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 THE

 CONTINENTAL MONTHLY:

 DEVOTED TO

 LITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY. 

 * * * * *

 VOL. V. --FEBRUARY, 1864--NO. II. 

 * * * * *

THOMAS JEFFERSON, AS SEEN BY THE LIGHT OF 1863. 

Mr. Jefferson, in his lifetime, underwent the extremes of abuse and ofadulation. Daily, semi-weekly, or weekly did Fenno, Porcupine Cobbett, Dennie, Coleman, and the other Federal journalists, not content withproclaiming him an ambitious, cunning, and deceitful demagogue, ridiculehis scientific theories, shudder at his irreligion, sneer at hiscourage, and allude coarsely to his private morals in a manner morediscreditable to themselves than to him; crowning all their accusationsand innuendoes with a reckless profusion of epithet. While at the sametimes and places the whole company of the Democratic press, led byBache, Duane, Cheetham, Freneau, asserted with equal energy that he wasthe greatest statesman, the profoundest philosopher, the very sun ofrepublicanism, the abstract of all that was glorious in democracy. Andif Abraham Bishop, of New Haven, Connecticut, compared him with Christ, a great many New Englanders of more note than Bishop, pronounced him theman of sin, a malignant manifestation of Satan. On one or the other ofthese two scales he was placed by every man in the United States, according to each citizen's modicum of sense and temper. We say, everyman--because in that war of the Democrats against the Federalists, noone sought to escape the service. Every able-tongued man was ready tofight with it, either for Jefferson or against him. 

When Jefferson passed away triumphant, toleration set in. His enemiesdropped him to turn upon living prey. They came to acquiesce in him, andeven to quote him when he served their purpose. But the admiration ofhis followers did not abate. They canonized him as the apostle ofAmerican democracy, and gave his name to the peculiar form of thedoctrine they professed. For many years the utterances of the masterwere conclusive to the common men of the party--better far than thearguments of any living leader. Of late we have heard less of him. Theright wing of the democracy begin to doubt the expediency of the States'Rights theory; and with the wrong wing his standing has been injured bythe famous passage on slavery in the 'Notes on Virginia. ' The wrong wingof the Democratic party are the men who cry out for the 'Constitution asit is, and the Union as it was'--a cry full of sound and often of fury;but what does it signify? The first gun that was fired at Fort Sumtershattered the old Union. If peace men and abolitionists, secessionistsand conservatives were to agree together to restore the old Union to the_status quo ante bellum_, they could not do it. 'When an epoch isfinished, ' as Armand Carrel once wrote, 'the mould is broken, it cannotbe made again. ' All that can be done is to gather up the fragments, andto use them wisely in a new construction. An Indian neophyte came oneday to the mission, shouting: 'Moses, Isaiah, Abraham, Christ, John theBaptist!' When out of breath, the brethren asked him what he meant. 'Imean a glass of cider. ' If the peace party were as frank as the Indian, they would tell us that their cry signifies place, power, self. Theprodigal sons of the South are to be lured back by promises of pardon, indemnification, niggers _ad libitum_, before they have satiatedthemselves with the husks which seem to have fallen to their portion, and are willing to confess that they have sinned against heaven andagainst their country. The arms of the peace men are open; the bestrobe, the ring, the fatted calf are ready. All that is asked in returnis a Union (as it was) of votes, influence, and contributions, to placethe party in power and to keep it there. 

These misguided Democrats owe to Jefferson the war cries they shout andthe arms they are using against the Government. His works are an arsenalwhere these weapons of sedition are arranged ready for use, bright andin good order, and none of them as yet superseded by modernimprovements. He first made excellent practice with the word'unconstitutional, ' an engine dangerous and terrible to theAdministration against which it is worked; and of easy construction, forit can be prepared out of anything or nothing. Jefferson found it veryeffective in annoying and embarrassing the Government in his campaigns. But as he foresaw that the time must come when the Supreme Court of theUnited States would overpower this attack, he adapted, with greatingenuity, to party warfare the theory of States' Rights, which in 1787had nearly smothered the Constitution in its cradle. This dangerouscontrivance he used vigorously against the alien and sedition law, without considering that his blows were shaking the Union itself. Mr. Calhoun looked upon the Kentucky Resolutions (Jefferson's own work) asthe bill of rights of nullification, and wrote for a copy of them in1828 to use in preparing his manifesto of the grievances of SouthCarolina. It is unnecessary to allude to the triumph of these doctrinesat the South under the name of secession. 

As Jefferson soon perceived that a well-disciplined band of needyexpectants was the only sure resort in elections, he hit upon rotationin office as the cheapest and most stimulating method of paying theregular soldiers of party for their services (if successful) on thesecritical occasions. But as a wise general not only prepares his attack, but carefully secures a retreat in case his men push too far in the heatof conflict, Jefferson suggested the plan of an elective judiciary, which he foresaw might prove of great advantage to those whose zealshould outrun the law. He even recommended rebellion in populargovernments as a political safety valve; and talked about Shay's War andthe Whiskey Insurrection in the same vein and almost the same languagethat was lately used to the rioters of New York by their friends andfellow voters. And he and his followers shouted then, as theirdescendants shout now, 'Liberty is in danger!' 'The last earthly hope ofrepublican institutions resides in our ranks!' Jefferson is alsoentitled to the credit of naturalizing in the United States the phrasesof the French Revolution: virtue of the people; reason of the people;natural rights of man, etc. --that Babylonish dialect, as John Adamscalled it, which in France meant something, but in this country wasmere cant. Jefferson knew that here all were people, and that no set ofmen, whether because of riches or of poverty, had the right to arrogateto themselves this distinction. But he also knew that in Europe thisdistinction did exist, and that the emigrants who were coming in suchnumbers all belonged to the lower class, there called people. Of coursethese flattering phrases would win their ears and their votes for thepeople's ticket, against an imaginary aristocracy. Thus might be securedan army of obedient voters, knowing nothing but their orders, andthinking of nothing but the pleasing idea that they were the rulers. 

These useful inventions are enough to immortalize any man. His theory, that the rich only should be taxed, as an indirect form of agrarianism, ought not to be forgotten, for we see it daily carried out; and hisdarling doctrine, that no generation can bind its successors, will cometo light again and life whenever a party may think the repudiation ofour war debt likely to be a popular measure. Indeed, there is scarcely aform of disorganization and of disorder which Jefferson does not extractfrom some elementary principle or natural right. We do not mean toaccuse him of doing wrong deliberately. Jefferson was an optimist. Allwas for the best--at least, all that he did; for he was naturallypredisposed to object to any measure which did not originate withhimself or had not been submitted to his judgment. His elementaryprinciples were always at his call. They were based upon reason: howcould they be wrong? His mind grasped quickly all upon the surface thatsuited his purpose; deeper he did not care to go. In deciding whetherany political doctrine was consistent or inconsistent with naturalreason, he generally judged of it by his reason--and this varied withhis position, his interest, his feelings. He probably was not aware ofthe extent of his mutations; his mind was fixed on the results to beobtained--always the same: the gratification of his wishes. His was aVicar-of-Bray kind of logic. The ultimate results of his dealings, asaffecting others and the nation at large, he apparently was unable toconsider, or put them aside for the time; taking it for granted, in acareless way, that all must come well. 

Thus as times changed, he changed with them. Laws, measures, customs, men, that seemed useful and praiseworthy when he was a privateindividual, appeared pernicious and wicked to the Secretary of State orto the President. His life and writings are full of self-contradictions, or rather of self-refutations, for he seems to forget that he had everthought differently. Men of sense modify their opinions as they advancein years and in wisdom, but very few men of sense have helddiametrically different opinions on almost every important question thathas come before them. 

Jefferson satisfied himself early in life that slavery was wrong, morally and economically. On no subject has he expressed himself moredecidedly. When a very young member of the Assembly of Virginia, heseconded Colonel Bland's motion to extend the protection of the laws toslaves. Bland was treated roughly, and the matter dropped. FromJefferson's original draft of the Declaration of Independence a longpassage on the iniquity of slavery and the slave trade was stricken outby Congress. In 1778 he introduced a bill prohibiting the importation ofslaves into Virginia. Two years later he wrote the well-known pages inthe 'Notes. ' In 1783 it was proposed to adopt a new constitution inVirginia; Jefferson drew one up, and inserted an article grantingliberty to all persons born of slave parents after the year 1800. Fromthat time his zeal began to cool. He perceived that his views wereunpopular at the South. The 'Notes' had been printed for privatecirculation only; when Châstellux asked permission to publish them inFrance, Jefferson consented on the condition that all passages relatingto slavery should be stricken out. [A] Although he adopted so heartilythe most extravagant doctrines of the French Revolution on the naturalrights of mankind, among which liberty, equality, fraternity certainlyranked first, he quietly ignored the claims of the American black to ashare in the bright future that was promised to the human race. The actof Congress prohibiting the importation of slaves came into force in1808. It was well received by slave owners, for it increased the valueof the homemade 'article. ' Jefferson could safely approve of it. He didso warmly. With that exception his silence on this great question wasprofound during the period of his power; but he had no language tootheatrical for liberty in the abstract, nor too violent for despots whowere three thousand miles away, and with whose oppressions the people ofthe United States had no concern whatever. When the debates on theadmission of Missouri brought up this ever-recurring question again tothe exclusion of all others, Jefferson spoke to sneer at the friends offreedom. The Federalists had found out that their cherished monarchical'form' would get them no adherents, and so were trying to throw a newtub to the whale by appealing to the virtuous sentiments of the people. He was in favor of making Missouri a Slave State. To extend the area ofslavery would increase the comfort of the slaves without adding one moreto their number, and would improve their chances for emancipation. Itwould also relieve Virginia from the burden that was weighing herdown--slaves being rather cheaper there than horses--and would enableher to export her surplus crop of negroes; perhaps eventually to disposeof them all. This last notion, by the way, gives us a pretty good ideaof Jefferson's practical knowledge of political economy. 

His chief objection to the new constitution, when he first saw it, wasthe omission in it of a bill of rights providing for the 'eternal andunremitting force of the habeas corpus act'--and for the freedom of thepress. When Colonel Burr was arrested, Jefferson, who, by the way, showed a want of dignity and self-respect throughout the affair, waseager to suspend the habeas corpus act, and got a bill to that effectpassed by one branch of Congress; it was lost in the other. This was thefirst instance in the history of the United States. The many fine thingshe had said on the integrity and independence of judges did not preventhim from finding bitter fault with Chief-Justice Marshall for notconvicting Burr. He accused Marshall and the whole tribe of Federalistsof complicity in Burr's conspiracy. Poor old Paine, then near his end, who was one of Jefferson's jackals of the press, informed theChief-Justice, through the _Public Advertiser_, that he was 'a suspectedcharacter. ' When Jefferson had felt the pricking of the Federal quills, he began to think differently of the freedom of the press. Once, in thesafety of private station, he had got off this antithesis: if he had tochoose between a government without newspapers, and newspapers without agovernment, he should prefer the latter. But when in his turn he feltthe stings that previously, under his management, had goaded evenWashington out of his self-control, Jefferson could not help saying that'a suspension of the press would not more completely deprive the nationof its benefits than is done by its abandoned prostitution tofalsehood. '

Before September, 1791, Mr. Jefferson thought that our affairs wereproceeding in a train of unparalleled prosperity, owing to the realimprovements of the Government, and the unbounded confidence reposed init by the people. Soon a jealousy of Hamilton came upon him, and thedispleasure of playing a second part: he began to look for relief in theranks of the malcontents. He then perceived monarchical longings in theAdministration party, and prophesied corruption, despotism, and a lossof liberty forever, if they were to be allowed to interpret theConstitution in their way. Washington was the Atlas whose broadshoulders bore up the Federalists. Bache, of the _Aurora_, with whomJefferson's word was law, and Freneau, of the _Gazette_, who hadreceived from Jefferson a clerkship in the Department of State, accusedthe General of a desire to subvert the Constitution: the reserve of hismanners was said to proceed from an affectation of royalty; they evenventured to charge him with perverting the public money. Jeffersonrefused to check these base attacks, and wrote in the same vein himselfin the famous letter to Mazzei. But after the battle had been fought, heperceived that Washington had a hold stronger than party feelings on theaffections of Americans. It would never do to leave his name and fame inthe custody of Federalists. And so Mr. Jefferson turned about and deniedthat he had ever made any charges against General Washington. On thecontrary, he felt certain that Washington did not harbor one principleof Federalism. He was neither an Angloman, a monarchist, nor aseparatist. Bache he (Jefferson) knew nothing about; over Freneau he hadno control; and the Mazzei letter had been misprinted andmisinterpreted. In spite of his hatred of England, and his fears lestthe English 'form' should be adopted in the United States, Jefferson, in1788, had recommended the English form to Lafayette for the use ofFrance. And in spite of the admiration for France, which with him andthe Democrats was an essential article of the party faith, he tookoffence with the French Government because they sided with Spain in thedispute on the boundary line between Louisiana and Florida, and proposedto Madison an alliance with England against France and Spain. ButMadison kept him steady. Six months later he accused John Randolph, whohad abandoned the party, of entertaining the intolerable heresy of aleague with England. 

Mr. Jefferson once thought it necessary that the United States shouldpossess a naval force. It would be less dangerous to our liberties thanan army, and a cheaper and more effective weapon of offence. 'The sea isthe field on which we should meet a European enemy. ' 'We can always havea navy as strong as the weaker nations. ' And he suggested that thirtyships, carrying 1, 800 guns, and manned by 14, 400 men, would be anadequate force. But the New Englanders, those bitter Federalists, lovedthe sea, lived by foreign trade, and wanted a fleet to protect theirmerchantmen. Mr. Jefferson's views became modified. He took a strongdislike to the naval service. He condemned the use of the navy by thelate President, and wished to sell all the public armed vessels. Finding, however, that the maritime tastes of the nation were too strongfor him, he hit upon the plan of a land navy as the nearestapproximation to no navy at all. Gunboats were to be hauled out of thewater, and kept in drydocks under sheds, in perfect preservation. Afleet of this kind only needed a corps of horse marines to complete itsefficiency. The Federalists laughed at these 'mummy frigates, ' and sangin a lullaby for Democratic babes this stanza:

 'In a cornfield, high and dry, Sat gunboat Number One; Wiggle waggle went her tail, Pop went her gun. '

The pleasantry is feeble; but the inborn absurdity of this amphibiousscheme was too great even for the Democrats. Mr. Jefferson was forced, in the teeth of theory, to send a squadron against the Barbary pirates. He consoled himself by ordering the commodore not to overstep thestrict line of defence, and to make no captures. It was to be a displayof latent force. Strange as it may seem, he once doubted the expediencyof encouraging immigration. Emigrants from absolute monarchies, as theyall were, they would either bring with them the principles of governmentimbibed in early youth, or exchange these for an unboundedlicentiousness. 'It would be a miracle were they to stop precisely atthe point of temperate liberty. ' Would it not be better for the nationto grow more slowly, and have a more 'homogeneous, more peaceable, andmore durable' government? But when it was found at a later day that thenew comers placed themselves at once in opposition to the better classesand voted the Democratic ticket almost to a man, Jefferson proposed thatthe period of residence required by the naturalization laws to qualify avoter should be shortened. He had no objection to coercion before 1787. Speaking of the backwardness of some of the colonies in paying theirquota of the Confederate expenses, he recommends sending a frigate tomake them more punctual. 'The States must see the rod, perhaps some ofthem must be made to feel it. ' His somersets of opinion and conduct areendless. Once he talked of opening a market in the neighboring coloniesby force; at another time he advised his countrymen to abandon the seaand let other nations carry for us; in 1785 we find him going abroad tonegotiate commercial treaties with all Europe. He objected to internalimprovements, and he sanctioned the Cumberland road. He proclaimed allgovernments naturally hostile to the liberties of the people, until hehimself became a government. He made the mission to Russia for Mr. Short, regardless of repeated declarations that the public businessabroad could be done better with fewer and cheaper ambassadors. Theunlucky sedition law was so unconstitutional in his judgment that hefelt it to be his duty, as soon as he mounted the throne, to pardon allwho had been convicted under it. But before he left the White House heattempted to put down Federal opposition in the same way. Judges wereimpeached; United States attorneys brought libel suits against editors, and even prosecuted such men as Judge Reeve and the Rev. Mr. Backus ofConnecticut. It was a pet doctrine of Jefferson that one generation hadno right to bind a succeeding one; hence every constitution and all lawsshould become null and every national debt void at the end of nineteenyears, or of whatever period should be ascertained to be the averageduration of human life after the age of twenty-one. He adhered to thisnotion through life, although Mr. Madison, when urged by him to expoundit, gently pointed out its absurdity. When the news of the massacres ofSeptember reached the United States at an unfortunate moment for theFrancoman party, Jefferson forgot this elementary principle and hislogic. He professed that he deplored the bloody fate of the victims asmuch as any man, but they had perished for the sake of futuregenerations, and that thought consoled him. Finally, the man who hadannounced in a public address, that he considered it a moral duty neverto subscribe to a lottery, nor to engage in a game of chance, petitionedthe Legislature of Virginia for permission to dispose of his house andlands in a raffle, and in his memorial recapitulated his services to thecountry to strengthen his claim upon their indulgence. 

Jefferson professed great faith in human nature; but he meant the humannature of the uneducated and the poor. Kings, rulers, nobles, richpersons, and generally all of the party opposed to him, were hopelesslywrong. The errors of the people, when they committed any, wereaccidental and momentary; but in the other class, they were proofs of anineradicable perversity. His faith in human reason as the only powerfor good government must have been shaken by the students of hisuniversity in Virginia. Their lawless conduct seemed to indicate thatthe time had hardly yet come when the old and vulgar method of authorityand force could be dispensed with. The University of Virginia was afavorite project of Jefferson and an honorable memorial of his love ofeducation and of letters. Although it may be considered a failure, ithas failed from no fault of his. But we may judge of the real extent ofJefferson's toleration, when we read in a letter written about thisuniversity: 'In the selection of our law professor we must be rigorouslyattentive to his political principles. '

It is easy to know what would be Jefferson's position if by some miracleof nature he were living in these times. If at the South, he would be aman of brave words--showing it to be a natural right of the white man toown and to chastise his negro--and proving, from elementary principles, that slavery is the result of the supremacy of reason and the cornerstone of civilized society. Had the advantages of the North led him todesert Monticello for the banks of the Hudson, he would have opposed theAdministration, acting and talking much like a certain high official, 'letting I dare not wait upon I would'--for Jefferson was not a boldman, was master of the art of insinuating his opinions instead ofstating them manfully, and never advanced so far as to make retreatimpossible. 

The truth is that there was nothing great nor even imposing inJefferson's mental nor in his moral qualities. He expressed himself wellin conversation and on paper, although a little pedagogical in manner, and too much given to epithet in style. The literary claims of theauthor of the Declaration of Independence cannot be passed over lightly. His mind was active; catching quickly the outlines of a subject, hejumped at the conclusion which pleased his fancy, without lookingbeneath the surface. [B] He was curious in all matters of art, literature, and science, but his curiosity was easily appeased. He ravesabout Ossian, gazes for hours on the Maison Carrée at Nismes, writesletters to Paine on arcs and catenaries, busies himself withvocabularies, natural history, geology, discourses magisterially aboutNewton and Lavoisier, and studies nothing thoroughly. One can see by theway in which he handles his technical terms that he does not know theuse of them. He was a smatterer of that most dangerous kind, who feelcertain they have arrived at truth. Like so many other children of theeighteenth century, he rejected the past with disdain, but was blindlycredulous of the future; and was ready to embrace an absurdity if itcame in a new and scientific shape. The marquises and abbés he met inFrance had dreamed over elementary principles of society and government, until they had lost themselves in wandering mazes like Milton'sspeculative and erring angels. He believed that those gay _philosophes_had discovered the magical stone of social science, and that misery andsin would be transmuted into virtue and happiness. It was only necessaryto kill all the kings and to confide in the reason and virtue of thepeople, and the thing was done. The scenes of 1789 stimulatedJefferson's natural tendency beyond the bounds of common sense. Heasserted that Indians without a government were better off thanEuropeans with one, and that half the world a desert with only an Adamand Eve left in each country to repopulate it would be an improvement inthe condition of Europe. He became a bigot of liberalism. Luckily hehad his American blood and practical education to restrain him, or hemight have been as foolish as Brissot and as rabid as Marat. As it was, he could not help perceiving in his calmer moments that this new path tothe glorious future which the _philosophes_ were pointing out to theircountrymen, had been for many years in America the well-worn high roadof the nation. 

On most subjects, Jefferson's opinions were dictated by his feelings. Hetakes so little pains to conceal this weakness, that we can hardlysuppose he was aware of it. Contradiction he could not bear. Oppositionof any kind produced a bitter feeling. Vanity, latent perhaps, butacrid, corroded his judgment of his adversaries. In France GoverneurMorris remarked that he was too fond of calling fools those who did notagree with him; a sure sign of want of strength. Great minds areessentially tolerant of the opinions of others. They know how easy it isto err. There was a good deal, too, of the Pharisee about Jefferson. 'Hewas of no party, nor yet a trimmer between parties. If he could not goto heaven but with a party, he would not go there at all. ' But hethanked God he was not as the Federalists were: Anglomen, monarchists, workers of corruption! nor even as this Washington! He boasted, too, that he had never written a line for the public press; his method was tosuggest his views to others, and employ them to put them into print. 

Careful not to speak out too boldly when it was not altogether safe todo so, and wanting rather in moral courage, he was a persevering man, pursuing his plans with the eagerness of women, who always have athousand excellent reasons, however illogical and inconsistent they maybe, for doing as they please--and like women, he was not over scrupulousas to the means he employed to reach his object. 

The same envious vanity and inability to resist his feelings whichwarped his judgment into so many contradictions, led him into actionsthat have damaged his character as a gentleman. For instance, hisbehavior to Washington. When a member of Washington's cabinet, protesting the warmest friendship to him, his confidential adviser byvirtue of the office he held, he permitted, not to say encouraged, thoseattacks in Freneau's paper which were outrages on common decency. Hisintimacy with the President enabled him to judge of the effect of theblows. He noticed, with the cool precision of an experimental observer, the symptoms of pain and annoyance which Washington could not alwaysconceal. Freneau was Jefferson's clerk; a word would have stopped him. 'But I will not do it, ' Jefferson says; 'his paper has saved ourConstitution, which was galloping forth into monarchy. ' Jefferson'sunderhand attack upon Vice-President Adams, in the note he wrote by wayof preface to the American publisher of Paine's 'Rights of Man, ' is adomestic treachery of the same kind, though very much less in degree. That note might have been written on the impulse of the moment; but whatshall we say of his practice of committing to paper Hamilton's sayingsin the freedom of after-dinner conversation--a time when open-heartedmen are apt to forget that there may be a Judas at table--and of savingthem up to be used against him in the future? Jefferson explains awaythese and other dubious passages in his life with great ingenuity. Hehad to make such explanations too often. An apology implies a mistake, wilful or accidental. Too many indicate, to say the least, a lack ofdiscretion. What a difference between these explanations, evasions, excuses, denials, and the majestic manliness of Washington, who neverdid or wrote or said anything which he hesitated to avow openly andwithout qualification!

Another dissimilarity between these two worth heeding, is Jefferson'swant of that thrift which produces independence, comfort, andself-respect. He lived beyond his means, and died literally a beggar. 

Jefferson was deficient in that happy combination of courage, energy, judgment, and probity, which mankind call character, for want of a moredistinctive word--but which, in fact, in its highest expression, isgenius on the moral side. It commands the respect of mankind more thanthe most brilliant faculties--and it accomplishes more. We have only tolook at Washington's life to see what can be done by it. 

When Governor of Virginia during the Revolutionary War, Jefferson showeda want of spirit and of action; the same deficiency was more painfullyconspicuous in his dealings with the Barbary pirates and in the affairof the Leopard and Chesapeake. The insults and spoliations of theEnglish and French under the orders in council and the Berlin and Milandecrees were borne with equal meekness. He was for peace at all hazards, and economy at any price. When at last he found he had exhausted hisfavorite method, and that neither 'time, reason, justice, nor a truersense of their own interests' produced any effect upon the obstinateaggressors, he could desire no better means of checking theirdepredations upon our trade than to order our merchants to lay up theirships and shut up their shops. It was a Japanese stroke of policy--torevenge an insult by disembowelling oneself--hari kari applied to anation. 

His was indeed a brilliant theory of government, if we take him at hisword. At home, freedom was to be invigorated by occasional rebellions, not to be put down too sharply, for fear of discouraging the people--thetree of liberty was to be watered with blood. Abroad, custom-houseregulations would keep the peace of the seas. Embargo andnon-intercourse must bring France and England to their good behavior. 

Mr. Jefferson had his political panacea: all disorders would infalliblybe cured by it. He puffed it in his journals and extolled its virtues inhis state papers. He congratulated his countrymen upon his election; hecalled it the revolution of 1800. Now at length they could try thepanacea. What wonders did it work? The Federalists can point to theresults of their twelve years of power: credit created out ofbankruptcy; prosperity out of union; a great nation made out of thirteensmall ones--an achievement far beyond that Themistocles could boast of. Jefferson added the Louisiana Territory to the Union; but this, the onlysolid result of his Administration, was totally inconsistent with hisprinciples. Did he render any other service to the country? We know ofnone. His 'Quaker' theories and 'terrapin' policy increased the contemptof our enemies, cost the nation millions of money to no purpose, andmade the war of 1812 inevitable. 

No one can deny that Jefferson was a monster of party tactics andstrategy. He knew well how to get up a cry, to excite the _odiumvulgare_ against his antagonists, to play skilfully upon the classfeeling of poor against rich, and to turn to profit every popularweakness and meanness. He drilled and organized his followers, and ledthem well disciplined to victory. But on the grander field ofstatesmanship he was wanting. He was what Bonaparte called anideologist. A principle, however true, may fail in its application, because other principles, equally true, may then come into action andvitiate the result. These collateral principles Jefferson never deignedto consider. He had no conception of expediency, of which a wisestatesman never loses sight. Results he thought must be advantageous, provided processes were according to his principles. His object appearsto have been rather a government after his theories than a goodgovernment. And in this respect he is the type of the impracticable andmischief-making class of reformers numerous in this country. 

Jefferson seems to have been unable to grasp the real politicalcharacter of the American people, the path they were destined to tread, the shape their institutions must necessarily take. He was possessedwith the idea that liberty was in danger, and that the attempt was madeto change the republic into a monarchy, perhaps a despotism. Thisdelirious fancy beset him by day and was a terror by night. He washaunted by the likeness of a kingly crown. Hamilton and Adams werewriting and planning to place it upon somebody's head. Federalistsenators, congressmen, Revolutionary soldiers, were transformed intomonarchists and Anglomen. Grave judges appeared to his distemperedvision in the guise of court lawyers and would-be ambassadors. TheCincinnati lowered over the Constitution eternally. The Supreme Court ofthe United States was the stronghold in which the principle oftyrannical power, elsewhere only militant, was triumphant. Hamilton'sfunding system was a scheme to corrupt the country. Even the statelyform of Washington rose before him in the shape of Samson shorn by theharlot England. Strange as it may seem, Jefferson persisted in hisdelusion to the end. A man in his position ought to have seen that inspite of the old connection with the British crown, the States were andalways had been essentially republican in feelings, manners, and forms. Nowhere in the world had local self-government been carried to suchextent and perfection. To build up a monarchy out of the thirteencolonies was impracticable. Washington, more clear sighted, said thatany government but a republic was impossible: there were not ten men inthe United States whose opinions were worth attention who entertainedthe thought of a monarchy. In his judgment the danger lay in the otherdirection. The weakness of the Government, not its strength, might leadto despotism through license and anarchy. He desired to keep the risingtide of democracy within bounds by every legitimate barrier that couldbe erected, lest it should overflow the country and sweep away allgovernment. Jefferson was for throwing open the floodgates to admit it. He thought himself justified in combating the monarchists of hishallucinations by every means, however illegal and unconstitutional. Washington warned him and his followers that they were 'systematicallypursuing measures which must eventually dissolve the Union or producecoercion. ' Jefferson, deaf to the admonition, pressed on, and, likeDiomede at the siege of Troy, wounded a divinity when he thought he wascontending only with fellow men. With his Kentucky Resolutions he gavethe first stab to the Union and the Constitution. What were Burr'schildish schemes, which would have fallen to the ground from their ownweakness, compared with that? From Jefferson through Calhoun toJefferson Davis the diabolic succession of conspirators is complete. 

THE ENGLISH PRESS. 

II. 

It has become the fashion to sneer at the Long Parliament: but for allthis it cannot be denied that that assemblage rendered services ofincalculable importance to the state. Extreme old age forms at all timesan object of pity, and, with the thoughtless and inconsiderate, it isbut too often an object of ridicule and contempt. Many a great man has, ere now, survived to reach this sad stage in his career; but it does nottherefore follow that the glorious deeds of his prime are to be ignoredor forgotten. As it has been with the distinguished warrior or statesmanor author, so it is with the Long Parliament. England owes it a greatdebt of gratitude on many accounts, but the one with which we have moreespecially to do on the present occasion is, that with it originated thecustom of making public proceedings in Parliament. By this act was thesupremacy of the people over the Parliament acknowledged, for the verypublication of its transactions was an appeal to the people for approvaland support. This printed record of parliamentary affairs came out in1641, and was entitled _The Diurnal Occurrences, or Daily Proceedings ofboth Houses in this great and happy Parliament, from the 3d of November, 1640, to the 3d of November, 1641. _ The speeches delivered from thefirst date down to the following June were also published in twovolumes, and in 1642 weekly instalments appeared under various titles, such as _The Heads of all the Proceedings of both Houses ofParliament--Account of Proceedings of both Houses of Parliament--Aperfect Diurnal of the Passages in Parliament_, etc. , etc. There was noreporter's gallery in those days, and the Parliament only printed _whatthey pleased_; still this was a step in the right direction. AfterParliaments occasionally evinced bitter hostility toward the press, butthat which boasted Sawyer Lenthal for its speaker was its friend (at allevents, at first, though afterward, as we shall notice by and by, itdisplayed some animosity against its early _protegé_), and from thismeagre beginning took its rise that which is beyond doubt one of themost important domestic functions of the press at the present day. 

The abolition of the great bugbear and tyrant of printers--that infamousmockery of a legal tribunal, the Star Chamber--was another giganticobstacle cleared away from the path of journalism. The _Newes Bookes_, which, in spite of all difficulties, had already become abundant, nowissued forth in swarms. They treated _de rebus omnibus et quibusdamaliis_. Most of them were political or polemical pamphlets, and boastedextraordinary titles. There is a splendid collection of these in theBritish Museum, collected by the Rev. W. Thomason, and presented to thenation by King George III. We will mention a few of them. Acontroversial religious tract rejoices in the title of _A fresh bit ofMutton for those fleshy-minded Cannibals that cannot endure Pottage. _ Apolitical skit upon Prince Rupert is styled _An exact Description ofPrince Rupert's malignant She-Monkey, a great Delinquent_, and has acomical woodcut upon the title page of the animal, in a cap andpetticoat and with a sword by its side. This pamphlet is printed partlyin ordinary modern type and partly in black letter. Another pamphlet inthe form of dialogue is directed against the abuses of the laws, especially at one of the infamous 'comptoirs' of the time. It is called_Wonderfull Strange Newes from Wood Street Countor--yet not so Strangeas True, being proved by lamentable Experience, the relation of which_

 'Will make you laugh, 'twill make you cry; 'Twill make you mad, 'twill make you try. '

Another is _Newes, true Newes, laudable Newes, Citie Newes, CountrieNewes, the World is Mad or it is a Mad World, my Masters, especially inthe Antipodes, these Things are come to passe_. This is a satiricaldescription of manners and customs on 'the other side of the world, ' thewriter asserting that in those regions everything is the exact oppositeof what takes place among us, so that there beggars ride in carriagesand are highly esteemed, men of title are of no account, lawyers take nofees, and bailiffs decline to arrest debtors, etc. , etc. There is also avery quaint woodcut of the world and the heavens, the four winds, etc. , with an astrologer and other persons looking at them. Very many of thesepamphlets are actual relations of occurrences in different parts of thekingdom and in foreign countries. Thus we find, _Victorious Newes fromWaterford_; _The joyfullest Newes from Hull that ever came to London ofthe Proceedings of the Earl of Warwick's Shipps_; _The best and happiestNewes from Ireland, from the Army before Kildare_; _Newes fromBlackheath concerning the Meeting of the Kentish Men_; _Exceedinglyjoyfull Newes from Holland_; _The best Newes that ever was Printed_, consists of, 1. _Prince Rupert's Resolution to bee gone to his Mother, who hath sent for him_; 2. _His Majestie's royall Intentions declared tojoyne with the Parliament in a treaty of Peace_; 3. _The Particulars ofthe High Court of Parliament drawn up to be sent to his Majesty forPeace_; 4. _Directions from the Lords and Commons directed to theCommanders for the ordering of the Army. _ One _quaint_ title presents avery odd association: _Newes from Hell and Rome and the Innes of Court_. The contending parties appear to have suited their titles to thesubstance of the _Newes_ they chronicled accordingly as it affectedtheir interests. Thus, while many pamphlets bore the titles of_Glorious_, _Joyful_, _Victorious_, etc. , others were dubbed _HorribleNewes_, _Terrible News_, and so forth. By far the greater number ofthese were issued by the partisans of the Parliament; but the Royalistswere by no means idle, and the king carried about a travelling printingpress, as is evidenced by several proclamations, manifestoes, etc. , issued at Oxford, Worcester, York, and other places, sometimes inordinary type, sometimes in black letter, by 'Robert Barker, hisMajestie's Printer. ' All the emanations of the press were not, however, mere isolated pamphlets, but there was a large crop of periodicals, suchas _The Kingdom's Weekly Intelligencer_--_The Royal Diurnall_, etc. About this time the name _Mercurius_ began to be very freely adopted forthese periodicals. It had been already, for a long time, assumed as a_nom de plume_ by writers and printers, but the title was nowassigned to the publications themselves. One of the earliest ofthese was _Mercurius Aulicus_, a scurrilous print in the interestof the court party--as its name imports--which first appeared in 1642. Others were entitled respectively _Mercurius Britannicus_--_MercuriusAnti-Britannicus_--_Mercurius Fumigosus, a Smoaking Nocturnal_--_MercuriusPragmaticus_--_Mercurius Anti-Pragmaticus_--_Mercurius MercuriorumStultissimus_--_Mercurius Insanus Insanissimus_--_MercuriusDiabolicus_--_Mercurius Mastix, faithfully lashing all Scouts, Mercuries, Posts, Spyes, and others_--_Mercurius Radamanthus, the Chief Judge of Hell, his Circuits through all the Courts of Law in England_, etc. , etc. Othernewspapers bore such quaint titles as the following: _The Dutch Spye_--_TheScots Dove_--_The Parliament Kite_--_The Secret Owle_--_The ParliamentScreech Owle_, and other ornithological monstrosities. Party spirit ranhigh, and the contending scribes carried on a most foul and savage warfare, and demolished their adversaries, both political and literary, withoutthe slightest compunction or mercy. Some of these brochures were solelydirected against the utterances of one particular rival scribe, as isshown by one or two of the titles above quoted. Doctor Johnson says:

 'When any title grew popular, it was stolen by the antagonist, who by this stratagem conveyed his notions to those who would not have received him had he not worn the appearance of a friend. '

According to Mr. Nichols' the printer's list, there were no less thanthree hundred and fifty of these _Mercuries_ and _Newes Bookes_published between 1642 and 1665, a list that would no doubt be largelyswollen could the titles of all that have perished and left no tracebehind be ascertained. These _Mercuries_ appeared at differentintervals, but none oftener than three times a week, and their price wasgenerally one penny, but sometimes twopence. 

Many of the writers were nothing but venal hirelings, and changed sidesreadily enough when their own private interests seemed to render itdesirable. One of the most famous--or infamous, according to Anthony àWood, who describes him as 'a most seditious, mutable, and railingwriter, siding with the rout and scum of the people, making them weeklysport by railing at all that was noble, ' etc. --was Marchmont Nedham. In1643 he brought out the _Mercurius Britannicus_, one of the ablestperiodicals on the Parliamentary side, whatever honest old Anthony maysay to the contrary. But, being imprisoned for libel, he thought it bestto change his politics, and for two years appeared as an ultra-virulentRoyalist partisan in the _Mercurius Pragmaticus_. After the execution ofCharles the First, however, he returned to his old party, and advocatedtheir cause in the _Mercurius Politicus_, which purported to bepublished 'in defence of the commonwealth and for information of thepeople. ' After some years he fell into temporary disgrace, but was soonreceived again into favor by the House of Commons, which passed a votein August, 1659, 'that Marchmont Nedham, gentleman, be and hereby isrestored to be writer of the _Publick Intelligence_ as formerly. ' At theRestoration he was discharged from his office, but contrived to make hispeace with the party in power, and, true to his instincts, changed hispolitical creed once more for that of the winning side, but withoutsucceeding in being reinstated in his old post. The other mostnoteworthy writers of _Mercuries_ were John Birkenhead, author of the_Mercurius Aulicus_, Peter Heylin, Bruno Ryves--all parsons--and JohnTaylor, the Water Poet, author of the _Mercurius Aquaticus_. 

Nothing was too great or too small for the writers of these _Mercuries_, nothing too exalted or too mean. Nothing was sacred in their eyes; themost private affairs were dragged into the political arena, and familyand domestic matters, that had nothing whatever to do with public life, were paraded before the world. Bitter personalities and invective seemto be inseparable concomitants of the early stage of journalism in allcountries. This was the case in France and Germany; it is the case inRussia at the present day. That it was the case in America, let thefollowing extract from Franklin's private correspondence testify:

 'The inconsistency that strikes me the most is that between the name of your city, Philadelphia, and the spirit of rancor, malice, and hatred that breathes in the newspapers. For I learn from those papers that State is divided into parties, that each party ascribes all the public operations of the other to vicious motives, that they do not even suspect one another of the smallest degree of honesty, that the anti-Federalists are such merely from the fear of losing power, places, or emoluments, which they have in possession or expectation; that the Federalists are a set of conspirators, who aim at establishing a tyranny over the persons and property of their countrymen and who live in splendor on the plunder of the people. I learn, too, that your justices of the peace, though chosen by their neighbors, make a villanous trade of their offices, and promote discord to augment fees, and fleece their electors; and that this would not be mended were the choice in the Executive Council, who, with interested or party aims, are continually making as improper appointments, witness a 'petty fiddler, sycophant, and scoundrel' appointed judge of the admiralty, an 'old woman and fomentor of sedition' to be another of the judges, and 'a Jeffreys' chief justice, etc. , etc. , with 'harpies, ' the comptroller and naval officers, to prey upon the merchants, and deprive them of their property by force of arms, etc. I am informed, also, by these papers, that your General Assembly, though the annual choice of the people, shows no regard to their rights, but from sinister views or ignorance makes laws in direct violation of the Constitution, to divest the inhabitants of their property, and give it to strangers and intruders, and that the Council, either fearing the resentment of their constituents or plotting to enslave them, had projected to disarm them, and given orders for that purpose; and, finally, that your President, the unanimous joint choice of the Council and Assembly, is 'an old rogue, who gave his assent to the Federal Constitution merely to avoid refunding money he had purloined from the United States. ' There is, indeed, a good deal of man's inconsistency in all this, and yet a stranger, seeing it in our own prints, though he does not believe it all, may probably believe enough of it to conclude that Pennsylvania is peopled by a set of the most unprincipled, wicked, rascally, and quarrelsome scoundrels upon the face of the globe. I have sometimes, indeed, suspected that those papers are the manufacture of foreigners among you, who write with the view of disgracing your country, and making you appear contemptible and detestable all the world over; but then I wonder at the indiscretion of your printers in publishing such writings. There is, however, one of your inconsistencies that consoles me a little, which is that though, living, you give one another the character of devils, dead, you are all angels. It is delightful, when any of you die, to read what good husbands, good fathers, good friends, good citizens, and good Christians you were, concluding with a scrap of poetry that places you with certainty in heaven. So that I think Pennsylvania a good country to die in, though a very bad one to live in. '

These remarks, which Franklin makes with such powerful irony, mightapply with equal force to a similar period in the newspaper history ofany country, and most of all to that of England. 

The worst features, perhaps, of these writers of _Mercuries_, were thereadiness with which they apostatized, and the systematic and unblushingmanner in which they sold their pens to the highest bidder, andprostituted the press to serve the purposes of their patrons. Mrs. Hutchinson, in the memoirs of her husband, Colonel Hutchinson, gives acurious instance of their venality:

 'Sir John Gell, of Derbyshire, kept the diurnall makers in pension, soe that whatever was done in the neighboring counties against the enemy, was attributed to him, and thus he hath indirectly purchased himself a name in story which he never merited. That which made his courage the more questioned was the care he tooke and the expense he was att to get it weekly mentioned in the diurnalls, so that when they had nothing else to renoune him for, they once put it that the troops of that valiant commander Sir John Gell tooke a dragoon with a plush doublet.... Mr. Hutchinson, on the other side, that did well for virtue's sake, and not for the vaine glory of it, never would give aniething to buy the flatteries of those scribblers; and, when one of them once, while he was in towne, made mention of something done at Nottingham, with falsehood, and had given Gell the glory of an action in which he was not concerned, Mr. Hutchinson rebuked him for it; whereupon the man begged his pardon, and told him he would write as much for him the next weeke; but Mr. Hutchinson told him he scorned his mercenary pen, and warned him not to dare to be in any of his concernments; whereupon the fellow was awed, and he had no more abuse of that kind. '

The _Mercuries_, however, were not allowed to have everything their ownway without any interference on the part of the powers that were. In1647, Sir Thomas Fairfax called the attention of the House of Lords, byletter, to the great number of unlicensed newspapers, with a view totheir suppression; but he adds, in mitigation of his attack:

 'That the kingdom's expectation may be satisfied in relation to intelligence till a firm peace be settled, considering the mischiefs that will happen by the poisonous writings of evil men sent abroad daily to abuse and deceive the people, that if the House shall see it fit, some two or three sheets may be permitted to come forth weekly, which may be licensed, and have some stamp of authoritie with them, and in respect of the former licenser, Mr. Mabbot, hath approved himself faithful in that service of licensing, and likewise in the service of the House and of this army, I humbly desire that he may be restored and continued in the same place of licenser. '

The result of this letter--which is remarkable, by the way, for itsmention of the licenser--was that the House of Lords issued an edict toforbid any such publications except with the license of one or bothHouses of Parliament, and with the name of the author, printer, andlicenser attached. The penalties for any evasion of this enactment were, for the writer, a fine of forty shillings or imprisonment for fortydays; for the printer, half that punishment, and the destruction of hispress and plant as well, and for the vendor a sound whipping and theconfiscation of his wares. A second instance of parliamentaryinterference took place in the same year, when a committee was appointedfor the purpose of discovering and punishing every one connected withthe publication of certain _Mercuries_. The licensing system continuedin force, but was not made much use of, although the scurrilities of thepress roused the Parliament every now and then into spasmodic efforts ofrepression. In addition to measures of this kind, Nedham's paper, fromits official character, was doubtless looked upon by the legislature asa sort of antidote to the poison diffused by other journalists. Thiscame out twice a week, on Mondays under the name of _The PublicIntelligencer_, and on Thursdays under that of _Mercurius Politicus_. When Nedham fell into disgrace at the Restoration, his paper was placedby Parliament in other hands, and the Monday title changed to that of_The Parliamentary Intelligencer_, though that of the Thursday's issueremained unaltered. The powers of the licenser were now much morestrictly exercised, and the _Mercuries_ gave up the ghost in shoals. In1662 an act was passed 'for preventing the frequent abuses in printingseditious, treasonable, and unlicensed books and pamphlets, and forregulating of printing and printing presses. ' It also divided the dutiesof the licenser, and the supervision of newspapers passed into the handsof the Secretary of State. Ireland was not slow to follow England'sexample, for, in Lord Mountmorris's 'History of the Irish Parliament, 'mention is made in 1662 'of a very extraordinary question' which 'aroseabout preventing the publication of the debates of the Irish Parliamentin an English newspaper called _The Intelligencer_, and a letter waswritten from the Speaker to Sir Edward Nicholas, the English Secretaryof State, to prevent these publications in those diurnalls, as they callthem. ' In 1661, _The Parliamentary Intelligencer_ was turned into _TheKingdom's Intelligencer_, and this last appellation was again changedfor that of _The Public Intelligencer_ in 1663. The celebrated RogerL'Estrange, who was then the public licenser, was the editor of thispaper, as also of an extra Thursday issue called _The News_. In thefirst number of this old friend with a new face, he says, among otherpros and cons as to the desirability of a newspaper:

 'Supposing the press in order, the people in their right wits, and news or no news to be the question, a public _Mercury_ should never have my vote, because I think it makes the multitude too familiar with the actions and counsels of their superiors, too pragmatical and censorious, and gives them not only an itch, but a kind of colorable right and license.... A gazette is none of the worst ways of address to the genius and humor of the common people, whose affections are much more capable of being turned and wrought upon by convenient hints and touches in the shape and air of a pamphlet than by the strongest reason and best notions imaginable under any other and more sober form whatsoever.... So that upon the main I perceive the thing requisite (for aught I can see yet). Once a week may do the business, for I intend to utter my news by weight, not by measure. Yet if I shall find, when my hand is in, and after the planting and securing of my correspondents, that the matter will fairly furnish more, without either uncertainty, repetition, or impertinence, I shall keep myself free to double at pleasure. One book a week may be expected, however, to be published every Thursday, and finished upon the Tuesday night, leaving Wednesday entire for the printing of it. '

The Newspaper was evidently developing itself--correspondents were a newfeature--but still it was very tardy and very far from being free. Fancya newspaper in the present day with no news more recent than that of theday before yesterday! In 1663 the title of _Public Intelligencer_ wasexchanged for that of _The Oxford Gazette_, so called because the courthad gone to Oxford on account of the plague. After the court's return tothe metropolis, _London_ was substituted, in 1666, for _Oxford_, andfrom that date to the present this, the first official or semi-officialorgan, has gone by the name of _The London Gazette_. The king caused anedition of it to be published in French, for the convenience, probably, of his accommodating banker, Louis the Fourteenth, and this editioncontinued to appear for about twenty years. 

Charles the Second was an unsparing and unscrupulous foe to the press, and put in practice every possible form of oppression in order to crushit. One's blood boils at the perusal of the persecutions to which thestruggling apostles of freedom of speech were subjected, so that thecontempt which this miserable 'king of shreds and patches' inspires inother respects wellnigh changes into positive hatred. But despite offine and imprisonment, scourge and pillory, the press toiled on steadilytoward its glorious goal. The Newspaper began to assume--as far as itscontents were concerned--the appearance which it wears at the presentday. Straggling advertisements had long ago appeared, the first onrecord being one offering a reward for the recovery of two horses thathad been stolen. This appeared in the first number of the _ImpartialIntelligencer_, in 1648. Booksellers and the proprietors of quackmedicines were among the earliest persons to discover the advantages ofadvertising, and in 1657 came out the _Public Advertiser_, whichconsisted almost entirely of advertisements. The following curiousnotification appeared in the _Mercurius Politicus_, of September 30, 1658:

 'That excellent and by all Physicians approved _China_ Drink, called by the _Chineans, Tcha_, by other Nations _Tay_, alias _Tee_, is sold at the _Sultaness' Head Cophee House_, in _Sweeting's_ Rents, by the Royal Exchange, _London_. '

The earliest illustrated paper is _Mercurius Civicus, London'sIntelligencer_, in 1643. The first commercial newspaper was a venture ofL'Estrange's in 1675, and was styled _The City Mercury, orAdvertisements concerning Trade_. The first literary paper issued fromthe press in 1680, under the denomination of _Mercurius Librarius, or aFaithful Account of all Books and Pamphlets_. The first sporting paperwas _The Jockey's Intelligencer, or Weekly Advertisements of Horses andSecond-hand Coaches to be Bought or Sold_, in 1683. The first medicalpaper, _Observations on the Weekly Bill, from July 27 to August 3, withDirections how to avoid the Dis eases now prevalent_, came out in 1686;and the first comic newspaper, _The Merrie Mercury_, in 1700. Notwithstanding these 'first appearances on any stage, ' there never wasa darker or more dismal period in the history of journalism. A greatnumber of newspapers had sprung up in consequence of the Popish Plot, and the exclusion of the Duke of York--the respectable admiralty clerkof Macaulay--from the throne; and with the intention of sweeping theseaway, a royal 'proclamation for suppressing the printing and publishingunlicensed news books and pamphlets of news' was put forth in 1680. Vigorous action against recalcitrants followed, and with such plianttools as those perjured wretches, Scroggs and Jeffreys, for judge andprosecutor, convictions and the 'extremest punishment of the law' becamea foregone conclusion. Doubtless there were many vile scribblers whodeserved to have the severest penalties inflicted upon them, but nodiscrimination was used, and good and bad alike experienced thevengeance of 'divine right. ' The aim of the abandoned monarch and hisadvisers was manifestly total extermination, and journalism appeared tobe at its last gasp. But though crushed and mutilated in every limb, andbleeding at every pore, faint respirations every now and then showedthat the vital spark still lingered. But brighter days were at hand. That festering mass of mental and bodily corruption which had once worna crown, was buried away out of the sight of indignant humanity, and thevacillating James with feeble steps mounted the tottering throne. Thelicensing act had expired in 1679, and had not been again renewed, forthere were no newspapers to license. Upon the alarm of Monmouth'sinvasion, James renewed it temporarily for seven years. Journalismreared its head again, and the court party, instead of persecuting, found itself compelled to fawn and flatter and sue for its protectionand support. Newspapers, both native and imported from Holland in largenumbers, played an important part in the Revolution, and paved the wayfor the downfall of the Stuarts and the advent of William and theProtestant Succession. 

It must not be supposed that the capital had possessed a monopoly ofnewspapers during all this period. Scotland appeared in the field with a_Mercurius Politicus_, published at Leith in 1653. This, however, wasnothing but a reprint of a London news sheet, and probably owed itsexistence to the presence of Cromwell's soldiers. In 1654 it removed toEdinburgh, and in 1660 changed its denomination to _Mercurius Publicus_. On the last day of this year, too, a journal of native growth buddedforth, with the title of _Mercurius Caledonius_. But the canny Scotseither could not or would not spare their bawbees for the encouragementof such ephemeral literature, for Chalmers tells us that only tennumbers of this publication appeared, and they were 'very loyal, veryilliterate, and very affected. ' Dublin appears to have produced a_Dublin News Letter_ in 1685, but little is known about it, and its veryexistence has been disputed. There were other sheets with Scotch andIrish titles, but they were all printed in London. With 1688 a new eradawned upon the press--the most promising it had yet seen--andnewspapers gradually sprang up all over the kingdom. 

The first that came out in the interests of the new Government were the_Orange Intelligencer_ and the _Orange Gazette_. The opponents of theministry also started organs of their own, and the paper warfare wentgayly on, but with more decency and courtesy than heretofore. Williamdid not show himself disposed to hamper the press in any way, butParliament, in 1694, proved its hostility by an ordinance 'that nonews-letter writers do, in their letters or other papers that theydisperse, presume to intermeddle with the debates or other proceedingsof this House. ' This was only a momentary ebullition of spleen. Thelicensing act, which expired in 1692, had been renewed for one year, but at the end of that period disappeared forever from Englishlegislation. The House of Lords--obstructive as usual to all realprogress--endeavored to revive it, but the Commons refused theirconsent, and a second attempt in 1697 met with a like defeat. Thisobstacle being happily got rid of, new journals of all kinds arose everyday. One was called _The Ladies' Mercury_; a second, _The LondonMercury_, _or_ _Mercure de Londres_, and was printed in parallel Englishand French columns. A third was entitled _Mercurios Reformatus_, andwas, during a portion of its existence, edited by the famous BishopBurnet. Some were half written and half printed. One of these, the_Flying Post_, in 1695, says in its prospectus:

 'If any gentleman has a mind to oblige his country friend or correspondent with this account of public affairs, he may have it for twopence of J. Salisbury, at the Rising Sun, in Cornhill, on a sheet of fine paper, half of which being blank, he may thereon write his own private business, or the material news of the day. '

In 1696, Dawks's _News Letter_ appeared, printed in a sort of runningtype, to imitate handwriting, with the following quaint announcement:

 'This letter will be done upon good writing paper, and blank space left, that any gentleman may write his own private business. It does, undoubtedly, exceed the best of the written news, contains double the quantity, with abundant more ease and pleasure, and will be useful to improve the younger sort in writing a curious hand. '

Various authors, whose names will always find a lofty place inliterature, contributed to the newspapers of this epoch, and among themwe find those of South, Wesley, Sir William Temple, and Swift. Theadvertisements by this time had become as varied as they are nowadays, and were without doubt almost as important a part of the revenue of anewspaper. An amusing proof of this is to be found in the _Collectionfor the Improvement of Husbandry and Trade_, in which the editordisplays a lively interest in this department of his paper, by employingthe first person, thus: 'I want a cook maid for a merchant, ' 'I want anapprentice for a tallow chandler, ' etc. , etc. He also advertises that heknows of several men and women who wish to find spouses, and heundertakes match making in all honor and secrecy. He tells us that hehas a house for sale, and wishes to buy a shop, an estate, a completeset of manuscript sermons, and a government situation. Other editorsbear witness to the character of their advertisers, and recommenddoctors, undertakers, waiting maids, footmen, and various tradesmen. Some of the advertisements are very funny. 'I want a compleat young manthat will wear a livery, to wait on a very, valuable gentleman, but hemust know how to play on a violin or flute. ' Was the 'very valuablegentleman, ' we wonder, troubled like Saul with an evil spirit, thatcould be exorcised by music? Tastes certainly differ, for thisadvertisement reminds us of a venerable old lady of our acquaintance, who was kept in a chronic state of irritation by a favorite footman, whom she did not choose to discharge, through his learning the flute andpersisting in practising 'Away with melancholy'--the only tune heknew--for an hour daily! But to return to the advertisements. Aschoolmaster announces that he 'has had such success with boys, as thereare almost forty ministers and schoolmasters that were his scholars. Hiswife also teaches girls lace making, plain work, raising paste, sauces, and cookery to a degree of exactness'--departments of education whichare, unfortunately, too much lost sight of in modern 'Establishments forYoung Ladies, ' 'His price is £10 to £11 the year; with a pair of sheetsand one spoon, to be returned if desired. '

During the whole reign of William there was not a single newspaperprosecution, but there were many in that of 'the good Queen Anne. ' Stilleditors were obliged to be very careful in the wording of their items ofnews, generally prefacing them with 'We hear, ' 'It is said, ' 'It isreported, ' 'They continue to say, ' ''Tis believed, ' and so on. Of thechief newspapers of this period we get the following account from JohnDunton, who was joint proprietor with Samuel Wesley of the _AthenianMercury_:

 'The _Observator_ is best to towel the Jacks, the _Review_ is best to promote peace, the _Flying Post_ is best for the Scotch news, the _Postboy_ is best for the English and Spanish news, the _Daily Courant_ is the best critic, the _English Post_ is the best collector, the _London Gazette_ has the best authority, and the _Postman_ is the best for everything. '

The _Daily Courant_, which was the first daily newspaper, first appearedon the 11th of March, 1702. It was but a puny affair of two columns, printed on one side of the sheet only, and consisted, like most of thejournals of the time, mainly of foreign intelligence. It lasted until1735, when it was merged in the _Daily Gazetteer_. In spite ofprosecutions for libel, the press throve, and, perhaps, to a certainextent, on that very account greatly improved in character. Addison, Steele, Bolingbroke, Manwaring, Prior, Swift, Defoe, and othercelebrities became editors or contributors, and a battle royal was wagedamong them in the _Examiner_, the _Whig Examiner_, the _Observator_, the_Postboy_, the _Review_, the _Medley_, and other papers of less note. 

Meanwhile newspapers began to appear in the provinces. The earliest wasthe _Stamford Mercury_--a title preserved to the present day--which cameout in 1695. Norwich started a journal of its own, the _NorwichPostman_, in 1706, the price of which the proprietors stated to be 'onepenny, but a half penny not refused. ' The _Worcester Postman_ made itsbow in 1708, and Berrow's _Worcester Journal_--which still exists--in1709. Newcastle followed suite with its _Courant_, in 1711, andLiverpool with its _Courant_ in 1712. The other large towns did the sameat less or greater intervals, and of the provincial journals which wereborn in the first half of the eighteenth century about a score stillflourish. The _Edinburgh Gazette_ came cut in 1699, as appears from thefollowing quaint document, which has been republished by the MaitlandClub at the 'modern Athens':

 'Anent the petition given to the Lords of his Majestie's Privy Councill by James Donaldson, merchant in Edinburgh, shewing 'that the petitioner doth humbly conceive the publishing ane gazette in this place, containeing ane abridgement of fforaigne newes together with the occurrences at home, may be both usefull and satisfieing to the leidges, and actually hath published on or two to see how it may be liked, and so farr as he could understand the project was approven of by very many, and, therefore, humbly supplicating the said Lords to the effect after mentioned;' the Lords of his Majestie's Privy Councill, having considered this petition given in to them by the above James Donaldsone, they doe hereby grant full warrant and authority to the petitioner for publishing the above gazette, and discharges any other persones whatsoever to pen or publish the like under the penaltie of forfaulting all the coppies to the petitioner, and farder payment to him of the soume of ane hundred pounds Scots money, by and altour the forsaid confiscatioun and forfaulture; and recommends to the Lord High Chancellor to nominat and appoint a particular persone to be supervisor of the said gazetts before they be exposed to public view, printed, or sold. '

In 1705 a rival started up in the _Edinburgh Courant_, which waspublished three times a week. About the same time appeared the _ScotsCourant_, in 1708 the _Edinburgh Flying Post_, and in the following yearthe _Scots Postman_, the two last being tri-weekily. In 1718 theredawned upon the literary horizon the _Edinburgh Evening Courant_, whichstill continues. It was published _cum privilegio_ on condition that theproprietor 'should give ane coppie of his print to the magistrates. 'With regard to Ireland, it is a curious fact that Dublin took the leadof London in establishing a daily paper, for _Pue's Occurrences_ firstissued in 1700, and survived for more than fifty years. But this effortappears to have exhausted the newspaper energies of the sister isle, forwe have no record of any other journal during a quarter of a century. 

Contemporary with its extension to the provinces, newspaper enterprisewas penetrating into the colonies, and America took the lead. Small werethe beginnings in the land where the freedom of the press was destinedto attain its fullest development. America's first journal--the _BostonNews Letter_--was printed at Boston in 1704, and survived to the limitassigned by the Psalmist to the age of man. In 1719 appeared the _BostonGazette_, and in the same year the _American Weekly Miscellany_, atPhiladelphia. In 1721 appeared James Franklin's paper, the _New EnglandCourant_, and in 1728 the _New York Journal_. In 1733 John P. Tenzerbrought out the _New York Weekly Journal_, a paper which was so ablyconducted in opposition to the Government, that in the following year aprosecution, or rather persecution, was determined upon. Andrew Hamiltonwas Tenzer's counsel, and the temptation to quote a passage from theperoration of his speech for the defence is irresistible:

 'The question which is argued before you this day is not only the cause of a poor printer, nor yet even of the colony of New York alone: it is the best of causes--the cause of liberty. Every man who prefers freedom to a life of slavery will bless and honor in you the men whose verdict will have secured to us upon a firm basis--to us, to our posterity, to our neighbors, that right which both nature and the honor of our country gives us, the liberty of freely speaking and writing the truth. '

What could the jury do, after these burning words, but acquit theprisoner? They did acquit him, and from this famous trial dates, according to Gouverneur Morris, the dawn of the American Revolution, which myriads of Englishmen, whatever may be thought or said to thecontrary by persons who wish to raise bad blood between two mightycountries, delight to acknowledge as glorious. But the progress of thepress in America was slow under British rule, for in 1775 there wereonly thirty-six journals in the various States altogether. The WestIndia islands soon began to establish papers of their own, and Barbadoesled the way in 1731 with the _Barbadoes Gazette_. Yet the development ofjournalism in other British colonies belongs to a later period ofhistory. 

To return to England. A heavy blow was impending over the fourth estate. In 1712 a tax, in the shape of a half-penny stamp, was levied upon eachnewspaper. The reason alleged for this measure was that politicalpamphlets had so increased in number and virulence that the queen hadcalled the attention of Parliament to them, and had recommended it tofind a remedy equal to the mischief, and, in one of her messages, hadcomplained that 'by seditious papers and factious rumors, designing menhave been able to sink credit, and that the innocent have to suffer. ' Anact was accordingly passed by which every printer was obliged to lodgeone copy of each number of his paper, within six days of itspublication, with a collector appointed for the purpose, and at the sametime to state the number of sheets, etc. , under a penalty of £20 fordefault. Country printers were allowed fourteen days instead of six. This act, as may easily be imagined, spread confusion and dismay in alldirections. Half-penny and farthing newspapers fell at once before thefierce onslaught of the red oppressor--a vegetable monstrosity, havingthe rose, shamrock, and thistle growing on a single stalk, surmountedby the royal crown. All the less important and second-rate journalswithered away before the deadly breath of the new edict, and a few onlyof the best were enabled to continue by raising their price. Addison, inthe 445th number of the _Spectator_, July 31st, 1712, alludes to thisnew tax as follows:

 'This is the day on which many eminent authors will probably publish their last words. I am afraid that few of our weekly historians, who are men that, above all others, delight in war, will be able to subsist under the weight of a stamp and an approaching peace. A sheet of blank paper that must have this new imprimatur clapped upon it before it is qualified to communicate anything to the public, will make its way but very heavily.... A facetious friend, who loves a pun, calls this present mortality among authors 'the fall of the leaf. ' I remember upon Mr. Baxter's death there was published a sheet of very good sayings, inscribed: 'The last words of Mr. Baxter. ' The title sold so great a number of these papers, that, about a week after these, came out a second sheet, inscribed: 'More last words of Mr. Baxter. ' In the same manner I have reason to think that several ingenious writers who have taken their leave of the public in farewell papers, will not give over so, but intend to appear, though perhaps under another form, and with a different title. '

This prediction of Addison's was verified, for, after the first year, the act was allowed to fall into abeyance, and the scribblers raisedtheir heads once more, and endeavored, by extra diligence and industry, to make up for their past discomfiture and enforced silence. 

Of the essay papers, as they are called, the _Tatler_ is the only onewhich properly comes within the scope of this article, as being, to acertain extent, a newspaper. Addison wrote in the _Freeholder_, andSteele in the _Englishman_, both being political journals opposed to theGovernment. For certain articles in this last, which were declared to belibellous, and for a pamphlet, entitled _The Crisis_, which he publishedabout the same time, poor 'little Dicky, whose trade it was, ' accordingto his quondam friend Addison, 'to write pamphlets, ' was expelled theHouse of Commons, despite the support of several influential members, and the famous declaration of Walpole, who was not then the unscrupulousminister he afterward became, 'The liberty of the press is unrestrained;how then shall a part of the legislature dare to punish that as a crimewhich is not declared to be so by any law framed by the whole? And whyshould that House be made the instrument of such a detestable purpose?'

The newspaper writers had now reached a great pitch of power, and hadbecome formidable to the Government. Prosecutions therefore multiplied;but not without reason in many cases. Addison complains over and overagain of the misdirection of their influence, and says, among otherthings:

 'Their papers, filled with different party spirit, divide the people into different sentiments, who generally consider rather the principles than the truth of the news writers. '

At no time, probably, in the history of journalism did party feeling runhigher than at this period. New organs sprang up every day, but were, for the most part, very short lived. Among the papers of most note were_The Weekly Journal_, Mist's _Weekly Journal_, the _London Journal_, _The Free Briton_, and the _Weekly Gazetteer_. Mist was especially astout opponent of the Government, and was consequently always introuble. In 1724 there were printed nineteen first-class journals, ofwhich three were daily, ten tri-weekly--three of them 'half-penny_Posts_'--and six weekly. News was abundant, and the old plan of leavingblank spaces or filling up with passages of Scripture--an editoractually reproduced from week to week the first two books of thePentateuch--was now abandoned. In 1726 appeared the _PublicAdvertiser_, afterward called the _London Daily Advertiser_, whichdeserves to be remembered as having been the medium through which theletters of Junius were originally given to the world. In the same year, too, was started _The Craftsman_, one of the ablest political paperswhich London had yet seen, and of which Bolingbroke was joint editor. Itwas immediately successful, and its circulation soon reached ten ortwelve thousand. In 1731 a great novelty came out, the _Gentleman'sMagazine_, or _Monthly Intelligencer_, under the proprietorship ofEdward Cave, the printer. The title page contained a woodcut of St. John's Gate, Clerkenwell, which had been in olden times the entrancegateway to the hospital of St. John of Jerusalem, but was then theabiding place of Cave's printing press, and upon either side of theengraving was a list of the titles of metropolitan and provincialnewspapers. The contents, as announced on the same title page, were: 1. Essays, controversial, humorous and satirical, religious, moral, andpolitical, collected chiefly from the public papers; 2. Select pieces ofpoetry; 3. A succinct account of the most remarkable transactions andevents, foreign and domestic; 4. Marriages and deaths, promotions andbankruptcies; 5. The prices of goods and stocks, and bills of mortality;6. A register of barks; 7. Observations on gardening. The prospectusstates:

 'Our present undertaking, in the first place, is to give monthly a view of all the pieces of wit, humor, or intelligence daily offered to the public in the newspapers, which of late are so multiplied as to render it impossible, unless a man makes it his business, to consult them all; and in the next place, we shall join therewith some other matters of use or amusement that will be communicated to us. Upon calculating the number of newspapers, 'tis found that (besides divers written accounts) no less than two hundred half sheets _per mensem_ are thrown from the press only in London, and about as many printed elsewhere in the three kingdoms, a considerable part of which constantly exhibit essays on various subjects for entertainment, and all the rest occasionally oblige their readers with matter of public concern, communicated to the world by persons of capacity, through their means, so that they are become the chief channels of amusement and intelligence. But then, being only loose papers, uncertainly scattered about, it often happens that many things deserving attention contained in them are only seen by accident, and others not sufficiently published or preserved for universal benefit or information. '

The _Magazine_ sets to work upon its self-imposed task by giving asummary of the most important articles during the preceding month in theprincipal London journals, of the ability, scope, and spirit of which wethus obtain a very fair notion. The _Craftsman_ has the precedence, andamong articles quoted from it are a historical essay upon Queen Bess, and 'her wisdom in maintaining her prerogative;' a violent politicalarticle full of personalities, a complaint of the treatment of the_Craftsman_ by rival journals, and an essay upon the liberty of thepress. The summary of the _London Journal_ seems to show that it wascontinually occupied in controverting the views and arguments of the_Craftsman_. _Fog's Journal_ is employed in making war upon the _LondonJournal_ and the _Free Briton_. The following specimen does not say muchfor Mr. Fog's satirical powers:

 'One Caleb D'Anvers' (Nicholas Amherst, of the Craftsman), 'and, if I mistake not, one Fog, are accused of seditiously asserting that a crow is black; but the writers on the other side have, with infinite wit, proved a black crow to be the whitest bird of all the feathered tribe. '

These old newspapers give us curious glimpses of the manners of thetime. The _Grub-Street Journal_ has an article upon 'an operationdesigned to be performed upon one Ray, a condemned malefactor, by Mr. Cheselden, so as to discover whether or no not only the drum but eventhe whole organ be of any use at all in hearing. ' The writer must havebeen an ardent vivisector, for he concludes by a suggestion that 'allmalefactors should be kept for experiments instead of being hanged. ' Inanother number this periodical indulges in a criticism upon the new odeof the poet laureate (Colley Cibber), in the course of which the writerexpresses an opinion that 'when a song is good sense, it must be madenonsense before it is made music; so when a song is nonsense, there isno other way but by singing it to make it seem tolerable sense'--acriticism which, whether it were true of that period or no, may befairly said to apply with great force to the times in which we live. The_Weekly Register_ makes war upon the _Grub-Street Journal_, and, in asatirical article upon the title of that newspaper, likens the writersto caterpillars and grubs, etc. , 'deriving their origin from Egyptianlocusts;' and, in another article, accuses them of 'having undertakenthe drudgery of invective under pretence of being champions ofpoliteness. ' The other papers summarized are the _Free Briton_, aviolent opponent of the _Craftsman_, the _British Journal_, and the_Universal Spectator_, the forte of the last two lying in essays andcriticisms. 

But the grand feature of the _Gentleman's Magazine_ was, that it was thefirst to systematize parliamentary reporting. This was originallymanaged by Cave and two or three others obtaining admission to thestrangers' gallery, and taking notes furtively of the speeches. Thesenotes were afterward compared, and from them and memory the speecheswere reproduced in print. Cave's reports continued for two yearsunmolested, when the House of Commons endeavored to put an end to them. A debate took place, in which all the speakers were agreed except SirWilliam Wyndham, who expressed a timid dissent, as follows: 'I don'tknow but what the people have a right to know what their representativesare doing. ' 'I don't know, ' forsooth--the Government and the people musthave been a long way off then from a proper appreciation of the dutiesof the one and the rights of the other! Sir Robert Walpole, the formerfriend of the press--who, by the way, is said to have spent more than£50, 000 in bribes to venal scribblers in the course of ten years--hadcompletely changed his views, and had nothing then to say in its favor. A resolution was passed which declared it breach of privilege to printany of the debates, and announced the intention of the House to punishwith the utmost severity any offenders. Cave, however, was not easilydaunted, and, instead of publishing the speeches with the first and lastletters of the names of the speakers, he adopted this expedient: heanagrammatized the names, and published the debates in what purported tobe 'An Appendix to Captain Lemuel Gulliver's Account of the FamousEmpire of Lilliput, giving the Debates in the Senate of Great Lilliput. 'This system was continued for nine years, but, after an interval, Cavereverted to the old plan. He had always employed some writer or other ofknown ability to write the speeches from his notes, and generally evenwithout any notes at all, so that the speeches were often purelyimaginary. In 1740 Dr. Johnson was employed for this purpose, and he, according to his own confession, had been but once inside the walls ofthe Parliament. Murphy tells the story and gives the names of thepersons who were present when he made the avowal. It occurred thus: Acertain speech of Pitt's, which had appeared in the _Gentleman'sMagazine_, was being highly praised by the company, when Johnsonstartled every one by saying: 'That speech I wrote in a garret in Exeterstreet. ' He then proceeded to give an account of the manner in which thewhole affair used to be managed--this happened many years after hisconnection with the matter had ceased--and the assembly 'lavishedencomiums' upon him, especially for his impartiality, inasmuch as he'dealt out reason and eloquence with an equal hand to both parties. 'Johnson replied: 'That is not quite true: I saved appearances tolerablywell, but I took care that the Whig dogs should not have the best ofit. ' These speeches were long received by the world as verbatim reports, and Voltaire is said to have exclaimed, on reading some of them: 'Theeloquence of Greece and Rome is revived in the British Senate. ' Johnson, finding they were so received, felt some prickings of conscience, anddiscontinued their manufacture. When upon his deathbed, he said that'the only part of his writings that gave him any compunction was hisaccount of the debates in the _Gentleman's Magazine_, but that at thetime he wrote them he did not think he was imposing upon the world. 'Several attempts had been made to checkmate Cave, and in 1747 he wassummoned before the House of Lords, reprimanded, and fined, but finallydischarged upon begging pardon of the House, and promising never tooffend again. However, in 1752, he resumed the publication of thedebates, with this prefatory statement, a statement which must be taken_cum grano_:

 'The following heads of speeches in the H---- of C---- were given me by a gentleman, who is of opinion that members of Parliament are accountable to their constituents for what they say as well as what they do in their legislative capacity; that no honest man, who is entrusted with the liberties and purses of the people, will ever be unwilling to have his whole conduct laid before those who so entrusted him, without disguise; that if every gentleman acted upon this just, this honorable, this constitutional principle, the electors themselves only would be to blame if they reflected a person guilty of a breach of so important a trust. '

Cave continued his reports in a very condensed form until he died, in1754, and left his system as a legacy to his successors and imitators. He was the father of parliamentary reporting, and it is for this reasonmore especially that his name deserves to be remembered with gratitudeby all well wishers to the freedom of the press, which is the liberty ofmankind. 

THE TREASURY REPORT AND MR. SECRETARY CHASE. 

The military condition at the present time is highly encouraging; butour armies have not always been successful in the field, and many of ourcampaigns have ended either in disaster or without decisive results. Thenavy, though it has achieved much in some quarters, has not altogetheranswered to the reasonable expectations of the country or to the vastsums which have been expended to make it powerful and efficient. Ourforeign relations, during the war, have sometimes assumed a threateningaspect, and, it must be confessed, have not always been managed with theskill and firmness due to our prominent position among the nations ofthe world. But there is at least one department of the Government whosegeneral operations during all these vicissitudes have been the subjectof just pride to the American people. In the midst of greatdifficulties, sufficient to appal and disconcert any ordinary mind, ourstupendous fiscal affairs have been conducted with unrivalled firmness, ability, and success. All our military and naval operations, and indeedour whole national strength at home and abroad, have necessarily been ina large degree contingent upon the public credit, and this has remainedsolid and unmoved except to gain strength, in spite of all thedisasters of the war on the land and on the water. The recent annualreport of Mr. Chase, though chiefly confined to a simple statement offacts and figures, is like the account of some great victoriouscampaign, submitted by the unassuming officer who conducted it. Theachievements of the Treasury are in fact the greatest of all ourvictories; they underlie and sustain the prowess of our armies, whilethey signalize the confidence and the patriotism of our whole people. Without them the peril of the Union would have been infinitely enhanced, and perhaps it would have been wholly impossible to conquer therebellion. There was a narrow and difficult path to tread in order toavoid national bankruptcy; it was necessary within three years to raisefifteen hundred millions of dollars, and a single false step might havedoubled or trebled the amount even of that enormous demand. How oftenhas intelligent patriotism trembled to think that the failure of ourfinances would involve the probable futility of our sacred war for theUnion, with all its tremendous sacrifices of life and property!

Nobly have the people sustained their Government; with a wise instinctof confidence, they have freely risked their money, as their lives, insupport of their own holy cause. This confidence at home has given usunbounded strength abroad. Nor do the facts in the least diminish thecredit fairly due to the Secretary, whose great merit is to haveorganized a system so well calculated to attract the confidence of thepeople and to inspire them with a sense of perfect security in trustingtheir fortunes to the keeping of the nation for its help and support inthe hour of supreme peril. It is the highest evidence of wisestatesmanship to be able thus to arouse a nation to the cheerfulperformance even of its obvious duty: this has been accomplished by Mr. Chase, under the embarrassment of repeated failures on the part of thosewho had in special charge to defend and promote our noble cause. Theentire merit of this grand success can only be adequately estimated byconsidering how slight a mistake of judgment or want of faithful couragein conducting these momentous affairs would have thrown our financesinto inextricable confusion. Our own experience immediately before thewar, when there was no adequate conception of the extent of the troubleabout to come upon us, shows how easily the public credit may be shakenor destroyed by incompetent or dishonest agents. In spite of enviousdetraction and interested opposition, these great and successful laborsof the Secretary will remain an imperishable monument of his ability toconduct the most intricate affairs of government, in times of the mostappalling danger and difficulty. He has undergone the severest tests towhich a statesman was ever subjected; his genius and his great moralfirmness have brought him out triumphant. 

There are a few prominent points in the lucid report of the Secretarywhich constitute the great landmarks of his system. Adequate taxationwas of necessity its basis; and, from the very beginning, Mr. Chaseinsisted upon a rigid resort to every available means of raising arevenue sufficient to strengthen the hands of the Government, andsustain its credit through all the vast operations which it wascompelled to undertake. And now by reference to the actual figures, andby an analysis of the facts embodied in them, the Secretary shows thatsince the first year of the war, the taxes collected have paid all theordinary peace expenditures together with the interest on the wholepublic debt, and beyond this have yielded a surplus which, had the warended, might have been applied to the reduction of the debt. This soundand indispensable principle, beset with so many temptations anddifficulties in time of civil commotion, is the very soul of the publiccredit; and the fearlessness with which the Secretary meets thecontingency of prolonged war and the necessity of additional taxes, evinces his determination to strengthen and sustain the principle, rather than to abandon it under any possible circumstances. The enormousloans already so advantageously obtained, to say nothing of thoseadditional ones which will probably be indispensable, could not havebeen negotiated on any reasonable terms without a firm adherence to thispolicy. 

That part of Mr. Chase's financial system which is most questionable, and which affords his assailants a fulcrum for their attacks, is itsinterference with the State banks and with the currency which they havebeen supplying to the country. The issuance of Treasury notes in theform of a circulating medium, and with the qualities of a legal tender, has revolutionized the whole currency and exchanges of the country, andhas given universal satisfaction to the people. But this popularjudgment is by no means an unerring test of the wisdom or safety of sucha measure. Its necessity, however, and its eminent success will foreverstamp it as an expedient of great usefulness and value, especially asthe Secretary has most judiciously arrested the system at that pointwhere its unquestionable advantages still outweigh its acknowledgeddangers and inconveniences. He informs us that these issues 'were wantedto fill the vacuum caused by the disappearance of coin, and to supplythe additional demands created by the increased number and variety ofpayments;' and he adds: 'Congress believed that four hundred millionswould suffice for these purposes, and therefore limited issues to thatsum. The Secretary proposes no change of this limitation and places noreliance therefore on any increase of resources from increase ofcirculation. Additional loans in this mode would indeed almost certainlyprove illusory; for diminished value could hardly fail to neutralizeincreased amount. '

In consequence of these issues, the average rate of interest on thewhole public debt on the 1st of July last, was only 3. 77 per centum, andon the 1st of October, 3. 95 per centum. 

It was to be expected that the banks, which have heretofore had anentire monopoly of the paper circulation, and of the large profitsderived from its legitimate use, as well as from its disastrous andsometimes dishonest irregularities, would not very cordially receive thesystem which is destined to supersede their present organizationentirely. The Secretary justly exults in the advantages of the sound anduniform circulation which he has afforded in all parts of the country. And as to the depreciation of the Treasury notes in comparison withgold, he reasons, with great force and truth, that the greater part ofit is attributable to 'the large amount of bank notes yet incirculation, ' remarking at the same time, that 'were these noteswithdrawn from use, that much of the now very considerable differencebetween coin and United States notes would disappear. ' Whether thisbelief of the Secretary be well founded or not, nothing can be morecertain than the superiority of the Treasury notes to those of the massof suspended banks, as they would have been after three years of thepresent war. It is frightful to think of the condition to which thecurrency would have been reduced at this time, if the Government hadbeen guilty of the folly of conducting its immense operations in thesuspended paper of irresponsible local banks. No one can doubt that theTreasury notes have been of immense service to the nation in its hour oftrial; and if the limitation proposed by the Secretary shall befaithfully maintained, there need not be the slightest fear of anydifficulty or discredit in the future. Upon the return of peace thewhole issue will be easily absorbed and redeemed, either by the processof funding, or more gradually in the ordinary transactions of theGovernment. 

On a kindred subject, that of the high prices at present prevailing, letMr. Chase speak for himself. This statement is so direct and pertinentthat nothing could well be added. He says:

 'It is an error to suppose that the increase of prices is attributable wholly or in very large measure to this circulation. Had it been possible to borrow coin enough, and fast enough, for the disbursements of the war, almost if not altogether the same effects on prices would have been wrought. Such disbursements made in coin would have enriched fortunate contractors, stimulated lavish expenditures, and so inflated prices in the same way and nearly to the same extent as when made in notes. Prices, too, would have risen from other causes. The withdrawal from mechanical and agricultural occupations of hundreds of thousands of our best, strongest, and most active workers, in obedience to their country's summons to the field, would, under any system of currency, have increased the price of labor, and, by consequence, the price of the products of labor, ' &c. 

It is impossible to deny the force of this statement; and upon the wholewe must acknowledge that most of the evils which have been attributed tothe financial policy of the Government were inherent in the very natureof the situation, and would have developed themselves, more or less, under any system which could have been adopted. It is very obvious thatthey might have been greatly aggravated by slight changes; but it is noteasy to see how they could have been more skilfully met and parried thanby the measures which have actually yielded such brilliant results. 

The most signal triumph of Mr. Chase's whole system of finance is to befound in the truly marvellous success of his favorite five-twenty bonds. Even at the present time the public enthusiasm for these securitiesseems to be unabated, and it is more than probable that the whole amountauthorized to be issued will be taken up quite as rapidly as the bondscan be prepared or as the money may be required. 

Not without good reason does the Secretary attribute the 'faith' thusshown by the people 'in the securities of the Government, ' to hisnational banking law and the prospective establishment of a currency'secured by a pledge of national bonds, ' and destined at no distant dayto 'take the place of the heterogeneous corporate currency which hashitherto filled the channels of circulation. ' The idea of thus makingtributary to the Government in its present emergency the whole bankingcapital of the country, or at least so much of it as may be employed infurnishing a paper circulation for commercial transactions, was as boldand magnificent as it has proved successful. Nothing less than thenational credit is sufficiently solid and enduring to be the basis of apaper currency throughout the vast extent of our country. It iseminently fit that this perfect solidarity of the central governmentwith those who furnish paper money for the people of every locality, should be required and maintained on a proper basis. But the currencythus provided is not liable to any of the objections properly urgedagainst a paper circulation issued by the Government itself; it isissued by individuals or companies, and secured only by such nationalstocks as have been created in the necessary operations of the nationitself. The system does not constitute a national bank or banks in thesense of that term as heretofore used in our history. It does nothingmore than assume that indispensable control over the long-neglectedcurrency of the country which is at once the privilege and the duty ofthe National Government. It has authority to pronounce the supreme lawamong all the States; and if there be any subject of legislationrequiring the unity to be derived from the exercise of such authority, it is, above everything else, that common medium of exchange whichmeasures and regulates the countless daily commercial transactions ofour immense territory. The system involves no participation by theGovernment in any banking operations; no partnership in any possiblespeculations, great or small; no interference, direct or indirect, withthe legitimate business of the country: it is only a wise and efficientdevice, by which the Government assures to the people the soundness ofthe paper which may be imposed upon them for money. 

The greatest merit of the scheme consists in the fact that it isintended to supersede that irregular and unsatisfactory system ofbanking which is based on a similar pledge of the credit of the severalStates. It is said to be hostile to the existing banks; but it is onlyso in so far as it requires a change of the basis of their credit fromState to National securities. The measure was not conceived in anyunfriendly spirit toward those institutions. It was necessary for theNational Government to assert its own superiority, and thus tostrengthen itself, at the same time that it sought to protect the peopleby securing them a uniform currency and equable exchanges. 

Some murmurs of opposition have been heard from a quarter wellunderstood; but the good sense of the people, and, we hope, of theholders of State bonds themselves, seems to have quickly suppressedthese complaints. A war of the State banks on the Government, at thistime and on this ground, might well be deplored; but the issue would notbe doubtful. Mr. Chase occupies the vantage ground, and he would bevictorious over these, as the country is destined to be over all otherenemies. 

At no other time could so fundamental a change in our system of currencyhave been proposed with the slightest chance of success; and, upon thewhole, it was a grand and happy conception, in the midst of thistremendous war, to make its gigantic fiscal necessities contribute tothe permanent uniformity of the currency and of the domestic exchanges. For this great measure is no temporary expedient. Its success is boundup with the stability of the Government; and if this endures, the goodeffects of the new system will be felt and appreciated in future years, long after the unhappy convulsion which gave it birth shall have passedaway. It will serve to smooth the path from horrid war to peace, and tohasten the return of national prosperity; and when experience shall havefully perfected its organization, it may well be expected, by thegenerality of its operation and its great momentum, to act as the greatnatural regulator of enterprise and business in our country. 

If these grand achievements in finance have had so important aninfluence in sustaining the war for the Union, it is not likely theywill fail to constitute a large element in controlling the politicalevents of the immediate future. Their author is well known to entertainthe soundest views in reference to the thoroughness of the measuresnecessary to restore harmony in the Union, without being of that extremeand impracticable school whose policy would render union uncertain orimpossible; and if a ripe experience in public affairs and the mostbrilliant success in transactions of great delicacy and difficulty, aswell as of the most vital importance to the triumph of our arms, are ofany value, they cannot be without their due and proper weight in thecrisis which is fast approaching. 

The election of next fall will take place under circumstances dangerousto the stability of our institutions, and trying to the virtue andwisdom of the American people. We are compelled to undergo that greattrial, either in the midst of a mighty civil war, or in the confusionand uncertainty of its recent close, with the legacy of all itstremendous difficulties to adjust and settle. Even in quiet times, thePresidential election is an event of deep significance in our politicalhistory; but at such times, the ordinary stream of affairs will flow onquietly in spite of many obstructions; and even the errors and folliesof the people consequent on the intrigues of politicians and the strifeof parties, are not then likely to be fatal to the public security. Inthe midst of the tempest, however, or even in the rough sea, where thesubsiding winds have left us crippled and exhausted, and far away fromour true course, we have need of all the skill, experience, integrity, and wisdom which it is possible to call into the service of the country. But it is the skill and experience of the statesman, not of the warrior, which the occasion requires. To our great and successful generals, thegratitude of the people will be unbounded; and it will be exhibited inevery noble form of expression and action becoming a just and generousnation. But civil station is not the appropriate reward of militaryservices, except in rare cases, when capacity and fitness for its dutieshave been fully established. To conduct a great campaign and to gainimportant victories is evidence of great ability in achieving physicalresults by the organized agency and force of armies; it does notnecessarily follow that the great general is an able statesman or a safecounsellor in the cabinet or in the legislative assembly. The functionsto be performed in the two cases are wholly dissimilar, if not actuallyopposite in nature. War is the reign of force, and is essentiallyarbitrary in its decisions and violent in its mode of enforcing them:civil government, on the other hand, is the embodiment of law, and itought to be the perfection of reason; its instrumentalities areeminently peaceful and antagonistic to all violence. 

In times like the present, there is always a tendency to appropriate thepopularity of some great and patriotic soldier, and make it availablefor the promotion of personal or party ends. Success in that sinisterpolicy will no doubt often prove to be only an aggravation of ordinaryparty strategy, by which the vital questions of capacity and fitness aremade subordinate to that of availability. We have in our history toomany instances of such intrigues and their dangerous consequences, toadmit of their success at the present time, though they come in theseductive form of military glory. The degenerate system of partystrategy culminated seven years ago in the election of James Buchanan. In pursuance of the secret and treacherous preparations for the presentinfamous rebellion, the people were ignorantly and blindly led bycunning intrigue into that fatal mistake; but it was not less thecircumstances of the tunes and the sinister combination of parties, thanthe weakness and wickedness of the man chosen, which gave him theimmense power for mischief which he wielded against his country. Thecomplications of the approaching crisis will not be less controlling intheir power to bring about the ruin or the restoration of the republic. In the uncertain contingencies and possible combinations of opinion andinterest destined to grow out of the immediate future, no man canforesee what dangers and difficulties will arise. The only path ofsafety lies in the straight line of consistent action; avoiding sinisterexpedients and untried men; despising the arts of the demagogue, whenthey present themselves in the most specious of all forms, that of usingmilitary success as the pretext for ambitious designs; and doing justiceto the great soldier, _as a soldier_, according to the value of hisachievements, not forgetting that 'peace hath her victories not lessrenowned than those of war, ' and that the faithful and able statesmancannot be overlooked and set aside amid the glare of arms, withoutdanger to the best interests of the republic. 

ASPIRO. --A FABLE. 

Then my life was like a dream in which we guess at God-thoughts. I wasso completely absorbed in my love that I marked the lapse of time onlyby the delicate varyings of my mistress's beauty, or the deepening spellof her royal rule. I was delirious with the delight of her presence, which comprised to me all types of excellence. Within her eyes thesapphire gates of heaven unclosed to me; in the splendor of lustred hairwas life-warmth. 

--And had I forgot?--the red lips I crushed like rose-leaves on myown--the tender eyes that plead 'remember me'--the faded rosemary whichwe culled together--the vows with which I said that love like ours wasnever false, nor parting fatal. Had I forgot? Could this _Aspiro_ of myworship quite dispel my youth-dream--had her infatuating presence quiteeclipsed my memory of Christine?--

Alas! I had not meant to be inconstant, but while I strove sullenly forsuccess in uncongenial occupation, _she_ came to me--Aspiro--came likethe truth and light, and taught me to myself. 

For a long time I doubted and resisted; though she tempted me, makingreal the dreams of my shy, worshipful childhood, teaching me themeanings of treasured stories which I had listened to from flower-spriteand river-god, leading and wooing me with lovelier lures than evenNature's; for tropical bird-song and falling water was harsh to hervoice, and dew-dripped lilies dim to her brow. But I shut my dazzledeyes at first from these, and strove to see only the face whereon, withtender kisses, I had sealed my future--having narrow aims; till thevision faded despairingly, and even closed lids would not recall it, andmy weak resistance seemed but to strengthen the sway that bore mewillingly away. 

Over and over I told the rosary of Aspiro's charms. Hour by hour Iwearied not of her perfections. With burning vows and rapturous words Ipledged my life to her. 

Once when the wind was sweeping her gay garments, like hope-banners, against my limbs, and tangling her long, loose hair about me--once whenI was blind with the jewel-dazzle from her breast, thrilled by thepassion-pressure of her hand, she said, in saddest, sweetest tones:

'I am erratic, Paulo, and exacting--will you tire of me!'

O Immortality! Did not that seem sacrilege!

Like curlew's wings flapped the white sails of the ship on the bluewaters. Aspiro's eyes absorbed my mind and memory. The past wasvoiceless--the future clarion-toned. So we loosed our hold of the realpast, and drifted toward an ideal future. 

We wandered through apocalyptic mazes, startling the hush of mysterywith daring footsteps. We brake the bread of the cosmic sacrament insight of the Inaccessible. 

In the metallic mirrors of Arctic lakes we watched the wind-whippedclouds. Mute we knelt in the ice-temples of Silence, and where theglaciers shatter the rainbows we renewed our promises. 

Wet sat at the universal banquet, and drank deep of Beauty. Cheekpressed to cheek, arms interlaced, we sighed in the consecrated throesof its reproduction, and in the imagery of Art we lisped Creation'slessons. 

From height to height and depth to depth. Lagging in low canoes alongthe black waters of silent swamps--life-left--seeing the far-off blue ofsky and hope between the warning points of cypress spires. Across thestretch of yellow sands, seeking her riddle of the Sphinx, and askingfrom the Runic records of one dead faith, and the sand-buried temples ofanother, the aim of the True. 

Or clouds or rocks or winds or waves, the mutable or the unchangeablewas in turn the theme of our reproductive praise. There weretransfigurations on the mountain tops, where the spirit of the universewore shining garbs and hailed us, their Interpreters. From every wavestretched Undine arms to greet us, and tongues of flame taught us theglories of the element. 

Sometimes in giddy pauses shone sad eyes--yet not reproachful on me; butif I sighed in answer to their shining, Aspiro dazzled in betwixt me andmy memory, and bade me 'cease not striving, ' while her white fingerpointed farther onward. For our love-life was a striving, and life'sbest porcelain was like common clay for fashioning vessels for its use. 

I gave up all to her, time, talent, ingenuity. Studying for her capricesand struggling for her pleasure. How fair she seemed, how worthy anyeffort! If only I might hope that I, at last, should wholly win herapprobation and make our union indissoluble. Her radiant smiles, andlofty, loving words, were hard to win, but then, when won--! Who everlooked and spoke and smiled as did Aspiro?

There was neither rest nor dalliance on our way. Unrest lit meteors inthe heaven of my mistress's eyes, and I lost, at length, the delusionthat I should ever satisfy all her imperious exactions. Then I hoped tomake but some one thought or deed quite worthy of her favor, even to thesacrifice of my life. 

I strove my utmost in the Art we loved. The strife consumed the dross ofdaily, petty hopes and fears, which make the happiness of common lives, and left my soul a crucible receptive for refinement only; and Aspirotempted me to new endeavors by glimpses of the court which Nature holds, wearing Dalmatian mantle and spray-bright crown, in realms forbiddenmortals. 

'I thought, for my sake, ' she would say, sadly, 'you had already donesomething better than you have. '

If my soul sickened then, my courage did not falter, nor did herincentive beauty lose any of its charm. 

I said: 'Give me a task, Aspiro, and I will please you yet. '

Then she pointed to me what I might do, and my work began. 

In this work I reproduced my mistress's beauty and my love'ssignificance. Having learned the language of nature, I translated fromher hieroglyphic pages in characters of flame. With rash hands Istripped false seemings from material beauty, and limned the nakeddivinity of Idea. Shorn by degrees in my strife of youth and strengthand passion, I wound them in my work--toiling like paltry larvæ. And itwas done--retouched and lingered over long, apotheosized by mightyeffort. So I offered it to my Fate. 

Never before, as at that moment, had Aspiro seemed so worthy to be wonat any cost. I trembled as I laid my work before her--she so transcendedBeauty. But still I hoped. I waited for her dawning smile andoutstretched hand, ready to die of attained longing when these should bebestowed. 

She, gleaming like ice, transfixed me coldly, and, slighting with herglance my work, asked: 'Can you do no more?'

I answered with weary hopelessness: 'No more. '

How cold her laugh was!

'And have I waited on you all these years for this?'

I echoed drearily: 'For this. '

'Well, blot it out, and try again, if you would please me, ' said Aspiro. 

With spent strength I cast myself at her feet. 

'You see, ' I said, 'I have mixed these colors with my life-wine. '

'Why, then, ' she asked, carelessly, 'with your insufficient strength, were you tempted to woo and follow me?'

So my life with its endeavors was a wreck. I thought of the good I hadsacrificed, of the hopes that had failed. The Past and Future alikepierced my hands with crucificial nails, till, faint with the pain andthe scorning, I lapsed into a long prostration, from which I came atlast to the dawn-light of sad, once-forgotten eyes--to the odor ofwithered rosemary. 

'True heart that I spurned, ' I cried, 'can you forgive? I will returnAspiro scorn for scorn, and go humbly back, where it is perhaps not yettoo late for happiness. '

With dreary reproaches came memory, disenthralled. I dreamed of myyouth, its love, and its aim. I pictured a porch with its breeze-tossedvines, a rocking boat on a limpid lake, a narrow path throughtwilight-brooded woods, and each scene the shrine of a sweet face withbrown, banded hair, and love-lit eyes. 

And these pictures were the True. My heart cleaved the eternity ofseparation, beaconing my sad return to them, and I followed gladly, hopebeing not yet dead. 

The summer porch was shady with fragrant vines--but I missed the face. Ibuoyed my heart, and said, 'Of course she would not have waited solong. '

I went to the woods, through the narrow paths where of old the birdstwittered, and javelins of sunshine pierced--on, where we had gonetogether long ago, till I reached the dell where we pledged our love. Ah! I should find her here--

The sweet face where I should kindle smiles--the brown hair I could oncemore stroke--the lithe form that I longed to clasp--the true heart thatshould beat for me in a quiet home. 

No. No waiting eyes--no true heart --no glad smile. But a cross and agrave and a name: 'CHRISTINE. '

 * * * * *

Aspirants of the Age! Offspring of Alo[=e]us I you have chosen a worshipthat admits not a divided heart. But your faith, like the Mystic's, shall also make your strength; and though _Aspiro_ stoops not to yourstature, yet she reigns, and she rewards. Be true. Be firm. Even if itbe upon the wreck of some frail, temporal heart-hopes, you _must_ reachhigher, till, in the sheen of the approving smile, you read theworld-lesson: Salvation through sacrifice. Through strife andsuffering--excellence. 

THE RED MAN'S PLEA. 

ALMOST LITERALLY THE REPLY OF 'RED IRON' TO GOVERNOR RAMSEY. 

 The snow is on the ground, and still my people wait; They ask but their just dues, ere yet it be too late; For we are poor, our huts are cold, we starve, we die, While you are rich, your fires are warm, your harvests lie High heaped above the hunting grounds, our fathers' graves, We sold you long ago. Alas! our famished braves Have sold e'en their own graves! When dead, our bones shall stay To whiten on the ground, that our Great Father may More surely see where his Dacotah children died-- His dusky children whom ye robbed, and then belied. 

BUCKLE, DRAPER, AND A SCIENCE OF HISTORY

_THIRD PAPER_

In any classification of our intellectual domain which it is possible tomake on the basis of Principles now known to the Scientific world atlarge, the most fundamental characteristic should be, the distinctiveseparation of those departments of thought in which _Certainty_ is nowattainable, from those in which only varying degrees of Probabilityexist, and the clear exhibition of that which is _positive anddemonstrable knowledge_, in the strict sense of the term, asdistinguished from that which is liable to be more or less fallible. Although the precise point at which, in some cases, the proofs ofProbable Reasoning cease to be as convincing as those of Demonstrationcannot be readily apprehended, yet the essential nature of the two_methods_ of proof is radically and inherently different, and is markedby the most distinctive results. In the latter case, we have alwaysaccuracy, precision, and certainty, _beyond the possibility of doubt_;in the former, always the conviction that, how strong soever the arrayof evidence may seem to be, in favor of a particular inference, therestill remains a possibility that the conclusion may be modified orvitiated by the subsequent advancement of knowledge. 

The Generalizations which respectively affirm that all the angles of atriangle are equal to two right angles, or that the square of thehypothenuse of a right-angled triangle is equal to the sum of thesquares of the other two sides, rest upon an entirely different basis ofproof from those upon which the Generalizations rest which respectivelyassert that water is composed of certain chemical constituents combinedin certain proportions, or that the nerves are the instruments ofsensation and of motion. The former are irresistible conclusions of thehuman mind, because, from the nature of the intellect, they cannot beconceived of as being otherwise. The Laws of Thought are such, that weare unable to think a triangle whose angles will _not_ be equal to tworight angles, or a right-angled one, the square of whose hypothenusewill _not_ be equal to the squares of the other two sides. So long, therefore, as man is constituted as he now is--unless the humanorganization becomes radically changed, these geometrical Laws cannot beconceived as being otherwise than as they are. All men must apprehendthem alike if they apprehend them at all. So long as man lives andthinks they remain unalterable verities, about which there can be noshadow of doubt, no possibility of error. 

The doctrine that water is composed of certain definite chemicalconstituents in certain definite proportions, or the theory that thenerves are the instruments of sensation and of motion, rests upon nosuch foundation. Whenever water has been analyzed, it has yielded thesame separate elements in the same proportions; and whenever theseelements are put together in the same quantitative ratio they haveproduced water; so that the conviction is proximately established in theminds of all that water is invariably the product of these elements incertain proportions. But this proof does not establish thegeneralization as _inevitably true, nor show that it is impossible forit to be otherwise_. It is _possible_, in the nature of things, for usto conceive that the fluid which we call water may be produced fromother constituents than oxygen or hydrogen, or that such a fluid mayeven now exist undiscovered, the product of elements altogetherunknown. 

So in regard to the nerves. Observation and experiment have establishedto the general satisfaction, that they are the instruments of sensationand motion; but we are not _absolutely sure_ that this is the fact, norcan we _know_ that a human being may not be born in whom no trace ofnerves can be detected, and who will nevertheless experience sensationand exhibit motion. We may be as well satisfied, for all practicalpurposes, of the nature of water and of the office of the nerves as ofthe nature of a triangle; but the character of the evidence, on whichthe convincement is based, is essentially different; being, in the onecase, incontrovertible and infallible; and, in the other, indecisive and_possibly_ fallacious. 

This repetition of that which has been substantially stated before, brings us to the final consideration of the distinctive nature ofdifferent departments of Thought, as indicated by the Methods of Proofwhich respectively prevail in them; and hence as embodying either exactand definite _Knowledge_, or only varying degrees of _Probability_. Wehave already seen that in at least one sphere of intellectual activitywe are able to start from the most basic and fundamental conceptions, from axiomatic truths so patent and universal that they cannot even beconceived of as being otherwise than as they are, and to proceed fromthem, by equally irresistible Inferences, to conclusions which are, fromthe nature of the human mind, inevitable. It is in the Mathematics, inwhich the Deductive Method is rightly operative, that this kind ofProof--Demonstration in the strict sense of the term--prevails. Thevarious branches of Mathematics have therefore been appropriatelydenominated the _Exact_ Sciences, in contradistinction from thosedomains of Thought whose Laws or Principles are liable to be somewhatindefinite or uncertain; hence, called the _Inexact_ Sciences. 

Exact Science--in its largest sense, that which extends to all domainsin which the proper Deductive Method has been or may hereafter berightly employed--is therefore a _system or series of truths relating tothe whole Universe, or to some department of it, consecutively andnecessarily resulting from, and dependent upon, each other, in adefinite chain or series; and resting primarily upon some fundamentaltruth or truths so simple and self-evident, that, when clearly stated, all men must, by the natural constitution of the human mind, perceivethem and recognize them as true. Demonstration is the pointing out ofthe definite links in the chain or series by which we go fromfundamental truths, clearly perceived and irresistible, up to theparticular truth in question_. 

Thus far in the history of Science, Mathematics, as a whole, has rankedas the only Exact Science; being the only department of intellectualactivity, all of whose Laws or Principles are established on a basis of_undeniable certainty_. If, however, theories of Cosmogony andconsiderations of Cosmography be excluded from the field of Astronomy, this Science consists almost wholly of the application of the Laws ofMathematics to the movements of the celestial bodies. RestrictingAstronomy proper to this domain, where, as a _Science_, it strictlybelongs, and setting aside its merely descriptive and conjecturalfeatures, as hardly an integral part of the Science itself, we haveanother Exact Science in addition to Mathematics. 

Of still another domain, that of Physics, Professor Silliman says, 'allits phenomena are dependent on a limited number of general laws ... Which may be represented by numbers and algebraic symbols; and thesecondensed _formulæ_ enable us to conduct investigations with thecertainty and precision of pure Mathematics. '

The various branches of Physics have not hitherto been ranked as ExactSciences, because, as in Astronomy, unsubstantiated theories anddoubtful generalizations, incapable of Mathematical Proof, have mingledwith their _Demonstrated_ Laws and Phenomena, as a component part ofthe Science itself. It has consequently exhibited an ambiguous orproblematical aspect, incompatible with the rigorous requirements ofExact Science. Even in Professor Silliman's admirable work, _formulæ_are given as Laws, which, however correct, have yet no foundation inaxiomatic truth; while Inferences are drawn from them which are by nomeans capable of _Demonstration_. Strictly speaking, however, only thoseLaws which _do_ rest upon a Demonstrable basis and the Phenomena derivedfrom them come within the scope of the _Science_ of Physics. So far asthese prevail, this department of investigation is entitled to theMathematical character accorded to it by Professor Silliman, and ranksas an Exact Science. 

Astronomy and Physics, viewed in the light in which they are herepresented, are rather special branches of Mathematics, than distinctSciences. But as we often speak of Geometry as a separate Science, although it is in reality only a division of the Mathematical domain, and is so classed by Comte; so there is a sense in which both Astronomyand Physics, as herein defined, may be regarded as individual Sciences, and in that character they will be considered in this paper. 

We have, then, three domains in which the true Deductive Method isactive; in which we can start from universally recognized Truths andproceed, by irresistible Inferences, to ulterior Principles and Facts. In three Sciences, in Mathematics as commonly defined and understood, inAstronomy and Physics as herein circumscribed, we are able to establishstarting points of thought with Mathematical certainty, and to deducefrom them all the Phenomena of their respective realms. 

Within the scope of these three Sciences, therefore, our information isclearly defined, positive, and indisputable. The conclusions to which weare led by their Principles can no more be gainsayed than humanexistence can be doubted. While time shall last, while mankind shallendure, while the human Mind is constructed on its present basis; while, in fine, there is a possibility for the exercise of Thought in any wayconceivable to the existing Mentality of the universe, the Laws ofMathematics, of Astronomy, and of Physics can be apprehended in no waydifferent from that in which they are now apprehended. There is _noconceivable possibility_ that subsequent investigations will show themto be erroneous or defective. They stand upon a foundation of Proof asunalterable as the fiat of Fate or the decrees of the Almighty, whichcan neither be shaken nor destroyed. 

It is between these three Mathematical Sciences, on the one side, andall other domains of intellectual investigation on the other, that aline of distinct demarcation must be drawn, in any Classification of ourso-called Knowledge, in accordance with any method of classificationknown to the scientific world at large. Not that the Laws or Principleswhich lie at the base of all other departments of the universe are notas stable, as definite, and as infallible as those which inhere in theSciences which have been specially indicated. But that, as yet, theendeavor to apprehend fundamental Principles, in other spheres thanthese, has been attended with only partial success; and hence, theability to establish a Mathematical or Demonstrable basis for otherregions of Thought is yet wanting, so far as is commonly known. 

When, therefore, we emerge from the domains of Mathematics, Astronomy, and Physics, we are leaving the field of _positive assurance_, of_undeniable_ truth, and entering the realms where opinion, conjecture, and variable degrees of certainty prevail. _The Facts of Observation maybe, indeed, as plain here as elsewhere and as firmly established. Butthe conclusions drawn from them, the Scientific Principles assumed tobe established, may be erroneous or defective, and the power ofprevision, the great test of Scientific accuracy, is proportionallywanting. _ Derived, as we have hitherto seen these conclusions to be, from Phenomena, on the supposition that a given range of Observationwill secure all the essential Principles which appertain to the _whole_of the Phenomena included in the range, we can never be _entirely sure_that our basis of Facts is sufficient for our purpose, and hence the_possibility_ of error always exists. 

It is not to be understood, therefore, that first or observational_Facts_ are not rightly to be known in other departments ofinvestigation than Mathematics, Astronomy, and Physics; but that Laws, Principles, or Generalizations which _relate_ Facts and serve asinstruments for penetrating into the deeper arcana of Nature, cannot beprecisely, accurately, and certainly _known_, in their relations andbelongings, until we are able to establish their connection with thelowest, most fundamental, and self-evident truths, and in this mannerbecome competent to advance step by step from undeniable first truths tothose equally undeniable. In Mathematics, in Astronomy, and in Physics, we are able to do this. We _know_ the Laws or Principles of theseSciences, therefore, so far as we have developed the Sciencesthemselves. We know the relations of the various Laws within the rangeof each Science, and the relations of the different Sciences with eachother. We can advance, within their boundaries, from the simplest andmost positive verities, such as the whole is equal to all its parts--aself-evident truth, which it is impossible to conceive as beingotherwise than as here stated--up to the most intricate ulterior Factsof the universe, by Inferences which are as irresistible to the mind asthe axioms with which we started. In no other domains of Thought canthis be done by any methods now in vogue. In no other realms, therefore, are complete precision and infallibility attainable. It is this whichconstitutes the peculiar character of these three Sciences, anddistinguishes them radically from all others. 

The whole body of our authoritative and irrevocably determinateintellectual acquisitions lies, therefore, at the present time, so faras is commonly known, within the range of Mathematics, Astronomy, andPhysics. These are in strictness the only _Sciences_ which we possess;and the only domains in which _knowledge_, in the proper sense of theterm, is attainable. In passing their boundaries, we leave the regionsof positive _certitude_, and come into the domain where Conjecture, varying from the strongest presumption to mere plausibility, is thehighest proof. Laws or Principles are yet undiscovered there, and intheir place we find Generalizations--Suppositive or ProximateLaws--which are in process of proof, or already established by suchevidence as the Inductive Method can array, and which carry theconviction of their correctness with varying degrees of force, to largeror smaller classes of investigators. 

These three branches of knowledge are unquestionably entitled to thedesignation of _Positive_ Sciences; and to no others can it with justicebe accorded. To apply the name of _Science_ to domains in which realknowledge is not attainable, is, in some sense, an abuse of terms. Todenominate _Positive Sciences_, domains which are not strictlyScientific, and in which _positive_ certainty, in reference toPrinciples and ulterior Facts, cannot be attained, is still moreincongruous. Comte's arrangement of the schedule of the PositiveSciences, in which domains where Demonstrable knowledge prevails areplaced upon a common basis with those in which it does not, was probablyowing to the want of a clear perception on his part of the essentialdifference of the nature of proof by the true Deductive Method and ofproof by the Inductive Method, of the _actual_ Certainty of the one andthe merely _proximate_ Certainty of the other. 

If such were the case, his want of discrimination was rather due to anoverestimate of Inductive proof than to an undervaluation ofMathematical Demonstration. That Mathematics, Astronomy, and Physicswere more perfect Sciences than the others in point of _precision_, hedistinctly affirms, pointing out that 'the relative perfection of thedifferent Sciences consists in the degree of precision of Knowledge, 'that this degree of precision is in accordance with the extent to whichMathematical analysis can be applied to the given domain, and that tothe above-mentioned Sciences only is its application possible. Notwithstanding this apprehension of the different degrees of_precision_ or _exactitude_ attainable in the various Scientific realms, he does not seem to have sufficiently understood that there was also avast difference in the _nature of the evidence_ which went to prove thetruth of the supposed Principles and ulterior Facts of the variousdepartments of Thought, and hence variable degrees of _Certainty_ inregard to the positive bases of the Principles themselves. He thus fallsinto the same error which it was one of the main purposes of hisScientific labors to correct--commingling problematical theories withDemonstrable Truths, as equally entitled to belief--and ranks Sociology, including _La Morale_, afterward called a distinct Science, withMathematics, Astronomy, and Physics, as domains in which our reasonings, in the present state of Knowledge, can be equally reliable. 

It is barely possible that the purpose and design of Comte'sClassification had, unconsciously, much to do with its reallyunscientific and incongruous character. The aim which he had in view wasto construct a Sociology or Science of Society which should be a guidein the establishment of a new Government, a new Political Economy, a newReligion, a new Social Life, a new Order of Things, in fine, to take theplace of the decrepit institutions, governmental, ecclesiastical, andsocial, which he thought were fast approaching their period ofdissolution. The Generalization which had exhibited to him, that theLaws and Phenomena of the various departments of investigation weredependent on each other in a graduated scale, and had thus enabled himto establish the _Hierarchy of the Sciences_, showed him that Sociology, including as it does the Principles and Phenomena of the other domainswhich he regards as Positive Sciences, must be based upon them. 

Hence it became necessary to fix the Scientific character of all thesebranches of intelligence, in order to create a Scientific basis for hisSociology. It was, however, impossible for him to claim that aDemonstrable or Infallible method of Proof was applicable to Chemistryand Biology; while, on the other hand, to exhibit such a method asintroducing a certainty into Mathematics, Astronomy, and Physics whichdid not appertain to the other so-called Positive Sciences, would haveindicated too plainly the unspanned gulf which yawned between theindubitable Demonstrations of the Exact Sciences and the merely probableGeneralizations of the others, and have exposed the fallible characterof his Sociological theories. 

A Classification was rendered indispensable, therefore, which shoulddisplay uniformity in its character, and a sufficiently rigorous mode ofScientific proof. To fulfil this end, the Inexact Sciences were accordeda position of _certainty_ in reference to their Principles which doesnot in reality belong to them; while the Exact or Infallible Scienceswere degraded from their peculiarly high state, and brought to the newlevel of the former on the middle ground of the Positive Philosophy. Aquasi-Scientific basis was thus erected for the Sociological movementsof the French Reformer. 

Had he been as _Metaphysically analytical_, _profound_, and_discriminating_ in his intellectual development, as he was _vigorous_, _expansive_, and _broadly generalising_, he would have discerned theinsufficiency of the bases of the structure which he was building. Hadhe understood the Scientific problem of the age, he would have knownthat until the task which he believed too great for accomplishment wasadequately performed, until all the phenomena of the respective Scienceswere brought within the scope of a larger Science and included under aUniversal Law, there could be no 'clearness, precision, and consistency'throughout all our domains of Thought, and hence no _true_ Sociology. Had he rightly apprehended the nature of 'The Grand Man, ' as he aptlydenominates Humanity, he would not have failed to perceive that theattempt to measure the capacities and requirements of Society by thecapacities and requirements of any individual or individuals, howcatholic soever they may be, is but the repetition of the Procrusteanprinciple on a broader basis, and that a reconstructive movementestablished on such a foundation could not meet the wants of thisindividualized epoch. That he should not have perceived that the capitaland necessary precursor of any true Science of Society must be aUniversal Science, a Science of Universal Laws underlying and unifyingPhysics and Metaphysics, is not strange, when we consider his peculiarmental characteristics. That he should ever have anticipated anypermanent acceptance of his Sociological Theories, or regarded hisSocial Institutions as anything more than transitional forms, could onlyhave been due to a lack of the highest Scientific powers, and to anearnest impatience at beholding Humanity crawling along the path ofProgress by the aid of obsolete instrumentalities. 

The work which Auguste Comte accomplished was immense. Its value canhardly be overestimated. Every modern Scientist and Thinker is largelyindebted to him for that which is indispensable to high intellectualdevelopment and progress in thought. For the immense steps in Scientificadvancement which he took; for his love of his Race; for his reallyreligious spirit, exhibited in his utter devotion to that which hedeemed the highest right; the love and sympathy of every student ofScience and every devotee of truth is, and will be, forever his. That hefailed in achieving a permanent Scientific basis of a sufficientlyuniversal and unquestionable character--a real Universology, whichshould exhibit the essential verity of the _religious intuitions_ of thepast, and should establish their inherent and harmonious connection withthe unfolding _intellectual discoveries_ of the present--is true. But itshould not be forgotten that every attempt, made in the right direction, which comes short of the final result, is but a stepping stone for thenext effort, and, viewed as a single round in the great ladder of humanascension, a success--an element without which the final achievementwould have been impossible. Without Comte there would have been noBuckle, whose work furnishes another of these steps. Every page of the'History of Civilization' exhibits the indebtedness of the EnglishHistorian to the French Encyclopædist of the Sciences; while the'Intellectual Development of Europe' bears evidence of a 'Positivist'inspiration to which Professor Draper might have more completely yieldedwith decided benefit. For the lift which the author of the PositivePhilosophy and the founder of the Positive Religion has given the world, let us be deeply grateful; although we must reject, as a finality, aSystem of Science which cannot _Demonstrate_ the correctness of itsPrinciples and Phenomena, or a System of Religion which emasculatesmankind of its diviner and more spiritual aspirations, and dwarfs him tothe dimensions of a refined Materialism. 

In classifying our existing Knowledge, then, on our present basis ofScientific acquisition, we must draw a distinct line betweenMathematics, Astronomy, and Physics, on the one side, and all remainingdepartments of Thought, on the other, and set these three Sciences apartas the Exact or Infallible ones, occupying a rank superior to theothers, by virtue of the Certainty and Exactitude with which we areable, through the operation of the true Deductive Method, to ascertaintheir Principles and Phenomena. We shall then be enabled--by the aid ofComte's principle that the domains of investigation take rank inproportion to the complexity of their Phenomena--to ascertain, after avery brief examination, the place which History holds in the Scale, andhow much claim it can lay to a Scientific character. 

Comte closes the Hierarchy of the Positive Sciences by adding to thethree which we have denominated _Exact_ Sciences, Chemistry, Biology, Sociology, and _La Morale_, in the order in which they are named, asindicated by the nature of the Phenomena with which they are concerned. If we adopt this arrangement, and annex to each of these _general_Sciences, as they are called in the language of Positivism, its derivedor dependent branches, we shall have the following order: Chemistry;Geology; Biology, including Botany, Human and Comparative Anatomy, andPhysiology; Zoology; Sociology; and _La Morale_. Although this enlargedscale is defective, many important departments, such as Ethnology, Philology, etc. , being left out, it is sufficiently correct to show thecomplex nature of the Phenomena with which History must concern itself. 

History--in its largest aspect, that in which we are now consideringit--is the record of the progress of the Race in all its various modesof development. In it is therefore involved the examination andconsideration of all the agencies, Material or Spiritual, which haveoperated on Mankind through past ages. Mathematical questions concerningNumber, Form, and Force; Astronomical problems on the relation of ourEarth to other Celestial bodies, and the effect thereof on Climate, Soil, and Modes of Life; Physical inquiries into the influence of Heat, Electricity, etc. , on individuals and nations; Chemical investigationsinto the nature of different kinds of Food, and their relations to theanimal economy, and hence to the career of Peoples; Geologicalresearches to discover the origin of the human Race, and its position inthe Animal Kingdom; questions of Physiology, of Social Life, ofEthnology, of Metaphysics, of Religion; every problem, in fine, whichthe world has been called to consider, forms a part of the record of itsprogress and comes within the scope of History. As the Descriptology, orverbal daguerreotyping of the Continuity of Society, and hence of theDynamical aspect of Concrete Sociology, History stands, then, in asense, at the head of the scale, omitting Theology, the true apex of thepyramid of Sciences, which pyramid Comte has decapitated of this veryapex. 

The problems which History is called to solve are therefore exceedinglyintricate and perplexing. The Generalizations of Chemistry, conducted, as they must be, on our present basis of Knowledge, by the InductiveMethod, are involved in a degree of uncertainty, not only on account ofthe complexity of their Phenomena, but also by reason of the absence ofany method of ascertaining when all the elements of a rightGeneralization are obtained. In Geology, including Mineralogy, thecomplexity increases, and the possibility of precision and certaintydecreases in the same ratio. This augmentation of complexity in thePhenomena and proportionate diminution of exactitude and certainty inrespect to the Generalizations derived from them, continues at everysuccessive degree of the scale; so that when we arrive at History, allhope of even proximate precision, and all expectation of anything likepositive Knowledge, except in the broadest outline and generalization, by any application of the Inductive Method, has completely vanished. 

The hopelessness of a Science of History prior to the discovery of aUnitary Law and the introduction of the Deductive Method into alldomains of investigation, now becomes plainly apparent. Until theoccurrence of that event we shall look in vain for a true Science ofHistory. With the advent of such a discovery, it will be possible tocarry the precision and infallibility of Mathematical Demonstration intoall departments of Thought, and to subject the Phenomena of History towell-defined and indubitable Laws. 

We must guard, however, against entertaining the supposition that aUnitary Science will bring _all_ the Phenomena of the universe withinthe compass of _Demonstrable_ apprehension. The province of Science isnot infinite, but circumscribed. We are limited in the application ofMathematical Laws, even within the sphere of Pure Mathematics; generalequations of the fifth degree having until recently resisted allattempts to solve them; and fields yet remain into which we cannotadvance. The power of the human mind to analyze Phenomena ceases at somepoint, and there our ability to _apply_ Scientific Principles, howeverindubitable in themselves, ends. It is the office of Exact Science tofurnish us with a knowledge of the inherent Laws which everywherepervade the Universe and govern continuously and unalterably itsactivities. To the extent to which it is possible to trace theconstituent elements of Thought or Things we can have the guidance ofthese Laws or Principles. But when we reach that point in any departmentof investigation where the complexity of the Phenomena renders itimpossible for the human intellect to successfully analyze it anddiscover its separate parts, the sphere of accurate Scientific Knowledgeis transcended. The Intuition--the faculty which apprehends what we maycall the spirit of _Concrete_ things, which goes to conclusions by arapid process that overleaps intermediate steps, which is our guide inthe numerous decisions that we are called to make in our every-day life, and which perceives, in a somewhat vague and indefinite manner--becomesour only guide in this Realm of the Inexact. 

The advent of a Unitary Science and the inauguration of a true DeductiveMethod in all domains of Thought, will, indeed, completely revolutionizeour Scientific bases, and render precision and infallibility possible indomains where now only conjecture and probability exist. It will enableus to establish on a firm and secure foundation the _Laws or Principlesof every department of the Universe of Matter and of Mind_, and topenetrate the Phenomena of all realms to an extent now scarcelyimagined. It will furnish us the 'Criterion of Truth' so long soughtafter--a ground of intellectual agreement in all the concerns of life, so far as this is essential, similar to that which we now have inMathematics, where difference of opinion is impossible because _proof isof a nature to be alike convincing to all_. 

But, as in Mathematics a limit is reached, beyond which the finitecharacter of our intelligence does not permit us to _apply_ the Lawswhich we are well assured still prevail, so there is an outlying circleof practical activity which no Science can compass. The various tints ofthe autumn forest are probably the results of Mathematical arrangementsof particles; but to how great an extent we shall be able to discoverwhat precise arrangement produces a given shade of color, is doubtful. Some delicate varieties, at least, will always be beyond our definiteapprehension. Whether we shall dine at one hour or another, whether wewill wear gray or black, and innumerable other questions of specialty, do not come within the range of Scientific solution, and never can. Sothat when every domain of human concern is solidly established on abasis of Exact Science, there will still remain a field of indefiniteextent, in which the Intuitive application of eternal Principles willfurnish an unlimited activity for the Practical, Æsthetic, Imaginative, Idealistic, Artistic, and Religious faculties of Mankind. 

The task which Mr. Buckle set himself to accomplish was, in a markedsense, original and peculiar. Although several systematic attempts hadbeen made in Europe, prior to his time, to investigate the history ofman according to those exhaustive methods which in other branches ofKnowledge have proved successful, and by which alone empiricalobservations can be raised to scientific truths, the imperfect state ofthe Physical Sciences necessarily rendered the execution of such anundertaking extremely defective. It was not, indeed, until the vast massof Facts which make up the body of the various Sciences had beenincluded within appropriate formulæ, and until the elaborateClassification of Auguste Comte had separated that which was properlyKnowledge from that which was not, with sufficient exactitude to answerthe purposes of broad Generalization, and had established the relationsof the different domains of intelligence, that such a work as the'History of Civilization' was possible. 

Previous Historians, with these few exceptions, had contented themselveswith the narration of the _Facts_ of national progress, the merelysuperficial exhibition of the external method of a people's life, andhad almost wholly neglected or greatly subordinated the Philosophical orScientific aspect of the subject, namely, the causes of the givendevelopment. Separate domains of History had, indeed, been examined withconsiderable ability; but hardly any attempt had been made to combinethe various parts into a consistent whole, and ascertain in what waythey were connected with each other. Still less had there been anynotable effort to apply the whole body of our existing knowledge to theelucidation of the problem of human progress. While the necessity ofgeneralization in all the other great realms of investigation had beenfreely conceded, and strenuous exertions had been made to rise fromparticular Facts to the discovery of the Laws by which those Facts aregoverned, Historians continued to pursue the stereotyped course ofmerely relating events, interspersed with such reflections as seemedinteresting or instructive. 

Up to the period when Mr. Buckle essayed his 'History of Civilization, 'few, if any, of the well-known modern Historians had conceived that anacquaintance with all the departments of human intelligence was anecessary accomplishment in a writer on the past career of the world, and no one of them had undertaken to write history from that basis. 'Hence, ' says the author whom we are considering, and who makes, in thefirst pages of his book, substantially the same statements concerningthe condition of Historical literature which are made here--'hence thesingular spectacle of one historian being ignorant of political economy;another knowing nothing of law; another, nothing of ecclesiasticalaffairs, and changes of opinion; another neglecting the philosophy ofstatistics, and another physical science; although these topics are themost essential of all, inasmuch as they comprise the principalcircumstances by which the temper and character of mankind have beenaffected, and in which they are displayed. These important pursuitsbeing, however, cultivated, some by one man, and some by another, havebeen isolated rather than united: the aid which might be derived fromanalogy and from mutual illustration has been lost; and no dispositionhas been shown to concentrate them upon history, of which they are, properly speaking, the necessary components. '

The work which Mr. Buckle contemplated was designed to supply this_desideratum_ in respect to History. It was an endeavor to discover 'thePrinciples which govern the character and destiny of nations, ' an effort'to bring up this great department of inquiry to a level with otherdepartments, ' 'to accomplish for the history of man somethingequivalent, or at all events analogous to, what has been effected byother inquirers for the different branches of Natural Science, ' and 'toelevate the study of history from its present crude and informal state, 'and place 'it in its proper rank, as the head and chief of all theSciences. '

At the outset of his undertaking, we have ample evidence that thecapacious-minded Englishman had fixed upon no less a labor than '_tosolve the great problem of affairs; to detect those hidden circumstanceswhich determine the march and destiny of nations; and to find, in theevents of the past, a key to the proceedings of the future, which isnothing less than to unite into a single science all the laws of themoral and physical world_. ' He was thus bent, doubtless with only avague apprehension of the nature of the problem, on the discovery ofthat Unitary Law, whose apprehension is so anxiously awaited, _which isto cement the various branches of our Knowledge into a UniversalScience, and furnish an Exact basis for all our thinking_. 

The Method which Mr. Buckle employed in the prosecution of hismagnificent design was the Inductive. He made 'a collection ofhistorical and scientific facts, ' drew from them such conclusions as hethought they suggested and authorized; and then applied theGeneralizations thus obtained to the elucidation of the career ofvarious countries. When we consider the nature of the work undertakenand the means by which it was to be achieved, we can hardly deny, thatthis attempt to create a Science of History was, in a distinguishingsense, the most gigantic intellectual effort which the world has everbeen called to witness. The domain of investigation was almost new. Thepoint of Observation entirely so. Vast masses of Facts encumbered it, aggregated in orderless heaps--orderless, at least, so far as his useswere subserved. Comte had, indeed, brought the different departments ofinquiry into proximately definite relations in obedience to an_abstract_ and _Static_ Law; but while this labor was, in otherrespects, an essential preliminary to Mr. Buckle's undertaking, it wasof little _immediate_ value in an attempt to secure the direct solutionof the most intricate and complex questions of Concrete _dynamical_Sociology, involving the unstable and shifting contingencies ofindividual activity. The whole of the intellectual accumulations of thecenturies may be said to have been piled about the English Thinker, andhe was to discover in and derive from them the unerring Law or Lawswhich should serve to explain, with at least something approachingprecision and clearness, the kaleidoscopic phases of human existence. 

Only one generally known effort in the realm of Thought bears anycomparison to this, examined in reference to the vigor, breadth, andvariety of the mental faculties which it called into requisition. Viewedin connection with the work of the founder of the Positive School, wemay say, without any disparagement to the comprehensive abilities of theFrench Philosopher, that the task undertaken by the English Historianrequired a tenacity of intellectual grasp, a steadiness of mentalvision, a scope of generalizing power, an all-embracing scholarship, amarvellous accumulation of Facts, and a wonderful readiness to handlethem, which even the prodigious labors of the Positive Philosophy didnot demand. Comte had, indeed, like Buckle, to arrange the Facts of theuniverse into order. But in his case they were only to be grouped underappropriate headings, and, as it were, quietly labeled. 

With the author of 'Civilization in England' it was otherwise. In the_actual_ careers of men and of nations, Facts do not stand related toeach other and to human actions in the distinct and distinguishable wayin which they appear when correlated, as by Comte, in accordance withgeneral Laws. The domain of the _concrete_, or of practical life, hasalways a variable element which does not obtain in the sphere ofgeneralizing Principles, and which immensely complicates theinvestigation of the problems of real existence. Comte purposelyexcluded the realm of the _concrete_ from his studies, and thereforesimplified, to a great extent, his field of labor. Yet even in hisattempt to bring order into this curtailed department of inquiry, heprofesses, not merely his own inability to accomplish, but hisconviction of the inherent impossibility of the accomplishment of that, for the _abstract_ only, which Buckle really undertook for the_concrete_; namely, the reduction of the Phenomena of the Universe to asingle Law; or, what is synonymous, the integration of all the laws ofthe moral and physical world into a single Science. 

The character of his undertaking compelled Mr. Buckle, on the contrary, to stretch his mental antennæ into every department of mundane activity, to hold the Facts there discovered, so far as he might, collectivelywithin his grasp, and to draw them by an irresistible strain intogradually decreasing circles of generalization, until they were broughtto a Central Law, which should contain within itself the many-sidedexplanation of the intricate ramifications of individual and nationalcareers. The difference in the work essayed by the two distinguishedThinkers whose labors we are considering, is somewhat analogous to thatwhich exists between the profession of the apothecary and that of thephysician. The former must know the range of _Materia Medica_, and thecontents of the _Pharmacopæia_, so far as is necessary to arrange thevarious medicines in order, and deliver them when called for. The lattermust hold the different remedies in his knowledge, not as classifiedupon the pharmaceutist's shelves, but as related to the various forms ofconstantly changing vital Phenomena, in the midst of which he is todetect their applicability to different forms of disease. Still moreanalogous is Comte to the student of Natural History, whose business itis, preëminently, to distribute and classify the Animal Kingdom, inaccordance with Generalizations which relate mainly to the form or typeof organization; while Buckle resembles the student of a higher rank, who endeavors, in the midst of the play of passion and the actualexhibitions of life itself, to read the nature of the mental and moraldevelopment which exists beneath them and controls their workings. 

It is evident that, up to a period subsequent to the publication of hisfirst volume, the writer of the 'History of Civilization' entertainedthe fullest confidence in the ability of the Inductive Method to copewith the ultimate problems of the Universe, and had high expectations ofbeing able, through its instrumentality, to reduce the whole body of ourKnowledge to a systematic whole, and to establish a Science of Scienceswhich should be a Criterion of Truth, and the crowning intellectualachievement of the ages. Whether Mr. Buckle fully comprehended the realnature of the Science toward which he was aiming; whether he entirelyappreciated the radical and important change which its discovery wouldnecessarily introduce into our Methods of Investigation;--whether hesaw that it would be the inauguration of a true Deductive Mode ofreasoning, which would enable us to advance with incredible rapidity andcertainty into the arcana of those departments which he was then obligedto explore with the most tedious research, the most plodding patience, and the most destructive intellectual tension, in order to accumulate alimited array of Facts, is somewhat doubtful. 

The significant sentence which occurs in the second volume of his work, closely following the announcement of his disappointment at being unableto achieve all that he had expected and promised, and which states that'in a complete scheme of our knowledge, and when all our resources arefully developed and marshalled into order, as they must eventually be, the two methods [the Inductive and the Deductive] will be, not hostile, but supplementary, and will be combined into a single system, ' seems toindicate that at some period prior to the publication of the secondvolume, and subsequent to the issue of the first, the insufficientnature of the Inductive Method as a Scientific guide broke upon him, andsome conception of the nature of a Mode of Reasoning which shouldcombine the two Processes in just relations, began to dawn into hismind. That he obtained anything more than a faint glimpse of the trueMethod, is not likely. Had he done so, he would certainly have made somestatement of the great results which would follow its inauguration, evenif he could have refrained from bestowing one of his glowing andenraptured paragraphs upon the fairest and most entrancing vision offuture achievement which the devotee of intellectual investigation willever witness. 

It is probable, that in carrying on his investigations after thepublication of the first volume of his work, finding it impossible tohandle the accumulations of Facts necessary to his purpose, anddiscovering the inexactitude and insufficiency of his Generalizations inthe ratio that the bounds of his field of inquiry enlarged, he was ledto perceive the essential weakness and inadequacy of the InductiveMethod, and the probable certainty that, at some future period, theprogress of our Knowledge would lead to the establishment of positivebases for all departments of investigation, and thus furnish anopportunity for the harmonious and reciprocal activity of the twohitherto antagonistic Methods. That he had any definite idea of theprecise nature of the bases on which this union would take place, thathe perceived the exact character of the Science of Universology which itwould create, or contemplated the subordination of the Inductive Processto the Deductive, there is no indication. 

But whatever may have been Mr. Buckle's understanding or expectation inreference to the future, it is certain that between the publication ofthe first and second volumes of his History, the hope which he hadformed and announced of being able to create a Science of History hadvanished, and his efforts were confined to a less extensive programme. The pages in which this change of purpose is made known display, intouching outlines, tinged with a noble sadness, that the soul of thegreat Englishman was, in all the attributes of magnanimity, at least, afitting mate for his intellect. 

A storm of obloquy had assailed him at the outset of his labor. Beginning with the time when the first instalment of 'Civilization inEngland' was given to the public, passion, prejudice, and pride hadstrained their powers to vilify his character and heap abuse upon hisname. The Press, the Pulpit, and the Lyceum, with rare and braveexceptions, met the formidable array of Facts with which the workbristled, by sciolistic criticisms, bigoted denunciations, or timid, faint praise. Conservatives in Politics and Religion exhibited him as adangerous innovator, a social iconoclast, the would-be destroyer of allthat was sacred in Institutions and in Religion. Theologians branded himas immoral and atheistic, and poured upon him a torrent of vituperationand hatred. 

The only public reply which the English writer condescended to make, iscontained in the closing pages of the fourth chapter of the last volumewhich he published. Every line of this answer, which is transcribedbelow, breathes the spirit of Him who, when he was reviled, reviled notagain--the spirit of forbearance, of generous forgiveness, ofmagnanimity, of unruffled dignity. Buckle had learned, indeed, from hisown investigations, that he who would elevate mankind must expect, notonly its indifference to his labors, but its positive abuse. He knew, that the individual who, like Jesus, attempts to promulgate new truth, either moral or intellectual, must expect to array against himself thegreatest portion of the human family, incrusted in their prejudices, their ignorance, their interests, or their feelings, and must be contentwith the appreciation and sympathy of the few who are wise enough tounderstand him, truthful enough to accept his doctrine, howeverunwholesome to their tastes, and brave enough to avow it. Perhaps he hadalso learned the fact, that, in the present state of humanity'sdevelopment, few, very few, even of the best of mankind, love truth, chiefly _because it is truth_, and are hence eager to know their ownshortcomings; but that those truths only are, for the most part, capableof being acceptably presented to individuals, which it is moresatisfactory to their personal feelings, more comfortable to their owninherent peculiarities of disposition, to conform to than to reject. Bethis as it may, the reply which he makes to the outrages showered uponhim is evidently the language of a man whose thoughts are far removedfrom the arena of petty spite or private resentment, the expression ofone who knew the grandeur and usefulness of his labors, who expected, intheir prosecution, to be misunderstood and calumniated, and who, yet, was incapable of other than the most generous impulses of a noblephilanthropy toward his maligners and traducers. 

In the announcement of his inability to fulfil the great promises madein the former volume, we find, likewise, the indications of a naturefull of lofty grandeur. He who has known the scholar's hopes, thestudent's struggles, and the author's ambition, may form some faintconception of what must have been the feelings of the great Historianwhen the conviction came to him, first faintly foreshadowed and thendeepening to a reality, that the prize for which he had contended--andsuch a prize! which had seemed, too, at times, almost within hisgrasp--was destined forever to elude him. Frankly to acknowledge failurein such a struggle, was in itself great; to acknowledge it when thecries of his assailants were still ringing in his ears, and when itmight have been measurably concealed, was still greater; to acknowledgeit in words which betray no trace of disappointed _personal_ ambition, but only a regret that the final avenue to truth should not have beenopened, was heroic even to sublimity. The pages of Buckle's 'History ofCivilization' which record the answer to his traducers and theacknowledgment of his disappointment in relation to what he should beable to achieve, will stand in the annals of literary history as amemorable instance in which is significantly exhibited one factor ofthat highest religious spirit so much needed in our day--_devotion tothe intellectual discovery of all truth for truth's sake_. 

The following is the passage in question:

 'In the moral world, as in the physical world, nothing is anomalous; nothing is unnatural; nothing is strange. All is order, symmetry, and law. There are opposites, but there are no contradictions. In the character of a nation, inconsistency is impossible. Such, however, is still the backward condition of the human mind, and with so evil and jaundiced an eye do we approach the greatest problems, that not only common writers, but even men from whom better things might be hoped, are on this point involved in constant confusion. Perplexing themselves and their readers by speaking of inconsistency, as if it were a quality belonging to the subject which they investigate, instead of being, as it really is, a measure of their own ignorance. It is the business of the historian to remove this ignorance by showing that the movements of nations are perfectly regular, and that, like all other movements, they are solely determined by their antecedents. If he cannot do this, he is no historian. He may be an annalist, or a biographer, or a chronicler, but higher than that he cannot rise, unless he is imbued with that spirit of science which teaches, as an article of faith, the doctrine of uniform sequence; in other words, the doctrine that certain events having already happened, certain other events corresponding to them will also happen. To seize this idea with firmness, and to apply it on all occasions, without listening to any exceptions, is extremely difficult, but it must be done by whoever wishes to elevate the study of history from its present crude and informal state, and do what he may toward placing it in its proper rank, as the head and chief of all the sciences. Even then, he cannot perform his task unless his materials are ample, and derived from sources of unquestioned credibility. But if his facts are sufficiently numerous; if they are very diversified; if they have been collected from such various quarters that they can check and confront each other, so as to do away with all suspicion of their testimony being garbled; and if he who uses them possesses that faculty of generalization, without which nothing great can be achieved, he will hardly fail in bringing some part of his labors to a prosperous issue, provided he devotes all his strength to that one enterprise, postponing to it every other object of ambition, and sacrificing to it many interests which men hold dear. Some of the most pleasurable incentives to action, he must disregard. Not for him are those rewards which in other pursuits the same energy would have earned; not for him, the sweets of popular applause; not for him, the luxury of power; not for him, a share in the councils of his country; not for him a conspicuous and honored place before the public eye. Albeit, conscious of what he could do, he may not compete in the great contest; he cannot hope to win the prize; he cannot even enjoy the excitement of the struggle. To him the arena is closed. His recompense lies within himself, and he must learn to care little for the sympathy of his fellow creatures, or for such honors as they are able to bestow. So far from looking for these things, he should rather be prepared for that obloquy which always awaits those, who, by opening up new veins of thought, disturb the prejudices of their contemporaries. While ignorance, and worse than ignorance, is imputed to him, while his motives are misrepresented and his integrity impeached, while he is accused of denying the value of moral principles, and of attacking the foundation of all religion, as if he were some public enemy, who made it his business to corrupt society, and whose delight it was to see what evil he could do; while these charges are brought forward, and repeated from mouth to mouth, he must be capable of pursuing in silence the even tenor of his way, without swerving, without pausing, and without stepping from his path to notice the angry outcries which he cannot but hear, and which he is more than human if he does not long to rebuke. These are the qualities, and these the high resolves, indispensable to him who, on the most important of all subjects, believing that the old road is worn out and useless, seeks to strike out a new one for himself, and, in the effort, not only perhaps exhausts his strength, but is sure to incur the enmity of those who are bent on maintaining the ancient scheme unimpaired. To solve the great problem of affairs; to detect those hidden circumstances which determine the march and destiny of nations; and to find, in the events of the past, a key to the proceedings of the future, is nothing less than to unite into a single science all the laws of the moral and physical world. Whoever does this, will build up afresh the fabric of our knowledge, rearrange its various parts, and harmonize its apparent discrepancies. Perchance, the human mind is hardly ready for so vast an enterprise. At all events, he who undertakes it will meet with little sympathy, and will find few to help him. And let him toil as he may, the sun and noontide of his life shall pass by, the evening of his days shall overtake him, and he himself have to quit the scene, leaving that unfinished which he had vainly hoped to complete. He may lay the foundation; it will be for his successors to raise the edifice. Their hands will give the last touch; they will reap the glory; their names will be remembered when his is forgotten. 

 'It is, indeed, too true, that such a work requires, not only several minds, but also the successive experience of several generations. Once, I own, I thought otherwise. Once, when I first caught sight of the whole field of knowledge, and seemed, however dimly, to discern its various parts, and the relation they bore to each other, I was so entranced with its surpassing beauty, that the judgment was beguiled, and I deemed myself able, not only to cover the surface, but also to master the details. Little did I know how the horizon enlarges as well as recedes, and how vainly we grasp at the fleeting forms, which melt away and elude us in the distance. Of all that I had hoped to do, I now find but too surely how small a part I shall accomplish. In those early aspirations, there was much that was fanciful; perhaps there was much that was foolish. Perhaps, too, they contained a moral defect, and savored of an arrogance which belongs to a strength that refuses to recognize its own weakness. Still, even now that they are defeated and brought to nought, I cannot repent having indulged in them, but, on the contrary, I would willingly recall them if I could. For, such hopes belong to that joyous and sanguine period of life, when alone we are really happy; when the emotions are more active than the judgment; when experience has not yet hardened our nature; when the affections are not yet blighted and nipped to the core; and when the bitterness of disappointment not having yet been felt, difficulties are unheeded, obstacles are unseen, ambition is a pleasure instead of a pang, and the blood coursing swiftly through the veins, the pulse beats high, while the heart throbs at the prospect of the future. Those are glorious days; but they go from us, and nothing can compensate their absence. To me, they now seem more like the visions of a disordered fancy than the sober realities of things that were, and are not. It is painful to make this confession; but I owe it to the reader, because I would not have him to suppose that either in this or in the future volumes of my History I shall be able to redeem my pledge, and to perform all that I promised. Something I hope to achieve which will interest the thinkers of this age; and, something, perhaps, on which posterity may build. It will, however, only be a fragment of my original design. '

In estimating the extent to which Mr. Buckle succeeded in consummatingthe labor which he undertook, we are not, therefore, to measure hisresults by the standard of the first, but by that of the second volume. It is not, then, the Science of History which he is striving to write;but only something 'which will interest the thinkers of this age, andsomething, perhaps, on which posterity may build. ' His task, as thusabridged, was confined to the endeavor to establish the 'four leadingpropositions, which, according to my [his] view, are to be deemed thebasis of the history of civilization;' that is, the basis of a Scienceof History. These propositions, given in a previous article, may be hererepeated:

 '1st. That the progress of mankind depends on the success with which the laws of phenomena are investigated, and on the extent to which a knowledge of those laws is diffused. 2d. That before such investigation can begin, a spirit of scepticism must arise, which, at first aiding the investigation, is afterward aided by it. 3d. That the discoveries thus made, increase the influence of intellectual truths, and diminish, relatively, not absolutely, the influence of moral truths; moral truths being more stationary than intellectual truths, and receiving fewer additions. 4th. That the great enemy of this movement, and therefore the great enemy of civilization, is the protective spirit; by which I mean the notion that society cannot prosper unless the affairs of life are watched over and protected at nearly every turn by the state and the church; the state teaching men what to do, and the church teaching them what they are to believe. '

In the first paper of this series, which was devoted to the examinationof the third proposition as announced by Mr. Buckle and substantiallyaffirmed by Professor Draper, together with the consideration of thefundamental Law of Human Progress, the error into which both of thesedistinguished writers had fallen in regard to the relative influence ofmoral and intellectual truths, was pointed out; as also themisconception under which they rested concerning the Law of HumanDevelopment. This misconception, it was then shown, arose from anincorrect understanding of the essential character of the Law itself, and could be traced, basically, to the same source whence sprang theirmistake in reference to the comparative power of moral and mentalforces. It is to a misapprehension, analogous to that which brought himinto error concerning these two important points, that the radicaldefect of Mr. Buckle's first and fourth propositions is to be traced, aswill be hereafter exhibited. 

The complete and exhaustive consideration of the second propositiondemands a range of Metaphysical examination which cannot be entered uponat this time. For our present purposes it may be dismissed with thefollowing remarks:

That before men begin the investigation of any subject _deliberately_, _reflectively_, and with a _fixed_ and _intelligent_ purpose ofascertaining the truth concerning it, there must arise some feeling ofdoubt in their minds in relation to the given subject or to some detailsof it, is certainly true, and needed no array of evidence to prove it;but that prior to such _conscious_ and _intentional_ effort atexploration, there exists an _unconscious_ or _automatic_ action in themind, an instinctual and passive kind of thinking, a vague floating ofideas _into_ the mental faculties, rather than an apprehension of themby an active and deliberate _tension_ of the intellect, and that it isthrough this kind of _intuitive investigation_ that the 'spirit ofscepticism' primarily arises, is equally true; though not, perhaps, atthe first blush, so apparent. In this sense, the statement of Mr. Buckleis simply one half of a truism, the other half of which, not enunciatedby him, is equally correct. 

Whether the spirit of scepticism--which then undoubtedly aids in theinvestigation--_is afterward aided or fostered by it_, depends upon thenature of the question investigated. If this be one which has hithertobeen considered as established upon a basis that was in every respectright, and if errors are revealed in the process of the examination, then, indeed, the spirit of scepticism is strengthened. But if, on thecontrary, the investigation be in reference to a range of thought whichrests upon a basis that is, in all ways, sound--concerning Mathematicaltruths, for instance--then the sceptical spirit is _not_ aided by it, but is, contrariwise, weakened. 

In respect to the field of inquiry covered by the author of'Civilization in England, ' it was seen that numerous statements had beenaccepted as true in early times, which closer scrutiny at a later periodshowed to be erroneous. Hence there came to be a want of confidence inthe general basis upon which knowledge rested; and, as continuedresearch served to confirm the doubts previously existing, investigationdid aid, in this great department of thought, covering indeed the entirehistory of the past, the spirit of scepticism. As a _fact_, therefore, _in relation to this special sphere of inquiry_, Mr. Buckle's statementis correct; as a universal _Generalization_ derived from this Fact, itmay or may not be true, according to the subject of examination to whichit is applied. 

This proposition is, therefore, like that in relation to the moral andintellectual elements--as previously shown--and like all Mr. Buckle'sGeneralizations--as will be hereafter shown--a half-truth, a correctstatement of one side of a verity, good so far as it goes, butessentially false when put for the whole, as in the present instance, orwhen held so as to exclude the opposite half-truth. 

It is this fact, that basic truth is everywhere made up of a _union ofopposites_, each of which seems, at first sight, to exclude the other, which the Historian himself so forcibly expresses when he exclaims: 'Inthe moral world, as in the physical world, nothing is anomalous; nothingis unnatural; nothing is strange. All is order, symmetry, and law. _There are opposites, but there are no contradictions. '_ Had heunderstood the full meaning of this statement of the _inherentlyparadoxical nature of truth_, and been able to give the Principle whichit establishes a universal application in unfolding the various domainsof human intelligence and activity, he would have grasped the Knowledgefor which he vainly strove, would have discovered the veritable Scienceof the Sciences, the long-sought Criterion of Truth. In the absence of aright understanding of this complex fact, that fundamental truth hasalways two sides affirming directly opposite half-truths, he fell intothe error of mistaking the moiety for the whole, and has left us a worldin which, with all the aid that he has afforded us, we still fail todiscern the 'order, symmetry, and law' which undoubtedly pervade all itsparts--a world in which there is still exhibited, so far at least asgovernmental, religious, and social affairs are concerned, an'anomalous, strange, and unnatural' aspect. 

Such consideration as it is feasible to give the first of thesehistorical propositions in these columns, was, for the most part, included in that portion of the examination of the positions of our twoauthors, which was contained in the opening paper of the series; thoughno special application of Principles there elaborated was made to thisformula. It was there pointed out, that intellectual forces constituteonly _one_ of the factors in the sum of human progress, and that _moral_forces are equally as important, being the second--the opposite andcomplementary factor. In the light of that exposition, and of the briefconsideration here given to the second Generalization, it is perceptiblethat the defect in this proposition consists, not in what it affirms, but in what it does _not_ affirm. 'That the progress of mankind dependson the success with which the laws of phenomena are investigated, and onthe extent to which a knowledge of those laws is diffused, ' is astatement which is undeniably true. It does not, however, contain the_whole truth_ in relation to the subject of investigation. It is just ascorrect to say that the progress of mankind depends on the success withwhich the moral or religious faculties--faculties which instigatedevotion to our highest perception of right--are cultivated, and on theextent to which they are practically active. For it is not in theinculcation of intellectual truth alone, or preëminently, nor in thecultivation of moral strength alone, or predominantly, that the progressof mankind is secured; but in the developing vigor of _both_ mental andmoral forces, and in their mutual coöperation and assistance. 

The proposition, as announced by Mr. Buckle, is, therefore, either ahalf-truth, which does not sufficiently explain the cause of 'theprogress of mankind, ' which the Historian avers that it unfolds, or itis actually false, accordingly as it is understood to state a veritywhich does not exclude the _affirmative_ statement of an opposite andapparently antagonistic truth, or as it is interpreted to be theexplanation of the whole or main cause upon which the advancement ofsociety has depended. That the author of 'Civilization in England'regarded it in this latter light, is plainly apparent. His whole work isan elaborate attempt to establish the invalid theory, that humanprogress is due _almost exclusively_ to the enlightenment of theintellect, and in a very minor degree only to the cultivation of themoral or religious nature. In a certain sense it is indeed true that_all_ social elevation is the result of intellectual growth; but it isonly in that _absolute_ sense in which the Intellect is used for thetotality of human faculties, and of course includes the moral facultyitself. In this sense, it is just as true to say that all progress isthrough the Moral Powers, using this term to include the whole of thehuman Mind, and consequently the intellectual forces. In either case, the question still remains, of the relative effect of the Intellectualand Moral powers upon the career of humanity, when considered as notincluding each other. It was in this _relative_ point of view that Mr. Buckle entertained it. 

With this cursory examination of the first and second propositions, their distinctive consideration will close. Some things, however, thatwill have to be enunciated in the investigation of the EnglishHistorian's Generalizations as a whole, are also necessary to a clearunderstanding of the merits and defects of each one taken singly. Additional light will also be thrown upon them in the course of ouranalysis of the fourth proposition, which practically touches more vitaland important questions than are involved in the others. Contrary toprevious announcement, want of space will prevent the examination ofthis Generalization and of Dr. Draper's work in the present paper. 

After this article was put in type, the writer received a letter from afriend, a distinguished member of the Positive School, in which occursthe following sentence:

 'I notice in your ... Article on 'Buckle, Draper, and a Science of History, ' one inaccuracy. You say: 'History, while it is the source whence the proof of his (Comte's) fundamental positions is drawn, finds no place in his scientific schedule. ' In the positive Hierarchy of Science History _is_ included: it constitutes the Dynamic Branch of Sociology. As in the Science of Life, Anatomy constitutes Biological Statics and Physiology Biological Dynamics, in Sociology we have Social Statics--the Theory of Order, Social Dynamics--the Theory of Progress = the Philosophy (Science) of History. '

The kindly criticism of the writer arises from that fruitful source ofmisunderstanding--a wrong apprehension of terms. 

History, as it has been hitherto written, has been--_First_, a narrationof the supposed facts of the past, without any especial attempt toinvestigate the proximate causes of national characteristics or mundaneprogression. _Secondly_, an account of the life and vicissitudes ofstates and communities, accompanied with an inquiry into the proximatecauses of national peculiarities. These two Branches of Investigationhave been included under the common appellation of _History_, when theyrelated to a special portion of the globe; and of _General_ or_Universal History_ when, theoretically at least, the whole earth wasunder consideration. _Thirdly_, the examination of the past progress ofthe Race, with a view to the discovery of the fundamental Cause orCauses which control or direct the Evolutions of Time, or the Principlesin accordance with which nations and civilizations have developed. ThisDepartment is denominated _The Philosophy of History_. From it areexcluded all those investigations of an individual or national characterwhich comprise _History_ in the ordinary acceptation of the word. 

Such a complete and exhaustive consideration of the Facts and Causes ofHuman Progress as would suffice for the construction of a _Science ofHistory_, would necessarily include _all_ the Branches of Inquiry abovementioned. While, therefore, _History_, as it has been used in thesepapers, and as it is especially exhibited in the present one, has hadthis comprehensive signification, the term is not applied by Comte toany of the Departments of which he treated; and a very differentmeaning, and one much more circumscribed, attaches to the qualifiedexpression which he uses in its stead. The Dynamic Branch of Sociologydoes not appertain, even in his own estimation, to _History_ proper, butto _The Philosophy of History_, which is the title by which hedesignates it. Strictly speaking, it does not appertain to that, in anybroad sense. It is mainly an inquiry into the Theological, Political, and Social Principles of the Past and Future, and leaves unnoticed manyquestions of equal importance with those discussed, and which, in theconstitution of a comprehensive _Philosophy of History_, would occupy anequally important place. 

But leaving this point aside, it is sufficient to indicate the fact thatComte, in conformity with the plan upon which he proceeded in theinvestigation of other Departments of the Universe, eliminated from hisHistorical examination all _concrete_ questions, everything relatingprimarily to individuals or nations, or to the causes of their peculiardevelopment; on the same ground on which he set aside Botany, Zoology, Mineralogy, etc. In the beginning of his treatise on Social Dynamics, hesays:

 'We must avoid confounding the _abstract_ research into the laws of social existence with the _concrete_ history of human societies, the explanation of which can result only from a very advanced knowledge of the whole of these laws. _Our employment of history in this inquiry, then, must be essentially abstract. _ It would, in fact, be history without the names of men, or even of nations, if it were not necessary to avoid all such puerile affectation as there would be in depriving ourselves of the use of names which may elucidate our exposition or consolidate our thought.... Geological considerations must enter into such _concrete_ inquiry, and we have but little positive knowledge of geology; and the same is true of questions of climate, race, etc. '

And again he says, the inquiry is to be conducted 'stripped of allcircumstances of climate, locality, etc. '

It will be sufficiently evident from this brief statement, that _ThePhilosophy of History_ (not _History_, as the letter says) whichconstitutes the Dynamic Branch of Sociology in the Positive System is, in Comte's own intention and showing, a series of bald abstractions fromwhich the _substantial_ or _concrete_ elements of individual andnational activity, the proximate causes of Human Progress, are droppedout; and that _History_ in the ordinary sense of that term, or in thebroader sense in which it has been used in these papers, as referring toa possible Science, finds no place in his Scientific Schedule. 

The error into which our critic has fallen, in this case, undoubtedlyresulted in part from the unfortunate confounding of the words_Philosophy_ and _Science_, which pervades the Positive System. Philosophy and Science are not, in any proper use of the terms, synonymes. They relate--as it is designed at some future time toshow--to equally true and important, though _opposite_ aspects of theUniverse, considered either as a whole or in relation to its parts. Comte, as has been heretofore exhibited, degraded Science from its_Exact_ and _Certain_ position, in order to include Domains of Inquirywhich did not have and to which he could not furnish a truly scientificbasis. In like manner, after discarding a false Philosophy, unable toinstitute a true, or at least a sufficiently comprehensive one, on thefoundation which he had reared, he gave the name of _PositivePhilosophy_ to his incongruous coordination of Scientific andUnscientific Departments of Thought. The terms _Science_ and_Philosophy_, thus wrenched from their legitimate uses, are thereforeloosely understood and indiscriminately applied by the students of hisSystem and the followers of his social theories, in ways which areproductive of numerous misunderstandings, though not perhaps ofunprofitable criticisms. 

In a subsequent letter, the same gentleman calls attention to anothersupposed error--the omission of _La Morale_ from the Positive Hierarchyof Sciences--and adds:

 'Although this final Science was in a manner involved in Sociology as treated in the _Philosophy_, its normal separation was yet a step of Capital Importance; sufficiently so to make the enumeration of Comte's Theoretical Hierarchy without it equivalent to a misrepresentation. '

For the purposes of the article in question--the exhibition of theincongruous, and hence really unscientific character of theHierarchy--the Positive Scale was given in the paper alluded to, asstated by Comte himself in the 'Positive Philosophy'--a work which isaccepted as valid, _both_ by the followers of his theories in regard toScience, and the adopters of his Social Scheme--there being no occasion, at that time, to indicate the subsequent elevation into a separateScience, of what there formed a subdivision of Sociology. The afterenumeration of _La Morale_ as a separate Science, in a work which is_not_ regarded as valid by many of the disciples of the _PositivePhilosophy_, is, however, exhibited in the present writing, where a moreminute enumeration of the Branches of Inquiry included in the PositiveHierarchy rendered it desirable. 

DIARY OF FRANCES KRASINSKA;

OR, LIFE IN POLAND DURING THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 

Sunday, _December 30th, 1760. _

I have finally decided upon going to Maleszow; I may perhaps feel moreat ease there than here. Barbara would accompany me, but the state ofher health will prevent her; her husband says it would be very imprudentfor her to travel. I have finally received a letter from the princeroyal; he is in despair at my departure. He is exceedingly irritatedagainst the princess, and fears lest Brühl should disclose all he knowsto the king. 

I must leave here as soon as possible. The happiness surrounding me is areal torment. This sweet and quiet joy of a husband and wife who loveeach other so tenderly, pierces my heart. This well-arranged household, this family union, and all the delicate attentions of the StarostSwidzinski, who adores my sister--all these blessings, which I mustcovet, and yet of which I am not jealous, increase the bitterness of mysuffering. 

My sister is predestined to every possible felicity. Her little girl isthe most charming child anywhere to be found; her father fondles andcaresses her, and my parents are always writing to my sister, becausethey feel so much solicitude for her and her little one. Happy Barbara!Life is one long festival for her. Ah! may God take her happiness intohis own keeping, and may this reflection console me under my own weightof sorrow!

I shall perhaps feel more tranquil when I have seen my dear parents;their pardon will be as a Christian absolution for me. I will againlive and hope when protected by their tenderness. I will begin the newyear with them; it may perhaps be the dawn of my happiness! I wasformerly so happy at Maleszow.... 

CASTLE OF MALESZOW, _January 5th, 1761. _

I have been here several days, but I think I will soon return toSulgostow. I suffer everywhere, and it always seems to me that I will bemost happy in whatever place I am not. My lot is brilliant inimagination, but miserable in reality. And yet, my parents have receivedme well, and have treated me with the greatest kindness. But a matter ofcomparatively slight importance is one of the causes of my uneasinesshere: I have no money; I cannot make the slightest present to mysisters, and can give nothing to the people of the castle. 

When I was with the princess, she provided for all my wants, and gave mebesides a small sum every month; I could save nothing, nor indeed couldI anticipate any cause for doing so. I now find myself in the mostcomplete state of destitution, and would rather die than ask for moneyfrom my husband or my parents, who of course think that I am abundantlyprovided for. When Barbara returned from the school of the HolySacrament, she doubtless had much less money than I spent during mysojourn in Warsaw, and yet she made a small gift to every one. She wasnot, as I, bowed down beneath the weight of melancholy thoughts; herspirit was free and her heart was joyous. She could think of others, andoffer the labor of her own hands when more costly presents werewanting.... But I, unquiet, agitated, passing alternately from the mostactual and positive grief to fears still more terrible, cannot applymyself a single moment. 

Formerly, when I was happy through hope, and when all life seemed to meone brilliant illusion, I fancied that when I should return to Maleszowafter my marriage, I would be followed by as long a train as a queen; Iforgot no one in my dreams; all had their share in my royal favors.... Ah! what a fearful contrast between my desires and the reality!

I have not passed a single day since I came here without shedding tears. When I first saw my parents I wished to throw myself at their feet; butmy father prevented me, and, treating me as if I were a stranger, mademe a profound bow. Whenever I enter the saloon, he rises and will notsit near me; the homage he considers due to my dignity as princess royaloverpowers his paternal tenderness. 

This formal etiquette causes me inconceivable torment! Ah! if honors areto cost me so dear, I would a thousand times prefer to be only a simplenoble. 

The first dinner I ate with the family was ceremonious and cold. Mymother was uneasy and ready to apologize for offering me the ordinaryfare of the castle, and my father whispered in my ear:

'I might have offered you a bottle of wine, drawn from the tun of MissFrances; it would have been very pleasant for me to have drunk it at ourfirst dinner, but custom requires that the father should drink the firstglass, and the husband the second; otherwise it would be a bad omen.... Will that day ever come?' he added, sighing. 

I could not restrain my tears, and could neither speak nor eat; mymother looked at me with the most tender compassion. Every moment herebrings me some new sorrow, and the bonmots of our little Matthias havelost all power to divert me. My father makes signs to him with his eyesthat he may invent something witty, but it is all lost upon me. Music toa suffering body is but an importunate noise; and sallies of wit to adespairing soul have lost their savor. 

Our little Matthias is inconceivably acute; he divines all. He knows myposition, I am quite sure. He took advantage yesterday of a moment whenI was quite alone to come into my room, and with an air half sad, halfjesting, he knelt down before me and drew from his pocket a littlebouquet of dried flowers tied with a white ribbon and fastened by a goldpin.... I could not at first tell what he meant, but soon the bouquet Ihad worn at Barbara's wedding flashed across my memory. He gave me theflowers, saying: 'I am sometimes a prophet, ' and, still on his knees, went toward the door. I ran after him; I remembered all, and with theremembrance came a crowd of feelings, at once sweet and bitter. Thisbouquet was the same I had given Matthias on Barbara's wedding day.... 

I took a rich diamond pin from my dress, and fastened it at thebuttonhole of Matthias's coat. Neither he nor I spoke a single word, butI am sure that while each wondered inwardly at the strange fulfilment ofthe prophecy, each was still more surprised that it had realized none ofour hopes. 

Just as I was writing these lines, my mother entered my room. Herkindness is incomparable; she brought me such a quantity of stuffs, ofjewels and blondes, that she could scarcely carry them. She laid them onmy bed, and said:

'I give you a portion of the trousseau destined to my daughters; Ishould have added many other articles, but I was afraid they were nothandsome enough, and yet I have given you the best I had. I have spokento my husband, and he has determined to sell two villages to make atrousseau worthy of so illustrious a union. That will come when thesecret is unveiled. '

I burst into tears, and would have thrown myself at her feet, but sheprevented me, and asked me a thousand pardons for presenting me withthings of so little value. 

Oh, yes! I must certainly leave here day after to-morrow. I sufferbeyond expression. My younger sisters, madame, the courtiers, and eventhe old servants exclaim over the change which has come upon me, and askone another why I am not yet married, and why no one seems to think ofhaving me married. 

The three girls whom I was to take into my service came to see me;doubtless, to remind me of my promise. Our old Hyacinth himself broughthis daughter to me. Every one I see causes me some new sorrow orvexation. Ah! how astonished they would be if they knew of my marriage!And these poor people who relied upon my protection, I cannot take theminto my service, because I have married a prince, the son of a king!

SULGOSTOW, Wednesday, _January 9th. _

I am again with my sister. On my arrival, I found no letter from theprince royal. He may be ill! Or, perhaps, the king has been informed ofour marriage, and has placed him under strict surveillance. If theprince palatine were in Warsaw, he would surely have written to me; Ican rely upon his devotion. As for Prince Martin, I thank him for hislight-headedness, and am very glad that he forgets me. 

My parents' parting farewell did me much more good than their reception;at that moment, I again found all their former tenderness. 

Before I left, I went to Lissow, and visited the curate in hispresbytery. When I came, he was planting cypress trees in his garden, and he promised me to plant one in memory of me in the cemetery. I willleave behind me this melancholy remembrancer. His words to me were verykind and consoling. As I left him, I experienced a moment of real calmand resignation. 

Tuesday, _January 15th. _

During the last few days I have been forced to struggle against newpersecutions. Just as we were about sitting down to table, the sound ofthe trumpet announced the arrival of a stranger, and soon after, thedouble door of the dining hall was thrown open, and M. Borch, the king'sminister, was announced. 

I at once divined the motive of this visit, and my heart throbbed as ifit would burst. M. Borch, like a real diplomatist, tried to give hisvisit the appearance of a simple courtesy. Remembering the graciousreception offered him at Barbara's wedding, he came, he said, to offerhis homage to her ladyship the Starostine Swidzinska, and renew hisacquaintance with the starost. During dinner, many compliments wereexchanged; but as soon as the dessert was over and the court hadretired, he invited me to go with him into the starost's privatecabinet, and said to me:

'Brühl and I know your secret, madame, and I can assure you we have beenexceedingly diverted; for you may well believe that we regard thismarriage as a mere jest, a real child's play: the benediction given by apriest not belonging to the parish, and without the knowledge of theparents, can never be valid. This marriage then will soon be broken, andwith very little trouble, I can assure you. '

These words fell upon me like a thunderbolt, and without a superhumancourage and the aid of Heaven, I should have been crushed at once; but Ifelt that the fate of my whole life might depend upon that moment. Borch's character was well known to me; I knew him to be as cowardly asbase, and also that strength of will is all powerful with such men, whoare only bold with the weak. I replied:

'Sir, your cunning lacks skill; your diplomacy and that of MinisterBrühl, come to nought through the simple good sense of a woman. Yourworld, which judges me and deems me devoid of courage and reason, onlyexcites my pity; I am ready for a struggle with you and with Brühl. Mymarriage is valid; it has been blessed by the consent of my parents; Ihold my powers from God, and will be able to defend them. The bishop wasaware of this marriage on which you are pleased to throw the anathema ofyour irony; the curate of my own parish gave us the benediction, and twowitnesses assisted us during the holy ceremony. I know that divorce ispossible, but only through the common consent of both parties, and theprince royal, my husband, and myself, will never consent to it. '

Borch's astonishment may easily be imagined, and even I could not havebelieved myself capable of so much energy. Borch expected to find achild whom he could dazzle with a few promises; he thought he couldeasily bring me to a renunciation of my rights, and that I would readilyconsent to sign the instrument of my own shame and sorrow: he found memost determined. He remained here two days, and again renewed hisattempts, but, finding that I persisted in my refusal, he departed, having however previously asked me if I would consent to a divorce incase the prince royal should deem it necessary. 

'Yes, ' I replied, 'but you must first show me a writing to that effect, signed by the prince himself. '

I feared lest this occurrence should be the cause of a new sorrow:Barbara's situation requires so much care, and she feels my troubles sodeeply! I was really alarmed lest her health should suffer, but, thankGod! she feels quite well. Dear Barbara is another me; alas! all wholove me must accept the chalice of misery! The starost was quite uneasyconcerning his wife; they are so happy together, so tenderly united!... And I, what a sad destiny is mine! I have obtained neither repose, norhappiness, nor those objects of ambition which I would have consented toreceive from the hand of love. 

 * * * * *

Here ends the Diary of Frances Krasinska. Her thoughts were too sad, her memories too bitter, to bear being transferred to paper. When sorrowin all its bitterness has seized upon the soul, we can no longer see orhear without a shudder certain words which formerly excited reveriesmore or less sweet and seductive within our souls. Frances lost all herillusions, one by one; she was strong enough to bear up againstinjustice, but she was powerless against her husband's indifference. 

My readers may perhaps have accused her of ambition; and yet she lovedhim; but love is not always absolute devotion and self-abnegation; loveis not always a virtue; it is often the result of egotism; it is, asMadame de Staël says, one personality in two persons, or a mere doublepersonality. Frances loved the prince royal, but not the less had shebeen dazzled by his rank. 

She remained a long time at Sulgostow after Borch's departure. BarbaraSwidzinska, already the mother of one daughter, bore also a son, andanother daughter, who was named Frances. The tenderness, care, andattention which Frances experienced in her own family could not consoleher for the prince royal's desertion. Her sister was the only being inthe world to whom she confided her grief; women have a delicatesensibility which enables them to comprehend the minutest details;nothing escapes them, and, with the finest instruments in theirpossession, they can more readily deal with a crushed heart. If love hadleft Frances a single hope, she might still have found happiness infriendship. 

Nowhere at rest, she sometimes left Sulgostow for the convent of theHoly Sacrament in Warsaw; but solitude could not restore her peace, andher prayers were one cry of despair sent up to God to implore death. 

The genius of sorrow is the most prolific of all spirits, it seems as ifhuman nature were infinite in nothing but in the power to suffer. Therewas still another grief in store for Frances, another wound for herafflicted soul; she lost her parents, lost them before they had bestowedthe name of son upon their daughter's husband. At this time she went tothe Franciscan convent in Cracow, whither Barbara sent her her youngdaughter Angelica, to endeavor to bind her to earth through theinfluence of this innocent and youthful affection. 

She lived also at Cznestochowa or at Opole, and everywhere receivedorders not to disclose her marriage. At long intervals of time, theprince royal came to see her, and thus accomplished an external duty ofconscience: total desertion and forgetfulness would perhaps have beenpreferable. 

The prophecy made by the little Matthias was finally verified: the ducalcrown and the throne of Poland both slipped from Prince Charles's grasp;Biren was named Duke of Courland, and, when Augustus III. Died (atDresden, October 5th, 1763), he was succeeded by Stanislaus AugustusPoniatowski. 

To quiet the uneasiness and the melancholy suspicions of Frances, theprince royal declared to her that through regard for his father'sadvanced age he must continue to conceal his marriage. But many yearspassed after the king's death without bringing any amelioration orchange in the position of Frances; the prince and the royal family livedin Dresden, while the prince's wife was constrained to hide her realname in obscurity. 

The Lubomirski family did all in their power to obtain a recognition ofFrances's rights; they even appealed to the Empress Maria Theresa. Prince Charles finally yielded; he wrote a most tender letter to hiswife, begging her to come to him in Dresden; this letter found her atOpole, and the Lubomirski advised her to await another advance from theprince before she consented to go to Dresden, which she did. 

Prince Charles, like all men who are impassioned through their fanciesand cold at heart, was irritated at Frances's hesitation, and wrote heranother letter still more pressing and affectionate; she resisted nolonger, as one may well believe; but she found neither happiness nor therank she was entitled to occupy, or rather, the honor due to her rank. Unprovided with a revenue suited to her position, she led a life ofprivation, almost of want. The Empress Maria Theresa, touched withcompassion at her melancholy fate, conferred upon her the county ofLanckorona, near Cracow. This possession, coming from a strange hand, could not satisfy her ambition, and her heart must long before haverenounced every hope of happiness. 

She maintained a constant correspondence with her sister and the othermembers of her family in Poland. 

We will here give the letter which she wrote to her sister before herdeparture for Dresden, translating it scrupulously from the Polish, andunderlining [italicizing] the portions originally written in French:

 I shall not see you again, as I can no longer delay, my husband having fixed the very day for my arrival in Dresden. In his second letter, he impresses on me not to be later than the fifth of January. I must then say farewell, and rest assured that I return with my whole soul the affection you feel for me; always, and in whatever place I may be, _you will be the dearest to me, and the tokens of your remembrance, the most satisfactory to my heart_. 

 Write to me often, I beg you, and rely upon my punctuality in replying. 

 I am going where I hope to find a little repose.... Alas! I no longer expect happiness, for the elector will not concede me my rank as princess royal, nor recognize me as the wife of the prince. He desires, that is to say, he commands me to preserve my _incognito_, while in his estates. The prince royal is truly grieved, and of all my sorrows the most bitter is that of my husband; his health is visibly failing. 

 I will write you a faithful account of all that happens to me; you shall know how I am received and the progress of all my affairs. If they will be willing to decree us an augmented allowance, I will beg my husband to permit me to leave Dresden and settle in some foreign country contiguous to Saxony, that I may readily hold communication with him. Do not mention my project to any one, for if it were known in Saxony, _my whole enterprise would be ruined. Adieu, most tenderly loved sister_. Do not forget me. Farewell, the multiplicity of my occupations will not permit me to write at greater length. _Apropos, I beg you_ to go now and see the princess palatiness; you will find her with the Bishop of Kamieniec, and Kulagowski; _she will be very grateful for this attention from you; it must be agreeable to her_; you will brighten a little the gravity of this trio. _Adieu, I embrace you with all my heart, and am, as ever, your most affectionate and attached sister, _ FRANCES. 

 _A thousand tender and friendly messages to your husband; I conjure him always to retain a place for me in his memory. _

In 1776 the Polish diet assigned large pensions to all the heirs ofAugustus III. ; the half of that bestowed upon Prince Charles wasrevertible during her lifetime to his wife, the princess royal, FrancesKrasinska. 

During her sojourn in Dresden, she gave birth to a daughter, thePrincess Mary; she educated her with the greatest care, but was soonforced to leave her; her many sorrows developed an insidious malady, which finally proved fatal. She died on the 30th of April, 1796, agedfifty-three. 

Madame Moszynska, who had shown herself a friend to Frances in herprosperity, and, what is still more rare, also in adversity, wasgrievously afflicted by her death. It was she who announced it toMadame Angelica Szymanowska, born Swidzinska, whom Frances had held atthe baptismal font with the prince royal in the cathedral church atWarsaw, in 1760. 

DRESDEN, _June 8th, 1796. _

I comply with your request, madame, but with extreme grief; the loss youhave sustained is a most cruel one to me; indeed it is the deepestaffliction I have ever known. The princess royal's malady began abouttwo years ago. She then felt pains in her breast; some physicians saidher disease was cancer, while others assured her it was tumor. 

An incision was then made, and she was better during some time. But thedisease soon made the most fearful progress. The inflammation appearedupon the outside, and she felt the most acute pains in her breast andthroughout the whole length of her arm. She patiently endured the mostexcruciating torments. Having tried various modes of treatment withoutexperiencing any relief, she finally consented to make trial of a newcure. During twelve weeks she saw no one except the members of her ownhousehold and the physicians, who sometimes said she was better andsometimes that she was worse; finally, however, fever set in, accompanied by all the signs of consumption. 

Perfectly aware of her condition, she prepared for death withresignation and devotion; she died during the night of the 30th ofApril. Her breast had burst open several weeks before. An examinationwas made after her death, and many causes for her last illness werediscovered; but I cannot dwell upon these details.... In my opinion, andI followed the whole course of her malady, her chest was seriouslyaffected in addition to the cancer. 

We have experienced an irreparable loss; I can scarcely endure lifesince our misfortune, and will never be able to think of the princessroyal without the most bitter regret. I have not yet seen her husband;some say that he is ill, and cannot long survive his wife, but othersspeak of him as quite well: I know not whom to believe. 

I sometimes see their daughter, the Princess Mary, whom I love with allmy heart, but whom I can only visit once during the week. She ischarming, and already gives promise of a noble character. The princessroyal, during her dying moments, left her under the protection ofElizabeth, the king's daughter and the prince royal's sister. Elizabethis warmly interested in the young princess, and sincerely attached toher brother; she is a highly meritorious personage. 

May I beg you, madame, to continue toward me your previous sentiments ofkindness, and to accept the expression of my unbounded esteem. L. MOSZYNSKA. 

The prince royal, Charles, survived his wife several months, and theirdaughter, still very young, was confided to the guardianship of PrinceCharles's sister. When she reached a marriageable age, she wedded PrinceCarignan, of Savoy, and their descendants are now allied to the reigningfamily of Sardinia. 

PETROLEUM. 

Lucian of Samosata is responsible for the strange story of Minerva--howJupiter commanded Vulcan to split open his skull with a sharp axe, andhow the warlike virgin leaped in full maturity from the cleft in thebrain, thoroughly armed and ready for deeds of martial daring, brandishing her glittering weapons with fiery energy, and breaking atonce into the wild Pyrrhic dance. We refer to this myth, bearing, as itdoubtless does, an important moral in its bosom, as suggestive of thesudden and gigantic proportions of a traffic which has recently loomedup in the region of Western Pennsylvania. The petroleum trade has wornno swaddling bands, acknowledged no leading strings, but sprung at onceinto full maturity. In less than one year from the moment of itsinception, it has fairly eclipsed the Whale Fishery, gray with time, andstrong through the energy and vigor with which it has ever beenprosecuted. And who can measure its extent in the future, since it canonly be limited by the sources of the supply flowing in the depths ofthe laboratories of the Great Chemist?

Petroleum, in some form or other of its various developments, is no newsubstance in the world's history. More than two thousand years beforethe Christian era, we read of its existence in the days of the buildersof Babel, when men sought to realize the dreams of the Titans, and wouldscale heaven itself in their insane folly. It may have been used in thebuilding of the ark. Herodotus informs us it was largely used in theconstruction of the walls and towers of Babylon. Diodorus Siculusconfirms this testimony. Great quantities of it were found on the banksof the river Issus, one of the tributaries of the Euphrates, in the formof asphaltum. By its aid were reared those mighty walls and hanginggardens which filled the heart of Nebuchadnezzar with such a dream ofpride as he exclaimed: 'Is this not great Babylon that I have built?'

And from those days so ancient, when history would be dim and obscure, were it not for the light of inspiration on the sacred page, down to thepresent time, petroleum has occupied a place in the arrangements of man, either as an article of utility or luxury. It has been one of God'sgreat gifts to his creatures, designed for their happiness, but kepttreasured up in His secret laboratory, and developed only in accordancewith their necessities. And now, in our own days, and in these ends ofthe earth, the great Treasure House has been unlocked, the seal broken, and the supply furnished most bountifully. 

The oil region of Western Pennsylvania is the portion of oil-producingterritory that now occupies the largest share of attention. It isconfined principally to the valley of Oil Creek, a tributary of theAlleghany River, which it enters at a point about sixty miles south fromLake Erie. It is true that oil wells are successfully worked on thebanks of the Alleghany for some distance above and below the mouth ofOil Creek: still the county of Venango has monopolized almost the wholenumber of oil-producing wells in this region. 

There are some strange facts, that point to a history all unwritten savein some few brief sentences in pits and excavations, of oil operationsalong the Oil Valley. These detached fragments, like the remains of theSibylline Oracles, but cause us to regret more earnestly the loss of thevolumes which contained the whole. A grand and wonderful history hasbeen that of this American continent, but it has never been graven inthe archives of time. The actors in its bygone scenes have passed awayin their shadowy grandeur, leaving but dim footprints here and there totell us they have been, and cause us to wonder at the mystery whichveils their record, and to muse upon the evanescent glory of man'searthly destiny. 

Along the valley of Oil Creek are clear traces of ancient oiloperations. Over sections embracing hundreds of acres in extent, theentire surface of the land has, at some remote period of time, beenexcavated in the form of oblong pits, from four by six to six by eightfeet in size. These pits are oftentimes from four to five feet stillin depth, notwithstanding the action of rain and frost during the lapseof so many years. They are found in the oil region, and over the oildeposits, and in no other locality, affording unmistakable evidence oftheir design and use. The deeper pits appear to have been cribbed up atthe sides with rough timber, in order to preserve their form and renderthem more available for the design in view. Upon the septa that dividethem, and even in the pits themselves, trees have grown up more than oneand a half feet in diameter, indicating an antiquity antedating theearliest records of civilized life in this region. For centuries hasthis treasure been affording intimations of its presence. BeforeColumbus had touched these western shores was it gathered here, in thisvalley, as an article of utility or luxury, by the processes of designand labor, and with the idea of traffic and emolument. 

By whom were these excavations planned and these pits fashioned, thattell of the pursuit of wealth so many centuries ago? Let the mightydead, that are slumbering in our valleys, and the remains of whosefortifications and cities are spread out all over the great West, inmagnificence as vast and gorgeous as the ruins of Nineveh and Babylon, arise and speak, for they alone of mortals can tell!

From the fact that some of these pits have been cribbed with timberbearing marks of the axe in its adjustment, many have supposed thattheir construction was due to the French, who at one time occupied, to acertain extent, the Venango oil region. But this theory is scarcelyplausible. Fort Venango was completed by the French at Franklin, sevenmiles below the mouth of Oil Creek, in the spring of 1754, and this wasprobably about the beginning of their active operations in this region. But the construction of these pits no doubt antedates the Frenchoperations very many years. Timber placed in these oil pits, andthoroughly impregnated by its preserving properties, would be almostproof against the ravages of time. As evidence of this, petroleum insome of its forms entered largely into the ingredients used in embalmingby the ancient Egyptians. These embalmed bodies remain perfect to thisday. Even the cerements remain with every thread distinct and perfect aswhen they came from the loom, in days when Joseph was prime minister inEgypt. 

There is evidence, too, from the growth of timber in the very beds ofthese excavations, that they claim an antiquity greater far than theoccupation of their valleys by the French. Year after year, a silent, solemn record was made by the concentric circles, first in the shrub, next in the sapling, and then in the fully developed tree, that tells ofthe lapse of time since these mysterious works were in operation. 

Besides all this, where was the market for the immense quantity ofpetroleum that must have been produced from these excavations, on thesupposition that they were constructed by the French? Surely not athome, for neither in the misty traditions nor early records of that timedo we find reference to any large quantity of this product, nor eventheir facilities for conveying it to the seaboard, had there been ademand for it at home. 

The sole object of the French at that time was to gain militarypossession of the country. This is seen in the line of forts that wasthrown across the country, extending from Erie, Pennsylvania, to a pointon the Ohio River below Pittsburg. There is no evidence that they madeany attempt either to cultivate the soil or develop the mineralresources of the country. There were white inhabitants, too, who weresettled here quite as early as the temporary occupancy of the French. Their descendants remain unto this day. These early settlers knewnothing of French operations in petroleum. They were ignorant of itsproduction, save in minute quantities, as it issued spontaneously fromthe earth; nor could they throw any light on the origin of theexcavations that were found in their midst. 

Another theory, that has been somewhat popular is, that these pits aredue to the labors of the American Indians. But the very term labor seemsabsurd when used in reference to these lords of the forest. They neveremployed themselves in manual labor of any kind. The female portion ofthe community planted a little corn, and constructed rude lodges toshelter them from the wintry blast; but they never even dreamed of tradeor commerce. The Indian loved to roam through the wilderness and followthe war path--to seek for game to supply present wants, or to bring homethe scalp of his enemy as a trophy of his prowess, but would scorn tobend his strength to rude toil in excavating multitudinous pits for thereception of oil, or in bearing it from place to place after it had beensecured. 

Beyond all doubt the Indians were well acquainted with the existence andmany of the properties of petroleum. That they valued it is beyondquestion. They used it, both for medicinal and toilette purposes. Butthey knew of its existence and production, just as did the early whitesettlers: they found it bubbling up from the bed of the stream and fromlow marshy places along its banks. They, no doubt, collected it in smallquantities, without labor and without much forethought, and with thissmall supply were content. But even if a much larger supply had beendesirable, and if the modern idea of traffic had found a place in theirhearts, they had no facilities for conveying it from place to place. Even at the present time, with all our improvement in the arts, thegreat desideratum is an appropriate vessel for carrying petroleum fromplace to place, or retaining it safely in any locality; but the Indianswere utterly destitute of any appliances suitable for the purpose. Ifthey were acquainted with a rude kind of pottery, it was withoutglazing, and so incapable of retaining fluids, particularly petroleum;and we have no knowledge of their ability to construct vessels of anyother material that would answer the desired purpose. The inference istherefore fair, that for purposes of trade the production of oil was notdesirable in so large quantities as indicated by these excavations. Thesame reasons would hold good in relation to its use in the religiousceremonies of the Indians. It could be used only in limited quantities, from the want of convenient receptacles for its retention. Besides, wedoubt whether the Indians were sufficiently devout to resort to suchlabor and pains in religious worship. 

Reference is sometimes made to a letter said to have been written by thecommander of Fort Duquesne (Pittsburg) to General Montcalm, describing agrand scene of fire worship on the banks of Oil Creek, where the wholesurface of the creek, being coated with oil, was set on fire, producingin the night season a wonderful conflagration. But there is room for thesuspicion that this account is apocryphal. Such scenes as are theredescribed have been witnessed on Oil Creek since the beginning of themodern oil trade. During the continuance of several accidentalconflagrations, the scene has been awfully grand and impressive. It hasbeen strongly suggestive of the conflagration of the last day, when

 'The lightnings, barbed, red with wrath, Sent from the quiver of Omnipotence, Cross and recross the fiery gloom, and burn Into the centre!--burn without, within, And help the native fires which God awoke, And kindled with the fury of His wrath. '

But this was when thousands of barrels of petroleum had been stored upin vats, and when the combustible fluid was spouting from the wells atthe rate of many hundred barrels per day. Before the present deep wellswere bored, oil was not produced in sufficient quantities to cause sucha conflagration, and there was never seen upon the creek a stratum ofthe fluid of such consistency as to be inflammable. 

The remains of the once powerful confederacy of Indians known as the SixNations still linger in Western Pennsylvania, in a region not veryremote from Oil Creek, but they can throw no light upon the origin ofthese pits. In regard to their history, they can give no moreinformation than they can concerning the mounds and fortifications, ruined castles, and dismantled cities, that tell us of a once gloriouspast, of a mysterious decadence, and of the utter vanity of all earthlyglory. 

There are men still living in the oil valley, who were on terms offamiliar intimacy with Cornplanter, a celebrated chief of the Senecatribe of Indians--the last of a noble and heroic line of chieftains thathad borne sway from the Canadas to the Ohio River, and who was living atthe time of the French occupation. But in reciting his own deeds andmemories, and those of his fathers, who had gone to the silent huntinggrounds of the spirit land, he could say nothing of early oiloperations, any further than the collection of it in small quantitiesfor medical or ornamental purposes. 

The only rational conclusion, therefore, at which we can arrive inregard to these early oil operations is, that they are due, not to theIndians or French or early white settlers, but to some primitivedwellers on the soil, who have long since passed away, leaving nowritten records to tell of their origin or history, but stamping theimpress of their existence on our mountains and in our valleys, assuringus of their power and the magnificence of their operations, yet leavingus to wonder that such strength could fail, that such magnificence couldperish, and that such darkness could settle over the memory of a greatpeople. 

As before intimated, petroleum was found in Venango County by theearliest white settlers, and was esteemed for its medical properties. But it was obtained only in minute quantities. It was found inparticular localities along the banks of the Alleghany, issuing with thewater from springs, and sometimes bubbling up from the bottom of theriver in small globules, that rising to the surface, disperse themselvesupon the water, and glide away in silent beauty. 

The principal oil spring, or that from which the largest quantity ofpetroleum was collected, was located on Oil Creek, about two miles fromits mouth. From this the main supply was drawn for the wants of theearlier inhabitants. And as the demand was limited, no great amount ofenterprise was called forth in its production. The _modus operandi_ wasmost primitive, and yet withal the results were satisfactory. 

A point was selected where the oil appeared to bubble up most freely, aslight excavation was made, and the oil suffered to collect. When atolerable stratum of petroleum had collected on the top of the water, acoarse blanket was thrown upon the surface, that soon became saturatedwith the oil, but rejected the water. The blanket was then taken out, wrung into a tub or barrel, and the operation repeated. 

But the demand was limited. Most families kept a supply for their ownuse. Yet, for ordinary purposes, a pint bottle was sufficient for ayear's consumption. Indeed, half a dozen barrels were all that could bedisposed of throughout the entire oil region of Western Pennsylvania upto a period when the researches of science were brought to bear upon itspurification as an illuminator. Almost every good housewife was supposedto have a small store of Seneca oil, as it was popularly termed, laid byin case of accident, for the medication of cuts and bruises; and noteven the most popular of the nostrums of the present day is so muchrelied on as was this--nature's own medicine--by the early settlers inthese valleys. 

In the mean time a well was bored on the bank of the Alleghany, withintwo miles of the mouth of Oil Creek, in quest of salt water, with a viewto the manufacture of salt. This was some forty years ago. After sinkingthe well through the solid rock to the depth of seventy or eighty feet, oil presented itself in such quantities, mingled with the salt water, asto fill the miners with the utmost disgust, and induce them to abandonthe well altogether. They were boring for salt, not for petroleum. Saltwas an article of utility and large demand; oil was of comparativelysmall importance, and already a drug in the market, through thespontaneous yield of nature. Again, a well was dug in the town ofFranklin, about thirty years ago, for the supply of a household withwater. At the depth of thirty feet there were evident signs ofpetroleum, that were annoying to the workmen; and although the water ofthe well was used for culinary purposes, it always bore a trace of oil, and was absolutely offensive to those unaccustomed to it. A hole hassince been sunk in this well through the rock, but the yield of oil hasnot been as great as in some other wells in the immediate neighborhood. In the cases cited above were strong hints of the existence of thetreasure concealed in the rocks beneath, and even of the manner ofobtaining it. It was in fact the treasure knocking at the door, andasking to be released, in order to contribute to human wealth andenjoyment. 

But the time had not then arrived for the grant of this great boon. Theearth was at the first made the repository of all the gifts that manshould need until the end of time. But they were not all revealed at thefirst, nor to succeeding generations, until the fitting time arrived, and man's necessities induced the great Giver to unlock the treasurehouse and dispense his rich bounty. 

Before man was created, the great treasure house in the earth's bosomwas filled with its minerals, and as the centuries rolled by in theirslow and solemn march, such treasures were gradually brought to light. Not at once did the earth disclose her mighty resources, but just as manneeded them, and as they should tend to his own best interests. Even onthe banks of the river that watered the terrestrial paradise, gold wasfound, but although 'the gold of that land was good, ' it was brought tolight in limited quantities. In the same sacred locality, and at thesame early day in the history of time, 'the bdellium and the onyx stone'were found in their beauty; yet were they few and rare, until God wouldconsecrate the treasures of the earth to His own service in theconstruction and adornment of the tabernacle and the temple. The greattreasure house of earth was then opened, until gold became common asbrass, and precious stones numerous almost as the pebbles of the brook, and the riches of the earth were eternally consecrated to the service ofGod. 

And in the present century, and within our own recollection, when theworld's business seemed to be stagnated--when the sails of commerceflapped idly at the masts--when the great highways of trade and trafficwere in danger of being deserted, and the coffers of the nation werealmost exhausted, the hand of Providence unlocked the treasures ofCalifornia and Australia, and every department of business has becomeprosperous, and every branch of industry has received a new impetus. Anew lesson has been taught the world: that God's treasures areinexhaustible, and that his hand can never be shortened. 

And now here, in this remote county of Western Pennsylvania, God'streasure has been concealed for ages--locked up in the very heart of theeternal rock, awaiting the time of need, and accomplishment of theeternal purposes of Omnipotence. It has oozed forth in limitedquantities during the lapse of centuries, as though to show us now thatman cannot lay his hand upon the houses of God's treasure until his ownappointed time. 

We know not where the great Chemist has his laboratory, or where heformed the mighty retorts that are distilling for us the oily treasure:most probably they were fashioned when the earth assumed its presentform; and since 'the morning stars' sang creation's hymn together, deepdown amid earth's rocky caverns, through the revolving centuries, thestores have been accumulating that are destined to bless the world andbecome elements of national wealth. And now from that great laboratory, through innumerable channels, cut through the living rock by the hand ofthe Creator, and by 'paths which no fowl knoweth, and which thevulture's eye hath not seen, ' is that treasure brought near to theearth's surface, just in our time of need. When other supplies arefailing and other resources giving way, we see God's wisdom in openingup new channels. The great Benefactor would teach us that his resourcesare unlimited, and that our time of need is but the beginning of hisoverflowing bounty. 

It is really strange how slow men were to discover the abundance of thissupply, and to trace it to its luxuriant deposits amid the rocks. Whileit was literally forcing itself upon their observation, it was only by aroundabout process that they discovered its richness and importance. Asearly as the year 1835 its presence amid the rocks was made known on theAlleghany River, a short distance above Pittsburg, by its interferencewith the salt wells; but no dream of its future importance seems to haveforced itself upon either the miner or the capitalist until within thelast few years. 

Perhaps the first real conception of the petroleum trade was in the mindof a young physician in the Venango region. Yet it was but a dream, and, like many another dream of the past, it was in advance of the age, andresulted in nothing but speculation. In looking at the numerous slightveins of oil that oozed up along the bed of Oil Creek, the thoughtoccurred to him that, by tracing these little veins to their source, themain artery might be reached. And as this tracing must be through therock, the proper plan would be to bore down through it, until a largevein was reached. This was certainly professional, and, now that it hasbeen tested, seems a very plain and simple idea. But it was like thetheory of Columbus in regard to a new continent, entirely too bold forthe times, and was rejected. There was in this physician's theory butone link lacking in order to have anticipated the entire scheme of oilproduction as it was afterward generally carried on. The thought did notoccur to him of leasing the lands along Oil Creek, and thus securing aninterest in the entire territory: he thought only of purchasing, and ashe could not command the capital for this purpose, the scheme was lost, as far as he was concerned. The idea was however a brilliant one, andentitled its originator to be classed among the long line of those whohave dreamed without realizing the vision, and who have sown preciousseed without being permitted to reap the harvest. 

In the mean time, artificial oil had begun to be produced in largequantities from different minerals, principally, however, from cannelcoal, by the process of destructive distillation. This oil was refinedand deodorized, and found to be a valuable illuminator. A spirit ofinquiry and investigation was excited. It was ascertained that thisartificial oil, the product of distillation, was almost identical in itsproperties with the natural oil of the valleys--that the latter might bepurified and deodorized, and if found in sufficient quantities, prove asource of wealth to the country. The enterprise of bygone ages in theexcavation of oil pits was considered by many, but the process seemedtedious, and, in addition, the finest portions of the oil were in dangerof passing off by evaporation. 

The grand idea, however, was struggling toward the light. If the oil, now so greatly desired, bubbled up through concealed clefts in therocks, why might it not be discovered in large quantities by boring insupposed localities deep into the rock that was conjectured to be itshome? And if found in some localities while boring for salt water, whynot expect to find it more certainly in localities where there werediscovered such decided 'surface appearances'?

The work was finally commenced by Colonel E. L. Drake, near the upperoil springs on Oil Creek, by boring in the rock. But it was laborpursued under difficulties. To have announced the intention of boringfor petroleum into the bowels of the earth, would have been to provokemirth and ridicule. The enterprise would have appeared quite asvisionary as that of Noah to the antediluvians in building his arkagainst an anticipated inundation. It was generally supposed that thesearch was for salt water; and perhaps the idea was a complex one evenin the mind of the proprietor. Oil was desirable, salt was within thereach of probability; if the former failed, the latter might probably besecured; and if neither object was attained, the search for salt wouldbe considered neither visionary nor disreputable. 

But the work went forward, through good report and through evil report, particularly the latter, until August 26th, 1859, when, at the depth ofseventy feet, the drill suddenly sank into a cavity in the rock, whenthere was immediate evidence of the presence of oil in large quantities. It was like the cry of 'Land ho!' amid the weary, disheartened marinersthat accompanied Columbus to the Western World. The goal had beenreached at last. A pathway had been opened up through the rocks, leading, not to universal empire, but to realms of wealth hithertounknown. Providence had literally forced upon men's attention that whichshould fill many dwellings with light, and many hearts with gladness. 

Upon withdrawing the drill from the well, the oil and water rose nearlyto the surface. The question was now to be tested whether the petroleumwould present itself in sufficient quantities to justify furtherproceedings, or whether it was, like many another dream, to vanish indarkness, or dissolve in tears. The well was tubed, and by a common handpump yielded ten barrels per day. By means of a more powerful pump, worked by a small engine, this quantity was increased to forty barrelsper day. The supply was uninterrupted, the engine working day and night, and the question was considered settled. This oil well immediatelybecame the centre of attraction. It was visited by hundreds andthousands, all eager to see for themselves, and test by actualexperiment, the wondrous stories that had been related concerning itsenormous yield, by counting the seconds that elapsed during the yield ofa single gallon. 

The fortune of the valley of Oil Creek was now settled, and the pricesof land throughout its whole extent immediately became fabulous. Sometimes entire farms were sold, but generally they were leased in verysmall lots. In some cases the operator was required to give one half andeven five eighths of the product, besides a handsome bonus, to theproprietor of the soil. The work now commenced in earnest. A tide ofspeculators began to set in toward the oil region, that would haveoverpowered that of California or Australia in their palmiest days. 

The excitement did not stop at the valley of Oil Creek. It extended downthe Alleghany to Franklin, and up the valley of French Creek, whichenters the Alleghany seven miles below the mouth of Oil Creek. Wellswere sunk at all these points, and many of them yielded from three toforty barrels per day. In the course of the summer succeeding the firstsuccessful experiment on Oil Creek, there were not less than two hundredwells in different stages of progress in the town of Franklin alone. Wells were being bored in gardens, in dooryards, and even in some casesin the bottoms of wells from which water had been procured for householdpurposes. So numerous were the tall 'derricks, ' that a profane rivermanmade the remark that the people of Franklin must be remarkably pious, asalmost every man seemed to be building a meeting house with a tallsteeple near his dwelling. At one time there were in Franklin fifteenproductive wells, yielding a daily aggregate of one hundred and fortybarrels. Among these were what was known as 'the celebrated Evans well. 'This was, in some respects, the most remarkable well in all the region. It was sunk by its proprietor in the bottom of the well that had longbeen used for household purposes. An humble house and lot constitutedhis entire worldly possessions. The work in the well was performedentirely by his own family. Being a blacksmith, he constructed his ownboring implements, and was dependent on no outside assistance. Patientlyand assiduously did the blacksmith and his two sons toil on, as they hadseldom toiled before, the former guiding the drill, and the latterapplying the power by hand to the simple machinery. At the depth of onlyforty feet in the rock they struck a crevice that promised to pour themout rivers of oil. In attempting to enlarge this, the drill broke, thefragment remaining in the cavity, and defying every effort used for itsremoval. The well was then tubed, and a hand pump inserted, when it wasfound to yield at the rate of ten or fifteen barrels per day. Speculation soon began to run wild, and the fortunate owner of thiswell, among other propositions, received an offer of fifty thousanddollars for his well. To all these tempting offers he persistentlyreturned the same reply--that he had bored that well for his own use, and that if others wished a well, they could do as he had done. 

Oil was generally obtained in the valley around Franklin at the depth ofabout three hundred feet from the surface, for pumping wells; in thevalley of Oil Creek the same stratum was reached at about half thatdepth. In all these wells, whether successful as oil wells or not, astrong body of salt water was obtained, that added greatly to thefacility of separating the oil by its increased gravity. Hitherto thebusiness had been pursued with advantage and profit to those who wereengaged. The demand was steady and prices remunerative, and visions ofuntold wealth were looming up before the minds of thousands. Prospectingwas extending far and near. Every stream and ravine that deflectedtoward the Alleghany or Oil Creek was leased, and in very manyunpropitious localities operations were commenced. 

But a change now took place in the development of oil proceedings thatwrought ruin in the hopes of many an ardent operator. In the Oil Creekregion, some of the smaller wells having been exhausted, resort was hadto deeper boring. One hopeful theorist imagined that if the desirablefluid came from a very great depth, it might be good policy to seek itin a stratum still nearer its rocky home. So down he penetrated, regardless of the 'fine show' of oil that presented itself by the way, until at the depth of five hundred feet in the rock, a vein of mingledgas and oil was reached that literally forced the boring implements fromthe well. This sudden exodus of the implements was followed by a steadystream of petroleum that rose to the height of sixty or seventy feetabove the surface, and was occasionally accompanied by a roaring noiselike the Geysers of Iceland. 

Here was a new feature in oil operations. The idea of flowing wells forthe production of petroleum, once inaugurated, was seized upon withavidity. There was not only a spontaneous yield, but a yield in enormousquantities. And so a pumping well was voted a slow institution, and allparties on Oil Creek renewed the operation of boring, and, at about thedepth of the first flowing well, obtained almost uniformly like success. 

These flowing wells were almost as difficult to govern and regulate aswas Pegasus of old. They 'played fantastic tricks' when least expected, throwing the oil over the workmen, and in one case, when the vein ofpetroleum was suddenly opened, setting fire to the machinery, anddestroying the lives of those in the vicinity. The enormous yield ofthese wells had the effect of bringing down the price of petroleum to solow a figure that pumping wells were at once closed. They could not beworked with profit. Hence almost the entire oil business has, for thepresent at least, been confined to the valley of Oil Creek. The yieldfrom the flowing wells varies from fifty to two thousand barrels perday. This, as may readily be supposed, involves the loss by wastage ofimmense quantities of oil, that is scattered on the ground and runs intothe creek. So great is this waste at times, that the oil is gathered inquantities on the surface of the Alleghany for a distance of eight orten miles below the mouth of Oil Creek, in the eddies, and along thestill water of the shore, and is distinctly perceptible at Pittsburg, adistance of one hundred and forty miles from the wells. 

Notwithstanding these wells are confined to a very narrow valley, and inmany instances in very close proximity, it is very rare that theyinterfere with each other. In fact cases are known where two wells havebeen bored within forty feet of each other, with the discovery of oil atdifferent depths, and even of different qualities, as regards color andgravity. In some instances the well has all the characteristics of anintermittent spring. One in particular may be specified for theregularity of its operations. It would remain quiescent for aboutfifteen minutes, when there would be heard the sound as of fearfulagitation far down in its depths. This rumbling and strife would thenappear to approach the surface for a few moments, when the petroleumwould rush forth from the orifice, mingled with gas and foam, almostwith the fury of a round shot from a rifled cannon. This furious flowwould continue for fifteen or twenty minutes, when it would suddenlysubside, and all would be peace again. This alternate rest and motionwould continue with great regularity day and night, yielding perhaps onehundred and fifty barrels per day. In other instances, there areinterruptions of days and even weeks, when the flow will be continued asbefore. In others still, the yield is steady and uninterrupted, yieldingwith unvarying regularity from week to week. 

The oil region of Venango County, as far as has been explored, isconfined to the creek and river bottoms. In connection with wells thathave been opened, there is a superincumbent stratum of earth, varyingfrom ten to sixty feet in thickness: underlying this is a stratum ofargillaceous shale, generally about one hundred and eighty feet inthickness, and then a stratum of white sandstone. Sometimes thissandstone is intermingled with red, presenting a ruddy appearance as thesand is withdrawn from the well in the process of boring. 

Occasionally in passing through the shale, small fissures in the rockare passed through, with circumstances indicating the presence of astratum or vein of water, as at such times the sand accumulated inboring all disappears, leaving the bits clean and bright. At other timessmall veins or cavities of petroleum are pierced, the product of whichrises to the surface of the well, and indicates its presence byappearing in the sand pump. In the earlier stages of the business this'show of oil, ' as it was termed, was considered most favorable toultimate success; but latterly it is not regarded as essential, as manyfirst-class wells have been discovered without the intermediate show;and on the other hand, there has been many a brilliant show that hasresulted in failure and disappointment. 

The presence of surface oil is not always a sure criterion in decidingupon a location for a well. Oftentimes very fine wells are opened inlocalities where no oil has been found on the surface, and no appearanceof oil having been obtained at any previous time in the neighborhood. Perhaps the most unsuccessful operations in the whole Oil Creek valleyhave been in the midst of the ancient pits that have already beenalluded to. Wells have been bored in the bottom of these pits withoutthe least success. At a point near the bank of the Alleghany, some twomiles above Franklin, there was a well-known oil spring some forty yearsago. It supplied the family that lived near it as well as thesurrounding neighborhood with petroleum for medical and other domesticpurposes to the extent of their wants. For many years the supply hasentirely failed. During a recent excavation, at the precise spot whereit was known formerly to exist, for the purpose of laying the abutmentof a bridge, no trace of oil was found--not even a discoloration of theearth. 

Of course the boring of wells has become quite an institution in the oilregion, and is carried on with great system. After selecting a site, thefirst thing in order is the erection of a derrick. This is a frame inthe form of a truncated pyramid, about ten feet square at the bottom, and five at the top, having one of its four posts pierced with rounds toanswer the purpose of a ladder, by means of which the workmen can ascendand descend. This derrick is from twenty to thirty feet in height, andhas at its summit a pulley, by means of which the boring implements aredrawn from the well. A pit is then sunk through the earth within thederrick, about six feet square, until the work is interrupted by water. The remaining distance to the rock is reached by driving strongcast-iron pipe by means of a battering ram. This pipe has a caliber ofabout five inches, with walls of one inch in thickness. It is preparedin joints of about eight feet in length, which are connected together atthe point of contact by wrought-iron bands. When the pipe reaches therock, the earth is removed from its cavity, and the operation of boringis ready to be commenced. Occasionally, however, this driving operationis interrupted by coming upon a huge bowlder. When this is the case, theboring operation is commenced, and a hole made through the bowldernearly equal in size to the cavity of the pipe, when the driving isresumed, and the pipe made to ream its way through the stone. Sometimesin these operations the pipe is fractured, or turned aside from aperpendicular direction, when the place is abandoned and a new locationsought for. 

The boring implements do not differ materially from those used insinking artesian wells. As a general thing, bits of two or three sizesare used, the first and smallest of which only has a cutting edge. Ifthe hole to be sunk through the rock is to be four inches in diameter, the bits would be, first, one with a cutting edge two inches in width;secondly, a blunt bit, three inches wide by one inch in thickness; andlastly, by a similar bit four inches wide. These bits have a shank abouttwo feet in length, that is screwed into an auger stem ten or twelvefeet in length and about one inch and a half in diameter. Connected withthis auger stem is an arrangement called, technically, 'jars'--twoelongated loops of iron, working in each other like links in a chain, that serve to jar the bit loose when it sticks fast in the process ofboring. 

Sometimes this auger stem is connected with wooden rods, joined togetherwith screws and sockets, new joints being added as the work proceeds;but more generally the connection is with a rope or cable of about oneand a half inches in diameter. To this rope the auger stem is attachedby a clamp and screw, that can be readily shifted as the progress of thework renders it necessary. The entire weight of these implements is fromfour to six hundred pounds. The power applied is sometimes that of twoor three men working by means of a spring pole; but oftener a steamengine of from four to eight horse power. Midway between the well andthe engine a post is planted, on which is balanced a working beam aboutsixteen feet in length: one end of this beam is attached to the crank ofthe engine, and the other to the implements in the well. The power isapplied to raising the bit--the blow is produced by the fall of the samewhen relieved by the downward motion of the working beam. 

In the process of boring, the workman is seated over the well, and, by atransverse handle attached to the machinery just above the rope, turnsthe rope, and with it the bit, partially around, so that each stroke ofthe bit on the rock beneath is slightly across the cut that has precededit. After the fore bit has proceeded about two feet, or until the workbegins to clog with sand, it is withdrawn, and the next is inserted inits place, and the work is then finished as it goes by the last bit. Thefragments of rock that are cut away descend to the bottom of the well inthe form of sand, and are readily withdrawn by means of the sand pump. This is a simple copper tube about six feet in length, with a diametersomething less than that of the well, and furnished at the lower endwith a simple valve opening upward. This pump is let down into the wellby a rope, and, when it reaches the bottom, is agitated for a fewmoments, when the sand is forced up through the valve, and thuswithdrawn from the well, when the boring is again resumed. 

As the work proceeds, a register is kept by the judicious borer of thedifferent strata passed through, and also of the veins of water and oilpassed through, in order to the formation of an intelligent judgment intubing the well. 

As might be supposed, this operation of descending amid the rocks is notwithout its difficulties and discouragements. Sometimes the bit breaksor becomes detached from the auger stem, leaving a fragment of hardenedsteel, or an entire bit, deep in the recesses of the rock. When thelatter is the case, recourse is had to divers expedients, by means ofimplements armed with sockets and spring jaws, in order to entrap thetruant bit. And it is marvellous what success generally attends theseefforts to extract bits that are oftentimes two or three hundred feetbelow the surface. Sometimes, however, these efforts fail, and the wellmust be abandoned, with all the labor and anxiety that have beenexpended upon it. 

During the progress of the boring there is more or less carburettedhydrogen gas set free. This supply is so abundant at times as to causean ebullition in the water of the well, resembling the boiling of a pot. In the case of the flowing wells, when the vein of petroleum is reached, the gas rushes forth with such violence, and the upward pressure is sofurious, as to force the implements from the well, and even the tubing, when not properly secured, has been driven through the derrick in itsupward progress. 

After the boring has been successfully accomplished, the next operationconsists in tubing the well. This is merely the introduction of a copperor iron chamber, extending down, or nearly so, to the vein of the oil. This tubing is, for the pumping and larger-class flowing wells, usuallyabout two and a half or three inches in diameter, consisting of sectionsabout twenty feet in length, and connected together by means of screwand socket joints. As there are usually many veins of water passedthrough in boring, some device must be resorted to in order to shut offthis water from the oil vein and produce a vacuum. This is accomplishedby applying what is called a 'seed bag' to the tube at the point wherethis stoppage is desirable. The seed bag is a tube of strong leathersome eighteen inches in length and about five inches in diameter. It isput around the metallic tube and the lower end firmly tied around it. From a pint to a quart of flaxseed is then poured in, and the upper endbound rather more slightly than the lower, when the tube is sunk to itsplace in the well. In a few hours the flaxseed in the sack below willhave swollen and distended the bag so as to effectually shut off allwater from above. When it is desirable to withdraw the tubing from thewell, the effort of raising it will break the slight fastening at theupper end of the leathern sack, permitting the seed to escape and thetube to be withdrawn without difficulty. When the well is to be pumped, a pump barrel is placed at the lower end of the tube, with piston rodsextending to the top and attached to the working beam used in boring thewell. 

As the petroleum is ordinarily mixed with more or less water whenbrought to the surface, it is thrown first into a tank, and the superiorgravity of the water causing it to sink to the bottom, it is drawn offfrom beneath, and the petroleum placed in barrels. These tanks are ofall sizes, ranking from thirty to two thousand barrels each. 

For the present, wells that were formerly pumped at a profit are bidingtheir time; for at present prices of oil operations upon them would beruinous. This renders the computation of the weekly yield of the OilCreek region comparatively easy. There are at the present time not farfrom one hundred flowing wells along the valley of the creek, producingprobably on an average about forty thousand barrels per week. A portionof this is refined in the county, but by far the largest part is shippedto a distance, either by the Alleghany River by way of Pittsburg, or bythe Philadelphia and Erie or Atlantic and Great Western Railroads to theEastern markets. 

The necessities of the trade have given rise to many ingeniousinventions in getting the oil to market. The wells extend along OilCreek for a distance of about fourteen miles from its mouth. The groundis not favorable for land carriage, as the valley is narrow and thestream tortuous. The creek itself is too small for navigation underordinary circumstances, and a railroad with steam power would be in thehighest degree dangerous. To compensate for all these difficulties, asystem of artificial navigation has been adopted. Throughout the wholedistance, at intervals of perhaps a mile, dams have been constructedacross the creek, with draws in the centre, that can be easily openedat the proper time. In this way 'pond freshets' are arranged one or twodays in a week. By the appointed time, all persons having oil to run outof the creek have their boats ready, and as the water from the upper damraises the creek below, the fleet of boats sets out. Each successive damraises the water to a higher level, and as the fleet proceeds, small atfirst, it increases until, as it approaches the river, it often numberstwo hundred boats, bearing with them not less than ten thousand barrelsof petroleum. 

The advent of this fleet of boats to the mouth of the creek is in thehighest degree exciting. As boat after boat rushes into the river, thereis the dashing to and fro of the boatmen, and the shouts of themultitude on the shore. Here and there a collision occurs that oftenresults in the crushing of the feebler boat, and the indiscriminatemingling of boatmen, fragments of the broken craft, oil, and fixtures inone common ruin. In this fleet the form and variety of boats beggars alldescription. Sometimes there is the orthodox flatboat, filled withiron-bound barrels, with an air of respectability hovering around it. Next will follow a rude scow, and close upon it an unwieldy 'bulk, ' intowhich the oil has been pumped at the well. After this, perhaps, may beseen a rude nondescript, that surely was never dreamed of outside theoil region. It consists of a series of rough ladders, constructed oftall saplings. Between each pair of rounds in these ladders is placed abarrel of oil, floating in the water, but kept in position by itshamper. A number of these ladders are lashed together, until the floatcontains two or three hundred barrels of oil. 

The bulks spoken of are about sixteen feet square and two or three feetin depth, divided internally into bulk-heads of perhaps four feetsquare, to prevent any undue agitation of the oil by the motion of theboat, and are sometimes decked over. These unpromising boats, as well asthe ladder floats, are, during favorable weather, often run to Pittsburgwith entire safety. Steamboats, however, run up to the mouth of OilCreek during the time of high water, and afford the safest and mostexpeditious means of transportation. 

As to the abundance of the supply in this region, there can be butlittle doubt. Wells seem at times to become exhausted, but it is fromlocal causes. At times a cavity may be tapped that has been suppliedfrom a very small avenue, and may be readily exhausted, but exhaustedonly to be refilled again. The fact that wells do not interfere witheach other, even when but fifty feet apart, is evidence that the supplyis not confined to a limited stratum, but is drawn from the great deepsbeneath. The existence of the ancient oil pits, before alluded to, assures us that the supply has been continued for centuries; andobservation confirms this, as we have noticed the hitherto unusedtreasure bubbling up silently through the crevices in the rocks andgradually evaporating amid the sands, or arising in the beds of thestreams and floating down upon their surface. The history of thepetroleum trade in other lands encourages us as to the abundance of thesupply in our own. In the northern part of Italy, petroleum has beencollected for more than two hundred years, without any intimation thatthe supply is being exhausted. In Burmah a supply has been drawn fromthe earth for an unknown period, and so far are these wells fromexhaustion that they yield at the present time over twenty-five millionsof gallons per annum. We may well suppose, then, that the treasurebrought to light in such abundance in our day will not be readilyexhausted--that as the coals are found in illimitable abundance for fuelas the forests fail, petroleum for illuminating purposes will be foundin like profusion. 

We have said that the petroleum trade has known no infancy, but hassprung at once into maturity. The oil wells of Venango County aloneproduced, during the first year of their operation, more oil than theentire product of the whale fisheries during the most favorable andprosperous year in their history. At the present time, after a lapse oflittle more than two years, the daily product of the wells on Oil Creekalone is computed to be over six thousand barrels. And in thisneighborhood the quantity might be wellnigh doubled, were it not for thelow price the product commands. 

Petroleum differs in its characteristics in different localities. It isusually heavier in the shallow wells than in those that are deeper. Ordinarily it is of a greenish hue, that changes to a reddish as the oilbecomes lighter and more evaporative. It is all characterized by astrong and pungent odor peculiar to itself. The gravity of the variouskinds of oil is ascertained by the oleometer. The lighter oils are foundon Oil Creek, and are about 40° to 46° Baumé; at Franklin, from 30° to32°. 

It is difficult to speak of the uses of petroleum at the present time, for these uses have not yet been fully developed. In its refined stateit is preëminent as an illuminator. In this character it yields the palmto gas in matters of convenience and neatness, but is superior to it onthe score of general adaptation and economy. Besides, the quality of thelight is superior to that of gas, being soft, mild, tranquil, andexceedingly white. In the rural districts, where coal gas isimpracticable, it would be an intolerable calamity to be obliged toreturn to the use of the old tallow candle that was the main dependencein years gone by. As an article of fuel, it has been used to some extentin the oil regions, but the appliances have been so rude that its usehas not been general. When proper machinery shall have been invented, nodoubt it will be a most important item of fuel in ocean navigation aswell as in railway travel, conducing alike to economy of space and toease of manipulation. 

In the manufacture of gas it has already been brought into successfuluse, both in this country and in England, and has been found mostvaluable alike in the quality of the product and in the economy of itsproduction. 

As a medicinal agent it has long been employed in this country. It wasused by the Indians in this way when the country was first discovered. It was also held in high estimation by the early settlers in what arenow called the oil regions, for the medication of cuts and bruises, aswell as an internal curative. It formed the staple of the British andAmerican oils that were sold largely and at high rates throughout thecountry. It is a remarkable fact that since the quantity has increasedso largely the popular faith has been correspondingly weakened in itsmedical efficacy. 

Further uses are developed in the process of refining. This latter isexceedingly simple. The crude oil is placed in an iron retort connectedwith a coil of pipe in a vessel of cold water. Heat is then applied tothe retort, when the process of distillation commences. The firstproduct is a light-colored, volatile substance, sometimes callednaphtha, that is very explosive. This substance is used in the place ofspirits of turpentine in the preparation of paints and varnishes, and, after further treatment, in removing paints and grease from clothing. The next product from the retort is the refined fluid for illumination. This is of a yellow color, with a bluish tinge and powerful odor, requiring further treatment before it is ready for the lamp. Thistreatment consists in placing it in a cistern lined with lead, andagitating it with a portion of sulphuric acid. The acid and impuritieshaving subsided, the oil is drawn off, and further agitated with sodalye, and finally with water, when it is ready for use. After this acoarse oil for the lubrication of machinery is produced. Paraffine isanother product resulting from this distillation. It is a white, tasteless, and inodorous substance, used in the manufacture of candles. The residuum in the retort may be applied to various useful purposes. Itis sometimes used as fuel, and sometimes takes the place of coal tar inthe arts, and by chemical processes is made to yield products useful inthe laboratory and in the manufactory. 

But the æsthetics connected with this distillation must not be passed byin silence. On a bright, sunshiny day we see a bright globule ofpetroleum rising from the bottom of the stream. As it reaches thesurface of the water it disperses, and, as it glides away, all thecolors of the rainbow are reflected from its undulating surface. 

 'What radiant changes strike th' astonished sight! What glowing hues of mingled shade and light! Not equal beauties gild the lucid west With parting beams o'er all profusely drest, Not lovelier colors paint the vernal dawn, When Orient dews impearl th' enamelled lawn, Than in its waves in bright suffusion flow, That now with gold empyreal seem to glow; Now in pellucid sapphires meet the view, And emulate the soft celestial hue; Now beams a flaming crimson on the eye, And now assume the purple's deeper dye. But here description clouds each shining ray-- What terms of art can Nature's powers display?'

We gaze upon those colors, ever changing in their lustre and variety, until imagination revels in its most delightful dreams, suggestingthoughts of the good and beautiful, and reminding how beauty lingersamid the most unpromising things of earth! And just as the bow thatspans the mantling cloud reminds us of all beautiful things that glowaround its antitype that spans the emerald throne on high, so, as wegaze upon the prismatic tints that are reflected from the oily surface, we dream of all that is beautiful in color and gorgeous in tintedradiance, as being hidden amid the elements of petroleum. 

This dream has its fulfilment amid the processes of distillation andtreatment. One product in these processes is called aniline, that is, the base of those beautiful colors so popular with ladies these lastdays--Mauve, Magenta, and Solferino. And in process of time, no doubt, the most delicate colors for flower and landscape painting will beeduced, that will give a new impetus to the fine arts, and to thedevelopment of taste in our midst. 

And now where shall we look for the origin of this treasure? From whatelements is it elaborated? We cannot go with the great Chemist to hislaboratory and look upon the ingredients, and notice the treatment usedthere. Science, although denominated the 'star eyed, ' cannot penetratethe mighty strata of everlasting rocks that lie beneath us, and revealto us these mysteries of nature. 'There is a path which no fowl knoweth, and which the vulture's eye hath not seen: the lion's whelps have nottrodden it, nor the fierce lion passed by it. He putteth forth His handupon the rock; he overturneth the mountains by the roots. He cutteth outrivers among the rocks; and His eye seeth every precious thing. Hebindeth the floods from overflowing; and the thing that is hid, bringethHe forth to light. '

Nature has her mysteries. The earth has its great secrets. But over all, a God of wisdom and goodness presides. Age after age has rolledby--change after change has agitated the history of Time, as forms ofbeauty have been moulded and marred--as songs of joy have been sung, andrequiems of sadness chanted in the great highways and quiet bypaths oflife--the living of bygone ages are slumbering quietly in the dust, andthe living of the present are hurrying to the same 'pale realms ofshade. ' The nations of antiquity have passed off the stage with alltheir grandeur and littleness, and the nations of more modern times aresurging and dashing to and fro, like ships in the wild chaos of ocean'sstorms. God alone is great!

Changes, too, have been quietly going on beneath us in the earth'sbosom. A great dream of science, but perhaps an earnest, glowingreality, suggests that when God's almighty power was rolling away thecurtains of darkness from earth's chaotic state--forming channels foroceans and rivers, and heaving up as barriers the mountain chains ofearth, His eternal prescience of man's coming need induced Him to burydeep down in subterranean recesses the imperfect vegetable organisms ofa pre-Adamic state, that in the ages to come, coals and oils and gasesmight be drawn forth to supply his wants. 

We find in the coal deposits traces of ferns and leaves of giganticstature and proportions. Casts of huge boles of trees are found amongour fossils, inducing the belief that in some bygone age quantities ofvegetable matter, absolutely enormous, were produced on the earth'ssurface. And it is presumable that in some of the revolutions that haveagitated our planet, renovating, improving, and fitting it for a higherorder of life, mighty deposits of this vegetable matter were buried upamid the rocky strata, to be evolved in new forms and products. And itmay be that since the days of Adam this vegetable deposit has beenundergoing the process of destructive distillation in the hidden regionsbeneath. In this process heat would not be wanting: it is furnished bythe natural constitution of the earth. 

Says Professor Hitchcock:

 'Wherever in Europe or America the temperature of the air, water, rocks, in deep excavations, has been ascertained, it has been found higher than the mean temperature of the climate at the surface, and experiments have been made at hundreds of places; it is found that the heat of the earth increases rapidly as we descend below that point in the earth's crust to which the sun's heat extends. The mean rate of increase of heat has been stated by the British Association to be one degree of Fahrenheit's thermometer for every forty-five feet: at this rate all the known rocks in the earth would be melted at a depth of sixty miles. '

Here, then, are all the conditions necessary to the production ofpetroleum. The vegetable deposit was made amid the rocks--we know notwhen; internal heat has been decomposing that matter, and setting freeits gases; these again have been condensed as they approached thesurface, and have filled up the cavities, and accumulated amid therocks, until in these last days the earth has literally poured us outrivers of oil. 

Still all this is mere speculation. The hidden path yet remainsunexplored. It may always remain so; but we have the great fact ofDivine providence in the rich and copious supply, that is none the lessvaluable because it flows from an unknown source, and comes to usthrough unexplored channels. 

THE ANGELS OF WAR. 

 Two angels sat on a war-cloud, watching the din of the fight, One was an angel of darkness, and one was an angel of light. The first looked down and smiled, with fearful, fiendish glee: 'Of all earth's sights, ' he shouted, 'this is the one for me! Where is your God in heaven? and where on earth is your Christ? What have your laws and your gospels, your churches and sabbaths sufficed-- That here in this freest land, and now in this ripest age, Men give up reason and manhood for brutal fury and rage? Men who have prattled of peace, of brotherhood, freedom, and right! Here is a thirst which is deeper! See how your Christians can fight! Louder than savages' war-whoop, fiercer than savages' ire, List to the din of their cannon, look on its murderous fire. These be thy triumphs, O Freedom! Christendom, this is thy good! Deadliest weapons of warfare, earth's reddest vintage of blood; The fate of states and nations, the fate of freedom and right Staked on the nerve of a man, poised on a cannon ball's flight; A land of widows and orphans, a land of mourning and pain, Whose air is heavy with sighs, whose soil is red with the slain. Say, Earth, art thou drawing nearer that age, the promised of yore, When swords shall be beaten to ploughshares, and war be learned no more? Is the Prince of Peace appearing of whom your prophets tell? Lo, here is the Prince of Darkness, and here is the reign of Hell. '

 And the angel laughed in scorn, and said, in his fearful glee: 'Aha, of all earth's sights, this is the one for me. '

 The other angel spake, and his face was fair and bright, 'And of all earth's sights to me this is the noblest sight. At the touch of a hand profane laid on its sacred things, Countless as heaven's bright army, to arms a nation springs. Thousands of peaceful homes give up their cherished ones, Young wives give up their bridegrooms, old mothers give their sons; Manhood gives up its work, and eager youth its dream: The reign of sense is over, the spirit rules supreme. No victims of brute rage, no hirelings trained to fight, But men in calmest manhood, fresh from the hearthstone's light. This right arm, maimed and crippled, was dedicate to art; All high and noble purpose beat with that pulseless heart; Pure bridal kisses linger upon this gory brow; On those fair curls a mother's blessing rested even now: Such men, --the best and dearest, the very life of life, Earth has no ransom for them, --have hastened to the strife. 'The nobler days have come when men must do and die, ' Methinks I hear them say, with calm, uplifted eye: 'Our human lives are nothing; thy will, great God, is all; We come to work thy work, we have heard the heavenly call;

 Thy right hand holdeth chance, thy strong arm ruleth fate, To thee, the God of battles, our lives are consecrate. Not at the foeman's call, not to the foeman's sword, But we come at the disposal and the summons of the Lord. '

 'This, ' said the second angel, and his smile was fair to see, 'Of all the sights on earth is the noblest one to me; No brutelike men are these, nay, rather to my eyes, Men raised to angels' heights of calm self-sacrifice. ' Yet he wept, and weeping prayed, 'Oh, may these sons of men Keep faith and strength and patience, till thou comest, Christ, again!'

A TRAGEDY OF ERROR. 

I. 

A low English phaeton was drawn up before the door of the post office ofa French seaport town. In it was seated a lady, with her veil down andher parasol held closely over her face. My story begins with a gentlemancoming out of the office and handing her a letter. 

He stood beside the carriage a moment before getting in. She gave himher parasol to hold, and then lifted her veil, showing a very prettyface. This couple seemed to be full of interest for the passers by, mostof whom stared hard and exchanged significant glances. Such persons aswere looking on at the moment saw the lady turn very pale as her eyesfell on the direction of the letter. Her companion saw it too, andinstantly stepping into the place beside her, took up the reins, anddrove rapidly along the main street of the town, past the harbor, to anopen road skirting the sea. Here he slackened pace. The lady was leaningback, with her veil down again, and the letter lying open in her lap. Her attitude was almost that of unconsciousness, and he could see thather eyes were closed. Having satisfied himself of this, he hastilypossessed himself of the letter, and read as follows:

SOUTHAMPTON, _July 16th, 18--. _

MY DEAR HORTENSE: You will see by my postmark that I am athousand leagues nearer home than when I last wrote, but I have hardlytime to explain the change. M. P---- has given me a most unlooked-for_congé_. After so many months of separation, we shall be able to spend afew weeks together. God be praised! We got in here from New York thismorning, and I have had the good luck to find a vessel, the _Armorique_, which sails straight for H----. The mail leaves directly, but we shallprobably be detained a few hours by the tide; so this will reach you aday before I arrive: the master calculates we shall get in earlyThursday morning. Ah, Hortense! how the time drags! Three whole days. IfI did not write from New York, it is because I was unwilling to tormentyou with an expectancy which, as it is, I venture to hope, you will findlong enough. Farewell. To a warmer greeting! Your devoted C. B. 

When the gentleman replaced the paper on his companion's lap, his facewas almost as pale as hers. For a moment he gazed fixedly and vacantlybefore him, and a half-suppressed curse escaped his lips. Then his eyesreverted to his neighbor. After some hesitation, during which he allowedthe reins to hang so loose that the horse lapsed into a walk, he touchedher gently on the shoulder. 

'Well, Hortense, ' said he, in a very pleasant tone, 'what's the matter;have you fallen asleep?'

Hortense slowly opened her eyes, and, seeing that they had left the townbehind them, raised her veil. Her features were stiffened with horror. 

'Read that, ' said she, holding out the open letter. 

The gentleman took it, and pretended to read it again. 

'Ah! M. Bernier returns. Delightful!' he exclaimed. 

'How, delightful?' asked Hortense; 'we mustn't jest at so serious acrisis, my friend. '

'True, ' said the other, 'it will be a solemn meeting. Two years ofabsence is a great deal. '

'O Heaven! I shall never dare to face him, ' cried Hortense, burstinginto tears. 

Covering her face with one hand, she put out the other toward that ofher friend. But he was plunged in so deep a reverie, that he did notperceive the movement. Suddenly he came to, aroused by her sobs. 

'Come, come, ' said he, in the tone of one who wishes to coax anotherinto mistrust of a danger before which he does not himself feel sosecure but that the sight of a companion's indifference will give himrelief. 'What if he does come? He need learn nothing. He will stay but ashort time, and sail away again as unsuspecting as he came. '

'Learn nothing! You surprise me. Every tongue that greets him, if onlyto say _bon jour_, will wag to the tune of a certain person'smisconduct. '

'Bah! People don't think about us quite as much as you fancy. You and I, _n'est-ce-pas_? we have little time to concern ourselves about ourneighbors' failings. Very well, other people are in the same box, betteror worse. When a ship goes to pieces on those rocks out at sea, the poordevils who are pushing their way to land on a floating spar, don'tbestow many glances on those who are battling with the waves besidethem. Their eyes are fastened to the shore, and all their care is fortheir own safety. In life we are all afloat on a tumultuous sea; we areall struggling toward some _terra firma_ of wealth or love or leisure. The roaring of the waves we kick up about us and the spray we dash intoour eyes deafen and blind us to the sayings and doings of our fellows. Provided we climb high and dry, what do we care for them?'

'Ay, but if we don't? When we've lost hope ourselves, we want to makeothers sink. We hang weights about their necks, and dive down into thedirtiest pools for stones to cast at them. My friend, you don't feel theshots which are not aimed at you. It isn't of you the town talks, but ofme: a poor woman throws herself off the pier yonder, and drowns before akind hand has time to restrain her, and her corpse floats over the waterfor all the world to look at. When her husband comes up to see what thecrowd means, is there any lack of kind friends to give him the good newsof his wife's death?'

'As long as a woman is light enough to float, Hortense, she is notcounted drowned. It's only when she sinks out of sight that they giveher up. '

Hortense was silent a moment, looking at the sea with swollen eyes. 

'Louis, ' she said at last, 'we were speaking metaphorically: I have halfa mind to drown myself literally. '

'Nonsense!' replied Louis; 'an accused pleads 'not guilty, ' and hangshimself in prison. What do the papers say? People talk, do they? Can'tyou talk as well as they? A woman is in the wrong from the moment sheholds her tongue and refuses battle. And that you do too often. Thatpocket handkerchief is always more or less of a flag of truce. '

'I'm sure I don't know, ' said Hortense indifferently; 'perhaps it is. '

There are moments of grief in which certain aspects of the subject ofour distress seems as irrelevant as matters entirely foreign to it. Hereyes were still fastened on the sea. There was another silence. 'O mypoor Charles!' she murmured, at length, 'to what a hearth do youreturn!'

'Hortense, ' said the gentleman, as if he had not heard her, although, toa third person, it would have appeared that it was because he had doneso that he spoke: 'I do not need to tell you that it will never happento me to betray our secret. But I will answer for it that so long as M. Bernier is at home no mortal shall breathe a syllable of it. '

'What of that?' sighed Hortense. 'He will not be with me ten minuteswithout guessing it. '

'Oh, as for that, ' said her companion, dryly, 'that's your own affair. '

'Monsieur de Meyrau!' cried the lady. 

'It seems to me, ' continued the other, 'that in making such a guarantee, I have done my part of the business. '

'Your part of the business!' sobbed Hortense. 

M. De Meyrau made no reply, but with a great cut of the whip sent thehorse bounding along the road. Nothing more was said. Hortense lay backin the carriage with her face buried in her handkerchief, moaning. Hercompanion sat upright, with contracted brows and firmly set teeth, looking straight before him, and by an occasional heavy lash keeping thehorse at a furious pace. A wayfarer might have taken him for a ravisherescaping with a victim worn out with resistance. Travellers to whom theywere known would perhaps have seen a deep meaning in this accidentalanalogy. So, by a _détour_, they returned to the town. 

When Hortense reached home, she went straight up to a little boudoir onthe second floor, and shut herself in. This room was at the back of thehouse, and her maid, who was at that moment walking in the long gardenwhich stretched down to the water, where there was a landing place forsmall boats, saw her draw in the window blind and darken the room, stillin her bonnet and cloak. She remained alone for a couple of hours. Atfive o'clock, some time after the hour at which she was usually summonedto dress her mistress for the evening, the maid knocked at Hortense'sdoor, and offered her services. Madame called out, from within, that shehad a _migraine_, and would not be dressed. 

'Can I get anything for madame?' asked Josephine; 'a _tisane_, a warmdrink, something?'

'Nothing, nothing. '

'Will madame dine?'

'No. '

'Madame had better not go wholly without eating. '

'Bring me a bottle of wine--of brandy. '

Josephine obeyed. When she returned, Hortense was standing in thedoorway, and as one of the shutters had meanwhile been thrown open, thewoman could see that, although her mistress's hat had been tossed uponthe sofa, her cloak had not been removed, and that her face was verypale. Josephine felt that she might not offer sympathy nor askquestions. 

'Will madame have nothing more?' she ventured to say, as she handed herthe tray. 

Madame shook her head, and closed and locked the door. 

Josephine stood a moment vexed, irresolute, listening. She heard nosound. At last she deliberately stooped down and applied her eye to thekey-hole. 

This is what she saw:

Her mistress had gone to the open window, and stood with her back to thedoor, looking out at the sea. She held the bottle by the neck in onehand, which hung listlessly by her side; the other was resting on aglass half filled with water, standing, together with an open letter, ona table beside her. She kept this position until Josephine began togrow tired of waiting. But just as she was about to arise in despair ofgratifying her curiosity, madame raised the bottle and glass, and filledthe latter full. Josephine looked more eagerly. Hortense held it amoment against the light, and then drained it down. 

Josephine could not restrain an involuntary whistle. But her surprisebecame amazement when she saw her mistress prepare to take a secondglass. Hortense put it down, however, before its contents were halfgone, as if struck by a sudden thought, and hurried across the room. Shestooped down before a cabinet, and took out a small opera glass. Withthis she returned to the window, put it to her eyes, and again spentsome moments in looking seaward. The purpose of this proceedingJosephine could not make out. The only result visible to her was thather mistress suddenly dropped the lorgnette on the table, and sank downon an armchair, covering her face with her hands. 

Josephine could contain her wonderment no longer. She hurried down tothe kitchen. 

'Valentine, ' said she to the cook, 'what on earth can be the matter withMadame? She will have no dinner, she is drinking brandy by the glassful, a moment ago she was looking out to sea with a lorgnette, and now she iscrying dreadfully with an open letter in her lap. '

The cook looked up from her potato-peeling with a significant wink. 

'What can it be, ' said she, 'but that monsieur returns?'

II. 

At six o'clock, Josephine and Valentine were still sitting together, discussing the probable causes and consequences of the event hinted atby the latter. Suddenly Madame Bernier's bell rang. Josephine was onlytoo glad to answer it. She met her mistress descending the stairs, combed, cloaked, and veiled, with no traces of agitation, but a verypale face. 

'I am going out, ' said Madame Bernier; 'if M. Le Vicomte comes, tell himI am at my mother-in-law's, and wish him to wait till I return. '

Josephine opened the door, and let her mistress pass; then stoodwatching her as she crossed the court. 

'Her mother-in-law's, ' muttered the maid; 'she has the face!'

When Hortense reached the street, she took her way, not through thetown, to the ancient quarter where that ancient lady, her husband'smother, lived, but in a very different direction. She followed thecourse of the quay, beside the harbor, till she entered a crowdedregion, chiefly the residence of fishermen and boatmen. Here she raisedher veil. Dusk was beginning to fall. She walked as if desirous toattract as little observation as possible, and yet to examine narrowlythe population in the midst of which she found herself. Her dress was soplain that there was nothing in her appearance to solicit attention;yet, if for any reason a passer by had happened to notice her, he couldnot have helped being struck by the contained intensity with which shescrutinized every figure she met. Her manner was that of a personseeking to recognize a long-lost friend, or perhaps, rather, a long-lostenemy, in a crowd. At last she stopped before a flight of steps, at thefoot of which was a landing place for half a dozen little boats, employed to carry passengers between the two sides of the port, at timeswhen the drawbridge above was closed for the passage of vessels. Whileshe stood she was witness of the following scene:

A man, in a red woollen fisherman's cap, was sitting on the top of thesteps, smoking the short stump of a pipe, with his face to the water. Happening to turn about, his eye fell on a little child, hurrying alongthe quay toward a dingy tenement close at hand, with a jug in its arms. 

'Hullo, youngster!' cried the man; 'what have you got there? Come here. '

The little child looked back, but, instead of obeying, only quickenedits walk. 

'The devil take you, come here!' repeated the man, angrily, 'or I'llwring your beggarly neck. You won't obey your own uncle, eh?'

The child stopped, and ruefully made its way to its relative, lookingaround several times toward the house, as if to appeal to some counterauthority. 

'Come, make haste!' pursued the man, 'or I shall go and fetch you. Move!'

The child advanced to within half a dozen paces of the steps, and thenstood still, eyeing the man cautiously, and hugging the jug tight. 

'Come on, you little beggar, come up close. '

The youngster kept a stolid silence, however, and did not budge. Suddenly its self-styled uncle leaned forward, swept out his arm, clutched hold of its little sunburnt wrist, and dragged it toward him. 

'Why didn't you come when you were called?' he asked, running hisdisengaged hand into the infant's frowsy mop of hair, and shaking itshead until it staggered. 'Why didn't you come, you unmannerly littlebrute, eh?--eh?--eh?' accompanying every interrogation with a renewedshake. 

The child made no answer. It simply and vainly endeavored to twist itsneck around under the man's grip, and transmit some call for succor tothe house. 

'Come, keep your head straight. Look at me, and answer me. What's inthat jug? Don't lie. '

'Milk. '

'Who for?'

'Granny. '

'Granny be hanged. '

The man disengaged his hands, lifted the jug from the child's feeblegrasp, tilted it toward the light, surveyed its contents, put it to hislips, and exhausted them. The child, although liberated, did notretreat. It stood watching its uncle drink until he lowered the jug. Then, as he met its eyes, it said:

'It was for the baby. '

For a moment the man was irresolute. But the child seemed to have aforesight of the parental resentment, for it had hardly spoken when itdarted backward and scampered off, just in time to elude a blow from thejug, which the man sent clattering at its heels. When it was out ofsight, he faced about to the water again, and replaced the pipe betweenhis teeth with a heavy scowl and a murmur that sounded to Madame Berniervery like--'I wish the baby'd choke. '

Hortense was a mute spectator of this little drama. When it was over, she turned around, and retraced her steps twenty yards with her hand toher head. Then she walked straight back, and addressed the man. 

'My good man, ' she said, in a very pleasant voice, 'are you the masterof one of these boats?'

He looked up at her. In a moment the pipe was out of his mouth, and abroad grin in its place. He rose, with his hand to his cap. 

'I am, madame, at your service. '

'Will you take me to the other side?'

'You don't need a boat; the bridge is closed, ' said one of his comradesat the foot of the steps, looking that way. 

'I know it, ' said Madame Bernier; 'but I wish to go to the cemetery, anda boat will save me half a mile walking. '

'The cemetery is shut at this hour. '

'_Allons_, leave madame alone, ' said the man first spoken to. 'This way, my lady. '

Hortense seated herself in the stern of the boat. The man took thesculls. 

'Straight across? ' he asked. 

Hortense looked around her. 'It's a fine evening, ' said she; 'supposeyou row me out to the lighthouse, and leave me at the point nearest thecemetery on our way back. '

'Very well, ' rejoined the boatman; 'fifteen sous, ' and began to pulllustily. 

'_Allez_, I'll pay you well, ' said Madame. 

'Fifteen sous is the fare, ' insisted the man. 

'Give me a pleasant row, and I'll give you a hundred, ' said Hortense. 

Her companion said nothing. He evidently wished to appear not to haveheard her remark. Silence was probably the most dignified manner ofreceiving a promise too munificent to be anything but a jest. 

For some time this silence was maintained, broken only by the tricklingof the oars and the sounds from the neighboring shores and vessels. Madame Bernier was plunged in a sidelong scrutiny of her ferryman'scountenance. He was a man of about thirty-five. His face was dogged, brutal, and sullen. These indications were perhaps exaggerated by thedull monotony of his exercise. The eyes lacked a certain rascally gleamwhich had appeared in them when he was so _empressé_ with the offer ofhis services. The face was better then--that is, if vice is better thanignorance. We say a countenance is 'lit up' by a smile; and indeed thatmomentary flicker does the office of a candle in a dark room. It sheds aray upon the dim upholstery of our souls. The visages of poor men, generally, know few alternations. There is a large class of human beingswhom fortune restricts to a single change of expression, or, perhaps, rather to a single expression. Ah me! the faces which wear eithernakedness or rags; whose repose is stagnation, whose activity vice;ingorant at their worst, infamous at their best!

'Don't pull too hard, ' said Hortense at last. 'Hadn't you better takebreath a moment?'

'Madame is very good, ' said the man, leaning upon his oars. 'But if youhad taken me by the hour, ' he added, with a return of the vicious grin, 'you wouldn't catch me loitering. '

'I suppose you work very hard, ' said Madame Bernier. 

The man gave a little toss of his head, as if to intimate the inadequacyof any supposition to grasp the extent of his labors. 

'I've been up since four o'clock this morning, wheeling bales and boxeson the quay, and plying my little boat. Sweating without five minutes'intermission. _C'est comme ça_. Sometimes I tell my mate I think I'lltake a plunge in the basin to dry myself. Ha! ha! ha!'

'And of course you gain little, ' said Madame Bernier. 

'Worse than nothing. Just what will keep me fat enough for starvation tofeed on. '

'How? you go without your necessary food?'

'Necessary is a very elastic word, madame. You can narrow it down, sothat in the degree above nothing it means luxury. My necessary food issometimes thin air. If I don't deprive myself of that, it's because Ican't. '

'Is it possible to be so unfortunate?'

'Shall I tell you what I have eaten to-day?'

'Do, ' said Madame Bernier. 

'A piece of black bread and a salt herring are all that have passed mylips for twelve hours. '

'Why don't you get some better work?'

'If I should die to-night, ' pursued the boatman, heedless of thequestion, in the manner of a man whose impetus on the track of self-pitydrives him past the signal flags of relief, 'what would there be left tobury me? These clothes I have on might buy me a long box. For the costof this shabby old suit, that hasn't lasted me a twelve-month, I couldget one that I wouldn't wear out in a thousand years. _La bonne idée!_'

'Why don't you get some work that pays better?' repeated Hortense. 

The man dipped his oars again. 

'Work that pays better? I must work for work. I must earn that too. Workis wages. I count the promise of the next week's employment the bestpart of my Saturday night's pocketings. Fifty casks rolled from the shipto the storehouse mean two things: thirty sous and fifty more to rollthe next day. Just so a crushed hand, or a dislocated shoulder, meantwenty francs to the apothecary and _bon jour_ to my business. '

'Are you married?' asked Hortense. 

'No, I thank you. I'm not cursed with that blessing. But I've an oldmother, a sister, and three nephews, who look to me for support. The oldwoman's too old to work; the lass is too lazy, and the little ones aretoo young. But they're none of them too old or young to be hungry, _allez_. I'll be hanged if I'm not a father to them all. '

There was a pause. The man had resumed rowing. Madame Bernier satmotionless, still examining her neighbor's physiognomy. The sinking sun, striking full upon his face, covered it with an almost lurid glare. Herown features being darkened against the western sky, the direction ofthem was quite indistinguishable to her companion. 

'Why don't you leave the place?' she said at last. 

'Leave it! how?' he replied, looking up with the rough avidity withwhich people of his class receive proposals touching their interests, extending to the most philanthropic suggestions that mistrustfuleagerness with which experience has taught them to defend their own sideof a bargain--the only form of proposal that she has made themacquainted with. 

'Go somewhere else, ' said Hortense. 

'Where, for instance!'

'To some new country--America. '

The man burst into a loud laugh. Madame Bernier's face bore moreevidence of interest in the play of his features than of thatdiscomfiture which generally accompanies the consciousness of ridicule. 

'There's a lady's scheme for you! If you'll write for furnishedapartments, _là-bas_, I don't desire anything better. But no leaps inthe dark for me. America and Algeria are very fine words to cram into anempty stomach when you're lounging in the sun, out of work, just as youstuff tobacco into your pipe and let the smoke curl around your head. But they fade away before a cutlet and a bottle of wine. When the earthgrows so smooth and the air so pure that you can see the American coastfrom the pier yonder, then I'll make up my bundle. Not before. '

'You're afraid, then, to risk anything?'

'I'm afraid of nothing, _moi_. But I am not a fool either. I don't wantto kick away my _sabots_ till I am certain of a pair of shoes. I can gobarefoot here. I don't want to find water where I counted on land. Asfor America, I've been there already. '

'Ah! you've been there?'

'I've been to Brazil and Mexico and California and the West Indies. '

'Ah!'

'I've been to Asia, too. '

'Ah!'

'_Pardio_, to China and India. Oh, I've seen the world! I've been threetimes around the Cape. '

'You've been a seaman then?'

'Yes, ma'am; fourteen years. '

'On what ship?'

'Bless your heart, on fifty ships. '

'French?'

'French and English and Spanish; mostly Spanish. '

'Ah?'

'Yes, and the more fool I was. '

'How so?'

'Oh, it was a dog's life. I'd drown any dog that would play half themean tricks I used to see. '

'And you never had a hand in any yourself?'

'_Pardon_, I gave what I got. I was as good a Spaniard and as great adevil as any. I carried my knife with the best of them, and drew it asquickly, and plunged it as deep. I've got scars, if you weren't a lady. But I'd warrant to find you their mates on a dozen Spanish hides!'

He seemed to pull with renewed vigor at the recollection. There was ashort silence. 

'Do you suppose, ' said Madame Bernier, in a few moments--'do youremember--that is, can you form any idea whether you ever killed a man?'

There was a momentary slackening of the boatman's oars. He gave a sharpglance at his passenger's countenance, which was still so shaded by herposition, however, as to be indistinguishable. The tone of herinterrogation had betrayed a simple, idle curiosity. He hesitated amoment, and then gave one of those conscious, cautious, dubious smiles, which may cover either a criminal assumption of more than the truth or aguilty repudiation of it. 

'_Mon Dieu!_' said he, with a great shrug, 'there's a question!... Inever killed one without a reason. '

'Of course not, ' said Hortense. 

'Though a reason in South America, _ma foi!_' added the boatman, 'wouldn't be a reason here. '

'I suppose not. What would be a reason there?'

'Well, if I killed a man in Valparaiso--I don't say I did, mind--it'sbecause my knife went in farther than I intended. '

'But why did you use it at all?'

'I didn't. If I had, it would have been because he drew his against me. '

'And why should he have done so?'

'_Ventrebleu!_ for as many reasons as there are craft in the harbor. '

'For example?'

'Well, that I should have got a place in a ship's company that he wastrying for. '

'Such things as that? is it possible?'

'Oh, for smaller things. That a lass should have given me a dozenoranges she had promised him. '

'How odd!' said Madame Bernier, with a shrill kind of laugh. 'A man whoowed you a grudge of this kind would just come up and stab you, Isuppose, and think nothing of it?'

'Precisely. Drive a knife up to the hilt into your back, with an oath, and slice open a melon with it, with a song, five minutes afterward. '

'And when a person is afraid, or ashamed, or in some way unable to takerevenge himself, does he--or it may be a woman--does she, get some oneelse to do it for her?'

'_Parbleu!_ Poor devils on the lookout for such work are as plentifulall along the South American coast as _commissionaires_ on the streetcorners here. ' The ferryman was evidently surprised at the fascinationpossessed by this infamous topic for so lady-like a person; but having, as you see, a very ready tongue, it is probable that his delight inbeing able to give her information and hear himself talk were stillgreater. 'And then down there, ' he went on, 'they never forget a grudge. If a fellow doesn't serve you one day, he'll do it another. A Spaniard'shatred is like lost sleep--you can put it off for a time, but it willgripe you in the end. The rascals always keep their promises tothemselves.... An enemy on shipboard is jolly fun. It's like bullstethered in the same field. You can't stand still half a minute exceptagainst a wall. Even when he makes friends with you, his favors nevertaste right. Messing with him is like drinking out of a pewter mug. Andso it is everywhere. Let your shadow once flit across a Spaniard's path, and he'll always see it there. If you've never lived in any but thesedamned clockworky European towns, you can't imagine the state of thingsin a South American seaport--one half the population waiting round thecorner for the other half. But I don't see that it's so much betterhere, where every man's a spy on every other. There you meet an assassinat every turn, here a _sergent de ville_..... At all events, the life_là bas_ used to remind me, more than anything else, of sailing in ashallow channel, where you don't know what infernal rock you may groundon. Every man has a standing account with his neighbor, just as madamehas at her _fournisseur's_; and, _ma foi_, those are the only accountsthey settle. The master of the _Santiago_ may pay me one of these daysfor the pretty names I heaved after him when we parted company, buthe'll never pay me my wages. '

A short pause followed this exposition of the virtues of the Spaniard. 

'You yourself never put a man out of the world, then?' resumed Hortense. 

'Oh, _que si_!.... Are you horrified?'

'Not at all. I know that the thing is often justifiable. '

The man was silent a moment, perhaps with surprise, for the next thinghe said was:

'Madame is Spanish?'

'In that, perhaps, I am, ' replied Hortense. 

Again her companion was silent. The pause was prolonged. Madame Bernierbroke it by a question which showed that she had been following the sametrain of thought. 

'What is sufficient ground in this country for killing a man?'

The boatman sent a loud laugh over the water. Hortense drew her cloakcloser about her. 

'I'm afraid there is none. '

'Isn't there a right of self-defence?'

'To be sure there is--it's one I ought to know something about. But it'sone that _ces messieurs_ at the Palais make short work with. '

'In South America and those countries, when a man makes lifeinsupportable to you, what do you do?'

'_Mon Dieu_! I suppose you kill him. '

'And in France?'

'I suppose you kill yourself. Ha! ha! ha!'

By this time they had reached the end of the great breakwater, terminating in a lighthouse, the limit, on one side, of the innerharbor. The sun had set. 

'Here we are at the lighthouse, ' said the man; 'it's growing dark. Shallwe turn?'

Hortense rose in her place a few moments, and stood looking out to sea. 'Yes, ' she said at last, 'you may go back--slowly. ' When the boat hadheaded round she resumed her old position, and put one of her hands overthe side, drawing it through the water as they moved, and gazing intothe long ripples. 

At last she looked up at her companion. Now that her face caught some ofthe lingering light of the west, he could see that it was deathly pale. 

'You find it hard to get along in the world, ' said she; 'I shall be veryglad to help you. '

The man started, and stared a moment. Was it because this remark jarredupon the expression which he was able faintly to discern in her eyes?The next, he put his hand to his cap. 

'Madame is very kind. What will you do?'

Madame Bernier returned his gaze. 

'I will trust you. '

'Ah!'

'And reward you. '

'Ah? Madame has a piece of work for me?'

'A piece of work, ' Hortense nodded. 

The man said nothing, waiting apparently for an explanation. His facewore the look of lowering irritation which low natures feel at beingpuzzled. 

'Are you a bold man?'

Light seemed to come in this question. The quick expansion of hisfeatures answered it. You cannot touch upon certain subjects with aninferior but by the sacrifice of the barrier which separates you fromhim. There are thoughts and feelings and glimpses and foreshadowings ofthoughts which level all inequalities of station. 

'I'm bold enough, ' said the boatman, 'for anything _you_ want me to do. '

'Are you bold enough to commit a crime?'

'Not for nothing. '

'If I ask you to endanger your peace of mind, to risk your personalsafety for me, it is certainly not as a favor. I will give you ten timesthe weight in gold of every grain by which your conscience grows heavierin my service. '

The man gave her a long, hard look through the dim light. 

'I know what you want me to do, ' he said at last. 

'Very well, ' said Hortense; 'will you do it?'

He continued to gaze. She met his eyes like a woman who has nothing moreto conceal. 

'State your case. '

'Do you know a vessel named the _Armorique_, a steamer?'

'Yes; it runs from Southampton. '

'It will arrive to-morrow morning early. Will it be able to cross thebar?'

'No; not till noon. '

'I thought so. I expect a person by it--a man. '

Madame Bernier appeared unable to continue, as if her voice had givenway. 

'Well, well?' said her companion. 

'He's the person'--she stopped again. 

'The person who--?'

'The person whom I wish to get rid of. '

For some moments nothing was said. The boatman was the first to speakagain. 

'Have you formed a plan?'

Hortense nodded. 

'Let's hear it. '

'The person in question, ' said Madame Bernier, 'will be impatient toland before noon. The house to which he returns will be in view of thevessel if, as you say, she lies at anchor. If he can get a boat, he willbe sure to come ashore. _Eh bien_!--but you understand me. '

'Aha! you mean my boat--_this_ boat?'

'O God!'

Madame Bernier sprang up in her seat, threw out her arms, and sank downagain, burying her face in her knees. Her companion hastily shipped hisoars, and laid his hands on her shoulders. 

'_Allons donc_, in the devil's name, don't break down, ' said he; 'we'llcome to an understanding. '

Kneeling in the bottom of the boat, and supporting her by his grasp, hesucceeded in making her raise herself, though her head still drooped. 

'You want me to finish him in the boat?'

No answer. 

'Is he an old man?'

Hortense shook her head faintly. 

'My age?'

She nodded. 

'_Sapristi_! it isn't so easy. '

'He can't swim, ' said Hortense, without looking up; 'he--he is lame. '

'_Nom de Dieu_!' The boatman dropped his hands. Hortense looked upquickly. Do you read the pantomime?

'Never mind, ' added the man at last, 'it will serve as a sign. '

'_Mais oui_. And besides that, he will ask to be taken to the MaisonBernier, the house with its back to the water, on the extension of thegreat quay. _Tenez_, you can almost see it from here. '

'I know the place, ' said the boatman, and was silent, as if asking andanswering himself a question. 

Hortense was about to interrupt the train of thought which sheapprehended he was following, when he forestalled her. 

'How am I to be sure of my affair?' asked he. 

'Of your reward? I've thought of that. This watch is a pledge of what Ishall be able and glad to give you afterward. There are two thousandfrancs' worth of pearls in the case. '

'_Il faut fixer la somme_, ' said the man, leaving the watch untouched. 

'That lies with you. '

'Good. You know that I have the right to ask a high price. '

'Certainly. Name it. '

'It's only on the supposition of a large sum that I will so much asconsider your proposal. _Songez donc_, that it's a MURDER youask of me. '

'The price--the price?'

'_Tenez_, ' continued the man, 'poached game is always high. The pearlsin that watch are costly because it's worth a man's life to get at them. You want me to be your pearl diver. Be it so. You must guarantee me asafe descent, --it's a descent, you know--ha!--you must furnish me thearmor of safety; a little gap to breathe through while I'm at mywork--the thought of a capful of Napoleons!'

'My good man, I don't wish to talk to you or to listen to your sallies. I wish simply to know your price. I'm not bargaining for a pair ofchickens. Propose a sum. '

The boatman had by this time resumed his seat and his oars. He stretchedout for a long, slow pull, which brought him closely face to face withhis temptress. This position, his body bent forward, his eyes fixed onMadame Bernier's face, he kept for some seconds. It was perhapsfortunate for Hortense's purpose at that moment--it had often aided herpurposes before--that she was a pretty woman. [C] A plain face might haveemphasized the utterly repulsive nature of the negotiation. Suddenly, with a quick, convulsive movement, the man completed the stroke. 

'_Pas si hête_! propose one yourself. '

'Very well, ' said Hortense, 'if you wish it, _Voyons_: I'll give youwhat I can. I have fifteen thousand francs' worth of jewels. I'll giveyou them, or, if they will get you into trouble, their value. At home, in a box I have a thousand francs in gold. You shall have those. I'llpay your passage and outfit to America, I have friends in New York. I'llwrite to them to get you work. '

'And you'll give your washing to my mother and sister, _hein_? Ha! ha!Jewels, fifteen thousand francs; one thousand more makes sixteen;passage to America--first class--five hundred francs; outfit--what doesMadame understand by that?'

'Everything needful for your success _là-bas_. '

'A written denial that I am an assassin? _Ma foi_, it were better not toremove the impression. It's served me a good turn, on this side of thewater at least. Call it twenty-five thousand francs. '

'Very well; but not a sous more. '

'Shall I trust you?'

'Am I not trusting you? It is well for you that I do not allow myself tothink of the venture I am making. '

'Perhaps we're even there. We neither of us can afford to make accountof certain possibilities. Still, I'll trust you, too.... _Tiens_!' addedthe boatman, 'here we are near the quay. ' Then with a mock-solemn touchof his cap, 'Will Madame still visit the cemetery?'

'Come, quick, let me land, ' said Madame Bernier, impatiently. 

'We _have_ been among the dead, after a fashion, ' persisted the boatman, as he gave her his hand. 

III. 

It was more than eight o'clock when Madame Bernier reached her ownhouse. 

'Has M. De Meyrau been here?' she asked of Josephine. 

'Yes, ma'am; and on learning that Madame was out, he left a note, _chezmonsieur_. '

Hortense found a sealed letter on the table in her husband's old study. It ran as follows:

 'I was desolated at finding you out. I had a word to tell you. I have accepted an invitation to sup and pass the night at C----, thinking it would look well. For the same reason I have resolved to take the bull by the horns, and go aboard the steamer on my return, to welcome M. Bernier home--the privilege of an old friend. I am told the _Armorique_ will anchor off the bar by daybreak. What do you think? But it's too late to let me know. Applaud my _savoir faire_--you will, at all events, in the end. You will see how it will smoothe matters. '

'Baffled! baffled!' hissed Madame, when she had read the note; 'Goddeliver me from my friends!' She paced up and down the room severaltimes, and at last began to mutter to herself, as people often do inmoments of strong emotion: 'Bah! but he'll never get up by daybreak. He'll oversleep himself, especially after to-night's supper. The otherwill be before him..... Oh, my poor head, you've suffered too much tofail in the end!'

Josephine reappeared to offer to remove her mistress's things. Thelatter, in her desire to reassure herself, asked the first question thatoccurred to her. 

'Was M. Le Vicomte alone?'

'No, madame; another gentleman was with him--M. De Saulges, I think. They came in a hack, with two portmanteaus. '

Though I have judged best, hitherto, often from an exaggerated fear oftrenching on the ground of fiction, to tell you what this poor lady didand said, rather than what she thought, I may disclose what passed inher mind now:

'Is he a coward? is he going to leave me? or is he simply going to passthese last hours in play and drink? He might have stayed with me. Ah! myfriend, you do little for me, who do so much for you; who commit murder, and--Heaven help me!--suicide for you!.... But I suppose he knows best. At all events, he will make a night of it. '

When the cook came in late that evening, Josephine, who had sat up forher, said:

'You've no idea how Madame is looking. She's ten years older since thismorning. Holy mother! what a day this has been for her!'

'Wait till to-morrow, ' said the oracular Valentine. 

Later, when the women went up to bed in the attic, they saw a lightunder Hortense's door, and during the night Josephine, whose chamber wasabove Madame's, and who couldn't sleep (for sympathy, let us say), heardmovements beneath her, which told that her mistress was even morewakeful than she. 

IV. 

There was considerable bustle around the _Armorique_ as she anchoredoutside the harbor of H----, in the early dawn of the following day. Agentleman, with an overcoat, walking stick, and small valise, camealongside in a little fishing boat, and got leave to go aboard. 

'Is M. Bernier here?' he asked of one of the officers, the first man hemet. 

'I fancy he's gone ashore, sir. There was a boatman inquiring for him afew minutes ago, and I think he carried him off. 

M. De Meyrau reflected a moment. Then he crossed over to the other sideof the vessel, looking landward. Leaning over the bulwarks he saw anempty boat moored to the ladder which ran up the vessel's side. 

'That's a town boat, isn't it?' he said to one of the hands standing by. 

'Yes, sir. '

'Where's the master?'

'I suppose he'll be here in a moment. I saw him speaking to one of theofficers just now. '

De Meyrau descended the ladder, and seated himself at the stern of theboat. As the sailor he had just addressed was handing down his bag, aface with a red cap looked over the bulwarks. 

'Hullo, my man!' cried De Meyrau, 'is this your boat?'

'Yes, sir, at your service, ' answered the red cap, coming to the top ofthe ladder, and looking hard at the gentleman's stick and portmanteau. 

'Can you take me to town, to Madame Bernier's, at the end of the newquay?'

'Certainly, sir, ' said the boatman, scuttling down the ladder, 'you'rejust the gentleman I want. '

 * * * * *

An hour later Hortense Bernier came out of the house, and began to walkslowly through the garden toward the terrace which overlooked the water. The servants, when they came down at an early hour, had found her up anddressed, or rather, apparently, not undressed, for she wore the sameclothes as the evening before. 

'_Tiens!_' exclaimed Josephine, after seeing her, 'Madame gained tenyears yesterday; she has gained ten more during the night. '

When Madame Bernier reached the middle of the garden she halted, andstood for a moment motionless, listening. The next, she uttered a greatcry. For she saw a figure emerge from below the terrace, and comelimping toward her with outstretched arms. 

'NOS AMIS LES COSAQUES!'

 [In accordance with the policy embraced by THE CONTINENTAL, of giving views of important subjects from various stand-points, we lay before our readers the following article. It is from the pen which contributed to the 'New American Cyclopædia' the articles 'Czartoryski, ' 'Francis Joseph, ' 'G[=o]rgey, ' 'Hebrews, ' 'Hungary, ' 'Kossuth, ' 'Poland, ' etc. , etc. We doubt not the author gives utterance in the present contribution to the feelings which agitated the hearts of thousands of our naturalized citizens during the Russian excitement in New York. Heartily grateful as we may be to Russia for her timely sympathy, our country is pledged to Eternal Justice, and ought never to forget that she is the hope of mankind, and should be its model. ]

On the evening of the thirtieth of November last, the large hallof the Cooper Institute--that forum of public opinion in the cityof New York, which has so often been the theatre of interestingmanifestations--witnessed a scene almost entirely novel. Flags, decorated with emblems unknown, were unfolded over the platform; younggirls, daughters of a distant land, or at least of exiles from it, appeared in their national costume, and sang melodious strains in aforeign tongue, which charmed tears into the eyes of those whounderstood them; a straightened scythe, fixed to the end of a pole, wasexhibited, not as a specimen of the agricultural implements of thecountry from which those homeless men and children had sprung, but as aweapon with which its people, in absence of more efficient arms, waswont to fight for liberty and independence; the bust of the father ofthe American republic was placed prominently in face of the largegathering, and at its side that of a man bearing the features of adifferent race, and apparently not less revered. 

If I say that this man was Kosciuszko, I have explained all. Everyreader not entirely ignorant of history will know which was the land, the people, what the meaning of the weapon, of the song. Who has neveryet wept over the narrative of the fall of that unhappy country east andwest of the Vistula, so shamelessly torn, quartered, and preyed upon byravenous neighboring empires? Whose heart has never yet throbbed withadmiration for the sons of that land who to this day protest with theirblood, poured in streams, against that greatest of all crimes recordedin history, the partition of their country, and that blasphemous liewritten upon one of its bloodiest pages: _Finis Poloniæ_? who, abandonedby the world, betrayed by their neighbors, trampled upon as no nationever was before, again and again rise, and in 1794, under the lead ofKosciuszko, eclipse the deeds of those who, in 1768, flocked to thebanners of Pulaski; in 1830-'31, on the battle fields of Grochow andOstrolenka, show themselves more powerful than under the dictatorship ofthe disciple of Washington, and in 1863, fighting without a leader, without a centre, without arms, surprise the world with a heroism, aself-sacrificing devotion, unexampled even in the history of theirformer insurrections? Who has never heard of Russian batteries assaultedand carried by Polish scythes? Whose bosom is so devoid of the divinecords of justice and sympathy as never yet to have revibrated the strainof the Polish exiles: POLAND IS NOT YET LOST?

Alas, the chronological dates just touched upon embrace a century! For ahundred years Poland writhes in heroic despair under the heels ofMuscovite despotism, dazzles mankind by sublime efforts to recover herright to national life, liberty, and happiness, and _not a hand has beenstretched out to help her break her chains_! All her martyrdom wrestsfrom the better nature of mankind is a tear of mourning, when, after asuperhuman struggle, she again sinks exhausted, and is believed to sinkinto the grave. And has Poland well deserved this heartlessindifference, this pitilessness of the nations? Has she delivered none?aided none? served none? defended none? Answer, Vienna, rescued from theTurkish yoke by John Sobieski! Answer, thou monument at West Point, thoufort at the mouth of the Savannah, ye towns and counties namedKosciuszko and Pulaski! Answer, Elba and St. Helena! Answer, Hungariancompanion-in-arms of Bern, Dembinski, and Wysocki! Answer, Germany, Europe, Christendom, for centuries shielded by Polish valor againstTartar barbarism and Moslem fanaticism!

Alas, Poland must beg even for sympathy! That gathering, whichcommemorated, on its thirty-third anniversary, the outbreak of therising of 1830, was destined to resuscitate the feeling of the Americanpeople for the Polish cause. For the Poles sojourning in this countryhad reasons to believe that even that passive sentiment was on the wane, that interests, not less illusory than selfish, were working to destroyeven the impressions which sacred national remembrances, by twiningtogether the memories of Washington and Kosciuszko, had created in theAmerican heart. Strange to say, amid the roar of cannon thunderingfreedom to slaves, amid streams of blood shed in the name ofnationality, on this side of the Atlantic, amid daily echoesreverberating the groans of butchered martyrs, of mothers and sistersscourged, hanged, or dragged into captivity, on the other side--New Yorkhad gone mad with enthusiasm for the Muscovites! The metropolis of thefreest people on the globe had prostrated herself before the shrine ofsemi-Asiatic despotism, had kissed the hands of the knoutbearers of theczar, had desecrated the holy memory of Washington, by coupling hisname, his bust, with those of an Alexander, nay, of a Nicholas! The woesof Poland were forgotten, her cause was wantonly assailed, her fairname defamed by the very same organs of public opinion which for monthsand months made people shudder with daily recitals of namelessatrocities committed by the Russian hangmen, by the Muravieffs andAunekoffs, on the defenders of their country and liberty. Unthinkingscribblers and lecturers called Russia and America twin sister empiresof the future, agitated for an alliance defensive and offensive betweenthem; Poland and her defenders were calumniated. _Væ victis!_

There is an excuse for every folly New York commits and the countryimitates, for she is blessed with papers and politicians more thanothers practised to flatter vanity and mislead ignorance. When New Yorkstrews palm leaves before the feet of the Prince of Wales, it is done tocement the bond of love that links the New World to its venerablemother; when she runs after the Japanese, it is in search of atrans-oceanic brother, just discovered, and soon lovingly to be embraced(witness our doings in the Japanese waters); when she kisses the knoutand collects Russian relics, it is done to inaugurate a sistership ofthe future, already dawning upon her in Muscovite smiles of friendship, in diplomatic hints of the czar, and in the hurrahs for the Union ofLissoffski's crews! In this case she only pays with American sympathyfor Russian sympathy, and at the same time frowns a rebuke upon Englandand France for their un-Russian-like behavior, and insinuates a threatwhich may save this country from the perils of European intervention. 

But Russian imperial sympathy, with its diplomatic smiles and compulsoryhurrahs, is nothing but a bait; he must be blind who does not see it. What is the natural tendency that would lead the czar, the upholder ofdespotism in the East, to sympathize with the model republic of theWest? the empire which is again and again covered with the blood ofPoland, divided by it and its accomplices, to have, amid its troubles, so much tender feeling for the indivisibility of this country? IsAlexander's friendship kindled by our acts of emancipation? It is truehe has freed more than twenty millions of serfs in his empire, and, though following the dictates of political necessity, he may have actedwith no more real anti-slavery sentiment than that which makes manyavowed pro-slavery men emancipationists among ourselves, yet hecertainly has achieved a noble glory, which even his monstrous reign inPoland may not entirely blot out from the pages of history. The samefriendly disposition toward the United States was, however, ostentatiously evinced by Nicholas, who lived and died the truerepresentative and guardian of unmitigated tyranny; it was asostentatiously shown by Alexander at the time when Fremont'sproclamation was repudiated as it is now, after the first of January, 1863; and it is he of all the monarchs of Europe who, as early as July, 1861, diplomatically advised this country to save the Union bycompromise, as neither of the contending parties could be finallycrushed down; that is to say, flagrantly to sacrifice _liberty_ in orderto save _power_. The Russian nobility will naturally sympathize with theslaveholders of the South, and the lower classes of the Russian peopleare too ignorant to think about transatlantic affairs. Russian imperialand diplomatic sympathy will cordially be bestowed upon any nation andcause which promises to become hostile to England (or, on a given time, to France), on Nena Sahib no less than on Abraham Lincoln. Thenever-discarded aim of Russia to plant its double cross on the banks ofthe Byzantine Bosporus, and its batteries on those of the Hellespont, and thus to transfer its centre of gravity from the secluded shores ofthe Baltic to the gates of the Mediterranean; the never-slumbering dreadof this expansion, which has made the integrity of Turkey an inviolableprinciple with the British statesmen of every sect; and the growinginevitability of a bloody collision on the fields of central Asia of thetwo powers, one of which is master of the north, and the other of thesouth of that continent, have rendered Russia and Great Britaininveterate foes. To strengthen itself against its deadliest opponent, one courts the alliance of France, the other that of the American Union, both not from sympathy, but in spite of inveterate or natural antipathy. Against a common enemy we have seen the pope allying himself with thesultan. Russia always hates England, and from time to time fears France;both these powers continue to offend the United States, and at least oneof them now threatens a Polish campaign: why should not the czar lavishhis flattering marks of friendship on a great power which he hopes toentice into an unnatural alliance? It is not American freedom which theczars are fond of; they court American power as naturally antagonisticto that of England, at least on the seas. Wielded entire by a Jeff. Davis, with all the Southern spirit of aggression, it would be to them amore desirable object of an _entente cordiale_. 

But why should we not accept the proffered aid, though the offer beprompted by selfish motives? Threatened by a wicked interference in ouraffairs, which might prove dangerous to our national existence, whyrefuse additional means to guard it, though these be derived from animpure source? Will an innocent man, attacked by assassins, repulse theaid of one hastening to save him, on the ground that he, too, is amurderer? Certainly not. History, too, proves it by noble examples. Pelopidas, the Theban hero, invokes the aid of the Persian king, thenatural enemy of the Greeks; Cato, who prefers a free death by his ownhand to life under a Cæsar, fights side by side with Juba, a king ofbarbarians; Gustavus Adolphus, the champion of Protestantism in Germany, acts in concert with Richelieu, the reducer of La Rochelle, its laststronghold in France; Pulaski, who fights for freedom in Poland and diesfor it in America, accepts the aid of the sultan; Franklin calls uponthe master of the Bastille to defend the Declaration of Independence;Ypsilanti raises the standard of Neo-Grecian liberty in hope of aid fromCzar Alexander I, and happier Hellenes obtain it from Czar Nicholas, andconquer; the heroic defender of Rome in 1849, Garibaldi, fights in 1859, so to say, under the lead of Louis Napoleon, the destroyer of thatrepublic. 

But what has all this to do with the question before us? Has it come tothis? Is the cause of this great republic reduced to such extremities?Is this nation of twenty millions of freemen, so richly endowed with allthe faculties, resources, and artificial means which constitute power, unable to preserve its national existence, independence, and liberty, without help from the contaminating hand of tyranny, without sacrificingits honor by basely singing hosannas to the imperial butcher of Poland, at the very moment when the blood of the people of Kosciuszko andPulaski cries to Heaven and mankind for vengeance? Is the peril sogreat? so imminent? Is Hannibal _ante portas_? Has the French fleetdispersed Secretary Welles's five hundred and eighty-eight vessels ofwar, broken the Southern blockade, and appeared before our Northernharbors? Are all Jeff. Davis's bitter complaints against the Englishcabinet but a sham, covering a deep-laid conspiracy with treacherousAlbion? Is Emperor Maximilian quietly seated on the throne of Montezuma, and already marching his armies upon the Rio Grande? The talk of foreignintervention has been going on for years, and not a threatening cloud isyet to be seen on our horizon. Both England and France deprecate theidea of hostile interference in American affairs. It is _Russia_ thatis _menaced_, an alliance with her can serve only herself, and herartifices have caused all the foolish clamor that threatens to disgracethis country. 

And then, accepting aid is not forming an alliance, still less analliance _defensive_ and _offensive_. Not to speak of examples tooremote, every one familiar with the historical characters of the men, will know that neither Pulaski, Franklin, Ypsilanti, or Garibaldi wouldever have so degraded his cause--the cause of liberty--as to promise tothe despot, whose aid he desired, a compensatory assistance in tramplingdown a people rising for freedom. No _innocent_ man attacked byassassins will promise, with honest intent, to one who offers to savehim, his assistance in continuing a work of murder and resisting the armof justice. 

For it must be supposed that nobody is foolish enough to believe thatRussia would offer us her aid--say, against France--without requiringfrom us a mutual service; that merely in order to inflict a punishmenton Louis Napoleon for the recognition of the South, or the establishmentof monarchy in Mexico, she would, still bleeding from the woundsinflicted by the Polish insurrection, madly launch her armies upon theRhine, or start her hiding fleet from behind the fortified shelters ofCronstadt and Helsingfors, make it pass the Sound and Skager Rack, unmindful of the frowning batteries of Landscrona and Marstrand, passthe Strait of Dover, and the English Channel, and enter the Atlantic, quietly leaving behind Calais, Boulogne, Cherbourg, and Brest, and allthis with the certainty of raising a storm which might carry the armiesof France and her allies into the heart of Poland, and ultimately, byrestoring that country, press czardom back, where it ought to be, behindthe Dnieper. Such assistance she would and could not honestly promisewere we even to vouch a similar boon to her in case Napoleon shouldreally enter upon a campaign for the deliverance of Poland. For neitherpromise could be executed with the slightest chance of real success, andwithout exposing the naval and land forces despatched across the seas toalmost certain total destruction. The only practical military result ofa Russo-American alliance could be an attack by the forces of the UnitedStates on the French in Mexico, serving as a powerful diversion for thebenefit of Russia assailed by France in Europe. This is what Russiaknows and our eager demonstrationists are unable to perceive. The swordof France hangs over Russia, just engaged in finishing the slaughter ofPoland. The menace of a Russo-American alliance may induce Napoleon, whois entangled in Mexico, to put that sword back into the scabbard. He istoo proud and too little magnanimous to give up, yielding to our menace, his Mexican work--a work so long begun, and so costly in blood andtreasure--and turn all his attention, all his forces toward Poland andRussia. He may give up Poland, for which he has not yet sacrificedanything, and turn all his attention toward Mexico and the UnitedStates. Thus our philo-Russian enthusiasm can bear no good fruits forourselves; it can serve Russia, prevent the deliverance of Poland, anddishonor the fair name of the American republic. 

Yes, dishonor it. Already, speaking of the demonstrations in favor ofthe Russians, that patriot soldier, Sigel, exclaims: 'They make mealmost doubt the common sense of the American people. ' And it is notSigel that speaks thus: it is the voice of enlightened Germany, of thefreedom-loving men of Europe. 

May the people of America heed this warning before it is too late!

WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?

_PART THE LAST. _

 'Do but grasp into the thick of human life! Everyone _lives_ it--to not many is it _known_; and seize it where you will, it is interesting'--GOETHE. 

 'SUCCESSFUL. --Terminating in accomplishing what is wished or intended. '--WEBSTER'S _Dictionary_. 

CHAPTER II. --_continued. _

As soon as they reached the room, Mrs. Meeker exclaimed, 'Augustus! tellme, what does this mean!'

The young man, thus appealed to, stopped, and, regarding his mother witha fierce expression, exclaimed:

'It means that I quit New York to-night!'

'Augustus! you are a cruel creature to alarm me in this way. '

'It is so, mother. I have got into a bad scrape. '

'Tell me just what it is, Augustus--tell me the whole truth. '

'Well, a few weeks ago, I lost a large sum of money--no matter how. Iasked father to help me. I made him a solemn promise, which I would havekept, provided he had given me what I required. He refused, and I usedhis name to raise it. '

'O Augustus! Augustus!' exclaimed Mrs. Meeker in genuine agony. 

'It's no use groaning over it, ' said the young man. 'It is done; and, what is worse, it is discovered! Father will know it to-night. What Iwant is, money enough to take me out of the country; and if you will notgive it to me, I will cut my throat before you leave the room!'

Mrs. Meeker could only reply by sobs and hysterical exclamations. 

'It is of no use, mother--I mean it!' continued the young man. 

'Where are you going, Augustus?' said Mrs. Meeker, faintly. 

'Across the water. Give me the money, and I shall be on board ship in anhour. '

'I have only two hundred dollars in my purse, ' said his mother, mournfully, producing it. 

'It will serve my purpose, ' answered her son. 'You can send me moreafter you hear from me. '

He took the money and put it into his pocket, and prepared to attend hismother to the door. 

'But when shall I see you again, Augustus?' faltered Mrs. Meeker. 

'Never!'

The parental feeling could no longer be restrained. She threw herselfupon her son's neck, sobbing violently, and declared he should not leaveher. 

It did not avail. Although the young man's feelings seemed muchsoftened, he resisted all her appeals. He unwound her arms withtenderness, and led her in silence down the staircase. 

'Give my love to Harriet, ' he said. 'Tell her I never will forget her. '

He opened the door into the street--a moment after, he had regained hisroom; and the miserable mother was driven back to her magnificent abode. 

The next day an ordinary sailing vessel left New York for Liverpool, having on board the only son of Hiram Meeker. 

 * * * * *

When Mrs. Meeker reached her house, her husband had finished his dinner, and gone out. It was late when he returned--so late, that his wife hadalready retired. 

In the morning, Mr. Meeker communicated to her the information of hisson's disgraceful and criminal conduct. She listened with such an air ofsorrow and distress, that it did not occur to him that she manifested nosurprise. She prudently, perhaps, forbore communicating the incidentsof the previous evening, for she knew it would lead to a terriblereproof on his part. Besides, her present interference was far beyondanything she had ever ventured on, and she stood in great terror ofHiram where important matters were concerned. 

During the day, Hiram Meeker had intelligence of his son's flight. Hereceived it with great outward composure, and with sensible inwardrelief. 

The discovery of the fraud which Augustus had committed had also beenborne with entire equanimity. 

The fact is, Hiram, having thought best to conclude that his son wasirreclaimable, searched the Scriptures to find the various eminentexamples of disobedient, ungrateful, and wicked children; and he seemedto cherish with unction the idea of being numbered among the godlyparents of a reprobate child. 

His own position was so strong, so far above that of any ordinary man ofwealth, that the circumstance of a dissolute son's raising a fewthousand dollars by forging his name (after all, it was only a fewthousand) could only produce an expression of sympathy for the honoredfather. 

What to do with Augustus--that was the question which troubled himthrough the night; and the morning brought an agreeable solution of it. 

His child, an only son, possessed of many noble and generous qualities, without any of his father's intense selfishness, was a wanderer and anoutcast on the earth, and he unmoved, undisturbed, complacent!

It was soon known in the house what had become of Augustus. When Belleheard of it, she gave a shrug, and exclaimed, 'Poor Gus!'

Harriet, the invalid, was deeply affected. Seeing how much she wassorrowing, her mother, whose heart was still tender from therecollection of her late parting with her boy, told her, under promiseof secrecy (she knew she could trust her), that she had seen Augustusbefore he went away, and repeated the message with which she had beencharged. 

'O mamma!' exclaimed the poor girl, 'we can save him--I know we can! Yousay he is to write you. We shall know where he is, and by-and-by he willcome back. '

'Your father will never permit it. '

'Perhaps not immediately; but he will yield--I am sure he will yield. '

'You do not know him as I know him, ' said Mrs. Meeker, in a tone sosepulchral, that it made her daughter start. 'He will neveryield--_never!_'

I think from that period the conduct of Mrs. Meeker toward her daughterwas much less indifferent, not to say harsh, than it had previouslybeen. Harriet was, in a way, connected with her last recollection ofAugustus. And this spark of a mother's tenderness did, to an extent, spread a diffusing warmth over her whole nature. 

CHAPTER III. 

Hiram Meeker had erected an entire block of buildings, which he called'model houses for the poor. '

By this observation the reader must not suppose I mean that they wereprovided _gratis_ for that ever-present class. No. But they were made ona new plan, so as to give each family comfortable quarters, as if eachhad a house of their own. 

Hiram Meeker received great credit for the 'act of benevolence' inbuilding these homes for poor people. Doubtless it was a very greatimprovement over the old arrangement. Still, Hiram's block of buildingsnetted him just fifteen per cent. Per annum, after deducting allpossible charges and expenses against the property. 

To secure such a handsome return, there had, of course, to be verystrict and careful management. Hiram's agent in this department was aman entirely satisfactory to him, and with whom he never interfered. Frequent complaints were made of this man's severity, to which Hiramwould pay no attention. It was impossible for him to look after all thedetails of his various affairs. An agent once appointed, people musttransact their business with him. 

This was reasonable, as a rule; but Hiram's iniquity was displayed inthe nature of the men whom he selected to manage for him. You see heplaced exacting and relentless folks in charge, and then tried to avoidthe responsibility of their acts of severity. 

One day, a few weeks after the circumstances recorded in the lastchapter, Hiram was seated in his inner and very private office, outsideof which was his regular office, where was his confidential clerk; andbeyond that the counting room of the princely house of 'HiramMeeker'--for he admitted no partners--which several rooms were protectedagainst persons having no business to transact with the house, but whowished to see Mr. Meeker personally. 

This class found entrance very difficult. They had first to announce thenature of their business. If it required personal attention, they wereintroduced to a species of general agent, who was high in Mr. Meeker'sconfidence. If this last character was satisfied, then an interviewcould be had with the great man himself. 

I say, one day Hiram was seated in his most private apartment, quitealone. He was engaged in calculations for some large real-estateimprovements involving an outlay of at least a million of dollars. Hehad given orders not to be interrupted, and was deeply absorbed in hisplans, when the door opened, and a young man came in with a quick step. 

Hiram did not look up. He supposed it was some one connected with theestablishment. 

'Is this Mr. Meeker?' was asked, in a vigorous, earnest voice. 

Hiram raised his head, and beheld an individual apparentlyfive-and-twenty, dressed rather carelessly, but in the manner of agentleman. He was of goodly proportions, and had dark hair, a clearcomplexion, and keen gray eyes. 

Hiram made no reply to the question, except to ask, 'What is your name?'

'Dr. Ephraim Peters, ' said the young man with the sparkling gray eyes. 

'Who admitted you?' continued Hiram. 

'I had a pressing errand of life and death, and could not wait for aformal presentation. '

'What is your business?'

Dr. Peters took a seat with considerable deliberation, while Hiramwaited, with a displeased look, for him to reply. 

'You are the owner of the block of 'model houses, ' as they are called?'

Hiram nodded. 

'A patient of mine, a laboring man, is one of your tenants. He broke hisleg a few months ago, falling from a scaffolding. He has had hard workto live since. Thursday his wife was taken ill. Yesterday was rentday--he pays monthly in advance. He could not get the money, and youragent refuses to give him any grace. Now what I want to say is, the poorwoman can't be moved without danger to her life. '

'Well?'

'Well, ' echoed the other, 'I want to get an order from you to let herremain. '

'See the agent. '

'I have seen him; and, what is more, although I am poor enoughmyself--for I am just starting, you see, in New York--I offered to pawnmy watch and pay the rent myself, but the man would not take it. '

'No?'

'No, he would not. He said they had gone over the time, and he did notwant tenants who depended on charity to pay rent; besides he said he wasafraid the woman was going to die, and he did not want a death in thebuilding--it would give it a bad name. '

The young man paused, with the air of one who had made a successfulargument, and was waiting for an auspicious result. 

The only notice Hiram took of him was to say, in a decided tone, as heresumed his calculations, 'I can't interfere. '

'CAN'T interfere!' said the other, with naive astonishment. 'Why, what do you mean? It will kill the woman, I tell you! You _must_interfere. '

'Young man, you forget yourself. I repeat, go to the agent. I shall notinterfere. '

'Well, well, ' said the young physician, rising, 'I have heard of hardhearts and cruel men who grind the faces of the poor, but you are thefirst I have seen. I don't envy you, though. I would not stand in yourshoes for a good deal. '

While Dr. Ephraim Peters was delivering himself of the above, Hiram hadstruck a small bell which stood before him, and a young man entered inresponse to the summons just as the doctor concluded. 

'Holmes, send for a policeman. '

'Yes, sir. ' And Holmes withdrew to execute the commission. 

'Do you mean that for me?' exclaimed the young doctor, choking withpassion, while the gray eyes flashed dangerously. 

Hiram made no reply, but occupied himself intently with the figuresbefore him. 

'I say, ' said the other, in a louder tone, 'do you mean that for me? Isuppose you do, and I have half a mind that the errand shall not be fornothing. Yes, I have _more_ than half a mind to break every bone in yourworthless body!'

He looked at that moment, with his clenched hand, erect figure, andenergetic presence, quite capable of carrying out the threat. 

Still, Hiram paid not the slightest attention to this demonstration, butworked at his figures, more abstracted than ever. He knew it was merelya matter of time; the policeman would arrive in two or three minutes, and, as he hoped, would catch the doctor in the midst of his violentoutburst of passion. 

On the other hand, our young hero soon discovered that he was to get nosatisfaction from his antagonist, as he now considered him, by thecourse he was pursuing. He, too, began to count the moments--well awarethat he had not much time to spare. 

He determined to change his tactics. 

'After all, ' he exclaimed, in a deliberate tone, 'I will not give youthe chance for a case of assault and battery. I think better of thewhole matter. Nature is slower, to be sure, but she will do the workbetter than I could. Do you know what an advantage I have over you? I amtwenty-five, and you fifty-five. Money cannot buy back those thirtyyears. That's about all I have to say. 

'Not quite, either, ' he continued, still more deliberately. 'I am amedical man, accustomed to judge of a person's condition by observation. Do you want me to tell you what is the matter with you?'

Dr. Ephraim Peters paused, as if for a reply. 

A natural instinct, which acts without our volition, took such suddenpossession of Hiram, that he raised his eyes from his papers and turnedthem upon the questioner, as if expecting him to continue. 

'I see the subject interests you, ' said the doctor. 'Take my advice. Sitover your papers less, and exercise more--or you will be struck withparalysis within five years! Good-day. '

He turned and quitted the apartment with a slow and dignified step. 

As he advanced a little way along the street, he encountered Holmes, still in search of a police officer. 

He had been at two or three places where one was always visible; but, as usual when wanted, none were to be found. 

'Holmes, ' said the doctor, addressing him as if he had known him all hislife, 'hurry back to your employer; he wants you particularly. '

Holmes sped off at the word, delighted to be relieved in his search; andDr. Ephraim Peters went on his way. 

He was not mistaken as to the effect of the last attack. His chance shotstruck Hiram amidships. The latter continued gazing on vacancy for amoment or two after the doctor had left the room. 

'Paralysis--paralysis!' he muttered. 'That is what killed mother!'

Hiram started up, and walked across the room. He pinched his arms andhis legs, and both his cheeks. He fancied his left side had lesssensibility than his right. 

"My brain _is_ overworked, that's a fact. Dr. Joslin has told me sofrequently. I must ride every morning before breakfast; I ought not tohave neglected it. Paralysis! how did he come to say paralysis?'--and hecommenced pinching himself again. "

In the midst of these demonstrations, Holmes entered. 

Hiram turned on him angrily. He had forgotten about sending him for apolice officer. 

'I thought you wanted me, ' said the young man, timidly. 

'No, I do not!'

Holmes retreated. 

Hiram Meeker put on his overcoat, took his hat, and, though still early, prepared to walk all the way to his house. 

One thing was uppermost in his mind--paralysis!

 * * * * *

Hiram reached his house in a very pious state of mind. 

His wife and Belle were both out, and he went immediately to Harriet'sroom. 

She was delighted to welcome her father so early, and she told him so. 

Hiram regarded the attenuated form and pale, thin face of his daughter, and I hope I am right in saying that he felt a touch of pity when hereflected on her distressed situation, shut out from the world, andslowly wasting away. 

At any rate, he returned her greeting with more than ordinary kindness, and seated himself by the side of the couch where she was reclining. 

[Had you the power to look into the HEART, even as theOmniscient regards it, which, think you, would most challenge your pity, Hiram or his daughter?]

'I fear you are lonely, Harriet, so much of the day by yourself. '

'Not very lonely, papa. You know I have a good many visits, and Margaret(the nurse) is invaluable. She reads to me whenever I desire; and she isso cheerful always, that--'

'Has your Uncle Frank been here to-day?' interrupted Hiram. 

'No, papa, but he is coming in to-morrow. '

'What time, think you?'

'Uncle generally comes about six o'clock. He says he reserves his lastvisit before dinner for me. '

'Ask him to dine with us. Tell him I want to see him particularly. '

'Indeed, I will!' said Harriet, joyfully, for she knew there was notmuch cordiality between them. 

Now Hiram had suddenly conceived the idea of consulting Doctor Frankabout any latent tendency to paralysis in his constitution, and whetherit was hereditary or not, and so forth, and so forth. Aside from hishigh reputation as a physician, he knew his brother could naturallyjudge better about that than any one else. His mind, had wandered, therefore, from his daughter back to himself. 

Fortunately, she did not understand the selfish nature of theinterruption. 

'I wish you would come home as early every day, papa. How little youare with us!'

'It is a great self-denial, my child--very great, ' responded Hiram; 'buton the rich fall a heavy responsibility--very heavy--and I must bear it. Providence has so ordered. We must uphold society. We have to sustainlaw and order--law and order. '

He should have said that it was law and order which sustained _him_. 

[Ah, reader, it is a mighty _moral restraint_ which makes the crowd waitpatiently _outside_. ]

Harriet heaved a deep sigh. She could not deny what her father had sopertinently expressed, yet these high-sounding words made no impressionon her. 

'Alas!' she said, mournfully, ' if I were a man, I should never wish tobe rich. '

Hiram was preparing to make a harsh reply, but, looking at his daughter, her wan features at that moment were so expressive of every finerfeeling, that his baser nature was subdued before it. 

He took her hand kindly, and said, with a smile, 'My dear child, youknow nothing about these things. '

'I suppose not, papa; but I have made you smile, and that is worthsomething. '

The interview was not prolonged. Hiram soon felt a restless feeling comeover him. It occurred to him, just then, that he would have time beforedinner to take a look at the locality which he was preparing to occupyfor his real-estate improvements. 

He told Harriet so, and repeating his request that she should induce heruncle to stay to dinner, he left her apartment. 

As the door closed, his daughter sighed again. For a while she appearedto be absorbed in thought. Recovering, she directed the nurse to proceedwith the book she had in reading. 

We dare not inquire what was passing in her mind during those fewmoments of reflection. Perhaps, through that strange discriminationwhich is sometimes permitted to those appointed to die, she had apartial insight into her father's real nature. 

I trust not. I hope she was spared that trial. It is an awful thing fora child to awaken to a sense of a parent's unworthiness!

CHAPTER IV. 

The two brothers had met--had met more congenially than they ever metbefore. This was all Hiram's doings. He seemed like a new creature inhis bearing toward Doctor Frank, who could not (indeed he had no wish todo so) resist the influence of his cordial treatment. After dinner, theysat together in the library. They chatted of the old, old times whenFrank was in college, and Hiram, a little bit of a fellow, was his petand plaything during the vacations. 

'We have done something, Frank, to keep up the Meeker name in New York, 'said the millionnaire, when that topic was exhausted. 'You are at thetop of the profession, and I--I have accomplished a good deal. '

Hiram spoke in such a genial, mellow tone, that Frank was touched. 

'Yes, ' he replied; '_you_ have at least achieved wonders. Do youremember what mother used always to prophesy about you? It is fulfilledtenfold. '

'Poor mother!' sighed Hiram. 

'Ah, yes! she was carried off very unexpectedly. What a vigorousconstitution she had, to all appearance!'

'Do you know, Frank, they tell me I may look for a similar visitation ather age?'

'You? nonsense! Who has been filling your ears with such stuff?'

'Stuff or not, so I am advised seriously. What think you of it?'

Thus appealed to, Doctor Frank regarded his brother more critically. 

'That is right, ' said Hiram. 'Now that you are here, give me anexamination. '

Doctor Frank thereupon asked several pertinent questions, to whichsatisfactory replies were made. He sounded Hiram's chest: it wasresponsive as a drum. Then he proceeded to manipulate him in a moreprofessional way. He put his ear close down, and held it for a minute, to get the pulsation of the heart. This he repeated two or three times. 

Hiram's face grew anxious. 

'You find something wrong, ' he said. 

His brother made no reply, except to ask more questions. 

At last he exclaimed, 'You are all right, Hiram--all right. There _is_ alittle irregularity about the action of the heart: it is not chronic, but connected with the digestive organs. You are in as good health as aman could ask to be. Only, don't use your brain quite so much; itinterferes with your digestion, and that in you affects the action ofthe heart. It is not worth mentioning, I assure you' (Hiram was lookingalarmed); 'but, since you can just as well as not, I say, take moreexercise, and give your brain a holiday now and then. '

'Thank you--thank you! So you don't think there is anything in the ideathat I shall be--be--struck with paralysis--at about the same age thatmother was?'

'Pure nonsense, Hiram--utter nonsense!' exclaimed Doctor Frank, cheerfully. [He knew how foolish it is to alarm one. ] 'Still, exercise, exercise. That we ought all to do. '

The next day, Hiram commenced his morning rides; one hour beforebreakfast regularly. 

He had fought the battle of life, and had won. Now he was called on togo into another contest. He set to work at this with his customaryassiduity. 

No one who saw the millionnaire on his horse, trotting sharply over theroad very early in the morning, understood really what was going on. 

One day, however, Dr. Ephraim Peters caught sight of him, spurring onunder full headway, as if everything depended on the work he had inhand. 

'Do you know who that is, and what he is about?' asked the young doctorof his companion. 

'No. '

'It is Hiram Meeker, _fighting Death_'

CHAPTER V. 

As the gay season progressed, the love affair between Signor FilippoBarbone and the daughter of the millionnaire was not permitted tolanguish. 

The Signor was not in society. 

Much as she might desire to do so, Belle dared not venture on thehazardous experiment of introducing into her own aristocratic circle onewho had so lately figured as a second-rate opera singer. He would havebeen recognized at once, and the whole town agitated by the scandal. 

Belle knew this very well. Yet, strange to say, it did not in the leastweaken her infatuation for this coarse fellow. On the contrary, I thinkit stimulated it. Self-willed and imperious, she tolerated with extremeimpatience any restraint whatever. In this instance, it was the moretantalizing and exciting, because she felt that the world would be inopposition to her; while her lover adroitly added fuel to the flame, byprotesting that he would no longer consent to be so unjust, so selfish, so criminal, as to attempt to absorb her attention, or even intrude onher notice. True, he should himself fade away and perish (he looked verymuch like it); what of that? What were misery and death to him, comparedwith her ease and peace of mind?

Thereupon he would disappear for two or three days, during which timeBelle would work herself into a fever of excitement. And when he didreturn, unable, as he would say, to keep his oath to himself never tosee her again, she would receive him with such emotion and suchpassionate demonstrations of delight, that the wily knave was satisfiedhe had completed his conquest. 

Things were at just this pass, when Hiram received an anonymous letter, warning him in vague terms of what was going on, but mentioning nonames. 

Hiram was thunderstruck. On reflection, he was convinced that it was thework of some envious person, who had got up the note to cause him or hisdaughter annoyance; or else that it was a miserable joke, perpetrated bysome foolish fellow. So entirely was he assured that one or the otherhypothesis was correct, that he dismissed the matter from his mind. Hecarried the note home, however, and handed it to Belle in a playfulmanner, while he bestowed his customary caress, and received a kiss inreturn. 

'Young lady, what do you think of that?' he asked. 

It was fortunate--or rather most unfortunate--that Hiram did notentertain the slightest suspicion of his daughter: else he would havebeen led to scrutinize her countenance as he made the remark. 

Like most persons who are accustomed to decide for themselves, he neverquestioned the correctness of his judgment after it was once formed. 

Belle, for an instant, felt the floor sinking away under her feet!

It was only for an instant. 

With the readiness for which the sex are so remarkable, she at once gaveway to a most violent exhibition of temper. She walked up and down theroom, apparently in a transport of rage; she tore the note into ahundred pieces, and _threw them into the grate_. 

What was to be done? What would her father do to punish the miscreantwho had dared take such a liberty with her name? Boldly she steppedbefore him, and asked the question. 

During these exhibitions, Hiram stood smiling all the while. Belle wasvery handsome, and never, as he thought, so brilliant as at that moment, giving vent to her woman's passion. 

It was really so. Her form, her face, her eyes worked so harmoniously inthe scene she had got up to cover what was below the surface, that shedid present, to any one whose senses were arbiters, a most beautifuldisplay. 

'You are laughing at me, papa--I see very plainly you are laughing atme! I will not endure it! I--'

'Belle, ' interrupted her father, 'you little goose, what do you think Icare for the scribbling of any fool that chooses to disgrace himself?What should you, my daughter, care? To be sure, I can understand why youmay suddenly give way to your feelings; but there is reason in allthings. Don't you think the miserable fellow who penned that scrawl(by-the-way, you have very foolishly destroyed it, provided you did wishto trace it out)--I say, don't you think the fellow who perpetrated theridiculous joke would be pleased enough to see how you take it?'

He took his daughter by the arm--a very beautiful arm--and gave her alittle shake--a playful, pleasant shake. Looking her in the face, hesaid: 'Answer me, Belle--am I not right? Have you not sense enough tosee that I am right?'

'Oh, I suppose so, papa. You are always right. That is, I never cananswer your arguments; but--'

'That will do, Belle. Run off to your room, and come down quite yourselffor dinner. '

Belle gave her father an arch smile, to show how obedient she was, andbounded away. 

Hiram watched his daughter with delight as she ran up the staircase, andhis heart exulted in the possession of a child so charming andattractive. 

THE ANDES. 

The Andes, like a vast wall, extend along the western coast of SouthAmerica. Woods cluster, like billows of foliage, around the feet of themountains. A vast network of intersecting streams is woven by thegigantic warp and woof of these mountains. Many brooks, stealing along, scarcely heard, over the table-lands, and many fierce torrents, dashingwildly through rocky crevices, fill the great streams that roll, someinto the Caribbean Sea, some into the near Pacific; while one, themighty Amazon, stretches across the continent for more than threethousand miles, and swells the Atlantic with the torrents of the Andes. The keel of a vessel entering the Amazon from the Atlantic, may cutthrough waters that once fell as flakes of snow on the most westernridges of the Andes, and glistened with the last rays of the sun as hesank in the Pacific. 

A spell of fascination hangs about the Amazon. Its wonders, known andunknown, have a marvellous attraction; and the perils encountered in itsexploration give a throb of interest to its very name. 

How terrible were the sufferings of Gonzalo Pizarro and his companions, who set forth in youth and vigor to explore the valley of the Amazon!How worn and haggard the survivors returned to Quito, leaving some ofthe daring cavaliers of Spain to bleach in death on the wild plain, orto moulder in the lonely glen! No river has sadder chronicles ofsuffering and danger than the Amazon. Still, the exploration, sohazardous, yet of such vast value, will go on. Many a hero in the greatwar with nature will follow the track of Herndon, the noble man as wellas the brave explorer, who escaped the perils of the great river, onlyto sink, with his manly heart, into the great deep. 

In science as in war, ranks after ranks may fall; but the living presson to fill the vacant places. The squadrons are ever full and eager forservice. To search new lands through and through, or to drag old citiesfrom the graves of centuries, men will advance as heroically as an armymoves to the capture of Chapultepec. Not a flower can breathe forth itsfragrance, though in marshes full of venomous serpents and of as deadlymalaria, but science will count its leaves, and copy with unerringpencil the softest tints that stain them with varied bloom and beauty. Science will detect every kind of rock in the structure of the mostdefiant crag. Not a bird can chant or build its nest in the most leafyshade, but science will find the nest, describe every change of color onthe feathers of the little singer, and set to music every tone thatgushes from its tiny throat. Not a gem can repose safe from seizure, inthe rocks, in the sand, or in the torrent. Not a star can twinkle in theabyss of night, but science will tell its rate of light, and describeits silent and mysterious orbit. Torrid heat, the earthquake, thetornado, the pestilence, mountains of ice, craters of flame--sciencewill dare them all, to know one more law of nature. God speed the daringof science, if only her votaries will not place the law in the place ofHim who made both it and the works which it was commissioned to guide. Science, when she has found the highest and the most comprehensive lawof nature, has not touched Deity itself; she has but touched the hem ofthe garment of the Great Lawgiver. 

One veteran of science, Alexander von Humboldt, has yielded to the greatlaw of humanity, as inexorable as any that he found in nature. Hisresearches in South America, though mainly confined to the valley ofthe Oronoco, were most thorough, and his array of facts and observationsare of inestimable value. Yet, Humboldt searched into nature with thecoldness of the anatomist, content with examining its materialstructure, rather than with the zeal of one who seeks images of Divinepower impressed alike on solid rocks and gliding streams. Science, however rigid, would not have restrained the ardor of homage to theAuthor of creative energy and grandeur, bursting forth irrepressibly inscenes where angels would have adored the Great First Cause, and whereman can do no less. 

Humboldt's fame as an observer is founded on a rock which no mortalpower can shake. He lacked the reverential insight into the higher anddeeper powers of nature, but, so far as his mental eyes saw, hedescribed surely and vividly the manifestations of those powers. He wasan observer of wonderful skill in the outer courts of nature, though heseemed either not to seek or to be bewildered in seeking her interiorshrine. He exemplified rather the talent than the genius of discovery, the patient sagacity which accumulates materials, rather than the fervidenthusiasm which traces the stream of nature's action to its spring, thegreat Creative Will. Yet, the very title of Humboldt's great work, theconcentrated fruit of a life of toil, 'Cosmos, ' meaning beauty andorder, and, then, the visible world, as illustrating both, seems to showa gleam of feeling above the spirit of material research. His warmestadmirer could have respecting him no worthier hope than that he, who hasleft the scene of earthly beauty which he so long and diligentlystudied, may have had the joy to discern, in the sphere of celestialorder, the Cosmos of the skies, higher and deeper truths than externalnature can teach. 

An American artist, Church, has portrayed with great force and beautysome portions of the inspiring scenery of the Andes. Church's picturesare avowedly compositions, and not transcripts of actual views; yet, they are not more remarkable for ideal beauty than for truthfulness tonature. Although no real scenes among the Andes correspond to hispainting, yet the glorious characteristics of the Andes are seen inevery line, in every color, in all the strange lights and shadows of hispaintings. Imagination, which sees at once the powers and proportions ofthings, is, when joined to a feeling heart, the surest guide to him whowould describe natural truth, whether of the souls of men or of materialforms. The realists of art may not be so well satisfied with acomposition, as with the delineation, line by line, and point by point, of a scene in nature; yet the more comprehensive critic will own thatuniversality will gain by the composition far more than local identitycan lose. By his imaginative skill, Church has portrayed in two or threepictures those characteristics of scenery which, to be faithfullydelineated in copies from actual views, would require a hundredpaintings. This is alike his best defence and his highest praise. 

In recalling my own observations among these noble mountains, and instriving to express them in language, I feel how much higher is thevantage ground of the painter. One may examine for hours the canvas, until every scene is fixed on the memory as on the canvas itself. Yet Iwill endeavor to give a general view of the scenery of the stupendousAndes--stupendous truly, yet among those mountains are scenes of suchquiet beauty as to touch the heart as tenderly as softest music. 

Scarcely a hundred miles from the Pacific Ocean arise some of thehighest peaks of the Andes, yet the way upward is much longer. From thecoast, or from the decks of ships sailing by it, may be seen, in clearweather, some of the peaks of the mountains. On the shores, hazes andmists often temper the tropical sun and obscure distant objects; but, at early morning and evening, sometimes the great snowy dome ofChimborazo may be seen afar, towering in majesty above the tropicalverdure between its base and the ocean. It looks as if invading theheavens with its colossal form; and at such times it wears a vesture ofglory. A few years ago, in New England, of a clear night in the depth ofwinter, an aurora of the north reddened the whole sky; and the earthbeneath, covered with snow, was as red as the sky above. Imagine such anaurora to fall upon the snowy summit of a mountain four miles high, andyou may conceive how attractive is the flush of beauty upon the brow ofChimborazo at sunrise and at sunset. 

Turn from the broad Pacific, as its long waves glance in the sun; and, as the morning tide washes up the tropical rivers, go with it along oneof them, a part of the way, perhaps, in a sailing vessel or a steamer, but the rest in a light canoe. Tropical shrubbery and forests line thebanks of the stream. New forms and modes of life impress the travellerfrom the temperate zone. The scenery of the tropics, so long the wonderof the imagination, now expands in wild luxuriance before the sight. When you have gone as far as you can along the winding river, waiting, perhaps, for hours, here and there upon the bank, in some rude cabin, orunder the shade of some broad fragrant tree, for the returning tide fromthe ocean to bear you swiftly on; disembark upon a strange soil, andprepare to pursue your journey by mules or horses. 

You reach the forests, and pierce their dark recesses by narrow paths, mere winding threads of road. Great clouds of foliage press around you, and, at the slightest breeze, thrill with that murmur of myriads oftrees, which is so full of mystery and awe; for there, the very forests, unbroken and unbounded, seem audibly to breathe together with mysticalaccord, and to blend low quivering tones with the grand chorus whichswells daily upward from vales and mountains, seas and shores. 

Interspersed with the thick foliage, on every hand are blossoms andfruits of every tropical kind. Pale, white bridal blossoms clothe theorange tree, or golden fruit hangs among its clusters of glossy leaves. The starry rind and pale-green crown of the pineapple tempt you to enjoythe luscious fruit. High in air the cocoanut tree lifts its palmydiadem. The long broad leaves of the plantain protect its branches ofgreen or yellow fruit, and throw a grateful shade upon the way, openhere and there. Here is, indeed "a wilderness of sweets, " and the air isfull of blended fragrances. While the eye ranges, seeing trees, fruits, and flowers innumerable, of glorious hues and countless kinds, mostnever seen by you before, or at least only as exotics, the ear alsotakes in varied sounds. Birds are singing, insects humming; every treeseems a choir, and the immeasurable forest a wide congregation of joyfulvoices. 

You are now on the lowest stage of that sublime gradation of climatesand scenery displayed by the Andes. You cross it in two or three days'journey (for, as in the East, so, in the mountainous regions of SouthAmerica, travelling is measured less by miles than by days' journeys). You then arrive at the foot of one of the mountains. Stop and look up! Aridge covered with forests to its very top stands steep before you. Thewind makes tremulous the masses of evergreen foliage, which are nowshaded by the reluctant mists of the morning, slowly ascending, and noware bright with the full splendor of noon. Above that ridge risesanother, and another yet, unseen at the foot. Begin the ascent. Themules tremble as they strive to keep their hold on the steep, slipperysoil. Press upward in zigzag paths for hours. Reach the top of theridge, and descend into the valley between it and another higheropposite; then, ascend again. As you thus slowly, patiently, yet surelyreach the heart of the mountainous region, wild diversity of views holdsyou bound in wonder and strange delight. Here are level places--herepure, bright brooks glide on as smoothly as in meadows. There, a torrentrushes over crags, foaming and roaring in an everlasting cascade. Beforeyou may be a hillside, green with luxuriant pasturage, where flocks andherds graze quietly through the day, while the shepherd, with his crookand harmonic pipe, reminds you of classic scenes. Turn aside--and youmay look down into cavernous recesses, whose gloomy, depths you cannotmeasure. Scenes fair and fearful meet in the same horizon. So, in life, the gentle charities, that, like the face of Una, make sunshine in theshady place, are often found not far from rugged rage and black despair. Press on through glad and sombre scenery. Press upward in steep ways, miry and craggy, narrow and broad, by turns. 

Now, so deep are the paths cut in the mountain, so high are the banks, so contracted is the way, that, the higher you rise, the less you appearto see; and you feel disappointed at missing the grand horizon ofsmaller mountains, on which, coming nearer the summit, you expected tolook; but now, a shout of exultation breaks from your lips; and well itmay. A new Pacific Ocean seems to expand before you, as if by somesudden enchantment. It is an ocean of constant verdure and inexhaustiblefertility, spreading far, far below you, as far as you can see, on everyside but that from which, high on the mountain top, you look down uponthe view. The seeming ocean is the first table land, whose soft, greenundulations fill the horizon, though, when the sky is clear, the snowymountains may be seen far away, dazzling the heavens and the earth withtheir brightness. Spring and autumn here join hands, consecrating thedouble seedtime and the double harvest of the year. Yonder is a field ofripened grain. And there is the Indian laborer, near his cabin of thatchand clay, guiding the rude ploughshare through the fertile soil. 

Descend the mountain, and, crossing that sea of beauty, ascend themountains beyond. The scenes, just now all soft and pleasing, give wayto others which unite the lovely and the severe. Look upward. Thererises a mountain, so gently curving and so green, so alluring with itslight and shade, that it seems the very emblem of graceful majesty, looking as if it must know its wondrous beauty, and as calm as if nowind strong enough to make a violet tremble could ever breathe upon itsface; yet near, in vivid contrast, stands a craggy peak, towering up, up, toward the deep blue sky, so broken and so black that it seems likethe very Giant Despair of mountains, frowning with unearthly fiercenessupon his gentle neighbor, who returns his grim looks with meek andplacid trust. Where whirlwinds and tempests await the signal for howlingdesolation, stands the beautiful colossal image of sublime serenity. 

Again, steep, rocky roads lead over rugged cliffs. Your horses climbpanting, and descend, picking their steps, upon the other side. Stopawhile on this green space, a valley between two high ridges. Countlessflowers spread fragrance and beauty around. They are not those alone ofthe strictly tropical level, but, owing to the height above the sea, thefloral wealth of the temperate zone is embosomed in the torrid regionitself, and adds the charm of an almost magical diversity to theintrinsic splendors of the scene. See small objects flitting about fromflower to flower. They are the smallest and most delicate ofhummingbirds, nowhere found but in America. Watch their colors, changingwith every changing motion, purple, crimson, golden, green. It is as ifthe very flowers had taken life, and were revelling with conscious gleein the soft, bright air. The hues of these birds are dazzlingly bright. The little creatures glance about like prismatic rays embodied in thesmallest visible forms. 

After gazing upon these hummingbirds with joy as great as theirs, asthey revel like fairies in the profusion of this flowery valley, lookupward on the high, grand ridges that close it in. What suddenly startsfrom the very top of yon cliff, and floats in the air, high, high, aboveyou? It is the great condor, expanding his broad wings, wheeling inflight from ridge to ridge, curving with majestic motion, now poisinghimself upon his wings, now apparently descending, now suddenly butgracefully turning upward, until his lessening shape has gone beyond thefarthest reach of sight. The hummingbird and the condor; hillsidescovered with sheep; rocky ridges inaccessible to man or beast; brooksthat quiver gently on; impetuous torrents; the beauty of Eden and craggydesolation like that of chaos--these all can you see among the Andes. 

Let not the fascination of this valley, the songs of birds, the flowers, the hummingbirds glistening among them like gems, the soft outlines ofthe scenery detain you long. Harder and sterner scenes await you. TheAndes are a picture of life. Every cliff records a lesson; and theunnumbered flowers interweave with their varied dyes and rich perfumesgentle suggestions, sweet similitudes for the understanding and theheart. If, as in this charming valley, the senses may be dissolved injoy, and the spirit would linger willingly in rapt delight, soon somehard experience, kindly sent, requires one to brace all manly energy forthe rough encounter, the blast of peril, and duty's steep and craggyroad. You ascend in narrowing ways, casting long, lingering looks uponthe valley, whenever it opens to view between the cliffs. 

Here, the ridges are so near together that the shrubbery from the top ofeach joins in an arch overhead. There, you pass along by the side of amountain, in a path which affords scarcely room for a single horseman, and where he who enters the close defile, shouts aloud, and, if thefirst, thus gains a right of way through, and parties on the other side, hearing the shout, must wait their turn. Now, you leave for a while thenarrow road, and descend upon a beautiful table land, bounded on thesides by parallel but distant mountains; and the open places revealfertile plains in far perspective. Light streams through the wide, clearspace in a golden tide of splendor. Again, you are partly surrounded byan amphitheatre of hills, rising in gradations, and of such impressivemagnitude and extent that one might imagine that here the secret forcesof nature are wont to take bodily shape, to look on the grand tragicstorms which their own fearful agency has raised. 

Now, on one side, the mountains subside into soft undulations; on theother, the ridges are colossal, dark, and broken, and along the edges oftheir successive summits is a line of snow, varying with the line of thecliffs, and glittering like burnished silver in the sun, above thejagged battlements. The deep blue sky, the shining snow, the huge, dark, rocky bases, the different shades of color harmoniously blending, thesoft and rugged shapes contrasting vividly--well may impress the soulwith pleasure-relieving awe, with awe-ennobling pleasure. 

Dismount awhile for rest. Enter this rude, thatched house by thewayside, on a level spot. Laden mules pass by in crowds, attended byIndian drivers, each of whom doffs his hat and blesses you--a mereceremony, it may be, but one in picturesque keeping with the scenery. Invigorated by the breeze, the shade, the rest, prepare to go higher, higher, higher yet. First, pluck some of these roses that grow profuselyaround you, that, if you reach the line of snow that never melts, youmay place upon the cold bosom of perpetual winter these blushing symbolsof perpetual spring. 

Again, you reach the edge of a cliff, through the deep, narrow valleybetween which and the cliff opposite pours a furious torrent, which, resounding louder and louder as it is approached, now drowns all othersounds in its despotic roar. But, fearful as it looks, it must becrossed. Some of these torrents are spanned by bridges; but most of themare so impetuous, especially in the rainy season, that bridges even ofstone would be undermined, and those of timber would be swept away likewisps of straw. You must now trust to the sagacity of your mules orhorses. You descend the precipitous side of the cliff, seeming toyourself as if about to fall headlong into the torrent; but after apainful and perilous jaunt, you reach its level. Its roar now confusesand nearly stuns you. Each side is more or less precipitous, and youseem at the mercy of the furious tide, while jutting rocks above seemjust ready to be loosened by some convulsion, and to crush you withtheir merciless weight: meantime, your horse stands unmoved by the perilbefore or above him, apparently deaf to the noise of the torrent, andquietly surveys the rapids, as if to select the safest point to cross. Disturb him not. He takes his time, and places one foot and then anotherin the torrent. As he reaches the main current, he trembles, not withfear, but with the effort to keep himself from being swept against therocks. He may be able to keep his footing and to walk across, thoughpanting and shaking at every step; or the stream may be so deep that heis forced to swim. If so, he bears up _manfully_ (if one may say so)against the rushing force, and at last scrambles up the least steep peakof the opposite bank, bearing you more dizzy than he is. But the bankitself is only the foot of a ridge as precipitous as that which youdescended to reach the stream. Quietly, patiently, surely the horseascends. A sudden misstep or unwary slip among the loose stones of thepath would send you far backward into the torrent which you have justescaped. This very seldom happens, for the horses and mules have beenwell trained for the service. In all the perils, the horse or mule is asafer guide than you. Give him a free rein, and he will bear you up thehardest, roughest, steepest places. 

You are now high among the Andes, far above every sign of tropicalvegetation; and, although hourly you are approaching the equatorialline, yet hourly also it is growing colder. Look up! A snowy peak risesdirectly before you, and seems to challenge you with its refulgent, inaccessible majesty. The sight at first almost appals, but fascinates. The feeling of fear soon surrenders to absorbing enjoyment of thesublimity of the scene. The more you look, the more you desire to look. There stands the mountain, a single glance at which repays all thefatigue and danger of the road;--there it stands, as high above thePacific Ocean as if Vesuvius should be piled upon itself again, andagain, and yet again. Clear snow covers it with a robe of dazzlinglight. 

The snowy peak, though it seems so near in the pure atmosphere, is aweary distance off. As you advance slowly and laboriously upward, thewind blows almost like a hurricane. You can hardly breast its force. Itgrows colder and colder. Here, on the equator, man may freeze to death. Bear a stout heart and a firm face against the cold and the wind. 

Now it is too steep even for the horses and mules of the Andes. You areascending toward the snowy peak whose alluring brightness has charmedthe long way, since you saw it first. Dismount and climb as you canamong the rocks. The glittering snow is near. You pant as if you mightsoon lose all power to breathe again; yet, press on, and now touch atlast the pure, bright, equatorial snow. 

Would you now reach the very summit which shines far, far above you, arrayed in glowing white. That you cannot do. Angels descending onministries of grace may touch that snowy mountain top, but mortal feetit never felt. That radiant peak is sacred from bold endeavor and theassaults of battle. War's gory feet never climbed so far. War's flamingtorch never stained that pure and snowy light. Swords never flashedamong those white defiles. Angels of peace guard the tops of the Andes. There is truce to all the rage of earth. During the middle ages, aninterval in every week was sacred from the assaults of foes. It wascalled the Truce of God. Not for three days, but for countless ages, from the birth of time to the final consummation, on these snowy summitsof the Andes shines in pure white the Holy Truce of God. 

In Italy and Sicily, an ethereal veil, a pale, blue gossamer, spreadsover the scenery, as if each object had caught some delicate reflectionfrom the blue heavens above; and the golden illumination of this mistyveil causes the peculiar charm of Italian sunsets. This effect isgenerally wanting in the scenery of the Andes near the equator, thoughamong the mountains more remote, a similar effect is sometimes seen. Among the Andes of the equatorial region, so pure is the air, that thefarthest objects visible are exactly defined. The curves and angles ofdistant cliffs are as clearly seen as those of masses of rock at one'sside. Hardly a ray of light is so refracted as to disturb the perfectshape and color of any object in the horizon. The splendor of the sunbrings out the true colors of everything within the range of sight; andso various are these colors, and so diversified are the groupings ofridges and valleys, in the scenery of the Andes of the equator, that thepure developing and defining light and the clear air of that regionproduce effects as enchanting as the transforming light and the softveiling air of Italy. At sunrise and at sunset, indeed, but especiallyat sunset, a rosy light tinges the snowy summits of the far-offmountains, but those near shine with pure white, like mountains ofsilver. The hue of every precious stone is found in the colors of theAndes. Even the crevices on the rocky sides of the mountains withoutverdure seem when the sun shines upon them to be filled and overflowingwith warm hues, varying from the softest lilac to the deep, rich, pervading purple which the artist loves to revel in. Each of the Andes, besides his emerald or pearly crown, seems also to wear, like the highpriest of old, a jewelled breastplate, reflecting on earth the glory ofthe skies. 

The table lands of the Andes, especially when seen from above, resemblethe rolling prairies of western North America. Both have the samebeautiful and various undulations, though those of the table lands arebolder. The prairies are far more extensive; though, often, the tablelands present as broad a horizon of gently curving land. These tablelands in some places extend like vast halls between widely separate butparallel chains of the Andes--again, like broad corridors along a lineof ridges--again, like wide landings to gigantic stairs, of which thestone steps are mountains--again, they expand in hollows surrounded byhills, like lakes of land. Here is one large enough for several smallfarms only--there, many towns and rural estates are found on the sametable land. Here is one which you may traverse in an hour--there is onewhich may be several days' journey across. 

The agricultural wealth of the Andes is mainly concentrated in thesetable lands, in these millions of rolling acres. The table lands areabove the region of forests. About the watercourses, on the farms, andin the towns, a few trees may be found--sometimes avenues of them laidout with care and beauty; and the fruit trees of the temperate zone mayhere be cultivated; but the great forests of the tropical level and thepines of the mountains are absent. 

The _Paramos_ are sandy plains, in fact, mountain deserts, in the dryseason liable to great droughts, and in the wet season to fearfulsnowstorms. The armies of Independence, during the wars between Spainand South America, suffered terrible hardships and exposures in the_Paramos_. The _Pampas_ are wide and level plains, not so high as thetable lands, where graze innumerable herds of wild cattle. They arebeyond the ranges of mountains, in the more central parts of SouthAmerica. There are none west of the Andes. 

The table lands complete the sublime varieties of the scenery. Theirserenity enchants, as the grandeur of the mountains that rise above themexalts the mind. The works of nature are not only adapted to human needwith Omniscient skill, as these fertile lands among the sternermountains prove; but, feelings different, yet harmonious, are excited bythe combinations of Infinite Power. The emotion of awe, being one ofgreat concentration, becomes even painful, if the tension of the mind betoo long sustained; and so He who tempers the ineffable splendor of Hisimmediate presence even to the gaze of angels, with the rainbow ofemerald about his throne, with the sea of crystal, the tree of life, orthe gates of precious stones, also soothes the sublimity of mountainswith gentle traits of scenery and soft gradations of color which giveenjoyment more passive than awe, and rather captivate than overpower theeye and soul. 

From the table lands can often be seen in the distance snow-covered topsof mountains, projected in bold, white outlines against the deep-bluesky; and there the sky is really blue, not of that pale tinge that oftenpasses for it, but of a deeper blue than even the rich October sky ofNorth America. As if joining the sky, are the shining summits of themountains. The two ethereal colors, blue and white, thus meet indazzling harmony. Sometimes so many of these white, towering heights canbe seen, and in so different quarters, that one may almost fancy the skyitself to be a vast dome of sapphire supported by gigantic pillars ofmarble. 

Most of the cities, villages, and farms are on these table lands. Often, for the sake of the grand view, a villa is built on a steep ridge, within sight of the broad, undulating surface of some plateau; or, insome position of peerless beauty, the glittering cross on some conventmay be seen. The Spanish race appreciate the picturesque, as is shown bytheir choice of sites, not only in Spain, but in Spanish America. Thepoetical, imaginative character which has marked Spanish annals forcenturies, still marks those who have any claim to Spanish descent. TheSouth American, though half an Indian, recognizes the grandeur of hisnative mountains, and the beauty of the broad, fertile valleys, while athorough-going Anglo-Saxon of North America, in the same places, wouldcalculate whether or not the torrent that rushes foaming and glitteringdown the mountain is too steep to serve a mill, or whether the smallermountains might not be levelled for building lots; or he would gaze uponsome beautiful table land with wonder indeed, but with wonder chieflyhow much wheat or barley there grows to the acre, or can be made togrow. The table lands produce the grains and fruits of the temperatezone; and, accordingly, proprietors who own, as many do, estates on thetropical and on the temperate level, may supply their tables with fruitsfrom their own grounds, for which, in other countries, the world must bebrought under contribution. The soil is cultivated mainly by Indians. Descendants of the ancient rulers of the land now till the fields of thedescendants of the conquerors. 

Some, indeed, representing more or less the Indian part of thepopulation, are owners of estates; yet a full Indian rarely has lands ofhis own. He is a hewer of wood and a drawer of water, tills the fields, and performs most of the drudgery of the country. More South Americanaof Indian descent, out of the general population, have gained honor andpower than could possibly have done so under the confined and absolutesway of the Incas. The Indians of all Spanish America have progressed, however slowly and rudely, in the arts, labors, culture, and faith ofChristian civilization, and, in the aggregate, are in advance of theIndians of Anglo-America. 

Let the imagination survey the whole range of the Andes for their vastextent of sixty degrees of latitude. On every level space are seen thesigns of culture and human habitation, fields green with the earlygrain, or yellow with the harvest. The roads now wind through forests ofconstant shade, even under the burning sun of the equator; now they turnwith gentle windings, or with steep abruptness, while below spreadbright and beautiful lands, and interesting the more because associatedwith the homes and lives of men. 

In the grandest scenery, some sign of man's abode will be grateful. Noone, indeed, whose soul has not been warped out of all likeness to theDivine image which it once wore, can regard without abhorrence suchintrusions of noisy machinery into scenes of natural sublimity as, for instance, have desecrated the neighborhood of Niagara Falls, and which would have done so yet more, but for the energetic andforever-praiseworthy resistance of the proprietors of adjacent grounds;as if America, with her thousands of miles of rivers, and almostinfinite number of rapid, unfailing brooks, had not mill privilegesenough, without daring to insult the Divine Majesty by wresting theFalls of Niagara from their true design. The spirit of gain, which hasbeen eager, though--thanks be to God--it has not been able to spoil thenatural glory of Niagara, is vile, degraded, base enough to sell amother's dying gift for gold, or to seize, if it had the power, thejewelled gates of the New Jerusalem as collateral security for itsmeagre faith in anything divine. 

But, though the presence of that sacrilegious materialism, of thatpractical blasphemy, which defies creative Deity at the very shrineswhere its infinite power is most wonderfully displayed, is a plaguespot, a malignant sign of spiritual leprosy, which warns all to bewareof its vile contagion; yet, the suggestions of rural toil, the sight oftilled fields, the cottage, the shepherd and his flock, are allharmonious with nature, even in her grandeur; for they show that theglorious wonders of earth were given, not, indeed, to be distorted, butto be enjoyed by man; and even the stupendous mountain derives a newcharm from the reflection that it may minister daily to the elevation ofthe soul, while the benign fertility of the valley sustains the naturallife. 

How pleasantly these villages nestle upon the breasts of the mountains, as if there to find shelter from the stormy blast! Trains of mules, attended by their drivers, whose shrill shouts echo among the rockyhills, wind upward, laden with rich tropical fruits from the coast, orwith goods from other lands. Other trains descend, laden with grain andthe fruits of the temperate zone, from the higher districts. Well-guarded mules bear bars of precious silver from the mountain minesfor the currency of the world, or to render dazzling service on thetables of nobles and kings in foreign lands. Look upon the gorgeousclouds above you, as if the snowy Andes were soaring heavenward; reachhigher points, and look upon shining clouds far below, as if the samesnowy mountains had descended to bow in meek devotion. The llama, thedelicate beast of burden, sometimes called the Peruvian camel, withgently curving neck, moves gracefully on, turning often and quickly, from side to side, mild, plaintive eyes, as if entreating pity. 

The cascade glances like a streak of silver from the mountain at yourside; in the valley you see the sweet, calm lake, or you hear thetorrent, sounding among shadowy woodlands, never weary, never still. Stand on a lofty ridge, and look abroad on the vast, snowy heights thatappear in the horizon;--then let the 'mind's eye' look beyond thehorizon, and behold similar peaks stretching three thousand miles along. Then bend reverently before Him who has made earth so grand. 

Go to the galleries of Rome and Florence. It is wise to gather newbeauty to the soul from works of art, and to study the exquisite graceswhich the great masters have gathered from nature and delineated inglowing canvas or in lasting marble; yet, here is a gallery of paintingsby the Great Master and Author of all sublimity and beauty in heaven andearth, extending, not from room to room of buildings made with hands androofed with cedar, but from hall to hall of nature's colossal cathedral, roofed by the infinite sky. Look at these pictures, ever changing, yetever grand, of majestic mountains, of reposing valleys, of fertileplains, of rural homes, of streams and waterfalls, of vast forests, ofmyriad forms of life and beauty, of sunrise, sunset, and the glitteringmoon. What a marvellous variety in the objects portrayed! What surprisesat every turn! Colors more brilliant than Titian or Allston couldcombine, join in harmonious effect on every side, and grace and vigor, beauty and grandeur, are blended in every scene and almost in everyoutline. Would you examine the famous statues of the world, and admirethe symmetry of form and power of expression drawn forth by human skillfrom the hard, white stone? Or will the fragments of ancient art givedelight for their expressive beauty, visible though in broken forms?Behold here a gallery of statuary, a line of divine masterpieces, whiterthan Parian marble, wrought by the 'ANCIENT OF DAYS. ' Will youadmire Michael Angelo's colossal 'Day and Night'? and revere the mortalgenius that can so impress the soul? Give homage, then, for the majestyof power with which He who created and adorned the universe hasdisplayed, among the Andes, Day and Night--Day robed with unutterablesplendor, Night with transcendent awe. 

Mountains!--the grandest of nature's visible works--ye are also thefigures of majesty, of strength, of loftiness of soul! Ye are the raisedletters which record on the great globe the history of man! Ye are themighty scales in which the fate of nations has been weighed! Ye havechecked the march of conquest, or inspired with new, defiant energy theconqueror's will! Your ranges are the projecting lines which mark, onthe great dialplate of the world, the shadows of the rolling ages! Onyour steep, bleak heights empires have been lost and won! Ye show howweak is man, how great is God!

Ye are the home of meditation, the colossal pillars of the audiencechamber of the Deity! The Mount of Contemplation rises far above themists of partial opinion and the mire of conflict, the discords ofjangling interests and the refractions of divided policies, girt by aserene and sublime horizon, and within hearing of Nature's everlastingsong. 

Behold the holy family of mountains, on which the angels look withreverential wonder: the Mount of Awe, black with clouds and vivid withlightnings, whence descended the guide of wandering Israel, with lightdivine reflected on his brow; the Mount of Transfiguration, where nativeDeity gleamed from the face of the benign Messiah on adoring, raptdisciples; the Mount of Sorrow, where the world's grief was borne, andwhich celestial grace has made the Mount of Joy to 'numbers withoutnumber;'--the Mount of Ascension, where last stood on earth IncarnateMercy. Look up! look up! See how the angelic guards point withamaranthine wands afar, where glows, beyond the vale of tears, theMountain of Immortal Life. 

Behold, in exalted vision, the mountains of Asia and of the islands ofthe Eastern seas, of Africa, of Europe, of America;--see how they arebaptized with fire, one after, another, as the sun rises, to spreadaround the world the light of its daily consecration. How sadly is theworld's morning glory soiled and dimmed by thoughtless man ere comesagain the dark and silent night!

NATIONAL FRIENDSHIPS. 

Not long after the outbreak of the present war, the loyal portion of thecountry discovered that the sympathies of the British Government, and, in a great measure, of the British nation, were with the revoltedStates. The expectations of those who looked toward England for at leasta hearty moral support, were quickly destroyed by the ill-concealedspirit of exultation which she exhibited on more than one occasion. Although it can hardly be asserted that the great body of our peopleexpected from her more than an impartial observance of strictneutrality, it nevertheless occasioned considerable surprise that acountry, called so often as herself to the task of surpressingrebellions, should be prejudiced against ourselves when similarlysituated. 

With France, however, it was different. We had for years been accustomedto regard the French as our natural allies. The amicable relations whichhad existed between us, with but comparatively little interruption, since the days of the Revolution, naturally led us to look to them for adegree of sympathy not to be expected from our constant rivals andcompetitors the English. It was with painful surprise therefore that weshortly perceived that the French Government was, of all others, themost hostile to our cause, and the one to be regarded with the mostsuspicion and distrust. 

Spain also took advantage of our weakened condition to display a spiritof enmity toward us no less decided than that observed on the part ofher more powerful neighbors. In short, of the whole great family ofEuropean nations scarcely one expressed a friendly interest for us inour perilous position. 

It is not surprising, then, that, surrounded as we were by traitors athome, we manifested an almost unmanly regret on finding ourselvesdeserted by those whom we were wont to consider as friends abroad; andwhen we now reflect upon the bearing of those nations toward us, theinquiry naturally arises, whether there really exists no such thing astrue friendship between nations. It is a mournful question; and not afew, unwilling to believe that such is the case, will at once point tofrequent close alliances, to more than one example of the generousbehavior of one people toward another. But our own experience has taughtus that friendship exists between nations only so far as it is warrantedby interest, and that all the instances referred to as proving thecontrary, have been owing to the personal influence of high-minded men, who, at the time, were in power; and even in such cases a far-sightedpolicy will frequently prove to have been the ruling motive whichprompted their apparently disinterested measures. 

And here we pause to consider what considerations of interest could havestirred up such hostility to our prosperity, and caused suchgratification when our very existence was threatened. In what way wouldour destruction benefit England? The advantages which she derives fromher commercial intercourse with us are far greater than any which wouldaccrue to her if she ruled the broken fragments of our country as sherules the oppressed provinces of India or her distant possessions inAustralia. The same may be substantially said with regard to France. Howfar from compensated would she be for the loss of such large consumersof her staple productions as ourselves by the acquisition of portions ofterritory here, which would in all likelihood prove as unprofitable asher African dominions?

Spain, too, although her shadow of an excuse for her apparent ill willtoward us may be a little darker than that of Great Britain or France, since she doubtless hopes that by the destruction of our power andinfluence, she may be able to regain her ascendency over her formercolonies, can scarcely be so blind as not to perceive that but littleattention would probably be paid to her claims by her more powerfulcoadjutors in the work of our annihilation. 

It does not appear, then, that these nations can urge even self-interestas a pretext for their treacherous enmity to us; and we again return tothe question, What is the cause of their continued unfriendliness?

The comparison of the nation to the individual has become hackneyed, butwe are forced to the conclusion that it is not alone true inconsiderations of policy and self-interest. Our experience has taught usthat it holds good in the fact that mere feelings of spiteful jealousyand envy can, in the most powerful communities, override the dictates ofjustice--nay, even of interest itself. 

Again, a little examination will show that a permanent friendship is notto be expected between different nationalities, from the very nature oftheir structure. A nation is composed of individuals--of individualswhose pursuits and principles are widely distinct. The parties formedfrom these different classes are often diametrically opposed to eachother in their ideas of policy and government. Moreover, their relationswith foreign countries enter, to an important extent, into the counselsof every administration, and, as successive parties come into power, itis not to be expected that connections with other Governments willremain unchanged. 

This does not apply to the course of those countries whose conduct wehave been considering, but it teaches us that we should never placereliance upon the long continuance of the friendship of any nation. 

Thus, it has already been stated, that not one of what are commonlyknown as the Great Powers can be depended upon for the slightestdemonstration of friendship. Russia has indeed been generally regardedas bearing toward us nothing but good will; yet friendly as her feelingsmay be, it is owing mainly to the fact that she is so distant, and theinterests of the two countries are so widely separated, that she canhave no possible motive for turning against us; while, situated as sheis, an object of dislike to the other European Governments, she couldnot be insensible to the policy of conciliating so powerful a nation asour own. 

How then shall we proceed in order to preserve ourselves fromdifficulties in which the interests, jealousies, or changing policy offoreign countries may involve us? The answer has been made before--bybeing ever prepared to meet promptly all hostile demonstrations. Situated as we are, employing our resources to quell a giganticinsurrection, we have no strength to waste in an _unnecessary_ foreignwar. But it should be remembered that if we had had an adequate force toresist a foreign enemy three years ago, the existing rebellion wouldnever have assumed its present proportions. We, who in our previous warshad made ourselves formidable, intrusted our defence to a few thousandmen, distributed throughout our broad land, and, while the former valorof our sailors had enabled us to boast our superiority upon the sea, weexposed ourselves, by our reliance upon a small number of oldmen-of-war, scattered over the world, to the sudden loss of our navalreputation. Large standing armaments are wisely discouraged by theConstitution, but an army of one hundred thousand men, an immense forcefor some Governments, would be but a small one for our own. 

We owe to our being situated apart from other nations, our ability todispense with the military burdens which European rulers impose upontheir subjects; but the increase of neither our land or naval power hasbeen proportional to our own extension, or to those modern inventionsand discoveries by which large forces can be easily and expeditiouslymoved from point to point. An army, therefore, which less than half acentury ago would have been ample, is at present far from sufficient forour protection. 

We must, above all, recollect that as a Government can expect theaffection and support of the people only when it shows that it possessesthe elements necessary to maintain itself and protect them, so it canlook for the friendship of other countries only when it causes to beseen that it is able and ready to resist any encroachment upon itsrights. 

For the present we must depend, in a measure, for an abstinence fromopen demonstrations against us on the part of the nations above referredto, upon the moral sense of the world, which has doubtless, to a greatextent, preserved us thus far. But while it is necessary to avoid givingany pretext for war, let no tame submission to insult or wrong lower usin the eyes of the world, and hereafter let it be our policy, bycommanding the respect and fear of foreign nations, to assure ourselvesof their good will. 

NORTH AND SOUTH. 

 North and South the war cries come: Sounds the trumpet, beats the drum. 

 Hosts contending, marshalled foes Battle while the red blood flows. 

 Two great armies whose Ideal Bursts into the earnest Real. 

 Ideals twain, on battle height Flaming into radiant light!

 One, is Freedom over all; One, is Slavery's tyrant thrall:

 These are written on the plain 'Mid the Battle's fiery rain. 

 These the Powers that must contend To the dark and bitter end. 

 Look upon the Nation's dead! Lo, the blood of martyrs shed!

 Dying that our Country may Know her Resurrection day!

 What shall be the Traitor's gain? Endless scorn, undying pain. 

 Ever o'er the giant wrong Sings the Right her triumph song. 

 Yes, as sure as God doth reign Right the mastery shall obtain!

 Over all these beauteous lands These two Brothers clasp their hands. 

 These two Brothers now at strife Make one heart, one soul, one life!

 This at last will be their song: 'One forever, free, and strong. '

 Northmen, ye have not in hate Closed the heart's fraternal gate!

 Ye have not for greed, nor gold, Forged the slave-chains manifold!

 But in patience ye have wrought Out your Godlike, freeborn thought!

 Ye have toiled that man might be Clothed with truth and liberty. 

 God hath answered from the skies; Bids you for His own arise!

 Now the work is at your door: Help His meek and suffering poor!

 There are hearts uncomforted, Weeping o'er the battle-dead. 

 There are wounded brave ones here: Bring your hearts of kindness near!

 Freedmen shiver at your gate-- Let them not forgotten wait!

 Bind the wounded heart that bleeds; Mould your _speeches_ into _deeds!_

 This is what all true hearts say: 'Glorious is our work to-day!'

LITERARY NOTICES. 

 DREAMTHORP; A Book of Essays written in the Country. By ALEXANDER SMITH, Author of 'A Life Drama, ' 'City Poems, ' etc. Boston: J. E. Tilton & Company. For sale by Walter Low, 823 Broadway. New York. 

We have been very unexpectedly charmed with this volume. Inverted andfantastical as he may be in his poems, Mr. Smith's essays are fresh, natural, racy, and genial. They are models in their way, and we wish ourcontributors would study them as such. Each essay is complete in itself;every sentence full of interest; there is no straining for effect, nowriting to astonish a _blasé_ audience, no show of unwonted erudition;but the light of a poet's soul, the sunshine of a calm and loving heart, are streaming and brooding over all these gentle pages. Knowledge isindeed within them, but it has ripened into wisdom; culture has maturedinto wine with the summer in its glow--yet, notwithstanding its manyexcellences, the book is so quiet, true, and natural, we know not whatfavor it may find among us. We were pleased to see that in 'A Shelf inMy Book-case' our own Hawthorne had a conspicuous place. 'Twice-ToldTales' is an especial favorite with Mr. Smith, as it indeed is with mostimaginative people. His analysis of Hawthorne is very fine, and it islike meeting with an old friend in a foreign land to come across thename so dear to ourselves in these pages from across the sea. Equallypleasant to us is the Chapter on Vagabonds. 'A fellow feeling makes uswondrous kind, ' and, confessing ourselves to be one of this genus, wedwell with delight on our author's genial description of their naivepleasures and innocent eccentricities. Mr. Smith says: 'The truevagabond is to be met with among actors, poets, painters. These may growin any way their nature dictates. They are not required to conform toany traditional pattern. A little more air and light should be let inupon life. I should think the world had stood long enough under thedrill of Adjutant Fashion. It is hard work; the posture is wearisome, and Fashion is an awful martinet and has a quick eye, and comes downmercilessly on the unfortunate wight who cannot square his toes to theapproved pattern, or who appears upon parade with a darn in his coat orwith a shoulder belt insufficiently pipe-clayed. It is killing work. Suppose we try 'standing at ease' for a little?'

 SCENES AND THOUGHTS IN EUROPE. By GEORGE H. CALVERT, Author of 'The Gentleman. ' Boston: Little, Brown & Company. A new edition of a work first published in 1846. 

Mr. Calvert is a writer of considerable vigor, but we think these'Scenes and Thoughts' seriously injured by the hatred of Catholicitywhich breathes everywhere through them. We miss in them the large, liberal, and loving spirit which characterized 'The Gentleman. ' Charityis the soul of wisdom, and we can never rightly appreciate that which wehate. Mr. Calvert totally ignores all the good and humanizing effects ofthe Catholic Church, and sees only the faults and follies of those whominister at her altars. Not the least cheering example of the progresswe are daily making, is the improvement in this respect in our latebooks of travels. We have ceased to denounce in learning to describearight, and feel the pulsations of a kindred heart, though it beat underthe scarlet robe of the cardinal, the dalmatic of the priest, or thecoarse serge of the friar. 'My son, give me thy heart, ' says our God. Ifwe can deem from a life of self-abnegation a man has so done, we haveceased inquiring into the dogmas of his creed. It is the heart and notthe intellect which is required, 'Little children, love one another, 'is the true law of life, progress, and human happiness. 

 SOUNDINGS FROM THE ATLANTIC, by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. For sale by D. Appleton & Co. , New York. 

As the title indicates, the essays contained in this volume are alreadyknown to the readers of _The Atlantic_. 

Wherever Dr. Holmes sounds, he is sure to light upon pearls and goldensands, and scatter them about with a profusion so reckless that we feelconvinced the supply is not to be exhausted. Scientist and poet, analystand creator, full of keen satire, genial humor, and tender pathos, whomay compete with him in varied gifts, or rival the charm of intellectualgrace which he breathes at will into all he writes?

The contents of this volume are: 'Bread and the Newspaper, ' 'My HuntAfter the Captain, ' 'The Stereoscope and the Stereograph, ' 'Sun Paintingand Sun Sculpture, ' 'Doings of the Sunbeam, ' 'The Human Wheel, itsSpokes and Felloes, ' 'A Visit to the Autocrat's Landlady, ' 'A Visit tothe Asylum for Aged and Decayed Punsters, ' 'The Great Instrument, ' 'TheInevitable Trial. '

 HINTS FOR THE NURSERY; or, The Young Mother's Guide. By Mrs. C. A. HOPKINSON. Boston: Little, Brown & Company, 1863. For sale by Blakeman & Mason. 

A valuable and instructive little book, eminently calculated to sparethe rising generation many a pang in body and mind, and the youthfulmother many a heartache. 

 LIFE AND LETTERS OF JOHN WINTHROP, Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Company, at their Emigration to New England, 1630. By ROBERT C. WINTHROP. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. For sale by D. Appleton & Co. , New York. 

This work is dedicated to the Massachusetts Historical Society, who havehonored the author with their presidency for eight years past. It israther an autobiography than a biography, and an autobiography of themost trustworthy kind, 'written accidentally and unconsciously, as itwere, in familiar letters or private journals, or upon the records ofofficial service. ' Such a Life is the volume before us. The most skilfuluse has been made of his material by our author. John Winthrop theelder, through contemporaneous records, in the familiar language ofprivate correspondence and diary, tells us the story of a considerablepart of his career in his own words, Cotton Mather says of him: ... 'This third Adam Winthrop was the father of that renowned John Winthrop, who was the father of New England, and the founder of a colony, which, upon many accounts, like him that founded it, may challenge the firstplace among the English glories of America. '

The volume also offers us in great detail a picture not only of theoutward life, but of the inmost thoughts, motives, and principles of theAmerican Puritans. Valuable to the antiquarian, it will also interest, in its naive pictures of home life, the general reader. 

The brave and brilliant Theodore Winthrop, who gave up his young life tohis country in the battle of Big Bethel, has rendered this name dear toall loyal Americans. 

 ROUND THE BLOCK. An American Novel. With Illustrations. New York: D. Appleton & Co. , 443 and 445 Broadway. 

A Novel of American life, incident, and character. The style is easy, the tale interesting, the moral healthful. There is considerable humorin the delineation of character. The people drawn are such as we haveall known, sketched without exaggeration, and actuated by constantlyoccurring motives. The book is anonymous, but we believe the author willyet be known to fame, Tiffles and Patching are true to life, and theexhibition of the 'Pannyrarmer' worthy of Dickens. 

 THE LIFE OF JESUS. By ERNEST RENAN, Membre de l'Institut. Translated from the original French by Charles Edwin Wilbour, translator of 'Les Misérables. ' New York: Carlton, publisher, 413 Broadway. 

A book which has attained a sudden and wide circulation, if not alasting popularity, in France. We look upon it as a _romance_ based uponthe Sacred History of the Gospels. It is artistically constructed, andwritten with considerable genius. 'It is dramatic, beginning with apastoral and ending with the direst of human tragedies. ' M. Renan wesuppose to be a Pantheist. He says: 'As to myself, I think that there isnot in the universe an intelligence superior to that of man. ' This viewof course leads him to discard supernaturalism, and write of Christ assimply man. He believes as suits his system, and refusestestimony--without condescending to tell us why it is not equally asvalid as that received. He says: 'The highest consciousness of God thatever existed in the bosom of humanity, was that of Jesus. ' He is the'universal ideal'--and yet we think he strives to make of this'universal ideal' an impostor! Christ tells us of various facts withregard to himself: of his divine Sonhood and mission--if these thingsare not true, then was he either weakly self-deceived or a wilfuldeceiver. He sets up a claim to the working of miracles, and assumes thepart of the Messiah of the prophets. This want of truth M. Renan smoothsover by saying: 'Sincerity with oneself had not much meaning withOrientals; they are little habituated to the delicate distinctions ofthe critical spirit!' The resurrection of Lazarus, as he represents it, was a pious fraud managed by the apostles, agreed to by the Master, 'because he knew not how to conquer the greediness of the crowd and ofhis own disciples for the marvellous. ' Does not the mere fact of such anacquiescence argue the impostor? Christ seeks death to deliver himselffrom his fearful embarrassments! Did he really rise from the dead? M. Renan tells us, with a sickly sentimentalism worthy of Michelet: 'Thepowerful imagination of Mary of Magdala played in that affair a capitalpart. Divine power of love! Sacred moments, when the passion of avisionary gives to the world a resuscitated God. ' If this be indeed theLife of Jesus, well may we exclaim with the apostle: 'If in this lifeonly we have hope in Christ, we are, of all men, the most miserable. 'And is this all that the most advanced naturalism can do? All that humangenius and erudition can offer us? All that artistic grace andtenderness can win for us? Clouds and darkness rise before us as weread, the mother of our Lord loses her sanctity, Jesus becomes animpostor, the apostles deceivers, human testimony is forever dishonored. A pall shrouds the infinite blue of the sky, and our beloved dead seemfestering in eternal corruption!

We must confess we prefer the bold and defiant scepticism of Voltaire, to the Judas kiss of M. Renan. 

EDITOR'S TABLE. 

ART ITEMS. 

Among our exchanges is a little periodical entitled '_The New Path_, published by the Society for the Advancement of Truth in Art. ' Themembers of this Society are otherwise known as 'Pre-Raphaelites, ' inother words, as seekers of the Ancient Path, trodden before certainmannerisms had corrupted the minds of many painters and most technicalconnoisseurs. Their aims and principles are, so far as they go, pure andlofty. Truth in Art is a noble thing. But can these gentlemen find noneoutside of their own society? The face of nature is very dear to us, andduring long years have we closely observed its forms, its changing huesand expressions. We do like when we look at a picture to know whetherthe trees be oaks, elms, or pines; whether the rocks be granitic, volcanic, or stratified; whether the foliage be of spring, midsummer, orautumn; even whether the foreground herbage be of grasses orbroad-leaved weeds; but is there no danger that minutiæ may absorb toomuch attention, that the larger parts may be lost in the lesser, thatwhile each weed tells its own story, the distant mountains, theatmosphere, the whole picture, in short, may fail to tell us theirs inany interesting or even intelligible manner? In excess of surfacedetails, may we not lose body, roundness; and, in matching exact colorrather than the effect of color through the tremulous ether, may not thesubtle mysteries of distance, of actually diffused and all-suffusinglight, escape the painter? It is possible to possess the body and failto grasp the life. Give us not blotchy nondescripts for natural objects, fling to the winds all narrow, school-made, conventional ideas, but, ingiving us the real, give us the ideal also; otherwise we freeze, missingthe spirit which should warm and shine through the letter. 

We fear lest in his zeal for truth, many a Pre-Raphaelite may be led tooverlook beauty. To a finite mind the two words are by no meanssynonymous. There can be no _real_ beauty without truth, but many truthsare not beautiful, and beauty, no less than truth, is an importantingredient in that complex resultant, Art. 

We quote from one of the articles of organization of the above-namedSociety: 'The right course for young artists is faithful and lovingrepresentations of Nature, selecting nothing and rejecting nothing, seeking only to express the greatest possible amount of fact. ' Now weall know that the best way to stultify the mind and conception of ayouthful student, in any branch of art, is to keep before himcommonplace models. Indeed, what student gifted with genius, or evenwith any high degree of talent, will not (if unrestrained) himselfselect as studies, not any mere chronicle of desired facts, but the mostsignificant forms (suited to his proficiency) in which he can find thosefacts embodied?

The article quoted must be based upon the belief that there are nocommonplace, ugly objects in nature. If we sit down and reason over, oruse our microscopes upon any work of the Almighty, we can find wisdomand beauty therein, but that does not alter the fact that beauty andsignificance are distributed in degrees of more and less. 'Art is longand time is fleeting, ' and the genuine artist has no hours to waste overthe less significant and characteristic. Besides, each student deservingthe name, has his own individuality, and will naturally select, and themore lovingly paint, objects in accordance with his especial bent ofmind. Not that we would have him become one-sided, and neglect the studyof matters that might some day be useful; but in this, as in all thingselse, he must temper feeling with judgment, and make the mechanicalexecution the simple, faithful handmaiden to truly imaginativeconception. 

In the moral world we may cheerfully accept physical deformity for thesake of some elevated principle therewith developed; but in the realm ofart, man's only sphere of creation, we want the best the artist can giveus, the greatest truth with the highest beauty. We are not willing totake the truth without the beauty. If we are to be told that sunlighttipping the edges of trees produces certain effects upon those edges andthe shadowed foliage behind, let the fact be worthily represented, andnot so prosily set forth that the picture shall be to us simply a matterof curiosity. That those trees did actually stand and grow thus, issmall comfort, for the artist might surely have found other and moreinteresting forms telling the same tale. If light falling through loosefoliage does indeed make upon the garments of a lad lying beneath spotsat a little distance wonderfully like mildew, then rather let the boysit for us under a tree of denser foliage, where a pathetic subject willnot risk an unintentionally comic treatment. If a stone-breaker's facecorrupts in purple spots at a certain period after death, we wouldprefer him painted before corruption, and consequently hideousness, hadbegun. If women will wear gowns ugly in color and form, and will sit orstand in graceless positions, we can readily avoid such subjects, andbestow our careful finish upon more worthy models. 

Let us not be misunderstood; we well know that the humorous, thegrotesque, the sublime may use ugliness to serve their own legitimatepurposes, but then that ugliness must be humorous, grotesque, orsublime, and not flat, prosy, or revolting. A blemish is by no meansnecessarily an ugliness. A leaf nibbled by insects and consequentlydiscolored, a lad with ragged jacket and soiled trowsers, a peasant girlwith bent hat and tattered gown, are often more picturesque objects thanthe perfect leaf or the well-attired child. 

Speaking of a certain artist, _The New Path_ says: 'He follows nature aslong as she is graceful and does not offend his eye, but once let hermake what strikes him as a discord, and which is a discord, of course, for she, the great poet, makes no music without discords--and, straightway, Mr. ---- takes out the offending note, smooths it down, andthinks he has bettered nature's work. ' Now, in music there are no_discords_; so soon as a discord is admitted, the sounds cease to bemusic;--there are _dissonances_, peculiar and unusual combinations ofair vibrations, but these are never long dwelt on, and must always beresolved into the full and satisfactory harmony, of which the beauty isenhanced by the momentary lapse into strangeness. Dissonance is neverthe prevailing idea, and above all, never the final, closing one; itmust always bear a certain relation to the key in which it is used, andthe musical composition must be ended by the fullest and mostsatisfactory chord, or suggestion of a chord, found in that key. 

The majority of the Pre-Raphaelite school are willing to admit that'there is but one Turner, and Ruskin is his prophet. ' Let us then hear_one_ of the views which the eloquent oracle has advanced in connectionwith this subject. After advising the non-imaginative painter to remainin the region of the purely topographical or historical landscape, hecontinues; 'But, beyond this, let him note that though historicaltopography forbids _alteration_ (did Turner heed this precept?), itneither forbids sentiment nor choice. So far from doing this, the properchoice of subject is an absolute duty to the topographical painter: heshould first take care that it is a subject intensely pleasing tohimself, else he will never paint it well; and then also, that it shallbe one in some sort pleasurable to the general public, else it is notworth painting at all; and lastly, take care that it be instructive, aswell as pleasurable to the public, else it is not worth painting withcare. I should particularly insist at present on this careful choice ofsubject, because the Pre-Raphaelites, taken as a body, have beenculpably negligent in this respect, not in humble honor of Nature, butin morbid indulgence of their own impressions. They happen to find theirfancies caught by a bit of an oak hedge, or the weeds at the sides of aduck pond, because, perhaps, they remind them of a stanza of Tennyson;and forthwith they sit down to sacrifice the most consummate skill, twoor three months of the best summer time available for outdoor work(equivalent to some seventieth or sixtieth of all their lives), andnearly all their credit with the public, to this duck-pond delineation. Now it is indeed quite right that they should see much to be loved inthe hedge, nor less in the ditch; but it is utterly and inexcusablywrong that they should neglect the nobler scenery, which is full ofmajestic interest, or enchanted by historical association; so that, asthings go at present, we have all the commonalty, that may be seenwhenever we choose, painted properly; but all of lovely and wonderful, which we cannot see but at rare intervals, painted vilely: the castlesof the Rhine and Rhone made vignettes of for the annuals; and thenettles and mushrooms, which were prepared by nature eminently fornettle porridge and fish sauce, immortalized by art as reverently as ifwe were Egyptians, and they deities. '

Want of space forbids further extracts, but we recommend the entirechapter: Of Turnerian Topography, Modern Painters, vol. Iv. , to theperusal of our readers. 

We are glad to see the national mind beginning to effervesce on artsubjects. The most opposite views, the new and the old, the conventionaland the truly imaginative, the severely real and the morelatitudinarian, the earnest and the flippant, the pedantic and thebroad, far reaching--will continue to clash for a season, while a schoolof American Landscape is, we think, destined to rise steadily throughthe chaotic elements, and to reach a height of excellence to which theconscientious efforts of all advocates of the highest Truth in Art willhave greatly contributed. 

We are indebted to Mr. Cropsey for a pleasant opportunity to visit hisstudio (No. 625 Broadway), and see such pictures and sketches as he nowhas by him, the results of a long residence abroad and of his summerwork among the hills of Sussex, N. J. A view of Korfe Castle, Dorsetshire, England, is a highly-finished and evidently accuraterepresentation of that interesting spot. We are presumed to be standingamid the ferns, flowers, and vines of the foreground, and looking offtoward the castle-crowned hill, the village at its foot, and thefar-away downs, with a silver stream winding into the distance. Arainbow quivers among the retreating clouds to the right, and from theleft comes the last brilliant light of day, gilding the greenery of thehills, and throwing out the deepened hues of the long shadows. There arealso pleasant views of other English scenery, of Italian landscape, andof American lakes and streams. Mr. Cropsey has a high reputation bothat home and abroad, and we are glad to learn that for the present, atleast, he intends to pursue his art labors within the limits of hisnative land. 

_Beethoven's Fidelio_. --This noble opera has lately been given us by Mr. Anschütz, with the best use of such means as were at his disposal. Theorchestral, choral, and concerted vocal portions are grand andbeautiful, highly characteristic and effective. The story is simple, pure, and deeply pathetic. The prison scene affords scope for the finesthistrionic abilities. In the solos, however (with the exception of thatof Pizarro, where dramatic power satisfies), we miss the lyric genius ofthe Italians, their long-phrased, passionate, and never-to-be-forgottenmelodies, containing the element of beauty _per se_ so richly developed. Cannot the whole world produce one man, who, with all the expandedmusical knowledge of the present day, can unite for us Italian gift ofmelody and German power of orchestral and choral effect, whoseendowments shall be both lyric and dramatic, and whose taste shall bepure, refined, and ennobling? Should we recognize such a genius were heactually to stand in our midst, or would both schools reject him becausehe chanced to possess the best qualities of either?

 L. D. P. 

Ballads of the War

THE BROTHER'S BURIAL. 

BY ISABELLA McFARLANE. 

 Hear me, stranger, hear me tell How my gallant brother fell. 

 We were rushing on the foe, When a bullet laid him low. 

 At my very side he fell-- He whom I did love so well. 

 On we rushed--I could not stay-- There I left him where he lay. 

 Then when fled the rebel rout, I came back and searched him out. 

 Wounded, bleeding, suffering, dying, Midst a heap of dead men lying. 

 Friend and foe above each other-- There I found my mangled brother. 

 Blind with tears, I lifted him: But his eyes were sunk and dim. 

 'Brother, when I'm dead, ' said he, 'Find some box to coffin me. '

 For he could not bear to rest With the cold earth on his breast. 

 All around the camp I sought; Box for coffin found I not. 

 Still I searched and hunted round-- Three waste cracker-boxes found;

 Nailed them fast to one another, -- Laid therein my precious brother!

 Then a grave for him I made, Hands and bayonet all my spade. 

 Long I worked, yet 'twas not deep: There I laid him down to sleep. 

 There I laid my gallant brother: Earth contains not such another!

 Little more than boys were we, I sixteen, and nineteen he. 

 For his country's sake he died, And for her I'd lie beside. 

FOOTNOTES:

[A] But a copy fell into the hands of a French bookseller, who publisheda wretched translation, and Jefferson authorized an edition in London in1787. 

[B] A statue was erected to Buffon with the inscription:

NATURAM AMPLECTITUR OMNEM. 

Some sceptic wrote underneath:

QUI TROP EMBRASSE, MAL ÉTREINT;

a saying which we do not care to translate, but which is too good adescription of Jefferson's scientific acquirements to be omitted. 

[C] I am told that there was no resisting her smile; and that she had ather command, in moments of grief, a certain look of despair which filledeven the roughest hearts with sympathy, and won over the kindest to thecruel cause.