hair for dinner. As theycame bounding lightly, like young fawns, and their dresses flutteringin the pure summer breeze, I was reminded of Scott's own descriptionof his children in his introduction to one of the cantos of "Marmion. "

As they approached, the dogs all sprang forward and gamboled aroundthem. They played with them for a time, and then joined us withcountenances full of health and glee. Sophia, [55] the eldest, was themost lively and joyous, having much of her father's varied spirit inconversation, and seeming to catch excitement from his words andlooks. Ann was of quieter mood, rather silent, owing, in some measure, no doubt, to her being some years younger. 

[Footnote 55: Sophia three years later became the wife of John GibsonLockhart, the biographer of Scott. ]

At the dinner Scott had laid by his half-rustic dress, and appearedclad in black. The girls, too, in completing their toilet, had twistedin their hair the sprigs of purple heather which they had gathered onthe hillside, and looked all fresh and blooming from their breezywalk. 

There was no guest at dinner but myself. Around the table were two orthree dogs in attendance. Maida, the old stag-hound, took his seat atScott's elbow, looking up wistfully in his master's eye, whileFinette, the pet spaniel, placed herself near Mrs. Scott, by whom, Isoon perceived, she was completely spoiled. .. . 

Among the other important and privileged members of the household whofigured in attendance at the dinner was a large gray cat, who, Iobserved, was regaled from time to time with titbits from the table. This sage grimalkin was a favorite of both master and mistress, andslept at night in their room; and Scott laughingly observed that oneof the least wise parts of their establishment was that the window wasleft open at night for puss to go in and out. The cat assumed a kindof ascendency among the quadrupeds--sitting in state in Scott'sarmchair, and occasionally stationing himself on a chair beside thedoor, as if to review his subjects as they passed, giving each dog acuff beside the ears as he went by. This clapper-clawing was alwaystaken in good part; it appeared to be, in fact, a mere act ofsovereignty on the part of grimalkin, to remind the others of theirvassalage; which they acknowledged by the most perfect acquiescence. Ageneral harmony prevailed between sovereign and subjects, and theywould all sleep together in the sunshine. .. . 

After dinner we adjourned to the drawing-room, which served also forstudy and library. Against the wall on one side was a longwriting-table, with drawers; surmounted by a small cabinet of polishedwood, with folding-drawers richly studded with brass ornaments, withinwhich Scott kept his most valuable papers. Above the cabinet, in akind of niche, was a complete corselet of glittering steel, with aclosed helmet, and flanked by gantlets and battle-axes. Around werehung trophies and relics of various kinds; a simitar of Tipu Sahib; aHighland broadsword from Flodden field; a pair of Rippon spurs fromBannockburn, and above all, a gun which had belonged to Rob Roy, andbore his initials, R. M. C. , [56] an object of peculiar interest to meat the time, as it was understood Scott was actually engaged inprinting a novel founded on the story of that famous outlaw. 

[Footnote 56: Robert McGregor Campbell was the real name of Rob Roy. ]

On each side of the cabinet were bookcases, well stored with works ofromantic fiction in various languages, many of them rare andantiquated. This, however, was merely his cottage library, theprincipal part of his books being at Edinburgh. 

From this little cabinet of curiosities Scott drew forth a manuscriptpicked up on the field at Waterloo, containing copies of several songspopular at the time in France. The paper was dabbled with blood--"thevery life-blood, very possibly, " said Scott, "of some gay youngofficer who had cherished these songs as a keepsake from somelady-love in Paris. ". .. 

The evening passed away delightfully in this quaint-looking apartment, half study, half drawing-room. Scott had read several passages fromthe old romances of Arthur, with a fine deep sonorous voice, and agravity of tone that seemed to suit the antiquated black-lettervolume. It was a rich treat to hear such a work, read by such aperson, and in such a place; and his appearance as he sat reading, ina large armed chair, with his favorite hound Maida at his feet andsurrounded by books and relics, and border trophies, would have formedan admirable and most characteristic picture. 

While Scott was reading, the sage grimalkin already mentioned hadtaken his seat in a chair beside the fire, and remained with fixt eyeand grave demeanor, as if listening to the reader. I observed to Scottthat his cat seemed to have a black-letter taste in literature. 

"Ah, " said he, "these cats are a very mysterious kind of folk. Thereis always more passing in their minds than we are aware of. It comes, no doubt, from their being so familiar with witches and warlocks. ". .. 

When I retired for the night, I found it almost impossible to sleep;the idea of being under the roof of Scott, of being on the borders ofthe Tweed in the very center of that region which had for some timepast been the favorite scene of romantic fiction, and above all, therecollections of the ramble I had taken, the company in which I hadtaken it, and the conversation which had passed, all fermented in mymind, and nearly drove sleep from my pillow. 

On the following morning the sun darted his beams from over the hillsthrough the low lattice window. I rose at an early hour, and lookedout between the branches of eglantine which overhung the casement. Tomy surprize Scott was already up and forth, seated on a fragment ofstone, and chatting with the workmen employed on the new building. [57]I had supposed, after the time he had wasted upon me yesterday, hewould be closely occupied this morning; but he appeared like a man ofleisure, who had nothing to do but bask in the sunshine and amusehimself. 

[Footnote 57: This "new building" became in time the mansion now knownas Abbotsford. At the time of Irving's visit Scott was living in asmall villa which he had built after settling at the place in 1812. The present large castellated residence was produced by makingextensive additions to the original villa. ]

I soon drest myself and joined him. He talked about his proposed plansof Abbotsford: happy would it have been for him could he havecontented himself with his delightful little vine-covered cottage, andthe simple yet hearty and hospitable style in which he lived at thetime of my visit. The great pile of Abbotsford, with the huge expenseit entailed upon him, of servants, retainers, guests, and baronialstyle, was a drain upon his purse, a tax upon his exertions, and aweight upon his mind, and finally crusht him. .. . 

After breakfast Scott was occupied for some time correctingproof-sheets, which he had received by the mail. The novel of "RobRoy, "[58] as I have already observed, was at that time in the press, and I supposed them to be the proof-sheets of that work. Theauthorship of the Waverley novels was still a matter of conjecture anduncertainty; tho few doubted their being principally written by Scott. One proof to me of his being the author was that he never adverted tothem. A man so fond of anything Scottish, and anything relating tonational history or local legend, could not have been mute respectingsuch productions, had they been written by another. He was fond ofquoting the works of his contemporaries; he was continually recitingscraps of border songs, or relating anecdotes of border story. Withrespect to his own poems and their merits, however, he was mute, andwhile with him I observed a scrupulous silence on the subject. 

[Footnote 58: Of his novels Scott at this time had published only"Waverley, " "Guy Mannering, " "The Antiquarii, " "Old Mortality, " andthe "Black Dwarf. "]

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER

 Born In New Jersey in 1789, died in Cooperstown, N. Y. , in 1851; son of William Cooper, the pioneer who founded Cooperstown; settled in Cooperstown in 1790; entered Yale College in 1803, remaining three years; midshipman in the navy in 1808; married in 1811 and resigned from the navy; published "Precaution" and "The Spy, " both in 1821; the latter established his literary reputation; "The Pioneers" in 1823, "The Pilot" in 1823, "The Last of the Mohicans" in 1826; "The Prairie" in 1827, "The Pathfinder" in 1840, "The Deerslayer" in 1841; author of many other books. 

I

HIS FATHER'S ARRIVAL AT OTSEGO LAKE[59]

Near the center of the State of New York lies an extensive district ofcountry whose surface is a succession of hills and dales, or, to speakwith greater deference to geographical definitions, of mountains andvalleys. It is among these hills that the Delaware takes its rise;and, flowing from the limpid lakes and thousand springs of thisregion, the numerous sources of the Susquehanna meander through thevalleys, until, uniting their streams, they form one of the proudestrivers of the United States. The mountains are generally arable to thetops, altho instances are not wanting where the sides are jutted withrocks, that aid greatly in giving to the country that romantic andpicturesque character which it so eminently possesses. 

[Footnote 59: From Chapters I and III of "The Pioneers. " Cooper'sfather, Judge William Cooper, the founder of Cooperstown, firstvisited Otsego Lake in 1785, built a house there in 1787 and in 1790made it the permanent home of his family. In 1790 the place contained35 other people. The selection here given pictures the circumstancesin which Judge Cooper, as well as Marmaduke Temple, visited OtsegoLake. Fenimore Cooper was not two years old when his father settledthere. His native place was Burlington, N. J. Judge Cooper's settlingat Cooperstown was a consequence of his having acquired, throughforeclosure, extensive lands which George Croghan had failed in anattempt to settle, near the lake. Except for this circumstance, it isunlikely that his son ever would have acquired that intimate knowledgeof Indian and frontier life of which he has left such notable picturesin his books. ]

The vales are narrow, rich and cultivated, with a stream uniformlywinding through each. Beautiful and thriving villages are foundinterspersed along the margins of the small lakes, or situated atthose points of the stream which are favorable for manufacturing; andneat and comfortable farms, with every indication of wealth aboutthem, are scattered profusely through the vales, and even to themountain tops. Roads diverge in every direction from the even andgraceful bottoms of the valleys to the most rugged and intricatepasses of the hills. Academies[60] and minor edifices of learning meetthe eye of the stranger at every few miles as he winds his way throughthis uneven territory, and places for the worship of God abound withthat frequency which characterizes a moral and reflecting people, andwith that variety of exterior and canonical government which flowsfrom unfettered liberty of conscience. .. . 

[Footnote 60: An "academy" was a high school or seminary, of which anexample could be found as late as fifty years ago in almost everyprosperous village of Central New York. ]

It was near the setting of the sun, on a clear, cold day in December, when a sleigh was moving slowly up one of the mountains in thedistrict we have described. The day had been fine for the season, andbut two or three large clouds, whose color seemed brightened by thelight reflected from the mass of snow that covered the earth, floatedin a sky of the purest blue. The road wound along the brow of aprecipice, and on one side was upheld by a foundation of logs, piledone upon the other, while a narrow excavation in the mountain in theopposite direction had made a passage of sufficient width for theordinary traveling of that day. But logs, excavation, and everythingthat did not reach several feet above the earth lay alike buriedbeneath the snow. A single track, barely wide enough to receive thesleigh, denoted the route of the highway, and this was sunk nearly twofeet below the surrounding surface. 

In the vale, which lay at a distance of several hundred feet lower, there was what, in the language of the country, was called a clearing, and all the usual improvements of a new settlement; these evenextended up the hill to the point where the road turned short and ranacross the level land, which lay on the summit of the mountain; butthe summit itself remained in the forest. There was glittering in theatmosphere, as if it was filled with innumerable shining particles;and the noble bay horses that drew the sleigh were covered, in manyparts, with a coat of hoar-frost. The vapor from their nostrils wasseen to issue like smoke; and every object in the view, as well asevery arrangement of the travelers, denoted the depth of a winter inthe mountains. 

The harness, which was of a deep, dull black, differing from theglossy varnishing of the present day, was ornamented with enormousplates and buckles of brass, that shone like gold in those transientbeams of the sun which found their way obliquely through the tops ofthe trees. Huge saddles, studded with nails and fitted with cloth thatserved as blankets to the shoulders of the cattle, supported fourhigh, square-topped turrets, through which the stout reins led fromthe mouths of the horses to the hands of the driver, who was a negroof apparently twenty years of age. His face, which Nature had coloredwith a glistening black, was now mottled with the cold, and his largeshining eyes filled with tears; a tribute to its power, that the keenfrosts of those regions always extracted from one of his Africanorigin. Still, there was a smiling expression of good humor in hishappy countenance, that was created by the thoughts of home, and aChristmas fireside, with its Christmas frolics. .. . 

A dark spot of a few acres in extent at the southern extremity of thisbeautiful flat, and immediately under the feet of our travelers, aloneshowed by its rippling surface, and the vapors which exhaled from it, that what at first might seem a plain was one of the mountain lakes, locked in the frosts of winter. A narrow current rushed impetuouslyfrom its bosom at the open place we mentioned and was to be traced formiles as it wound its way toward the south through the real valley, byits borders of hemlock and pine, and by the vapor which arose from itswarmer surface into the chill atmosphere of the hills. The banks ofthis lovely basin, at its outlet, [61] or southern end, were steep, butnot high; and in that direction the land continued, far as the eyecould reach, a narrow but graceful valley, along which the settlershad scattered their humble habitations, with a profusion that bespokethe quality of the soil, and the comparative facilities ofintercourse. 

[Footnote 61: The outlet of this lake is the Susquehanna River. ]

Immediately on the bank of the lake and at its foot stood the villageof Templeton. [62] It consisted of some fifty buildings, includingthose of every description, chiefly built of wood and which in theirarchitecture bore no great marks of taste, but which also, by theunfinished appearance of most of the dwellings, indicated the hastymanner of their construction. To the eye they presented a variety ofcolors. A few were white in both front and rear, but more bore thatexpensive color on their fronts only, while their economical butambitious owners had covered the remaining sides of the edifices witha dingy red. One or two were slowly assuming the russet of age; whilethe uncovered beams that were to be seen through the broken windows ontheir second stories showed that either the taste or the vanity oftheir proprietors had led them to undertake a task which they wereunable to accomplish. 

[Footnote 62: Templeton is another name for Cooperstown. ]

The whole were grouped in a manner that aped the streets of the city, and were evidently so arranged by the directions of one who looked tothe wants of posterity rather than to the convenience of the presentincumbents. Some three or four of the better sort of buildings, inaddition to the uniformity of their color, were fitted with greenblinds, which, at that season at least, were rather strangelycontrasted to the chill aspect of the lake, the mountains, theforests, and the wide fields of snow. Before the doors of thesepretentious dwellings were placed a few saplings, either withoutbranches, or possessing only the feeble shoots of one or two summers'growth, that looked not unlike tall grenadiers on post near thethreshold of princes. In truth, the occupants of these favoredhabitations were the nobles of Templeton, as Marmaduke was its king. They were the dwellings of two young men who were cunning in the law;an equal number of that class who chaffered to the wants of thecommunity under the title of storekeepers; and a disciple ofĈsculapius, who, for a novelty, brought more subjects into the worldthan he sent out of it. 

In the midst of this incongruous group of dwellings rose the mansionof the Judge, towering above all its neighbors. It stood in the centerof an enclosure of several acres, which was covered with fruit-trees. Some of the latter had been left by the Indians, and began already toassume the moss and inclination of age, therein forming a very markedcontrast to the infant plantations that peered over most of thepicketed fences of the village. In addition to this show ofcultivation were two rows of young Lombardy poplars, a tree but latelyintroduced into America, formally lining either side of a pathwaywhich led from a gate that opened on the principal street to the frontdoor of the building. The house itself had been built entirely underthe superintendence of a certain Mr. Richard Jones, whom we havealready mentioned, and who, from his cleverness in small matters, andan entire willingness to exert his talents, added to the circumstancesof their being sisters' children, ordinarily superintended all theminor concerns of Marmaduke Temple. Richard was fond of saying thatthis child of invention consisted of nothing more or less than whatshould form the groundwork of every clergyman's discourse, viz. , afirstly and a lastly. He had commenced his labors, in the first yearof their residence, by erecting a tall, gaunt edifice of wood, withits gable toward the highway. In this shelter, for it was little more, the family resided three years. By the end of that period Richard hadcompleted his design. He had availed himself, in this heavyundertaking, of the experience of a certain wandering Easternmechanic, who, by exhibiting a few soiled plates of Englisharchitecture, and talking learnedly of friezes, entablatures, andparticularly of the composite order, had obtained a very undueinfluence over Richard's taste in everything that pertained to thatbranch of the fine arts. Not that Mr. Jones did not affect to considerHiram Doolittle a perfect empiric in his profession, being in theconstant habit of listening to his treatises on architecture with akind of indulgent smile; yet, either from an inability to oppose themby anything plausible from his own stores of learning, or from secretadmiration, Richard generally submitted to the arguments of hiscoadjutor. 

Together they had not only directed a dwelling for Marmaduke, but theyhad given a fashion to the architecture of the whole country. Thecomposite order, Mr. Doolittle would contend, was an order composed ofmany others, and was intended to be the most useful of all, for itadmitted into its construction such alterations as convenience orcircumstances might require. To this proposition Richard usuallyassented; and when rival geniuses, who monopolize not only all thereputation, but most of the money of the neighborhood, are of a mind, it is not uncommon to see them lead the fashion, even in gravermatters. In the present instance, as we have already hinted, thecastle, as Judge Temple's dwelling was termed in common parlance, cameto be the model, in some one or other of its numerous excellences, forevery aspiring edifice within twenty miles of it. [63]

[Footnote 63: Judge Cooper's new home was called Otsego Hall. It wasafterward improved by Fenimore Cooper and remained his home during themany years he spent in Cooperstown. A few years after his death it wasdestroyed by fire. Its site is now a village park. ]

II

RUNNING THE GANTLET[64]

Tho astonished at first by the uproar, Heyward was soon enabled tofind its solution by the scene that followed. There yet lingeredsufficient light in the heavens to exhibit those bright openings amongthe tree-tops where different paths left the clearing to enter thedepths of the wilderness. Beneath one of them, a line of warriorsissued from the woods and advanced slowly toward the dwellings. One infront bore a short pole, on which, as it afterward appeared, weresuspended several human scalps. The startling sounds that Duncan hadheard were what the whites have not inappropriately called the"death-hallo"; and each repetition of the cry was intended to announceto the tribe the fate of an enemy. Thus far the knowledge of Heywardassisted him in the explanation; and as he knew that the interruptionwas caused by the unlooked-for return of a successful war-party, everydisagreeable sensation was quieted in inward congratulations for theopportune relief and insignificance it conferred on himself. 

[Footnote 64: From Chapter XXIII of "The Last of the Mohicans. "]

When at the distance of a few hundred feet from the lodges, the newlyarrived warriors halted. The plaintive and terrific cry which wasintended to represent equally the wailings of the dead and the triumphof the victors, had entirely ceased. One of their number now calledaloud, in words that were far from appalling, tho not moreintelligible to those for whose ears they were intended than theirexpressive yells. It would be difficult to convey a suitable idea ofthe savage ecstasy with which the news thus imparted was received. Thewhole encampment in a moment became a scene of the most violent bustleand commotion. The warriors drew their knives, and flourishing them, they arranged themselves in two lines, forming a lane that extendedfrom the war-party to the lodges. The squaws seized clubs, axes, orwhatever weapons of offense first offered itself to their hands, andrushed eagerly to act their part in the cruel game that was at hand. Even the children would not be excluded; but boys, little able towield the instruments, tore the tomahawks from the belts of theirfathers, and stole into the ranks, apt imitators of the savage traitsexhibited by their parents. 

Large piles of brush lay scattered about the clearing, and a wary andaged squaw was occupied firing as many as might serve to light thecoming exhibition. As the flame arose, its power exceeded that of theparting day, and assisted to render objects at the same time moredistinct and more hideous. The whole scene formed a striking picture, whose frame was composed of the dark and tall border of pines. Thewarriors just arrived were the most distant figures. A little inadvance stood two men, who were apparently selected from the rest asthe principal actors in what was to follow. The light was not strongenough to render their features distinct, tho it was quite evidentthat they were governed by very different emotions. While one stooderect and firm, prepared to meet his fate like a hero, the other bowedhis head, as if palsied by terror or stricken with shame. 

The high-spirited Duncan felt a powerful impulse of admiration andpity toward the former, tho no opportunity could offer to exhibit hisgenerous emotions. He watched his slightest movement, however, witheager eyes; and as he traced the fine outline of his admirablyproportioned and active frame, he endeavored to persuade himself thatif the powers of man, seconded by such noble resolution, could bearone harmless through so severe a trial, the youthful captive beforehim might hope for success in the hazardous race he was about to run. Insensibly the young man drew nigher to the swarthy lines of theHurons, and scarcely breathed, so intense became his interest in thespectacle. Just then the signal yell was given, and the momentaryquiet which had preceded it was broken by a burst of cries that farexceeded any before heard. The most abject of the two victimscontinued motionless; but the other bounded from the place at the cry, with the activity and the swiftness of a deer. Instead of rushingthrough the hostile lines as had been expected, he just entered thedangerous defile, and before time was given for a single blow, turnedshort, and leaping the heads of a row of children, he gained at oncethe exterior and safer side of the formidable array. The artifice wasanswered by a hundred voices raised in imprecations, and the whole ofthe excited multitude broke from their order and spread themselvesabout the place in wild confusion. 

A dozen blazing piles now shed their lurid brightness on the place, which resembled some unhallowed and supernatural arena in whichmalicious demons had assembled to act their bloody and lawless rites. The forms in the background looked like unearthly beings glidingbefore the eye and cleaving the air with frantic and unmeaninggestures; while the savage passions of such as passed the flames wererendered fearfully distinct by the gleams that shot athwart theirinflamed visages. 

It will easily be understood that amid such a concourse of vindictiveenemies no breathing-time was allowed the fugitive. There was a singlemoment when it seemed as if he would have reached the forest; but thewhole body of his captors threw themselves before him, and drove himback into the center of his relentless persecutors. Turning like aheaded deer, he shot with the swiftness of an arrow through a pillarof forked flame, and passing the whole multitude harmless he appearedon the opposite side of the clearing. Here, too, he was met and turnedby a few of the older and more subtle of the Hurons. Once more hetried the throng, as if seeking safety in its blindness; and thenseveral moments succeeded, during which Duncan believed the active andcourageous young stranger was lost. 

Nothing could be distinguished but a dark mass of human forms tossedand involved in inexplicable confusion. Arms, gleaming knives, andformidable clubs appeared, above them, but the blows were evidentlygiven at random. The awful effect was heightened by the piercingshrieks of the women and the fierce yells of the warriors. Now andthen Duncan caught a glimpse of a light form cleaving the air in somedesperate bound, and he rather hoped than believed that the captiveyet retained the command of his astonishing powers of activity. Suddenly the multitude rolled backward, and approached the spot wherehe himself stood. The heavy body in the rear prest upon the women andchildren in front, and bore them to the earth. The stranger reappearedin the confusion. Human power could not, however, much longer endureso severe a trial. .. . 

There was no term of abuse known to the Huron vocabulary that thedisappointed women did not lavishly expend on the successful stranger. They flouted at his efforts, and told him with bitter scoffs that hisfeet were better than his hands, and that he merited wings, while heknew not the use of an arrow or a knife. To all this the captive madeno reply, but was content to preserve an attitude in which dignity wassingularly blended with disdain. Exasperated as much by his composureas by his good fortune, their words became unintelligible, and weresucceeded by shrill piercing yells. Just then the crafty squaw who hadtaken the necessary precautions to fire the piles made her way throughthe throng, and cleared a place for herself in front of the captive. The squalid and withered person of this hag might well have obtainedfor her the character of possessing more than human cunning. Throwingback her light vestment, she Stretched forth her long skinny arm inderision, and using the language of the Lenape, as more intelligibleto the subject of her gibes, she commenced aloud:

"Look you, Delaware, " she said, snapping her fingers in his face, "your nation is a race of women, and the hoe is better fitted to yourhands than the gun. Your squaws are the mothers of deer; but if a bearor a wild cat or a serpent were born among you, ye would flee. TheHuron girls shall make you petticoats, and we will find you ahusband. "

A burst of savage laughter succeeded this attack, during which thesoft and musical merriment of the younger females strangely chimedwith the cracked voice of their older and more malignant companion. But the stranger was superior to all their efforts. His head wasimmovable, nor did he betray the slightest consciousness that any werepresent, except when his haughty eyes rolled toward the dusky forms ofthe warriors who stalked in the background, silent and sullenobservers of the scene. 

Infuriated at the self-command of the captive, the woman placed herarms akimbo, and throwing herself into a posture of defiance she brokeout anew, in a torrent of words that no art of ours could commitsuccessfully to paper. Her breath was, however, expended in vain; for, altho distinguished in her nation as a proficient in the art of abuse, she was permitted to work herself into such a fury as actually to foamat the mouth, without causing a muscle to vibrate in the motionlessfigure of the stranger. The effect of his indifference began to extenditself to the other spectators, and a youngster who was just quittingthe condition of a boy to enter the state of manhood, attempted toassist the termagant by flourishing his tomahawk before their victimand adding his empty boasts to the taunts of the woman. Then, indeed, the captive turned his face toward the light, and looked down on thestripling with an expression that was superior to contempt. At thenext moment he resumed his quiet and reclining attitude against thepost. But the change of posture had permitted Duncan to exchangeglances with the firm and piercing eyes of Uncas. 

Breathless with amazement, and heavily opprest with the criticalsituation of his friend, Heyward recoiled before the look, tremblinglest its meaning might in some unknown manner hasten the prisoner'sfate. There was not, however, any instant cause for such anapprehension. Just then a warrior forced his way into the exasperatedcrowd. Motioning the women and children aside with a stern gesture, hetook Uncas by the arm and led him toward the door of the councillodge. Thither all the chiefs and most of the distinguished warriorsfollowed, among whom the anxious Heyward found means to enter withoutattracting any dangerous attention to himself. 

A few minutes were consumed in disposing of those present in a mannersuitable to their rank and influence in the tribe. An order verysimilar to that adopted in the preceding interview was observed, theaged and superior chiefs occupying the area of the spacious apartment, within the powerful light of a glaring torch, while their juniors andinferiors were arranged in the background, presenting a dark outlineof swarthy and marked visages. In the very center of the lodge, immediately under an opening that admitted the twinkling light of oneor two stars, stood Uncas, calm, elevated, and collected. His high andhaughty carriage was not lost on his captors, who often bent theirlooks on his person with eyes which, while they lost none of theirinflexibility of purpose, plainly betrayed their admiration of thestranger's daring. 

III

LEATHER-STOCKING'S FAREWELL[65]

Effingham and Elizabeth were surprized at the manner of theLeather-Stocking, which was unusually impressive and solemn; but, attributing it to the scene, the young man turned to the monument, andread aloud:

"Sacred to the memory of Oliver Effingham, Esquire, formerly a majorin his B. Majesty's 60th Foot; a soldier of tried valor; a subject ofchivalrous loyalty; and a man of honesty. To these virtues he addedthe graces of a Christian. The morning of his life was spent inhonor, wealth, and power; but its evening was obscured by poverty, neglect, and disease, which were alleviated only by the tender care ofhis old, faithful, and upright friend and attendant, Nathaniel Bumppo. His descendants rear this stone to the virtues of the master, and tothe enduring gratitude of the servant. "

[Footnote 65: From Chapter XLI of "The Pioneers. " Leather-Stocking wasa name given by Cooper to his character Natty Bumppo, who, also, invarious works, bore the name of Hawkeye, Pathfinder and Deerslayer. Leather-Stocking appears in five of Cooper's books, which are commonlyand collectively known as "the Leather-Stocking Tales. " He hasgenerally been accepted as a type of the hardy frontiersman who, inthe years following the Revolution, carried civilization westward. ]

The Leather-Stocking stared at the sound of his own name, and a smileof joy illumined his wrinkled features as he said:

"And did ye say it, lad? have you then got the old man's name cut inthe stone by the side of his master's? God bless ye, children! 'twas akind thought, and kindness goes to the heart as life shortens. "

Elizabeth turned her back to the speakers. Effingham made a fruitlesseffort before he succeeded in saying:

"It is there cut in plain marble; but it should have been written inletters of gold!"

"Show me the name, boy, " said Natty, with simple eagerness; "let mesee my own name placed in such honor. 'Tis a gin'rous gift to a manwho leaves none of his name and family behind him, in a country wherehe has tarried so long. "

Effingham guided his finger to the spot, and Natty followed thewindings of the letters to the end with deep interest, when he raisedhimself from the tomb, and said:

"I suppose it's all right; and it's kindly thought, and kindly done!But what have ye put over the redskin?"

"You shall hear:

"'This stone is raised to the memory of an Indian chief, of theDelaware tribe, who was known by the several names of John Mohegan;Mohican'"--

"Mo-hee-can, lad, they call theirselves! 'he-can. "

"Mohican; 'and Chingagook'"--

"'Gach, boy; 'gach-gook; Chingachgook, which, intarpreted, means BigSarpent. The name should be set down right, for an Indian's name hasalways some meaning in it. "

"I will see it altered. 'He was the last of his people who continuedto inhabit this country; and it may be said of him that his faultswere those of an Indian, and his virtues those of a man. '"

"You never said truer word, Mr. Oliver; ah's me! if you had knowed himas I did, in his prime, in that very battle where the old gentleman, who sleeps by his side, saved his life, when them thieves, theIroquois, had him at the stake, you'd have said all that, and moretoo. I cut the thongs with this very hand, and gave him my owntomahawk and knife, seeing that the rifle was always my fav'riteweapon. He did lay about him like a man! I met him as I was cominghome from the trail, with eleven Mingo scalps on his pole. You needn'tshudder, Madam Effingham, for they was all from shaved heads andwarriors. When I look about me, at these hills, where I used to countsometimes twenty smokes, curling over the tree-tops, from the Delawarecamps, it raises mournful thoughts, to think that not a redskin isleft of them all; unless it be a drunken vagabond from the Oneidas, orthem Yankee Indians, who, they say, be moving up from the sea-shore;and who belong to none of God's creatures, to my seeming, being, as itwere, neither fish nor flesh--neither white man nor savage. Well, well! the time has come at last, and I must go"--

"Go!" echoed Edwards, "whither do you go?"

The Leather-Stocking, who had imbibed, unconsciously, many of theIndian qualities, tho he always thought of himself as of a civilizedbeing, compared with even the Delawares, averted his face to concealthe workings of his muscles, as he stooped to lift a large pack frombehind the tomb, which he placed deliberately on his shoulders. 

"Go!" exclaimed Elizabeth, approaching him with a hurried step; "youshould not venture so far in the woods alone, at your time of life, Natty; indeed, it is imprudent. He is bent, Effingham, on some distanthunting. "

"What Mrs. Effingham tells you is true, Leather-Stocking, " saidEdwards; "there can be no necessity for your submitting to suchhardships now! So throw aside your pack, and confine your hunt to themountains near us, if you will go. "

"Hardship! 'tis a pleasure, children, and the greatest that is left meon this side the grave. "

"No, no; you shall not go to such a distance, " cried Elizabeth, layingher white hand on his deerskin pack; "I am right! I feel hiscamp-kettle, and a canister of powder! he must not be suffered towander so far from us, Oliver; remember how suddenly Mohegan droptaway. "

"I knowed the parting would come hard, children; I knowed it would!"said Natty, "and so I got aside to look at the graves by myself, andthought if I left ye the keepsake which the Major gave me, when wefirst parted in the woods, ye wouldn't take it unkind, but would knowthat, let the old man's body go where it might, his feeling stayedbehind him. "

"This means something more than common!" exclaimed the youth; "whereis it, Natty, that you purpose going?"

The hunter drew nigh him with a confident, reasoning air, as if whathe had to say would silence all objections, and replied:

"Why, lad, they tell me that on the Big Lakes there's the best ofhunting, and a great range, without a white man on it, unless it maybe one like myself. I'm weary of living in clearings, and where thehammer is sounding in my ears from sunrise to sundown. And tho I'mmuch bound to ye both, children--I wouldn't say it if it was nottrue--I crave to go into the woods ag'in, I do. "

"Woods!" echoed Elizabeth, trembling with her feelings; "do you notcall these endless forests woods?"

"Ah! child, these be nothing to a man that's used to the wilderness. Ihave took but little comfort sin' your father come on with hissettlers; but I wouldn't go far, while the life was in the body thatlies under the sod there. But now he's gone, and Chingachgook is gone;and you be both young and happy. Yes! the big house has rung withmerriment this month past! And now, I thought, was the time to try toget a little comfort in the close of my days. Woods! indeed! Idoesn't call these woods, Madam Effingham, where I lose myself everyday of my life in the clearings. "

"If there be anything wanting to your comfort, name it, Leather-Stocking; if it be attainable it is yours. "

"You mean all for the best, lad; I know it; and so does Madam, too:but your ways isn't my ways. 'Tis like the dead there, who thought, when the breath was in them, that one went east, and one went west tofind their heavens; but they'll meet at last; and so shall we, children. Yes, ind as you've begun, and we shall meet in the land ofthe just at last. "

"This is so new! so unexpected!" said Elizabeth, in almost breathlessexcitement; "I had thought you meant to live with us and die with us, Natty. "

"Words are of no avail, " exclaimed her husband; "the habits of fortyyears are not to be dispossest by the ties of a day. I know you toowell to urge you further, Natty; unless you will let me build you ahut on one of the distant hills, where we can sometimes see you, andknow that you are comfortable. "

"Don't fear for the Leather-Stocking, children; God will see that hisdays be provided for, and his ind happy. I know you mean all for thebest, but our ways doesn't agree. I love the woods, and ye relish theface of man; I eat when hungry, and drink when a-dry; and ye keepstated hours and rules: nay, nay, you even overfeed the dogs, lad, from pure kindness; and hounds should be gaunty to run well. Themeanest of God's creatures be made for some use, and I'm formed forthe wilderness; if ye love me, let me go where my soul craves to beag'in!"

The appeal was decisive; and not another word of entreaty for him toremain was then uttered; but Elizabeth bent her head to her bosom andwept, while her husband dashed away the tears from his eyes; and, withhands that almost refused to perform their office, he produced hispocket-book, and extended a parcel of banknotes to the hunter. 

"Take these, " he said, "at least take these; secure them about yourperson, and in the hour of need they will do you good service. "

The old man took the notes, and examined them with a curious eye. 

"This, then, is some of the new-fashioned money that they've beenmaking at Albany, out of paper! It can't be worth much to they thathasn't l'arning! No, no, lad--take back the stuff; it will do me nosarvice. I took kear to get all the Frenchman's powder afore he brokeup, and they say lead grows where I'm going. It isn't even fit forwads, seeing that I use none but leather! Madam Effingham, let an oldman kiss your hand, and wish God's choicest blessings on you andyour'n. "

"Once more let me beseech you, stay!" cried Elizabeth. "Do not, Leather-Stocking, leave me to grieve for the man who has twice rescuedme from death, and who has served those I love so faithfully. For mysake, if not for your own, stay. I shall see you in those frightfuldreams that still haunt my nights, dying in poverty and age, by theside of those terrific beasts you slew. There will be no evil thatsickness, want, and solitude can inflict that my fancy will notconjure as your fate. Stay with us, old man, if not for your own sake, at least for ours. "

"Such thoughts and bitter dreams, Madam Effingham, " returned thehunter, solemnly, "will never haunt an innocent parson long. They'llpass away with God's pleasure. And if the catamounts be yet brought toyour eyes in sleep, 'tis not for my sake, but to show you the power ofHim that led me there to save you. Trust in God, madam, and yourhonorable husband, and the thoughts for an old man like me can neverbe long nor bitter. I pray that the Lord will keep you in mind--theLord that lives in clearings as well as in the wilderness--and blessyou, and all that belong to you, from this time till the great daywhen the whites shall meet the redskins in judgment, and justice shallbe the law, and not power. "

Elizabeth raised her head, and offered her colorless cheek to hissalute, when he lifted his cap and touched it respectfully. His handwas grasped with convulsive fervor by the youth, who continued silent. The hunter prepared himself for his journey, drawing his belt tighter, and wasting his moments in the little reluctant movements of asorrowful departure. Once or twice he essayed to speak, but a risingin his throat prevented it. At length he shouldered his rifle, andcried with a clear huntsman's call that echoed through the woods:

"He-e-e-re, he-e-e-re, pups--away, dogs, away; ye'll be footsore aforeye see the ind of the journey!"

The hounds leapt from the earth at this cry, and scenting around thegraves and the silent pair, as if conscious of their own destination, they followed humbly at the heels of their master. A short pausesucceeded, during which even the youth concealed his face on hisgrandfather's tomb. When the pride of manhood, however, had supprestthe feelings of nature, he turned to renew his entreaties, but sawthat the cemetery was occupied only by himself and his wife. 

"He is gone!" cried Effingham. 

Elizabeth raised her face, and saw the old hunter standing, lookingback for a moment, on the verge of the wood. As he caught theirglances, he drew his hard hand hastily across his eyes again, waved iton high for an adieu, and uttering a forced cry to his dogs, who werecrouching at his feet, he entered the forest. 

This was the last that they ever saw of the Leather-Stocking, whoserapid movements preceded the pursuit which Judge Temple both orderedand conducted. He had gone far toward the setting sun--the foremost inthat band of pioneers who are opening the way for the march of thenation across the continent. 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

 Born in Massachusetts in 1794, died in New York in 1878; studied at Williams College in 1810-11; admitted to the bar in 1815; published "Thanatopsis" in 1816; a volume of "Poems" in 1821; joined the staff of the New York _Evening Post_, becoming its chief editor in 1829; published another volume of poems in 1832; opposed the extension of slavery; published a translation of Homer in 1870-71; his "Prose Writings" published after his death. 

AN OCTOBER DAY IN FLORENCE[66]

Waked by the jangling of all the bells in Florence and by the noise ofcarriages departing loaded with travelers for Rome and other places inthe south of Italy, I rise, dress myself, and take my place at thewindow. I see crowds of men and women from the country, the former inbrown velvet jackets, and the latter in broad-brimmed straw hats, driving donkeys loaded with panniers or trundling handcarts beforethem, heaped with grapes, figs and all the fruits of the orchard, thegarden, and the field. They have hardly passed when large flocks ofsheep and goats make their appearance, attended by shepherds and theirfamilies, driven by the approach of winter from the Apenines, andseeking the pastures of the Maremma, a rich, but, in the summer, anunhealthy tract on the coast. The men and boys are drest inknee-breeches, the women in bodices, and both sexes wear capotes withpointed hoods, and felt hats with conical crowns; they carry longstaves in their hands, and their arms are loaded with kids and lambstoo young to keep pace with their mothers. 

[Footnote 66: From the "Letters of a Traveler, " first published inbook form in 1850. The selection here given was written in 1834. Ithas been republished by Parke Godwin, Bryant's biographer and editor, in one of his two volumes devoted to the "Prose Writings. "]

After the long procession of sheep and goats and dogs and men andwomen and children, come horses loaded with cloths and poles fortents, kitchen utensils, and the rest of the younglings of the flock. A little after sunrise I see well-fed donkeys, in coverings of redcloth, driven over the bridge to be milked for invalids. Maid-servants, bareheaded, with huge, high-carved combs in their hair, waiters of coffee-houses carrying the morning cup of coffee orchocolate to their customers, bakers' boys with a dozen loaves on aboard balanced on their heads, milkmen with rush baskets filled withflasks of milk are crossing the streets in all directions. A littlelater the bell of the small chapel opposite to my window ringsfuriously for a quarter of an hour, and then I hear mass chanted in adeep strong nasal tone. As the day advances, the English, in whitehats and white pantaloons, come out of their lodgings, accompaniedsometimes by their hale and square-built spouses, and saunter stifflyalong the Arno, or take their way to the public galleries and museums. Their massive, clean, and brightly polished carriages also begin torattle through the streets, setting out on excursions to some part ofthe environs of Florence--to Fiesole, to the Pratolino, to the BelloSguardo, to the Poggio Imperiale. 

Sights of a different kind now present themselves. Sometimes it is atroop of stout Franciscan friars, in sandals and brown robes, eachcarrying his staff and wearing a brown, broad-brimmed hat with ahemispherical crown. Sometimes it is a band of young theologicalstudents, in purple cassocks with red collars and cuffs, let out on aholiday, attended by their clerical instructors, to ramble in theCascine. There is a priest coming over the bridge, a man of venerableage and great reputation for sanctity. The common people crowd aroundhim to kiss his hand, and obtain a kind word from him as he passes. But what is that procession of men in black gowns, black gaiters, andblack masks moving swiftly along, and bearing on their shoulders alitter covered with black cloth? These are the Brethren of Mercy, whohave assembled at the sound of the cathedral bell, and are conveyingsome sick or wounded person to the hospital. 

As the day begins to decline, the number of carriages in the streets, filled with gaily drest people attended by servants in livery, increases. The Grand Duke's equipage, an elegant carriage drawn by sixhorses, with coachmen, footmen, and outriders in drab-colored livery, comes from the Pitti Palace, and crosses the Arno, either by thebridge close to my lodgings, or by that called Alla Santa Trinita, which is in full sight from the windows. The Florentine nobility, withtheir families, and the English residents now throng to the Cascine, to drive at a slow pace through its thickly planted walks of elms, oaks and ilexes. As the sun is sinking I perceive the quay on theother side of the Arno filled with a moving crowd of well-drest peoplewalking to and fro and enjoying the beauty of the evening. 

Travelers now arrive from all quarters, in cabriolets, in calashes, inthe shabby vettura, and in the elegant private carriage drawn bypost-horses, and driven by postilions in the tightest possibledeerskin breeches, the smallest red coats, and the hugest jack-boots. The streets about the doors of the hotels resound with the cracklingof whips and the stamping of horses, and are encumbered withcarriages, heaps of baggage, porters, postilions, couriers, andtravelers. Night at length arrives--the time of spectacles andfunerals. The carriages rattle toward the opera-houses. Trains ofpeople, sometimes in white robes and sometimes in black, carryingblazing torches and a cross elevated on a high pole before a coffin, pass through the streets chanting the service for the dead. TheBrethren of Mercy may also be seen engaged in their office. Therapidity of their pace, the flare of their torches, the gleam of theireyes through their masks, and their sable garb, give them a kind ofsupernatural appearance. I return to bed and fall asleep amidst theshouts of people returning from the opera, singing as they go snatchesof the music with which they had been entertained during the evening. 

WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT

 Born in Salem, Mass. , in 1796; died in Boston in 1859; studied at Harvard, where, through an accident to his eyes, he became nearly blind; devoted himself to the study of Spanish history, employing a reader and using a specially constructed writing apparatus; published his "Ferdinand and Isabella" in 1838; "Conquest of Mexico" in 1843, "Conquest of Peru" in 1847, and "Philip II" in 1855-58. 

I

THE FATE OF EGMONT AND HOORNE[67]

On the second of June, 1568, a body of three thousand men was orderedto Ghent to escort the Counts Egmont and Hoorne to Brussels. Noresistance was offered, altho the presence of the Spaniards caused agreat sensation among the inhabitants of the place, who too wellforeboded the fate of their beloved lord. 

[Footnote 67: From Book III, Chapter V, of the "History of the Reignof Philip II, King of Spain. "]

The nobles, each accompanied by two officers, were put into separatechariots. They were guarded by twenty companies of pikemen andarquebusiers; and a detachment of lancers, among whom was a body ofthe duke's own horse, rode in the van, while another of equal strengthprotected the rear. Under this strong escort they moved slowly towardBrussels. One night they halted at Dendermonde, and toward evening, onthe fourth of the month, entered the capital. As the martial arraydefiled through its streets, there was no one, however stout-heartedhe might be, says an eye-witness, who could behold the funeral pomp ofthe procession, and listen to the strains of melancholy music withouta feeling of sickness at his heart. 

The prisoners were at once conducted to the _Brod-huys_, or"Bread-house, " usually known as the _Maison du Roi_--that venerablepile in the market-place of Brussels, still visited by every travelerfor its curious architecture, and yet more as the last resting-placeof the Flemish lords. Here they were lodged in separate rooms, small, dark, and uncomfortable, and scantily provided with furniture. Nearlythe whole of the force which had escorted them to Brussels wasestablished in the great square, to defeat any attempt at a rescue. But none was made; and the night passed away without disturbance, except what was occasioned by the sound of busy workmen employed inconstructing a scaffold for the scene of execution on the followingday. 

On the afternoon of the fourth, the Duke of Alva[68] had sent forMartin Rithovius, bishop of Ypres; and, communicating to him thesentence of the nobles, he requested the prelate to visit theprisoners, acquaint them with their fate, and prepare them for theirexecution on the following day. The bishop, an excellent man, and thepersonal friend of Egmont, was astounded by the tidings. He threwhimself at Alva's feet, imploring mercy for the prisoners, and if hecould not spare their lives, beseeching him at least to grant themmore time for preparation. But Alva sternly rebuked the prelate, saying that he had been summoned not to thwart the execution of thelaw, but to console the prisoners and enable them to die likeChristians. The bishop, finding his entreaties useless, rose andaddrest himself to his melancholy mission. 

[Footnote 68: The Duke of Alva was sent to the Netherlands as governorin 1567 where, as an instrument of his cruelty, he established what isknown as "The Council of Blood, " a court of inquiry and persecutionwhich, in the course of three months, put to death 1, 600 persons. ]

It was near midnight when he entered Egmont's apartment, where hefound the poor nobleman, whose strength had been already reduced byconfinement, and who was wearied by the fatigue of the journey, buriedin slumber. It is said that the two lords, when summoned to Brussels, had indulged the vain hope that it was to inform them of theconclusion of their trial and their acquittal! However this may be, Egmont seems to have been but ill prepared for the dreadful tidings hereceived. He turned deadly pale as he listened to the bishop, andexclaimed, with deep emotion, "It is a terrible sentence. Little did Iimagine that any offense I had committed against God or the king couldmerit such punishment. It is not death that I fear. Death is thecommon lot of all. But I shrink from dishonor. Yet I may hope that mysufferings will so far expiate my offenses that my innocent familywill not be involved in my ruin by the confiscation of my property. This much, at least, I think I may claim in consideration of my pastservices. " Then, after a pause, he added, "Since my death is the willof God and his Majesty, I will try to meet it with patience. " Heasked the bishop if there were no hope. On being answered, "Nonewhatever, " he resolved to devote himself at once to preparing for thesolemn change. 

He rose from his couch, and hastily drest himself. He then made hisconfession to the prelate, and desired that mass might be said, andthe sacrament administered to him. This was done with great solemnity, and Egmont received the communion in the most devout manner, manifesting the greatest contrition for his sins. He next inquired ofthe bishop to what prayer he could best have recourse to sustain himin this trying hour. The prelate recommended to him that prayer whichour Savior had commended to his disciples. The advice pleased thecount, who earnestly engaged in his devotions. But a host of tenderrecollections crowded on his mind, and the images of his wife andchildren drew his thoughts in another direction, till the kindexpostulations of the prelate again restored him to himself. 

Egmont asked whether it would be well to say anything on the scaffoldfor the edification of the people. But the bishop discouraged him, saying that he would be imperfectly heard, and that the people, intheir present excitement, would be apt to misinterpret what he said totheir own prejudice. 

Having attended to his spiritual concerns, Egmont called for writingmaterials, and wrote a letter to his wife, whom he had not seen duringhis long confinement; and to her he now bade a tender farewell. Hethen addrest another letter, written in French, in a few brief andtouching sentences, to the King--which fortunately has been preservedto us. "This morning, " he says, "I have been made acquainted with thesentence which it has pleased your majesty to pass upon me. And althoit has never been my intent to do aught against the person or theservice of your majesty, or against our true, ancient, and Catholicfaith, yet I receive in patience what it has pleased God to send me. If during these troubles I have counseled or permitted aught whichmight seem otherwise, I have done so from a sincere regard for theservice of God and your majesty, and from what I believed thenecessity of the times. Wherefore I pray your majesty to pardon it, and for the sake of my past services to take pity on my poor wife, mychildren, and my servants. In this trust I commend myself to the mercyof God. " The letter is dated Brussels, "on the point of death, " June5th, 1568. 

Having time still left, the count made a fair copy of the two letters, and gave them to the bishop, entreating him to deliver them accordingto their destination. He accompanied that to Philip with a ring, to begiven at the same time to the monarch. It was of great value, and, asit had been the gift of Philip himself during the count's late visitto Madrid, it might soften the heart of the King by reminding him ofhappier days, when he had looked with an eye of favor on his unhappyvassal. 

Having completed all his arrangements, Egmont became impatient for thehour of his departure; and he exprest the hope that there would be nounnecessary delay. At ten in the morning the soldiers appeared whowere to conduct him to the scaffold. They brought with them cords, asusual, to bind the prisoner's hands. But Egmont remonstrated, andshowed that he had himself cut off the collar of his doublet andshirt, in order to facilitate the stroke of the executioner. This hedid to convince them that he meditated no resistance; and on hispromising that he would attempt none, they consented to his remainingwith his hands unbound. 

Egmont was drest in a crimson damask robe, over which was a Spanishmantle fringed with gold. His breeches were of black silk, and hishat, of the same material, was garnished with white and sable plumes. In his hand, which, as we have seen, remained free, he held a whitehandkerchief. On his way to the place of execution he was accompaniedby Julian de Romero, _maître de camp_, by the captain, Salinas, whohad charge of the fortress of Ghent, and by the bishop of Ypres. Asthe procession moved slowly forward, the count repeated some portionof the fifty-first Psalm--"Have mercy on me, O God!"--in which thegood prelate joined with him. In the center of the square, on the spotwhere so much of the best blood of the Netherlands had been shed, stood the scaffold, covered with black cloth. On it were two velvetcushions with a small table, shrouded likewise in black, andsupporting a silver crucifix. At the corners of the platform were twopoles, pointed at the end with steel, intimating the purpose for whichthey were intended. 

In front of the scaffold was the provost of the court, mounted onhorseback, and bearing the red wand of office in his hand. Theexecutioner remained, as usual, below the platform, screened fromview, that he might not, by his presence before it was necessary, outrage the feelings of the prisoners. The troops, who had been underarms all night, were drawn up around in order of battle; and strongbodies of arquebusiers were posted in the great avenues which led tothe square. The space left open by the soldiery was speedily occupiedby a crowd of eager spectators. Others thronged the roofs and windowsof the buildings that surrounded the market-place, some of which, still standing at the present day, show, by their quaint and venerablearchitecture, that they must have looked down on the tragic scene weare now depicting. 

It was indeed a gloomy day for Brussels--so long the residence of thetwo nobles, where their forms were as familiar and where they wereheld in as much love and honor as in any of their own provinces. Allbusiness was suspended. The shops were closed. The bells tolled in allthe churches. An air of gloom, as of some impending calamity, settledon the city. "It seemed, " says one residing there at the time, "as ifthe day of judgment were at hand!"

As the procession slowly passed through the ranks of the soldiers, Egmont saluted the officers--some of them his ancient companions--withsuch a sweet and dignified composure in his manner as was longremembered by those who saw it. And few even of the Spaniards couldrefrain from tears as they took their last look at the gallant noblewho was to perish so miserably. 

With a steady step he mounted the scaffold, and, as he crossed it, gave utterance to the vain wish that, instead of meeting such a fate, he had been allowed to die in the service of his King and country. Hequickly, however, turned to other thoughts, and, kneeling on one ofthe cushions, with the bishop beside him on the other, he was soonengaged earnestly in prayer. With his eyes raised toward heaven with alook of unutterable sadness, he prayed so fervently and loud as to bedistinctly heard by the spectators. The prelate, much affected, putinto his hands the silver crucifix, which Egmont repeatedly kissed;after which, having received absolution for the last time, he rose andmade a sign to the bishop to retire. He then stript off his mantle androbe; and, again kneeling, he drew a silk cap, which he had broughtfor the purpose, over his eyes, and, repeating the words, "Into Thyhands, O Lord, I commend my spirit, " he calmly awaited the stroke ofthe executioner. 

The low sounds of lamentation which from time to time had been heardamong the populace were now hushed into silence as the minister ofjustice, appearing on the platform, approached his victim and with asingle blow of the sword severed the head from the body. A cry ofhorror rose from the multitude, and some, frantic with grief, brokethrough the ranks of the soldiers and wildly dipped theirhandkerchiefs in the blood that streamed from the scaffold, treasuringthem up, says the chronicler, as precious memorials of love andincitements to vengeance. The head was then set on one of the poles atthe end of the platform, while a mantle thrown over the mutilatedtrunk hid it from the public gaze. 

It was near noon when orders were sent to lead forth the remainingprisoner to execution. It had been assigned to the curate of LaChapelle to acquaint Count Hoorne with his fate. That noblemanreceived the awful tidings with less patience than was shown by hisfriend. He gave way to a burst of indignation at the cruelty andinjustice of the sentence. It was a poor requital, he said, foreight-and-twenty years of faithful service to his sovereign. Yet, headded, he was not sorry to be released from a life of such incessantfatigue. For some time he refused to confess, saying he had doneenough in the way of confession. When urged not to throw away the fewprecious moments that were left to him, he at length consented. 

The count was drest in a plain suit of black, and wore a Milanese capupon his head. He was, at this time, about fifty years of age. He wastall, with handsome features, and altogether of a commanding presence. His form was erect, and as he passed with a steady step through thefiles of soldiers, on his way to the place of execution, he franklysaluted those of his acquaintance whom he saw among the spectators. His look had in it less of sorrow than of indignation, like that ofone conscious of enduring wrong. He was spared one pang, in his lasthour, which had filled Egmont's cup with bitterness; tho, like him, hehad a wife, he was to leave no orphan family to mourn him. 

As he trod the scaffold, the apparatus of death seemed to have nopower to move him. He still repeated the declaration that, "often ashe had offended his Maker, he had never, to his knowledge, committedany offense against the King. " When his eyes fell on the bloody shroudthat enveloped the remains of Egmont, he inquired if it were the bodyof his friend. Being answered in the affirmative, he made some remarkin Castilian, not understood. He then prayed for a few moments, but inso low a tone that the words were not caught by the bystanders, and, rising, he asked pardon of those around if he had ever offended any ofthem, and earnestly besought their prayers. Then, without furtherdelay, he knelt down, and, repeating the words, "_In manus tuas, Domine_, " he submitted himself to his fate. 

His bloody head was set up opposite to that of his fellow sufferer. For three hours these ghastly trophies remained exposed to the gaze ofthe multitude. They were then taken down, and, with the bodies, placedin leaden coffins, which were straightway removed--that containing theremains of Egmont to the convent of Santa Clara, and that of Hoorne tothe ancient church of Ste. Gudule. To these places, especially toSanta Clara, the people now flocked as to the shrine of a martyr. Theythrew themselves on the coffin, kissing it and bedewing it with theirtears, as if it had contained the relics of some murdered saint; whilemany of them, taking little heed of the presence of informers, breathed vows of vengeance, some even swearing not to trim either hairor beard till these vows were executed. The government seems to havethought it prudent to take no notice of this burst of popular feeling. But a funeral hatchment, blazoned with the arms of Egmont, which, asusual after the master's death, had been fixt by his domestics on thegates of his mansion, was ordered to be instantly removed--no doubt, as tending to keep alive the popular excitement. The bodies were notallowed to remain long in their temporary places of deposit, but weretransported to the family residences of the two lords in the country, and laid in the vaults of their ancestors. 

Thus by the hand of the common executioner perished these twounfortunate noblemen, who, by their rank, possessions, and personalcharacters, were the most illustrious victims that could have beenselected in the Netherlands. Both had early enjoyed the favor ofCharles the Fifth, and both had been entrusted by Philip with some ofthe highest offices in the state. Philip de Montmorency, Count Hoorne, the elder of the two, came of the ancient house of Montmorency inFrance. Besides filling the high post of Admiral of the Low Countries, he was made governor of the provinces of Guelders and Zutphen, was acouncilor of state, and was created by the Emperor a knight of theGolden Fleece. His fortune was greatly inferior to that of CountEgmont; yet its confiscation afforded a supply by no means unwelcometo the needy exchequer of the Duke of Alva. 

However nearly on a footing they might be in many respects, Hoorne wasaltogether eclipsed by his friend in military renown. 

II

THE GENESIS OF "DON QUIXOTE"[69]

The age of chivalry, as depicted in romances, could never, of course, have had any real existence; but the sentiments which are described asanimating that age have been found more or less operative in differentcountries and different periods of society. In Spain, especially, thisinfluence is to be discerned from a very early date. Its inhabitantsmay be said to have lived in a romantic atmosphere, in which all theextravagances of chivalry were nourished by their peculiar situation. Their hostile relations with the Moslem kept alive the full glow ofreligious and patriotic feeling. Their history is one interminablecrusade. An enemy always on the borders invited perpetual displays ofpersonal daring and adventure. The refinement and magnificence of theSpanish Arabs throw a luster over these contests such as could not bereflected from the rude skirmishes with their Christian neighbors. Lofty sentiments, embellished by the softer refinements of courtesy, were blended in the martial bosom of the Spaniard, and Spain becameemphatically the land of romantic chivalry. 

[Footnote 69: From the "Biographical and Critical Miscellanies, " whichwere collected by the author for publication in England in 1845. Thisessay, and the others in the volume, with one exception, had beenpublished originally in _The North American Review_. ]

The very laws themselves, conceived in this spirit, contributedgreatly to foster it. The ancient code of Alfonso X, in the thirteenthcentury, after many minute regulations for the deportment of the goodknight, enjoins on him to "invoke the name of his mistress in thefight, that it may infuse new ardor into his soul and preserve himfrom the commission of unknightly actions. " Such laws were not a deadletter. The history of Spain shows that the sentiment of romanticgallantry penetrated the nation more deeply and continued longer thanin any other quarter of Christendom. .. . 

The taste for these romantic extravagances naturally fostered acorresponding taste for the perusal of tales of chivalry. Indeed, theyacted reciprocally on each other. These chimerical legends had once, also, beguiled the long evenings of our Norman ancestors, but, in theprogress of civilization, had gradually given way to other and morenatural forms of composition. They still maintained their ground inItaly, whither they had passed later, and where they were consecratedby the hand of genius. But Italy was not the true soil of chivalry, and the inimitable fictions of Bojardo, Pulci, and Ariosto werecomposed with that lurking smile of half-supprest mirth which, farfrom a serious tone, could raise only a corresponding smile ofincredulity in the reader. 

In Spain, however, the marvels of romance were all taken in perfectgood faith. Not that they were received as literally true; but thereader surrendered himself up to the illusion, and was moved toadmiration by the recital of deeds which, viewed in any other lightthan as a wild frolic of imagination, would be supremely ridiculous;for these tales had not the merit of a seductive style and melodiousversification to relieve them. They were, for the most part, anill-digested mass of incongruities, in which there was as littlekeeping and probability in the characters as in the incidents, whilethe whole was told in that stilted "Hercles' vein" and with thatlicentiousness of allusion and imagery which could not fail to debauchboth the taste and the morals of the youthful reader. The mind, familiarized with these monstrous, over-colored pictures, lost allrelish for the chaste and sober productions of art. The love of thegigantic and the marvelous indisposed the reader for the simpledelineations of truth in real history. .. . 

Cervantes brought forward a personage, in whom were embodied all thosegenerous virtues which belong to chivalry; disinterestedness, contemptof danger, unblemished honor, knightly courtesy, and those aspirationsafter ideal excellence which, if empty dreams, are the dreams of amagnanimous spirit. They are, indeed, represented by Cervantes as tooethereal for this world, and are successively dispelled as they comein contact with the coarse realities of life. It is this view of thesubject which has led Sismondi, among other critics, to consider thatthe principal end of the author was "the ridicule of enthusiasm--thecontrast of the heroic with the vulgar"--and he sees somethingprofoundly sad in the conclusions to which it leads. This sort ofcriticism appears to be over-refined. It resembles the efforts of somecommentators to allegorize the great epics of Homer and Virgil, throwing a disagreeable mistiness over the story by converting mereshadows into substances, and substances into shadows. 

The great purpose of Cervantes was, doubtless, that expressly avowedby himself, namely, to correct the popular taste for romances ofchivalry. It is unnecessary to look for any other in so plain a tale, altho, it is true, the conduct of the story produces impressions onthe reader, to a certain extent, like those suggested by Sismondi. Themelancholy tendency, however, is in a great degree counteracted by theexquisitely ludicrous character of the incidents. Perhaps, after all, if we are to hunt for a moral as the key of the fiction, we may withmore reason pronounce it to be the necessity of proportioning ourundertakings to our capacities. 

The mind of the hero, Don Quixote, is an ideal world into whichCervantes has poured all the rich stores of his own imagination, thepoet's golden dreams, high romantic exploit, and the sweet visions ofpastoral happiness; the gorgeous chimeras of the fancied age ofchivalry, which had so long entranced the world; splendid illusions, which, floating before us like the airy bubbles which the child throwsoff from his pipe, reflect, in a thousand variegated tints, the rudeobjects around, until, brought into collision with these, they aredashed in pieces and melt into air. These splendid images derivetenfold beauty from the rich antique coloring of the author'slanguage, skilfully imitated from the old romances, but whichnecessarily escapes in the translation into a foreign tongue. DonQuixote's insanity operates both in mistaking the ideal for the real, and the real for the ideal. Whatever he has found in romances hebelieves to exist in the world; and he converts all he meets with inthe world into the visions of his romances. It is difficult to saywhich of the two produces the most ludicrous results. 

For the better exposure of these mad fancies Cervantes has not onlyput them into action in real life, but contrasted them with anothercharacter which may be said to form the reverse side of his hero's. Honest Sancho represents the material principle as perfectly as hismaster does the intellectual or ideal. He is of the earth, earthy. Sly, selfish, sensual, his dreams are not of glory, but of goodfeeding. His only concern is for his carcass. His notions of honorappear to be much the same with those of his jovial contemporaryFalstaff, as conveyed in his memorable soliloquy. In the sublimenight-piece which ends with the fulling-mills--truly sublime until wereach the dénouement--Sancho asks his master: "Why need you go aboutthis adventure? It is main dark, and there is never a living soul seesus; we have nothing to do but to sheer off and get out of harm's way. Who is there to take notice of our flinching?" Can anything beimagined more exquisitely opposed to the true spirit of chivalry? Thewhole compass of fiction nowhere displays the power of contrast soforcibly as in these two characters; perfectly opposed to each other, not only in their minds and general habits, but in the minutestdetails of personal appearance. 

It was a great effort of art for Cervantes to maintain the dignity ofhis hero's character in the midst of the whimsical and ridiculousdistresses in which he has perpetually involved him. His infirmityleads us to distinguish between his character and his conduct, and toabsolve him from all responsibility for the latter. The author's artis no less shown in regard to the other principal figure in the piece, Sancho Panza, who, with the most contemptible qualities, contrives tokeep a strong hold on our interest by the kindness of his nature andhis shrewd understanding. He is far too shrewd a person, indeed, tomake it natural for him to have followed so crack-brained a masterunless bribed by the promise of a substantial recompense. He is apersonification, as it were, of the popular wisdom--a "bundle ofproverbs, " as his master somewhere styles him; and proverbs are themost compact form in which the wisdom of a people is digested. Theyhave been collected into several distinct works in Spain, where theyexceed in number those of any other, if not every other country inEurope. As many of them are of great antiquity, they are ofinestimable price with the Castilian jurists, as affording richsamples of obsolete idioms and the various mutations of the language. 

"Don Quixote" may be said to form an epoch in the history of letters, as the original of that kind of composition, the novel of character, which is one of the distinguishing peculiarities of modern literature. When well executed, this sort of writing rises to the dignity ofhistory itself, and may be said to perform no insignificant part ofthe functions of the latter. History describes men less as they arethan as they appear, as they are playing a part on the greatpolitical theater--men in masquerade. It rests on state documents, which too often cloak real purposes under an artful veil of policy, oron the accounts of contemporaries blinded by passion or interest. Evenwithout these deductions, the revolutions of states, their wars, andtheir intrigues do not present the only aspect, nor, perhaps, the mostinteresting, under which human nature can be studied. It is man in hisdomestic relations, around his own fireside, where alone his realcharacter can be truly disclosed; in his ordinary occupations insociety, whether for purposes of profit or pleasure; in his every-daymanner of living, his tastes and opinions, as drawn out in socialintercourse; it is, in short, under all those forms which make up theinterior of society that man is to be studied, if we would get thetrue form and pressure of the age--if, in short, we would obtain clearand correct ideas of the actual progress of civilization. 

But these topics do not fall within the scope of the historian. He cannot find authentic materials for them. They belong to the novelist, who, indeed, contrives his incidents and creates his characters, butwho, if true to his art, animates them with the same tastes, sentiments, and motives of action which belong to the period of hisfiction. His portrait is not the less true because no individual hassat for it. He has seized the physiognomy of the times. Who is therethat does not derive a more distinct idea of the state of society andmanners in Scotland from the "Waverley Novels" than from the best ofits historians? Of the condition of the Middle Ages from the singleromance of "Ivanhoe" than from the volumes of Hume or Hallam? In likemanner, the pencil of Cervantes has given a far more distinct and aricher portraiture of life in Spain in the sixteenth century than canbe gathered from a library of monkish chronicles. 

GEORGE BANCROFT

 Born in Massachusetts in 1800; died in Washington in 1891; graduated from Harvard in 1817; studied in Germany; taught Greek in Harvard; established a private school at Northampton in 1823; collector of the Port of Boston in 1838; unsuccessful candidate for Governor of Massachusetts in 1844; Secretary of the Navy in 1845; established the Naval Academy at Annapolis; minister to England in 1846; minister to Berlin in 1867; published his "History of the United States" in 10 volumes in 1834-74. 

THE FATE OF EVANGELINE'S COUNTRYMEN[70]

(1755)

They [the French inhabitants of Acadia] still counted in theirvillages "eight thousand" souls, and the English not more than "threethousand"; they stood in the way of "the progress of the settlement";"by their non-compliance with the conditions of the treaty of Utrechtthey had forfeited their possessions to the crown"; after thedeparture "of the fleet and troops, the province would not be in acondition to drive them out. " "Such a juncture as the present mightnever occur"; so he [the chief justice, Belcher] advised "againstreceiving any of the French inhabitants to take the oath, " and for theremoval of "all" of them from the province. 

[Footnote 70: From Volume IV, Chapter VIII, of "The History of theUnited States, " as published in 1862. Acadia was the name of theoriginal French colony in the eastern part of Canada, including NovaScotia, New Brunswick and adjacent islands. It was first colonized bythe French in 1604. It is more particularly of the French settlers inNova Scotia that Bancroft writes. These were deported by the Britishin 1755. Longfellow's poem "Evangeline" is founded on an incident inthis deportation, by which two lovers were hopelessly parted. Hawthorne is said first to have heard this story and considered it asthe theme for a novel, but, unable to use it satisfactorily tohimself, he passed it on to Longfellow. ]

That the cruelty might have no palliation, letters arrived leaving nodoubt that the shores of the Bay of Fundy were entirely in thepossession of the British; and yet at a council, at which Vice-AdmiralBoscawen and Rear-Admiral Mostyn were present by invitation, it wasunanimously determined to send the French inhabitants out of theprovince; and, after mature consideration, it was further unanimouslyagreed that, to prevent their attempting to return and molest thesettlers that were to be set down on their lands, it would be mostproper to distribute them among the several colonies on the continent. 

To hunt them into the net was impracticable; artifice was thereforeresorted to. By a general proclamation, on one and the same day, thescarcely conscious victims, "both old men and young men, as well asall the lads of ten years of age, " were peremptorily ordered toassemble at their respective posts. On the appointed fifth ofSeptember they obeyed. At Grand Pré, for example, four hundred andeighteen unarmed men came together. They were marched into the churchand its avenues were closed, when Winslow, the American commander, placed himself in their center, and spoke:

"You are convened together to manifest to you his majesty's finalresolution to the French inhabitants of this his province. Your landsand tenements, cattle of all kinds, and live stock of all sorts, areforfeited to the crown, and you yourselves are to be removed from thishis province. I am, through his majesty's goodness, directed to allowyou liberty to carry off your money and household goods, as many asyou can, without discommoding the vessels you go in. "

And he then declared them the King's prisoners. Their wives andfamilies shared their lot; their sons, five hundred and twenty-sevenin number; their daughters, five hundred and seventy-six; in thewhole, women and babes and old men and children all included, nineteenhundred and twenty-three souls. The blow was sudden; they had lefthome but for the morning, and they never were to return. Their cattlewere to stay unfed in the stalls, their fires to die out on theirhearths. They had for that first day even no food for themselves ortheir children, and were compelled to beg for bread. 

The tenth of September was the day for the embarkation of a part ofthe exiles. They were drawn up six deep; and the young men, onehundred and sixty-one in number, were ordered to march first on boardthe vessel. They could leave their farms and cottages, the shady rockson which they had reclined, their herds, and their garners; but natureyearned within them, and they would not be separated from theirparents. Yet of what avail was the frenzied despair of the unarmedyouth? They had not one weapon; the bayonet drove them to obey; andthey marched slowly and heavily from the chapel to the shore, betweenwomen and children, who, kneeling, prayed for blessings on theirheads, they themselves weeping and praying and singing hymns. Theseniors went next; the wives and children must wait till othertransport vessels arrive. The delay had its horrors. The wretchedpeople left behind were kept together near the sea, without properfood, or raiment, or shelter, till other ships came to take them away;and December, with its appalling cold, had struck the shivering, half-clad, broken-hearted sufferers, before the last of them wereremoved. 

"The embarkation of the inhabitants goes on but slowly, " wroteMonckton, from Fort Cumberland, near which he had burned threehamlets; "the most part of the wives of the men we have prisoners aregone off with their children, in hopes I would not send off theirhusbands without them. " Their hope was vain. Near Annapolis a hundredheads of families fled to the woods, and a party was detached on thehunt to bring them in. "Our soldiers hate them, " wrote an officer onthis occasion; "and, if they can but find a pretext to kill them, theywill. " Did a prisoner seek to escape, he was shot down by thesentinel. Yet some fled to Quebec; more than three thousand hadwithdrawn to Miramachi and the region south of the Restigouche; somefound rest on the banks of the St. John's and its branches; some founda lair in their native forests; some were charitably sheltered fromthe English in the wigwams of the savages. But seven thousand of thesebanished people were driven on board ships, and scattered among theBritish colonies, from New Hampshire to Georgia--one thousand andtwenty to South Carolina alone. They were cast ashore withoutresources, hating the poorhouse as a shelter for their offspring, andabhorring the thought of selling themselves as laborers. Households, too, were separated; the colonial newspapers contained advertisementsof members of families seeking their companions, of sons anxious toreach and relieve their parents, of mothers moaning for theirchildren. 

The wanderers sighed for their native country; but, to prevent theirreturn, their villages, from Annapolis to the isthmus, were laidwaste. Their old homes were but ruins. In the district of Minas, forinstance, two hundred and fifty of their houses, and more than as manybarns, were consumed. The live stock which belonged to them, consisting of great numbers of horned cattle, hogs, sheep, and horses, were seized as spoils and disposed of by the English officials. Abeautiful and fertile tract of country was reduced to a solitude. There was none left round the ashes of the cottages of the Acadiansbut the faithful watch-dog, vainly seeking the hands that fed him. Thickets of forest-trees choked their orchards; the ocean broke overtheir neglected dikes, and desolated their meadows. 

Relentless misfortune pursued the exiles wherever they fled. Thosesent to Georgia, drawn by a love for the spot where they were born, asstrong as that of the captive Jews who wept by the rivers of Babylonfor their own temple and land, escaped to sea in boats, and wentcoasting from harbor to harbor; but when they had reached NewEngland, just as they would have set sail for their native fields, they were stopt by orders from Nova Scotia. Those who dwelt on the St. John's were torn from their new homes. When Canada surrendered, hatredwith its worst venom pursued the fifteen hundred who remained south ofthe Restigouche. Once those who dwelt in Pennsylvania presented ahumble petition to the Earl of Loudoun, then the Britishcommander-in-chief in America; and the cold-hearted peer, offendedthat the prayer was made in French, seized their five principal men, who in their own land had been persons of dignity and substance, andshipped them to England, with the request that they might be kept fromever again becoming troublesome by being consigned to service ascommon sailors on board ships-of-war. No doubt existed of the King'sapprobation. The lords of trade, more merciless than the savages andthan the wilderness in winter, wished very much that every one of theAcadians should be driven out; and, when it seemed that the work wasdone, congratulated the King that "the zealous endeavors of Lawrencehad been crowned with an entire success. "

RALPH WALDO EMERSON

 Born in 1803, died In 1882, a Unitarian clergyman in Boston in 1829-32; began a long career as lecturer in 1833; settled in Concord in 1834; editor of _The Dial_ in 1842-44; published "Nature" in 1836; "Essays, " two series, in 1841-44; "Poems" in 1846; "Representative Men" in 1850; "English Traits" in 1856; "Conduct of Life" in 1860; "Society and Solitude" in 1870; "Letters and Social Aims" in 1876. 

I

THOREAU'S BROKEN TASK[71]

His robust common sense, armed with stout hands, keen perceptions, andstrong will, can not yet account for the superiority which shone inhis simple and hidden life. I must add the cardinal fact that therewas an excellent wisdom in him, proper to a rare class of men, whichshowed him the material world as a means and symbol. This discovery, which sometimes yields to poets a certain casual and interruptedlight, serving for the ornament of their writing, was in him anunsleeping insight; and whatever faults or obstructions of temperamentmight cloud it, he was not disobedient to the heavenly vision. In hisyouth he said one day, "The other world is all my art: my pencilswill draw no other; my jack-knife will cut nothing else; I do not useit as a means. " This was the muse and genius that ruled his opinions, conversation, studies, work and course of life. This made him asearching judge of men. At first glance he measured his companion, and, tho insensible to some fine traits of culture, could very wellreport his weight and caliber. And this made the impression of geniuswhich his conversation often gave. 

[Footnote 71: From Emerson's address at the funeral of Thoreau, asexpanded for the _Atlantic Monthly_ of August, 1862; usually printedsince as an introduction to Thoreau's volume entitled "Excursions, "published by Houghton, Mifflin & Company. ]

I think his fancy for referring everything to the meridian of Concorddid not grow out of any ignorance or depreciation of other longitudesor latitudes, but was rather a playful expression of his conviction ofthe indifferency of all places, and that the best place for each iswhere he stands. He exprest it once in this wise: "I think nothing isto be hoped from you, if this bit of mold under your feet is notsweeter to you to eat than any other in this world, or in any world. "

The other weapon with which he conquered all obstacles in science waspatience. He knew how to sit immovable, a part of the rock he restedon, until the bird, the reptile, the fish, which had retired from him, should come back, and resume his habits, nay, moved by curiosity, should come to him and watch him. 

It was a pleasure and a privilege to walk with him. He knew thecountry like a fox or a bird, and passed through it as freely by pathsof his own. He knew every track in the snow or on the ground, and whatcreature had taken this path before him. One must submit abjectly tosuch a guide, and the reward was great. Under his arm he carried anold music-book to press plants; in his pocket his diary and pencil, aspyglass for birds, microscope, jack-knife, and twine. He wore strawhat, stout shoes, strong gray trousers, to brave shrub-oaks andsmilax, and to climb a tree for a hawk's or a squirrel's nest. Hewaded into the pool for the water-plants, and his strong legs were noinsignificant part of his armor. 

No college ever offered him a diploma, or a professor's chair; noacademy made him its corresponding secretary, its discoverer, or evenits member. Perhaps these learned bodies feared the satire of hispresence. Yet so much knowledge of Nature's secret and genius fewothers possest, none in a more large and religious synthesis. For nota particle of respect had he to the opinions of any man or body ofmen, but homage solely to the truth itself; and as he discoveredeverywhere among doctors some leaning of courtesy, it discreditedthem. He grew to be revered and admired by his townsmen, who had atfirst known him only as an oddity. The farmers who employed him as asurveyor soon discovered his rare accuracy and skill, his knowledge oftheir lands, of trees, of birds, of Indian remains, and the like, which enabled him to tell every farmer more than he knew before of hisown farm; so that he began to feel as if Mr. Thoreau had better rightsin his land than he. They felt, too, the superiority of characterwhich addrest all men with a native authority. 

His virtues, of course, sometimes ran into extremes. It was easy totrace to the inexorable demand on all for exact truth that austeritywhich made this willing hermit more solitary even than he wished. Himself of a perfect probity, he required not less of others. He had adisgust for crime, and no worldly success could cover it. He detectedpaltering as readily in dignified and prosperous persons as inbeggars, and with equal scorn. Such dangerous frankness was in hisdealing that his admirers called him "that terrible Thoreau, " as if hespoke when silent, and was still present when he had departed. I thinkthe severity of his ideal interfered to deprive him of a healthysufficiency of human society. 

The habit of a realist to find things the reverse of their appearanceinclined him to put every statement in a paradox. A certain habit ofantagonism defaced his earlier writings--a trick of rhetoric not quiteoutgrown in his later, of substituting for the obvious word andthought its diametrical opposite. He praised wild mountains and winterforests for their domestic air, in snow and ice he would findsultriness, and commended the wilderness for resembling Rome andParis. "It was so dry that you might call it wet. "

The tendency to magnify the moment, to read all the laws of Nature inthe one object or one combination under your eye, is of course comicto those who do not share the philosopher's perception of identity. Tohim there was no such thing as size. The pond was a small ocean; theAtlantic a large Walden Pond. He referred every minute fact tocosmical laws. Tho he meant to be just, he seemed haunted by a certainchronic assumption that the science of the day pretendedcompleteness, and he had just found out that the savants had neglectedto discriminate a particular botanical variety, had failed to describethe seeds or count the sepals. "That is to say, " we replied, "theblockheads were not born in Concord; but who said they were? It wastheir unspeakable misfortune to be born in London, or Paris, or Rome;but, poor fellows, they did what they could, considering that theynever saw Bateman's Pond, or Nine-acre Corner, or Becky Stow's Swamp. Besides, what were you sent into the world for but to add thisobservation?"

Had this genius been only contemplative, he had been fitted to hislife, but with his energy and practical ability he seemed born forgreat enterprise and for command; and I so much regret the loss of hisrare powers of action that I can not help counting it a fault in himthat he had no ambition. Wanting this, instead of engineering for allAmerica, he was the captain of a huckleberry party. Pounding beans isgood to the end of pounding empires one of these days; but if, at theend of years, it is still only beans!

But these foibles, real or apparent, were fast vanishing in theincessant growth of a spirit so robust and wise, and which effaced itsdefeats with new triumphs. His study of nature was a perpetualornament to him, and inspired his friends with curiosity to see theworld through his eyes, and to hear his adventures. They possest everykind of interest. 

He had many elegances of his own, while he scoffed at conventionalelegance. Thus, he could not bear to hear the sound of his own steps, thegrit of gravel; and therefore never willingly walked in the road, but inthe grass, on mountains and in woods. His senses were acute, and heremarked that by night every dwelling-house gives out bad air, like aslaughter-house. He liked the pure fragrance of melilot. He honored certainplants with special regard, and, over all, the pond lily, then the gentian, and the _Mikania scandens_, and "life-everlasting, " and a bass-tree whichhe visited every year when it bloomed, in the middle of July. He thoughtthe scent a more oracular inquisition than the sight--more oracular andtrustworthy. The scent, of course, reveals what it concealed from the othersenses. By it he detected earthiness. He delighted in echoes, and said theywere almost the only kind of kindred voices that he heard. He loved Natureso well, was so happy in her solitude, that he became very jealous ofcities, and the sad work which their refinements and artifices made withman and his dwelling. The ax was always destroying his forest. "Thank God, "he said, "they can not cut down the clouds!". .. . 

The scale on which his studies proceeded was so large as to requirelongevity, and we were the less prepared for his sudden disappearance. The country knows not yet, or in the least part, how great a son ithas lost. It seems an injury that he should leave in the midst hisbroken task, which none else can finish--a kind of indignity to sonoble a soul, that it should depart out of Nature before yet he hasbeen really shown to his peers for what he is. But he, at least, iscontent. His soul was made for the noblest society; he had in a shortlife exhausted the capabilities of this world; wherever there isknowledge, wherever there is virtue, wherever there is beauty, he willfind a home. 

II

THE INTELLECTUAL HONESTY OF MONTAIGNE[72]

A single odd volume of Cotton's translation of the Essays remained tome from my father's library, when a boy. It lay long neglected, until, after many years, when I was newly escaped from college, I read thebook, and procured the remaining volumes. I remember the delight andwonder in which I lived with it. It seemed to me as if I had myselfwritten the book, in some former life, so sincerely it spoke to mythought and experience. It happened, when in Paris, in 1833, that, inthe cemetery of Pere la Chaise, I came to a tomb of August Collignon, who died in 1830, aged sixty-eight years, and who, said the monument, "lived to do right, and had formed himself to virtue on the Essays ofMontaigne. " Some years later, I became acquainted with an accomplishedEnglish poet, John Sterling; and, in prosecuting my correspondence, Ifound that, from a love of Montaigne, he had made a pilgrimage to hischateau, still standing near Castellan, in Perigord, and, after twohundred and fifty years, had copied from the walls of his library theinscriptions which Montaigne had written there. That Journal of MrSterling's, published in the _Westminster Review_, Mr. Hazlitt hasreprinted in the Prolegomena to his edition of the Essays. I heardwith pleasure that one of the newly-discovered autographs of WilliamShakespeare was in a copy of Florio's translation of Montaigne. It isthe only book which we certainly know to have been in the poet'slibrary. And, oddly enough, the duplicate copy of Florio, which theBritish Museum purchased with a view of protecting the Shakespeareautograph (as I was informed in the Museum), turned out to have theautograph of Ben Jonson in the fly-leaf. Leigh Hunt relates of LordByron that Montaigne was the only great writer of past times whom heread with avowed satisfaction. Other coincidences, not needful to bementioned here, concurred to make this old Gascon still new andimmortal for me. 

[Footnote 72: From "Montaigne; or The Skeptic, " in "RepresentativeMen. " Published by Houghton, Mifflin & Company. ]

In 1571, on the death of his father, Montaigne, then thirty-eightyears old, retired from the practise of law at Bordeaux, and settledhimself on his estate. Tho he had been a man of pleasure, andsometimes a courtier, his studious habits now grew on him, and heloved the compass, staidness, and independence of the countrygentleman's life. He took up his economy in good earnest, and made hisfarms yield the most. Downright and plain-dealing, and abhorring to bedeceived or to deceive, he was esteemed in the country for his senseand probity. In the civil wars of the League, which converted everyhouse into a fort, Montaigne kept his gates open, and his housewithout defense. All parties freely came and went, his courage andhonor being universally esteemed. The neighboring lords and gentrybrought jewels and papers to him for safe-keeping. Gibbon reckons, inthese bigoted times, but two men of liberality in France--Henry IV andMontaigne. 

III

HIS VISIT TO CARLYLE AT CRAIGEN-PUTTOCK[73]

(1833)

From Edinburgh I went to the Highlands. On my return I came fromGlasgow to Dumfries, and being intent on delivering a letter which Ihad brought from Rome, inquired for Craigen-puttock. It was a farm inNithsdale, in the parish of Dunscore, sixteen miles distant. No publiccoach passed near it, so I took a private carriage from the inn. Ifound the house amid desolate heathery hills, where the lonely scholarnourished his mighty heart. Carlyle was a man from his youth, anauthor who did not need to hide from his readers, and as absolute aman of the world, unknown and exiled on that hill-farm, as if holdingon his own terms what is best in London. He was tall and gaunt, withcliff-like brow, self-possest, and holding his extraordinary powers ofconversation in easy command; clinging to his northern accent withevident relish; full of lively anecdote, and with a streaming humor, which floated everything he looked upon. His talk playfully exaltingthe familiar objects, put the companion at once into an acquaintancewith his Lars and Lemurs, and it was very pleasant to learn what waspredestined to be a pretty mythology. Few were the objects and lonelythe man, "not a person to speak to within sixteen miles except theminister of Dunscore"; so that books inevitably made his topics. 

[Footnote 73: From Chapter I of "English Traits, " published byHoughton, Mifflin Company. At the time of this visit, Emerson hadpublished none of his books, but Carlyle was known as the author ofmany of the "Essays" now included among his collected writings, andhad published the "Life of Schiller" and his translation of Goethe's"Wilhelm Meister. " "Sartor Resartus" in that year was beginning itscourse through the monthly numbers of _Fraser's Magazine_. ]

He had names of his own for all the matters familiar to his discourse. _Blackwood's_ was the "sand magazine"; _Fraser's_ nearer approach topossibility of life was the "mud magazine"; a piece of road near bythat marked some failed enterprise was the "grave of the lastsixpence. " When too much praise of any genius annoyed him, he profesthugely to admire the talent shown by his pig. He had spent much timeand contrivance in confining the poor beast to one enclosure in hispen, but pig, by great strokes of judgment, had found out how to let aboard down, and had foiled him. For all that, he still thought man themost plastic little fellow in the planet, and he liked Nero's death, "_Qualis artifex pereo!_" better than most history. He worships a manthat will manifest any truth to him. At one time he had inquired andread a good deal about America. Landor's principle was mere rebellion, and _that_ he feared was the American principle. The best thing heknew of that country was that in it a man can have meat for hislabor. He had read in Stewart's book that, when he inquired in a NewYork hotel for the Boots, he had been shown across the street and hadfound Mungo in his own house dining on roast turkey. 

We talked of books. Plato he does not read, and he disparagedSocrates; and, when prest, persisted in making Mirabeau a hero. Gibbonhe called the splendid bridge from the old world to the new. His ownreading had been multifarious. "Tristram Shandy" was one of his firstbooks after "Robinson Crusoe, " and Robertson's "America" an earlyfavorite. Rousseau's "Confessions" had discovered to him that he wasnot a dunce; and it was now ten years since he had learned German, bythe advice of a man who told him he would find in that language whathe wanted. 

He took despairing or satirical views of literature at this moment;recounted the incredible sums paid in one year by the greatbooksellers for puffing. Hence it comes that no newspaper is trustednow, no books are bought, and the booksellers are on the eve ofbankruptcy. 

He still returned to English pauperism, the crowded country, theselfish abdication by public men of all that public persons shouldperform. "Government should direct poor men what to do. Poor Irishfolk come wandering over these moors. My dame makes it a rule to giveto every son of Adam bread to eat, and supplies his wants to the nexthouse. But here are thousands of acres which might give them all meat, and nobody to bid these poor Irish go to the moor and till it. Theyburned the stacks, and so found a way to force the rich people toattend to them. "

We went out to walk over long hills, and looked at Criffel, thenwithout his cap, and down into Wordsworth's country. There we satdown, and talked of the immortality of the soul. It was not Carlyle'sfault that we talked on that topic, for he had the naturaldisinclination of every nimble spirit to bruise itself against walls, and did not like to place himself where no step can be taken. But hewas honest and true, and cognizant of the subtile links that bind agestogether, and saw how every event affects all the future. "Christ diedon the tree: that built Dunscore kirk yonder: that brought you and metogether. Time had only a relative existence. "

He was already turning his eyes toward London with a scholar'sappreciation. London is the heart of the world, he said, wonderfulonly from the mass of human beings. He liked the huge machine. Eachkeeps its own round. The baker's boy brings muffins to the window at afixt hour every day, and that is all the Londoner knows or wishes toknow on the subject. But it turned out good men. He named certainindividuals, especially one man of letters, his friend, the best mindhe knew, whom London had well served. 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

 Born in Salem, Mass. , in 1804; died in 1864; graduated from Bowdoin College in 1825; served in the Custom House in Boston; joined the Brook Farm community in 1841; surveyor of the port of Salem in 1846-49; consul at Liverpool in 1853-57; published "Fanshawe" at his own expense in 1826, "Twice Told Tales" in 1837-42; "Mosses from an Old Manse" in 1846, "The Scarlet Letter" in 1850, "House of the Seven Gables" in 1851, "The Marble Faun" in 1860, "Our Old Home" in 1863. 

I

OCCUPANTS OF AN OLD MANSE[74]

Between two tall gate-posts of rough-hewn stone (the gate itselfhaving fallen from its hinges at some unknown epoch) we beheld thegray front of the old parsonage terminating the vista of an avenue ofblack-ash trees. It was now a twelvemonth since the funeral processionof the venerable clergyman, its last inhabitant, had turned from thatgateway toward the village burying-ground. The wheel track leading tothe door, as well as the whole breadth of the avenue, was almostovergrown with grass, affording dainty mouthfuls to two or threevagrant cows and an old white horse who had his own living to pick upalong the roadside. The glimmering shadows that lay half asleepbetween the door of the house and the public highway were a kind ofspiritual medium, seen through which the edifice had not quite theaspect of belonging to the material world. Certainly, it had little incommon with those ordinary abodes which stand so imminent upon theroad that every passer-by can thrust his head, as it were, into thedomestic circle. From these quiet windows the figures of passingtravelers look too remote and dim to disturb the sense of privacy. Inits near retirement and accessible seclusion, it was the very spot forthe residence of a clergyman--a man not estranged from human life, yetenveloped, in the midst of it, with a veil woven of intermingled gloomand brightness. It was worthy to have been one of the time-honoredparsonages of England, in which through many generations a successionof holy occupants pass from youth to age, and bequeath each aninheritance of sanctity to pervade the house and hover over it as withan atmosphere. 

[Footnote 74: From the introductory chapter of "Mosses from an OldManse, " published by Houghton, Mifflin Company. This house, built in1765, is still standing in Concord. Emerson lived there while writinghis "Nature. " Hawthorne made it his home soon after his marriage in1842. ]

Nor, in truth, had the Old Manse ever been profaned by a lay occupantuntil that memorable summer afternoon when I entered it as my home. Apriest had built it; a priest had succeeded to it; other priestly menfrom time to time had dwelt in it; and children born in its chambershad grown up to assume the priestly character. It was awful to reflecthow many sermons must have been written there. The latest inhabitantalone--he by whose translation to paradise the dwelling was leftvacant--had penned nearly three thousand discourses, besides thebetter if not the greater number that gushed living from his lips. Howoften, no doubt, had he paced to and fro along the avenue, attuninghis meditations to the sighs and gentle murmurs and deep and solemnpeals of the wind among the tops of the lofty trees! In that varietyof natural utterances he could find something accordant with everypassage of his sermon, were it of tenderness or reverential fear. Theboughs over my head seemed shadowy with solemn thoughts, as well aswith rustling leaves. 

I took shame to myself for having been so long a writer of idlestories, and ventured to hope that wisdom would descend upon me withthe falling leaves of the avenue, and that I should light upon anintellectual treasure in the Old Manse well worth those hoards oflong-hidden gold which people seek for in moss-grown houses. Profoundtreatises of morality, a layman's unprofessional and thereforeunprejudiced views of religion, histories (such as Bancroft might havewritten had he taken up his abode here, as he once proposed) brightwith picture, gleaming over a depth of philosophic thought--these werethe works that might fitly have flowed from such a retirement. In thehumblest event, I resolved at least to achieve a novel that shouldevolve some deep lesson, and should possess physical substance enoughto stand alone. .. . 

The study had three windows set with little old-fashioned panes ofglass, each with a crack across it. The two on the western side lookedor rather peeped between the willow branches down into the orchard, with glimpses of the river through the trees. The third, facingnorthward, commanded a broader view of the river at a spot where itshitherto obscure waters gleam forth into the light of history. It wasat this window that the clergyman who then dwelt in the manse stoodwatching the outbreak of a long and deadly struggle between twonations. [75] He saw the irregular array of his parishioners on thefarther side of the river, and the glittering line of the British onthe hither bank; he awaited in an agony of suspense the rattle of themusketry. It came; and there needed but a gentle wind to sweep thebattle smoke around this quiet house. .. . 

[Footnote 75: The bridge at Concord, where the battle of April, 1775, was fought, stands only a short distance from the old manse. ]

When summer was dead and buried, the Old Manse became as lonely as ahermitage. Not that ever--in my time at least--it had been throngedwith company; but at no rare intervals we welcomed some friend out ofthe dusty glare and tumult of the world, and rejoiced to share withhim the transparent obscurity that was floating over us. In onerespect our precincts were like the Enchanted Ground through which thepilgrim traveled on his way to the Celestial City. The guests, eachand all, felt a slumbrous influence upon them; they fell asleep inchairs, or took a more deliberate siesta on the sofa, or were seenstretched among the shadows of the orchard, looking up dreamilythrough the boughs. They could not have paid a more acceptablecompliment to my abode, nor to my own qualities as a host. I held itas a proof that they left their cares behind them as they passedbetween the stone gate-posts at the entrance of our avenue, and thatthe so powerful opiate was the abundance of peace and quiet within andall around us. .. . 

Hobgoblins of flesh and blood were attracted thither by thewide-spreading influence of a great original thinker, who had hisearthly abode at the opposite extremity of our village. His mind actedupon other minds of a certain constitution with wonderful magnetism, and drew many men upon long pilgrimages to speak with him face toface. Young visionaries, to whom just so much of insight had beenimparted as to make life all a labyrinth around them, came to seek theclue that should guide them out of their self-involved bewilderment. Gray-headed theorists, whose systems, at first air, had finallyimprisoned them in an iron framework, traveled painfully to his door, not to ask deliverance, but to invite the free spirit into their ownthraldom. People that had lighted on a new thought, or a thought thatthey fancied new, came to Emerson, as the finder of a glittering gemhastens to a lapidary to ascertain its quality and value. Uncertain, troubled, earnest wanderers through the midnight of a moral worldbeheld its intellectual fire as a beacon burning on a hill-top, andclimbing the difficult ascent, looked forth into the surroundingobscurity more hopefully than hitherto. The light revealed objectsunseen before--mountains, gleaming lakes, glimpses of a creation amongthe chaos; but also, as was unavoidable, it attracted bats and owlsand the whole host of night birds, which flapped their dusky wingsagainst the gazer's eyes, and sometimes were mistaken for fowls ofangelic feather. Such delusions always hover nigh whenever abeacon-fire of truth is kindled. 

For myself, there had been epochs of my life when I too might haveasked of this prophet the master word that should solve me the riddleof the universe; but now, being happy, I felt as if there were noquestion to be put, and therefore admired Emerson as a poet of deepbeauty and austere tenderness, but sought nothing from him as aphilosopher. It was good nevertheless to meet him in the wood paths, or sometimes in our avenue, with that pure intellectual gleam diffusedabout his presence like the garment of a Shining One; and he so quiet, so simple, so without pretension, encountering each man alike as ifexpecting to receive more than he could impart. And in truth, theheart of many an ordinary man had, perchance, inscriptions which hecould not read. 

But it was impossible to dwell in his vicinity without inhaling moreor less the mountain atmosphere of his lofty thought, which in thebrains of some people wrought a singular giddiness--new truth being asheady as new wine. Never was a poor little country village infestedwith such a variety of queer, strangely drest, oddly behaved mortals, most of whom took upon themselves to be important agents of theworld's destiny, yet were simply bores of a very intense water. Such, I imagine, is the invariable character of persons who crowd so closelyabout an original thinker as to draw in his unuttered breath, and thusto become imbued with a false originality. This triteness of noveltyis enough to make any man of common sense blaspheme at all ideas ofless than a century's standing, and pray that the world may bepetrified and rendered immovable in precisely the worst moral andphysical state that it ever yet arrived at, rather than be benefitedby such schemes of such philosophers. .. . 

Glancing back over what I have written, it seems but the scatteredreminiscences of a single summer. In fairyland there is no measurementof time; and in a spot so sheltered from the turmoil of life's ocean, three years hasten away with a noiseless flight, as the breezysunshine chases the cloud shadows across the depths of a still valley. Now came hints, growing more and more distinct, that the owner of theold house was pining for his native air. Carpenters next appeared, making a tremendous racket among the outbuildings, strewing the greengrass with pine shavings and chips of chestnut joists, and vexing thewhole antiquity of the place with their discordant renovations. Soon, moreover, they divested our abode of the veil of woodbine which hadcrept over a large portion of its southern face. All the aged mosseswere cleared unsparingly away, and there were horrible whispers aboutbrushing up the external walls with a coat of paint--a purpose aslittle to my taste as might be that of rouging the venerable cheeks ofone's grandmother. But the hand that renovates is always moresacrilegious than that which destroys. In fine, we gathered up ourhousehold goods, drank a farewell cup of tea in our pleasant littlebreakfast-room--delicately fragrant tea, an unpurchasable luxury, oneof the many angel gifts that had fallen like dew upon us--and passedforth between the tall stone gate-posts, as uncertain as the wanderingArabs where our tent might next be pitched. Providence took me by thehand, and--an oddity of dispensation which, I trust, there is noirreverence in smiling at--has led me, as the newspapers announce, while I am writing from the Old Manse, into a custom-house. [76] As astory-teller I have often contrived strange vicissitudes for myimaginary personages, but none like this. 

[Footnote 76: A reference to his appointment to a position in theBoston Custom-house. ]

II

ARTHUR DIMMESDALE ON THE SCAFFOLD[77]

The crowd was in a tumult. The men of rank and dignity, who stood moreimmediately around the clergyman, were so taken by surprize, and soperplexed as to the purport of what they saw--unable to receive theexplanation which most readily presented itself, or to imagine anyother--that they remained silent and inactive spectators of thejudgment which Providence seemed about to work. They beheld theminister, leaning on Hester's shoulder, and supported by her armaround him, approach the scaffold, and ascend its steps; while stillthe little hand of the sin-born child was clasped in his. Old RogerChillingworth followed, as one intimately connected with the drama ofguilt and sorrow in which they had all been actors, and well entitled, therefore, to be present at its closing scene. 

[Footnote 77: From Chapters XIII and XIV of "The Scarlet Letter, "published by Houghton, Mifflin & Company. ]

"Hadst thou sought the whole earth over, " said he, looking darkly atthe clergyman, "there was no one place so secret--no high place norlowly place, where thou couldst have escaped me--save on this veryscaffold!"

"Thanks be to Him who hath led me hither!" answered the minister. 

Yet he trembled, and turned to Hester with an expression of doubt andanxiety in his eyes, not the less evidently betrayed that there was afeeble smile upon his lips. 

"Is not this better, " murmured he, "than what we dreamed of in theforest?"

"I know not! I know not!" she hurriedly replied. "Better? Yea; so wemay both die, and little Pearl die with us!"

"For thee and Pearl, be it as God shall order, " said the minister;"and God is merciful! Let me now do the will which He hath made plainbefore my sight. For, Hester, I am a dying man. So let me make hasteto take my shame upon me!"

Partly supported by Hester Prynne, and holding one hand of littlePearl's, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale turned to the dignified andvenerable rulers; to the holy ministers, who were his brethren; to thepeople, whose great heart was thoroughly appalled, yet overflowingwith tearful sympathy, as knowing that some deep life-matter--which, if full of sin, was full of anguish and repentance likewise--was nowto be laid open to them. The sun, but little past its meridian, shonedown upon the clergyman, and gave a distinctness to his figure as hestood out from all the earth to put in his plea of guilty at the barof Eternal Justice. 

"People of New England!" cried he, with a voice that rose over them, high, solemn, and majestic--yet had always a tremor through it, andsometimes a shriek, struggling up out of a fathomless depth of remorseand wo--"ye that have loved me!--ye that have deemed me holy!--beholdme here, the one sinner of the world! At last!--at last!--I stand uponthe spot where, seven years since, I should have stood; here, withthis woman, whose arm, more than the little strength wherewith I havecrept hitherward, sustains me, at this dreadful moment, from grovelingdown upon my face! Lo, the scarlet letter which Hester wears! Ye haveall shuddered at it! Wherever her walk hath been--wherever, somiserably burdened, she may have hoped to find repose--it hath cast alurid gleam of awe and horrible repugnance round about her. But therestood one in the midst of you, at whose brand of sin and infamy yehave not shuddered!"

It seemed, at this point, as if the minister must leave the remainderof his secret undisclosed. But he fought back the bodilyweakness--and, still more, the faintness of heart--that was strivingfor the mastery with him. He threw off all assistance, and steptpassionately forward a pace before the woman and the child. 

"It was on him!" he continued, with a kind of fierceness--sodetermined was he to speak out the whole. "God's eye beheld it! Theangels were forever pointing at it! The devil knew it well, andfretted it continually with the touch of his burning finger! But hehid it cunningly from men, and walked among you with the mien of aspirit, mournful, because so pure in a sinful world--and sad, becausehe missed his heavenly kindred! Now, at the death-hour, he stands upbefore you! He bids you look again at Hester's scarlet letter! Hetells you that, with all its mysterious horror, it is but the shadowof what he bears on his own breast, and that even this, his own redstigma, is no more than the type of what has seared his inmost heart!Stand any here that question God's judgment on a sinner? Behold!Behold a dreadful witness of it!"

With a convulsive motion, he tore away the ministerial band from hisbreast. It was revealed! But it were irreverent to describe thatrevelation. For an instant the gaze of the horror-stricken multitudewas concentrated on the ghastly miracle; while the minister stood, with a flush of triumph in his face, as one who, in the crisis ofacutest pain, had won a victory. Then, down he sank upon the scaffold!Hester partly raised him, and supported his head against her bosom. Old Roger Chillingworth knelt down beside him, with a blank, dullcountenance, out of which the life seemed to have departed. 

"Thou hast escaped me!" he repeated more than once. "Thou hast escapedme!"

"May God forgive thee!" said the minister. "Thou, too, hast deeplysinned!"

He withdrew his dying eyes from the old man, and fixt them on thewoman and the child. 

"My little Pearl, " said he, feebly--and there was a sweet and gentlesmile over his face, as of a spirit sinking into deep repose; nay, nowthat the burden was removed, it seemed almost as if he would besportive with the child--"dear little Pearl, wilt thou kiss me now?Thou wouldst not yonder, in the forest! But now thou wilt?"

Pearl kissed his lips. A spell was broken. The great scene of grief, in which the wild infant bore a part, had developed all hersympathies; and as her tears fell upon her father's cheek, they werethe pledge that she would grow up amid human joy and sorrow, norforever do battle with the world, but be a woman in it. Toward hermother, too, Pearl's errand as a messenger of anguish was allfulfilled. 

"Hester, " said the clergyman, "farewell!"

"Shall we not meet again?" whispered she, bending her face down closeto his. "Shall we not spend our immortal life together? Surely, surely, we have ransomed one another with all this wo! Thou lookestfar into eternity, with those bright dying eyes! Then tell me whatthou seest?"

"Hush, Hester, hush!" said he, with tremulous solemnity. "The law webroke!--the sin here so awfully revealed!--let these be in thythoughts! I fear! I fear! It may be that, when we forgot our God--whenwe violated our reverence each for the other's soul--it wasthenceforth vain to hope that we could meet hereafter, in aneverlasting and pure reunion. God knows; and He is merciful! He hathproved His mercy, most of all, in my afflictions. By giving me thisburning torture to bear upon my breast! By sending yonder dark andterrible old man, to keep the torture always at red heat! By bringingme hither to die this death of triumphant ignominy before the people!Had either of these agonies been wanting, I had been lost forever!Praised be His name! His will be done! Farewell!"

That final word came forth with the minister's expiring breath. Themultitude, silent till then, broke out in a strange, deep voice of aweand wonder, which could not as yet find utterance save in this murmurthat rolled so heavily after the departed spirit. 

After many days, when time sufficed for the people to arrange theirthoughts in reference to the foregoing scene, there was more than oneaccount of what had been witnessed on the scaffold. 

Most of the spectators testified to having seen on the breast of theunhappy minister a SCARLET LETTER--the very semblance of that worn byHester Prynne--imprinted in the flesh. As regarded its origin, therewere various explanations, all of which must necessarily have beenconjectural. Some affirmed that the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale, on thevery day when Hester Prynne first wore her ignominious badge, hadbegun a course of penance--which he afterward, in so many futilemethods, followed out--by inflicting a hideous torture on himself. Others contended that the stigma had not been produced until a longtime subsequent, when old Roger Chillingworth, being a potentnecromancer, had caused it to appear, through the agency of magic andpoisonous drugs. Others, again--and those best able to appreciate theminister's peculiar sensibility, and the wonderful operation of hisspirit upon the body--whispered their belief that the awful symbol wasthe effect of the ever-active tooth of remorse, gnawing from theinmost heart outwardly, and at last manifesting Heaven's dreadfuljudgment by the visible presence of the letter. The reader may chooseamong these theories. We have thrown all the light we could acquireupon the portent, and would gladly, now that it has done its office, erase its deep print out of our own brain, where long meditation hasfixt it in very undesirable distinctness. 

III

OF LIFE AT BROOK FARM[78]

We had very young people with us, it is true--downy lads, rosy girlsin their first teens, and children of all heights above one's knee;but these had chiefly been sent hither for education, which it was oneof the objects and methods of our institution to supply. Then we hadboarders from town and elsewhere, who lived with us in a familiar way, sympathized more or less in our theories, and sometimes shared in ourlabors. 

[Footnote 78: From "The Blithedale Romance, " published by Houghton, Mifflin Company. Hawthorne was a member of the Brook Farm Community ofRoxbury, Mass. , and from it derived at least suggestions for the sceneand action of this story. ]

On the whole, it was a society such as has seldom met together; nor, perhaps, could it reasonably be expected to hold together long. Persons of marked individuality--crooked sticks, as some of us mightbe called--are not exactly the easiest to bind up into a fagot. But, so long as our union should subsist, a man of intellect and feeling, with a free nature in him, might have sought far and near withoutfinding so many points of attraction as would allure him hitherward. We were of all creeds and opinions, and generally tolerant of all, onevery imaginable subject. Our bond, it seems to me, was notaffirmative, but negative. We had individually found one thing oranother to quarrel with in our past life, and were pretty well agreedas to the inexpediency of lumbering along with the old system anyfurther. As to what should be substituted there was much lessunanimity. We did not greatly care--at least, I never did--for thewritten constitution under which our millennium had commenced. My hopewas that, between theory and practise, a true and available mode oflife might be struck out; and that, even should we ultimately fail, the months or years spent in the trial would not have been wasted, either as regarded passing enjoyment, or the experience which makesmen wise. 

Arcadians tho we were, our costume bore no resemblance to theberibboned doublets, silk breeches and stockings, and slippersfastened with artificial roses, that distinguish the pastoral peopleof poetry and the stage. In outward show, I humbly conceive, we lookedrather like a gang of beggars, or banditti, than either a company ofhonest laboring-men, or a conclave of philosophers. Whatever might beour points of difference, we all of us seemed to have come toBlithedale with the one thrifty and laudable idea of wearing out ourold clothes. Such garments as had an airing whenever we strode afield!Coats with high collars and with no collars, broad-skirted orswallow-tailed, and with the waist at every point between the hip andthe armpit; pantaloons of a dozen successive epochs, and greatlydefaced at the knees by the humiliations of the wearer before hislady-love--in short, we were a living epitome of defunct fashions, andthe very raggedest presentment of men who had seen better days. It wasgentility in tatters. Often retaining a scholarlike or clerical air, you might have taken us for the denizens of Grub street, intent ongetting a comfortable livelihood by agricultural labor; or, Coleridge's projected Pantisocracy in full experiment; or Candide andhis motley associates, at work in their cabbage-garden; or anythingelse that was miserably out at elbows, and most clumsily patched inthe rear. We might have been sworn comrades to Falstaff's raggedregiment. Little skill as we boasted in other points of husbandry, every mother's son of us would have served admirably to stick up for ascarecrow. And the worst of the matter was that the first energeticmovement essential to one downright stroke of real labor was sure toput a finish to these poor habiliments. So we gradually flung them allaside, and took to honest homespun and linsey-woolsey, as preferable, on the whole, to the plan recommended, I think, by Virgil--"_Aranudus; sere nudus_, "--which, as Silas Foster remarked, when Itranslated the maxim, would be apt to astonish the women-folks. 

After a reasonable training, the yeoman life throve well with us. Ourfaces took the sunburn kindly; our chests gained in compass, and ourshoulders in breadth and squareness; our great brown fists looked asif they had never been capable of kid gloves. The plow, the hoe, thescythe, and the hay-fork grew familiar to our grasp. The oxenresponded to our voices. We could do almost as fair a day's work asSilas Foster himself, sleep dreamlessly after it, and awake atdaybreak with only a little stiffness of the joints, which was usuallyquite gone by breakfast-time. 

To be sure, our next neighbors pretended to be incredulous as to ourreal proficiency in the business which we had taken in hand. They toldslanderous fables about our inability to yoke our own oxen, or todrive them afield when yoked, or to release the poor brutes from theirconjugal bond at nightfall. They had the face to say, too, that thecows laughed at our awkwardness at milking-time, and invariably kickedover the pails; partly in consequence of our putting the stool on thewrong side, and partly because, taking offense at the whisking oftheir tails, we were in the habit of holding these naturalfly-flappers with one hand, and milking with the other. They furtheraverred that we hoed up whole acres of Indian corn and other crops, and drew the earth carefully about the weeds; and that we raised fivehundred tufts of burdock, mistaking them for cabbages; and that, bydint of unskilful planting, few of our seeds ever came up at all, or, if they did come up, it was stern-foremost; and that we spent thebetter part of the month of June in reversing a field of beans, whichhad thrust themselves out of the ground in this unseemly way. Theyquoted it as nothing more than an ordinary occurrence for one or otherof us to crop off two or three fingers, of a morning, by our clumsyuse of the hay-cutter. Finally, and as an ultimate catastrophe, thesemendacious rogues circulated a report that we communitarians wereexterminated, to the last man, by severing ourselves asunder with thesweep of our own scythes!--and that the world had lost nothing by thislittle accident. 

IV

THE DEATH OF JUDGE PYNCHEON[79]

Meanwhile the twilight is glooming upward out of the corners of theroom. The shadows of the tall furniture grow deeper, and at firstbecome more definite; then, spreading wider, they lose theirdistinctness of outline in the dark gray tide of oblivion, as it were, that creeps slowly over the various objects, and the one human figuresitting in the midst of them. The gloom has not entered from without;it has brooded here all day, and now, taking its own inevitable time, will possess itself of everything. The Judge's face, indeed, rigid, and singularly white, refuses to melt into this universal solvent. Fainter and fainter grows the light. It is as if anotherdouble-handful of darkness had been scattered through the air. Now itis no longer gray, but sable. There is still a faint appearance atthe window; neither a glow, nor a gleam, nor a glimmer--any phrase oflight would express something far brighter than this doubtfulperception, or sense, rather, that there is a window there. Has it yetvanished? No!--yes!--not quite! And there is still the swarthywhiteness--we shall venture to marry these ill-agreeing words--theswarthy whiteness of Judge Pyncheon's face. The features are all gone:there is only the paleness of them left. And how looks it now? Thereis no window! There is no face! An infinite, inscrutable blackness hasannihilated sight! Where is our universe? All crumbled away from us;and we, adrift in chaos, may harken to the gusts of homeless wind, that go sighing and murmuring about, in quest of what was once aworld!

[Footnote 79: From Chapter XVIII of "The House of the Seven Gables. "Published by Houghton, Mifflin & Company. ]

Is there no other sound? One other, and a fearful one. It is theticking of the Judge's watch, which, ever since Hepzibah left the roomin search of Clifford, he has been holding in his hand. Be the causewhat it may, this little, quiet, never-ceasing throb of Time's pulse, repeating its small strokes with such busy regularity, in JudgePyncheon's motionless hand, has an effect of terror, which we do notfind in any other accompaniment of the scene. 

But, listen! That puff of the breeze was louder; it had a tone unlikethe dreary and sullen one which has bemoaned itself, and afflicted allmankind with miserable sympathy, for five days past. The wind hasveered about! It now comes boisterously from the northwest, and, taking hold of the aged framework of the Seven Gables, gives it ashake, like a wrestler that would try strength with his antagonist. Another and another sturdy tussle with the blast! The old house creaksagain, and makes a vociferous but somewhat unintelligible bellowing inits sooty throat (the big flue, we mean, of its wide chimney), partlyin complaint at the rude wind, but rather, as befits their century anda half of hostile intimacy, in tough defiance. A rumbling kind of abluster roars behind the fireboard. A door has slammed above stairs. Awindow, perhaps, has been left open, or else is driven in by an unrulygust. It is not to be conceived, beforehand, what wonderfulwind-instruments are these old timber mansions, and how haunted withthe strangest noises, which immediately begin to sing, and sigh, andsob, and shriek--and to smite with sledge-hammers, airy but ponderous, in some distant chamber--and to tread along the entries as withstately footsteps, and rustle up and down the staircase, as with silksmiraculously stiff--whenever the gale catches the house with a windowopen, and gets fairly into it. Would that we were not an attendantspirit here! It is too awful! This clamor of the wind through thelonely house; the Judge's quietude, as he sits invisible; and thatpertinacious ticking of his watch!. .. 

Yonder leaden Judge sits immovably upon our soul. Will he never stiragain? We shall go mad unless he stirs! You may the better estimatehis quietude by the fearlessness of a little mouse, which sits on itshind legs, in a streak of moonlight, close by Judge Pyncheon's foot, and seems to meditate a journey of exploration over this great blackbulk. Ha! what has startled the nimble little mouse? It is the visageof grimalkin, outside of the window, where he appears to have postedhimself for a deliberate watch. This grimalkin has a very ugly look. Is it a cat watching for a mouse, or the devil for a human soul? Wouldwe could scare him from the window!

Thank heaven, the night is well-nigh past! The moonbeams have nolonger so silvery a gleam, nor contrast so strongly with the blacknessof the shadows among which they fall. They are paler, now; the shadowslook gray, not black. The boisterous wind is hushed. What is the hour?Ah! the watch has at last ceased to tick; for the Judge's forgetfulfingers neglected to wind it up, as usual, at ten o'clock, being halfan hour or so before his ordinary bedtime--and it has run down, forthe first time in five years. But the great world-clock of Time stillkeeps its beat. The dreary night--for, oh, how dreary seems itshaunted waste, behind us--gives place to a fresh, transparentcloudless morn. Blest, blest radiance! The day-beam--even what littleof it finds its way into this always dusky parlor--seems part of theuniversal benediction, annulling evil, and rendering all goodnesspossible and happiness attainable. Will Judge Pyncheon now rise upfrom his chair? Will he go forth, and receive the early sunbeams onhis brow? Will he begin this new day--which God has smiled upon, andblest, and given to mankind--will he begin it with better purposesthan the many that have been spent amiss? Or are all the deep-laidschemes of yesterday as stubborn in his heart, and as busy in hisbrain, as ever?. .. 

The morning sunshine glimmers through the foliage, and, beautiful andholy as it is, shuns not to kindle up your face. Rise up, thou subtle, worldly, selfish, iron-hearted hypocrite, and make thy choice whetherstill to be subtle, worldly, selfish, iron-hearted, and hypocritical, or to tear these sins out of thy nature, tho they bring the life-bloodwith them! The Avenger is upon thee! Rise up, before it be too late!

What! Thou art not stirred by this last appeal? No, not a jot! Andthere we see a fly--one of your common house-flies, such as are alwaysbuzzing on the window-pane--which has smelt out Governor Pyncheon, andalights, now on his forehead, now on his chin, and now, heaven helpus! is creeping over the bridge of his nose, toward the would-be chiefmagistrate's wide-open eyes! Canst thou not brush the fly away? Artthou too sluggish? Thou man, that hadst so many busy projectsyesterday! Art thou too weak, that wast so powerful? Not brush away afly? Nay, then, we give thee up!

And hark! the shop-bell rings. After hours like these latter ones, through which we have borne our heavy tale, it is good to be madesensible that there is a living world, and that even this old, lonelymansion retains some manner of connection with it. We breathe morefreely, emerging from Judge Pyncheon's presence into the street beforethe Seven Gables. 

END OF VOLUME IX