FAMOUS AMERICANS OF RECENT TIMES

By

JAMES PARTON

Author of "Life of Andrew Jackson, " "Life and Times of Aaron Burr, ""Life and Times of Benjamin Franklin, " etc. 

1867

[Illustration: J. C. Calhoun]

CONTENTS

 HENRY CLAY

 DANIEL WEBSTER

 JOHN C. CALHOUN

 JOHN RANDOLPH

 STEPHEN GIRARD AND HIS COLLEGE

 JAMES GORDON BENNETT AND THE NEW YORK HERALD

 CHARLES GOODYEAR

 HENRY WARD BEECHER AND HIS CHURCH

 COMMODORE VANDERBILT

 THEODOSIA BURR

 JOHN JACOB ASTOR

NOTE

The papers contained in this volume were originally published in the_North American Review_, with four exceptions. Those upon THEODOSIABURR and JOHN JACOB ASTOR first appeared in _Harper's Magazine_; thatupon COMMODORE VANDERBILT, in the _New York Ledger_; and that uponHENRY WARD BEECHER AND HIS CHURCH, in the _Atlantic Monthly_. 

HENRY CLAY. 

The close of the war removes the period preceding it to a greatdistance from us, so that we can judge its public men as though wewere the "posterity" to whom they sometimes appealed. James Buchananstill haunts the neighborhood of Lancaster, a living man, giving andreceiving dinners, paying his taxes, and taking his accustomedexercise; but as an historical figure he is as complete as Bolingbrokeor Walpole. It is not merely that his work is done, nor that theresults of his work are apparent; but the thing upon which he wrought, by their relation to which he and his contemporaries are to beestimated, has perished. The statesmen of his day, we can all nowplainly see, inherited from the founders of the Republic a problemimpossible of solution, with which some of them wrestled manfully, others meanly, some wisely, others foolishly. If the workmen have notall passed away, the work is at once finished and destroyed, like theRussian ice-palace, laboriously built, then melted in the sun. We cannow have the requisite sympathy with those late doctors of the bodypolitic, who came to the consultation pledged not to attempt to_remove_ the thorn from its flesh, and trained to regard it as thespear-head in the side of Epaminondas, --extract it, and the patientdies. In the writhings of the sufferer the barb has fallen out, andlo! he lives and is getting well. We can now forgive most of thoseblind healers, and even admire such of them as were honest and notcowards; for, in truth, it _was_ an impossibility with which they hadto grapple, and it was not one of their creating. 

Of our public men of the sixty years preceding the war, Henry Clay wascertainly the most shining figure. Was there ever a public man, not atthe head of a state, so beloved as he? Who ever heard such cheers, sohearty, distinct, and ringing, as those which his name evoked? Menshed tears at his defeat, and women went to bed sick from puresympathy with his disappointment. He could not travel during the lastthirty years of his life, but only make progresses. When he left hishome the public seized him and bore him along over the land, thecommittee of one State passing him on to the committee of another, andthe hurrahs of one town dying away as those of the next caught hisear. The country seemed to place all its resources at his disposal;all commodities sought his acceptance. Passing through Newark once, hethoughtlessly ordered a carriage of a certain pattern: the sameevening the carriage was at the door of his hotel in New York, thegift of a few Newark friends. It was so everywhere and witheverything. His house became at last a museum of curious gifts. Therewas the counterpane made for him by a lady ninety-three years of age, and Washington's camp-goblet given him by a lady of eighty; there werepistols, rifles, and fowling-pieces enough to defend a citadel; and, among a bundle of walking-sticks, was one cut for him from a tree thatshaded Cicero's grave. There were gorgeous prayer-books, and Bibles ofexceeding magnitude and splendor, and silver-ware in great profusion. On one occasion there arrived at Ashland the substantial present oftwenty-three barrels of salt. In his old age, when his fine estate, through the misfortunes of his sons, was burdened with mortgages tothe amount of thirty thousand dollars, and other large debts weighedheavily upon his soul, and he feared to be compelled to sell the homeof fifty years and seek a strange abode, a few old friends secretlyraised the needful sum, secretly paid the mortgages and discharged thedebts, and then caused the aged orator to be informed of what had beendone, but not of the names of the donors. "Could my life insure thesuccess of Henry Clay, I would freely lay it down this day, " exclaimedan old Rhode Island sea-captain on the morning of the Presidentialelection of 1844. Who has forgotten the passion of disappointment, theamazement and despair, at the result of that day's fatal work? Fatalwe thought it then, little dreaming that, while it precipitated evil, it brought nearer the day of deliverance. 

Our readers do not need to be reminded that popularity the mostintense is not a proof of merit. The two most mischievous men thiscountry has ever produced were extremely popular, --one in a State, theother in every State, --and both for long periods of time. There arecertain men and women and children who are natural heart-winners, andtheir gift of winning hearts seems something apart from their generalcharacter. We have known this sweet power over the affections ofothers to be possessed by very worthy and by very barren natures. There are good men who repel, and bad men who attract. We cannot, therefore, assent to the opinion held by many, that popularity is anevidence of shallowness or ill-desert. As there are pictures expresslydesigned to be looked at from a distance by great numbers of people atonce, --the scenery of a theatre, for example, --so there are men whoappear formed by Nature to stand forth before multitudes, captivatingevery eye, and gathering in great harvests of love with little effort. If, upon looking closely at these pictures and these men, we find themless admirable than they seemed at a distance, it is but fair toremember that they were not meant to be looked at closely, and that"scenery" has as much right to exist as a Dutch painting which bearsthe test of the microscope. 

It must be confessed, however, that Henry Clay, who was fortwenty-eight years a candidate for the Presidency, cultivated hispopularity. Without ever being a hypocrite, he was habitually anactor; but the part which he enacted was Henry Clay exaggerated. Hewas naturally a most courteous man; but the consciousness of hisposition made him more elaborately and universally courteous than anyman ever was from mere good-nature. A man on the stage must overdo hispart, in order not to seem to underdo it. There was a time when almostevery visitor to the city of Washington desired, above all things, tobe presented to three men there, Clay, Webster, and Calhoun, whom tohave seen was a distinction. When the country member brought forwardhis agitated constituent on the floor of the Senate-chamber, andintroduced him to Daniel Webster, the Expounder was likely enough tothrust a hand at him without so much as turning his head ordiscontinuing his occupation, and the stranger shrunk away painfullyconscious of his insignificance. Calhoun, on the contrary, besidesreceiving him with civility, would converse with him, if opportunityfavored, and treat him to a disquisition on the nature of governmentand the "beauty" of nullification, striving to make a lastingimpression on his intellect. Clay would rise, extend his hand withthat winning grace of his, and instantly captivate him by hisall-conquering courtesy. He would call him by name, inquire respectinghis health, the town whence he came, how long he had been inWashington, and send him away pleased with himself and enchanted withHenry Clay. And what was his delight to receive a few weeks after, inhis distant village, a copy of the Kentuckian's last speech, bearingon the cover the frank of "H. Clay"! It was almost enough to make aman think of "running for Congress"! And, what was still moreintoxicating, Mr. Clay, who had a surprising memory, would be likely, on meeting this individual two years after the introduction, toaddress him by name. 

There was a gamy flavor, in those days, about Southern men, which wasvery pleasing to the people of the North. Reason teaches us that thebarn-yard fowl is a more meritorious bird than the game-cock; but theimagination does not assent to the proposition. Clay was at oncegame-cock and domestic fowl. His gestures called to mind themagnificently branching trees of his Kentucky forests, and hishandwriting had the neatness and delicacy of a female copyist. Therewas a careless, graceful ease in his movements and attitudes, likethose of an Indian, chief; but he was an exact man of business, whodocketed his letters, and could send from Washington to Ashland for adocument, telling in what pigeon-hole it could be found. Naturallyimpetuous, he acquired early in life an habitual moderation ofstatement, an habitual consideration for other men's self-love, whichmade him the pacificator of his time. The great compromiser washimself a compromise. The ideal of education is to tame men withoutlessening their vivacity, --to unite in them the freedom, the dignity, the prowess of a Tecumseh, with the serviceable qualities of thecivilized man. This happy union is said to be sometimes produced inthe pupils of the great public schools of England, who are savages onthe play-ground and gentlemen in the school-room. In no man of ourknowledge has there been combined so much of the best of the forestchief with so much of the good of the trained man of business as inHenry Clay. This was one secret of his power over classes of men sodiverse as the hunters of Kentucky and the manufacturers of NewEngland. 

It used to be accounted a merit in a man to rise to high station fromhumble beginnings; but we now perceive that humble beginnings arefavorable to the development of that force of character which wins theworld's great prizes. Let us never again commend any one for "rising"from obscurity to eminence, but reserve our special homage for thosewho have become respectable human beings in spite of having had everyadvantage procured for them by rich fathers. Henry Clay found an Eton, and an Oxford in Old Virginia that were better for _him_ than those ofOld England. Few men have been more truly fortunate in their educationthan he. It was said of a certain lady, that to know her was a liberaleducation; and there really have been, and are, women of whom thatcould be truly averred. But perhaps the greatest good fortune that canbefall an intelligent and noble-minded youth is to come into intimate, confidential relations with a wise, learned, and good old man, one whohas been greatly trusted and found worthy of trust, who knows theworld by having long taken a leading part in its affairs, and hasoutlived illusions only to get a firmer footing in realities. This, indeed, is a liberal education; and this was the happiness of HenryClay. Nothing in biography is so strange as the certainty with which asuperior youth, in the most improbable circumstances, finds the mentalnourishment he needs. Here, in the swampy region of Hanover County, Virginia, was a barefooted, ungainly urchin, a poor widow's son, without one influential relative on earth; and there, in Richmond, saton the chancellor's bench George Wythe, venerable with years andhonors, one of the grand old men of Old Virginia, the preceptor ofJefferson, signer of the Declaration of Independence, the most learnedman in his profession, and one of the best men of any profession. Whocould have foreseen that this friendless orphan, a Baptist preacher'sson, in a State where to be a "dissenter" was social inferiority, should have found in this eminent judge a friend, a mentor, a patron, a father?

Yet it came about in the most natural way. We catch our first glimpseof the boy when he sat in a little log school-house, without windowsor floor, one of a humming score of shoeless boys, where agood-natured, irritable, drinking English schoolmaster taught him toread, write, and cipher as far as Practice. This was the only schoolhe ever attended, and that was all he learned at it. His widowedmother, with her seven young children, her little farm, and two orthree slaves, could do no more for him. Next, we see him a tall, awkward, slender stripling of thirteen, still barefoot, clad inhomespun butternut of his mother's making, tilling her fields, andgoing to mill with his bag of corn strapped upon the family pony. Atfourteen, in the year 1791, a place was found for him in a Richmonddrug-store, where he served as errand-boy and youngest clerk for oneyear. 

Then occurred the event which decided his career. His mother havingmarried again, her husband had influence enough to procure for the ladthe place of copying clerk in the office of the Court of Chancery. Theyoung gentlemen then employed in the office of that court longremembered the entrance among them of their new comrade. He wasfifteen at the time, but very tall for his age, very slender, veryawkward, and far from handsome. His good mother had arrayed him in afull suit of pepper-and-salt "figginy, " an old Virginia fabric of silkand cotton. His shirt and shirt-collar were stiffly starched, and hiscoat-tail stood out boldly behind him. The dandy law clerks ofmetropolitan Richmond exchanged glances as this gawky figure entered, and took his place at a desk to begin his work. There was something inhis manner which prevented their indulgence in the jests that usuallygreet the arrival of a country youth among city blades; and theyafterwards congratulated one another that they had waited a littlebefore beginning to tease him, for they soon found that he had broughtwith him from the country an exceedingly sharp tongue. Of his firstservice little is known, except the immense fact that he was a mostdiligent reader. It rests on better authority than "Campaign Lives, "that, while his fellow-clerks went abroad in the evening in search ofpleasure, this lad stayed at home with his books. It is a pleasurealso to know that he had not a taste for the low vices. He came ofsound English stock, of a family who would not have regardeddrunkenness and debauchery as "sowing wild oats, " but recoiled fromthe thought of them with horror. Clay was far from being a saint; butit is our privilege to believe of him that he was a clean, temperate, and studious young man. 

Richmond, the town of the young Republic that had most in it of themetropolitan, proved to this aspiring youth as true a University asthe printing-office in old Boston was to Benjamin Franklin; for hefound in it the culture best suited to him and his circumstances. Chancellor Wythe, then sixty-seven years of age, overflowing withknowledge and good nature, was the president of that university. Itsprofessors were the cluster of able men who had gone along withWashington and Jefferson in the measures which resulted in theindependence of the country. Patrick Henry was there to teach him thearts of oratory. There was a flourishing and famous debating society, the pride of the young men of Richmond, in which to try hishalf-fledged powers. The impulse given to thought by the AmericanRevolution was quickened and prolonged by the thrilling news whichevery vessel brought from France of the revolution there. There was anatmosphere in Virginia favorable to the growth of a sympathetic mind. Young Clay's excellent handwriting brought him gradually into the mostaffectionate relations with Chancellor Wythe, whose aged hand trembledto such a degree that he was glad to borrow a copyist from the clerk'soffice. For nearly four years it was the young man's principal duty tocopy the decisions of the venerable Chancellor, which were curiouslylearned and elaborate; for it was the bent of the Chancellor's mind totrace the law to its sources in the ancient world, and fortify hispositions by citations from Greek and Latin authors. The Greekpassages were a plague to the copyist, who knew not the alphabet ofthat language, but copied it, so to speak, by rote. 

Here we have another proof that, no matter what a man's opportunitiesare, he only learns what is congenial with his nature andcircumstances. Living under the influence of this learned judge, HenryClay might have become a man of learning. George Wythe was a "scholar"in the ancient acceptation of the word. The whole education of hisyouth consisted in his acquiring the Latin language, which his mothertaught him. Early inheriting a considerable fortune, he squandered itin dissipation, and sat down at thirty, a reformed man, to the studyof the law. To his youthful Latin he now added Greek, which he studiedassiduously for many years, becoming, probably, the best Greek scholarin Virginia. His mind would have wholly lived in the ancient world, and been exclusively nourished from the ancient literatures, but forthe necessities of his profession and the stirring political events ofhis later life. The Stamp Act and the Revolution varied and completedhis education. His young copyist was not attracted by him to the studyof Greek and Latin, nor did he catch from him the habit of probing asubject to the bottom, and ascending from the questions of the momentto universal principles. Henry Clay probed nothing to the bottom, except, perhaps, the game of whist; and though his instincts andtendencies were high and noble, he had no grasp of general truths. Under Wythe, he became a staunch Republican of the Jeffersonianschool. Under Wythe, who emancipated his slaves before his death, andset apart a portion of his estate for their maintenance, he acquired arepugnance to slavery which he never lost. The Chancellor's learningand philosophy were not for him, and so he passed them by. 

The tranquil wisdom of the judge was counteracted, in some degree, bythe excitements of the debating society. As he grew older, the raw andawkward stripling became a young man whose every movement had awinning or a commanding grace. Handsome he never was; but his ruddyface and abundant light hair, the grandeur of his forehead and thespeaking intelligence of his countenance, more than atoned for theirregularity of his features. His face, too, was a compromise. Withall its vivacity of expression, there was always something that spokeof the Baptist preacher's son, --just as Andrew Jackson's face had theset expression of a Presbyterian elder. But of all the bodily giftsbestowed by Nature upon this favored child, the most unique andadmirable was his voice. Who ever heard one more melodious? There wasa depth of tone in it, a volume, a compass, a rich and tender harmony, which invested all he said with majesty. We heard it last when he wasan old man past seventy; and all he said was a few words ofacknowledgment to a group of ladies in the largest hall inPhiladelphia. He spoke only in the ordinary tone of conversation; buthis voice filled the room as the organ fills a great cathedral, andthe ladies stood spellbound as the swelling cadences rolled about thevast apartment. We have heard much of Whitefield's piercing voice andPatrick Henry's silvery tones, but we cannot believe that either ofthose natural orators possessed an organ superior to Clay's majesticbass. No one who ever heard him speak will find it difficult tobelieve what tradition reports, that he was the peerless star of theRichmond Debating Society in 1795. 

Oratory was then in the highest vogue. Young Virginians did not needto look beyond the sea in order to learn that the orator was the manmost in request in the dawn of freedom. Chatham, Burke, Fox, Sheridan, and Pitt were inconceivably imposing names at that day; but was notPatrick Henry the foremost man in Virginia, only because he couldspeak and entertain an audience? And what made John Adams Presidentbut his fiery utterances in favor of the Declaration of Independence?There were other speakers then in Virginia who would have had to thisday a world-wide fame if they had spoken where the world could hearthem. The tendency now is to undervalue oratory, and we regret it. Webelieve that, in a free country, every citizen should be able to standundaunted before his fellow-citizens, and give an account of the faiththat is in him. It is no argument against oratory to point to theDisraelis of both countries, and say that a gift possessed by such mencannot be a valuable one. It is the unmanly timidity andshamefacedness of the rest of us that give to such men theirpreposterous importance. It were a calamity to America if, in thepresent rage for ball-playing and boat-rowing, which we heartilyrejoice in, the debating society should be forgotten. Let us ratherend the sway of oratory by all becoming orators. Most men who can talkwell seated in a chair can _learn_ to talk well standing on theirlegs; and a man who can move or instruct five persons in a small roomcan learn to move or instruct two thousand in a large one. 

That Henry Clay cultivated his oratorical talent in Richmond, we havehis own explicit testimony. He told a class of law students once thathe owed his success in life to a habit early formed, and for someyears continued, of reading daily in a book of history or science, anddeclaiming the substance of what he had read in some solitaryplace, --a cornfield, the forest, a barn, with only oxen and horses forauditors. "It is, " said he, "to this early practice of the art of all arts that I am indebted for the primary and leading impulses that stimulated my progress, and have shaped and moulded my entire destiny. "

We should be glad to know more of this self-training; but Mr. Clay's"campaign" biographers have stuffed their volumes too full of eulogyto leave room for such instructive details. We do not even know thebooks from which he declaimed. Plutarch's Lives were favorite readingwith him, we accidentally learn; and his speeches contain evidencethat he was powerfully influenced by the writings of Dr. Franklin. Webelieve it was from Franklin that he learned very much of the art ofmanaging men. Franklin, we think, aided this impetuous andexaggerating spirit to acquire his habitual moderation of statement, and that sleepless courtesy which, in his keenest encounters, generally kept him within parliamentary bounds, and enabled him tolive pleasantly with men from whom he differed in opinion. Obsolete asmany of his speeches are, from the transient nature of the topics ofwhich they treat, they may still be studied with profit by youngorators and old politicians as examples of parliamentary politeness. It was the good-natured and wise Franklin that helped him to this. Itis certain, too, that at some part of his earlier life he readtranslations of Demosthenes; for of all modern orators Henry Clay wasthe most Demosthenian. Calhoun purposely and consciously imitated theAthenian orator; but Clay was a kindred spirit with Demosthenes. Wecould select passages from both these orators, and no man could tellwhich was American and which was Greek, unless he chanced to rememberthe passage. Tell us, gentle reader, were the sentences followingspoken by Henry Clay after the war of 1812 _at_ the Federalists whohad opposed that war, or by Demosthenes against the degenerate Greekswho favored the designs of Philip?

 "From first to last I have uniformly pursued the just and virtuous course, --asserter of the honors, of the prerogatives, of the glory of my country. Studious to support them, zealous to advance them, my whole being is devoted to this glorious cause. I was never known to walk abroad with a face of joy and exultation at the success of the enemy, embracing and announcing the joyous tidings to those who I supposed would transmit it to the proper place. I was never known to receive the successes of my own country with trembling, with sighs, with my eyes bent to the earth, like those impious men who are the defamers of their country, as if by such conduct they were not defamers of themselves. "

Is it Clay, or is it Demosthenes? Or have we made a mistake, andcopied a passage from the speech of a Unionist of 1865?

After serving four years as clerk and amanuensis, barely earning asubsistence, Clay was advised by his venerable friend, the Chancellor, to study law; and a place was procured for him in the office of theAttorney-General of the State. In less than a year after formallybeginning his studies he was admitted to the bar. This seems a shortpreparation; but the whole period of his connection with ChancellorWythe was a study of the law. The Chancellor was what a certain otherchancellor styles "a full man, " and Henry Clay was a receptive youth. 

When he had obtained his license to practise he was twenty years ofage. Debating-society fame and drawing-room popularity do not, in anold commonwealth like Virginia, bring practice to a lawyer of twenty. But, as a distinguished French author has recently remarked of JuliusCaesar, "In him was united the elegance of manner which wins, to theenergy of character which commands. " He sought, therefore, a newsphere of exertion far from the refinements of Richmond. Kentucky, which Boone explored in 1770, was a part of Virginia when Clay was achild, and only became a State in 1792, when first he began to copyChancellor Wythe's decisions. The first white family settled in it in1775; but when our young barrister obtained his license, twenty-twoyears after, it contained a white population of nearly two hundredthousand. His mother, with five of her children and a second husband, had gone thither five years before. In 1797 Henry Clay removed toLexington, the new State's oldest town and capital, though thencontaining, it is said, but fifty houses. He was a stranger there, andalmost penniless. He took board, not knowing where the money was tocome from to pay for it. There were already several lawyers of reputein the place. "I remember, " said Mr. Clay, forty-five years after, "how comfortable I thought I should be if I could make one hundred pounds a year, Virginia money; and with what delight I received my first fifteen-shilling fee. My hopes were more than realized. I immediately rushed into a successful and lucrative practice. "

In a year and a half he was in a position to marry the daughter of oneof the first men of the State, Colonel Thomas Hart, a man exceedinglybeloved in Lexington. 

It is surprising how addicted to litigation were the early settlers ofthe Western States. The imperfect surveys of land, the universal habitof getting goods on credit at the store, and "difficulties" betweenindividuals ending in bloodshed, filled the court calendars with landdisputes, suits for debt, and exciting murder cases, which gave tolawyers more importance and better chances of advancement than theypossessed in the older States. Mr. Clay had two strings to his bow. Besides being a man of red tape and pigeon-holes, exact, methodical, and strictly attentive to business, he had a power over a Kentuckyjury such as no other man has ever wielded. To this day nothingpleases aged Kentuckians better than to tell stories which they heardtheir fathers tell, of Clay's happy repartees to opposing counsel, hisingenious cross-questioning of witnesses, his sweeping torrents ofinvective, his captivating courtesy, his melting pathos. Singlegestures, attitudes, tones, have come down to us through two or threememories, and still please the curious guest at Kentucky firesides. But when we turn to the cold records of this part of his life, we findlittle to justify his traditional celebrity. It appears that theprincipal use to which his talents were applied during the first yearsof his practice at the bar was in defending murderers. He seems tohave shared the feeling which then prevailed in the Western country, that to defend a prisoner at the bar is a nobler thing than to assistin defending the public against his further depredations; and he threwall his force into the defence of some men who would have been "nonethe worse for a hanging. " One day, in the streets of Lexington, adrunken fellow whom he had rescued from the murderer's doom cried out, "Here comes Mr. Clay, who saved my life. " "Ah! my poor fellow, "replied the advocate, "I fear I have saved too many like you, whoought to be hanged. " The anecdotes printed of his exploits in cheatingthe gallows of its due are of a quality which shows that the power ofthis man over a jury lay much in his manner. His delivery, which"bears absolute sway in oratory, " was bewitching and irresistible, andgave to quite commonplace wit and very questionable sentiment anamazing power to please and subdue. 

We are far from thinking that he was not a very able lawyer. JudgeStory, we remember, before whom he argued a cause later in life, wasof opinion that he would have won a high position at the bar of theSupreme Court, if he had not been early drawn away to public life. InKentucky he was a brilliant, successful practitioner, such as Kentuckywanted and could appreciate. In a very few years he was the possessorof a fine estate near Lexington, and to the single slave who came tohim as his share of his father's property were added several others. His wife being a skilful and vigorous manager, he was in independentcircumstances, and ready to serve the public, if the public wishedhim, when he had been but ten years in his Western home. Thus he had abasis for a public career, without which few men can long serve thepublic with honor and success. And this was a principal reason of theformer supremacy of Southern men in Washington; nearly all of thembeing men who owned land, which slaves tilled for them, whether theywere present or absent. 

The young lawyer took to politics very naturally. Posterity, whichwill judge the public men of that period chiefly by their course withregard to slavery, will note with pleasure that Clay's first publicact was an attempt to deliver the infant State of Kentucky from thatcurse. The State Constitution was to be remodelled in 1799. Fresh fromthe society of Chancellor Wythe, an abolitionist who had set free hisown slaves, --fresh from Richmond, where every man of note, fromJefferson and Patrick Henry downwards, was an abolitionist, --HenryClay began in 1798, being then twenty-one years of age, to write aseries of articles for a newspaper, advocating the gradual abolitionof slavery in Kentucky. He afterwards spoke on that side at publicmeetings. Young as he was, he took the lead of the public-spiritedyoung men who strove to purge the State from this iniquity; but in theConvention the proposition was voted down by a majority so decisive asto banish the subject from politics for fifty years. Still morehonorable was it in Mr. Clay, that, in 1829, when Calhoun was maturingnullification, he could publicly say that among the acts of his lifewhich he reflected upon with most satisfaction was his youthful effortto secure emancipation in Kentucky. 

The chapter of our history most abounding in all the elements ofinterest will be that one which will relate the rise and firstnational triumph of the Democratic party. Young Clay came to theKentucky stump just when the country was at the crisis of the strugglebetween the Old and the New. But in Kentucky it was not a struggle;for the people there, mostly of Virginian birth, had been personallybenefited by Jefferson's equalizing measures, and were in the fullestsympathy with his political doctrines. When, therefore, this brilliantand commanding youth, with that magnificent voice of his, and largegesticulation, mounted the wagon that usually served as platform inthe open-air meetings of Kentucky, and gave forth, in fervid oratory, the republican principles he had imbibed in Richmond, he won thatimmediate and intense popularity which an orator always wins who givespowerful expression to the sentiments of his hearers. We cannot wonderthat, at the close of an impassioned address upon the Alien andSedition Laws, the multitude should have pressed about him, and bornehim aloft in triumph upon their shoulders; nor that Kentucky shouldhave hastened to employ him in her public business as soon as he wasof the requisite age. At thirty he was, to use the language of thestump, "Kentucky's favorite son, " and incomparably the finest oratorin the Western country. Kentucky had tried him, and found himperfectly to her mind. He was an easy, comfortable man to associatewith, wholly in the Jeffersonian taste. His wit was not of the highestquality, but he had plenty of it; and if he said a good thing, he hadsuch a way of saying it as gave it ten times its natural force. Hechewed tobacco and took snuff, --practices which lowered the tone ofhis health all his life. In familiar conversation he used language ofthe most Western description; and he had a singularly careless, graceful way with him, that was in strong contrast with the vigor anddignity of his public efforts. He was an honest and brave young man, altogether above lying, hypocrisy, and meanness, --full of the idea ofRepublican America and her great destiny. The splendor of his talentsconcealed his defects and glorified his foibles; and Kentucky rejoicedin him, loved him, trusted him, and sent him forth to represent her inthe national council. 

During the first thirteen years of Henry Clay's active life as apolitician, --from his twenty-first to his thirty-fourth year, --heappears in politics only as the eloquent champion of the policy of Mr. Jefferson, whom he esteemed the first and best of living men. Afterdefending him on the stump and aiding him in the Kentucky Legislature, he was sent in 1806, when he was scarcely thirty, to fill for one terma seat in the Senate of the United States, made vacant by theresignation of one of the Kentucky Senators. Mr. Jefferson receivedhis affectionate young disciple with cordiality, and admitted him tohis confidence. Clay had been recently defending Burr before aKentucky court, entirely believing that his designs were lawful andsanctioned. Mr. Jefferson showed him the cipher letters of thatmysterious and ill-starred adventurer, which convinced Mr. Clay thatBurr was certainly a liar, if he was not a traitor. Mr. Jefferson'sperplexity in 1806 was similar to that of Jackson in 1833, --too muchmoney in the treasury. The revenue then was fifteen millions; and, after paying all the expenses of the government and the stipulatedportion of the national debt, there was an obstinate and mostembarrassing surplus. What to do with this irrepressible surplus wasthe question then discussed in Mr. Jefferson's Cabinet. The President, being a free-trader, would naturally have said, Reduce the duties. Butthe younger men of the party, who had no pet theories, andparticularly our young Senator, who had just come in from a six weeks'horseback flounder over bridgeless roads, urged another solution ofthe difficulty, --Internal Improvements. But the President was astrict-constructionist, denied the authority of Congress to vote moneyfor public works, and was fully committed to that opinion. 

Mr. Jefferson yielded. The most beautiful theories will not alwaysendure the wear and tear of practice. The President, it is true, stillmaintained that an amendment to the Constitution ought to precedeappropriations for public works; but he said this very briefly andwithout emphasis, while he stated at some length, and with force, thedesirableness of expending the surplus revenue in improving thecountry. As time wore on, less and less was said about the amendment, more and more about the importance of internal improvements; until, atlast, the Republican party, under Clay, Adams, Calhoun, and Rush, wentas far in this business of road-making and canal-digging as Hamiltonhimself could have desired. Thus it was that Jefferson rendered truehis own saying, "We are all Federalists, we are all Republicans. "Jefferson yielded, also, on the question of free-trade. There is apassage of a few lines in Mr. Jefferson's Message of 1806, the year ofHenry Clay's first appearance in Washington, which may be regarded asthe text of half the Kentuckian's speeches, and the inspiration of hispublic life. The President is discussing the question, What shall wedo with the surplus?

 "Shall we suppress the impost, and give that advantage to foreign over domestic manufactures? On a few articles of more general and necessary use, the suppression, in due season, will doubtless be right; but the great mass of the articles upon which impost is paid are foreign luxuries, purchased by those only who are rich enough to afford themselves the use of them. Their patriotism would certainly prefer its continuance, and application to the great purposes of the public education, roads, rivers, canals, and such other objects of public improvement as it may be thought proper to add to the constitutional enumeration of Federal powers. By these operations, new channels of communication will be opened between the States, the lines of separation will disappear, their interests will be identified, and their union cemented by new and indissoluble bonds. "

Upon these hints, the young Senator delayed not to speak and act; nordid he wait for an amendment to the Constitution. His first speech inthe Senate was in favor of building a bridge over the Potomac; one ofhis first acts, to propose an appropriation of lands for a canal roundthe Falls of the Ohio at Louisville; and soon he brought forward aresolution directing the Secretary of the Treasury to report a systemof roads and canals for the consideration of Congress. The seed of thePresident's Message had fallen into good ground. 

Returning home at the end of the session, and reentering the KentuckyLegislature, we still find him a strict follower of Mr. Jefferson. Insupport of the President's non-intercourse policy (which wasFranklin's policy of 1775 applied to the circumstances of 1808), Mr. Clay proposed that the members of the Legislature should bindthemselves to wear nothing that was not of American manufacture. AFederalist, ignorant of the illustrious origin of this idea, ignorantthat the homespun system had caused the repeal of the Stamp Act, and_would_ have postponed the Revolution but for the accident ofLexington, denounced Mr. Clay's proposition as the act of a shamelessdemagogue. Clay challenged this ill-informed gentleman, and a duelresulted, in which two shots were exchanged, and both antagonists wereslightly wounded. Elected again to the Senate for an unexpired term, he reappeared in that body in 1809, and sat during two sessions. Homespun was again the theme of his speeches. His ideas on the subjectof protecting and encouraging American manufactures were not derivedfrom books, nor expressed in the language of political economy. At hisown Kentucky home, Mrs. Clay, assisted by her servants, was spinningand weaving, knitting and sewing, most of the garments required in herlittle kingdom of six hundred acres, while her husband was away overthe mountains serving his country. "Let the nation do what we Kentuckyfarmers are doing, " said Mr. Clay to the Senate. "Let us manufactureenough to be independent of foreign nations in things essential, --nomore. " He discoursed on this subject in a very pleasant, humorousmanner, without referring to the abstract principle involved, oremploying any of the technical language of economists. 

His service in the Senate during these two sessions enhanced hisreputation greatly, and the galleries were filled when he was expectedto speak, little known as he was to the nation at large. We have aglimpse of him in one of Washington Irving's letters of February, 1811:

 "Clay, from Kentucky, spoke against the Bank. He is one of the finest fellows I have seen here, and one of the finest orators in the Senate, though I believe the youngest man in it. The galleries, however, were so much crowded with ladies and gentlemen, and such expectations had been expressed concerning his speech, that he was completely frightened, and acquitted himself very little to his own satisfaction. He is a man I have great personal regard for. "

This was the anti-bank speech which General Jackson used to say hadconvinced him of the impolicy of a national bank, and which, withingenious malice, he covertly quoted in making up his Bank VetoMessage of 1832. 

Mr. Clay's public life proper began in November, 1811, when heappeared in Washington as a member of the House of Representatives, and was immediately elected Speaker by the war party, by the decisivemajority of thirty-one. He was then thirty-four years of age. Hiselection to the Speakership on his first appearance in the House gavehim, at once, national standing. His master in political doctrine andhis partisan chief, Thomas Jefferson, was gone from the scene; andClay could now be a planet instead of a satellite. Restive as he hadbeen under the arrogant aggressions of England, he had schooledhimself to patient waiting, aided by Jefferson's benign sentiments andgreat example. But his voice was now for war; and such was the temperof the public in those months, that the eloquence of Henry Clay, seconded by the power of the Speaker, rendered the war unavoidable. 

It is agreed that to Henry Clay, Speaker of the House ofRepresentatives, more than to any other individual, we owe the war of1812. When the House hesitated, it was he who, descending from thechair, spoke so as to reassure it. When President Madison faltered, itwas the stimulus of Clay's resistless presence that put heart into himagain. If the people seemed reluctant, it was Clay's trumpet haranguesthat fired their minds. And when the war was declared, it was he, morethan President or Cabinet or War Committee, that carried it along uponhis shoulders. All our wars begin in disaster; it was Clay whorestored the country to confidence when it was disheartened by theloss of Detroit and its betrayed garrison. It was Clay alone who couldencounter without flinching the acrid sarcasm of John Randolph, andexhibit the nothingness of his telling arguments. It was he alone whocould adequately deal with Quincy of Massachusetts, who alluded to theSpeaker and his friends as "young politicians, with their pin-feathersyet unshed, the shell still sticking upon them, --perfectly unfledged, though they fluttered and cackled on the floor. " Clay it was whoseclarion notes rang out over departing regiments, and kindled withinthem the martial fire; and it was Clay's speeches which the soldiersloved to read by the camp-fire. Fiery Jackson read them, and foundthem perfectly to his taste. Gentle Harrison read them to hisTippecanoe heroes. When the war was going all wrong in the first year, President Madison wished to appoint Clay Commander-in-Chief of theland forces; but, said Gallatin, "What shall we do without him in theHouse of Representatives?"

Henry Clay was not a man of blood. On the contrary, he was eminentlypacific, both in his disposition and in his politics. Yet he believedin the war of 1812, and his whole heart was in it. The questionoccurs, then, Was it right and best for the United States to declarewar against Great Britain in 1812? The proper answer to this questiondepends upon another: What ought we to think of Napoleon Bonaparte? IfNapoleon _was_, what English Tories and American Federalists said hewas, the enemy of mankind, --and if England, in warring upon him, _was_fighting the battle of mankind, --then the injuries received by neutralnations might have been borne without dishonor. When those giantbelligerents were hurling continents at one another, the damage doneto bystanders from the flying off of fragments was a thing to beexpected, and submitted to as their share of the general ruin, --to becompensated by the final suppression of the common foe. To haveendured this, and even to have submitted, for a time, to the searchingof ships, so that not one Englishman should be allowed to skulk fromsuch a fight, had not been pusillanimity, but magnanimity. But if, asEnglish Whigs and American Democrats contended, Napoleon Bonaparte wasthe armed soldier of democracy, the rightful heir of the Revolution, the sole alternative to anarchy, the _legitimate_ ruler of France; ifthe responsibility of those enormous desolating wars does not lie athis door, but belongs to George III. And the Tory party of England; ifit is a fact that Napoleon always stood ready to make a just peace, which George III. And William Pitt refused, _not_ in the interest ofmankind and civilization, but in that of the Tory party and the allieddynasties, --then America was right in resenting the searching andseizure of her ships, and right, after exhausting every peacefulexpedient, in declaring war. 

That this was really the point in dispute between our two parties isshown in the debates, newspapers, and pamphlets of the time. TheFederalists, as Mr. Clay observed in one of his speeches, comparedNapoleon to "every monster and beast, from that mentioned in theRevelation down to the most insignificant quadruped. " The Republicans, on the contrary, spoke of him always with moderation and decency, sometimes with commendation, and occasionally he was toasted at theirpublic dinners with enthusiasm. Mr. Clay himself, while lamenting hisenormous power and the suspension of ancient nationalities, always hada lurking sympathy with him. "Bonaparte, " said he in his great warspeech of 1813, "has been called the scourge of mankind, the destroyer of Europe, the great robber, the infidel, the modern Attila, and Heaven knows by what other names. Really, gentlemen remind me of an obscure lady, in a city not very far off, who also took it into her head, in conversation with an accomplished French gentleman, to talk of the affairs of Europe. She, too, spoke of the destruction of the balance of power; stormed and raged about the insatiable ambition of the Emperor; called him the curse of mankind, the destroyer of Europe. The Frenchman listened to her with perfect patience, and when she had ceased said to her, with ineffable politeness, 'Madam, it would give my master, the Emperor, infinite pain if he knew how hardly you thought of him. '"

This brief passage suffices to show the prevailing tone of the twoparties when Napoleon was the theme of discourse. 

It is, of course, impossible for us to enter into this question ofNapoleon's moral position. Intelligent opinion, ever since the meansof forming an opinion were accessible, has been constantly judgingNapoleon more leniently, and the Tory party more severely. We can onlysay, that, in our opinion, the war of 1812 was just and necessary; andthat Henry Clay, both in supporting Mr. Jefferson's policy ofnon-intercourse and in supporting President Madison's policy of war, deserved well of his country. Postponed that war might have been. But, human nature being what it is, and the English government being whatit was, we do not believe that the United States could ever have beendistinctly recognized as one of the powers of the earth withoutanother fight for it. 

The war being ended and the Federal party extinct, upon the youngRepublicans, who had carried on the war, devolved the task of"reconstruction. " Before they had made much progress in it, they camewithin an ace of being consigned to private life, --Clay himself havingas narrow an escape as any of them. And here we may note one point ofsuperiority of the American government over others. In other countriesit can sometimes be the interest of politicians to foment and declarewar. A war strengthens a tottering dynasty, an imperial _parvenu_, anodious tyrant, a feeble ministry; and the glory won in battle on landand sea redounds to the credit of government, without raising upcompetitors for its high places. But let American politicians takenote. It is never _their_ interest to bring on a war; because a war iscertain to generate a host of popular heroes to outshine them and pushthem from their places. It may sometimes be their duty to advocatewar, but it is never their interest. At this moment we see bothparties striving which shall present to the people the most attractivelist of military candidates; and when a busy ward politician seeks hisreward in custom-house or department, he finds a dozen lame soldierscompeting for the place; one of whom gets it, --as he ought. What cityhas presented Mr. Stanton with a house, or Mr. Welles with fiftythousand dollars' worth of government bonds? Calhoun precipitated thecountry into a war with Mexico; but what did he gain by it but newbitterness of disappointment, while the winner of three little battleswas elected President? Henry Clay was the animating soul of the war of1812, and we honor him for it; but while Jackson, Brown, Scott, Perry, and Decatur came out of that war the idols of the nation, Clay waspromptly notified that _his_ footing in the public councils, _his_hold of the public favor, was by no means stable. 

His offence was that he voted for the compensation bill of 1816, whichmerely changed the pay of members of Congress from the pittance of sixdollars a day to the pittance of fifteen hundred dollars a year. Hewho before was lord paramount in Kentucky saved his seat only byprodigious efforts on the stump, and by exerting all the magic of hispresence in the canvass. 

No one ever bore cutting disappointment with an airier grace than thishigh-spirited thorough-bred; but he evidently felt this apparentinjustice. Some years later, when it was proposed in Congress topension Commodore Perry's mother, Mr. Clay, in a speech of fiveminutes, totally extinguished the proposition. Pointing to the vastrewards bestowed upon such successful soldiers as Marlborough, Napoleon, and Wellington, he said, with thrilling effect:

 "How different is the fate of the statesman! In his quiet and less brilliant career, after having advanced, by the wisdom of his measures, the national prosperity to the highest point of elevation, and after having sacrificed his fortune, his time, and perhaps his health, in the public service, what, too often, are the rewards that await him? Who thinks of _his_ family, impoverished by the devotion of his attention to his country, instead of their advancement? Who proposes to pension him, --much less his _mother_?"

He spoke the more feelingly, because he, who could have earned morethan the President's income by the practice of his profession, wasoften pinched for money, and was once obliged to leave Congress forthe sole purpose of taking care of his shattered fortune. He felt theimportance of this subject in a national point of view. He wrote in1817 to a friend:

 "Short as has been my service in the public councils, I have seen some of the most valuable members quitting the body from their inability to sustain the weight of these sacrifices. And in process of time, I apprehend, this mischief will be more and more felt. Even now there are few, if any, instances of members dedicating their lives to the duties of legislation. Members stay a year or two; curiosity is satisfied; the novelty wears off; expensive habits are brought or acquired; their affairs at home are neglected; their fortunes are wasting away; and they are compelled to retire. "

The eight years of Mr. Monroe's administration--from 1817 to1825--were the most brilliant period of Henry Clay's career. Hisposition as Speaker of the House of Representatives would naturallyhave excluded him from leadership; but the House was as fond ofhearing him speak as he could be of speaking, and opportunities werecontinually furnished him by going into Committee of the Whole. In acertain sense he was in opposition to the administration. When oneparty has so frequently and decidedly beaten the party opposed to it, that the defeated party goes out of existence, the conquering partysoon divides. The triumphant Republicans of 1816 obeyed this law oftheir position;--one wing of the party, under Mr. Monroe, beingreluctant to depart from the old Jeffersonian policy; the other wing, under Henry Clay, being inclined to go very far in internalimprovements and a protective tariff. Mr. Clay now appears as thegreat champion of what he proudly styled the American System. Hedeparted farther and farther from the simple doctrines of the earlierDemocrats. Before the war, he had opposed a national bank; now headvocated the establishment of one, and handsomely acknowledged thechange of opinion. Before the war, he proposed only such a tariff aswould render America independent of foreign nations in articles of thefirst necessity; now he contemplated the establishment of a greatmanufacturing system, which should attract from Europe skilfulworkmen, and supply the people with everything they consumed, even tojewelry and silver-ware. Such success had he with his American System, that, before many years rolled away, we see the rival wings of theRepublican party striving which could concede most to themanufacturers in the way of an increased tariff. Every four years, when a President was to be elected, there was an inevitable revisionof the tariff, each faction outbidding the other in conciliating themanufacturing interest; until at length the near discharge of thenational debt suddenly threw into politics a prospectivesurplus, ---one of twelve millions a year, --which came near crushingthe American System, and gave Mr. Calhoun his pretext fornullification. 

At present, with such a debt as we have, the tariff is no longer aquestion with us. The government must have its million a day; and asno tax is less offensive to the people than a duty on importedcommodities, we seem compelled to a practically protective system formany years to come. But, of all men, a citizen of the United Statesshould be the very last to accept the protective system as final; forwhen he looks abroad over the great assemblage of sovereignties whichhe calls the United States, and asks himself the reason of their rapidand uniform prosperity for the last eighty years, what answer can hegive but this?--_There is free trade among them_. And if he extendshis survey over the whole earth, he can scarcely avoid the conclusionthat free trade among all nations would be as advantageous to allnations as it is to the thirty-seven States of the American Union. Butnations are not governed by theories and theorists, but bycircumstances and politicians. The most perfect theory must sometimesgive way to exceptional fact. We find, accordingly, Mr. Mill, thegreat English champion of free trade, fully sustaining Henry Clay'smoderate tariff of 1816, but sustaining it only as a temporarymeasure. The paragraph of Mr. Mill's Political Economy which touchesthis subject seems to us to express so exactly the true policy of theUnited States with regard to the tariff, that we will take the libertyof quoting it. 

 "The only case in which, on mere principles of political economy, protecting duties can be defensible, is when they are imposed temporarily, (especially in a young and rising nation, ) in hopes of naturalizing a foreign industry, in itself perfectly suitable to the circumstances of the country. The superiority of one country over another in a branch of production often arises only from having begun it sooner. There may be no inherent advantage on one part, or disadvantage on the other, but only a present superiority of acquired skill and experience. A country which has this skill and experience yet to acquire may, in other respects, be better adapted to the production than those which were earlier in the field; and, besides, it is a just remark of Mr. Rae, that nothing has a greater tendency to promote improvement in any branch of production, than its trial under a new set of conditions. But it cannot be expected that individuals should, at their own risk, or rather to their certain loss, introduce a new manufacture, and bear the burden of carrying it on, until the producers have been educated up to the level of those with whom the processes are traditional. A protecting duty, continued for a reasonable time, will sometimes be the least inconvenient mode in which the nation can tax itself for the support of such an experiment. But the protection should be confined to cases in which there is good ground of assurance that the industry which it fosters will after a time be able to dispense with it; nor should the domestic producers ever be allowed to expect that it will be continued to them beyond the time necessary for a fair trial of what they are capable of accomplishing. "[1]

In the quiet of his library at Ashland, Mr. Clay, we believe, would, at any period of his public life, have assented to the doctrines ofthis passage. But at Washington he was a party leader and an orator. Having set the ball in motion, he could not stop it; nor does heappear to have felt the necessity of stopping it, until, in 1831, hewas suddenly confronted by three Gorgons at once, --a coming Surplus, aPresident that vetoed internal improvements, and an ambitious Calhoun, resolved on using the surplus either as a stepping-stone to thePresidency or a wedge with which to split the Union. The time to haveput down the brakes was in 1828, when the national debt was withinseven years of being paid off; but precisely _then_ it was that bothdivisions of the Democratic party---one under Mr. Van Buren, the otherunder Mr. Clay--were running a kind of tariff race, neck and neck, inwhich Van Buren won. Mr. Clay, it is true, was not in Congressthen, --he was Secretary of State; but he was the soul of his party, and his voice was the voice of a master. In all his letters andspeeches there is not a word to show that he then anticipated thesurplus, or the embarrassments to which it gave rise; though he couldnot have forgotten that a very trifling surplus was one of the chiefanxieties of Mr. Jefferson's administration. Mr. Clay's error, wethink, arose from his not perceiving clearly that a protective tariff, though justifiable sometimes, is always in itself an evil, and isnever to be accepted as the permanent policy of any country; and that, being an evil, it must be reduced to the minimum that will answer thetemporary purpose. 

In estimating Henry Clay, we are always to remember that he was anorator. He had a genius for oratory. There is, we believe, no exampleof a man endowed with a genius for oratory who also possessed anunderstanding of the first order. Mr. Clay's oratory was vivified by agood heart and a genuine love of country; and on occasions whichrequired only a good heart, patriotic feeling, and an eloquent tongue, he served his country well. But as a party leader he had sometimes todeal with matters which demanded a radical and far-seeing intellect;and then, perhaps, he failed to guide his followers aright. AtWashington, during the thirteen years of his Speakership, he led thegay life of a popular hero and drawing-room favorite; and his positionwas supposed to compel him to entertain much company. As a younglawyer in Kentucky, he was addicted to playing those games of merechance which alone at that day were styled gambling. He played highand often, as was the custom then all over the world. It was hisboast, even in those wild days, that he never played at home, andnever had a pack of cards in his house; but when the lawyers andjudges were assembled during court sessions, there was much high playamong them at the tavern after the day's work was done. In 1806, whenMr. Clay was elected to the Senate, he resolved to gamble nomore, --that is, to play at hazard and "brag" no more, --and he kept hisresolution. Whist, being a game depending partly on skill, was notincluded in this resolution; and whist was thenceforth a very favoritegame with him, and he greatly excelled in it. It was said of him, asit was of Charles James Fox, that, at any moment of a hand, he couldname all the cards that remained to be played. He discountenanced highstakes; and we believe he never, after 1806, played for more than fivedollars "a corner. " These, we know, were the stakes at Ghent, where heplayed whist for many months with the British Commissioners during thenegotiations for peace in 1815. We mention his whist-playing only aspart of the evidence that he was a gay, pleasant, easy man of theworld, --not a student, not a thinker, not a philosopher. Often, inreading over his speeches of this period, we are ready to exclaim, "Ah! Mr. Clay, if you had played whist a little less, and studiedhistory and statesmanship a great deal more, you would have avoidedsome errors!" A trifling anecdote related by Mr. Colton lets us intothe Speaker's way of life. "How can you preside over that Houseto-day?" asked a friend, as he set Mr. Clay down at his own door, _after sunrise_, from a party. "Come up, and you shall see how I willthrow the reins over their necks, " replied the Speaker, as he steppedfrom the carriage. [2]

But when noble feeling and a gifted tongue sufficed for the occasion, how grandly sometimes he acquitted himself in those brilliant years, when, descending from the Speaker's lofty seat, he held the House andthe crowded galleries spellbound by his magnificent oratory! Hisspeech of 1818, for example, favoring the recognition of the SouthAmerican republics, was almost as wise as it was eloquent; for, although the provinces of South America are still far from being whatwe could wish them to be, yet it is certain that no single step ofprogress was possible for them until their connection with Spain wassevered. Cuba, today, proves Mr. Clay's position. The amiable andintelligent Creoles of that beautiful island are nearly ready for theabolition of slavery and for regulated freedom; but they lielanguishing under the hated incubus of Spanish rule, and dare not riska war of independence, outnumbered as they are by untamed orhalf-tamed Africans. Mr. Clay's speeches in behalf of the youngrepublics of South America were read by Bolivar at the head of histroops, and justly rendered his name dear to the struggling patriots. He had a clear conviction, like his master, Thomas Jefferson, that theinterests of the United States lie chiefly _in America_, not Europe;and it was a favorite dream of his to see the Western Continentoccupied by flourishing republics, independent, but closely allied, --agenuine Holy Alliance. 

The supreme effort of Mr. Clay's Congressional life was in connectionwith the Missouri Compromise of 1821. He did not originate the plan ofcompromise, but it was certainly his influence and tact which causedthe plan to prevail. Fortunately, he had been absent from Congressduring some of the earlier attempts to admit Missouri; and thus hearrived in Washington in January, 1821, calm, uncommitted, and welcometo both parties. Fierce debate had wrought up the minds of members tothat point where useful discussion ceases to be possible. Almost everyman had given personal offence and taken personal offence; the twosides seemed reduced to the most hopeless incompatibility; and theaffair was at a dead lock. No matter what the subject of debate, Missouri was sure, in some way, to get involved in it; and the meremention of the name was like a spark upon loose gunpowder. InFebruary, for example, the House had to go through the ceremony ofcounting the votes for President of the United States, --a mereceremony, since Mr. Monroe had been re-elected almost unanimously, andthe votes of Missouri were of no importance. The tellers, to avoidgiving cause of contention, announced that Mr. Monroe had received twohundred and thirty-one votes, including those of Missouri, and twohundred and twenty-eight if they were excluded. At this announcementmembers sprang to their feet, and such a scene of confusion arose thatno man could make himself heard. After a long struggle with the riot, the Speaker declared the House adjourned. 

For six weeks Mr. Clay exerted his eloquence, his arts ofpacification, and all the might of his personality, to bring membersto their senses. He even had a long conference with his ancient foe, John Randolph. He threw himself into this work with such ardor, andlabored at it so continuously, day and night, that, when the finaltriumph was won, he declared that, if Missouri had been kept out ofthe Union two weeks longer, he should have been a dead man. Thirty-four years after these events Mr. S. G. Goodrich wrote:

 "I was in the House of Representatives but a single hour. While I was present there was no direct discussion of the agitating subject which already filled everybody's mind, but still the excitement flared out occasionally in incidental allusions to it, like puffs of smoke and jets of flame which issue from a house that is on fire within. I recollect that Clay made a brief speech, thrilling the House by a single passage, in which he spoke of '_poor, unheard Missouri_' she being then without a representative in Congress. His tall, tossing form, his long, sweeping gestures, and, above all, his musical yet thrilling tones, made an impression upon me which I can never forget. "

Mr. Clay, at length, had completed his preparations. He moved for acommittee of the House to confer with a committee of the Senate. Hehimself wrote out the list of members whom he desired should beelected, and they were elected. At the last conference of the jointcommittees, which was held on a Sunday, Mr. Clay insisted that theirreport, to have the requisite effect upon Congress and the country, must be unanimous; and unanimous it was. Both Houses, with asurprising approach to unanimity, adopted the compromise proposed; andthus was again postponed the bloody arbitrament to which theirrepressible controversy has since been submitted. 

Clay's masterly conduct on this occasion added his name to the longlist of gentlemen who were mentioned for the succession to Mr. Monroein 1825. If the city of Washington had been the United States, if theHouse of Representatives had possessed the right to elect a President, Henry Clay might have been its choice. During the thirteen years ofhis Speakership not one of his decisions had been reversed; and he hadpresided over the turbulent and restive House with that perfectblending of courtesy and firmness which at once restrains and charms. The debates just before the war, during the war, and after the war, had been violent and acrimonious; but he had kept his own temper, andcompelled the House to observe an approach to decorum. On one occasionhe came into such sharp collision with the excitable Randolph, thatthe dispute was transferred to the newspapers, and narrowly escapeddegenerating from a war of "cards" to a conflict with pistols. But theSpeaker triumphed; the House and the country sustained him. Onoccasions of ceremony the Speaker enchanted every beholder by thesuperb dignity of his bearing, the fitness of his words, and thetranquil depth of his tones. What could be more eloquent, moreappropriate, than the Speaker's address of welcome to Lafayette, whenthe guest of the nation was conducted to the floor of the House ofRepresentatives? The House and the galleries were proud of the Speakerthat day. No one who never heard this captivator of hearts can formthe slightest conception of the penetrating effect of the closingsentences, though they were spoken only in the tone of conversation. 

 "The vain wish has been sometimes indulged, that Providence would allow the patriot, after death, to return to his country, and to contemplate the intermediate changes which had taken place; to view the forests felled, the cities built, the mountains levelled, the canals cut, the highways constructed, the progress of the arts, the advancement of learning, and the increase of population. General, your present visit to the United States is a realization of the consoling object of that wish. You are in the midst of posterity. Everywhere you must have been struck with the great changes, physical and moral, which have occurred since you left us. Even this very city, bearing a venerated name, alike endeared to you and to us, has since emerged from the forest which then covered its site. In one respect you behold us unaltered, and this is in the sentiment of continued devotion to liberty, and of ardent affection and profound gratitude to your departed friend, the father of his country, and to you, and to your illustrious associates in the field and in the cabinet, for the multiplied blessings which surround us, and for the very privilege of addressing you which I now exercise. This sentiment, now fondly cherished by more than ten millions of people, will be transmitted with unabated vigor down the tide of time, through the countless millions who are destined to inhabit this continent, to the latest posterity. "

The appropriateness of these sentiments to the occasion and to the manis evident to every one who remembers that Lafayette's love of GeorgeWashington was a Frenchman's romantic passion. Nor, indeed, did heneed to have a sensitive French heart to be moved to tears by suchwords and such a welcome. 

From 1822 to 1848, a period of twenty-six years, Henry Clay lived thestrange life of a candidate for the Presidency. It was enough to ruinany man, body and soul. To live always in the gaze of millions; to bethe object of eulogy the most extravagant and incessant from one halfof the newspapers, and of vituperation still more preposterous fromthe other half; to be surrounded by flatterers interested anddisinterested, and to be confronted by another body intent onmisrepresenting every act and word; to have to stop and consider theeffect of every utterance, public and private, upon the next"campaign"; not to be able to stir abroad without having to harangue adeputation of political friends, and stand to be kissed by ladies andpump-handled by men, and hide the enormous bore of it beneath a fixedsmile till the very muscles of the face are rigid; to receive by everymail letters enough for a large town; to have your life writtenseveral times a year; to be obliged continually to refute calumniesand "define your position"; to live under a horrid necessity to bepointedly civil to all the world; to find your most casual remarks andmost private conversations getting distorted in print, --this, and morethan this, it was to be a candidate for the Presidency. The mostwonderful thing that we have to say of Henry Clay is, that, such werehis native sincerity and healthfulness of mind, he came out of thisfiery trial still a patriot and a man of honor. We believe it was aweakness in him, as it is in any man, to set his heart upon livingfour years in the White House; but we can most confidently say, that, having entered the game, he played it fairly, and bore his repeateddisappointments with genuine, high-bred composure. The closestscrutiny into the life of this man still permits us to believe that, when he said, "I would rather be right than be President, " he spokethe real sentiments of his heart; and that, when he said to one of hispolitical opponents, "Tell General Jackson that, if he will sign myLand Bill, I will pledge myself to retire from public life and neverto re-enter it, " he meant what he said, and would have stood to it. Itis our privilege to believe this of Henry Clay; nor do we think thatthere was ever anything morbidly excessive in his desire for thePresidency. He was the head and choice of a great political party; inthe principles of that party he fully believed; and we think he didtruly desire an election to the Presidency more from conviction thanambition. This may not have been the case in 1824, but we believe itwas in 1832 and in 1844. 

The history of Henry Clay's Presidential aspirations and defeats islittle more than the history of a personal feud. In the year 1819, itwas his fortune to incur the hatred of the best hater thenliving, --Andrew Jackson. They met for the first time in November, 1815, when the hero of New Orleans came to Washington to consult withthe administration respecting the Indian and military affairs of hisdepartment. Each of these eminent men truly admired the other. Jacksonsaw in Clay the civil hero of the war, whose fiery eloquence hadpowerfully seconded its military heroes. Clay beheld in Jackson theman whose gallantry and skill had done most to justify the war in thesight of the people. They became immediately and cordially intimate. Jackson engaged to visit Ashland in the course of the next summer, andspend a week there. On every occasion when Mr. Clay spoke of theheroes of the war, he bestowed on Jackson the warmest praise. 

In 1818 General Jackson invaded Florida, put to death two Indianchiefs in cold blood, and executed two British subjects, Arbuthnot andArmbrister. [3] During the twenty-seven days' debate upon theseproceedings, in 1819, the Speaker sided with those who disapprovedthem, and he delivered a set speech against Jackson. This speech, though it did full justice to General Jackson's motives, and containeda fine eulogium upon his previous services, gave the General deadlyoffence. Such was Jackson's self-love that he could not believe in thehonesty of any opposition to him, but invariably attributed suchopposition to low personal motives. Now it was a fact well known toJackson, that Henry Clay had expected the appointment of Secretary ofState under Mr. Monroe; and it was part of the gossip of the time thatMr. Monroe's preference of Mr. Adams was the reason of Clay'soccasional opposition to measures favored by the administration. We donot believe this, because the measures which Mr. Clay opposed weresuch as he _must_ have disapproved, and which well-informed posteritywill forever disapprove. After much debate in the Cabinet, Mr. Monroe, who was peculiarly bound to Jackson, and who had reasons of his ownfor not offending him, determined to sustain him _in toto_, both athome and in the courts of Spain and England. Hence, in condemningGeneral Jackson, Mr. Clay was again in opposition to theadministration; and the General of course concluded, that the Speakerdesigned, in ruining him, merely to further his own political schemes. How he boiled with fury against Mr. Clay, his published lettersamusingly attest. "The hypocrisy and baseness of Clay, " wrote theGeneral, "in pretending friendship to me, and endeavoring to crush theExecutive through me, makes me despise the villain. "

Jackson, as we all know, was triumphantly sustained by the House. Infact, Mr. Clay's speech was totally unworthy of the occasion. Insteadof argument and fact, he gave the House and the galleries beautifuldeclamation. The evidence was before him; he had it in his hands; but, instead of getting up his case with patient assiduity, and exhibitingthe damning proofs of Jackson's misconduct, he merely glanced over themass of papers, fell into some enormous blunders, passed over somemost material points, and then endeavored to supply all deficienciesby an imposing eloquence. He even acknowledges that he had notexamined the testimony. "It is _possible_, " said he, "that a criticalexamination of the evidence _would_ show" that Arbuthnot was aninnocent trader. We have had occasion to examine that evidence since, and we can testify that this conjecture was correct. But why was it a_conjecture_? Why did Mr. Clay neglect to convert the conjecture intocertainty? It fell to him, as representing the civilization andhumanity of the United States, to vindicate the memory of an honorableold man, who had done all that was possible to prevent the war, andwho had been ruthlessly murdered by men wearing the uniform ofAmerican soldiers. It fell to him to bar the further advancement of aman most unfit for civil rule. To this duty he was imperativelycalled, but he only half did it, and thus exasperated the tigerwithout disabling him. 

Four years passed. In December, 1823, General Jackson reappeared inWashington to take his seat in the Senate, to which he had beenelected by his wire-pullers for the purpose of promoting his interestsas a candidate for the Presidency. Before he left home two or three ofhis friends had besought him to assume a mild and conciliatorydemeanor at the capitol. It would never do, they told him, for acandidate for the Presidency to threaten to cut off the ears ofgentlemen who disapproved his public conduct; he must restrain himselfand make friends. This advice he followed. He was reconciled withGeneral Winfield Scott, whom, in 1817, he had styled an "assassin, " a"hectoring bully, " and an "intermeddling pimp and spy of the WarOffice. " He made friends with Colonel Thomas H. Benton, with whom hehad fought in the streets of Nashville, while he still carried in hisbody a bullet received in that bloody affray. With Henry Clay, too, heresumed friendly intercourse, met him twice at dinner-parties, rodeand exchanged visits with him, and attended one of the Speaker'sCongressional dinners. 

When next these party chieftains met, in the spring of 1825, it wasabout to devolve upon the House of Representatives to decide which ofthree men should be the next President, --Jackson, Adams, or Crawford. They exchanged visits as before; Mr. Clay being desirous, as he said, to show General Jackson that, in the vote which he had determined togive, he was influenced only by public considerations. No reader needsto be informed that Mr. Clay and his friends were able to decide theelection, and that they decided it in favor of Mr. Adams. We believethat Mr. Clay was wrong in so doing. As a Democrat he ought, we think, to have been willing to gratify the plurality of his fellow-citizens, who had voted for General Jackson. His motives we fully believe tohave been disinterested. Indeed, it was plainly intimated to him that, if he gave the Presidency to General Jackson, General Jackson wouldmake him his heir apparent, or, in other words, his Secretary ofState. 

The anger of General Jackson at his disappointment was not the blindand wild fury of his earlier days; it was a deeper, a deadlier wrath, which he governed and concealed in order to wreak a feller vengeance. On the evening of the day on which the election in the House occurredthere was a levee at the Presidential mansion, which General Jacksonattended. Who, that saw him dart forward and grasp Mr. Adams cordiallyby the hand, could have supposed that he then entirely believed thatMr. Adams had stolen the Presidency from him by a corrupt bargain withMr. Clay? Who could have supposed that he and his friends had been, for fourteen days, hatching a plot to blast the good name of Mr. Adamsand Mr. Clay, by spreading abroad the base insinuation that Clay hadbeen bought over to the support of Adams by the promise of the firstplace in the Cabinet? Who could have supposed that, on his way home toTennessee, while the newspapers were paragraphing his magnanimity indefeat, as shown by his behavior at the levee, he would denounce Adamsand Clay, in bar-rooms and public places, as guilty of a foul compactto frustrate the wishes of the people?

It was calumny's masterpiece. It was a rare stroke of art to get anold dotard of a member of Congress to publish, twelve days _before_the election, that Mr. Clay had agreed to vote for Mr. Adams, and thatMr. Adams had agreed to reward him by the office of Secretary ofState. When the vote had been given and the office conferred, howplausible, how convincing, the charge of bargain!

It is common to censure Mr. Clay for accepting office under Mr. Adams. We honor him for his courage in doing so. Having made Mr. AdamsPresident, it had been unlike the gallant Kentuckian to shrink fromthe possible odium of the act by refusing his proper place in theadministration. The calumny which anticipated his acceptance of officewas a defiance: _Take office if you dare_! It was simply worthy ofHenry Clay to accept the challenge, and brave all the consequences ofwhat he had deliberately and conscientiously done. 

In the office of Secretary of State Mr. Clay exhibited an admirabletalent for the despatch of business. He negotiated an unusual numberof useful treaties. He exerted himself to secure a recognition of theprinciples, that, in time of war, private property should enjoy on theocean the same protection as on land, and that paper blockades are notto be regarded. He seconded Mr. Adams in his determination not toremove from office any man on account of his previous or presentopposition to the administration; and he carried this policy so far, that, in selecting the newspapers for the publication of the laws, herefused to consider their political character. This was in strictaccordance with the practice of all previous administrations; but itis so pleasant to recur to the times when that honorable policyprevailed, that we cannot help alluding to it. In his intercourse withforeign ministers, Mr. Clay had an opportunity to display all thecharms of an unequalled courtesy: they remained his friends long afterhe had retired. His Wednesday dinners and his pleasant eveningreceptions were remembered for many years. How far he sympathized withMr. Adams's extravagant dreams of a system of national works thatshould rival the magnificent structures of ancient Rome, or with theextreme opinions of his colleague, Mr. Rush, as to the power andimportance of government, we do not know. He worked twelve hours a dayin his office, he tells us, and was content therewith. He was the lasthigh officer of the government to fight a duel. That bloodless contestbetween the Secretary of State and John Randolph was as romantic andabsurd as a duel could well be. Colonel Benton's narrative of it is atonce the most amusing and the most affecting piece of gossip which ourpolitical annals contain. Randolph, as the most unmanageable ofmembers of Congress, had been for fifteen years a thorn in Mr. Clay'sside, and Clay's later politics had been most exasperating to Mr. Randolph; but the two men loved one another in their hearts, afterall. Nothing has ever exceeded the thorough-bred courtesy and tenderconsideration with which they set about the work of putting oneanother to death; and their joy was unbounded when, after the secondfire, each discovered that the other was unharmed. If all duels couldhave such a result, duelling would be the prettiest thing in theworld. 

The election of 1828 swept the administration from power. No man hasever bowed more gracefully to the decision of the people than HenryClay. His remarks at the public dinner given him in Washington, on hisleaving for home, were entirely admirable. Andrew Jackson, he said, had wronged him, but he was now the Chief Magistrate of his country, and, as such, he should be treated with decorum, and his public actsjudged with candor. His journey to Ashland was more like the progressof a victor than the return homeward of a rejected statesman. 

He now entered largely into his favorite branch of rural business, theraising of superior animals. Fifty merino sheep were driven over themountains from Pennsylvania to his farm, and he imported from Englandsome Durham and Hertford cattle. He had an Arabian horse in hisstable. For the improvement of the breed of mules, he imported an assfrom Malta, and another from Spain. Pigs, goats, and dogs he alsoraised, and endeavored to improve. His slaves being about fifty innumber, he was able to carry on the raising of hemp and corn, as wellas the breeding of stock, and both on a considerable scale. Mrs. Claysent every morning to the principal hotel of Lexington thirty gallonsof milk, and her husband had large consignments to make to his factorin New Orleans. His letters of this period show how he delighted inhis animals and his growing crops, and how thoughtfully he consideredthe most trifling details of management. His health improved. He toldhis old friend, Washington Irving, that he found it was as good formen as for beasts to be turned out to grass occasionally. Though notwithout domestic afflictions, he was very happy in his home. One ofhis sons graduated second at West Point, and two of his daughters werehappily married. He was, perhaps, a too indulgent father; but hischildren loved him most tenderly, and were guided by his opinion. Itis pleasing to read in the letters of his sons to him such passages asthis:

 "You tell me that you wish me to receive your opinions, not as commands, but as advice. Yet I must consider them as commands, doubly binding; for they proceed from, one so vastly my superior in all respects, and to whom I am under such great obligations, that the mere intimation of an opinion will be sufficient to govern my conduct. "

The President, meanwhile, was paying such homage to the farmer ofAshland as no President of the United States had ever paid to aprivate individual. General Jackson's principal object--the objectnearest his heart--appears to have been to wound and injure HenryClay. His appointments, his measures, and his vetoes seem to have beenchiefly inspired by resentment against him. Ingham of Pennsylvania, who had taken the lead in that State in giving currency to the"bargain" calumny, was appointed Secretary of the Treasury. Eaton, whohad aided in the original concoction of that foul slander, wasappointed Secretary of War. Branch, who received the appointment ofSecretary of the Navy, was one of the few Senators who had voted andspoken against the confirmation of Henry Clay to the office ofSecretary of State in 1825; and Berrien, Attorney-General, wasanother. Barry, appointed Postmaster-General, was the Kentuckian whohad done most to inflict upon Mr. Clay the mortification of seeing hisown Kentucky siding against him. John Randolph, Clay's recentantagonist in a duel, and the most unfit man in the world for adiplomatic mission, was sent Minister to Russia. Pope, an old KentuckyFederalist, Clay's opponent and competitor for half a lifetime, received the appointment of Governor of the Territory of Arkansas. General Harrison, who had generously defended Clay against the chargeof bargain and corruption, was recalled from a foreign mission on thefourth day after General Jackson's accession to power, though he hadscarcely reached the country to which he was accredited. In the placeof General Harrison was sent a Kentuckian peculiarly obnoxious to Mr. Clay. In Kentucky itself there was a clean sweep from office of Mr. Clay's friends; not one man of them was left. His brother-in-law, James Brown, was instantly recalled from a diplomatic post in Europe. Kendall, the chief of the Kitchen Cabinet, had once been tutor to Mr. Clay's children, and had won the favor of Jackson by lending adexterous hand in carrying Kentucky against his benefactor. FrancisBlair, editor of the Globe, had also been the particular friend andcorrespondent of Mr. Clay, but had turned against him. From theDepartments in Washington, all of Mr. Clay's known friends wereimmediately removed, except a few who had made themselvesindispensable, and a few others whom Mr. Van Buren contrived to spare. In nearly every instance, the men who succeeded to the best places hadmade themselves conspicuous by their vituperation of Mr. Clay. He wasstrictly correct when he said, "Every movement of the President isdictated by personal hostility toward me"; but he was deceived when headded that it all conduced to his benefit. Every mind that was bothjust and well-informed warmed toward the object of such pitiless anddemoniac wrath; but in what land are minds just and well-informed amajority?

It was not only the appointments and removals that were aimed at Mr. Clay. The sudden expulsion of gray hairs from the offices they hadhonored, the precipitation of hundreds of families into poverty, --thisdid not satisfy the President's vengeance. He assailed Henry Clay inhis first Message. In recommending a change in the mode of electingthe President, he said that, when the election devolves upon the Houseof Representatives, circumstances may give the power of deciding theelection to one man. "May he not be tempted, " added the President, "toname his reward?" He vetoed appropriations for the Cumberland Road, because the name and the honor of Henry Clay were peculiarlyidentified with that work. He destroyed the Bank of the United States, because he believed its power and influence were to be used in favorof Mr. Clay's elevation to the Presidency. He took care, in hisMessage vetoing the recharter of the Bank, to employ some of thearguments which Clay had used in opposing the recharter of the UnitedStates Bank in 1811. Miserably sick and infirm as he was, he consentedto stand for reelection, because there was no other candidate strongenough to defeat Henry Clay; and he employed all his art, and thewhole power of the administration, during his second term, to smoothMr. Van Buren's path to the Presidency, to the exclusion of HenryClay. Plans were formed, too, and engagements made, the grand objectof which was to keep Clay from the Presidency, even after Mr. VanBuren should have served his anticipated eight years. General Jacksonleft Washington in 1837, expecting that Martin Van Buren would bePresident until 1845, and that he would then be succeeded by Thomas H. Benton. Nothing prevented the fulfilment of this programme but thefinancial collapse of 1837, the effects of which continued during thewhole of Mr. Van Buren's term, and caused his defeat in 1840. 

Mr. Clay accepted the defiance implied in General Jackson's conduct. He reappeared in Washington in 1831, in the character of Senator andcandidate for the Presidency. His journey to Washington was again atriumphal progress, and again the galleries were crowded to hear himspeak. A great and brilliant party gathered round him, strong intalents, character, property, and supposed to be strong in numbers. Heat once proved himself to be a most unskilful party leader. Everymovement of his in _that_ character was a mistake. He was precipitatewhen he ought to have been cautious, and cautious when nothing butaudacity could have availed. The first subject upon which he wascalled upon to act was the tariff. The national debt being within twoor three years of liquidation, Calhoun threatening nullification, andJackson vetoing all internal improvement bills, it was necessary toprovide against an enormous surplus. Clay maintained that the_protective_ duties should remain intact, and that only those dutiesshould be reduced which protected no American interest. This was done;the revenue was reduced three millions; and the surplus was asthreatening as before. It was _impossible_ to save the protectiveduties entire without raising too much revenue. Mr. Clay, as it seemsto us, should have plainly said this to the manufacturers, andcompelled his party in Congress to warn and save them by making ajudicious cut at the protective duties in 1832. This would havedeprived Calhoun of his pretext, and prepared the way for a safe andgradual reduction of duties in the years following. Such was theprosperity of the country in 1832, that the three millions lost to therevenue by Mr. Clay's bill were likely to be made up to it in threeyears by the mere increase in the imports and land sales. 

Mr. Clay's next misstep was one of precipitation. General Jackson, after a three years' war upon the Bank, was alarmed at the outcry ofits friends, and sincerely desired to make peace with it. We know, from the avowals of the men who stood nearest his person at the time, that he not only wished to keep the Bank question out of thePresidential campaign of 1832, but that he was willing to consent, onvery easy conditions, to a recharter. It was Mr. Clay's commandinginfluence that induced the directors of the Bank to press for arecharter in 1832, and force the President to retraction or a veto. Soignorant was this able and high-minded man of human nature and of theAmerican people, that he supposed a popular enthusiasm could bekindled in behalf of a _bank_! Such was the infatuation of some of hisfriends, that they went to the expense of circulating copies of theveto message gratis, for the purpose of lessening the vote for itsauthor! Mr. Clay was ludicrously deceived as to his strength with themasses of the people, --the _dumb_ masses, --those who have no eloquentorators, no leading newspapers, no brilliant pamphleteers, to speakfor them, but who assert themselves with decisive effect on electionday. 

It was another capital error in Mr. Clay, as the leader of a party, torun at all against General Jackson. He should have hoarded hisprestige for 1836, when the magical name of Jackson would no longercaptivate the ignorant voter. Mr. Clay's defeat in 1832, sounexpected, so overwhelming, lamed him for life as a candidate for thePresidency. He lost faith in his star. In 1836, when there _was_ achance of success, --just a chance, --he would not suffer his name toappear in the canvass. The vote of the opposition was divided amongthree candidates, --General Harrison, Hugh L. White, and DanielWebster; and Mr. Van Buren, of course, had an easy victory. Fortunately for his own happiness, Mr. Clay's desire for thePresidency diminished as his chances of reaching it diminished. Thatdesire had never been morbid, it now became exceedingly moderate; nordo we believe that, after his crushing defeat of 1832, he ever hadmuch expectation of winning the prize. He knew too well the arts bywhich success is assured, to believe that an honorable man could beelected to the Presidency by honorable means only. 

Three other attempts were made to raise him to the highest office, andit was always Andrew Jackson who struck him down. In 1840, he was setaside by his party, and General Harrison nominated in his stead. Thiswas Jackson's doing; for it was the great defeat of 1832 which hadrobbed Clay of prestige, and it was General Jackson's uniform successthat suggested the selection of a military candidate. Again, in 1844, when the Texas issue was presented to the people, it was by the adroituse of General Jackson's name that the question of annexation wasprecipitated upon the country. In 1848, a military man was againnominated, to the exclusion of Henry Clay. 

Mr. Clay used to boast of his consistency, averring that he had neverchanged his opinion upon a public question but once. We think he wasmuch too consistent. A notable example of an excessive consistency washis adhering to the project of a United States Bank, when there wasscarcely a possibility of establishing one, and his too steadfastopposition to the harmless expedient of the Sub-treasury. TheSub-treasury system has now been in operation for a quarter of acentury. Call it a bungling and antiquated system, if you will; it hasnevertheless answered its purpose. The public money is taken out ofpolitics. If the few millions lying idle in the "Strong Box" do nogood, they at least do no harm; and we have no overshadowing nationalbank to compete with private capital, and to furnish, every few years;a theme for demagogues. Mr. Clay saw in the Sub-treasury the ruin ofthe Republic. In his great speech of 1838, in opposition to it, heuttered, in his most solemn and impressive manner, the followingwords:--

 "Mr. President, a great, novel, and untried measure is perseveringly urged upon the acceptance of Congress. That it is pregnant with tremendous consequences, for good or evil, is undeniable, and admitted by all. We firmly believe that it will be _fatal to the best interests of this country, and ultimately subversive of its liberties_. "

No one acquainted with Mr. Clay, and no man, himself sincere, whoreads this eloquent and most labored speech, can doubt Mr. Clay'ssincerity. Observe the awful solemnity of his first sentences:--

 "I have seen some public service, passed through many troubled times, and often addressed public assemblies, in this Capitol and elsewhere; but never before have I risen in a deliberative body under more oppressed feelings, or with a deeper sense of awful responsibility. Never before have I risen to express my opinions upon any public measure fraught with such tremendous consequences to the welfare and prosperity of the country, and so perilous to the liberties of the people, as I solemnly believe the bill under consideration will be. If you knew, sir, what sleepless hours reflection upon it has cost me, if you knew with what fervor and sincerity I have implored Divine assistance to strengthen and sustain me in my opposition to it, I should have credit with you, at least, for the sincerity of my convictions, if I shall be so unfortunate as not to have your concurrence as to the dangerous character of the measure. And I have thanked my God that he has prolonged my life until the present time, to enable me to exert myself, in the service of my country, against a project far transcending in pernicious tendency any that I have ever had occasion to consider. I thank him for the health I am permitted to enjoy; I thank him for the soft and sweet repose which I experienced last night; I thank him for the bright and glorious sun which shines upon us this day. "

And what _was_ the question at issue? It was whether Nicholas Biddleshould have the custody of the public money at Philadelphia, and usethe average balance in discounting notes; or whether Mr. Cisco shouldkeep it at New York in an exceedingly strong vault, and not use any ofit in discounting notes. 

As the leader of a national party Mr. Clay failed utterly; for he wasneither bad enough to succeed by foul means, nor skilful enough tosucceed by fair means. But in his character of patriot, orator, orstatesman, he had some brilliant successes in his later years. WhenJackson was ready to concede _all_ to the Nullifiers, and thatsuddenly, to the total ruin of the protected manufacturers, it wasClay's tact, parliamentary experience, and personal power thatinterposed the compromise tariff, which reduced duties graduallyinstead of suddenly. The Compromise of 1850, also, which postponed theRebellion ten years, was chiefly his work. That Compromise was thebest then attainable; and we think that the country owes gratitude tothe man who deferred the Rebellion to a time when the United Stateswas strong enough to subdue it. 

Posterity, however, will read the speeches of Mr. Clay upon thevarious slavery questions agitated from 1835 to 1850 with mingledfeelings of admiration and regret. A man compelled to live in themidst of slavery must hate it and actively oppose it, or else be, insome degree, corrupted by it. As Thomas Jefferson came at length toacquiesce in slavery, and live contentedly with it, so did Henry Claylose some of his early horror of the system, and accept it as anecessity. True, he never lapsed into the imbecility of pretending tothink slavery right or best, but he saw no way of escaping from it;and when asked his opinion as to the final solution of the problem, hecould only throw it upon Providence. Providence, he said, would removethe evil in its own good time, and nothing remained for men but tocease the agitation of the subject. His first efforts, as his last, were directed to the silencing of both parties, but most especiallythe Abolitionists, whose character and aims he misconceived. With JohnC. Calhoun sitting near him in the Senate-chamber, and withfire-eaters swarming at the other end of the Capitol, he could, aslate as 1843, cast the whole blame of the slavery excitement upon thefew individuals at the North who were beginning to discern theulterior designs of the Nullifiers. Among his letters of 1843 there isone addressed to a friend who was about to write a pamphlet againstthe Abolitionists. Mr. Clay gave him an outline of what he thought thepamphlet ought to be. 

 "The great aim and object of your tract should be to arouse the laboring classes in the Free States against abolition. Depict the consequences to them of immediate abolition. The slaves, being free, would be dispersed throughout the Union; they would enter into competition with the free laborer, with the American, the Irish, the German; reduce his wages; be confounded with him, and affect his moral and social standing. And as the ultras go for both abolition and amalgamation, show that their object is to unite in marriage the laboring white man and the laboring black man, and to reduce the white laboring man to the despised and degraded condition of the black man. 

 "I would show their opposition to colonization. Show its humane, religious, and patriotic aims; that they are to separate those whom God has separated. Why do the Abolitionists oppose colonization? To keep and amalgamate together the two races, in violation of God's will, and to keep the blacks here, that they may interfere with, degrade, and debase the laboring whites. Show that the British nation is co-operating with the Abolitionists, for the purpose of dissolving the Union, etc. "

This is so very absurd, that, if we did not know it to express Mr. Clay's habitual feeling at that time, we should be compelled to see init, not Henry Clay, but the candidate for the Presidency. 

He really thought so in 1843. He was perfectly convinced that thewhite race and the black could not exist together on equal terms. Oneof his last acts was to propose emancipation in Kentucky; but it wasan essential feature of his plan to transport the emancipated blacksto Africa. When we look over Mr. Clay's letters and speeches of thoseyears, we meet with so much that is short-sighted and grosslyerroneous, that we are obliged to confess that this man, gifted as hewas, and dear as his memory is to us, shared the judicial blindness ofhis order. Its baseness and arrogance he did not share. His head wasoften wrong, but his heart was generally right. It atones for all hismere errors of abstract opinion, that he was never admitted to theconfidence of the Nullifiers, and that he uniformly voted against themeasures inspired by them. He was against the untimely annexation ofTexas; he opposed the rejection of the anti-slavery petitions; and hedeclared that no earthly power should ever induce him to consent tothe addition of one acre of slave territory to the possessions of theUnited States. 

It is proof positive of a man's essential soundness, if he improves ashe grows old. Henry Clay's last years were his best; he ripened to thevery end. His friends remarked the moderation of his later opinions, and his charity for those who had injured him most. During the lastten years of his life no one ever heard him utter a harsh judgment ofan opponent. Domestic afflictions, frequent and severe, had chastenedhis heart; his six affectionate and happy daughters were dead; one sonwas a hopeless lunatic in an asylum; another was not what such afather had a right to expect; and, at length, his favorite and mostpromising son, Henry, in the year 1847, fell at the battle of BuenaVista. It was just after this last crushing loss, and probably inconsequence of it, that he was baptized and confirmed a member of theEpiscopal Church. 

When, in 1849, he reappeared in the Senate, to assist, if possible, inremoving the slavery question from politics, he was an infirm andserious, but not sad, old man of seventy-two. He never lost hischeerfulness or his faith, but he felt deeply for his distractedcountry. During that memorable session of Congress he spoke seventytimes. Often extremely sick and feeble, scarcely able, with theassistance of a friend's arm, to climb the steps of the Capitol, hewas never absent on the days when the Compromise was to be debated. Itappears to be well attested, that his last great speech on theCompromise was the immediate cause of his death. On the morning onwhich he began his speech, he was accompanied by a clerical friend, towhom he said, on reaching the long flight of steps leading to theCapitol, "Will you lend me your arm, my friend? for I find myselfquite weak and exhausted this morning. " Every few steps he was obligedto stop and take breath. "Had you not better defer your speech?" askedthe clergyman. "My dear friend, " said the dying orator, "I considerour country in danger; and if I can be the means, in any measure, ofaverting that danger, my health or life is of little consequence. "When he rose to speak, it was but too evident that he was unfit forthe task he had undertaken. But, as he kindled with his subject, hiscough left him, and his bent form resumed all its wonted erectness andmajesty. He may, in the prime of his strength, have spoken with moreenergy, but never with so much pathos and grandeur. His speech lastedtwo days, and, though he lived two years longer, he never recoveredfrom the effects of the effort. Toward the close of the second day, his friends repeatedly proposed an adjournment; but he would notdesist until he had given complete utterance to his feelings. He saidafterwards that he was not sure, if he gave way to an adjournment, that he should ever be able to resume. 

In the course of this long debate, Mr. Clay said some things to whichthe late war has given a new interest. He knew, at last, what thefire-eaters meant. He perceived now that it was not the few abhorredAbolitionists of the Northern States from whom danger to the Union wasto be apprehended. On one occasion allusion was made to a SouthCarolina hot-head, who had publicly proposed to raise the flag ofdisunion. Thunders of applause broke from the galleries when Mr. Clayretorted by saying, that, if Mr. Rhett had really made thatproposition, and should follow it up by corresponding acts, he wouldbe a TRAITOR; "and, " added Mr. Clay, "I hope he will meet a traitor'sfate. " When the chairman had succeeded in restoring silence, Mr. Claymade that celebrated declaration which was so frequently quoted in1861:

 "If Kentucky to-morrow should unfurl the banner of resistance unjustly, I will never fight under that banner. I owe a paramount allegiance to the whole Union, --a subordinate one to my own State. "

He said also:

 "If any one State, or a portion of the people of any State, choose to place themselves in military array against the government of the Union, I am for trying the strength of the government. I am for ascertaining whether we have a government or not. "

Again:

 "The Senator speaks of Virginia being my country. This UNION, sir, is my country; the thirty States are my country; Kentucky is my country, and Virginia no more than any State in the Union. "

And yet again:

 "There are those who think that the Union must be preserved by an exclusive reliance upon love and reason. That is not my opinion. I have some confidence in this instrumentality; but, depend upon it that no human government can exist without the power of applying force, and the actual application of it in extreme cases. "

Who can estimate the influence of these clear and emphatic utterancesten years after? The crowded galleries, the numberless newspaperreports, the quickly succeeding death of the great orator, --all aidedto give them currency and effect. We shall never know how manywavering minds they aided to decide in 1861. Not that Mr. Clay reallybelieved the conflict would occur: he was mercifully permitted to diein the conviction that the Compromise of 1850 had removed allimmediate danger, and greatly lessened that of the future. Far indeedwas he from foreseeing that the ambition of a man born in New England, calling himself a disciple of Andrew Jackson, would, within fiveyears, destroy all compromises, and render all future compromiseimpossible, by procuring the repeal of the first, --the MissouriCompromise of 1821. 

Henry Clay was formed by nature to please, to move, and to impress hiscountrymen. Never was there a more captivating presence. We rememberhearing Horace Greeley say that, if a man only saw Henry Clay's back, he would know that it was the back of a distinguished man. How hispresence filled a drawing-room! With what an easy sway he held captiveten acres of mass-meeting! And, in the Senate, how skilfully he showedhimself respectfully conscious of the galleries, without appearing toaddress them! Take him for all in all, we must regard him as the firstof American orators; but posterity will not assign him that rank, because posterity will not hear that matchless voice, will not seethose large gestures, those striking attitudes, that grand manner, which gave to second-rate composition first-rate effect. He could nothave been a great statesman, if he had been ever so greatly endowed. While slavery existed no statesmanship was possible, except that whichwas temporary and temporizing. The thorn, we repeat, was in the flesh;and the doctors were all pledged to try and cure the patient withoutextracting it. They could do nothing but dress the wound, put on thissalve and that, give the sufferer a little respite from anguish, and, after a brief interval, repeat the operation. Of all these physiciansHenry Clay was the most skilful and effective. He both handled thesore place with consummate dexterity, and kept up the constitution ofthe patient by stimulants, which enabled him, at last, to live throughthe appalling operation which removed the cause of his agony. 

Henry Clay was a man of honor and a gentleman. He kept his word. Hewas true to his friends, his party, and his convictions. He paid hisdebts and his son's debts. The instinct of solvency was very strong inhim. He had a religion, of which the main component parts wereself-respect and love of country. These were supremely authoritativewith him; he would not do anything which he felt to be beneath HenryClay, or which he thought would be injurious to the United States. Five times a candidate for the Presidency, no man can say that he everpurchased support by the promise of an office, or by any otherengagement savoring of dishonor. Great talents and a greatunderstanding are seldom bestowed on the same individual. Mr. Clay'susefulness as a statesman was limited by his talent as an orator. Herelied too much on his oratory; he was never such a student as a manintrusted with public business ought to be. Hence he originatednothing and established nothing. His speeches will long be interestingas the relics of a magnificent and dazzling personality, and for thelight they cast upon the history of parties; but they add scarcelyanything to the intellectual property of the nation. Of Americanorators he was the first whose speeches were ever collected in avolume. Millions read them with admiration in his lifetime; butalready they have sunk to the level of the works "without which nogentleman's library is complete, "--works which every one possesses andno one reads. 

Henry Clay, regarded as a subject for biography, is still untouched. Campaign Lives of him can be collected by the score; and the Rev. Calvin Colton wrote three volumes purporting to be the Life of HenryClay. Mr. Colton was a very honest gentleman, and not wanting inability; but writing, as he did, in Mr. Clay's own house, he became, as it were, enchanted by his subject. He was enamored of Mr. Clay tosuch a degree that his pen ran into eulogy by an impulse which wasirresistible, and which he never attempted to resist. In point ofarrangement, too, his work is chaos come again. A proper biography ofMr. Clay would be one of the most entertaining and instructive ofworks. It would embrace the ever-memorable rise and first triumphs ofthe Democratic party; the wild and picturesque life of the earlysettlers of Kentucky; the war of 1812; Congress from 1806 to 1852; thefury and corruption of Jackson's reign; and the three greatcompromises which postponed the Rebellion. All the leading men and allthe striking events of our history would contribute something to theinterest and value of the work. Why go to antiquity or to the OldWorld for subjects, when such a subject as this remains unwritten?

[Footnote 1: Mill's Principles of Political Economy, Book V. Ch. X. §1. ]

[Footnote 2: Daniel Webster once said of him in conversation: "Mr. Clay is a great man; beyond all question a true patriot. He has donemuch for his country. He ought long ago to have been electedPresident. I think, however, he was never a man of books, a hardstudent; but he has displayed remarkable genius. I never could imaginehim sitting comfortably in his library, and reading quietly out of thegreat books of the past. He has been too fond of the world to enjoyanything like that. He has been too fond of excitement, --he has livedupon it; he has been too fond of company, not enough alone; and hashad few resources within himself. Now a man who cannot, to someextent, depend upon himself for happiness, is to my mind one of theunfortunate. But Clay is a great man; and if he ever had animositiesagainst me, I forgive him and forget them. "

These words were uttered at Marshfield when the news reached therethat Mr. Clay was dying. ]

[Footnote 3: This is the correct spelling of the name, as we learnfrom a living relative of the unfortunate man. It has been hithertospelled Ambrister. ]

DANIEL WEBSTER. 

Of words spoken in recent times, few have touched so many hearts asthose uttered by Sir Walter Scott on his deathbed. There has seldombeen so much of mere enjoyment crowded into the compass of onelifetime as there was into his. Even his work--all of his bestwork--was only more elaborate and keenly relished play; forstory-telling, the occupation of his maturity, had first been thedelight of his childhood, and remained always his favorite recreation. Triumph rewarded his early efforts, and admiration followed him to thegrave. Into no human face could this man look, nor into any crowd offaces, which did not return his glance with a gaze of admiring love. He lived precisely where and how it was happiest for him to live; andhe had above most men of his time that disposition of mind which makesthe best of bad fortune and the most of good. But when his work andhis play were all done, and he came calmly to review his life, and thelife of man on earth, this was the sum of his reflections, this waswhat he had to say to the man to whom he had confided his daughter'shappiness:

 "Lockhart, I may have but a minute to speak to you. My dear, be a good man, --be virtuous, --be religious, --be a good man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to lie here. "

So do we all feel in view of the open coffin, much as we may differ asto what it _is_ to be good, virtuous, and religious. Was this man, wholies dead here before us, faithful to his trust? Was he sincere, pure, just, and benevolent? Did he help civilization, or was he an obstaclein its way? Did he ripen and improve to the end, or did he degenerateand go astray? These are the questions which are silently consideredwhen we look upon the still countenance of death, and especially whenthe departed was a person who influenced his generation long andpowerfully. Usually it is only the last of these questions whichmortals can answer with any certainty; but from the answer to that onewe infer the answers to all the others. As it is only the wise wholearn, so it is only the good who improve. When we see a man gainingupon his faults as he advances in life, when we find him moreself-contained and cheerful, more learned and inquisitive, more justand considerate, more single-eyed and noble in his aims, at fifty thanhe was at forty, and at seventy than he was at fifty, we have the bestreason perceptible by human eyes for concluding that he has beengoverned by right principles and good feelings. We have a right topronounce such a person _good_, and he is justified in believing us. 

The three men most distinguished in public life during the last fortyyears in the United States were Henry Clay, John C. Calhoun, andDaniel Webster. Henry Clay improved as he grew old. He was avenerable, serene, and virtuous old man. The impetuosity, restlessness, ambition, and love of display, and the detrimentalhabits of his earlier years, gave place to tranquillity, temperance, moderation, and a patriotism without the alloy of personal objects. Disappointment had chastened, not soured him. Public life enlarged, not narrowed him. The city of Washington purified, not corrupted him. He came there a gambler, a drinker, a profuse consumer of tobacco, anda turner of night into day. He overcame the worst of those habits veryearly in his residence at the capital. He came to Washington toexhibit his talents, he remained there to serve his country; nor ofhis country did he ever think the less, or serve her less zealously, because she denied him the honor he coveted for thirty years. Wecannot say this of Calhoun. He degenerated frightfully during the lasttwenty years of his life. His energy degenerated into intensity, andhis patriotism narrowed into sectionalism. He became unteachable, incapable of considering an opinion opposite to his own, or even afact that did not favor it. Exempt by his bodily constitution from alltemptation to physical excesses, his body was worn out by the intense, unhealthy working of his mind. False opinions falsely held andintolerantly maintained were the debauchery that sharpened the linesof his face, and converted his voice into a bark. Peace, health, andgrowth early became impossible to him, for there was a canker in theheart of the man. His once not dishonorable desire of the Presidencybecame at last an infuriate lust after it, which his natural sinceritycompelled him to reveal even while wrathfully denying it. Heconsidered that he had been defrauded of the prize, and he had somereason for thinking so. Some men avenge their wrongs by the pistol, others by invective; but the only weapons which this man could wieldwere abstract propositions. From the hills of South Carolina he hurledparadoxes at General Jackson, and appealed from the dicta of Mrs. Eaton's drawing-room to a hair-splitting theory of States' Rights. Fifteen hundred thousand armed men have since sprung up from thoseharmless-looking dragon's teeth, so recklessly sown in the hotSouthern soil. 

Of the three men whom we have named, Daniel Webster was incomparablythe most richly endowed by nature. In his lifetime it was impossibleto judge him aright. His presence usually overwhelmed criticism; hisintimacy always fascinated it. It so happened, that he grew to hisfull stature and attained his utmost development in a community wherehuman nature appears to be undergoing a process of diminution, --wherepeople are smaller-boned, less muscular, more nervous, and moresusceptible than their ancestors. He possessed, in consequence, anenormous physical magnetism, as we term it, over his fellow-citizens, apart from the natural influence of his talents and understanding. Fidgety men were quieted in his presence, women were spellbound by it, and the busy, anxious public contemplated his majestic calm with afeeling of relief, as well as admiration. Large numbers of people inNew England, for many years, reposed upon Daniel Webster. Herepresented to them the majesty and the strength of the government ofthe United States. He gave them a sense of safety. Amid the flightypolitics of the time and the loud insincerities of Washington, thereseemed one solid thing in America, so long as he sat in an arm-chairof the Senate-chamber. When he appeared in State Street, slowlypacing, with an arm behind him, business was brought to an absolutestand-still. As the whisper passed along, the windows filled withclerks, pen in mouth, peering out to catch a glimpse of the man whomthey had seen fifty times before; while the bankers and merchantshastened forth to give him salutation, or exchange a passing word, happy if they could but catch his eye. At home, and in a good mood, hewas reputed to be as entertaining a man as New England ever held, --agambolling, jocund leviathan out on the sea-shore, and in the libraryoverflowing with every kind of knowledge that can be acquired withoutfatigue, and received without preparation. Mere celebrity, too, isdazzling to some minds. While, therefore, this imposing person livedamong us, he was blindly worshipped by many, blindly hated by some, calmly considered by very few. To this hour he is a great influence inthe United States. Perhaps, with the abundant material now accessible, it is not too soon to attempt to ascertain how far he was worthy ofthe estimation in which his fellow-citizens held him, and what placehe ought to hold in the esteem of posterity. At least, it can never beunpleasing to Americans to recur to the most interesting specimen ofour kind that has lived in America since Franklin. 

He could not have been born in a better place, nor of better stock, nor at a better time, nor reared in circumstances more favorable toharmonious development. He grew up in the Switzerland of America. Froma hill on his father's New Hampshire farm, he could see most of thenoted summits of New England. Granite-topped Kearsarge stood out inbold relief near by; Mount Washington and its attendant peaks, not yetnamed, bounded the northern horizon like a low, silvery cloud; and theprincipal heights of the Green Mountains, rising near the ConnecticutRiver, were clearly visible. The Merrimack, most serviceable ofrivers, begins its course a mile or two off, formed by the union oftwo mountain torrents. Among those hills, high up, sometimes near thesummits, lakes are found, broad, deep, and still; and down the sidesrun innumerable rills, which form those noisy brooks that rush alongthe bottom of the hills, where now the roads wind along, shaded by themountain, and enlivened by the music of the waters. Among these hillsthere are, here and there, expanses of level country large enough fora farm, with the addition of some fields upon the easier acclivitiesand woodlands higher up. There was one field of a hundred acres uponCaptain Webster's mountain farm so level that a lamb could be seen onany part of it from the windows of the house. Every tourist knows thatregion now, --that wide, billowy expanse of dark mountains and vividgreen fields, dotted with white farm-houses, and streaked with silverystreams. It was rougher, seventy years ago, secluded, hardlyaccessible, the streams unbridged, the roads of primitive formation;but the worst of the rough work had been done there, and theproduction of superior human beings had become possible, before theWebster boys were born. 

Daniel Webster's father was the strong man of his neighborhood; thevery model of a republican citizen and hero, --stalwart, handsome, brave, and gentle. Ebenezer Webster inherited no worldly advantages. Sprung from a line of New Hampshire farmers, he was apprenticed, inhis thirteenth year, to another New Hampshire farmer; and when he hadserved his time, he enlisted as a private soldier in the old Frenchwar, and came back from the campaigns about Lake George a captain. Henever went to school. Like so many other New England boys, he learnedwhat is essential for the carrying on of business in thechimney-corner, by the light of the fire. He possessed one beautifulaccomplishment: he was a grand reader. Unlettered as he was, hegreatly enjoyed the more lofty compositions of poets and orators; andhis large, sonorous voice enabled him to read them with fine effect. His sons read in his manner, even to his rustic pronunciation of somewords. Daniel's calm, clear-cut rendering of certain notedpassages--favorites in his early home--was all his father's. There isa pleasing tradition in the neighborhood, of the teamsters who came toEbenezer Webster's mill saying to one another, when they haddischarged their load and tied their horses, "Come, let us go in, andhear little Dan read a psalm. " The French war ended, Captain Webster, in compensation for his services, received a grant of land in themountain wilderness at the head of the Merrimack, where, as miller andfarmer, he lived and reared his family. The Revolutionary War summonedthis noble yeoman to arms once more. He led forth his neighbors to thestrife, and fought at their head, with his old rank of captain, atWhite Plains and at Bennington, and served valiantly through the war. From that time to the end of his life, though much trusted andemployed by his fellow-citizens as legislator, magistrate, and judge, he lived but for one object, --the education and advancement of hischildren. All men were poor then in New Hampshire, compared with thecondition of their descendants. Judge Webster was a poor, and evenembarrassed man, to the day of his death. The hardships he had enduredas soldier and pioneer made him, as he said, an old man before histime. Rheumatism bent his form, once so erect and vigorous. Black caresubdued his spirits, once so joyous and elastic. Such were the fathersof fair New England. 

This strong-minded, uncultured man was a Puritan and a Federalist, --acatholic, tolerant, and genial Puritan, an intolerant and almostbigoted Federalist. Washington, Adams, and Hamilton were the civilianshighest in his esteem; the good Jefferson he dreaded and abhorred. TheFrench Revolution was mere blackness and horror to him; and when itassumed the form of Napoleon Bonaparte, his heart sided passionatelywith England in her struggle to extirpate it. His boys were in thefullest sympathy with him in all his opinions and feelings. They, too, were tolerant and untheological Puritans; they, too, were moststrenuous Federalists; and neither of them ever recovered from theirfather's influence, nor advanced much beyond him in their fundamentalbeliefs. Readers have, doubtless, remarked, in Mr. Webster's orationupon Adams and Jefferson, how the stress of the eulogy falls uponAdams, while cold and scant justice is meted out to the greatest andwisest of our statesmen. It was Ebenezer Webster who spoke that day, with the more melodious voice of his son. There is a tradition in NewHampshire that Judge Webster fell sick on a journey in a town ofRepublican politics, and besought the doctor to help him speedily onhis way home, saying that he was born a Federalist, had lived aFederalist, and could not die in peace in any but a Federalist town. 

Among the ten children of this sturdy patriot and partisan, eight wereordinary mortals, and two most extraordinary, --Ezekiel, born in 1780, and Daniel, born in 1782, --the youngest of his boys. Some of the elderchildren were even less than ordinary. Elderly residents of theneighborhood speak of one half-brother of Daniel and Ezekiel aspenurious and narrow; and the letters of others of the family indicatevery plain, good, commonplace people. But these two, the sons of theirfather's prime, inherited all his grandeur of form and beauty ofcountenance, his taste for high literature, along with a certainenergy of mind that came to them, by some unknown law of nature, fromtheir father's mother. From her Daniel derived his jet-black hair andeyes, and his complexion of burnt gunpowder; though all the rest ofthe children except one were remarkable for fairness of complexion, and had sandy hair. Ezekiel, who was considered the handsomest man inthe United States, had a skin of singular fairness, and light hair. Heis vividly remembered in New Hampshire for his marvellous beauty ofform and face, his courtly and winning manners, the weight and majestyof his presence. He was a signal refutation of Dr. Holmes's theory, that grand manners and high breeding are the result of severalgenerations of culture. Until he was nineteen, this peerless gentlemanworked on a rough mountain farm on the outskirts of civilization, ashis ancestors had for a hundred and fifty years before him; but he wasrefined to the tips of his finger-nails and to the buttons of hiscoat. Like his more famous brother, he had an artist's eye for thebecoming in costume, and a keen sense for all the proprieties anddecorums both of public and private life. Limited in his view by thenarrowness of his provincial sphere, as well as by inheritedprejudices, he was a better man and citizen than his brother, withouta touch of his genius. Nor was that half-brother of Daniel, who hadthe black hair and eyes and gunpowder skin, at all like Daniel, orequal to him in mental power. 

There is nothing in our literature more pleasing than the glimpses itaffords of the early life of these two brothers;--Ezekiel, robust, steady-going, persevering, self-denying; Daniel, careless of work, eager for play, often sick, always slender and weakly, and regardedrather as a burden upon the family than a help to it. His feeblenessearly habituated him to being a recipient of aid and favor, and itdecided his destiny. It has been the custom in New England, from theearliest time, to bring up one son of a prosperous family to aprofession, and the one selected was usually the boy who seemed leastcapable of earning a livelihood by manual labor. Ebenezer Webster, heavily burdened with responsibility all his life long, had mostardently desired to give his elder sons a better education than he hadhimself enjoyed, but could not. When Daniel was a boy, his largefamily was beginning to lift his load a little; the country wasfilling up; his farm was more productive, and he felt somewhat more athis ease. His sickly youngest son, because he was sickly, and only forthat reason, he chose from his numerous brood to send to an academy, designing to make a schoolmaster of him. We have no reason to believethat any of the family saw anything extraordinary in the boy. Exceptthat he read aloud unusually well, he had given no sign of particulartalent, unless it might be that he excelled in catching trout, shooting squirrels, and fighting cocks. His mother, observing his loveof play and his equal love of books, said he "would come to somethingor nothing, she could not tell which"; but his father, noticing hispower over the sympathies of others, and comparing him with hisbashful brother, used to remark, that he had fears for Ezekiel, butthat Daniel would assuredly make his way in the world. It is certainthat the lad himself was totally unconscious of possessingextraordinary talents, and indulged no early dream of greatness. Hetells us himself, that he loved but two things in his youth, --play andreading. The rude schools which he trudged two or three miles in thewinter every day to attend, taught him scarcely anything. His father'ssaw-mill, he used to say, was the real school of his youth. When hehad set the saw and turned on the water, there would be fifteenminutes of tranquillity before the log again required his attention, during which he sat and absorbed knowledge. 

 "We had so few books, " he records in the exquisite fragment of autobiography he has left us, "that to read them once or twice was nothing. We thought they were all to be got by heart. "

How touching the story, so well known, of the mighty struggle and longself-sacrifice it cost this family to get the youth through college!The whole expense did not average one hundred and fifty dollars ayear; but it seemed to the boy so vast and unattainable a good, that, when his father announced his purpose to attempt it, he was completelyovercome; his head was dizzy; his tongue was paralyzed; he could onlypress his father's hands and shed tears. Slender indeed was hispreparation for Dartmouth. From the day when he took his first Latinlesson to that on which he entered college was thirteen months. Hecould translate Cicero's orations with some ease, and make out withdifficulty and labor the easiest sentences of the Greek Reader, andthat was the whole of what was called his "preparation" for college. In June, 1797, he did not know the Greek alphabet; in August of thesame year he was admitted to the Freshman Class of Dartmouth onengaging to supply his deficiencies by extra study. 

Neither at college nor at any time could Daniel Webster be properlycalled a student, and well he knew it. Many a time he has laughed, inhis jovial, rollicking manner, at the preposterous reputation forlearning a man can get by bringing out a fragment of curious knowledgeat the right moment at college. He was an absorbent of knowledge, never a student. The Latin of Cicero and Virgil was congenial and easyto him, and he learned more of it than the required portion. But evenin Latin, he tells us, he was excelled by some of his own class; and"his attainments were not such, " he adds, "as told for much in therecitation-room. " Greek he never enjoyed: his curiosity was neverawakened on the edge of that boundless contiguity of interestingknowledge, and he only learned enough Greek to escape censure. Hesaid, forty years after, in an after-dinner speech:

 "When I was at school I felt exceedingly obliged to Homer's messengers for the exact literal fidelity with which they delivered their messages. The seven or eight lines of good Homeric Greek in which they had received the commands of Agamemnon or Achilles they recited to whomsoever the message was to be carried; and as they repeated them verbatim, sometimes twice or thrice, it saved me the trouble of learning so much Greek. "

It was not at "school" that he had this experience, but at DartmouthCollege. For mathematics, too, he had not the slightest taste. Hehumorously wrote to a fellow-student, soon after leaving college, that"all that he knew about conterminous arches or evanescent subtensesmight be collected on the pupil of a gnat's eye without making himwink. " At college, in fact, he was simply an omnivorous reader, studying only so much as to pass muster in the recitation-room. Everyindication we possess of his college life, as well as his own repeatedassertions, confirms the conclusion that Nature had formed him to usethe products of other men's toil, not to add to the common fund. Thosewho are conversant with college life know very well what it means whena youth does not take to Greek, and has an aversion to mathematics. Such a youth may have immense talent, and give splendid expression tothe sentiments of his countrymen, but he is not likely to be one ofthe priceless few of the human race who discover truth or advanceopinion. It is the energetic, the originating minds that aresusceptible to the allurements of difficulty. 

On the other hand, Daniel Webster had such qualities as made every onefeel that he was the first man in the College. Tall, gaunt, andsallow, with an incomparable forehead, and those cavernous andbrilliant eyes of his, he had much of the large and tranquil presencewhich was so important an element of his power over others at allperiods of his life. His letters of this time, as well as therecollections of his fellow-students, show him the easy, humorous, rather indolent and strictly correct "good-fellow, " whom professorsand companions equally relished. He browsed much in the Collegelibrary, and had the habit of bringing to bear upon the lesson of thehour the information gathered in his miscellaneous reading, --apractice that much enlivens the monotony of recitation. The half-dozenyouths of his particular set, it appears, plumed themselves uponresembling the early Christians in having all things in common. Thefirst to rise in the morning--and he must have been an early riserindeed who was up before Daniel Webster--"dressed himself in the bestwhich the united apartments afforded"; the next made the bestselection from what remained; and the last was happy if he found ragsenough to justify his appearance in the chapel. The relator of thispleasant reminiscence adds, that he was once the possessor of aneminently respectable beaver hat, a costly article of resplendentlustre. It was missing one day, could not be found, and was given upfor lost. Several weeks after "friend Dan" returned from a distanttown, where he had been teaching school, wearing the lost beaver, andrelieving its proprietor from the necessity of covering his head witha battered and long-discarded hat of felt. How like the Daniel Websterof later years, who never could acquire the sense of _meum_ and_tuum_, supposed to be the basis of civilization!

Mr. Webster always spoke slightingly of his early oratorical efforts, and requested Mr. Everett, the editor of his works, not to search themout. He was not just to the productions of his youth, if we may judgefrom the Fourth-of-July oration which he delivered in 1800, when hewas a Junior at Dartmouth, eighteen years of age. This glowing psalmof the republican David is perfectly characteristic, and entirelyworthy of him. The times that tried men's souls, --how recent and vividthey were to the sons of Ebenezer Webster, who had led forth from theNew Hampshire hills the neighbors at whose firesides Ezekiel andDaniel had listened, open-mouthed, to the thousand forgotten incidentsof the war. Their professors of history were old John Bowen, who hadonce been a prisoner with the Indians; Robert Wise, who had sailedround the world and fought in the Revolution on _both_ sides; GeorgeBayly, a pioneer, who saw the first tree felled in Northern NewHampshire; women of the neighborhood, who had heard the midnight yellof savages; and, above all, their own lion-hearted father, who hadwarred with Frenchmen, Indians, wild nature, British troops, andFrench ideas. "O, " wrote Daniel once, "I shall never hear suchstory-telling again!" It was not in the cold pages of Hildreth, nor inthe brief summaries of school-books, that this imaginative, sympathetic youth had learned that part of the political history ofthe United States--from 1787 to 1800--which will ever be its mostinteresting portion. He learned it at town-meetings, in thenewspapers, at his father's house, among his neighbors, on electiondays; he learned it as an intelligent youth, with a passionately loyalfather and mother, learned the history of the late war, and is nowlearning the agonizing history of "reconstruction. " This oration isthe warm and modest expression of all that the receptive andunsceptical student had imbibed and felt during the years of hisformation, who saw before him a large company of Revolutionarysoldiers and a great multitude of Federalist partisans. He saluted theaudience as "Countrymen, brethren, and fathers. " The oration waschiefly a rapid, exulting review of the history of the young Republic, with an occasional pomposity, and a few expressions caught from theparty discussions of the day. It is amusing to hear this youngFederalist of 1800 speak of Napoleon Bonaparte as "the gasconadingpilgrim of Egypt, " and the government of France as the "supercilious, five-headed Directory, " and the President of the United States as "thefirm, the wise, the inflexible Adams, who with steady hand draws thedisguising veil from the intrigues of foreign enemies and the plots ofdomestic foes. " It is amusing to read, as the utterance of DanielWebster, that "Columbia is now seated in the forum of nations, and theempires of the world are amazed at the bright effulgence of herglory. " But it is interesting to observe, also, that at eighteen, notless fervently than at forty-eight, he felt the importance of themessage with which he was charged to the American people, --thenecessity of the Union, and the value of the Constitution as theuniting bond. The following passage has, perhaps, more in it of theWebster of 1830 than any other in the oration. The reader will noticethe similarity between one part of it and the famous passage in theBunker Hill oration, beginning "Venerable men, " addressed to thesurvivors of the Revolution. 

 "Thus, friends and citizens, did the kind hand of overruling Providence conduct us, through toils, fatigues, and dangers, to independence and peace. If piety be the rational exercise of the human soul, if religion be not a chimera, and if the vestiges of heavenly assistance are clearly traced in those events which mark the annals of our nation, it becomes us on this day, in consideration of the great things which have been done for us, to render the tribute of unfeigned thanks to that God who superintends the universe, and holds aloft the scale that weighs the destinies of nations. 

 "The conclusion of the Revolutionary War did not accomplish the entire achievements of our countrymen. Their military character was then, indeed, sufficiently established; but the time was coming which should prove their political sagacity, their ability to govern themselves. 

 "No sooner was peace restored with England, (the first grand article of which was the acknowledgment of our independence, ) than the old system of Confederation, dictated at first by necessity, and adopted for the purposes of the moment, was found inadequate to the government of an extensive empire. Under a full conviction of this, we then saw the people of these States engaged in a transaction which is undoubtedly the greatest approximation towards human perfection the political world ever yet witnessed, and which, perhaps, will forever stand in the history of mankind without a parallel. A great republic, composed of different States, whose interest in all respects could not be perfectly compatible, then came deliberately forward, discarded one system of government, and adopted another, without the loss of one man's blood. 

 "There is not a single government now existing in Europe which is not based in usurpation, and established, if established at all, by the sacrifice of thousands. But in the adoption of our present system of jurisprudence, we see the powers necessary for government voluntarily flowing from the people, their only proper origin, and directed to the public good, their only proper object. 

 "With peculiar propriety, we may now felicitate ourselves on that happy form of mixed government under which we live. The advantages resulting to the citizens of the Union are utterly incalculable, and the day when it was received by a majority of the States shall stand on the catalogue of American anniversaries second to none but the birthday of independence. 

 "In consequence of the adoption of our present system of government, and the virtuous manner in which it has been administered by a Washington and an Adams, we are this day in the enjoyment of peace, while war devastates Europe! We can now sit down beneath the shadow of the olive, while her cities blaze, her streams run purple with blood, and her fields glitter with a forest of bayonets! The citizens of America can this day throng the temples of freedom, and renew their oaths of fealty to independence; while Holland, our once sister republic, is erased from the catalogue of nations; while Venice is destroyed, Italy ravaged, and Switzerland--the once happy, the once united, the once flourishing Switzerland--lies bleeding at every pore!"

He need not have been ashamed of this speech, despite the lumberingbombast of some of its sentences. All that made him estimable as apublic man is contained in it, --the sentiment of nationality, and aclear sense of the only means by which the United States can remain anation; namely, strict fidelity to the Constitution as interpreted bythe authority itself creates, and modified in the way itself appoints. We have never read the production of a youth which was more propheticof the man than this. It was young New England that spoke through himon that occasion; and in all the best part of his life he nevertouched a strain which New England had not inspired, or could notreach. 

His success at college giving him ascendency at home, he employed itfor the benefit of his brother in a manner which few sons would havedared, and no son ought to attempt. His father, now advanced in years, infirm, "an old man before his time" through hardship and toil, muchin debt, depending chiefly upon his salary of four hundred dollars ayear as Judge of the Court of Common Pleas, and heavily taxed tomaintain Daniel in college, had seen all his other sons married andsettled except Ezekiel, upon whom he leaned as the staff of hisdeclining years, and the main dependence of his wife and two maidendaughters. Nevertheless, Daniel, after a whole night of consultationwith his brother, urged the old man to send Ezekiel to college also. The fond and generous father replied, that he had but little property, and it would take all that little to carry another son through collegeto a profession; but he lived only for his children, and, for his ownpart, he was willing to run the risk; but there was the mother and twounmarried sisters, to whom the risk was far more serious. If theyconsented, he was willing. The mother said:

 "I have lived long in the world, and have been happy in my children. If Daniel and Ezekiel will promise to take care of me in my old age, I will consent to the sale of all our property at once, and they may enjoy the benefit of that which remains after our debts are paid. "

Upon hearing this, all the family, we are told, were dissolved intears, and the old man gave his assent. This seems hard, --two stoutand vigorous young men willing to risk their aged parents' home anddignity for such a purpose, or for any purpose! In the early days, however, there was a singular unity of feeling and interest in a goodNew England family, and there were opportunities for professional menwhich rendered the success of two such lads as these nearly certain, if they lived to establish themselves. Nevertheless, it was too muchto ask, and more than Daniel Webster would have asked if he had beenproperly alive to the rights of others. Ezekiel shouldered his bundle, trudged off to school, where he lived and studied at the cost of onedollar a week, worked his way to the position of the second lawyer inNew Hampshire, and would early have gone to Congress but for hisstanch, inflexible Federalism. 

Daniel Webster, schoolmaster and law-student, was assuredly one of themost interesting of characters. Pinched by poverty, as he tells us, till his very bones ached, eking out his income by a kind of laborthat he always loathed (copying deeds), his shoes letting in, notwater merely, but "pebbles and stones, "--father, brother, and himselfsometimes all moneyless together, all dunned at the same time, andwriting to one another for aid, --he was nevertheless as jovial a youngfellow as any in New England. How merry and affectionate his lettersto his young friends! He writes to one, soon after leaving college:

 "You will naturally inquire how I prosper in the article of cash; finely, finely! I came here in January with a horse, watch, etc. , and a few rascally counters in my pocket. Was soon obliged to sell my horse, and live on the proceeds. Still straitened for cash, I sold my watch, and made a shift to get home, where my friends supplied me with another horse and another watch. My horse is sold again, and my watch goes, I expect, this week; thus you see how I lay up cash. "

How like him! To another college friend, James Hervey Bingham, whom hecalls, by turns, "brother Jemmy, " "Jemmy Hervey, " and "Bingham, " hediscourses thus:

 "Perhaps you thought, as I did, that a dozen dollars would slide out of the pocket in a Commencement jaunt much easier than they would slide in again after you got home. That was the exact reason why I was not there. .. . I flatter myself that none of my friends ever thought me greatly absorbed in the sin of avarice, yet I assure you, Jem, that in these days of poverty I look upon a round dollar with a great deal of complacency. These rascal dollars are so necessary to the comfort of life, that next to a fine wife they are most essential, and their acquisition an object of prime importance. O Bingham, how blessed it would be to retire with a decent, clever bag of Rixes to a pleasant country town, and follow one's own inclination without being shackled by the duties of a profession!"

To the same friend, whom he now addresses as "dear Squire, " heannounces joyfully a wondrous piece of luck:

 "My expenses [to Albany] were all amply paid, and on my return I put my hand in my pocket and found one hundred and twenty dear delightfuls! Is not that good luck? And these dear delightfuls were, 'pon honor, all my own; yes, every dog of them!"

To which we may add from another source, that they were straightwaytransferred to his father, to whom they were dear delightfuls indeed, for he was really getting to the end of his tether. 

The schoolmaster lived, it appears, on the easiest terms with hispupils, some of whom were older than himself. He tells a story offalling in with one of them on his journey to school, who was mounted"on the ugliest horse I ever saw or heard of, except Sancho Panza'spacer. " The schoolmaster having two good horses, the pupil mounted oneof them, strapped his bag to his own forlorn animal and drove himbefore, where his odd gait and frequent stumblings kept them amused. At length, arriving at a deep and rapid river, "this satire on the animal creation, as if to revenge herself on us for our sarcasms, plunged into the river, then very high by the freshet, and was wafted down the current like a bag of oats! I could hardly sit on my horse for laughter. I am apt to laugh at the vexations of my friends. The fellow, who was of my own age, and my room-mate, half checked the current by oaths as big as lobsters, and the old Rosinante, who was all the while much at her ease, floated up among the willows far below on the opposite side of the river. "

At the same time he was an innocent young man. If he had any wild oatsin his composition, they were not sown in the days of his youth. Expecting to pass his life as a country lawyer, having scarcely apremonition of his coming renown, we find him enjoying the simplecountry sports and indulging in the simple village ambitions. He triedonce for the captaincy of a company of militia, and was not elected;he canvassed a whole regiment to get his brother the post of adjutant, and failed. At one time he came near abandoning the law, as too highand perilous for him, and settling down as schoolmaster and clerk of acourt. The assurance of a certain six hundred dollars a year, a house, and a piece of land, with the prospect of the clerkship by and by, wasso alluring to him that it required all the influence of his familyand friends to make him reject the offer. Even then, in the flush andvigor of his youth, he was _led_. So was it always. He was never aleader, but always a follower. Nature made him very large, but sostinted him in propelling force, that it is doubtful if he had everemerged from obscurity if his friends had not urged him on. Hismodesty in these innocent days is most touching to witness. After along internal conflict, he resolved, in his twentieth year, to "makeone more trial" at mastering the law. 

 "If I prosecute the profession, I pray God to fortify me against its temptations. To the wind I dismiss those light hopes of eminence which ambition inspired and vanity fostered. To be 'honest, to be capable, to be faithful' to my client and my conscience, I earnestly hope will be my first endeavor. "

How exceedingly astonished would these affectionate young friends havebeen, if they could have looked forward forty years, and seen thetimid law-student Secretary of State, and his ardent young comrade aclerk in his department. They seemed equals in 1802; in 1845, they hadgrown so far apart, that the excellent Bingham writes to Webster as toa demigod. 

In these pleasant early letters of Daniel Webster there are a thousandevidences of a good heart and of virtuous habits, but not one of asuperior understanding. The total absence of the sceptical spiritmarks the secondary mind. For a hundred and fifty years, _no_ youngman of a truly eminent intellect has accepted his father's creedswithout having first called them into question; and this must be so inperiods of transition. The glorious light which has been coming uponChristendom for the last two hundred years, and which is now beginningto pervade the remotest provinces of it, never illumined the mind ofDaniel Webster. Upon coming of age, he joined the CongregationalChurch, and was accustomed to open his school with an extemporeprayer. He used the word "Deist" as a term of reproach; he deemed it"criminal" in Gibbon to write his fifteenth and sixteenth chapters, and spoke of that author as a "learned, proud, ingenious, foppish, vain, self-deceived man, " who "from Protestant connections deserted tothe Church of Rome, and thence to the faith of Tom Paine. " And henever delivered himself from this narrowness and ignorance. In thetime of his celebrity, he preferred what Sir Walter Scott called "thegenteeler religion of the two, " the Episcopal. In his old age, hisidea of a proper sermon was incredibly narrow and provincial. He isreported to have said, late in life:--

 "Many of the ministers of the present day take their text from St. Paul, and preach from the newspapers. When they do so, I prefer to enjoy my own thoughts rather than to listen. I want my pastor to come to me in the spirit of the Gospel, saying, 'You are mortal! your probation is brief; your work must be done speedily; you are immortal too. You are hastening to the bar of God; the Judge standeth before the door. ' When I am thus admonished, I have no disposition to muse or to sleep. "

This does not accord with what is usually observed in our churches, where sermons of the kind which Mr. Webster extolled dispose manypersons to sleep, though not to muse. 

In the same unquestioning manner, he imbibed his father's politicalprejudices. We hear this young Federalist call the Republican party"the Jacobins, " just as the reactionists and tories of the present dayspeak of the present Republican party as "the radicals. " It is amusingto hear him, in 1802, predict the speedy restoration to power of aparty that was never again to taste its sweets. "Jacobinism andiniquity, " he wrote in his twentieth year, "are so allied insignification, that the latter always follows the former, just as ingrammar 'the accusative case follows the transitive verb. '" He speaksof a young friend as "too honest for a Democrat. " As late as histwenty-second year, he was wholly unreconciled to Napoleon, and stillwrote with truly English scorn of "Gallic tastes and Gallicprinciples. " There is a fine burst in one of his letters of 1804, whenhe had been propelled by his brother to Boston to finish his lawstudies:--

 "Jerome, the brother of the Emperor of the Gauls, is here; every day you may see him whisking along Cornhill, with the true French air, with his wife by his side. The lads say that they intend to prevail on American misses to receive company in future after the manner of Jerome's wife, that is, in bed. The gentlemen of Boston (i. E. We Feds) treat Monsieur with cold and distant respect. They feel, and every honest man feels, indignant at seeing this lordly grasshopper, this puppet in prince's clothes, dashing through the American cities, luxuriously rioting on the property of Dutch mechanics or Swiss peasants. "

This last sentence, written when he was twenty-two years old, is thefirst to be found in his published letters which tells anything of thefire that was latent in him. He was of slow growth; he was forty-eightyears of age before his powers had reached their full development. 

When he had nearly completed his studies for the bar, he was againupon the point of abandoning the laborious career of a lawyer for alife of obscurity and ease. On this occasion, it was the clerkship ofhis father's court, salary fifteen hundred dollars a year, thattempted him. He jumped at the offer, which promised an immediatecompetency for the whole family, pinched and anxious for so manyyears. He had no thought but to accept it. With the letter in hishand, and triumphant joy in his face, he communicated the news to Mr. Gore, his instructor in the law; thinking of nothing, he tells us, butof "rushing to the immediate enjoyment of the proffered office. " Mr. Gore, however, exhibited a provoking coolness on the subject. He saidit was very civil in the judges to offer such a compliment to abrother on the bench, and, of course, a respectful letter ofacknowledgment must be sent. The glowing countenance of the young manfell at these most unexpected and unwelcome words. They were, to usehis own language, "a shower-bath of ice-water. " The old lawyer, observing his crestfallen condition, reasoned seriously with him, andpersuaded him, against his will, to continue his preparation, for thebar. At every turning-point of his life, whenever he came to a partingof the ways, one of which must be chosen and the other forsaken, herequired an impulse from without to push him into the path he was togo. Except once! Once in his long public life, he seemed to ventureout alone on an unfamiliar road, and lost himself. Usually, when greatpowers are conferred on a man, there is also given him a strongpropensity to exercise them, sufficient to carry him through alldifficulties to the suitable sphere. Here, on the contrary, there wasa Great Eastern with only a Cunarder's engine, and it required a tugto get the great ship round to her course. 

Admitted to the bar in his twenty-third year, he dutifully went hometo his father, and opened an office in a New Hampshire village nearby, resolved never again to leave the generous old man while he lived. Before leaving Boston, he wrote to his friend Bingham, "If I am notearning my bread and cheese in exactly nine days after my admission, Ishall certainly be a bankrupt";--and so, indeed, it proved. With greatdifficulty, he "hired" eighty-five dollars as a capital to beginbusiness with, and this great sum was immediately lost in its transitby stage. To any other young man in his situation, such a calamitywould have been, for the moment, crushing; but this young man, indifferent to _meum_ as to _tuum_, informs his brother that he can inno conceivable way replace the money, cannot therefore pay for thebooks he had bought, believes he is earning his daily bread, and as tothe loss, he has "_no uneasy sensations on that account_. " Heconcludes his letter with an old song, beginning, "Fol de dol, dol de dol, di dol, I'll never make money my idol. "

In the New Hampshire of 1805 there was no such thing possible asleaping at once into a lucrative practice, nor even of slowlyacquiring it. A country lawyer who gained a thousand dollars a yearwas among the most successful, and the leader of the bar in NewHampshire could not earn two thousand. The chief employment of DanielWebster, during the first year or two of his practice, was collectingdebts due in New Hampshire to merchants in Boston. His first tin signhas been preserved to the present day, to attest by its minuteness andbrevity the humble expectations of its proprietor. "D. Webster, Attorney, " is the inscription it bears. The old Court-House stillstands in which he conducted his first suit, before his own father aspresiding judge. Old men in that part of New Hampshire were livinguntil within these few years, who remembered well seeing this tall, gaunt, and large-eyed young lawyer rise slowly, as though scarcelyable to get upon his feet, and giving to every one the impression thathe would soon be obliged to sit down from mere physical weakness, andsaying to his father, for the first and last time, "May it please yourHonor. " The sheriff of the county, who was also a Webster, used to saythat he felt ashamed to see the family represented at the bar by solean and feeble a young man. The tradition is, that he acquittedhimself so well on this occasion that the sheriff was satisfied, andclients came, with their little suits and smaller fees, inconsiderable numbers, to the office of D. Webster, Attorney, whothenceforth in the country round went by the name of "All-eyes. " Hisfather never heard him speak again. He lived to see Daniel insuccessful practice, and Ezekiel a student of law, and died in 1806, prematurely old. Daniel Webster practised three years in the country, and then, resigning his business to his brother, established himselfat Portsmouth, the seaport of New Hampshire, then a place of muchforeign commerce. Ezekiel had had a most desperate struggle withpoverty. At one time, when the family, as Daniel observed, was"heinously unprovided, " we see the much-enduring "Zeke" teaching anAcademy by day, an evening school for sailors, and keeping well upwith his class in college besides. But these preliminary troubles werenow at an end, and both the brothers took the places won by so muchtoil and self-sacrifice. 

Those are noble old towns on the New England coast, the commerce ofwhich Boston swallowed up forty years ago, while it left behind many alarge and liberally provided old mansion, with a family in it enrichedby ventures to India and China. Strangers in Portsmouth are stillstruck by the largeness and elegance of the residences there, andwonder how such establishments can be maintained in a place that haslittle "visible means of support. " It was while Portsmouth was animportant seaport that Daniel Webster learned and practised law there, and acquired some note as a Federalist politician. 

The once celebrated Dr. Buckminster was the minister of theCongregational church at Portsmouth then. One Sunday morning in 1808, his eldest daughter sitting alone in the minister's pew, a strangegentleman was shown into it, whose appearance and demeanor stronglyarrested her attention. The slenderness of his frame, the pale yellowof his complexion, and the raven blackness of his hair, seemed only tobring out into grander relief his ample forehead, and to heighten theeffect of his deep-set, brilliant eyes. At this period of his lifethere was an air of delicacy and refinement about his face, joined toa kind of strength that women can admire, without fearing. MissBuckminster told the family, when she went home from church, thatthere had been a remarkable person with her in the pew, --one that shewas sure had "a marked character for good or evil. " A few days after, the remarkable person came to live in the neighborhood, and was soonintroduced to the minister's family as Mr. Daniel Webster, fromFranklin, New Hampshire, who was about to open a law office inPortsmouth. He soon endeared himself to every person in the minister'scircle, and to no one more than to the minister himself, who, amongother services, taught him the art of preserving his health. The youngman, like the old clergyman, was an early riser, up with the dawn insummer, and long before the dawn in winter; and both were out of doorswith the sun, each at one end of a long saw, cutting wood for anappetite. The joyous, uncouth singing and shouting of the newcomeraroused the late sleepers. Then in to breakfast, where the homely, captivating humor of the young lawyer kept the table in a roar, anddetained every inmate. "Never was there such an actor lost to thestage, " Jeremiah Mason, his only rival at the New Hampshire bar, usedto say, "as he would have made. " Returning in the afternoon fromcourt, fatigued and languid, his spirits rose again with food andrest, and the evening was another festival of conversation andreading. A few months after his settlement at Portsmouth he visitedhis native hills, saying nothing respecting the object of his journey;and returned with a wife, --that gentle and high-bred lady, aclergyman's daughter, who was the chief source of the happiness of hishappiest years, and the mother of all his children. He improved inhealth, his form expanded, his mind grew, his talents ripened, hisfame spread, during the nine years of his residence at this thrivingand pleasant town. 

At Portsmouth, too, he had precisely that external stimulus toexertion which his large and pleasure-loving nature needed. JeremiahMason was, literally speaking, the giant of the American bar, for hestood six feet seven inches in his stockings. Like Webster, he was theson of a valiant Revolutionary officer; like Webster, he was anhereditary Federalist; like Webster, he had a great mass of brain: buthis mind was more active and acquisitive than Webster's, and hisnineteen years of arduous practice at the bar had stored his memorywith knowledge and given him dexterity in the use of it. Nothing showsthe eminence of Webster's talents more than this, that, very early inhis Portsmouth career, he should have been regarded at the bar of NewHampshire as the man to be employed against Jeremiah Mason, and hisonly fit antagonist. Mason was a vigilant, vigorous opponent, --sure tobe well up in the law and the facts of a cause, sure to detect a flawin the argument of opposing counsel. It was in keen encounters withthis wary and learned man that Daniel Webster learned his profession;and this he always acknowledged. "If, " he said once in conversation, --

 "if anybody thinks I am somewhat familiar with the law on some points, and should be curious to know how it happened, tell him that Jeremiah Mason compelled me to study it. _He_ was my master. "

It is honorable, too, to both of them, that, rivals as they were, theywere fast and affectionate friends, each valuing in the other thequalities in which he was surpassed by him, and each sincerelybelieving that the other was the first man of his time and country. "They say, " in Portsmouth, that Mason did not shrink fromremonstrating with his friend upon his carelessness with regard tomoney; but, finding the habit inveterate and the man irresistible, desisted. Webster himself says that two thousand dollars a year wasall that the best practice in New Hampshire could be made to yield;and that that was inadequate to the support of his family of a wifeand three little children. Two thousand dollars in Portsmouth, in1812, was certainly equal, in purchasing power, to six thousand of theineffectual things that now pass by the name of dollars; and upon suchan income large families in a country town contrive to live, ride, andsave. 

He was a strenuous Federalist at Portsmouth, took a leading part inthe public meetings of the party, and won great distinction as itsfrequent Fourth-of-July orator. All those mild and economical measuresby which Mr. Jefferson sought to keep the United States from beingdrawn into the roaring vortex of the great wars in Europe, he opposed, and favored the policy of preparing the country for defence, not bygunboats and embargoes, but by a powerful navy of frigates and shipsof the line. His Fourth-of-July orations, if we may judge of them bythe fragments that have been found, show that his mind hadstrengthened more than it had advanced. His style wonderfully improvedfrom eighteen to twenty-five; and he tells us himself why it did. Hediscovered, he says, that the value, as well as the force, of asentence, depends chiefly upon its meaning, not its language; and thatgreat writing is that in which much is said in few words, and thosewords the simplest that will answer the purpose. Having made thisnotable discovery, he became a great eraser of adjectives, and toiledafter simplicity and directness. Mr. Everett quotes a few sentencesfrom his Fourth-of-July oration of 1806, when he was twenty-four, which shows an amazing advance upon the effort of his eighteenth year, quoted above:--

 "Nothing is plainer than this: if we will have commerce, we must protect it. This country is commercial as well as agricultural. _Indissoluble bonds connect him who ploughs the land with him who ploughs the sea_. Nature has placed us in a situation favorable to commercial pursuits, and no government can alter the destination. Habits confirmed by two centuries are not to be changed. An immense portion of our property is on the waves. Sixty or eighty thousand of our most useful citizens are there, and are entitled to such protection from the government as their case requires. "

How different this compact directness from the tremendous fulminationof the Dartmouth junior, who said:--

 "Columbia stoops not to tyrants; her spirit will never cringe to France; neither a supercilious, five-headed Directory nor the gasconading pilgrim of Egypt will ever dictate terms to sovereign America. The thunder of our cannon shall insure the performance of our treaties, and fulminate destruction on Frenchmen, till the ocean is crimsoned with blood and gorged with pirates!"

The Fourth-of-July oration, which afterwards fell into some disrepute, had great importance in the earlier years of the Republic, whenRevolutionary times and perils were fresh in the recollection of thepeople. The custom arose of assigning this duty to young men covetousof distinction, and this led in time to the flighty rhetoric whichmade sounding emptiness and a Fourth-of-July oration synonymous terms. The feeling that was real and spontaneous in the sons of Revolutionarysoldiers was sometimes feigned or exaggerated in the young lawstudents of the next generation, who had merely read the history ofthe Revolution. But with all the faults of those compositions, theywere eminently serviceable to the country. We believe that to them isto be attributed a considerable part of that patriotic feeling which, after a suspended animation of several years, awoke in the spring of1861 and asserted itself with such unexpected power, and whichsustained the country during four years of a peculiarly dishearteningwar. How pleasant and spirit-stirring was a celebration of the Fourthof July as it was conducted in Webster's early day! We trust the oldcustoms will be revived and improved upon, and become universal. Noris it any objection to the practice of having an oration, that thepopulation is too large to be reached in that way; for if only athousand hear, a million may read. Nor ought we to object if theorator _is_ a little more flowery and boastful than becomes anordinary occasion. There is a time to exult; there is a time toabandon ourselves to pleasant recollections and joyous hopes. Therefore, we say, let the young men reappear upon the platform, andshow what metal they are made of by giving the best utterance they canto the patriotic feelings of the people on the national anniversary. The Republic is safe so long as we celebrate that day in the spirit of1776 and 1861. 

At least we may assert that it was Mr. Webster's Fourth-of-Julyorations, of which he delivered five in eleven years, that first madehim known to the people of New Hampshire. At that period the twopolitical parties could not unite in the celebration of the day, andaccordingly the orations of Mr. Webster had much in them that could beagreeable only to Federalists. He was an occasional speaker, too, inthose years, at meetings of Federalists, where his power as an oratorwas sometimes exerted most effectively. No speaker could be betteradapted to a New England audience, accustomed from of old to weighty, argumentative sermons, delivered with deliberate, unimpassionedearnestness. There are many indications that a speech by DanielWebster in Portsmouth in 1810 excited as much expectation and commentas a speech by the same person in the Senate twenty years after. Buthe was a mere Federalist partisan, --no more. It does not appear thathe had anything to offer to his countrymen beyond the statelyexpression of party issues; and it was as a Federalist, pure andsimple, that he was elected, in 1812, a member of the House ofRepresentatives, after a keenly contested party conflict. His majorityover the Republican candidate was 2, 546, --the whole number of votersbeing 34, 648. 

The Federalists, from 1801 to 1825, were useful to the country only asan Opposition, --just as the present Tory party in England can be onlyserviceable in its capacity of critic and holdback. The Federalistsunder John Adams had sinned past forgiveness; while the Republicanparty, strong in being right, in the ability of its chiefs, in itsalliance with Southern aristocrats, and in having possession of thegovernment, was strong also in the odium and inconsistencies of itsopponents. Nothing could shake the confidence of the people in theadministration of Thomas Jefferson. But the stronger a party is, themore it needs an Opposition, --as we saw last winter in Washington, when the minority was too insignificant in numbers and ability to keepthe too powerful majority from doing itself such harm as might havebeen fatal to it but for the President's well-timed antics. Next to asound and able majority, the great need of a free country is avigorous, vigilant, audacious, numerous minority. Better a factiousand unscrupulous minority than none at all. The Federalists, who couldjustly claim to have among them a very large proportion of the richmen and the educated men of the country, performed the humble butuseful service of keeping an eye upon, the measures of theadministration, and finding fault with every one of them. DanielWebster, however, was wont to handle only the large topics. While Mr. Jefferson was struggling to keep the peace with Great Britain, hecensured the policy as timorous, costly, and ineffectual; but when Mr. Madison declared war against that power, he deemed the act unnecessaryand rash. His opposition to the war was never carried to the point ofgiving aid and comfort to the enemy; it was such an opposition aspatriotic "War Democrats" exhibited during the late Rebellion, whothought the war might have been avoided, and ought to be conductedmore vigorously, but nevertheless stood by their country without ashadow of swerving. 

He could boast, too, that from his boyhood to the outbreak of the warhe had advocated the building of the very ships which gave the infantnation its first taste of warlike glory. The Republicans of that time, forgetful of what Paul Jones and others of Dr. Franklin's captains haddone in the war of the Revolution, supposed that, because England hada thousand ships in commission, and America only seventeen, thereforean American ship could not venture out of a harbor without beingtaken. We have often laughed at Colonel Benton's ludicrous confessionof his own terrors on this subject. 

"Political men, " he says, "believed nothing could be done at sea but to lose the few vessels which we had; that even cruising was out of the question. Of our seventeen vessels, the whole were in port but one; and it was determined to keep them there, and the one at sea with them, if it had the luck to get in. I am under no obligation to make the admission, but I am free to acknowledge that I was one of those who supposed that there was no salvation for our seventeen men-of-war but to run them as far up the creek as possible, place them under the guns of batteries, and collect camps of militia about them to keep off the British. This was the policy at the day of the declaration of the war; and I have the less concern to admit myself to have been participator in the delusion, because I claim the merit of having profited from experience, --happy if I could transmit the lesson to posterity. Two officers came to Washington, --Bainbridge and Stewart. They spoke with Mr. Madison, and urged the feasibility of cruising. One half of the whole number of the British men-of-war were under the class of frigates, consequently no more than matches for some of our seventeen; the whole of her merchant marine (many thousands) were subject to capture. Here was a rich field for cruising; and the two officers, for themselves and brothers, boldly proposed to enter it. 

 "Mr. Madison had seen the efficiency of cruising and privateering, even against Great Britain, and in our then infantile condition, during the war of the Revolution; and besides was a man of sense, and amenable to judgment and reason. He listened to the two experienced and valiant officers; and without consulting Congress, which perhaps would have been a fatal consultation (for multitude of counsellors is not the counsel for _bold_ decision), reversed the policy which had been resolved upon; and, in his supreme character of constitutional commander of the army and navy, ordered every ship that could cruise to get to sea as soon as possible. This I had from Mr. Monroe. "

This is a curious example of the blinding effect of partisan strife, and of the absolute need of an Opposition. It was the hereditaryprejudice of the Republicans against the navy, as an "aristocratic"institution, and the hereditary love of the navy cherished by theFederalists as being something stable and British, that enlivened thedebates of the war. The Federalists had their way, but failed to win apartisan advantage from the fact, through their factious opposition tothe military measures of the administration. Because the first attemptat the seizure of Canada had failed through the incompetency ofGeneral Hull, which no wisdom of man could have foreseen, DanielWebster called upon the government to discontinue all further attemptson the land, and fight the war out on the sea. "Give up your futileprojects of invasion, " said he in 1814. 

 "Extinguish the fires that blaze on your inland borders. " "Unclench the iron grasp of your embargo. " "With all the war of the enemy on your commerce, if you would cease to make war upon it yourselves, you would still have some commerce. That commerce would give you some revenue. Apply that revenue to the augmentation of your navy. That navy, in turn, will protect your commerce. "

In war time, however, there are _two_ powers that have to do with thecourse of events; and very soon the enemy, by his own great scheme ofinvasion, decided the policy of the United States. Every port wasblockaded so effectively that a pilot-boat could not safely go out ofsight of land, and a frigate was captured within sight of it. Thesevigilant blockaders, together with the threatening armament whichfinally attacked New Orleans, compelled every harbor to prepare fordefence, and most effectually refuted Mr. Webster's speech. The "blazeof glory" with which the war ended at New Orleans consumed all theremaining prestige of the Federalist party, once so powerful, sorespectable, and so arrogant. 

A member of the anti-war party during the existence of a war occupiesa position which can only cease to be insignificant by the misfortunesof his country. But when we turn from the partisan to the man, weperceive that Daniel Webster was a great presence in the House, andtook rank immediately with the half-dozen ablest debaters. Hisself-possession was perfect at all times, and at thirty-three he wasstill in the spring and first lustre of his powers. His weighty anddeliberate manner, the brevity, force, and point of his sentences, andthe moderation of his gestures, were all in strong contrast to theflowing, loose, impassioned manner of the Southern orators, who ruledthe House. It was something like coming upon a stray number of the oldEdinburgh Review in a heap of novels and Ladies' Magazines. Chief-Justice Marshall, who heard his first speech, being himself aFederalist, was so much delighted to hear his own opinions expressedwith such power and dignity, that he left the House, believing thatthis stranger from far-off New Hampshire was destined to become, as hesaid, "one of the very first statesmen of America, and perhaps thevery first. " His Washington fame gave him new _éclat_ at home. He wasre-elected, and came back to Congress in 1815, to aid the Federalistsin preventing the young Republicans from being too Federal. 

This last sentence slipped from the pen unawares; but, ridiculous asit looks, it does actually express the position and vocation of theFederalists after the peace of 1815. Clay, Calhoun, Story, Adams, andthe Republican majority in Congress, taught by the disasters of thewar, as they supposed, had embraced the ideas of the old Federalistparty, and were preparing to carry some of them to an extreme. Thenavy had no longer an enemy. The strict constructionists had dwindledto a few impracticables, headed by John Randolph. The youngerRepublicans were disposed to a liberal, if not to a latitudinarianconstruction of the Constitution. In short, they were Federalists andHamiltonians, bank men, tariff men, internal-improvement men. Then wasafforded to the country the curious spectacle of Federalists opposingthe measures which had been among the rallying-cries of their partyfor twenty years. It was not in Daniel Webster's nature to be aleader; it was morally impossible for him to disengage himself fromparty ties. This exquisite and consummate artist in oratory, who couldgive such weighty and brilliant expression to the feelings of hishearers and the doctrines of his party, had less originating power, whether of intellect or of will, than any other man of equal eminencethat ever lived. He adhered to the fag end of the old party, until itwas absorbed, unavoidably, with scarcely an effort of its own, inAdams and Clay. From 1815 to 1825 he was in opposition, and inopposition to old Federalism revived; and, consequently, we believethat posterity will decide that his speeches of this period are theonly ones relating to details of policy which have the slightestpermanent value. In fact, his position in Congress, as a member of avery small band of Federalists who had no hope of regaining power, wasthe next thing to being independent, and he made an excellent use ofhis advantage. 

That Bank of the United States, for example, of which, in 1832, he wasthe ablest defender, and for a renewal of which he strove for tenyears, he voted _against_ in 1816; and for reasons which neither henor any other man ever refuted. His speeches criticising the variousbank schemes of 1815 and 1816 were serviceable to the public, and madethe bank, as finally established, less harmful than it might havebeen. 

So of the tariff. On this subject, too, he always followed, --neverled. So long as there was a Federal party, he, as a member of it, opposed Mr. Clay's protective, or (as Mr. Clay delighted to term it)"American system. " When, in 1825, the few Federalists in the Housevoted for Mr. Adams, and were merged in the "conservative wing" of theRepublican party, which became, in time, the Whig party, then, andfrom that time forward to the end of his life, he was a protectionist. His anti-protection speech of 1824 is wholly in the modern spirit, andtakes precisely the ground since taken by Ricardo, John Stuart Mill, and others of the new school. It is so excellent a statement of thetrue policy of the United States with regard to protection, that wehave often wondered it has been allowed to sleep so long in the tombof his works. And, oh! from what evils might we have beenspared, --nullification, surplus-revenue embarrassments, hot-bedmanufactures, clothing three times its natural price, --if theprotective legislation of Congress had been inspired by the Webster of1824, instead of the Clay! Unimportant as this great speech may nowseem, as it lies uncut in the third volume of its author's speeches, its unturned leaves sticking together, yet we can say of it, that thewhole course of American history had been different if its counselshad been followed. The essence of the speech is contained in two ofits phrases: "Freedom of trade, the general principle; restriction, the exception. " Free trade, the object to be aimed at; protection, atemporary expedient. Free trade, the interest of all nations;protection, the occasional necessity of one. Free trade, the final anduniversal good; protection, the sometimes necessary evil. Free trade, as soon as possible and as complete as possible; protection, as littleas possible and as short as possible. The speech was delivered inreply to Mr. Clay; and, viewed merely _as_ a reply, it is difficult toconceive of one more triumphant. Mr. Webster was particularly happy inturning Mr. Clay's historical illustrations against him, especiallythose drawn from the history of the English silk manufacture, and theSpanish system of restriction and prohibition. Admitting fully thatmanufactures the most unsuited to the climate, soil, and genius of acountry _could_ be created by protection, he showed that suchmanufactures were not, upon the whole, and in the long run, a benefitto a country; and adduced, for an illustration, the very instancecited by Mr. Clay, --the silk manufacture of England, --which kept fiftythousand persons in misery, and necessitated the continuance of a kindof legislation which the intelligence of Great Britain had outgrown. Is not the following brief passage an almost exhaustive statement ofthe true American policy?

 "I know it would be very easy to promote manufactures, at least for a time, but probably for a short time only, if we might act in disregard of other interests. We _could_ cause a sudden transfer of capital and a violent change in the pursuits of men. We _could_ exceedingly benefit some classes by these means. But what then becomes of the interests of others? The power of collecting revenue by duties on imports, and the habit of the government of collecting almost its whole revenue, in that mode, will enable us, without exceeding the bounds of moderation, to give great advantages to those classes of manufactures which we may think most useful to promote at home. "

One of his happy retorts upon Mr. Clay was the following:--

 "I will be so presumptuous as to take up a challenge which Mr. Speaker has thrown down. He has asked us, in a tone of interrogatory indicative of the feeling of anticipated triumph, to mention any country in which manufactures have flourished without the aid of prohibitory laws. .. . Sir, I am ready to answer this inquiry. 

 "There is a country, not undistinguished among the nations, in which the progress of manufactures has been more rapid than in any other, and yet unaided by prohibitions or unnatural restrictions. That country, the happiest which the sun shines on, is our own. "

Again, Mr. Clay had made the rash remark that it would cost thenation, _as_ a nation, nothing to convert our ore into iron. Mr. Webster's reply to this seems to us eminently worthy of considerationat the present moment, and at every moment when the tariff is a topicof debate. 

 "I think, " said he, "it would cost us precisely what we can least afford, that is, _great labor_. .. . Of manual labor no nation has more than a certain quantity; nor can it be increased at will. .. . A most important question for every nation, as well as for every individual, to propose to itself, is, how it can best apply that quantity of labor which it is able to perform. .. . Now, with respect to the quantity of labor, as we all know, different nations are differently circumstanced. Some need, more than anything, work for hands; _others require hands for work_; and if we ourselves are not absolutely in the latter class, we are still, most fortunately, very near it. "

The applicability of these observations to the present condition ofaffairs in the United States--labor very scarce, and protectionistsclamoring to make it scarcer--must be apparent to every reader. 

But this was the last of Mr. Webster's efforts in behalf of thefreedom of trade. In the spring of 1825, when it devolved upon theHouse of Representatives to elect a President, the few Federalistsremaining in the House became, for a few days, an important body. Mr. Webster had an hereditary love for the house of Adams; and the agedJefferson himself had personally warned him against Andrew Jackson. Webster it was who, in an interview with Mr. Adams, obtained suchassurances as determined the Federalists to give their vote for theNew England candidate; and thus terminated the existence of the greatparty which Hamilton had founded, with which Washington hadsympathized, which had ruled the country for twelve years, andmaintained a vigorous and useful opposition for a quarter of acentury. Daniel Webster was in opposition no longer. He was a defenderof the administration of Adams and Clay, supported all their importantmeasures, and voted for, nay, advocated, the Tariff Bill of 1828, which went far beyond that of 1824 in its protective provisions. Taunted with such a remarkable and sudden change of opinion, he saidthat, New England having been compelled by the act of 1824 to transfera large part of her capital from commerce to manufactures, he wasbound, as her representative, to demand the continuance of the system. Few persons, probably, who heard him give this reason for hisconversion, believed it was the true one; and few will ever believe itwho shall intimately know the transactions of that winter inWashington. But if it _was_ the true reason, Mr. Webster, in givingit, ruled himself out of the rank of the Great, --who, in every age andland, lead, not follow, their generation. In his speech of 1824 heobjects to the protective system on _general_ principles, applicableto every case not clearly exceptional; and the further Congress wasdisposed to carry an erroneous system, the more was he bound to liftup his voice against it. It seems to us that, when he abandoned theconvictions of his own mind and took service under Mr. Clay, hedescended (to use the fine simile of the author of "Felix Holt") fromthe rank of heroes to that of the multitude for whom heroes fight. Hewas a protectionist, thenceforth, as long as he lived. If he was rightin 1824, how wrong he was in 1846! In 1824 he pointed to the highwages of American mechanics as a proof that the protective system wasunnecessary; and he might have quoted Adam Smith to show that, in1770, wages in the Colonies were just as high, compared with wages inEurope, as in 1824. In 1846 he attributed high wages in America to theoperation of the protective system. In 1824 free trade was the good, and restriction the evil; in 1846 restriction was the good, and freetrade the evil. 

Practical wisdom, indeed, was not in this man. He was not formed toguide, but to charm, impress, and rouse mankind. His advocacy of theGreek cause, in 1824, events have shown to be unwise; but his speechon this subject contains some passages so exceedingly fine, noble, andharmonious, that we do not believe they have ever been surpassed inextempore speech by any man but himself. The passage upon PublicOpinion, for example, is always read with delight, even by those whocan call to mind the greatest number of instances of its apparentuntruth. 

 "The time has been, indeed, when fleets, and armies, and subsidies were the principal reliances, even in the best cause. But, happily for mankind, a great change has taken place in this respect. Moral causes come into consideration in proportion as the progress of knowledge is advanced; and the public opinion of the civilized world is rapidly gaining an ascendency over mere brutal force. .. . It may be silenced by military power, but it cannot be conquered. It is elastic, irrepressible, and invulnerable to the weapons of ordinary warfare. It is that impassible, unextinguishable enemy of mere violence and arbitrary rule, which, like Milton's angels, "'Vital in every part, . .. Cannot, but by annihilating, die. '

 "Until this be propitiated or satisfied, it is vain for power to talk either of triumphs or of repose. No matter what fields are desolated, what fortresses surrendered, what armies subdued, or what provinces overrun. .. . There is an enemy that still exists to check the glory of these triumphs. It follows the conqueror back to the very scene of his ovations; it calls upon him to take notice that Europe, though silent, is yet indignant; it shows him that the sceptre of his victory is a barren sceptre; that it shall confer neither joy nor honor; but shall moulder to dry ashes in his grasp. In the midst of his exultation, it pierces his ear with the cry of injured justice; it denounces against him the indignation of an enlightened and civilized age; it turns to bitterness the cup of his rejoicing, and wounds him with the sting which belongs to the consciousness of having outraged the opinion of mankind. "--_Works_, Vol. III. Pp. 77, 78. 

Yes: if the conqueror bad the moral feeling which inspired thispassage, and if the cry of injured justice could pierce the flatteringdin of office-seekers surrounding him. But, reading the paragraph asthe expression of a _hope_ of what may one day be, how grand andconsoling it is! The information given in this fine oration respectingthe condition of Greece and the history of her struggle forindependence was provided for him by the industry of his friend, Edward Everett. 

One of the minor triumphs of Mr. Webster's early Congressional lifewas his conquest of the heart of John Randolph. In the course of adebate on the sugar tax, in 1816, Mr. Webster had the very commonfortune of offending the irascible member from Virginia, and Mr. Randolph, as his custom was, demanded an explanation of the offensivewords. Explanation was refused by the member from Massachusetts;whereupon Mr. Randolph demanded "the satisfaction which his insultedfeelings required. " Mr. Webster's reply to this preposterous demandwas everything that it ought to have been. He told Mr. Randolph thathe had no right to an explanation, and that the temper and style ofthe demand were such as to forbid its being conceded as a matter ofcourtesy. He denied, too, the right of any man to call him to thefield for what he might please to consider an insult to his feelings, although he should be "always prepared to repel in a suitable mannerthe aggression of any man who may presume upon such a refusal. " Theeccentric Virginian was so much pleased with Mr. Webster's bearingupon this occasion, that he manifested a particular regard for him, and pronounced him a very able man for a Yankee. 

It was during these years that Daniel Webster became dear, beyond allother men of his time, to the people of New England. Removing toBoston in 1816, and remaining out of Congress for some years, he wonthe first place at the New England bar, and a place equal to theforemost at the bar of the Supreme Court of the United States. Not oneof his legal arguments has been exactly reported, and some of the mostimportant of them we possess merely in outline; but in such reports aswe have, the weight and clearness of his mind are abundantly apparent. In almost every argument of his, there can be found digressions whichrelieve the strained attention of the bench, and please the unlearnedhearer; and he had a happy way of suddenly crystallizing his argumentinto one luminous phrase, which often seemed to prove his case bymerely stating it. Thus, in the Dartmouth College case, he made a raredisplay of learning (furnished him by associate counsel, he tells us);but his argument is concentrated in two of his simplest sentences:--1. The endowment of a college is private property; 2. The charter of acollege is that which constitutes its endowment private property. TheSupreme Court accepted these two propositions, and thus secured toevery college in the country its right to its endowment. This seemstoo simple for argument, but it cost a prodigious and powerfullycontested lawsuit to reduce the question to this simplicity; and itwas Webster's large, calm, and discriminating glance which detectedthese two fundamental truths in the mountain mass of testimony, argument, and judicial decision. In arguing the great steamboat case, too, he displayed the same qualities of mind. New York having grantedto Livingston and Fulton the exclusive right to navigate her waters bysteamboats, certain citizens of New Jersey objected, and, after afierce struggle upon the waters themselves, transferred the contest tothe Supreme Court. Mr. Webster said: "The commerce of the UnitedStates, under the Constitution of 1787, is a unit, " and "what we callthe waters of the State of New York are, for the purposes ofnavigation and commerce, the waters of the United States"; thereforeno State can grant exclusive privileges. The Supreme Court affirmedthis to be the true doctrine, and thenceforth Captain CorneliusVanderbilt ran his steamboat without feeling it necessary, onapproaching New York, to station a lady at the helm and to hidehimself in the hold. Along with this concentrating power, Mr. Websterpossessed, as every school-boy knows, a fine talent for amplificationand narrative. His narration of the murder of Captain White was almostenough of itself to hang a man. 

But it was not his substantial services to his country which drew uponhim the eyes of all New England, and made him dear to every son of thePilgrims. In 1820, the Pilgrim Society of Plymouth celebrated theanniversary of the landing of their forefathers in America. At thedinner of the Society, that day, every man found beside his plate fivekernels of corn, to remind him of the time when that was the dailyallowance of the settlers, and it devolved upon Daniel Webster to showhow worthy they were of better fare. His address on this anniversaryis but an amplification of his Junior Fourth-of-July oration of 1800;but what an amplification! It differed from that youthful essay as thefirst flights of a young eagle, from branch to branch upon its nativetree, differ from the sweep of his wings when he takes a continent inhis flight, and swings from mountain range to mountain range. We areaware that eulogy is, of all the kinds of composition, the easiest toexecute in a tolerable manner. What Mr. Everett calls "patrioticeloquence" should usually be left to persons who are in the gushingtime of life; for when men address men, they should say something, clear up something, help forward something, accomplish something. Itis not becoming in a full-grown man to utter melodious wind. Nevertheless, it can be truly said of this splendid and irresistibleoration, that it carries that kind of composition as far as we canever expect to see it carried, even in this its native land. What atriumphant joy it must have been to an audience, accustomed for threeor four generations to regard preaching as the noblest work of man, keenly susceptible to all the excellences of uttered speech, and whonow heard their plain old fathers and grandfathers praised in suchmassive and magnificent English! Nor can it be said that this speechsays nothing. In 1820 it was still part of the industry of New Englandto fabricate certain articles required by slave-traders in theirhellish business; and there were still descendants of the Pilgrims whowere actually engaged in the traffic. 

"If there be, " exclaimed the orator, "within the extent of our knowledge or influence any participation in this traffic, let us pledge ourselves here, upon the rock of Plymouth, to extirpate and destroy it. It is not fit that the land of the Pilgrims should bear the shame longer. I hear the sound of the hammer, I see the smoke of the furnaces where manacles and fetters are still forged for human limbs. I see the visages of those who by stealth and at midnight labor in this work of hell, foul and dark, as may become the artificers of such instruments of misery and torture. Let that spot be purified, or let it cease to be of New England. "--_Works_, Vol. I. Pp. 45, 46. 

And he proceeds, in language still more energetic, to call upon hiscountrymen to purge their land of this iniquity. This oration, widelycirculated through the press, gave the orator universal celebrity inthe Northern States, and was one of the many causes which secured hiscontinuance in the national councils. 

Such was his popularity in Boston, that, in 1824, he was re-elected toCongress by 4, 990 votes out of 5, 000; and such was his celebrity inhis profession, that his annual retainers from banks, insurancecompanies, and mercantile firms yielded an income that would havesatisfied most lawyers even of great eminence. 

Those were not the times of five-thousand-dollar fees. As late as1819, as we see in Mr. Webster's books, he gave "advice" in importantcases for twenty dollars; his regular retaining fee was fifty dollars;his "annual retainer, " one hundred dollars; his whole charge forconducting a cause rarely exceeded five hundred dollars; and theincome of a whole year averaged about twenty thousand dollars. Twentyyears later, he has gained a larger sum than that by the trial of asingle cause; but in 1820 such an income was immense, and probably notexceeded by that of any other American lawyer. Most lawyers in theUnited States, he once said, "live well, work hard, and die poor"; andthis is particularly likely to be the case with lawyers who spend sixmonths of the year in Congress. 

Northern members of Congress, from the foundation of the government, have usually gratified their ambition only by the sacrifice of theirinterests. The Congress of the United States, modelled upon theParliament of Great Britain, finds in the North no suitable class ofmen who can afford to be absent from their affairs half the year. Weshould naturally choose to be represented in Washington by mendistinguished in their several spheres; but in the North, almost allsuch persons are so involved in business that they cannot accept aseat in Congress, except at the peril of their fortune; and thisinconvenience is aggravated by the habits that prevail at the seat ofgovernment. In the case of a lawyer like Daniel Webster, who has alarge practice in the Supreme Court, the difficulty is diminished, because he can usually attend the court without seriously neglectinghis duties in Congress, --usually, but not always. There was one yearin the Congressional life of Mr. Webster when he was kept out of theSupreme Court for four months by the high duty that devolved upon himof refuting Calhoun's nullification subtilties; but even in that year, his professional income was more than seven thousand dollars; and heought by that time, after thirty years of most successful practice, tohave been independent of his profession. He was not, however; andnever would have been, if he had practised a century. Those habits ofprofusion, that reckless disregard of pecuniary considerations, ofwhich we noticed indications in his early days, seemed to be part ofhis moral constitution. He never appeared to know how much money hehad, nor how much he owed; and, what was worse, he never appeared tocare. He was a profuse giver and a careless payer. It was far easierfor him to send a hundred-dollar note in reply to a begging letter, than it was to discharge a long-standing account; and when he hadwasted his resources in extravagant and demoralizing gifts, he deemedit a sufficient answer to a presented bill to ask his creditor how aman could pay money who had none. 

It is not true, therefore, that the frequent embarrassments of hislater years were due to the loss of practice by his attendance inCongress; because, in the years when his professional gains weresmallest, his income was large enough for the wants of any reasonableman. Nevertheless, we cannot deny that when, in 1827, by hisacceptance of a seat in the Senate, he gave himself permanently topublic life, he made a sacrifice of his pecuniary interests which, fora man of such vast requirements and uncalculating habits, was verygreat. 

But his reward was also very great. On that elevated theatre he soonfound an opportunity for the display of his talents, which, while ithonored and served his country, rendered him the foremost man in thatpart of it where such talents as his could be appreciated. 

All wars of which we have any knowledge have consisted of two parts:first, a war of words; secondly, the conflict of arms. The war ofwords which issued in the late Rebellion began, in 1828, by thepublication of Mr. Calhoun's first paper upon Nullification, calledthe South Carolina Exposition; and it ended in April, 1861, whenPresident Lincoln issued his call for seventy-five thousand troops, which excited so much merriment at Montgomery. This was a period ofthirty-three years, during which every person in the United States whocould use either tongue or pen joined in the strife of words, andcontributed his share either toward hastening or postponing the finalappeal to the sword. Men fight with one another, says Dr. Franklin, because they have not sense enough to settle their disputes in anyother way; and when once they have begun, never stop killing oneanother as long as they have money enough "to pay the butchers. " So itappeared in our case. Of all the men who took part in this preliminarywar of words, Daniel Webster was incomparably the ablest. He seemedcharged with a message and a mission to the people of the UnitedStates; and almost everything that he said in his whole life of realvalue has reference to that message and that mission. The necessity ofthe Union of these States, the nature of the tie that binds themtogether, the means by which alone that tie can be kept strong, --thiswas what he came charged to impart to us; and when he had fullydelivered this message, he had done his work. His numberless speechesupon the passing questions of the day, --tariff, Bank, currency, Sub-treasury, and the rest, --in which the partisan spoke rather thanthe man may have had their value at the time, but there is little inthem of durable worth. Those of them which events have not refuted, time has rendered obsolete. No general principles are established inthem which can be applied to new cases. Indeed, he used often toassert that there _were_ no general principles in practicalstatesmanship, but that the government of nations is, and must be, aseries of expedients. Several times, in his published works, can befound the assertion, that there is no such thing as a science ofpolitical economy, though he says he had "turned over" all the authorson that subject from Adam Smith to his own time. It is when he speaksof the Union and the Constitution, and when he is rousing thesentiment of nationality, that he utters, not, indeed, eternal truths, but truths necessary to the existence of the United States, and whichcan only become obsolete when the nation is no more. 

The whole of his previous life had been an unconscious preparation forthese great debates. It was one of the recollections of his childhood, that, in his eighth year, he had bought a handkerchief upon which wasprinted the Constitution of 1787, which he then read through; andwhile he was a farmer's boy at home, the great question of itsacceptance or rejection had been decided. His father's party was theparty for the Constitution, whose only regret concerning it was, thatit was not so much of a constitution as they wished it to be. TheRepublicans dwelt upon its defects and dangers; the Federalists, uponits advantages and beauties: so that all that this receptive lad heardof it at his father's fireside was of its value and necessity. We seein his youthful orations that nothing in the history of the continentstruck his imagination so powerfully as the spectacle of thirty-eightgentlemen meeting in a quiet city, and peacefully settling the termsof a national union between thirteen sovereign States, most of whichgave up, voluntarily, what the sword alone was once supposed capableof extorting. In all his orations on days of national festivity ormourning, we observe that his weightiest eulogy falls upon those whowere conspicuous in this great business. Because Hamilton aided in it, he revered his memory; because Madison was its best interpreter, hevenerated his name and deferred absolutely to his judgment. It wasclear to his mind that the President can only dismiss an officer ofthe government as he appoints him, by and with the advice and consentof the Senate; but he would not permit himself to think so against Mr. Madison's decision. His own triumphs at the bar--those upon which heplumed himself---were all such as resulted from his lonely broodingsover, and patient study of, the Constitution of his country. A nativeof one of the smallest of the States, to which the Union was anunmixed benefit and called for no sacrifice of pride, he grew up intonationality without having to pass through any probation of States'rights scruples. Indeed, it was as natural for a man of his calibre tobe a national man as it is for his own Monadnock to be three thousandfeet above the level of the sea. 

The South Carolina Exposition of 1828 appeared to fall still-born fromthe press. Neither General Jackson nor any of his nearest friends seemto have been so much as aware of its existence; certainly theyattached no importance to it. Colonel Benton assures us, that to himthe Hayne debate, so far as it related to constitutional questions, seemed a mere oratorical display, without adequate cause or object;and we know that General Jackson, intimately allied with the Haynefamily and strongly attached to Colonel Hayne himself, wished himsuccess in the debate, and heard with regret that Mr. Webster was"demolishing" him. Far, indeed, was any one from supposing that amovement had been set on foot which was to end only with the totaldestruction of the "interest" sought to be protected by it. Far wasany one from foreseeing that so poor and slight a thing as theExposition was the beginning of forty years of strife. It is evidentfrom the Banquo passage of Mr. Webster's principal speech, when, looking at Vice-President Calhoun, he reminded that ambitious manthat, in joining the coalition which made Jackson President, he hadonly given Van Buren a push toward the Presidency, --"No son of_theirs_ succeeding, "--it is evident, we say, from this passage, andfrom other covert allusions, that he understood the game ofNullification from the beginning, so far as its objects were personal. But there is no reason for supposing that he attached importance to itbefore that memorable afternoon in December, 1830, when he strolledfrom the Supreme Court into the Senate-chamber, and chanced to hearColonel Hayne reviling New England, and repeating the doctrines of theSouth Carolina Exposition. 

Every one knows the story of this first triumph of the United Statesover its enemies. Daniel Webster, as Mr. Everett records, appeared tobe the only person in Washington who was entirely at his ease; and hewas so remarkably unconcerned, that Mr. Everett feared he was notaware of the expectations of the public, and the urgent necessity ofhis exerting all his powers. Another friend mentions, that on the daybefore the delivery of the principal speech the orator lay down asusual, after dinner, upon a sofa, and soon was heard laughing tohimself. Being asked what he was laughing at, he said he had justthought of a way to turn Colonel Hayne's quotation about Banquo'sghost against himself, and he was going to get up and make a note ofit. This he did, and then resumed his nap. 

Notwithstanding these appearances of indifference, he was fully rousedto the importance of the occasion; and, indeed, we have the impressionthat only on this occasion, in his whole life, were all his powers infull activity and his entire mass of being in full glow. But even thenthe artist was apparent in all that he did, and particularly in thedress which he wore. At that time, in his forty-eighth year, his hairwas still as black as an Indian's, and it lay in considerable massesabout the spacious dome of his forehead. His form had neither theslenderness of his youth nor the elephantine magnitude of his lateryears; it was fully, but finely, developed, imposing and stately, yetnot wanting in alertness and grace. No costume could have been bettersuited to it than his blue coat and glittering gilt buttons, his ampleyellow waistcoat, his black trousers, and snowy cravat. It was in somedegree, perhaps, owing to the elegance and daintiness of his dressthat, while the New England men among his hearers were moved to tears, many Southern members, like Colonel Benton, regarded the speech merelyas a Fourth-of-July oration delivered on the 6th of January. Bentonassures us, however, that he soon discovered his error, for theNullifiers were not to be put down by a speech, and soon revealedthemselves in their true character, as "irreconcilable" foes of theUnion. This was Daniel Webster's own word in speaking of that factionin 1830, --"irreconcilable. "

After this transcendent effort, --perhaps the greatest of its kind evermade by man, --Daniel Webster had nothing to gain in the esteem of theNorthern States. He was indisputably our foremost man, and inMassachusetts there was no one who could be said to be second to himin the regard of the people: he was a whole species in himself. In thesubsequent winter of debate with Calhoun upon the same subject, headded many details to his argument, developed it in many directions, and accumulated a great body of constitutional reasoning; but so faras the people were concerned, the reply to Hayne sufficed. In allthose debates we are struck with his colossal, his superfluoussuperiority to his opponents; and we wonder how it could have beenthat such a man should have thought it worth while to refute suchpuerilities. It was, however, abundantly worth while. The assailedConstitution needed such a defender. It was necessary that thepatriotic feeling of the American people, which was destined to atrial so severe, should have an unshakable basis of intelligentconviction. It was necessary that all men should be made distinctly tosee that the Constitution was not a "compact" to which the States"acceded, " and from which they could secede, but the fundamental law, which the people had established and ordained, from which there couldbe no secession but by revolution. It was necessary that the countryshould be made to understand that Nullification and Secession were oneand the same; and that to admit the first, promising to stop short atthe second, was as though a man "should take the plunge of Niagara andcry out that he would stop half-way down. " Mr. Webster's principalspeech on this subject, delivered in 1832, has, and will ever have, with the people and the Courts of the United States, the authority ofa judicial decision; and it might very properly be added to populareditions of the Constitution as an appendix. Into the creation of thefeeling and opinion which fought out the late war for the Union athousand and ten thousand causes entered; every man who had everperformed a patriotic action, and every man who ever from his hearthad spoken a patriotic word, contributed to its production; but to noman, perhaps, were we more indebted for it than to the Daniel Websterof 1830 and 1832. 

We cannot so highly commend his votes in 1832 as his speeches. GeneralJackson's mode of dealing with nullification seems to us the model forevery government to follow which has to deal with discontentedsubjects:--1. To take care that the laws are obeyed; 2. To remove thereal grounds of discontent. This was General Jackson's plan. This, also, was the aim of Mr. Clay's compromise. Mr. Webster objected toboth, on the ground that nullification was rebellion, and that nolegislation respecting the pretext for rebellion should be entertaineduntil the rebellion was quelled. Thus he came out of the battle, dearto the thinking people of the country, but estranged from the threepolitical powers, --Henry Clay and his friends, General Jackson and hisfriends, Calhoun and his friends; and though he soon lapsed againunder the leadership of Mr. Clay, there was never again a cordialunion between him and any interior circle of politicians who couldhave gratified his ambition. Deceived by the thunders of applausewhich greeted him wherever he went, and the intense adulation of hisown immediate circle, he thought that he too could be an independentpower in politics. Two wild vagaries seemed to have haunted him everafter: first, that a man could merit the Presidency; secondly, that aman could get the Presidency by meriting it. 

From 1832 to the end of his life it appears to us that Daniel Websterwas undergoing a process of deterioration, moral and mental. Hismaterial part gained upon his spiritual. Naturally inclined toindolence, and having an enormous capacity for physical enjoyment, agreat hunter, fisherman, and farmer, a lover of good wine and gooddinners, a most jovial companion, his physical desires and tastes wereconstantly strengthened by being keenly gratified, while his mind wasfed chiefly upon past acquisitions. There is nothing in his laterefforts which shows any intellectual advance, nothing from which wecan infer that he had been browsing in forests before untrodden, orfeeding in pastures new. He once said, at Marshfield, that, if hecould live three lives in one, he would like to devote them all tostudy, --one to geology, one to astronomy, and one to classicalliterature. But it does not appear that he invigorated and refreshedthe old age of his mind, by doing more than glance over the greatworks which treat of these subjects. A new language every ten years, or a new science vigorously pursued, seems necessary to preserve thefreshness of the understanding, especially when the physical tastesare superabundantly nourished. He could praise Rufus Choate forreading a little Latin and Greek every day, --and this was better thannothing, --but he did not follow his example. There is an aged merchantin New York, who has kept his mind from growing old by devotingexactly twenty minutes every day to the reading of some abstruse book, as far removed from his necessary routine of thought as he could find. Goethe's advice to every one to read every day a short poem, recognizes the danger we all incur in taking systematic care of thebody and letting the soul take care of itself. During the last tenyears of Daniel Webster's life, he spent many a thousand dollars uponhis library, and almost ceased to be an intellectual being. 

His pecuniary habits demoralized him. It was wrong and mean in him toaccept gifts of money from the people of Boston; it was wrong in themto submit to his merciless exactions. What need was there that theirSenator should sometimes be a mendicant and sometimes a pauper? If hechose to maintain baronial state without a baron's income; if he choseto have two fancy farms of more than a thousand acres each; if hechose to keep two hundred prize cattle and seven hundred choice sheepfor his pleasure; if he must have about his house lamas, deer, and allrare fowls; if his flower-garden must be one acre in extent, and hisbooks worth thirty thousand dollars; if he found it pleasant to keeptwo or three yachts and a little fleet of smaller craft; if he couldnot refrain from sending money in answer to begging letters, andpleased himself by giving away to his black man money enough to buy avery good house; and if he could not avoid adding wings and rooms tohis spacious mansion at Marshfield, and must needs keep open housethere and have a dozen, guests at a time, --why should the solvent andcareful business men of Boston have been taxed, or have taxedthemselves, to pay any part of the expense?

Mr. Lanman, his secretary, gives us this curious and contradictoryaccount of his pecuniary habits:--

 "He made money with ease, and spent it without reflection. He had accounts with various banks, and men of all parties were always glad to accommodate him with loans, if he wanted them. He kept no record of his deposits, unless it were on slips of paper hidden in his pockets; these matters were generally left with his secretary. His notes were seldom or never regularly protested, and when they were, they caused him an immense deal of mental anxiety. When the writer has sometimes drawn a check for a couple of thousand dollars, he has not even looked at it, but packed it away in his pockets, like so much waste paper. During his long professional career, he earned money enough to make a dozen fortunes, but he spent it liberally, and gave it away to the poor by hundreds and thousands. Begging letters from women and unfortunate men were received by him almost daily, at certain periods; and one instance is remembered where, on six successive days, he sent remittances of fifty and one hundred dollars to people with whom he was entirely unacquainted. He was indeed careless, but strictly and religiously honest, in all his money matters. He knew not how to be otherwise. The last fee which he ever received for a single legal argument was $11, 000. .. . 

 "A sanctimonious lady once called upon Mr. Webster, in Washington, with a long and pitiful story about her misfortunes and poverty, and asked him for a donation of money to defray her expenses to her home in a Western city. He listened with all the patience he could manage, expressed his surprise that she should have called upon him for money, simply because he was an officer of the government, and that, too, when she was a total stranger to him, reprimanded her in very plain language for her improper conduct, and _handed her a note of fifty dollars_. 

 * * * * *

 "He had called upon the cashier of the bank where he kept an account, for the purpose of getting a draft discounted, when that gentleman expressed some surprise, and casually inquired why he wanted so much money? 'To spend; to buy bread and meat, ' replied Mr. Webster, a little annoyed at this speech. 

 "'But, ' returned the cashier, 'you already have upon deposit in the bank no less than three thousand dollars, and I was only wondering why you wanted so much money, '

 "This was indeed the truth, but Mr. Webster had forgotten it. "

Mr. Lanman's assertion that Mr. Webster, with all this recklessness, was religiously honest, must have excited a grim smile upon thecountenances of such of his Boston readers as had had his name upontheir books. No man can be honest long who is careless in hisexpenditures. 

It is evident from his letters, if we did not know it from othersources of information, that his carelessness with regard to thebalancing of his books grew upon him as he advanced in life, and keptpace with the general deterioration of his character. In 1824, beforelie had been degraded by the acceptance of pecuniary aid, and when hewas still a solvent person, one of his nephews asked him for a loan. He replied:

 "If you think you can do anything useful with a thousand dollars, you may have that sum in the spring, or sooner, if need be, on the following conditions:--1. You must give a note for it with reasonable security. 2. The interest must be payable annually, and must be paid at the day without fail. And so long as this continues to be done, the money not to be called for--the principal--under six months' notice. I am thus explicit with you, because you wish me to be so; and because also, having a little money, and but a little, I am resolved on keeping it. "

This is sufficiently business-like. He _had_ a little moneythen, --enough, as he intimates, for the economical maintenance of hisfamily. During the land fever of 1835 and 1836, he lost so seriouslyby speculations in Western land, that he was saved from bankruptcyonly by the aid of that mystical but efficient body whom he styled his"friends"; and from that time to the end of his life he was seldom athis ease. He earned immense occasional fees, ---two of twenty-fivethousand dollars each; he received frequent gifts of money, as well asa regular stipend from an invested capital; but he expended soprofusely, that he was sometimes at a loss for a hundred dollars topay his hay-makers; and he died forty thousand dollars in debt. 

The adulation of which he was the victim at almost every hour of hisexistence injured and deceived him. He was continually informed thathe was the greatest of living men, --the "godlike Daniel"; and when heescaped even into the interior of his home, he found there persons whosincerely believed that making such speeches as his was the greatestof all possible human achievements. All men whose talents are of thekind which enable their possessor to give intense pleasure to greatmultitudes are liable to this misfortune; and especially in a new andbusy country, little removed from the colonial state, whereintellectual eminence is rare, and the number of persons who can enjoyit is exceedingly great. We are growing out of this provincialpropensity to abandon ourselves to admiration of the pleasure-givingtalents. The time is at hand, we trust, when we shall not be struckwith wonder because a man can make a vigorous speech, or write a goodnovel, or play Hamlet decently, and when we shall be able to enjoy thetalent without adoring the man. The talent is one thing, and the mananother; the talent may be immense, and the man little; the speechpowerful and wise, the speaker weak and foolish. Daniel Webster cameat last to loathe this ceaseless incense, but it was when his heartwas set upon homage of another kind, which he was destined never toenjoy. 

Another powerful cause of his deterioration was the strange, strong, always increasing desire he had to be President. Any intelligentpolitician, outside of the circle of his own "friends, " could havetold him, and proved to him, that he had little more chance of beingelected President than the most insignificant man in the Whig party. And the marvel is, that he himself should not have known it, --he whoknew why, precisely why, every candidate had been nominated, fromMadison to General Taylor. In the teeth of all the facts, he stillcherished the amazing delusion that the Presidency of the UnitedStates, like the Premiership of England, is the natural and justreward of long and able public service. The Presidency, on thecontrary, is not merely an accident, but it is an accident of the lastmoment. It is a game too difficult for mortal faculties to play, because some of the conditions of success are as uncertain as thewinds, and as ungovernable. If dexterous playing could have availed, Douglas would have carried off the stakes, for he had an audacious anda mathematical mind; while the winning man in 1856 was a heavy player, devoid of skill, whose decisive advantage was that he had been out ofthe game for four years. Mr. Seward, too, was within an ace ofwinning, when an old quarrel between two New York editors swept hiscards from the table. 

No: the President of the United States is not prime minister, butchief magistrate, and he is subject to that law of nature which placesat the head of regular governments more or less respectable Nobodies. In Europe this law of nature works through the hereditary principle, and in America through universal suffrage. In all probability, weshall usually elect a person of the non-committal species, --one whowill have lived fifty or sixty years in the world without havingformed an offensive conviction or uttered a striking word, --one whowill have conducted his life as those popular periodicals areconducted, in which there are "no allusions to politics or religion. "And may not this be part of the exquisite economy of nature, whichever strives to get into each place the smallest man that can fill it?How miserably out of place would be a man of active, originating, disinterested spirit, at the head of a strictly limited, constitutional government, such as ours is in time of peace, in whichthe best President is he who does the least? Imagine a live man thrustout over the bows of a ship, and compelled to stand as figure-head, lashed by the waves and winds during a four years' voyage, andexpected to be pleased with his situation because he is gilt!

Daniel Webster so passionately desired the place, that he could neversee how far he was from the possibility of getting it. He was not suchtimber as either Southern fire-eaters or Northern wire-pullers had anyuse for; and a melancholy sight it was, this man, once so stately, paying court to every passing Southerner, and personally beggingdelegates to vote for him. He was not made for that. An elephant doessometimes stand upon his head and play a barrel-organ, but every onewho sees the sorry sight sees also that it was not the design ofNature that elephants should do such things. 

A Marshfield elm may be for half a century in decay without exhibitingmuch outward change; and when, in some tempestuous night, half itsbulk is torn away, the neighborhood notes with surprise that whatseemed solid wood is dry and crumbling pith. During the last fifteenyears of Daniel Webster's life, his wonderfully imposing form and hisimmense reputation concealed from the public the decay of his powersand the degeneration of his morals. At least, few said what perhapsmany felt, that "he was not the man he had been. " People went awayfrom one of his ponderous and empty speeches disappointed, but not illpleased to boast that they too had "heard Daniel Webster speak, " andfeeling very sure that he could be eloquent, though he had not been. We heard one of the last of his out-of-door speeches. It was nearPhiladelphia, in 1844, when he was "stumping the State" for HenryClay, and when our youthful feelings were warmly with the object ofhis speech. What a disappointment! How poor and pompous and pointlessit seemed! Nor could we resist the impression that he was playing apart, nor help saying to ourselves, as we turned to leave the scene, "This man is not sincere in this: he is a humbug. " And when, someyears later, we saw him present himself before a large audience in astate not far removed from intoxication, and mumble incoherence forten minutes, and when, in the course of the evening, we saw him make agreat show of approval whenever the clergy were complimented, theimpression was renewed that the man had expended his sincerity, andthat nothing was real to him any more except wine and office. And eventhen such were the might and majesty of his presence, that he seemedto fill and satisfy the people by merely sitting there in anarm-chair, like Jupiter, in a spacious yellow waistcoat with twobottles of Madeira under it. 

All this gradual, unseen deterioration of mind and character wasrevealed to the country on the 7th of March, 1850. What a downfall wasthere! That shameful speech reads worse in 1867 than it did in 1850, and still exerts perverting power over timid and unformed minds. Itwas the very time for him to have broken finally with the"irreconcilable" faction, who, after having made President Tyler_snub_ Daniel Webster from his dearly loved office of Secretary ofState, had consummated the scheme which gave us Texas at the cost ofwar with Mexico, and California as one of the incidents of peace. California was not down in their programme; and now, while claimingthe right to make four slave States out of Texas, they refused toadmit California to freedom. _Then_ was it that Daniel Webster ofMassachusetts rose in the Senate of the United States and said insubstance this: These fine Southern brethren of ours have now stolenall the land there is to steal. Let us, therefore, put no obstacle inthe way of their peaceable enjoyment of the plunder. 

And the spirit of the speech was worse even than its doctrine. He wentdown upon the knees of his soul, and paid base homage to his own andhis country's irreconcilable foes. Who knew better than Daniel Websterthat John C. Calhoun and his followers had first created and thensystematically fomented the hostile feeling which then existed betweenthe North and the South? How those men must have chuckled amongthemselves when they witnessed the willing degradation of the man whoshould have arraigned them before the country as the conscious enemiesof its peace! How was it that no one laughed outright at such billingand cooing as this?

 * * * * *

_Mr. Webster_. --"An honorable member [Calhoun], whose health does notallow him to be here to-day--"

_A Senator_, --"He is here. "

_Mr. Webster_. --"I am very happy to hear that he is; may he long behere, and in the enjoyment of health to serve his country!"

And this:--

_Mr. Webster_. --"The honorable member did not disguise his conduct orhis motives. "

_Mr. Calhoun_. --"Never, never. "

_Mr. Webster_. --"What he means he is very apt to say. "

_Mr. Calhoun_. --"Always, always. "

_Mr. Webster_. --"And I honor him for it. "

And this:--

_Mr. Webster_. --

 "I see an honorable member of this body [Mason of Virginia] paying me the honor of listening to my remarks; he brings to my mind, Sir, freshly and vividly, what I learned of his great ancestor, so much distinguished in his day and generation, so worthy to be succeeded by so worthy a grandson. "

And this:--

_Mr. Webster_. --

 "An honorable member from Louisiana addressed us the other day on this subject. I suppose there is not a more amiable and worthy gentleman in this chamber, nor a gentleman who would be more slow to give offence to anybody, and he did not mean in his remarks to give offence. But what did he say? Why, Sir, he took pains to run a contrast between the slaves of the South and the laboring people of the North, giving the preference in all points of condition and comfort and happiness to the slaves. "

In the course of this speech there is one most palpable contradiction. In the beginning of it, the orator mentioned the change of feeling andopinion that had occurred as to the institution of slavery, --"theNorth growing much more warm and strong against slavery, and the Southgrowing much more warm and strong in its support. " "Once, " he said, "the most eminent men, and nearly all the conspicuous politicians ofthe South, held the same sentiments, --that slavery was an evil, ablight, a scourge, and a curse"; but now it is "a cherishedinstitution in that quarter; no evil, no scourge, but a greatreligious, social, and moral blessing. " He then asked how this changeof opinion had been brought about, and thus answered the question: "Isuppose, sir, this is owing to the rapid growth and sudden extensionof the COTTON plantations in the South. " And to make the statementmore emphatic, he caused the word _cotton_ to be printed in capitalsin the authorized edition of his works. But later in the speech, whenhe came to add his ponderous condemnation to the odium in which thehandful of Abolitionists were held, --the _élite_ of the nation fromFranklin's day to this, --then he attributed this remarkable change to_their_ zealous efforts to awaken the nobler conscience of thecountry. After giving his own version of their proceedings, he said:

 "Well, what was the result? The bonds of the slaves were bound more firmly than before, their rivets were more strongly fastened. Public opinion, which in Virginia had begun to be exhibited against slavery, and was opening out for the discussion of the question, drew back and shut itself up in its castle. "

But all would not do. He bent the knee in vain. Vain too were hispersonal efforts, his Southern tour, his Astor House wooings, --thepoliticians would have none of him; and he had the cuttingmortification of seeing himself set aside for a Winfield Scott. 

Let us not, however, forget that on this occasion, though DanielWebster appeared for the first time in his life as a leader, he was inreality still only a follower, --a follower, not of the public opinionof the North, but of the wishes of its capitalists. And probably manythousands of well-meaning men, not versed in the mysteries ofpolitics, were secretly pleased to find themselves provided with anexcuse for yielding once more to a faction, who had over us theimmense advantage of having made up their minds to carry their pointor fight. If his was the shame of this speech, ours was the guilt. Hefaithfully represented the portion of his constituents whose wine hedrank, who helped him out with his notes, and who kept his atmospherehazy with incense; and he faithfully represented, also, that largernumber who wait till the wolf is at their door before arming againsthim, instead of meeting him afar off in the outskirts of the wood. Letus own it: the North yearned for peace in 1850, --peace at almost anyprice. 

One of the most intimate of Mr. Webster's friends said, in a publicaddress:

 "It is true that he desired the highest political position in the country, --that he thought he had fairly earned a claim to that position. And I solemnly believe that because that claim was denied his days were shortened. "

No enemy of the great orator ever uttered anything so severe againsthim as this, and we are inclined to think it an error. It was probablythe strength of his desire for the Presidency that shortened his life, not the mere disappointment. When President Fillmore offered him thepost of Secretary of State, in 1850, it appears to have been hispreference, much as he loved office, to decline it. He longed for hisbeautiful Marshfield, on the shore of the ocean, his herds of noblecattle, his broad, productive fields, his yachts, his fishing, hisrambles in the forests planted by his own hand, his homely chats withneighbors and beloved dependents. "Oh!" said he, "if I could have myown will, never, never would I leave Marshfield again!" But his"friends, " interested and disinterested, told him it was a shorterstep from the office of Secretary of State to that of President thanfrom the Senate-chamber. He yielded, as he always did, and spent along, hot summer in Washington, to the sore detriment of his health. And again, in 1852, after he had failed to receive the nomination forthe Presidency, he was offered the place of Minister to England. His"friends" again advised against his acceptance. His letter to thePresident, declining the offer, presents him in a sorry light indeed. 

 "I have made up my mind to think no more about the. English mission. My principal reason is, that I think it would be regarded as a descent I have been accustomed to give instructions to ministers abroad, and not to receive them. "

Accustomed! Yes: for two years! It is probable enough that hisacceptance of office, and his adherence to it, hastened his death. Four months after the words were written which we have just quoted, hewas no more. 

His last days were such as his best friends could have wished them tobe, --calm, dignified, affectionate, worthy of his lineage. His burial, too, was singularly becoming, impressive, and touching. We have beenexceedingly struck with the account of it given by Mr. George S. Hillard, in his truly elegant and eloquent eulogy upon Mr. Webster, delivered in Faneuil Hall. In his last will, executed a few daysbefore his death, Mr. Webster requested that he might be buried"without the least show or ostentation, but in a manner respectful tomy neighbors, whose kindness has contributed so much to the happinessof me and mine. " His wishes were obeyed; and he was buried more as theson of plain, brave Captain Ebenezer Webster, than as Secretary ofState. "No coffin, " said Mr. Hillard, "concealed that majestic frame. In the open air, clad as when alive, he lay extended in seeming sleep, with no touch of disfeature upon his brow, --as noble an image of reposing strength as ever was seen upon earth. Around him was the landscape that he had loved, and above him was nothing but the dome of the covering heavens. The sunshine fell upon the dead man's face, and the breeze blew over it. A lover of Nature, he seemed to be gathered into her maternal arms, and to lie like a child upon a mother's lap. We felt, as we looked upon him, that death had never stricken down, at one blow, a greater sum of life. And whose heart did not swell when, from the honored and distinguished men there gathered together, six plain Marshfield farmers were called forth to carry the head of their neighbor to the grave. Slowly and sadly the vast multitude followed, in mourning silence, and he was laid down to rest among dear and kindred dust. "

In surveying the life and works of this eminent and gifted man, we arecontinually struck with the evidences of his magnitude. He was, aswe have said, a very large person. His brain was within a little ofbeing one third larger than the average, and it was one of thelargest three on record. His bodily frame, in all its parts, was ona majestic scale, and his presence was immense. He liked largethings, --mountains, elms, great oaks, mighty bulls and oxen, widefields, the ocean, the Union, and all things of magnitude. He likedgreat Rome far better than refined Greece, and revelled in the immensethings of literature, such as Paradise Lost, and the Book of Job, Burke, Dr. Johnson, and the Sixth Book of the Aeneid. Homer he nevercared much for, --nor, indeed, anything Greek. He hated, he loathed, the act of writing. Billiards, ten-pins, chess, draughts, whist, henever relished, though fond to excess of out-door pleasures, likehunting, fishing, yachting. He liked to be alone with greatNature, --alone in the giant woods or on the shores of the resoundingsea, --alone all day with his gun, his dog, and his thoughts, ---alonein the morning, before any one was astir but himself, looking out uponthe sea and the glorious sunrise. What a delicious picture of thislarge, healthy Son of Earth Mr. Lanman gives us, where he describeshim coming into his bedroom, at sunrise, and startling him out of adeep sleep by shouting, "Awake, sluggard! and look upon this gloriousscene, for the sky and the ocean are enveloped in flames!" He was akinto all large, slow things in nature. A herd of fine cattle gave him akeen, an inexhaustible enjoyment; but he never "tasted" a horse: hehad no horse enthusiasm. In England he chiefly enjoyed these fivethings, the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, Smithfield CattleMarket, English farming, and Sir Robert Peel. Sir Robert Peel hethought was "head and shoulders above any other man" he had ever met. He greatly excelled, too, in describing immense things. In speaking ofthe Pyramids, once, he asked, "Who can inform us by what now unknown machines mass was thus aggregated, to mass, and quarry piled on quarry, till solid granite seemed to cover the earth and reach the skies. "

His peculiar love of the Union of these States was partly due, perhaps, to this habit of his mind of dwelling with complacency onvastness. He felt that he wanted and required a continent to live in:his mind would have gasped for breath in New Hampshire. 

But this enormous creature was not an exception to the law whichrenders giants harmless by seaming them with weakness, but for whichthe giants would possess the earth. If he had been completedthroughout on the plan on which he was sketched, if he had been asable to originate as he was powerful to state, if he had possessedwill proportioned to his strength, moral power equal to his moralfeeling, intellect on a par with his genius, and principle worthy ofhis intellect, he would have subjugated mankind, and raised hiscountry to a point from which it would have dropped when thetyrannizing influence was withdrawn. Every sphere of life has itspeculiar temptations, which there is only one thing that can enable aman to resist, --a religious, i. E. A disinterested devotion to itsduties. Daniel Webster was one of those who fell before the seductionsof his place. He was not one of those who find in the happiness andprosperity of their country, and in the esteem of theirfellow-citizens, their own sufficient and abundant reward for servingher. He pined for something lower, smaller, --something personal andvulgar. He had no religion, --not the least tincture of it; and heseemed at last, in his dealings with individuals, to have noconscience. What he called his religion had no effect whatever uponthe conduct of his life; it made him go to church, talk piously, puffthe clergy, and "patronize Providence, "--no more. He would acceptretaining fees, and never look into the bundles of papers whichaccompanied them, in which were enclosed the hopes and the fortune ofanxious households. He would receive gifts of money, and toss into hiswaste-paper basket the list of the givers, without having glanced atits contents; thus defrauding them of the only recompense in his powerto grant, and the only one they wished. It shocked him if hissecretary came to the dinner-table in a frock-coat, and he wouldhimself appear drunk before three thousand people. And yet, such wasthe power of his genius, such was the charm of his manner, such theaffectionateness of his nature, such the robust heartiness of hisenjoyment of life, that honorable men who knew his faults best lovedhim to the last, --not in spite of them, but partly in consequence ofthem. What in another man they would have pronounced atrocious, appeared in him a kind of graceful rollicking helplessness to resist. 

Such, as it seems to our very imperfect judgment, was Daniel Webster, one of the largest and one of the weakest of men, of admirable geniusand deplorable character; who began life well and served his-countrywell and often, but held not out faithful to the end. Americanstatesmen are called to a higher vocation than those of othercountries, and there is nothing in the politics of America which _can_reward a man of eminent ability for public service. If such a personfeels that his country's happiness and greatness will not be asatisfying recompense for anything he can do for her, let him, as hevalues his peace and soul's health, cling to the safe obscurity ofprivate life. 

JOHN C. CALHOUN

There were two ways of getting to South Carolina in Colonial times. The first immigrants, many of whom were men of capital, landed atCharleston, and, settling in the fertile low country along the coast, became prosperous planters of rice, indigo, and corn, before a singlewhite inhabitant had found his way to the more salubrious uppercountry in the western part of the Province. The settlers of the uppercountry were plain, poorer people, who landed at Philadelphia orBaltimore, and travelled southward along the base of the Alleghaniesto the inviting table-lands of the Carolinas. In the lower country, the estates were large, the slaves numerous, the white inhabitantsfew, idle, and profuse. The upper country was peopled by a sturdierrace, who possessed farms of moderate extent, hewn out of thewilderness by their own strong arms, and tilled by themselves with theaid of few slaves. Between the upper and the lower country there was awaste region of sandy hills and rocky acclivities, uninhabited, almostuninhabitable, which rendered the two sections of one Provinceseparate communities scarcely known to one another. Down almost to thebeginning of the Revolutionary War, the farmers of the upper countrywere not represented in the Legislature of South Carolina, though theywere then as numerous as the planters of the lower country. Betweenthe people of the two sections there was little unity of feeling. Thelordly planters of the lower country regarded their Westernfellow-citizens as provincial or plebeian; the farmers of the uppercountry had some contempt for the planters as effeminate, aristocratic, and Tory. The Revolution abased the pride, lessened thewealth, and improved the politics of the planters; a revisedConstitution, in 1790, gave preponderance to the up-country farmers inthe popular branch of the Legislature; and thenceforth South Carolinawas a sufficiently homogeneous commonwealth. 

Looking merely to the public career of Calhoun, the special pleader ofthe Southern aristocracy, we should expect to find him born and rearedamong the planters of the low country. The Calhouns, on the contrary, were up-country people, --farmers, Whigs, Presbyterians, men ofmoderate means, who wielded the axe and held the plough with their ownhands, until enabled to buy a few "new negroes, " cheap and savage;called new, because fresh from Africa. A family party of them(parents, four sons, and a daughter) emigrated from the North ofIreland early in the last century, and settled first in Pennsylvania;then removed to Western Virginia; whence the defeat of Braddock, in1755, drove them southward, and they found a permanent abode in theextreme west of South Carolina, then an unbroken wilderness. Of thosefour sons, Patrick Calhoun, the father of the Nullifier, was theyoungest. He was six years old when the family left Ireland;twenty-nine, when they planted the "Calhoun Settlement" in AbbevilleDistrict, South Carolina. 

Patrick Calhoun was a strong-headed, wrong-headed, very brave, honest, ignorant man. His whole life, almost, was a battle. When the Calhounshad been but five years in their forest home, the Cherokees attackedthe settlement, destroyed it utterly, killed one half the men, anddrove the rest to the lower country; whence they dared not return tillthe peace of 1763. Patrick Calhoun was elected to command the mountedrangers raised to protect the frontiers, a duty heroically performedby him. After the peace, the settlement enjoyed several years oftranquillity, during which Patrick Calhoun was married to MarthaCaldwell, a native of Virginia, but the daughter of an IrishPresbyterian emigrant. During this peaceful interval, all the familyprospered with the settlement which bore its name; and Patrick, who inhis childhood had only learned to read and write, availed himself ofsuch leisure as he had to increase his knowledge. Besides reading thebooks within his reach, which were few, he learned to survey land, andpractised that vocation to advantage. He was especially fond ofreading history to gather new proofs of the soundness of his politicalopinions, which were Whig to the uttermost. The war of the Revolutionbroke in upon the settlement, at length, and made deadly havoc there;for it was warred upon by three foes at once, --the British, theTories, and the Cherokees. The Tories murdered in cold blood a brotherof Patrick Calhoun's wife. Another of her brothers fell at Cowpensunder thirty sabre-wounds. Another was taken prisoner and remained fornine months in close confinement at one of the British Andersonvillesof that day. Patrick Calhoun, in many a desperate encounter with theIndians, displayed singular coolness, courage, adroitness, andtenacity. On one memorable occasion, thirteen of his neighbors andhimself maintained a forest fight for several hours with a force ofCherokees ten times their number. When seven of the white men hadfallen, the rest made their escape. Returning three days after to burytheir dead, they found upon the field the bodies of twenty-threeIndian warriors. At another time, as his son used to relate, he had avery long combat with a chief noted for the certainty of his aim, --theIndian behind a tree, the white man behind a fallen log. Four timesthe wily Calhoun drew the Indian's fire by elevating his hat upon hisramrod. The chief, at last, could not refrain from looking to see theeffect of his shot; when one of his shoulders was slightly exposed. Onthe instant, the white man's rifle sent a ball through it; the chieffled into the forest, and Patrick Calhoun. Bore off as a trophy of thefight his own hat pierced with four bullets. 

This Patrick Calhoun illustrates well the North-of-Ireland character;one peculiarity of which is the possession of _will_ disproportionedto intellect. Hence a man of this race frequently appears to strikingadvantage in scenes which demand chiefly an exercise of will; while inother spheres, which make larger demands upon the understanding, thesame man may be simply mischievous. We see this in the case of AndrewJackson, who at New Orleans was glorious; at Washington almost whollypernicious; and in the case of Andrew Johnson, who was eminentlyuseful to his country in 1861, but obstructive and perilous to it in1866. For these Scotch-Irishmen, though they are usually very honestmen, and often right in their opinions, are an uninstructable race, who stick to a prejudice as tenaciously as to a principle, and reallysuppose they are battling for right and truth, when they are onlywreaking a private vengeance or aiming at a personal advantage. Patrick Calhoun was the most radical of Democrats; one of yourdespisers of conventionality; an enemy of lawyers, thinking the commonsense of mankind competent to decide what is right without their aid;a particular opponent of the arrogant pretensions of the low-countryaristocrats. When the up-country people began to claim a voice in thegovernment, long since due to their numbers, the planters, of course, opposed their demand. To establish their right to vote, PatrickCalhoun and a party of his neighbors, armed with rifles, marchedacross the State to within twenty-three miles of Charleston, and therevoted in defiance of the plantation lords. Events like this led to theadmission of members from the up-country; and Patrick Calhoun was thefirst to represent that section in the Legislature. It was entirelycharacteristic of him to vote against the adoption of the FederalConstitution, on the ground that it authorized other people to taxCarolinians; which he said was taxation without' representation. Thatwas just like a narrow, cranky, opinionative, unmanageable Calhoun. 

Devoid of imagination and of humor, a hard-headed, eager politician, he brought up his boy upon politics. This was sorry nourishment for achild's mind, but he had little else to give him. Gambling, hunting, whiskey, and politics were all there was to relieve the monotony oflife in a Southern back settlement; and the best men naturally threwthemselves upon politics. Calhoun told Miss Martineau that he couldremember standing between his father's knees, when he was only fiveyears old, and listening to political conversation. He told Duff Greenthat he had a distinct recollection of hearing his father say, when hewas only nine, that that government is best which allows to eachindividual the largest liberty compatible with order and tranquillity, and that improvements in political science consist in throwing offneedless restraints. It was a strange child that could remember such aremark. As Patrick Calhoun died in 1795, when his son was thirteenyears old, the boy must have been very young when he heard it, even ifhe were mistaken as to the time. Whether Patrick Calhoun ever touchedupon the subject of slavery in his conversations with his children, isnot reported. We only know that, late in the career of Mr. Calhoun, heused to be taunted by his opponents in South Carolina with having onceheld that slavery was good and justifiable only so far as it waspreparatory to freedom. He was accused of having committed the crimeof saying, in a public speech, that slavery was like the "scaffolding"of an edifice, which, after having served its temporary purpose, wouldbe taken down, of course. We presume he said this; because_everything_ in his later speeches is flatly contradicted in those ofhis earlier public life. Patrick Calhoun was a man to give a reasonfor everything. He was an habitual theorizer and generalize!', withoutpossessing the knowledge requisite for safe generalization. It is veryprobable that this apology for slavery was part of his son's slenderinheritance. 

John Caldwell Calhoun--born in 1782, the youngest but one in a familyof five children--was eighteen years old before he had a thought ofbeing anything but a farmer. His father had been dead five years. Hisonly sister was married to that famous Mr. Waddell, clergyman andschoolmaster, whose academy in North Carolina was for so many years agreat light in a dark place. One of his brothers was a clerk in amercantile house at Charleston; another was settled on a farm near by;another was still a boy. His mother lived upon the paternal farm; andwith her lived her son John, who ploughed, hunted, fished, and rode, in the manner of the farmers' sons in that country. At eighteen hecould read, write, and cipher; he had read Rollin, Robertson, Voltaire's Charles XII. , Brown's Essays, Captain Cook, and parts ofLocke. This, according to his own account, was the sum of hisknowledge, except that he had fully imbibed his father's decidedrepublican opinions. He shared to some degree his father's prejudice, and the general prejudice of the upper country, against lawyers;although a cousin, John Ewing Calhoun, had risen high in thatprofession, had long served in the Legislature of South Carolina, andwas about to be elected United States Senator on the Jeffersonianside. As late as May 1800, when he was past eighteen, preference andnecessity appeared to fix him In the vocation of farmer. The familyhad never been rich. Indeed, the great Nullifier himself was acomparatively poor man all his life, the number of his slaves nevermuch exceeding thirty; which is equivalent to a working force offifteen hands or less. 

In May, 1800, Calhoun's elder brother came home from Charleston tospend the summer, bringing with him his city notions. He awoke thedormant ambition of the youth, urged him to go to school and become aprofessional man. But how could he leave his mother alone on the farm?and how could the money be raised to pay for a seven years' education?His mother and his brother conferred upon these points, and satisfiedhim upon both; and in June, 1800, he made his way to the academy ofhis brother-in-law, Waddell, which was then in Columbia County, Georgia, fifty miles from the home of the Calhouns. In two years and aquarter from the day he first opened a Latin grammar, he entered theJunior Class of Yale College. This was quick work. Teachers, however, are aware that late beginners, who have spent their boyhood in_growing_, often stride past students who have passed theirs instunting the growth of mind and body at school. Calhoun, late in life, often spoke of the immense advantage which Southern boys had overNorthern in not going so early to school, and being so much onhorseback and out of doors. He said one day, about the year 1845:

 "At the North you overvalue intellect; at the South we rely upon character; and if ever there should be a collision that shall test the strength of the two sections, you will find that character is stronger than intellect, and will carry the day. "

The prophecy has been fulfilled. 

Timothy Dwight, Calvinist and Federalist, was President of YaleCollege during Calhoun's residence there, and Thomas Jefferson, Democrat and freethinker, was President of the United States. Yale wasa stronghold of Federalism. A brother of the President of the College, in his Fourth-of-July oration delivered at New Haven four months afterthe inauguration of Jefferson and Burr, announced to the students andcitizens, that "the great object" of those gentlemen and theiradherents was "to destroy every trace of civilization in the world, and to force mankind back into a savage state. " He also used thefollowing language:

 "We have now reached the consummation of democratic blessedness. We have a country governed by blockheads and knaves; the ties of marriage, with all its felicities, are severed and destroyed; our wives and daughters are thrown into the stews; our children are cast into the world from the breast forgotten; filial piety is extinguished; and our surnames, the only mark of distinction among families, are abolished. Can the imagination paint anything more dreadful this side hell?"

These remarkable statements, so far from surprising the virtuouspeople of New Haven, were accepted by them, it appears, as facts, andpublished with general approval. From what we know of PresidentDwight, we may conclude that he would regard his brother's oration asa pardonable flight of hyperbole, based on truth. He was a Federalistof the deepest dye. 

Transferred to a scene where such opinions prevailed, it cost theyoung republican no great exertion either of his intellect or hisfirmness or his family pride to hold his ground. Of all known men, hehad the most complete confidence in the infallibility of his own mind. He used to relate, that in the Senior year, when he was one of veryfew in a class of seventy who maintained republican opinions, President Dwight asked him, "What is the legitimate source of power?""The people, " answered the student. Dr. Dwight combated this opinion;Calhoun replied; and the whole hour of recitation was consumed in thedebate. Dr. Dwight was so much struck with the ability displayed bythe student, that he remarked to a friend that Calhoun had talentenough to be President of the United States, and that we should seehim President in due time. In those innocent days, an observation ofthat nature was made of every young fellow who showed a little spiritand a turn for debate. Fathers did not _then_ say to their promisingoffspring, Beware, my son, of self-seeking and shallow speaking, lestyou should be consigned to the White House, and be devoured byoffice-seekers. People then regarded the Presidency as a kind ofreward of merit, the first step toward which was to get "up head" inthe spelling-class. There is reason to believe that young Calhoun tookthe prediction of the Doctor very seriously. He took everythingseriously. He never made a joke in his life, and was totally destituteof the sense of humor. It is doubtful if he was ever capable ofunbending so far as to play a game of football. 

The ardent political discussions then in vogue had one effect whichthe late Mr. Buckle would have pronounced most salutary; theyprevented Dr. Dwight's severe theology from taking hold of the mindsof many students. Calhoun wholly escaped it. In his speeches we find, of course, the stock allusions of a religious nature with which allpoliticians essay to flatter their constituents; but he was neverinterested in matters theological. A century earlier, he might havebeen the Jonathan Edwards of the South, if there had been a Souththen. His was just the mind to have revelled in theologicalsubtilties, and to have calmly, closely, unrelentingly argued nearlythe whole human race into endless and hopeless perdition. His was justthe nature to have contemplated his argument with complacency, and itsconsequences without emotion. 

Graduating with credit in 1804, he repaired to the famous Law Schoolat Litchfield in Connecticut, where he remained a year and a half, andwon general esteem. Tradition reports him a diligent student and anadmirable debater there. As to his moral conduct, that was alwaysirreproachable. That is to say, he was at every period of his lifecontinent, temperate, orderly, and out of debt. In 1806, being thentwenty-four years of age, he returned to South Carolina, and, afterstudying a short time in a law office at Charleston, he went at lastto his native Abbeville to complete his preparation for the bar. Hewas still a law student at that place when the event occurred whichcalled him into public life. 

June 22d, 1807, at noon, the United States frigate Chesapeake, thirty-eight guns, left her anchorage at Hampton Roads, and put tosea, bound for the Mediterranean. The United States being at peacewith all the world, the Chesapeake was very far from being in properman-of-war trim. Her decks were littered with furniture, baggage, stores, cables, and animals. The guns were loaded, but rammers, matches, wadding, cannon-balls, were all out of place, and notimmediately accessible. The crew were merchant sailors and landsmen, all undrilled in the duties peculiar to an armed ship. There had beenlying for some time at the same anchorage the British frigate Leopard, fifty guns; and this ship also put to sea at noon of the same day. TheLeopard being in perfect order, and manned by a veteran crew, took thelead of the Chesapeake, and kept it until three in the afternoon, whenshe was a mile in advance. Then she wore round, came within speakingdistance, lowered a boat, and sent a lieutenant on board the Americanship. This officer bore a despatch from the admiral of the station, ordering any captain who should fall in with the Chesapeake to searchher for deserters. The American commander replied that he knew of nodeserters on board his ship, and could not permit a search to be made, his orders not authorizing the same. The lieutenant returned. As soonas he had got on board, and his boat was stowed away, the Leopardfired a full broadside into the American frigate. The Americancommodore, being totally unprepared for such an event, could notreturn the fire; and therefore, when his ship had received twenty-oneshot in her hull, when her rigging was much cut up, when three of hercrew were killed and eighteen wounded, the commodore himself among thelatter, he had no choice but to lower his flag. Then the search wasmade, and four men, claimed as deserters, were taken; after which theLeopard continued her course, and the crippled Chesapeake returned toHampton Roads. The American commander was sentenced by a court-martialto five years' suspension for going to sea in such a condition. TheEnglish government recalled the admiral who ordered, and deprived ofhis ship the captain who committed, this unparalleled outrage, butmade no other reparation. 

No words of ours could convey any adequate idea of the rage which thisevent excited in the people of the United States. For a time, theFederalists themselves were ready for war. There were meetingseverywhere to denounce it, and especially in the Southern States, always more disposed than the Northern to begin the shedding of blood, and already the main reliance of the Republican party. Remote andrustic Abbeville, a very Republican district, was not silent on thisoccasion; and who so proper to draw and support the denunciatoryresolutions as young Calhoun, the son of valiant Patrick, fresh fromcollege, though now in his twenty-sixth year? The student performedthis duty, as requested, and spoke so well that his neighbors at onceconcluded that he was the very man, lawyer as he was, to representthem in the Legislature, where for nearly thirty years his father hadserved them. At the next election, in a district noted for itsaversion to lawyers, wherein no lawyer had ever been chosen to theLegislature, though many had been candidates, he was elected at thehead of his ticket. His triumph was doubtless owing in a great degreeto the paramount influence of his family. Still, even we, who knew himonly in his gaunt and sad decline, can easily imagine that attwenty-six he must have been an engaging, attractive man. Like most ofhis race, he was rather slender, but very erect, with a good deal ofdignity and some grace in his carriage and demeanor. His eyes werealways remarkably fine and brilliant. He had a well-developed andstrongly set nose, cheek-bones high, and cheeks rather sunken. Hismouth was large, and could never have been a comely feature. His earlyportraits show his hair erect on his forehead, as we all remember it, unlike Jackson, whose hair at forty still fell low over his forehead. His voice could never have been melodious, but it was always powerful. At every period of his life, his manners, when in company with hisinferiors in age or standing, were extremely agreeable, evenfascinating. We have heard a well-known editor, who began life as a"page" in the Senate-chamber, say that there was no Senator whom thepages took such delight in serving as Mr. Calhoun. "Why?"--"Because hewas so democratic. "--"How democratic?"--"He was as polite to a page asto the President of the Senate, and as considerate of his feelings. "We have heard another member of the press, whose first employment wasto report the speeches of Clay, Webster, and Calhoun, bear similartestimony to the frank, engaging courtesy of his intercourse with thecorps of reporters. It is fair, therefore, to conclude that his earlypopularity at home was due as much to his character and manners as tohis father's name and the influence of his relatives. 

He served two years in the Legislature, and in the intervals betweenthe sessions practised law at Abbeville. At once he took a leadingposition in the Legislature. He had been in his seat but a few dayswhen the Republican members, as the custom then was, met in caucus tonominate a President and Vice-President of the United States. For Mr. Madison the caucus was unanimous, but there was a difference withregard to the Vice-Presidency, then filled by the aged George Clintonof New York, who represented the anti-Virginian wing of the party inpower. Mr. Calhoun, in a set speech, opposed the renomination ofGovernor Clinton, on the ground that in the imminency of a war withEngland the Republican party ought to present an unbroken front. Hesuggested the nomination of John Langdon of New Hampshire for thesecond office. At this late day we cannot determine whether thissuggestion was original with Mr. Calhoun. We only know that the caucusaffirmed it, and that the nomination was afterwards tendered to Mr. Langdon by the Republican party, and declined by him. Mr. Calhoun'sspeech on this occasion was the expression of Southern opinions as tothe foreign policy of the country. The South was then nearly ready forwar with England, while Northern Republicans still favored Mr. Jefferson's non-intercourse policy. In this instance, as in so manyothers, we find the Slave States, which used to plume themselves uponbeing the conservative element in an else unrestrainable democracy, ready for war first, though far from being the worst sufferers fromEngland's piracy's. We should have had _no_ war from 1782 to 1865, butfor them. We also find Mr. Calhoun, in this his first utterance as apublic man, the mouthpiece of his "section. " He has been styled themost inconsistent of our statesmen; but beneath the palpablecontradictions of his speeches, there is to be noticed a deeperconsistency. Whatever opinion, whatever policy, he may have advocated, he always spoke the sense of what Mr. Sumner used to call the Southernoligarchy. If _it_ changed, _he_ changed. If he appeared sometimes tolead it, it was by leading it in the direction in which it wanted togo. He was doubtless as sincere in this as any great special pleaderis in a cause in which all his powers are enlisted. Calhoun's mind wasnarrow and provincial. He could not have been the citizen of a largeplace. As a statesman he was naturally the advocate of somethingspecial and sectional, something not the whole. 

Distinguished in the Legislature, he was elected, late in 1810, by avery great majority, to represent his district in Congress. In May, 1811, he was married to a second-cousin, Floride Calhoun, who broughta considerable accession to his slender estate. November 4, 1811, hetook his seat in the House of Representatives. Thus, at the early ageof twenty-nine, he was fairly launched into public life, with theadvantage, usually enjoyed then by Southern members, of beingindependent in his circumstances. Though unknown to the country, hisfame had preceded him to Washington; and the Speaker, Mr. Clay, gavehim a place on the Committee on Foreign Relations. This Committee, considering that Congress had been summoned a month earlier than usualfor the express purpose of dealing with foreign relations, was at oncethe most important and the most conspicuous committee of the House. 

Mr. Calhoun's first session gave him national reputation, and made hima leader of the war party in Congress. We could perhaps say _the_leader, since Mr. Clay was not upon the floor. After surveying thenovel scene around him for six weeks, he delivered his maidenspeech, --a plain, forcible, not extraordinary argument in favor ofpreparing for war. It was prodigiously successful, so far as thereputation of the speaker was concerned. Members gathered round tocongratulate the young orator; and Father Ritchie (if he was a fatherthen) "hailed this young Carolinian as one of the master spirits whostamp their names upon the age in which they live. " This speechcontains one passage which savors of the "chivalric" taint, andindicates the provincial mind. In replying to the objection founded onthe expenses of a war, he said:

 "I enter my solemn protest against this low and 'calculating avarice' entering this hall of legislation. It is _only fit for shops and counting-houses_, and ought not to disgrace the seat of power by its squalid aspect. Whenever it touches sovereign power, the nation is ruined. It is too short-sighted to defend itself. It is a compromising spirit, always ready to yield a part to save the residue. It is too timid to have in itself the laws of self-preservation. Sovereign power is never safe but under the shield of honor. "

This was thought very fine talk in those simple days among the simpleSouthern country members. 

As the session progressed, Mr. Calhoun spoke frequently, and withgreater effect. Wisely he never spoke. In his best efforts we see thatsomething which we know not what to name, unless we call it_Southernism_. If it were allowable to use a slang expression, weshould style the passages to which we refer effective bosh. The mosttelling passage in the most telling speech which he delivered at thissession may serve to illustrate our meaning. Imagine these short, vigorous sentences uttered with great rapidity, in a loud, harshvoice, and with energy the most intense:--

 "Tie down a hero, and he feels the puncture of a pin; throw him into battle, and he is almost insensible to vital gashes. So in war. Impelled alternately by hope and fear, stimulated by revenge, depressed by shame, or elevated by victory, the people become invincible. No privation can shake their fortitude; no calamity break their spirit. Even when equally successful, the contrast between the two systems is striking. War and restriction may leave the country equally exhausted; but the latter not only leaves you poor, but, even when successful, dispirited, divided, discontented, with diminished patriotism, and the morals of a considerable portion of your people corrupted. Not so in war. In that state, the common danger unites all, strengthens the bonds of society, and feeds the flame of patriotism. The national character mounts to energy. In exchange for the expenses and privations of war, you obtain military and naval skill, and a more perfect organization of such parts of your administration as are connected with the science of national defence. Sir, are these advantages to be counted as trifles in the present state of the world? Can they be measured by moneyed valuation? I would prefer a single victory over the enemy, by sea or land, to all the good we shall ever derive from the continuation of the Non-importation act. I know not that a victory would produce an equal pressure on the enemy; but I am certain of what is of greater consequence, it would be accompanied by more salutary effects to ourselves. The memory of Saratoga, Princeton, and Eutaw is immortal. It is there you will find the country's boast and pride, --the inexhaustible source of great and heroic sentiments. But what will history say of restriction? What examples worthy of imitation will it furnish to posterity? What pride, what pleasure will our children find in the events of such times? Let me not be considered romantic. This nation ought to be taught to rely on its courage, its fortitude, its skill and virtue, for protection. These are the only safeguards in the hour of danger. Man was endued with these great qualities for his defence. There is nothing about him that indicates that he is to conquer by endurance. He is not incrusted in a shell; he is not taught to rely upon his insensibility, his passive suffering, for defence. No, sir; it is on the invincible mind, on a magnanimous nature, he ought to rely. Here is the superiority of our kind; it is these that render man the lord of the world. Nations rise above nations, as they are endued in a greater degree with these brilliant qualities. "

This passage is perfectly characteristic of Calhoun, whose speechespresent hundreds of such inextricable blendings of truth andfalsehood. 

We have the written testimony of an honorable man, still living, Commodore Charles Stewart, U. S. N. , that John C. Calhoun was aconscious traitor to the Union as early as 1812. In December of thatyear, Captain Stewart's ship, the Constitution, was refitting at theWashington Navy Yard, and the Captain was boarding at Mrs. Bushby's, with Mr. Clay, Mr. Calhoun, and many other Republican members. Conversing one evening with the new member from South Carolina, hetold him that he was "puzzled" to account for the close alliance whichexisted between the Southern planters and the Northern Democracy. 

"You, " said Captain Stewart, "in the South and Southwest, are decidedly the aristocratic portion of this Union; you are so in holding persons in perpetuity in slavery; you are so in every domestic quality, so in every habit in your lives, living, and actions, so in habits, customs, intercourse, and manners; you neither work with your hands, heads, nor any machinery, but live and have your living, not in accordance with the will of your Creator, but by the sweat of slavery, and yet you assume all the attributes, professions, and advantages of democracy. "

Mr. Calhoun, aged thirty, replied thus to Captain Stewart, agedthirty-four:--

 "I see you speak through the head of a young statesman, and from the heart of a patriot, but you lose sight of the politician and the sectional policy of the people. I admit your conclusions in respect to us Southrons. That we are essentially aristocratic, I cannot deny; but we can and do yield much to democracy. This is our sectional policy; we are from necessity thrown upon and solemnly wedded to that party, however it may occasionally clash with our feelings, for the conservation of our interests. It is through our affiliation with that party in the Middle and Western States that we hold power; but when we cease thus to control this nation through a disjointed democracy, or any material obstacle in that party which shall tend to throw us out of that rule and control, we shall then resort to the dissolution of the Union. The compromises in the Constitution, under the circumstances, were sufficient for our fathers, but, under the altered condition of our country from that period, leave to the South no resource but dissolution; for no amendments to the Constitution could be reached through a convention of the people under their three-fourths rule. "

Probably all of our readers have seen this conversation in printbefore. But it is well for us to consider it again and again. It isthe key to all the seeming inconsistencies of Mr. Calhoun's career. Hecame up to Congress, and took the oath to support the Constitution, secretly resolved to break up the country just as soon as the Southernplanters ceased to control it for the maintenance of their peculiarinterest. The reader will note, too, the distinction made by thisyoung man, who was never youthful, between the "statesman" and the"politician, " and between the "heart of a patriot" and "the sectionalpolicy of the people. "

Turning from his loathsome and despicable exposition to theCongressional career of Mr. Calhoun, we find no indication there ofthe latent traitor. He was merely a very active, energetic member ofthe Republican party; supporting the war by assiduous labors incommittee, and by intense declamation of the kind of which we havegiven a specimen. In all his speeches there is not a touch ofgreatness. He declared that Demosthenes was his model, --an orator whowas a master of all the arts? all the artifices, and all the tricks bywhich a mass of ignorant and turbulent hearers can be kept attentive, but who has nothing to impart to a member of Congress who honestlydesires to convince his equals. Mr. Calhoun's harangues in thesupposed Demosthenean style gave him, however, great reputation out ofdoors, while his diligence, his dignified and courteous manners, gained him warm admirers on the floor. He was a messmate of Mr. Clayat this time. Besides agreeing in politics, they were on terms ofcordial personal intimacy. Henry Clay, Speaker of the House, was butfive years older than Calhoun, and in everything but years muchyounger. Honest patriots pointed to these young men with pride andhope, congratulating each other that, though the Revolutionarystatesmen were growing old and passing away, the high places of theRepublic would be filled, in due time, by men worthy to succeed them. 

When the war was over, a strange thing was to be noted in the politicsof the United States: the Federal party was dead, but the Republicanparty had adopted its opinions. The disasters of the war had convincedalmost every man of the necessity of investing the government with thepower to wield the resources of the country more readily; and, accordingly, we find leading Republicans, like Judge Story, JohnQuincy Adams, and Mr. Clay, favoring the measures which had formerlybeen the special rallying-cries of the Federalists. Judge Story spokethe feeling of his party when he wrote, in 1815:

 "Let us extend the national authority over the whole extent of power given by the Constitution. Let us have great military and naval schools, an adequate regular army, the broad foundations laid of a permanent navy, a national bank, a national bankrupt act, "

etc. , etc. The strict-constructionists were almost silenced in thegeneral cry, "Let us be a Nation. " In the support of _all_ themeasures to which this feeling gave rise, especially the nationalbank, internal improvements, and a protective tariff, Mr. Calhoun wentas far as any man, and farther than most; for such at that time wasthe humor of the planters. 

To the principle of a protective tariff he was peculiarly committed. It had not been his intention to take part in the debates on theTariff Bill of 1816. On the 6th of April, while he was busy writing ina committee-room, Mr. Samuel D. Ingham of Pennsylvania, his particularfriend and political ally, came to him and said that the House hadfallen into some confusion while discussing the tariff bill, andadded, that, as it was "difficult to rally so large a body when oncebroken on a tax bill, " he wished Mr. Calhoun would speak on thequestion in order to keep the House together. "What can I say?"replied the member from South Carolina. Mr. Ingham, however, persisted, and Mr. Calhoun addressed the House. An amendment had justbeen introduced to leave cotton goods unprotected, a proposition whichhad been urged on the ground that Congress had no authority to imposeany duty except for revenue. On rising to speak, Mr. Calhoun at once, and most unequivocally, committed himself to the protective principle. He began by saying, that, _if the right to protect had not been calledin question, he would not have spoken at all_. It was solely to assistin establishing _that_ right that he had been induced, withoutprevious preparation, to take part in the debate. He then proceeded todeliver an ordinary protectionist speech; without, however, enteringupon the questioner constitutional right. He merely dwelt upon thegreat benefits to be derived from affording to our infant manufactures"immediate and ample protection. " That the Constitution interposed noobstacle, was assumed by him throughout. He concluded by observing, that a flourishing manufacturing interest would "bind together moreclosely our widely-spread republic, " since

 "it will greatly increase our mutual dependence and intercourse, and excite an increased attention to internal improvements, --a subject every way so intimately connected with the ultimate attainment of national strength and the perfection of our political institutions. "

He further observed, that "the liberty and union of this country areinseparable, " and that the destruction of either would involve thedestruction of the other. He concluded his speech with these words:"Disunion, --this single word comprehends almost the sum of ourpolitical dangers, and against it we ought to be perpetually guarded. "

The time has passed for any public man to claim credit for"consistency. " A person who, after forty years of public life, cantruly say that he has never changed an opinion, must be either ademigod or a fool. We do not blame Mr. Calhoun for ceasing to be aprotectionist and becoming a free-trader; for half the thinking worldhas changed sides on that question during the last thirty years. Agrowing mind must necessarily change its opinions. But there _is_ aconsistency from which no man, public or private, can ever beabsolved, --the consistency of his statements with fact. In the year1833, in his speech on the Force Bill, Mr. Calhoun referred to histariff speech of 1816 in a manner which excludes him from the ranks ofmen of honor. He had the astonishing audacity to say:

 "I am constrained in candor to acknowledge, for I wish to disguise nothing, that the protective principle was recognized by the Act of 1816. How this was overlooked at the time, it is not in my power to say. _It escaped my observation_, which I can account for only on the ground that the principle was new, and that my attention was engaged by another important subject. "

The charitable reader may interpose here, and say that Mr. Calhoun mayhave forgotten his speech of 1816. Alas! no. He had that speech beforehim at the time. Vigilant opponents had unearthed it, and kindlypresented a copy to the author. We do not believe that, in all thedebates of the American Congress, there is another instance of flatfalsehood as bad as this. It happens that the speech of 1816 and thatof 1833 are both published in the same volume of the Works of Mr. Calhoun (Vol. II. Pp. 163 and 197). We advise our readers who have thetime and opportunity to read both, if they wish to see how a falseposition necessitates a false tongue. Those who take our advice willalso discover why it was that Mr. Calhoun dared to utter such animpudent falsehood: his speeches are such appallingly dull reading, that there was very little risk of a busy people's comparing theinterpretation with the text. 

It was John C. Calhoun who, later in the same session, introduced thebill for setting apart the dividends and bonus of the United StatesBank as a permanent fund for internal improvements. His speech on thisbill, besides going all lengths in favor of the internal improvementsystem, presents some amusing contrasts with his later speeches on thesame subject. His hearers of 1835 to 1850 must have smiled on readingin the speech of 1817 such sentences as these:--

 "I am no advocate for _refined arguments_ on the Constitution. The instrument was not intended as a thesis for the logician to exercise his ingenuity on. It ought to be construed with plain good-sense. " "If we are restricted in the use of our money to the enumerated powers, on what principle can the purchase of Louisiana be justified?" "The uniform sense of Congress and the country furnishes better evidence of the true interpretation of the Constitution than the most refined and subtle arguments. "

Mark this, too:--

 "In a country so extensive and so various in its interests, what is necessary for the common interest may apparently be opposed to the interest of particular sections. _It must be submitted to as the condition of our greatness_. "

Well might he say, in the same speech:--

 "We may reasonably raise our eyes to a most splendid future, if we only act in a manner worthy of our advantages. If, however, neglecting them, we permit a low, sordid, selfish, _sectional_ spirit to take possession of this House, this happy scene will vanish. We will divide; and, in its consequences, will follow misery and despotism. "

With this speech before him and before the country, Mr. Calhoun hadnot the candor to avow, in later years, a complete change of opinion. He could only go so far as to say, when opposing the purchase of theMadison Papers in 1837, that, "at his entrance upon public life, hehad _inclined_ to that interpretation of the Constitution whichfavored a latitude of powers. " Inclined! He was a most enthusiasticand thorough-going champion of that interpretation. His scheme ofinternal improvements embraced a network of post-roads and canals from"Maine to Louisiana, " and a system of harbors for lake and ocean. Hekindled, he glowed, at the spectacle which his imagination conjuredup, of the whole country rendered accessible, and of the distantfarmer selling his produce at a price not seriously less than thatwhich it brought on the coast. On this subject he became animated, interesting, almost eloquent. And, so far from this advocacy beingconfined to the period of his "entrance upon political life, " hecontinued to be its very warmest exponent as late as 1819, when he hadbeen ten years in public life. In that year, having to report upon thecondition of military roads and fortifications, his flaming zeal for agrand and general system of roads and canals frequently bursts thebounds of the subject he had to treat. He tells Congress that theinternal improvements which are best for peace are best for war also;and expatiates again upon his dazzling dream of "connecting Louisianaby a durable and well-finished road with Maine, and Boston withSavannah by a well-established line of internal navigation. " TheUnited States, he said, with its vast systems of lakes, rivers, andmountains, its treble line of sea-coast, its valleys large enough forempires, was "a world of itself, " and needed nothing but to berendered accessible. From what we know of the way things are managedin Congress, we should guess that he was invited to make this reportfor the very purpose of affording to the foremost champion of internalimprovements an opportunity of lending a helping hand to pendingbills. 

Mr. Calhoun served six years in the House of Representatives, and grewin the esteem of Congress and the country at every session. As it ispleasing to see an old man at the theatre entering into the merrimentof the play, since it shows that his heart has triumphed over thecares of life, and he has preserved a little of his youth, so is iteminently graceful in a young man to have something of the seriousnessof age, especially when his conduct is even more austere than hisdemeanor. Mr. Clay at this time was addicted to gaming, like most ofthe Western and Southern members, and he was not averse to the bottle. Mr. Webster was reckless in expenditure, fond of his ease, and loved ajoke better than an argument. In the seclusion of Washington, manymembers lived a very gay, rollicking life. Mr. Calhoun never gambled, never drank to excess, never jested, never quarrelled, cared nothingfor his ease, and tempered the gravity of his demeanor by an admirableand winning courtesy. A deep and serious ambition impelled andrestrained him. Like boys at school, Clay and Webster were eagerenough to get to the head of the class, but they did not brood over itall the time, and never feel comfortable unless they were conningtheir spelling-book; while little Calhoun expended all his soul in thebusiness, and had no time or heart left for play. Consequently headvanced rapidly for one of his size, and was universally pointed atas the model scholar. Accidents, too, generally favor a rising man. Mr. Calhoun made an extremely lucky hit in 1815, which gave membersthe highest opinion of his sagacity. In opposing an ill-digestedscheme for a national bank, he told the House that the bill was soobviously defective and unwise, that, if news of peace should arrivethat day, it would not receive fifteen votes. News of peace, which wastotally unexpected, did arrive that very hour, and the bill wasrejected the next day by about the majority which he had predicted. Atthe next session, he won an immense reputation for firmness. An actwas passed changing the mode of compensating members of Congress fromsix dollars a day to fifteen hundred dollars a year. We were a nationof rustics then; and this harmless measure excited a disgust in thepopular mind so intense and general, that most of the members who hadvoted for it declined to present themselves for re-election. Calhounwas one of the guilty ones. Popular as he was in his district, supported by two powerful family connections, --his own and hiswife's, --admired throughout the State as one who had done honor to itupon the conspicuous scene of Congressional debate, --even he wasthreatened with defeat. Formidable candidates presented themselves. Inthese circumstances he mounted the stump, boldly justified his vote, and defended the odious bill. He was handsomely re-elected, and whenthe bill was up for repeal in the House he again supported it with allhis former energy. At the conclusion of his speech, a member from NewYork, Mr. Grosvenor, a political opponent, with whom Calhoun had notbeen on speaking terms for two years, sprang to his feet, enraptured, and began to express his approval of the speech in ordinaryparliamentary language. But his feelings could not be relieved in thatmanner. He paused a moment, and then said:--

 "Mr. Speaker, I will not be restrained. No barrier shall exist which I will not leap over for the purpose of offering to that gentleman my thanks for the judicious, independent, and national course which he has pursued in this House for the last two years, and particularly upon the subject now before us. Let the honorable gentleman continue with the same manly independence, aloof from party views and local prejudices, to pursue the great interests of his country, and fulfil the high destiny for which it is manifest he was born. The buzz of popular applause may not cheer him on his way, but he will inevitably arrive at a high and happy elevation in the view of his country and the world. "

Such scenes as this enhance the prestige of a rising man. Members weakat home envied at once and admired a man who was strong enough tobring over his constituents to his opinion. He was fortunate, too, inthis, that a triumph so striking occurred just before he left theHouse for another sphere of public life. He had what the actors call asplendid exit. 

The inauguration of Mr. Monroe on the 4th of March, 1817, ushered inthe era of good feeling, and gave to Henry Clay the first of his longseries of disappointments. As Secretaries of State had usuallysucceeded their chiefs in the Presidency, the appointment of Mr. Adamsto that office by Mr. Monroe was regarded almost in the light of anomination to the succession. To add to Mr. Clay's mortification, bewas tendered the post of Secretary of War, which he had declined ayear before, and now again declined. The President next selectedGeneral Jackson, then in the undimmed lustre of his military renown, and still holding his Major-General's commission. He received, however, a private notification that General Jackson would not accepta place in the Cabinet. The President then offered the post to theaged Governor Isaac Shelby of Kentucky, who had the good sense todecline it. There appear to have been negotiations with otherindividuals, but at length, in October, 1817, the place was offered toMr. Calhoun, who, after much hesitation, accepted it, and entered uponthe discharge of its duties in December. His friends, we are told, unanimously disapproved his going into office, as they believed himformed to shine in debate rather than in the transaction of business. 

Fortune favored him again. Entering the office after a long vacancy, and when it was filled with the unfinished business of the war, --fiftymillion dollars of deferred claims, for one item, --he had the sameeasy opportunity for distinction which a steward has who takes chargeof an estate just out of chancery, and under a new proprietor who hasplenty of money. The sweeping up of the dead leaves, the gathering ofthe fallen branches, and the weeding out of the paths, changes theaspect of the place, and gives the passer-by a prodigious idea of theefficiency of the new broom. The country was alive, too, to thenecessity of coast and frontier defences, and there was much buildingof forts during the seven years of Mr. Calhoun's tenure of place. Respecting the manner in which he discharged the multifarious andunusual duties of his office, we have never heard anything butcommendation. He was prompt, punctual, diligent, courteous, and firm. The rules which he drew up for the regulation of the War Departmentremained in force, little changed, until the magnitude of the latecontest abolished or suspended all ancient methods. The claims of thesoldiers were rapidly examined and passed upon. It was Mr. Calhoun whofirst endeavored to collect considerable bodies of troops forinstruction at one post. He had but six thousand men in all, but hecontrived to get together several companies of artillery at FortressMonroe for drill. He appeared to take much interest in the expenditureof the ten thousand dollars a year which Congress voted for theeducation of the Indians. He reduced the expenses of his office, whichwas a very popular thing at that day. He never appointed nor removed aclerk for opinion's sake. In seven years he only removed two clerks, both for cause, and to both were given in writing the reasons of theirremoval. There was no special merit in this, for at that day to dootherwise would have been deemed infamous. 

Mr. Calhoun, as a member of Mr. Monroe's Cabinet, still played thepart of a national man, and supported the measures of his partywithout exception. Scarcely a trace of the sectional champion yetappears. In 1819, he gave a written opinion favoring the cession ofTexas in exchange for Florida; the motive of which was to avoidalarming the North by the prospective increase of Slave States. Inlater years, Mr. Calhoun, of course, wished to deny this; and thewritten opinions of Mr. Monroe's Cabinet on that question mysteriouslydisappeared from the archives of the State Department. We have thepositive testimony of Mr. John Quincy Adams, that Calhoun, in commonwith most Southern men of that day, approved the Missouri Compromiseof 1820, and gave a written opinion that it was a constitutionalmeasure. That he was still an enthusiast for internal improvements, wehave already mentioned. 

The real difficulty of the War Department, however, as of the StateDepartment, during the Monroe administration, was a certainMajor-General Andrew Jackson, commanding the Military Department ofthe South. The popularity of the man who had restored the nation'sself-love by ending a disastrous war with a dazzling and mostunexpected victory, was something different from the respect which weall now feel for the generals distinguished in the late war. The firsthonors of the late war are divided among four chieftains, each of whomcontributed to the final success at least one victory that wasessential to it. But in 1815, among the military heroes of the warthat had just closed General Jackson stood peerless and alone. Hissuccess in defending the Southwest, ending in a blaze of glory belowNew Orleans, utterly eclipsed all the other achievements of the war, excepting alone the darling triumphs on the ocean and the lakes. Thedeferential spirit of Mr. Monroe's letters to the General, and thereadiness of every one everywhere to comply with his wishes, show thathis popularity, even then, constituted him a power in the Republic. Itwas said in later times, that "General Jackson's popularity couldstand anything, " and in one sense this was true: it could standanything that General Jackson was likely to do. Andrew Jackson couldnever have done a cowardly act, or betrayed a friend, or knowinglyviolated a trust, or broken his word, or forgotten a debt. He wasalways so entirely certain that he, Andrew Jackson, was in the right, his conviction on this point was so free from the least quaver ofdoubt, that he could always convince other men that he was right, andcarry the multitude with him. His honesty, courage, and inflexibleresolution, joined to his ignorance, narrowness, intensity, andliability to prejudice, rendered him at once the idol of hiscountrymen and the plague of all men with whom he had officialconnection. Drop an Andrew Jackson from the clouds upon any spot ofearth inhabited by men, and he will have half a dozen deadly feudsupon his hands in thirty days. 

Mr. Calhoun inherited a quarrel with Jackson from George Graham, his_pro tempore_ predecessor in the War Department, This Mr. Graham wasthe gentleman ("spy, " Jackson termed him) despatched by PresidentJefferson in 1806 to the Western country to look into the mysteriousproceedings of Aaron Burr, which led to the explosion of Burr'sscheme. This was enough to secure the bitterest enmity of Jackson, whowholly and always favored Burr's design of annihilating the Spanishpower in North America, and who, as President of the United States, rewarded Burr's followers, and covertly assisted Houston to carry outpart of Burr's project. Graham had sent orders to Jackson'ssubordinates directly, instead of sending them through the chief ofthe Department. Jackson, after due remonstrance, ordered his officersnot to obey any orders but such as were communicated by or throughhimself. This was a high-handed measure; but Mr. Calhoun, on cominginto power, passed it by without notice, and conceded the substance ofJackson's demand, --as he ought. This was so exquisitely pleasing toGeneral Jackson, that he was well affected by it for many yearstowards Mr. Calhoun. Among the younger public men of that day, therewas no one who stood so high in Jackson's regard as the Secretary ofWar. 

The Florida war followed in 1818. When the report of General Jackson'sinvasion of Florida, and of the execution of Arbuthnot and Armbristerreached Washington, Mr. Calhoun was the only man in the Cabinet whoexpressed the opinion that General Jackson had transcended his powers, and ought to be brought before a court of inquiry. This opinion hesupported with ardor, until it was overruled by the President, who waschiefly influenced by Mr. Adams, the Secretary of State. How keenlyGeneral Jackson resented the course of Mr. Calhoun on this occasion, when, eleven years afterwards, he discovered it, is sufficiently wellknown. We believe, however, that the facts justify Calhoun and condemnJackson. Just before going to the seat of war, the General wroteprivately to the President, strongly recommending the seizure ofFlorida, and added these words:

 "This can be done without implicating the government. Let it be signified to me through any channel (say, Mr. J. Rhea) that the possession of the Floridas would be desirable to the United States, and in sixty days it will be accomplished. "

General Jackson dwells, in his "Exposition" of this matter, upon thefact that Mr. Calhoun was the first man in Washington who read thisletter. But he does not say that Mr. Calhoun was aware that Mr. Rheahad been commissioned to answer the letter, and had answered it inaccordance with General Jackson's wishes. And if the Rheacorrespondence justified the seizure of Florida, it did not justifythe execution of the harmless Scottish trader Arbuthnot, who, so farfrom "instigating" the war, had exerted the whole of his influence toprevent it. It is an honor to Mr. Calhoun to have been the only man inthe Cabinet to call for an inquiry into proceedings which disgracedthe United States and came near involving the country in war. We havealways felt it to be a blot upon the memory of John Quincy Adams, thathe did not join Mr. Calhoun in demanding the trial of General Jackson;and we have not been able to attribute his conduct to anything but thesupposed necessities of his position as a candidate for thesuccession. 

Readers versed in political history need not be reminded that nearlyevery individual in the Cabinet of Mr. Monroe had hopes of succeedinghim. Mr. Adams had, of course; for he was the premier. Mr. Crawford, of course; for it had been "arranged" at the last caucus that he wasto follow Mr. Monroe, to whose claims he had deferred on that expresscondition. Henry Clay, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, and De Witt Clinton of New York, had expectations. All these gentlemenhad "claims" which both their party and the public could recognize. Mr. Calhoun, too, who was forty-two years of age in Mr. Monroe's lastyear of service, boldly entered the lists; relying upon the unitedsupport of the South and the support of the manufacturing States ofthe North, led by Pennsylvania. That against such competitors he hadany ground at all to hope for success, shows how rapid and how realhad been his progress toward a first-rate national position. If ourreaders will turn to the letters of Webster, Story, Wirt, Adams, Jackson, and others of that circle of distinguished men, they will seemany evidences of the extravagant estimation in which he was held in1824. They appear to have all seen in him the material for aPresident, though not yet quite mature for the position. They alldeemed him a man of unsullied honor, of devoted patriotism, of perfectsincerity, and of immense ability, --so assiduously had he played thepart of the good boy. 

How the great popularity of General Jackson was adroitly used by twoor three invisible wire-pullers to defeat the aspirations of these tooeager candidates, and how from the general wreck of their hopes Mr. Calhoun had the dexterity to emerge Vice-President of the UnitedStates, has been related with the amplest detail, and need not berepeated here. Mr. Calhoun's position seemed then to combine all theadvantages which a politician of forty-three could desire or imagine. By withdrawing his name from the list of candidates in such a way asto lead General Jackson to suppose that he had done so in _his_ favor, he seemed to place the General under obligations to him. By secretlymanifesting a preference for Mr. Adams (which he really felt) when theelection devolved upon the House of Representatives, he had gainedfriends among the adherents of the successful candidate. Hiswithdrawal was accepted by the public as an evidence of modestybecoming the youngest candidate. Finally he was actuallyVice-President, as John Adams had been, as Jefferson had been, beforetheir elevation to the highest place. True, Henry Clay, as Secretaryof State, was in the established line of succession; but, as time woreon, it became very manifest that the re-election of Mr. Adams, uponwhich Mr. Clay's hopes depended, was itself exceedingly doubtful; andwe accordingly find Mr. Calhoun numbered in the ranks of theopposition. Toward the close of Mr. Adams's Presidency, the questionof real interest in the inner circle of politicians was, not whoshould succeed John Quincy Adams in 1829, but who should succeedAndrew Jackson in 1833; and already the choice was narrowing to twomen, --Martin Van Buren and John C. Calhoun. 

During Mr. Calhoun's first term in the Vice-Presidency, --1825 to1829, --a most important change took place in his political position, which controlled all his future career. While he was Secretary ofWar, --1817 to 1824, --he resided with his family in Washington, andshared in the nationalizing influences of the place. When he waselected Vice-President, he removed to a plantation called Fort Hill, in the western part of South Carolina, where he was once moresubjected to the intense and narrow provincialism of the plantingStates. And there was nothing in the character or in the acquirementsof his mind to counteract that influence. Mr. Calhoun was not astudent; he probed nothing to the bottom; his information on allsubjects was small in quantity, and second-hand in quality. Nor was hea patient thinker. Any stray fact or notion that he met with in hishasty desultory reading, which chanced to give apparent support to afavorite theory or paradox of his own, he seized upon eagerly, paradedit in triumph, but pondered it little; while the weightiest factswhich controverted his opinion he brushed aside without the slightestconsideration. His mind was as arrogant as his manners were courteous. Every one who ever conversed with him must remember his positive, peremptory, unanswerable "_Not at all, not at all_" whenever one ofhis favorite positions was assailed. He was wholly a special pleader;he never summed up the testimony. We find in his works no evidencethat he had read the masters in political economy; not even AdamSmith, whose reputation was at its height during the' first half ofhis public life. In history he was the merest smatterer, though it washis favorite reading, and he was always talking about Sparta, Athens, and Rome. The slenderness of his far tune prevented his travelling. Henever saw Europe; and if he ever visited the Northern States, afterleaving college, his stay was short. The little that he knew of lifewas gathered in three places, all of which were of an exceptional andartificial character, --the city of Washington, the up-country of SouthCarolina, and the luxurious, reactionary city of Charleston. His mind, naturally narrow and intense, became, by revolving always in thisnarrow sphere and breathing a close and tainted atmosphere, more andmore fixed in its narrowness and more intense in its operations. 

This man, moreover, was consumed by a poor ambition: he lusted afterthe Presidency. The rapidity of his progress in public life, the highoffices he had held, the extravagant eulogiums he had received fromcolleagues and the press, deceived him as to the real nature of hisposition before the country, and blinded him to the superior chancesof other men. Five times in his life he made a distinct clutch at thebawble, but never with such prospect of success that any man coulddiscern it but himself and those who used his eyes. It is asatisfaction to know that, of the Presidency seekers, --Clay, Webster, Calhoun, Douglas, Wise, Breckenridge, Tyler, Fillmore, Clinton, Burr, Cass, Buchanan, and Van Buren, --only two won the prize, and those twoonly by a series of accidents which had little, to do with their ownexertions. We can almost lay it down as a law of this Republic, thatno man who makes the Presidency the principal object of his publiclife will ever be President. The Presidency is an accident, and suchit will probably remain. 

Mr. Vice-President Calhoun found his Carolina discontented in 1824, when he took up his abode at Fort Hill. Since the Revolution, SouthCarolina had never been satisfied, and had never had reason to be. Thecotton-gin had appeased her for a while, but had not suspended theoperation of the causes which produced the stagnation of the South. Profuse expenditure, unskilful agriculture, the costliest system oflabor in the world, and no immigration, still kept _Irelandizing_ theSouthern States; while the North was advancing and improving to such adegree as to attract emigrants from all lands. The contrast waspainful to Southern men, and to most of them it was mysterious. Southern politicians came to the conclusion that the cause at once ofNorthern prosperity and Southern poverty was the protective tariff andthe appropriations for internal improvements, but chiefly the tariff. In 1824, when Mr. Calhoun went home, the tariff on some leadingarticles had been increased, and the South was in a ferment ofopposition to the protective system. If Mr. Calhoun had been a wiseand honest man, he would have reminded his friends that the decline ofthe South had been a subject of remark from the peace of 1783, andtherefore could not have been caused by the tariff of 1816, or 1820, or 1824. He would have told them that slavery, as known in theSouthern States, demands virgin lands, --must have, every few years, its cotton-gin, its Louisiana, its Cherokee country, its _something_, to give new value to its products or new scope for its operations. Hemight have added that the tariff of 1824 was a grievance, did tend togive premature development to a manufacturing system, and was a fairground for a national issue between parties. The thing which he didwas this: he adopted the view of the matter which was predominant inthe extreme South, and accepted the leadership of the extremeSouthern, anti-tariff, strict-constructionist wing of the Democraticparty. He echoed the prevailing opinion, that the tariff and theinternal improvement system, to both of which he was fully committed, were the _sole_ causes of Southern stagnation; since by the one theirmoney was taken from them, and by the other it was mostly spent whereit did them no good. 

He was, of course, soon involved in a snarl of contradictions, fromwhich he never could disentangle himself. Let us pass to the year1828, a most important one in the history of the country and of Mr. Calhoun; for then occurred the first of the long series of eventswhich terminated with the surrender of the last Rebel army in 1865. The first act directly tending to a war between the South and theUnited States bears date December 6, 1828; and it was the act of JohnC. Calhoun. 

It was the year of that Presidential election which placed AndrewJackson in the White House, and re-elected Mr. Calhoun to theVice-Presidency. It was the year that terminated the honorable part ofMr. Calhoun's career and began the dishonorable. His politicalposition in the canvass was utterly false, as he himself afterwardsconfessed. On the one hand, he was supporting for the Presidency a mancommitted to the policy of protection; and on the other, he became theorgan and mouthpiece of the Southern party, whose opposition to theprotective principle was tending to the point of armed resistance toit. The tariff bill of 1828, which they termed the bill ofabominations, had excited the most heated opposition in the cottonStates, and especially in South Carolina. This act was passed in thespring of the very year in which those States voted for a man who hadpublicly endorsed the principle involved in it; and we see Mr. Calhounheading the party who were electioneering for Jackson, and the partywho were considering the policy of nullifying the act which he hadapproved. His Presidential aspirations bound him to the support ofGeneral Jackson; but the first, the fundamental necessity of hisposition was to hold possession of South Carolina. 

The burden of Mr. Calhoun's later speeches was the reconciliation ofthe last part of his public life with the first. The task wasdifficult, for there is not a leading proposition in his speechesafter 1830 which is not refuted by arguments to be found in his publicutterances before 1828. In his speech on the Force Bill, in 1834, hevolunteered an explanation of the apparent inconsistency between hissupport of General Jackson in 1828, and his authorship of the "SouthCarolina Exposition" in the same year. Falsehood and truth arestrangely interwoven in almost every sentence of his later writings;and there is also that vagueness in them which comes of a superfluityof words. He says, that for the strict-constructionist party to havepresented a candidate openly and fully identified with their opinionswould have been to court defeat; and thus they were obliged either toabandon the contest, or to select a candidate "whose opinions wereintermediate or doubtful on the subject which divided the twosections, "--a candidate "who, at best, was but a choice of evils. "Besides, General Jackson was a Southern man, and it was hoped that, notwithstanding his want of experience, knowledge, and self-control, the advisers whom he would invite to assist him would compensate forthose defects. Then Mr. Calhoun proceeds to state, that the contestturned chiefly upon the question of protection or free trade; and thestrife was, which of the two parties should go farthest in theadvocacy of protection. The result was, he says, that the tariff billof 1828 was passed, --"that disastrous measure which has brought somany calamities upon us, and put in peril the liberty and union of thecountry, " and "poured millions into the treasury beyond the mostextravagant wants of the country. "

The passage of this tariff bill was accomplished by the tact of MartinVan Buren, aided by Major Eaton, Senator from Tennessee. Mr. Van Burenwas the predestined chief of General Jackson's Cabinet, and MajorEaton was the confidant, agent, and travelling manager of theJacksonian wire-pullers, besides being the General's own intimatefriend. The events of that session notified Mr. Calhoun that, howevermanageable General Jackson might be, he was not likely to fall intothe custody of the Vice-President. General Jackson's election beingconsidered certain, the question was alone interesting, who shouldpossess him for the purposes of the succession. The prospect, assurveyed that winter from the Vice-President's chair, was not assuringto the occupant of that lofty seat. If General Jackson could not beused as a fulcrum for the further elevation of Mr. Calhoun, would itnot be advisable to begin to cast about for another?

The tariff bill of 1828 was passed before the Presidential canvass hadset in with its last severity. There was time for Mr. Calhoun towithdraw from the support of the man whose nearest friends had carriedit through the Senate under his eyes. He did not do so. He went home, after the adjournment of Congress, to labor with all his might for theelection of a protectionist, and to employ his leisure hours in thecomposition of that once famous paper called the "South CarolinaExposition, " in which protection was declared to be an evil sointolerable as to justify the nullification of an act founded upon it. This Exposition was the beginning of our woe, --the baleful egg fromwhich were hatched nullification, treason, civil war, and thedesolation of the Southern States. Here is Mr. Calhoun's own accountof the manner in which what he correctly styles "_the doubleoperation_" was "pushed on" in the summer of 1828:--

 "This disastrous event [the passage of the tariff bill of 1828] opened our eyes (I mean myself and those immediately connected with me) as to the full extent of the danger and oppression of the protective system, and the hazard of failing to effect the reform intended through the election of General Jackson. With these disclosures, it became necessary to seek some other ultimate, but more certain measure of protection. We turned to the Constitution to find this remedy. We directed a more diligent and careful scrutiny into its provisions, in order to understand fully the nature and character of our political system. We found a certain and effectual remedy in that great fundamental division of the powers of the system between this government and its independent co-ordinates, the separate governments of the States, --to be called into action to arrest the unconstitutional acts of this government by the interposition of the States, --the paramount source from which both governments derive their power. But in relying on this our ultimate remedy, we did not abate our zeal in the Presidential canvass; we still hoped that General Jackson, if elected, would effect the necessary reform, and thereby supersede the necessity for calling into action the sovereign authority of the State, which we were anxious to avoid. With these views the two were pushed with equal zeal at the same time; which double operation commenced in the fall of 1828, but a few months after the passage of the tariff act of that year; and at the meeting of the Legislature of the State, at the same period, a paper known as the South Carolina Exposition was reported to that body, containing a full development, as well on the constitutional point as on the operation of the protective system, preparatory to a state of things which might eventually render the action of the State necessary in order to protect her rights and interest, and to stay a course of policy which we believed would, if not arrested, prove destructive of liberty and the Constitution. "--_Works_, II. 396. 

Mr. Calhoun omits, however, to mention that the Exposition was notpresented to the Legislature of South Carolina until after thePresidential election had been decided. Nor did he inform his hearersthat the author of the paper was Mr. Vice-President Calhoun. Eitherthere was a great dearth of literary ability in that body, or else Mr. Calhoun had little confidence in it; for nearly all the ponderousdocuments on nullification given to the world in its name were pennedby Mr. Calhoun, and appear in his collected works. If the Legislatureaddressed its constituents or the people of the United States on_this_ subject, it was he who prepared the draft. The South CarolinaExposition was found among his papers in his own handwriting, and itwas adopted by the Legislature with only a few alterations andsuppressions. There never was a piece of mischief more completely thework of one man than the nullification troubles of 1833-34. 

The South Carolina Exposition, when Mr. Calhoun had completed it, wasbrought before the public by one of the usual methods. The Legislatureof South Carolina passed the following resolutions:--

 "_Resolved_, That it is expedient to protest against the unconstitutional and oppressive operation of the system of protective duties, and to have such protest entered on the journals of the Senate of the United States. Also, to make a public exposition of our wrongs, and of the remedies within our power, to be communicated to our sister States, with a request that they will co-operate with this State in procuring a repeal of the tariff for protection, and an abandonment of the principle; and if the repeal be not procured, that they will co-operate in such measures as may be necessary for averting the evil. 

 "_Resolved_, That a committee of seven be raised to carry the foregoing resolution into effect. "

The resolution having been carried, the following gentlemen wereappointed to father Mr. Calhoun's paper: James Gregg, D. L. Wardlaw, Hugh S. Legaré, Arthur P. Hayne, William C. Preston, William Elliott, and R. Barnwell Smith. The duty of this committee consisted in causinga copy of Mr. Calhoun's paper to be made and presenting it to theLegislature. This was promptly done; and the Exposition was adopted bythe Legislature on the 6th of December, 1828. Whether any protest wasforwarded to the Secretary of the United States Senate for insertionin the journal does not appear. We only know that five thousand copiesof this wearisome and stupid Exposition were ordered to be printed, and that in the hubbub of the incoming of a new administration itattracted scarcely any attention beyond the little knot of originalnullifiers. Indeed, Mr. Calhoun's writings on this subject were"protected" by their own length and dulness. No creature ever read oneof them quite through, except for a special purpose. 

The leading assertions of this Exposition are these:--1. Every dutyimposed for protection is a violation of the Constitution, whichempowers Congress to impose taxes for revenue only. 2. The _whole_burden of the protective system is borne by agriculture and commerce. 3. The _whole_ of the advantages of protection accrue to themanufacturing States. 4. In other words, the South, the Southwest, andtwo or three commercial cities, support the government, and pour astream of treasure into the coffers of manufacturers. 5. The resultmust soon be, that the people of South Carolina will have either toabandon the culture of rice and cotton, and remove to some othercountry, or else to become a manufacturing community, which would onlybe ruin in another form. 

Lest the reader should find it impossible to believe that any man outof a lunatic asylum could publish such propositions as this last, wewill give the passage. Mr. Calhoun is endeavoring to show that Europewill at length retaliate by placing high duties upon American cottonand rice. At least that appears to be what he is aiming at. 

 "We already see indications of a commercial warfare, the termination of which no one can conjecture, though our fate may easily be. The last remains of our great and once flourishing agriculture must be annihilated in the conflict. In the first instance we will[1] be thrown on the home market, which cannot consume a fourth of our products; and, instead of supplying the world, as we would with free trade, we would be compelled to abandon the cultivation of three fourths of what we now raise, and receive for the residue whatever the manufacturers, who would then have their policy consummated by the entire possession of our market, might choose to give. Forced to abandon our ancient and favorite pursuit, to which our soil, climate, habits, and peculiar labor are adapted, at an immense sacrifice of property, we would be compelled, without capital, experience, or skill, and with a population untried in such pursuits, to attempt to become the rivals, instead of the customers, of the manufacturing States. The result is not doubtful. If they, by superior capital and skill, should keep down successful competition on our part, we would be doomed to toil at our unprofitable agriculture, --selling at the prices which a single and very limited market might give. But, on the contrary, if our necessity should triumph over their capital and skill, if, instead of raw cotton we should ship to the manufacturing States cotton yarn and cotton goods, the thoughtful must see that it would inevitably bring about a state of things which could not long continue. _Those who now make war on our gains would then make it on our labor_. They would not tolerate that those who now cultivate our plantations, and furnish them with the material and the market for the product of their arts, should, by becoming their rivals, take bread from the mouths of their wives and children. The committee will not pursue this painful subject; but as they clearly see that the system if not arrested, must bring the country to this hazardous extremity, neither prudence nor patriotism would permit them to pass it by without raising a warning voice against an evil of so menacing a character. "--_Works_, VI. 12. 

The only question which arises in the mind of present readers of suchpassages (which abound in the writings of Mr. Calhoun) is this: Werethey the chimeras of a morbid, or the utterances of a false mind?Those who knew him differ in opinion on this point. For our part, webelieve such passages to have been inserted for the sole purpose ofalarming the people of South Carolina, so as to render them the moresubservient to his will. It is the stale trick of the demagogue, aswell as of the false priest, to subjugate the mind by terrifying it. 

Mr. Calhoun concludes his Exposition by bringing forward his remedyfor the frightful evils which he had conjured up. That remedy, ofcourse, was nullification. The State of South Carolina, after givingdue warning, must declare the protective acts "null and void" in theState of South Carolina after a certain date; and then, unlessCongress repealed them in time, refuse obedience to them. Whether thisshould be done by the Legislature or by a convention called for thepurpose, Mr. Calhoun would not say; but he evidently preferred aconvention. He advised, however, that nothing be done hastily; thattime should be afforded to the dominant majority for furtherreflection. Delay, he remarked, was the more to be recommended, because of

 "the great political revolution which will displace from power, on the 4th of March next, those who have acquired authority by setting the will of the people at defiance, and which will bring in an eminent citizen, distinguished for his services to his country and his justice and patriotism";

under whom, it was hoped, there would be "a complete restoration, ofthe pure principles of our government. " This passage Mr. Calhoun couldwrite _after_ witnessing the manoeuvres of Mr. Van Buren and Mr. Eaton! If the friends of Mr. Adams had set the will of the people atdefiance on the tariff question, what had the supporters of GeneralJackson done? In truth, this menace of nullification was the secondstring to the bow of the Vice-President. It was not yet ascertainedwhich was going to possess and use General Jackson, --the placid andflexible Van Buren, or the headstrong, short-sighted, anduncomfortable Calhoun. Nullification, as he used daily to declare, wasa "reserved power. "

At the time of General Jackson's inauguration, it would have puzzledan acute politician to decide which of the two aspirants had the bestchance of succeeding the General. The President seemed equally wellaffected toward both. One was Secretary of State, the otherVice-President. Van Buren, inheriting the political tactics of Burr, was lord paramount in the great State of New York, and Calhoun wasall-powerful in his own State and very influential in all the regionof cotton and rice. In the Cabinet Calhoun had two friends, and onetried and devoted ally (Ingham), while Van Buren could only boast ofMajor Eaton, Secretary of War; and the tie that bound them togetherwas political far more than personal. In the public mind, Calhountowered above his rival, for he had been longer in the nationalcouncils, had held offices that drew upon him the attention of thewhole country, and had formerly been distinguished as an orator. Ifany one had been rash enough in 1829 to intimate to Mr. Calhoun thatMartin Van Buren stood before the country on a par with himself, hewould have pitied the ignorance of that rash man. 

Under despotic governments, like those of Louis XIV. And AndrewJackson, no calculation can be made as to the future of any publicman, because his future depends upon the caprice of the despot, whichcannot be foretold. Six short weeks--nay, not so much, notsix--sufficed to estrange the mind of the President from Calhoun, andimplant within him a passion to promote the interests of Van Buren. Our readers, we presume, all know how this was brought to pass. It wassimply that Mr. Calhoun would _not_, and Mr. Van Buren _would_ callupon Mrs. Eaton. All the other influences that were brought to bearupon the President's singular mind were nothing in comparison withthis. Daniel Webster uttered only the truth when he wrote, at thetime, to his friend Dutton, that the "Aaron's serpent among thePresident's desires was a settled purpose of making out the lady, ofwhom so much has been said, a person of reputation"; and that thisridiculous affair would "probably determine who should be thesuccessor to the present chief magistrate. " It had precisely thateffect. We have shown elsewhere the successive manoeuvres by whichthis was effected, and how vigorously but unskillfully Calhounstruggled to avert his fate. We cannot and need not repeat the story;nor can we go over again the history of the Nullification imbroglio, which began with the South Carolina Exposition in 1828, and ended verysoon after Calhoun had received a private notification that theinstant news reached Washington of an overt act of treason in SouthCarolina, the author and fomenter of that treason would be arrestedand held for trial as a traitor. 

One fact alone suffices to prove that, in bringing on theNullification troubles, Calhoun's motive was factious. When GeneralJackson saw the coming storm, he did two things. First, he prepared tomaintain the authority of the United States by force. Secondly, heused all his influence with Congress to have the cause of Southerndiscontent removed. General Jackson felt that the argument of theanti-tariff men, in view of the speedy extinction of the nationaldebt, was unanswerable. He believed it was absurd to go on raising tenor twelve millions a year more than the government could spend, merelyfor the sake of protecting Northern manufactures. Accordingly, a billwas introduced which aimed to do just what the nullifiers had beenclamoring for, that is, to reduce the revenue to the amount requiredby the government. If Mr. Calhoun had supported this measure, he couldhave carried it. He gave it no support; but exerted all his influencein favor of the Clay Compromise, which was expressly intended to saveas much of the protective system as could be saved, and which reducedduties gradually, instead of suddenly. Rather than permit the abhorredadministration to have the glory of pacificating the country, thislofty Roman stooped to a coalition with his personal enemy, HenryClay, the champion and the soul of the protectionist party. 

No words can depict the bitterness of Calhoun's disappointment andmortification at being distanced by a man whom he despised socordially as he did Van Buren. To comprehend it, his whole subsequentcareer must be studied. The numerous covert allusions to the subjectin his speeches and writings are surcharged with rancor; and it wasobserved that, whenever his mind reverted to it, his manner, the toneof his voice, and every gesture testified to the intensity of hisfeelings. "Every Southern man, " said he on one occasion, "who is true to the interests of his section, and faithful to the duties which Providence has allotted him, will be forever excluded from the honors and emoluments of this government, which will be reserved only for those who have qualified themselves by political prostitution for admission into the Magdalen Asylum. "

His face, too, from this time, assumed that haggard, cast-iron, intense, introverted aspect which struck every beholder. 

Miss Martineau, in her Retrospect of Western Travel, has given us somestriking and valuable glimpses of the eminent men of that period, particularly of the three most eminent, who frequently visited herduring her stay in Washington. This passage, for example, is highlyinteresting. 

 "Mr. Clay sitting upright on the sofa, with his snuffbox ever in his hand, would discourse for many an hour in his even, soft, deliberate tone, on any one of the great subjects of American policy which we might happen to start, always amazing us with the moderation of estimate and speech which so impetuous a nature has been able to attain. Mr. Webster, leaning back at his ease, telling stories, cracking jokes, shaking the sofa with burst after burst of laughter, or smoothly discoursing to the perfect felicity of the logical part of one's constitution, would illuminate an evening now and then. Mr. Calhoun, the cast-iron man, who looks as if he had never been born and could never be extinguished, would come in sometimes to keep our understandings on a painful stretch for a short while, and leave us to take to pieces his close, rapid, theoretical, illustrated talk, and see what we could make of it. We found it usually more worth retaining as a curiosity, than as either very just or useful. His speech abounds in figures, truly illustrative, if that which they illustrate were true also. But his theories of government (almost the only subject upon which his thoughts are employed), the squarest and compactest that ever were made, are composed out of limited elements, and are not, therefore, likely to stand service very well. It is at first extremely interesting to hear Mr. Calhoun talk; and there is a never-failing evidence of power in all that he says and does, which commands intellectual reverence; but the admiration is too soon turned into regret, into absolute melancholy. It is impossible to resist the conviction, that all this force can be at best but useless, and is but too likely to be very mischievous. _His mind has long lost all power of communicating with any other_. I know of no man who lives in such utter intellectual solitude. He meets men and harangues by the fireside as in the Senate; he is wrought like a piece of machinery, set going vehemently by a weight, and stops while you answer; he either passes by what you say, or twists it into a suitability with what is in his head, and begins to lecture again. Of course, a mind like this can have little influence in the Senate, except by virtue, perpetually wearing out, of what it did in its less eccentric days; but its influence at home is to be dreaded. There is no hope that an intellect so cast in narrow theories will accommodate itself to varying circumstances; and there is every danger that it will break up all that it can in order to remould the materials in its own way. Mr. Calhoun is as full as ever of his Nullification doctrines; and those who know the force that is in him, and his utter incapacity of modification by other minds, (after having gone through as remarkable a revolution of political opinion as perhaps any man ever experienced, ) will no more expect repose and self-retention from him than from a volcano in full force. Relaxation is no longer in the power of his will. I never saw any one who so completely gave me the idea of possession. Half an hour's conversation with him is enough to make a necessitarian of anybody. Accordingly, he is more complained of than blamed by his enemies. His moments of softness by his family, and when recurring to old college days, are hailed by all as a relief to the vehement working of the intellectual machine, --a relief equally to himself and others. These moments are as touching to the observer as tears on the face of a soldier. "

Of his appearance in the Senate, and of his manner of speaking, MissMartineau records her impressions also:--

 "Mr. Calhoun's countenance first fixed my attention; the splendid eye, the straight forehead, surmounted by a load of stiff, upright, dark hair, the stern brow, the inflexible mouth, --it is one of the most remarkable heads in the country. "

 "Mr. Calhoun followed, and impressed me very strongly. While he kept to the question, what he said was close, good, and moderate, though delivered in rapid speech, and with a voice not sufficiently modulated. But when he began to reply to a taunt of Colonel Benton's, that he wanted to be President, the force of his speaking became painful. He made protestations which it seemed to strangers had better have been spared, 'that he would not turn on his heel to be President, ' and that 'he had given up all for his own brave, magnanimous little State of South Carolina. ' While thus protesting, his eyes flashed, his brow seemed charged with thunder, his voice became almost a bark, and his sentences were abrupt, intense, producing in the auditory a sort of laugh which is squeezed out of people by the application of a very sudden mental force. I believe he knew not what a revelation he made in a few sentences. _They were to us strangers the key, not only to all that was said and done by the South Carolina party during the remainder of the session, but to many things at Charleston and Columbia which would otherwise have passed unobserved and unexplained_. "

This intelligent observer saw the chieftain on his native heath:--

 "During my stay in Charleston, Mr. Calhoun and his family arrived from Congress, and there was something very striking in the welcome he received, like that of a chief returned to the bosom of his clan. He stalked about like a monarch of the little domain, and there was certainly an air of mysterious understanding between him and his followers. "

What Miss Martineau says of the impossibility of Calhoun's mindcommunicating with another mind, is confirmed by an anecdote which wehave heard related by Dr. Francis Lieber, who, as Professor in theCollege of South Carolina, was for several years the neighbor andintimate acquaintance of Mr. Calhoun. The learned Professor, upon hisreturn from a visit to Europe, called upon him, and in the course ofthe interview Mr. Calhoun declared, in his positive manner, that theslaves in the Southern States were better lodged, fed, and cared forthan the mechanics of Europe. Dr. Lieber, being fresh from thatcontinent, assured the Secretary of State that such was not the fact, as he could testify from having resided in both lands. "Not at all, not at all, " cried Calhoun dogmatically, and repeated his wildassertion. The Doctor saw that the poor man had reached the conditionof absolute unteachableness, and dropped the subject. There could notwell be a more competent witness on the point in dispute than Dr. Lieber; for, besides having long resided in both continents, it wasthe habit and business of his life to observe and ponder the effect ofinstitutions upon the welfare of those who live under them. Calhounpushed him out of the witness-box, as though he were an idiot. 

A survey of the last fifteen years of Calhoun's life discloses nothingupon which the mind can dwell with complacency. On the approach ofevery Presidential election, we see him making what we can only call a_grab_ at a nomination, by springing upon the country some unexpectedissue designed to make the South a unit in his support. From 1830 to1836, he exhausted all the petty arts of the politician to defeatGeneral Jackson's resolve to bring in Mr. Van Buren as his successor;and when all had failed, he made an abortive attempt to precipitatethe question of the annexation of Texas. This, too, being foiled, Mr. Van Buren was elected President. Then Mr. Calhoun, who had for tenyears never spoken of Van Buren except with contempt, formed thenotable scheme of winning over the President so far as to secure hissupport for the succession. He advocated all the test measures of Mr. Van Buren's administration, and finished by courting a personalreconciliation with the man whom he had a hundred times styled a foxand a political prostitute. This design coming to naught, through thefailure of Mr. Van Buren to reach a second term, he made a wild rushfor the prize by again thrusting forward the Texas question. ColonelBenton, who was the predetermined heir of Van Buren, has detailed themanner in which this was done in a very curious chapter of his "ThirtyYears. " The plot was successful, so far as plunging the country into aneedless war was concerned; but it was Polk and Taylor, not Calhoun, who obtained the Presidency through it. Mr. Calhoun's struggles for anomination in 1844 were truly pitiable, but they were not known to thepublic, who saw him, at a certain stage of the campaign, affecting todecline a nomination which there was not the slightest danger of hisreceiving. 

We regret that we have not space to show how much the agitation of theslavery question, from 1835 to 1850, was the work of this one man. Thelabors of Mr. Garrison and Mr. Wendell Phillips might have borne nofruit during their lifetime, if Calhoun had not made it his businessto supply them with material. "I mean to _force_ the issue upon theNorth, " he once wrote; and he did force it. On his return to SouthCarolina after the termination of the Nullification troubles, he saidto his friends there, (so avers Colonel Benton, "Thirty Years, " Vol. II. P. 786, )

 "that the South could never be united against the North on the tariff question; that the sugar interest of Louisiana would keep her out; and that the basis of Southern union must be shifted to the slave question. "

Here we have the key to the mysteries of all his subsequent career. The denial of the right of petition, the annexation of Texas, theforcing of slavery into the Territories, --these were among the issuesupon which he hoped to unite the South in his favor, while retainingenough strength at the North to secure his election. Failing in allhis schemes of personal advancement, he died in 1850, still protestingthat slavery is divine, and that it must rule this country or ruin it. This is really the sum and substance of that last speech to theSenate, which he had not strength enough left to deliver. 

We have run rapidly over Mr. Calhoun's career as a public man. Itremains for us to notice his claims as a teacher of politicalphilosophy, a character in which he influenced his countrymen morepowerfully after he was in his grave than he did while living amongthem. 

The work upon which his reputation as a thinker will rest withposterity is his Treatise on the Nature of Government. Written in thelast year of his life, when at length all hope of further personaladvancement must have died within him, it may be taken as thedeliberate record or summary of his political opinions. He did notlive to revise it, and the concluding portion he evidently meant toenlarge and illustrate, as was ascertained from notes and memoranda inpencil upon the manuscript. After the death of the author in 1850, thework was published in a substantial and elegant form by theLegislature of South Carolina, who ordered copies to be presented toindividuals of note in science and literature, and to publiclibraries. We are, therefore, to regard this volume, not merely as alegacy of Mr. Calhoun to his countrymen, but as conveying to us thesentiments of South Carolina with regard to her rights and duties as amember of the Union. Events since its publication have shown us thatit is more even than this. The assemblage of troublesome communitieswhich we have been accustomed to style "the South, " adopted this workas their political gospel. From this source the politicians of theSouthern States have drawn all they have chosen to present to theworld in justification of their course which bears the semblance ofargument; for, in truth, Mr. Calhoun, since Jefferson and Madisonpassed from the stage, is almost the only thinking being the South hashad. His was a very narrow, intense, and untrustworthy mind, but hewas an angel of light compared with the men who have been recentlyconspicuous in the Southern States. 

This treatise on government belongs to the same class of works asLouis Napoleon's Life of Caesar, having for its principal object onethat lies below the surface, and the effect of both is damaged by thename on the title-page. The moment we learn that Louis Napoleon wrotethat Life of Caesar, the mind is intent upon discovering allusions torecent history, which the author has an interest in misrepresenting. The common conscience of mankind condemns him as a perjured usurper, and the murderer of many of his unoffending fellow-citizens. No man, whatever the power and splendor of his position, can rest contentunder the scorn of mankind, unless his own conscience gives him aclear acquittal, and assures him that one day the verdict of hisfellow-men will be reversed; and even in that case, it is not everyman that can possess his soul in patience. Every page of the Life ofCaesar was composed with a secret, perhaps half-unconscious referenceto that view of Louis Napoleon's conduct which is expressed with suchdeadly power in Mr. Kinglake's History of the Crimean War, and whichis so remarkably confirmed by an American eyewitness, the late Mr. Goodrich, who was Consul at Paris in 1848. Published anonymously, theLife of Caesar might have had some effect. Given to the world byNapoleon III. , every one reads it as he would a defence by aningenious criminal of his own cause. The highest praise that can bebestowed upon it is, that it is very well done, considering the objectthe author had in view. 

So, in reading Mr. Calhoun's disquisition upon government, we areconstantly reminded that the author was a man who had only escapedtrial and execution for treason by suddenly arresting the treasonablemeasures which he had caused to be set on foot. Though it contains butone allusion to events in South Carolina in 1833, the work is nothingbut a labored, refined justification of those events. It has been evencoupled with Edwards on the Will, as the two best examples of subtlereasoning which American literature contains. Admit his premises, andyou are borne along, at a steady pace, in a straight path, to thefinal inferences: that the sovereign State of South Carolinapossesses, by the Constitution of the United States, an absolute vetoupon every act of Congress, and may secede from the Union whenever shelikes; and that these rights of veto and secession do not merelyconstitute the strength of the Constitution, but _are_ theConstitution, --and do not merely tend to perpetuate the Union, but arethe Union's self, --the thing that binds the States together. 

Mr. Calhoun begins his treatise by assuming that government isnecessary. He then explains why it is necessary. It is necessarybecause man is more selfish than sympathetic, feeling more intenselywhat affects himself than what affects others. Hence he will encroachon the rights of others; and to prevent this, government isindispensable. 

But government, since it must be administered by selfish men will feelmore intensely what affects itself than what affects the peoplegoverned. It is, therefore, the tendency of all governments toencroach on the rights of the people; and they certainly will do so, if they can. The same instinct of self-preservation, the same love ofaccumulation, which tempts individuals to over-reach their neighbors, inclines government to preserve, increase, and consolidate its powers. Therefore, as individual selfishness requires to be held in check bygovernment, so government must be restrained by _something_. 

This something is the constitution, written or unwritten. Aconstitution is to the government what government is to the people: itis the restraint upon its selfishness. Mr. Calhoun assumes here thatthe relation between government and governed is naturally andinevitably "antagonistic. " He does not perceive that government is theexpression of man's love of justice, and the means by which the peoplecause justice to be done. 

Government, he continues, must be powerful; must have at command theresources of the country; must be so strong that it can, if it will, disregard the limitations of the constitution. The question is, How tocompel a government, holding such powers, having an army, a navy, anda national treasury at command, to obey the requirements of a merepiece of printed paper?

Power, says Mr. Calhoun, can only be resisted by power. Therefore, aproper constitution must leave to the governed the _power_ to resistencroachments. This is done in free countries by universal suffrageand the election of rulers at frequent and fixed periods. This givesto rulers the strongest possible motive to please the people, whichcan only be done by executing their will. 

So far, most readers will follow the author without seriousdifficulty. But now we come to passages which no one could understandwho was not acquainted with the Nullification imbroglio of 1833. Aphilosophic Frenchman or German, who should read this work with a viewto enlightening his mind upon the nature of government, would be muchpuzzled after passing the thirteenth page; for at that point thehidden loadstone begins to operate upon the needle of Mr. Calhoun'scompass, and he is as Louis Napoleon writing the Life of Caesar. 

Universal suffrage, he continues, and the frequent election of rulers, are indeed the primary and fundamental principles of a constitutionalgovernment; and they are sufficient to give the people an effectivecontrol over those whom they have elected. But this is all they cando. They cannot make rulers good, or just, or obedient to theconstitution, but only faithful representatives of the majority of thepeople and executors of the will of that majority. The right ofsuffrage transfers the supreme authority from the rulers to the bodyof the community, and the more perfectly it does this, the moreperfectly it accomplishes its object. Majority is king. But this king, too, like all others, is selfish, and will abuse his power if he can. 

So, we have been arguing in a circle, and have come back to thestarting-point. Government keeps within bounds the selfishness of thepeople; the constitution restrains the selfishness of the government;but, in doing so, it has only created a despot as much to be dreadedas the power it displaced. We are still, therefore, confronted by theoriginal difficulty. How are we to limit the sway of tyrant Majority?

If, says Mr. Calhoun, all the people had the same interests, so that alaw which oppressed one interest would oppress all interests, then theright of suffrage would itself be sufficient; and the only questionwould be as to the fitness of different candidates. But this is notthe case. Taxation, for example: no system of taxation can be arrangedthat will not bear oppressively upon some interests or section. Disbursements, also: some portions of the country must receive back, in the form of governmental disbursements, more money than they pay intaxes, and others less; and this may be carried so far, that oneregion may be utterly impoverished, while others are enriched. KingMajority may have his favorites. He may now choose to favoragriculture; now, commerce; now, manufactures; and so arrange theimports as to crush one for the sake of promoting the others. "Crush"is Mr. Calhoun's word. "One portion of the community, " he says, "may be crushed, and another elevated on its ruins, by systematically perverting the power of taxation and disbursement, for the purpose of aggrandizing or building up one portion of the community at the expense of the other. "

_May_ be. But has not the most relentless despot an interest in theprosperity of his subjects? And can one interest be crushed withoutmanifest and immediate injury to all the others? Mr. Calhoun says:That this fell power to crush important interests _will_ be used, isexactly as certain as that it _can_ be. 

All this would be unintelligible to our foreign philosopher, butAmerican citizens know very well what it means. Through this finelattice-work fence they discern the shining countenance of the coloredperson. 

But now, what remedy? Mr. Calhoun approaches this part of the subjectwith the due acknowledgment of its difficulty. The remedy, of course, is Nullification; but he is far from using a word so familiar. Thereis but one mode, he remarks, by which the majority of the whole peoplecan be prevented from oppressing the minority, or portions of theminority, and that is this:

 "By taking the sense of each interest or portion of the community, which may be unequally and injuriously affected by the action of the government, separately, through its own majority, or in some other way by which its voice can be expressed; and to require the consent of each interest, either to put or to keep the government in motion. "

And this can only be done by such an "organism" as will "give to eachdivision or interest either a concurrent voice in making and executingthe laws or _a veto on their execution_. "

This is perfectly intelligible when read by the light of the historyof 1833. But no human being unacquainted with that history couldgather Mr. Calhoun's meaning. Our studious foreigner would suppose bythe word "interest, " that the author meant the manufacturing interest, the commercial and agricultural interests, and that each of theseshould have its little congress concurring in or vetoing the acts ofthe Congress sitting at Washington. _We_, however, know that Mr. Calhoun meant that South Carolina should have the power to nullifyacts of Congress and give law to the Union. He does not tell us howSouth Carolina's tyrant Majority is to be kept within bounds; but onlyhow that majority is to control the majority of the whole country. Hehas driven his problem into a corner, and there he leaves it. 

Having thus arrived at the conclusion, that a law, to be binding onall "interests, " i. E. On all the States of the Union, must beconcurred in by all, he proceeds to answer the obvious objection, that"interests" so antagonistic could never be brought to unanimousagreement. He thinks this would present no difficulty, and adducessome instances of unanimity to illustrate his point. 

First, trial by jury. Here are twelve men, of different character andcalibre, shut up in a room to agree upon a verdict, in a cause uponwhich able men have argued upon opposite sides. How unlikely that theyshould be able to agree unanimously! Yet they generally do, and thatspeedily. Why is this? Because, answers Mr. Calhoun, they go intotheir room knowing that nothing short of unanimity will answer; andconsequently every man is _disposed_ to agree with his fellows, and, if he cannot agree, to compromise. "Not at all. " The chief reason whyjuries generally agree is, that they are not interested in the matterin dispute. The law of justice is so plainly written in the humanheart, that the fair thing is usually obvious to disinterested minds, or can be made so. It is interest, it is rivalry, that blinds us towhat is right; and Mr. Calhoun's problem is to render "antagonistic"interests unanimous. We cannot, therefore, accept this illustration asa case in point. 

Secondly, Poland. Poland is not the country which an American wouldnaturally visit to gain political wisdom. Mr. Calhoun, however, repairs thither, and brings home the fact, that in the turbulent Dietof that unhappy kingdom every member had an absolute veto upon everymeasure. Nay, more: no king could be elected without the unanimousvote of an assembly of one hundred and fifty thousand persons. YetPoland lasted two centuries! The history of those two centuries is asufficient comment upon Mr Calhoun's system, to say nothing of thefinal catastrophe, which Mr. Calhoun confesses was owing to "theextreme to which the principle was carried. " A sound principle cannotbe carried to an unsafe extreme; it is impossible for a man to be tooright. If it is right for South Carolina to control and nullify theUnited States, it is right for any one man in South Carolina tocontrol and nullify South Carolina. One of the tests of a system is toascertain where it will carry us if it _is_ pushed to the uttermostextreme. Mr. Calhoun gave his countrymen this valuable informationwhen he cited the lamentable case of Poland. 

From Poland the author descends to the Six Nations, the federalcouncil of which was composed of forty-two members, each of whom hadan absolute veto upon every measure. Nevertheless, this confederacy, he says, became the most powerful and the most united of all theIndian nations. He omits to add, that it was the facility with whichthis council could be wielded by the French and English in turn, thathastened the grinding of the Six Nations to pieces between those twomillstones. 

Rome is Mr. Calhoun's next illustration. The _Tribunus Plebis_, heobserves, had a veto upon the passage of all laws and upon theexecution of all laws, and thus prevented the oppression of theplebeians by the patricians. To show the inapplicability of thisexample to the principle in question, to show by what steps thistribunal, long useful and efficient, gradually absorbed the power ofthe government, and became itself, first oppressive, and then aninstrument in the overthrow of the constitution, would be to write ahistory of Rome. Niebuhr is accessible to the public, and Niebuhr knewmore of the _Tribunus Plebis_ than Mr. Calhoun. We cannot find inNiebuhr anything to justify the author's aim to constitute patricianCarolina the _Tribunus Plebis_ of the United States. 

Lastly, England. England, too, has that safeguard of liberty, "anorganism by which the voice of each order or class is taken throughits appropriate organ, and which requires the concurring voice of allto constitute that of the whole community. " These orders are King, Lords, and Commons. They must all concur in every law, each having aveto upon the action of the two others. The government of the UnitedStates is also so arranged that the President and the two Houses ofCongress must concur in every enactment; but then they all representthe _same_ order or interest, the people of the United States. TheEnglish government, says Mr. Calhoun, is so exquisitely constituted, that the greater the revenues of the government, the more stable itis; because those revenues, being chiefly expended upon the lords andgentlemen, render them exceedingly averse to any radical change. Mr. Calhoun does not mention that the majority of the people of Englandare not represented in the government at all. Perhaps, however, thefollowing passage, in a previous part of the work, was designed tomeet their case:--

 "It is a great and dangerous error to suppose that all people are equally entitled to liberty. It is a reward to be earned, not a blessing to be gratuitously lavished on all alike;--a reward reserved for the intelligent, the patriotic, the virtuous, and deserving; and not a boon to be bestowed on a people too ignorant, degraded, and vicious to be capable either of appreciating or of enjoying it. "

Mr. Calhoun does not tell us who is to _bestow_ this precious boon. Heafterwards remarks, that the progress of a people "rising" to thepoint of civilization which entitles them to freedom, is "necessarilyslow. " How very slow, then, it must be, when the means of civilizationare forbidden to them by law!

With his remarks upon England, Mr. Calhoun terminates his discussionof the theory of government. Let us grant all that he claims for it, and see to what it conducts us. Observe that his grand position is, that a "numerical majority, " like all other sovereign powers, willcertainly tyrannize if it can. His remedy for this is, that a localmajority, the majority of each State, shall have a veto upon the actsof the majority of the whole country. But he omits to tell us how thatlocal majority is to be kept within bounds. According to hisreasoning, South Carolina should have a veto upon acts of Congress. Very well; then each county of South Carolina should have a veto uponthe acts of the State Legislature; each town should have a veto uponthe behests of the county; and each voter upon the decisions of thetown. Mr. Calhoun's argument, therefore, amounts to this: that onevoter in South Carolina should have the constitutional right tonullify an act of Congress, and no law should be binding which has notreceived the assent of every citizen. 

Having completed the theoretical part of his subject, the authorproceeds to the practical. In his first essay he describes the"organism" that is requisite for the preservation of liberty; and inhis second, he endeavors to show that the United States _is_ preciselysuch an organism, since the Constitution, rightly interpreted, _does_confer upon South Carolina the right to veto the decrees of thenumerical majority. Mr. Calhoun's understanding appears to much betteradvantage in this second discourse, which contains the substance ofall his numerous speeches on nullification. It is marvellous how thismorbid and intense mind had brooded over a single subject, and how ithad subjugated all history and all law to its single purpose. But wecannot follow Mr. Calhoun through the tortuous mazes of his secondessay; nor, if we could, should we be able to draw readers after us. We can only say this: Let it be granted that there _are_ two ways inwhich the Constitution can be fairly interpreted;--one, the Websterianmethod; the other, that of Mr. Calhoun. On one of theseinterpretations the Constitution will work, and on the other it willnot. We prefer the interpretation that is practicable, and leave theother party to the enjoyment of their argument. Nations cannot begoverned upon principles so recondite and refined, that not onecitizen in a hundred will so much as follow a mere statement of them. The fundamental law must be as plain as the ten commandments, --asplain as the four celebrated propositions in which Mr. Webster put thesubstance of his speeches in reply to Mr. Calhoun's ingenious defenceof his conduct in 1833. 

The author concludes his essay by a prophetic glance at the future. Heremarks, that with regard to the future of the United States, as thengoverned, only one thing could be predicted with absolute certainty, and that was, that the Republic could not last. It might lapse into amonarchy, or it might be dismembered, --no man could say which; butthat one of these things would happen was entirely certain. Therotation-in-office system, as introduced by General Jackson, andsanctioned by his subservient Congress, had rendered the Presidentialoffice a prize so tempting, in which so large a number of men had aninterest, that the contest would gradually cease to be elective, andwould finally lose the elective form. _The incumbent would appoint hissuccessor_; and "thus the absolute form of a popular, would end in theabsolute form of a monarchical government, " and there would be nopossibility of even rendering the monarchy limited or constitutional. Mr. Calhoun does not mention here the name of General Jackson or ofMartin Van Buren, but American readers know very well what he wasthinking of when he wrote the passage. 

Disunion, according to Mr. Calhoun, was another of our perils. In viewof recent events, our readers may be interested in reading his remarkson this subject, written in 1849, among the last words he everdeliberately put upon paper:--

 "The conditions impelling the government toward disunion are very powerful. They consist chiefly of two;--the one arising from the great extent of the country; the other, from its division into separate States, having local institutions and interests. The former, under the operation of the numerical majority, has necessarily given to the two great parties, in their contest for the honors and emoluments of the government, a geographical character, for reasons which have been fully stated. This contest must finally settle down into a struggle on the part of the stronger section to obtain the permanent control; and on the part of the weaker, to preserve its independence and equality as members of the Union. The conflict will thus become one between the States occupying the different sections, --that is, between organized bodies on both sides, --each, in the event of separation, having the means of avoiding the confusion and anarchy to which the parts would be subject without such organization. This would contribute much to increase the power of resistance on the part of the weaker section against the stronger in possession of the government. With these great advantages and resources, it is hardly possible that the parties occupying the weaker section would consent quietly, under any circumstances, to break down from independent and equal sovereignties into a dependent and colonial condition; and still less so, under circumstances that would revolutionize them _internally_, and put their very existence as a people at stake. Never was there an issue between independent States that involved greater calamity to the conquered, than is involved in that between the States which compose the two sections of the Union. The condition of the weaker, should it sink from a state of independence and equality to one of dependence and subjection, would be more calamitous than ever before befell a civilized people. It is vain to think that, with such consequences before them, they will not resist; especially, when resistance _may_ save them, and cannot render their condition worse. That this will take place, unless the stronger section desists from its course, may be assumed as certain; and that, if forced to resist, the weaker section would prove successful, and the system end in disunion, is, to say the least, highly probable. But if it should fail, the great increase of power and patronage which must, in consequence, accrue to the government of the United States, would but render certain and hasten the termination in the other alternative. So that, at all events, to the one or to the other--to monarchy or disunion--it must come, if not prevented by strenuous or timely efforts. "

This is a very instructive passage, and one that shows well thecomplexity of human motives. Mr. Calhoun betrays the secret that, after all, the contest between the two sections is a "contest for thehonors and emoluments of the government, " and that all the rest is butpretext and afterthought, --as General Jackson said it was. He plainlystates that the policy of the South is rule or ruin. Besides this, heintimates that there is in the United States an "interest, " aninstitution, the development of which is incompatible with theadvancement of the general interest; and either that one interest mustovershadow and subdue all other interests, or all other interests mustunite to crush that one. The latter has been done. 

Mr. Calhoun proceeds to suggest the measures by which these calamitiescan be averted. The government must be "restored to its federalcharacter" by the repeal of all laws tending to the annihilation ofState sovereignty, and by a strict construction of the Constitution. The President's power of removal must be limited. In earlier times, these would have sufficed; but at that day the nature of the diseasewas such that nothing could reach it short of an organic change, whichshould give the weaker section a negative on the action of thegovernment. Mr. Calhoun was of opinion that this could best be done byour having two Presidents, --one elected by the North and the other bythe South, --the assent of both to be necessary to every act ofCongress. Under such a system, he thought, --

 "The Presidential election, instead of dividing the Union into hostile geographical parties, the stronger struggling to enlarge its powers, and the weaker to defend its rights, as is now the case, would become the means of restoring harmony and concord to the country and the government. It would make the Union a union in truth, --a bond of mutual affection and brotherhood; and not a mere connection used by the stronger as the instrument of dominion and aggrandizement, and submitted to by the weaker only from the lingering remains of former attachment, and the fading hope of being able to restore the government to what it was originally intended to be, --a blessing to all. "

The utter misapprehension of the purposes and desires of the Northernpeople which this passage betrays, and which pervades all the laterwritings of Mr. Calhoun, can only be explained by the supposition thathe judged them out of his own heart. It is astounding to hear theauthor of the annexation of Texas charging the North with the lust ofdominion, and the great Nullifier accusing Northern statesmen of beingwholly possessed by the mania to be President. 

Webster, Clay, and Calhoun, --these were great names in their day. Whenthe last of them had departed, the country felt a sense ofbereavement, and even of self-distrust, doubting if ever again suchmen would adorn the public councils. A close scrutiny into the livesof either of them would, of course, compel us to deduct something fromhis contemporary renown, for they were all, in some degree, at someperiods, diverted from their true path by an ambition beneath anAmerican statesman, whose true glory alone consists in serving hiscountry well in that sphere to which his fellow-citizens call him. From such a scrutiny the fame of neither of those distinguished menwould suffer so much as that of Calhoun. His endowments were notgreat, nor of the most valuable kind; and his early education, hastyand very incomplete, was not continued by maturer study. He readrather to confirm his impressions than to correct them. It wasimpossible that he should ever have been wise, because he refused toadmit his liability to error. Never was mental assurance morecomplete, and seldom less warranted by innate or acquired superiority. If his knowledge of books was slight, his opportunities of observingmen were still more limited, since he passed his whole life in placesas exceptional, perhaps, as any in the world, --Washington and SouthCarolina. From the beginning of his public career there was a cankerin the heart of it; for, while his oath, as a member of Congress, tosupport the Constitution of the United States, was still fresh uponhis lips, he declared that his attachment to the Union was conditionaland subordinate. He said that the alliance between the Southernplanters and Northern Democrats was a false and calculated compact, tobe broken when the planters could no longer rule by it. While heresided in Washington, and acted with the Republican party in theflush of its double triumph, he appeared a respectable character, andwon golden opinions from eminent men in both parties. But when he wasagain subjected to the narrowing and perverting influence of aresidence in South Carolina, he shrunk at once to his originalproportions, and became thenceforth, not the servant of his country, but the special pleader of a class and the representative of asection. And yet, with that strange judicial blindness which has everbeen the doom of the defenders of wrong, he still hoped to attain thePresidency. There is scarcely any example of infatuation moreremarkable than this. Here we have, lying before us at this moment, undeniable proofs, in the form of "campaign lives" and "campaigndocuments, " that, as late as 1844. There was money spent and labordone for the purpose of placing him in nomination for the highestoffice. 

Calhoun failed in all the leading objects of his public life, exceptone; but in that one his success will be memorable forever. He hasleft it on record (see Ben on, II. 698) that his great aim, from 1835to 1847, was to force the slavery issue on the North. "It is ourduty, " he wrote in 1847, "to force the issue on the North. " "Had theSouth, " he continued, "or even my own State, backed me, I would haveforced the issue on the North in 1835"; and he welcomed the WilmotProviso in 1847, because, as he privately wrote, it would be the meansof "enabling us to force the issue on the North. " In this design, atlength, when he had been ten years in the grave, he succeeded. Hadthere been no Calhoun, it is possible--nay, it is not improbable--thatthat issue might have been deferred till the North had so outstrippedthe South in accumulating all the elements of power, that thefire-eaters themselves would have shrunk from submitting the questionto the arbitrament of the sword. It was Calhoun who forced the issueupon the United States, and compelled us to choose betweenannihilation and war. 

[Footnote 1: Mr. Calhoun had still Irish enough in his composition touse "will" for "shall. "]

JOHN RANDOLPH. 

In June, 1861, Dr. Russell, the correspondent of the London Times, wasascending the Mississippi in a steamboat, on board of which was a bodyof Confederate troops, several of whom were sick, and lay along thedeck helpless. Being an old campaigner, he had his medicine-chest withhim, and he was thus enabled to administer to these men the medicineswhich he supposed their cases required. One huge fellow, attenuated toa skeleton by dysentery, who appears to have been aware of hisbenefactor's connection with the press, gasped out these words:

 "Stranger, remember, if I die, that I am Robert Tallon of Tishimingo County, and that I died for States' Rights. See, now, they put that in the papers, won't you? Robert Tallon died for States' Rights. "

Having thus spoken, he turned over on his blanket, and was silent. Dr. Russell assures his readers that this man only expressed the nearlyunanimous feeling of the Southern people at the outbreak of the war. He had been ten weeks travelling in the Southern States, and hedeclared that the people had but one battle-cry, --"States' Rights, anddeath to those who make war upon them!" About the same time, weremember, there was a paragraph going the rounds of the newspaperswhich related a conversation said to have taken place between aNorthern man and a Southern boy. The boy happening to use the word"country, " the Northerner asked him, "What is your country?" To whichthe boy instantly and haughtily replied, "SOUTH CAROLINA!"

Such anecdotes as these were to most of us here at the North arevelation. The majority of the Northern people actually did not knowof the _existence_ of such a feeling as that expressed by the Carolinaboy, nor of the doctrine enunciated by the dying soldier. If every boyin the Northern States old enough to understand the question had beenasked, What is your country? every one of them, without a moment'shesitation, would have quietly answered in substance thus: "Why, theUnited States, of course";--and the only feeling excited by thequestion would have been one of surprise that it should have beenasked. And with regard to that "battle-cry" of States' Rights, seventenths of the voters of the North hardly knew what a Southern manmeant when he pronounced the words. Thus we presented to the world thecurious spectacle of a people so ignorant of one another, so littlehomogeneous, that nearly all on one side of an imaginary line werewilling to risk their lives for an idea which the inhabitants on theother side of the line not only did not entertain, but knew nothingabout. We observe something similar in the British empire. Theordinary Englishman does not know what it is of which Irelandcomplains, and if an Irishman is asked the name of his country, hedoes not pronounce any of the names which imply the merging of hisnative isle in the realm of Britain. 

Few of us, even now, have a "realizing sense, " as it is called, of thestrength of the States' Rights feeling among the Southern people. Ofall the Southern States in which we ever sojourned, the one thatseemed to us most like a Northern State was North Carolina. We stayedsome time at Raleigh, ten years ago, during the session of theLegislature, and we were struck with the large number of reasonable, intelligent, upright men who were members of that body. Of course, weexpected to find Southern men all mad on one topic; but in theLegislature of North Carolina there were several individuals who couldconverse even on that in a rational and comfortable manner. We were alittle surprised, therefore, the other day, to pick up at a book-stallin Nassau Street a work entitled:

 "The North Carolina Reader, Number III. Prepared with Special Reference to the Wants and Interests of North Carolina. Under the Auspices of the Superintendent of Common Schools. Containing Selections in Prose and Verse. By C. H. Wiley. New York: A. S. Barnes and Burr. "

The acute reader will at once surmise that the object of this seriesof school readers was to instil into the minds of the youth of NorthCarolina a due regard for the sacredness and blessed effects of ourpeculiar institution. But for once the acute reader is mistaken. Nosuch purpose appears, at least not in Number III. ; in which there areonly one or two even distant allusions to that dread subject. Onesimusis not mentioned; there is no reference to Ham, nor is there anydiscourse upon long heels and small brains. The great, the only objectof this Reader was to nourish in the children of the State the feelingwhich the boy expressed-when he proudly said that his country wasSouth Carolina. Nothing can exceed the innocent, childlike manner inwhich this design is carried out in Number III. First, the childrenare favored with a series of chapters descriptive of North Carolina, written in the style of a school geography, with an occasional pieceof poetry on a North Carolina subject by a North Carolina poet. Once, however, the compiler ventures to depart from his plan by insertingthe lines by Sir William Jones, "What constitutes a State?" To thispoem he appends a note apologizing for "breaking the thread of hisdiscourse, " upon the ground that the lines were so "applicable to thesubject, " that it seemed as if the author "must have been describingNorth Carolina. " When the compiler has done cataloguing the fisheries, the rivers, the mountains, and the towns of North Carolina, heproceeds to relate its history precisely in the style of our schoolhistory books. The latter half of the volume is chiefly occupied bypassages from speeches, and poems from newspapers, written by nativesof North Carolina. It is impossible for us to convey an idea of theinnutritiousness and the inferiority of most of these pieces. NorthCarolina is the great theme of orator and poet. 

"We live, " says one of the legislators quoted, "in the most beautiful land that the sun of heaven ever shone upon. Yes, sir, I have heard the anecdote from Mr. Clay, that a preacher in Kentucky, when speaking of the beauties of paradise, when he desired to make his audience believe it was a place of bliss, said it was a Kentucky of a place. Sir, this preacher had never visited the western counties of North Carolina. I have spent days of rapture in looking at her scenery of unsurpassed grandeur, in hearing the roar of her magnificent waterfalls, second only to the great cataract of the North; and while I gazed for hours, lost in admiration at the power of Him who by his word created such a country, and gratitude for the blessings He had scattered upon it, I thought that if Adam and Eve, when driven from paradise, had been near this land, they would have thought themselves in the next best place to that they had left. "

We do not aver that the contents of this collection are generally asludicrous as this specimen; but we do say that the passage quotedgives a very fair idea of the spirit and quality of the book. There isscarcely one of the North Carolina pieces which a Northern man wouldnot for one reason or another find extremely comic. One of the readinglessons is a note written fifteen years ago by Solon Robinson, theagricultural editor of the Tribune, upon the use of the long leaves ofthe _North Carolina_ pine for braiding or basket-work; another is anote written to accompany a bunch of _North Carolina_ grapes sent toan editor; and there are many other newspaper cuttings of a similarcharacter. The editor seems to have thought nothing too trivial, nothing too ephemeral, for his purpose, provided the passage containedthe name of his beloved State. 

How strange all this appears to a Northern mind! Everywhere else inChristendom, teachers strive to enlarge the mental range of theirpupils, readily assenting to Voltaire's well-known definition of aneducated man: "One who is _not_ satisfied to survey the universe fromhis parish belfry. " Everywhere else, the intellectual class have somesense of the ill-consequences of "breeding in and in, " and take careto infuse into their minds the vigor of new ideas and the nourishmentof strange knowledge. How impossible for a Northern State to think ofdoing what Alabama did last winter, pass a law designed to limit thecirculation in that State of Northern newspapers and periodicals! WhatSouthern men mean by "State pride" is really not known in the NorthernStates. All men of every land are fond of their native place; but thepride that Northern people may feel in the State wherein they happenedto be born is as subordinate to their national feeling, as theattachment of a Frenchman to his native province is to his pride inFrance. 

Why this difference? It did not always exist. It cost New York andMassachusetts as severe a struggle to accept the Constitution of 1787as it did Virginia. George Clinton, Governor of New York, had as muchState pride as Patrick Henry, orator of Virginia, and parted asreluctantly with a portion of the sovereignty which he wielded. If itrequired Washington's influence and Madison's persuasive reasoning tobring Virginia into the new system, the repugnance of Massachusettswas only overcome by the combined force of Hancock's social rank andSamuel Adams's late, reluctant assent. 

On this subject let us hear Samuel Adams for a moment as he wrote to afriend in 1788:--

 "I confess, as I enter the building I stumble at the threshold. I meet with a national government instead of a federal union of sovereign states. I am not able to conceive why the wisdom, of the Convention led them to give the preference to the former before the latter. If the several States in the Union are to be one entire nation under one Legislature, the powers of which shall extend to every subject of legislation, and its laws be supreme and control the whole, the idea of sovereignty in these States must be lost. Indeed, I think, upon such a supposition, those sovereignties ought to be eradicated from the mind, for they would be _imperia in imperio_, justly deemed a solecism in politics, and they would be highly dangerous and destructive of the peace, union, arid safety of the nation. 

 "And can this National Legislature be competent to make laws for the _free_ internal government of one people, living in climates so remote, and whose habits and particular interests are, and probably always will be, so different? Is it to be expected that general laws can be adapted to the feelings of the more eastern and the more southern parts of so extensive a nation? It appears to me difficult, if practicable. Hence, then, may we not look for discontent, mistrust, disaffection to government, and frequent insurrections, which will require standing armies to suppress them in one place and another, where they may happen to arise. Or, if laws could be made adapted to the local habits, feelings, views, and interests of those distant parts, would they not cause jealousies of partiality in government, which would excite envy and other malignant passions productive of wars and fighting? But should we continue distinct sovereign States, confederated for the purpose of mutual safety and happiness, each contributing to the federal head such a part of its sovereignty as would render the government fully adequate to those purposes and _no more_, the people would govern themselves more easily, the laws of each State being well adapted to its own genius and circumstances, and the liberties of the United States would be more secure than they can be, as I humbly conceive, under the proposed new constitution. "--_Life of Samuel Adams_, Vol. III, p. 251. 

This passage is one of the large number in the writings of that timeto which recent events have given a new interest; nor is it nowwithout salutary meaning for us, though we quote it only to show thereluctance of some of the best citizens of the North to come into anational system. Suppose, to-day, that the United States were invitedto merge their sovereignty into a confederation of all the nations ofAmerica, which would require us to abolish the city of Washington, andsend delegates to a general congress on the Isthmus of Darien! Asacrifice of pride like that was demanded of the leading States of theUnion in 1787. Severe was the struggle, but the sacrifice was made, and it cost the great States of the North as painful a throe as it didthe great States of the South. Why, then, has State pride died away inthe North, and grown stronger in the South? Why is it only in theSouthern States that the doctrine of States' Rights is ever heard of?Why does the Northern man swell with national pride, and point withexultation to a flag bearing thirty-seven stars, feeling the remotestState to be as much his country as his native village, while theSouthern man contracts to an exclusive love for a single State, and iswilling to die on its frontiers in repelling from its sacred soil thenational troops, and can see the flag under which his fathers foughttorn down without regret?

The study of John Randolph of Virginia takes us to the heart of thismystery. He could not have correctly answered the question we haveproposed, but he _was_ an answer to it. Born when George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, George Mason, and James Madison were Virginiafarmers, and surviving to the time when Andrew Jackson was Presidentof the United States, he lived through the period of the decline ofhis race, and he was of that decline a conscious exemplification. Herepresented the decay of Virginia, himself a living ruin attesting bythe strength and splendor of portions of it what a magnificentstructure it was once. "Poor old Virginia! Poor old Virginia!" Thiswas the burden of his cry for many a year. Sick, solitary, and halfmad, at his lonely house in the wilderness of Roanoke, suffering frominherited disease, burdened with inherited debt, limited by inheritederrors, and severed by a wall of inherited prejudice from the life ofthe modern world, he stands to us as the type of the palsied and dyingState. Of the doctrine of States' Rights he was the most consistentand persistent champion; while of that feeling which the NorthCarolina Reader No. III. Styles "State pride, " we may call him thevery incarnation. "When I speak of my country, " he would say, "I meanthe Commonwealth of Virginia. " He was the first eminent man in theSouthern States who was prepared in spirit for war against thegovernment of the United States; for daring the Nullificationimbroglio of 1833, he not only was in the fullest accord with Calhoun, but he used to say, that, if a collision took place between thenullifiers and the forces of the United States, he, John Randolph ofRoanoke, old and sick as he was, would have himself buckled on hishorse, Radical, and fight for the South to his last breath. 

But then he was a man of genius, travel, and reading. We find him, therefore, as we have said, a _conscious_ witness of his Virginia'sdecline. Along with a pride in the Old Dominion that was fanatical, there was in this man's heart a constant and most agonizing sense ofher inferiority to lands less beloved. By no tongue or pen--not bySummer's tongue nor. Olmstead's pen--have more terrible pictures beendrawn of Virginia's lapse into barbarism, than are to be found in JohnRandolph's letters. At a time (1831) when he would not buy apocket-knife made in New England, nor send a book to be bound north ofthe Potomac, we find him writing of his native State in these terms:--

 "I passed a night in Farrarville, in an apartment which, in England, would not have been thought fit for my servant; nor on the Continent did he ever occupy so mean a one. Wherever I stop it is the same: walls black and filthy; bed and furniture sordid; furniture scanty and mean, generally broken; no mirror; no fire-irons; in short, dirt and discomfort universally prevail; and in most private houses the matter is not mended. The cows milked a half a mile off, or not got up, and no milk to be had at any distance, --no jordan;--in fact, all the old gentry are gone, and the _nouveaux riches_, when they have the inclination, do not know how to live. _Biscuit_, not half _cuit_; everything animal and vegetable smeared with butter and lard. Poverty stalking through the land, while we are engaged in political metaphysics, and, amidst our filth and vermin, like the Spaniard and Portuguese, look down with contempt on other nations, --England and France especially. We hug our lousy cloak around us, take another _chaw of tub-backer_, float the room with nastiness, or ruin the grate and fire-irons, where they happen not to be rusty, and try conclusions upon constitutional points. "

What truth and painting in this passage! But if we had asked thissuffering genius as to the cause of his "country's" decline, he wouldhave given us a mad answer indeed. He would have said, in his wildway, that it was all Tom Jefferson's doing, sir. Tom Jeffersonabolished primogeniture in Virginia, and thus, as John Randolphbelieved, destroyed the old families, the life and glory of the. State. Tom Jefferson was unfaithful to the States' Rights andstrict-constructionist creed, of which he was the expounder andtrustee, and thus let in the "American system" of Henry Clay, with itsprotective tariff, which completed the ruin of the agriculturalStates. This was his simple theory of the situation. These were thereasons why he despaired of ever again seeing, to use his ownlanguage, "the Nelsons, the Pages, the Byrds, and Fairfaxes, living in their palaces, and driving their coaches and sixes, or the good old Virginia gentlemen in the Assembly drinking their twenty and forty bowls of rack punches, and madeira and claret, in lieu of a knot of deputy sheriffs and hack attorneys, each with his cruet of whiskey before him, and puddle of tobacco-spittle between his legs. "

He was as far from seeing any relation of cause and effect between thecoaches, palaces, and bowls of punch, and the "knot of deputysheriffs, " as a Fenian is from discerning any connection between theIrish rackrenting of the last century, and the Irish beggary of this. Like conditions produce like characters. How interesting to discoverin this republican, this native Virginian of English stock, a perfectand splendid specimen of a species of tory supposed to exist only insuch countries as Poland, Spain, Ireland, and the Highlands ofScotland, but which in reality does abound in the Southern States ofthis Union, --the tory, conscious of his country's ruin, but clingingwith fanatical and proud tenacity to the principles that ruined it. 

Dear tobacco, virgin land, and cheap negroes gave the several familiesin Virginia, for three generations, a showy, delusive prosperity, which produced a considerable number of dissolute, extravagant men, and educated a few to a high degree of knowledge and wisdom. Of thesefamilies, the Randolphs were the most numerous, and among the oldest, richest, and most influential. The soldiers of the late army of thePotomac know well the lands which produced the tobacco that maintainedthem in baronial state. It was on Turkey Island (an island no more), twenty miles below Richmond; close to Malvern Hill of immortal memory, that the founder of the family settled in 1660, --a Cavalier of ancientYorkshire race ruined in the civil wars. Few of our troops, perhaps, who rambled over Turkey Bend, were aware that the massive ruins stillvisible there, and which served as negro quarters seven years ago, arethe remains of the great and famous mansion built by this Cavalier, turned tobacco-planter. This home of the Randolphs was so elaboratelysplendid, that a man served out the whole term of his apprenticeshipto the trade of carpenter in one of its rooms. The lofty dome was formany years a beacon to the navigator. Such success had this Randolphin raising tobacco during the fifty-one years of his residence uponTurkey Island, that to each of his six sons he gave or left a largeestate, besides portioning liberally his two daughters. Five of thesesons reared families, and the sons of those sons were also thrivingand prolific men; so that, in the course of three generations, Virginia was full of Randolphs. There was, we believe, not one of thenoted controlling families that was not related to them by blood ormarriage. 

In 1773, when John Randolph was born, the family was still powerful;and the region last trodden by the Army of the Potomac was stilladorned by the seats of its leading members. Cawsons, the mansion inwhich he was born, was situated at the junction of the James andAppomattox, in full view of City Point and Bermuda Hundred, and onlyan after-breakfast walk from Dutch Gap. The mansion long agodisappeared, and nothing now marks its site but negro huts. Many ofthose exquisite spots on the James and Appomattox, which we have seenmen pause to admire while the shells were bursting overhead, wereoccupied sixty years ago by the sumptuous abodes of the Randolphs andfamilies related to them. Mattoax, the house in which John Randolphpassed much of his childhood, was on a bluff of the Appomattox, twomiles above Petersburg; and Bizarre, the estate on which he spent hisboyhood, lay above, on both sides of the same river. Over all thatextensive and enchanting region, trampled and torn and laid waste byhostile armies in 1864 and 1865, John Randolph rode and hunted fromthe time he could sit a pony and handle a gun. Not a vestige remainsof the opulence and splendor of his early days. Not one of themansions inhabited or visited by him in his youth furnished a targetfor our cannoneers or plunder for our camps. A country better adaptedto all good purposes of man, nor one more pleasing to the eye, hardlyexists on earth; but before it was trodden by armies, it had becomelittle less than desolate. The James River is as navigable as theHudson, and flows through a region far more fertile, longer settled, more inviting, and of more genial climate; but there are upon theHudson's banks more cities than there are rotten landings upon theJames. The shores of this beautiful and classic stream are sounexpectedly void of even the signs of human habitation, that oursoldiers were often ready to exclaim:

 "Can this be the river of Captain John Smith and Pocahontas? Was it here that Jamestown stood? Is it possible that white men have lived in this delightful land for two hundred and fifty-seven years? Or has not the captain of the steamboat made a mistake, and turned into the wrong river?"

One scene of John Randolph's boyhood reveals to us the entirepolitical economy of the Old Dominion. He used to relate it himself, when denouncing the manufacturing system of Henry Clay. One ship, hewould say, sufficed, in those happy days, for all the commerce of thatpart of Virginia with the Old World, and that ship was named theLondon Trader. When this ship was about to sail, all the family werecalled together, and each member was invited to mention the articleswhich he or she wanted from London. First, the mother of the familygave in her list; next the children, in the order of their ages; next, the overseer; then the _mammy_, the children's black nurse; lastly, the house servants, according to their rank, down even to theirchildren. When months had passed, and the time for the ship's returnwas at hand, the weeks, the days, the hours were counted; and when thesignal was at last descried, the whole household burst intoexclamations of delight, and there was festival in the family for manydays. 

How picturesque and interesting! How satisfactory to the tory mind!But alas! this system of exhausting the soil in the production oftobacco by the labor of slaves, and sending for all manufacturedarticles to England, was more ruinous even than it was picturesque. Nomiddle class could exist, as in England, to supply the waste ofaristocratic blood and means; and in three generations, rich andbeautiful Virginia, created for empire, was only another Ireland. Butit was a picturesque system, and John Randolph, poet and tory, revelled in the recollection of it. "Our Egyptian taskmasters, " hewould say, meaning the manufacturers of Pennsylvania, New York, NewJersey, and New England, "only wish to leave us the recollection ofpast times, and insist upon our purchasing their vile _domestic_stuffs; but it won't do: no wooden nutmegs for old Virginia. "

His own pecuniary history was an illustration of the working of thesystem. His father left forty thousand acres of the best land in theworld, and several hundred slaves, to his three boys; the greater partof which property, by the early death of the two elder brothers, fellto John. As the father died when John was but three years old, therewas a minority of eighteen years, during which the boy's portionshould have greatly increased. So far from increasing, an old debt ofhis father's--a _London_ debt, incurred for goods brought to a joyoushousehold in the London Trader--remained undiminished at his coming ofage, and hung about his neck for many years afterward. Working twolarge estates, with a force of negroes equivalent to one hundred andeighty full field hands, he could not afford himself the luxury of atrip to Europe until he was fifty years old. The amount of this debtwe do not know, but he says enough about it for us to infer that itwas not of very large amount in comparison with his great resources. One hundred and eighty stalwart negroes working the best land in theworld, under a man so keen and vigilant as this last of the nobleRandolphs, and yet making scarcely any headway for a quarter of acentury!

The blood of this fine breed of men was also running low. Both theparents of John Randolph and both of his brothers died young, and hehimself inherited weakness which early developed into disease. One ofhis half-brothers died a madman. "My whole name and race, " he wouldsay, "lie under a curse. I feel the curse clinging to me. " He was afair, delicate child, more like a girl than a boy, and more inclined, as a child, to the sports of girls than of boys. His mother, a fond, tender, gentle lady, nourished his softer qualities, powerless togovern him, and probably never attempting it. Nevertheless, he was nogirl; he was a genuine _son_ of the South. Such was the violence ofhis passions, that, before he was four years old, he sometimes in afit of anger fell senseless upon the floor, and was restored onlyafter much effort. His step-father, who was an honorable man, seemsnever to have attempted either to control his passions or develop hisintellect. He grew up, as many boys of Virginia did, and do, unchecked, unguided, untrained. Turned loose in a miscellaneouslibrary, nearly every book he read tended to intensify his feelings orinflame his imagination. His first book was Voltaire's Charles XII. , and a better book for a boy has never been written. Then he fell uponthe Spectator. Before he was twelve he had read the Arabian Nights, Orlando, Robinson Crusoe, Smollett's Works, Reynard the Fox, DonQuixote, Gil Bias, Tom Jones, Gulliver, Shakespeare, Plutarch's Lives, Pope's Homer, Goldsmith's Rome, Percy's Reliques, Thomson's Seasons, Young, Gray, and Chatterton, --a gallon of sack to a penny's worth ofbread. A good steady drill in arithmetic, geography, and languagemight have given his understanding a chance; but this ill-starred boynever had a steady drill in anything. He never remained longer at anyone school than a year, and he learned at school very little that heneeded most to know. In the course of his desultory schooling hepicked up some Latin, a little Greek, a good deal of French, and aninconceivable medley of odds and ends of knowledge, which hiswonderful memory enabled him to use sometimes with startling effect. 

Everywhere else, in the whole world, children are taught thatvirtue is self-control. In the Southern States, among thesetobacco-lords, boys learned just the opposite lesson, --that virtue isself-indulgence. This particular youth, thin-skinned, full of talent, fire, and passion, the heir to a large estate, fatherless, would havebeen in danger anywhere of growing up untrained, --a wild beast inbroadcloth. In the Virginia of that day, in the circle in which helived, there was nothing for him in the way either of curb or spur. Hedid what he pleased, and nothing else. All that was noble in hislife, --those bursts of really fine oratory, his flashes of good sense, his occasional generosities, his hatred of debt, and his eager hasteto pay it, --all these things were due to the original excellence ofhis race. In the very dregs of good wine there is flavor. We cannotmake even good vinegar out of a low quality of wine. 

His gentle mother taught him all the political economy he ever took toheart. "Johnny, " said she to him one day, when they had reached apoint in their ride that commanded an extensive view, "all this land belongs to you and your brother. It is your father's inheritance. When you get to be a man, you must not sell your land: it is the first step to ruin for a boy to part with his father's home. Be sure to keep it as long as you live. Keep your land, and your land will keep you. "

There never came a time when his mind was mature and masculine enoughto _consider_ this advice. He clung to his land as Charles Stuartclung to his prerogative. 

All the early life of this youth was wandering and desultory. Atfourteen, we find him at Princeton College in New Jersey, where, weare told, he fought a duel, exchanged shots twice with his adversary, and put a ball into his body which he carried all his life. By thistime, too, the precocious and ungovernable boy had become, as heflattered himself, a complete atheist. One of his favorite amusementsat Princeton was to burlesque the precise and perhaps ungracefulPresbyterians of the place. The library of his Virginian home, itappears, was furnished with a great supply of what the French mildlycall the literature of incredulity, --Helvetius, Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, D'Alembert, and the rest. The boy, in his rage for knowledge, had read vast quantities of this literature, and, of course, embracedthe theory of the writers that pushed denial farthest. For twenty-twoyears, he says in one of his letters, he never entered a church. Greatpleasure it gave him to show how superior the Mahometan religion wasto the Christian, and to recite specimens of what he took delight instyling Hebrew jargon. The Psalms of David were his special aversion. 

Almost all gifted and fearless lads that have lived in Christendomduring the last hundred years have had a fit of this kind betweenfifteen and twenty-five. The strength of the tendency to question thegrounds of belief must be great indeed to bear away with it a youthlike this, formed by Nature to believe. John Randolph had no moreintellectual right to be a sceptic, than he had a moral right to be arepublican. A person whose imagination is quick and warm, whosefeelings are acute, and whose intellect is wholly untrained, can findno comfort except in belief. His scepticism is a mere freak of vanityor self-will. Coming upon the stage of life when unbelief wasfashionable in high drawing-rooms, he became a sceptic. But Naturewill have her way with us all, and so this atheist at fifteen was anEvangelical at forty-five. 

His first political bias was equally at war with his nature. JohnRandolph was wholly a tory; there was not in his whole composition onerepublican atom. But coming early under the direct personal influenceof Thomas Jefferson, whose every fibre was republican, he, too, thesympathetic tory of genius, espoused the people's cause. He was lessthan twenty-two years, however, in recovering from _this_ falsetendency. 

Summoned from Princeton, after only a few months' residence, by thedeath of his mother, he went next to Columbia College, in the city ofNew York, where for a year or two he read Greek with a tutor, especially Demosthenes. At New York he saw the first Congress underthe new Constitution assemble, and was one of the concourse thatwitnessed the scene of General Washington's taking the oath on thebalcony of the old City Hall. It seemed to this Virginia boy naturalenough that a Virginian should be at the head of the government; notso, that a Yankee should hold the second place and preside over theSenate. Forty years after, he recalled with bitterness a triflingincident, which, trifling as it was, appears to have been the originof his intense antipathy to all of the blood of John Adams. Thecoachman of the Vice-President, it seems, told the brother of thislittle republican tory to stand back; or, as the orator stated it, forty years after, "I remember the manner in which my brother wasspurned by the coachman of the Vice-President for coming too near thearms emblazoned on the vice-regal carriage. "

Boy as he was, he had already taken sides with those who opposed theConstitution. The real ground of his opposition to it was, that itreduced the importance of Virginia, --great Virginia! Under the newConstitution, there was a man on the Western Continent of moreconsequence than the Governor of Virginia, there were legislativebodies more powerful than the Legislature of Virginia. This was thesecret of the disgust with which he heard it proposed to style thePresident "His Highness" and "His Majesty. " _This_ was the reason whyit kindled his ire to read, in the newspapers of 1789, that "the mosthonorable Rufus King" had been elected Senator. It was only Jeffersonand a very few other of the grand Virginians who objected for higherand larger reasons. 

In March, 1790, Mr. Jefferson reached New York, after his return fromFrance, and entered upon his new office of Secretary of State underGeneral Washington. He was a distant relative of our precociousstudent, then seventeen years of age; and the two families had justbeen brought nearer together by the marriage of one of Mr. Jefferson'sdaughters to a Randolph. The reaction against republican principleswas at full tide; and no one will ever know to what lengths it wouldhave gone, had not Thomas Jefferson so opportunely come upon thescene. At his modest abode, No. 57 Maiden Lane, the two Randolphlads--John, seventeen, Theodorick, nineteen--were frequent visitors. Theodorick was a roistering blade, much opposed to his youngerbrother's reading habits, caring himself for nothing but pleasure. John was an eager politician. During the whole period of the reaction, first at New York, afterward at Philadelphia, finally in Virginia, John Randolph sat at the feet of the great Democrat of America, fascinated by his conversation, and generally convinced by hisreasoning. It is a mistake, however, to suppose that he was a blindfollower of Mr. Jefferson, even then. On the question of States'Rights, he was in the most perfect accord with him. But when, in 1791, the eyes of all intelligent America were fixed upon the twocombatants, Edmund Burke and Thomas Paine, Burke condemning, Painedefending, the French Revolution, the inherited instincts of JohnRandolph asserted themselves, and he gave all his heart to Burke. LordChatham and Edmund Burke were the men who always held the first placein the esteem of this kindred spirit. Mr. Jefferson, of course, sympathized with the view of his friend Paine, and never wavered inhis belief that the French Revolution was necessary and beneficial. Agenerous and gifted nation strangled, moved him to deeper compassionthan a class proscribed. He dwelt more upon the long and bitterprovocation, than upon the brief frenzy which was only one of its direresults. Louis XIV. And Louis XV. , picturesque as they were, excitedwithin him a profounder horror than ugly Marat and Robespierre. Hepitied haggard, distracted France more than graceful and high-bredMarie Antoinette. In other words, he was not a tory. 

There was a difference, too, between Mr. Jefferson and his youngkinsman on the points upon which they agreed. Jefferson was a States'Rights man, and a strict constructionist, because he was a republican;Randolph, because he was a Virginian, Jefferson thought the governmentshould be small, that the people might be great; John Randolph thoughtthe government should be small, that Virginia might be great. Pride inVirginia was John Randolph's ruling passion, not less in 1790; than in1828, The welfare and dignity of man were the darling objects ofThomas Jefferson's great soul, from youth to hoary age. 

Here we have the explanation of the great puzzle of Americanpolitics, --the unnatural alliance, for sixty years, between theplantation lords of the South and the democracy of the North, bothvenerating the name of Jefferson, and both professing his principles. It was not, as many suppose, a compact of scurvy politicians for thesake of political victory. Every great party, whether religious' orpolitical, that has held power long in a country, has been foundedupon conviction, --disinterested conviction. Some of the cotton andtobacco lords, men of intellect and culture, were democrats andabolitionists, like Jefferson himself. Others took up withrepublicanism because it was the reigning affectation in their circle, as it was in the chateaux and drawing-rooms of France. But their Statepride it was that bound them as a class to the early Republican party. The Southern aristocrat saw in Jefferson the defender of thesovereignty of his State: the "smutched artificer" of the Northgloried in Jefferson as the champion of the rights of man. While theRepublican party was in opposition, battling with unmanageable JohnAdams, with British Hamilton, and with a foe more powerful than bothof those men together, Robespierre, --while it had to contend withWashington's all but irresistible influence, and with the nearlyunanimous opposition of educated and orthodox New England, --thisdistinction was not felt. Many a tobacco aristocrat cut off hispig-tail and wore trousers down to his ankles, which were then theoutward signs of the inward democratic grace. But time tries all. Itis now apparent to every one that the strength of the originalDemocratic party in the South was the States' Rights portion of itsplatform, while in the North it was the sentiment of republicanismthat kept the party together. 

Young politicians should study this period of their country's history. If ever again a political party shall rule the United States for sixtyyears, or for twenty years, it will be, we think, a party resemblingthe original Republican party, as founded in America by Franklin, andorganized under Jefferson. Its platform will be, perhaps, somethinglike this: simple, economical government machinery; strictconstruction of the Constitution; the rights of the Statesscrupulously observed; the suffrage open to all, without regard tocolor or sex, --_open_ to all, but _conferred_ only upon men and womencapable of exercising it. 

John Randolph agreed upon another point with Mr. Jefferson: lie was anabolitionist. But for the English debt which he inherited, it isextremely probable that he would have followed the example of many ofthe best Virginians of his day, and emancipated his slaves. He would, perhaps, have done so when that debt was discharged, instead ofwaiting to do it by his last will, but for the forlorn condition offreedmen in a Slave State. His eldest brother wrote, upon the divisionof the estate, in 1794:

 "I want not a single negro for any other purpose than his immediate emancipation. I shudder when I think that such an insignificant animal as I am is invested with this monstrous, this horrid power. "

He told his guardian that he would give up all his land rather thanown a slave. There was no moment in the whole life of John Randolphwhen he did not sympathize with this view of slavery, and he diedexpressing it. But though lie was, if possible, a more decidedabolitionist than Jefferson, he never for a moment doubted the innatesuperiority of a Virginia gentleman to all the other inhabitants ofAmerica. He had not even the complaisance to take his hair out ofqueue, nor hide his thin legs in pantaloons. He was not endowed bynature with understanding enough to rise superior to the prejudicesthat had come down to him through generations of aristocrats. He wasweak enough, indeed, to be extremely vain of the fact that agrandfather of his had married one of the great-granddaughters ofPocahontas, who, it was believed, performed the act that renders herfamous at Point of Rocks on the Appomattox, within walking distance ofone of the Randolph mansions. It is interesting to observe what anunquestioning, childlike faith he always had in the superiority of hiscaste, of his State, and of his section. He once got so far as tospeak favorably of the talents of Daniel Webster; but he was obligedto conclude by saying that he was the best debater he had ever known_north of the Potomac_. 

This singular being was twenty-six years of age before any onesuspected, least of all himself, that he possessed any of the talentswhich command the attention of men. His life had been desultory andpurposeless. He had studied law a little, attended a course or two ofmedical lectures, travelled somewhat, dipped into hundreds of books, read a few with passionate admiration, had lived much with the ablestmen of that day, --a familiar guest at Jefferson's fireside, and nostranger at President Washington's stately table. Father, mother, andboth brothers were dead. He was lonely, sad, and heavily burdened withproperty, with debt, and the care of many dependants. His appearancewas even more singular than his situation. At twenty-three he hadstill the aspect of a boy. He actually grew half a head after he wastwenty-three years of age. 

 "A tall, gawky-looking, flaxen-haired stripling, apparently of the age of sixteen or eighteen, with complexion of a good parchment color, beardless chin, and as much assumed self-consequence as any two-footed animal I ever saw. "

So he was described by a Charleston bookseller, who saw him in hisstore in 1796, carelessly turning over books. "At length, " continuesthis narrator, "he hit upon something that struck his fancy; and never did I witness so sudden, so perfect a change of the human countenance. That which was before dull and heavy in a moment became animated, and flashed with the brightest beams of intellect. He stepped up to the old gray-headed gentleman (his companion), and giving him a thundering slap on the shoulder, said, 'Jack, look at this!'"

Thus was he described at twenty-three. At twenty-six he was half ahead taller, and quite as slender as before. His light hair was thencombed back into an elegant queue. His eye of hazel was bright andrestless. His chin was still beardless. He wore a frock-coat of lightblue cloth, yellow breeches, silk stockings, and top-boots. Great wasthe love he bore his horses, which were numerous, and as good asVirginia could boast. It is amusing to notice that the horse uponwhich this pattern aristocrat used to scamper across the country, inFrench-Revolution times, was named _Jacobin_!

It was in March, 1799, the year before the final victory of theRepublicans over the Federal party, that the neighbors of JohnRandolph and John Randolph himself discovered, to their greatastonishment, that he was an orator. He had been nominated forRepresentative in Congress. Patrick Henry, aged and infirm, had beenso adroitly manipulated by the Federalists, that he had at lengthagreed to speak to the people in support of the hateful administrationof John Adams. John Randolph, who had never in his life addressed anaudience, nor, as he afterwards declared, had ever imagined that hecould do so, suddenly determined, the very evening before the daynamed for the meeting, to reply to Patrick Henry. It was an open-airmeeting. No structure in Virginia could have contained the multitudethat thronged to hear the transcendent orator, silent for so manyyears, and now summoned from his retirement by General Washingtonhimself to speak for a Union imperilled and a government assailed. Hespoke with the power of other days? for he was really alarmed for hiscountry; and when he had finished his impassioned harangue, he sunkback into the arms of his friends, as one of them said, "like the sunsetting in his glory. " For the moment he had all hearts with him. Thesturdiest Republican in Virginia could scarcely resist the spell ofthat amazing oratory. 

John Randolph rose to reply. His first sentences showed not only thathe could speak, but that he knew the artifices of an old debater; forhe began by giving eloquent expression to the veneration felt by hishearers for the aged patriot who had just addressed them. He spoke forthree hours, it is said; and if we may judge from the imperfectoutline of his speech that has come down to us, he spoke as well thatday as ever he did. States' Rights was the burden of his speech. Thatthe Alien and Sedition Law was an outrage upon human nature, he mayhave believed; but what he _felt_ was, that it was an outrage upon theCommonwealth of Virginia. He may have thought it desirable that allgovernments should confine themselves to the simple business ofcompelling the faithful performance of contracts; but what he_insisted upon_ was, that the exercise by the government of the UnitedStates of any power not expressly laid down in the letter of theConstitution was a wrong to Virginia. If John Adams is right, said he, in substance, then Virginia has gained nothing by the Revolution but achange of masters, --New England for Old England, --which he thought was_not_ a change for the better. 

It was unnecessary, in the Virginia of 1799, for the head of the houseof Randolph to be an orator in order to secure an election to theHouse of Representatives. He was elected, of course. When he cameforward to be sworn in, his appearance was so youthful, that the Clerkof the House asked him, with the utmost politeness, whether he hadattained the legal age. His reply was eminently characteristic of thetobacco lord: "Go, sir, and ask my _constituents_: they sent me here. "As there was no one present authorized by the Constitution to box theears of impudent boys on the floor of the House, he was sworn withoutfurther question. It has often occurred to us that this anecdote, which John Randolph used to relate with much satisfaction, was typicalof much that has since occurred. The excessive courtesy of theofficer, the insolence of the Virginia tobacconist, the submission ofthe Clerk to that insolence, --who has not witnessed such scenes in theCapitol at Washington?

It was in December, 1799, that this fiery and erratic genius took hisseat in the House of Representatives. John Adams had still sixteenmonths to serve as target for the sarcasm of the young talent of thenation. To calm readers of the present day, Mr. Adams does really seema strange personage to preside over a government; but the cairn readerof the present day cannot realize the state of things in the year1800. We cannot conceive what a fright the world had had in theexcesses of the French Revolution, and the recent usurpation ofGeneral Bonaparte. France had made almost every timid man inChristendom a tory. Serious and respectable people, above forty, andenjoying a comfortable income, felt that there was only one thing leftfor a decent person to do, --to assist in preserving the _authority_ ofgovernment. John Adams, by the constitution of his mind, was as much atory as John Randolph; for he too possessed imagination and talentdisproportioned to his understanding. To be a democrat it is necessaryto have a little pure intellect; since your democrat is merely aperson who can, occasionally, see things and men as they are. NewEngland will always be democratic enough as long as her boys learnmental arithmetic; and Ireland will always be the haunt of tories aslong as her children are brought up upon songs, legends, andceremonies. To make a democratic people, it is only necessary toaccustom them to use their minds. 

Nothing throws such light upon the state of things in the UnitedStates in 1800, as the once famous collision between these two naturaltories, John Adams and John Randolph, which gave instantaneouscelebrity to the new member, and made him an idol of the Republicanparty. In his maiden speech, which was in opposition to a proposedincrease of the army, he spoke disparagingly of the troops alreadyserving, using the words _ragamuffins_ and _mercenaries_. In thispassage of his speech, the partisan spoke, not the man. John Randolphexpressed the real feeling of his nature toward soldiers, when, a fewyears later, on the same floor, he said: "If I must have a master, lethim be one with epaulets; something which I can look up to; but not amaster with a quill behind his ear. " In 1800, however, it pleased himto style the soldiers of the United States ragamuffins andmercenaries; which induced two young officers to push, hustle, andotherwise discommode and insult him at the theatre. Strange to relate, this hot Virginian, usually so prompt with a challenge to mortalcombat, reported the misconduct of these officers to the President ofthe United States. This eminently proper act he did in an eminentlyproper manner, thanks to his transient connection with the Republicanparty. Having briefly stated the case, he concluded his letter to thePresident thus:

 "The independence of the legislature has been attacked, and the majesty of the people, of which you are the principal representative, insulted, and your authority contemned. In their name, I demand that a provision commensurate with the evil be made, and which will be calculated to deter others from any future attempt to introduce the reign of terror into our country. In addressing you in this plain language of man, I give you, sir, the best proof I can afford of the estimation in which I hold your office and your understanding; and I assure you with truth, that I am, with respect, your fellow-citizen, John Randolph. "

This language so well accords with our present sense of the becoming, that a person unacquainted with that period would be unable to pointto a single phrase calculated to give offence. In the year 1800, however, the President of the United States saw in every expression ofthe letter contemptuous and calculated insult. "The majesty of thepeople, " forsooth! The President merely their "representative"! "plainlanguage of man"! and "with respect, your fellow-citizen"! To theheated imaginations of the Federalists of 1800, language of this kind, addressed to the President, was simply prophetic of the guillotine. Soamazed and indignant was Mr. Adams, that he submitted the letter tohis Cabinet, requesting their opinion as to what should be done withit. Still more incredible is it, that four members of the Cabinet, inwriting, declared their opinion to be, that "the contemptuous languagetherein adopted requires a public censure. " They further said, that, "if such addresses remain unnoticed, we are apprehensive that a precedent will be established which must necessarily destroy the ancient, respectable, and urbane usages of this country. "

Some lingering remains of good-sense in the other member of theCabinet prevented the President from acting upon their advice; and hemerely sent the letter to the House, with the remark that he"submitted the whole letter and its tendencies" to theirconsideration, "without any other comments on its matter and style. "

This affair, trivial as it was, sufficed in that mad time to lift theyoung member from Virginia into universal notoriety, and caused him tobe regarded as a shining light of the Republican party. The splendorof his talents as an orator gave him at once the ear of the House andthe admiration of the Republican side of it; while the fury of hiszeal against the President rendered him most efficient in thePresidential canvass. No young man, perhaps, did more than he towardthe election of Jefferson and Burr in 1800. He was indeed, at thattime, before disease had wasted him, and while still enjoying theconfidence of the Republican leaders and subject to the neededrestraints of party, a most effective speaker, whether in the House orupon the stump. He had something of Burke's torrent-like fluency, andsomething of Chatham's spirit of command, with a piercing, audacioussarcasm all his own. He was often unjust and unreasonable, but neverdull. He never spoke in his life without being at least attentivelylistened to. 

Mr. Jefferson came into power; and John Randolph, triumphantlyre-elected to Congress, was appointed Chairman of the Committee ofWays and Means, --a position not less important then than now. He wasthe leader of the Republican majority in the House. His social rank, his talents, his position in the House of Representatives, theadmiration of the party, the confidence of the President, all unitedto render him the chief of the young men of the young nation. It wascaptivating to the popular imagination to behold this heir of anancient house, this possessor of broad lands, this orator of genius, belonging to the party of the people. He aided to give the Republicanparty the only element of power which it lacked, --socialconsideration. The party had numbers and talent; but it had not thatwhich could make a weak, rich man vain of the title of Republican. Atthe North, clergy, professors, rich men, were generally Federalists, and it was therefore peculiarly pleasing to Democrats to point to thiseminent and brilliant Virginian as a member of their party. Hedischarged the duties of his position well, showing ability as a manof business, and living in harmony with his colleagues. As often as hereached Washington, at the beginning of a session, he found thePresident's card (so Colonel Benton tells us) awaiting him for dinnerthe next day at the White House, when the great measures of thesession were discussed. It was he who moved the resolutions of respectfor the memory of that consummate republican, that entire and perfectdemocrat, Samuel Adams of Massachusetts. It was he who arranged thefinancial measures required for the purchase of Louisiana, and made noobjection to the purchase. During the first six years of Mr. Jefferson's Presidency, he shrank from no duty which his party had aright to claim from him. Whatever there might he narrow or erroneousin his political creed was neutralized by the sentiment of nationalitywhich the capital inspires, and by the practical views which mustneeds be taken of public affairs by the Chairman of the Committee ofWays and Means. 

These were the happy years of his life, and the most honorable ones. Never, since governments have existed, has a country been governed sowisely, so honestly, and so economically as the United States wasgoverned during the Presidency of Thomas Jefferson. Randolph himself, after twenty years of opposition to the policy of this incomparableruler, could still say of his administration, that it was the only onehe had ever known which "seriously and in good faith was disposed togive up its patronage, " and which desired to go further in deprivingitself of power than the people themselves had thought. "Jefferson, "said John Randolph in 1828, "was the only man I ever knew or heard ofwho really, truly, and honestly, not only said, _Nolo episcopari_, butactually refused the mitre. "

For six years, as we have said, Mr. Randolph led the Republican partyin the House of Representatives, and supported the measures of theadministration, --all of them. In the spring of 1807, without apparentcause, he suddenly went into opposition, and from that time opposedthe policy of the administration, --the whole of it. 

Why this change? If there were such a thing as going apprentice to theart of discovering truth, a master in that art could not set anapprentice a better preliminary lesson than this: Why did JohnRandolph go into opposition in 1807? The gossips of that day had nodifficulty in answering the question. Some said he had asked Mr. Jefferson for a foreign mission, and been refused. Others thought itwas jealousy of Mr. Madison, who was known to be the President'schoice for the succession. Others surmised that an important statesecret had been revealed to other members of the House, but not tohim. These opinions our tyro would find very positively recorded, andhe would also, in the course of his researches, come upon thestatement that Mr. Randolph himself attributed the breach to hishaving beaten the President at a game of chess, which the Presidentcould not forgive. The truth is, that John Randolph bolted for thesame reason that a steel spring resumes its original bent the instantthe restraining force is withdrawn. His position as leader of a partywas irksome, because it obliged him to work in harness, and he hadnever been broken to harness. His party connection bound him to sidewith France in the great contest then raging between France andEngland, and yet his whole soul sympathized with England. This nativeVirginian was more consciously and positively English than any nativeof England ever was. English literature had nourished his mind;English names captivated his imagination; English traditions, feelings, instincts, habits, prejudices, were all congenial to hisnature. How hard for such a man to side officially with Napoleon inthose gigantic wars! Abhorring Napoleon with all a Randolph's force ofantipathy, it was nevertheless expected of him, as a good Republican, to interpret leniently the man who, besides being the armed soldier ofdemocracy, had sold Louisiana to the United States. Randolph, moreover, was an absolute aristocrat. He delighted to tell the Houseof Representatives that he, being a Virginian slaveholder, was _not_obliged to curry favor with his coachman or his shoeblack, lest whenhe drove to the polls the coachman should dismount from his box, orthe shoeblack drop his brushes, and neutralize their master's vote byvoting on the other side. How he exulted in the fact that in Virginianone but freeholders could vote! How happy he was to boast, that, inall that Commonwealth, there was no such thing as a ballot-box! "May Inever live to see the day, " he would exclaim, "when a Virginian shallbe ashamed to declare aloud at the polls for whom he casts his vote!"What pleasure he took in speaking of his Virginia wilderness as a"barony, " and signing his name "John Randolph of Roanoke, " and inwearing the garments that were worn in Virginia when the great tobaccolords were running through their estates in the fine old picturesqueand Irish fashion!

Obviously, an antique of this pattern was out of place as a leader inthe Republican party. For a time the spell of Jefferson's winninggenius, and the presence of a powerful opposition, kept him in somesubjection; but in 1807 that spell had spent its force, and theFederal party was not formidable. John Randolph was himself again. Theimmediate occasion of the rupture was, probably, Mr. Jefferson'sevident preference of James Madison as his successor. We have a rightto infer this, from the extreme and lasting rancor which Randolphexhibited toward Mr. Madison, who he used to say was as mean a man fora Virginian as John Quincy Adams was for a Yankee. Nor ought we everto speak of this gifted and unhappy man without considering hisphysical condition. It appears from the slight notices we have of thisvital matter, that about the year 1807 the stock of vigor which hisyouth had acquired was gone, and he lived thenceforth a miserableinvalid, afflicted with diseases that sharpen the temper and narrowthe mind. John Randolph _well_ might have outgrown inheritedprejudices and limitations, and attained to the stature of a modern, anational, a republican man. John Randolph _sick_--radically andincurably sick--ceased to grow just when his best growth wouldnaturally have begun. 

The sudden defection of a man so conspicuous and considerable, at atime when the Republican party was not aware of its strength, struckdismay to many minds, who felt, with Jefferson, that to the Republicanparty in the United States were confided the best interests of humannature. Mr. Jefferson was not in the least alarmed, because he knewthe strength of the party and the weakness of the man. The letterwhich he wrote on this subject to Mr. Monroe ought to be learned byheart by every politician in the country, --by the self-seekers, forthe warning which it gives them, and by the patriotic, for the comfortwhich it affords them in time of trouble. Some readers, perhaps, willbe reminded by it of events which occurred at Washington not longerago than last winter. [1]

 "Our old friend Mercer broke off from us some time ago; at first, professing to disdain joining the Federalists; yet, from the habit of voting together, becoming soon identified with them. Without carrying over with him one single person, he is now in a state of as perfect obscurity as if his name had never been known. Mr. J. Randolph is in the same track, and will end in the same way. His course has excited considerable alarm. Timid men consider it as a proof of the weakness of our government, and that it is to be rent in pieces by demagogues and to end in anarchy. I survey the scene with a different eye, and draw a different augury from it. In a House of Representatives of a great mass of good sense, Mr. Randolph's popular eloquence gave him such advantages as to place him unrivalled as the leader of the House; and, although not conciliatory to those whom he led, principles of duty and patriotism induced many of them to swallow humiliations he subjected them to, and to vote as was right, as long as he kept the path of right himself. The sudden departure of such a man could not but produce a momentary astonishment, and even dismay; but for a moment only. The good sense of the House rallied around its principles, and, without any leader, pursued steadily the business of the session, did it well, and by a strength of vote which has never before been seen. .. . The augury I draw from this is, that there is a steady good sense in the legislature and in the body of the nation, joined with good intentions, which will lead them to discern and to pursue the public good under all circumstances which can arise, and that no _ignis fatuus_ will be able to lead them long astray. "

Mr. Jefferson predicted that the lost sheep of the Republican foldwould wander off to the arid wastes of Federalism; but he never didso. His defection was not an inconsistency, but a return toconsistency. He presented himself in his true character thenceforth, which was that of a States' Rights fanatic. He opposed the election ofMr. Madison to the Presidency, as he said, because Mr. Madison wasweak on the sovereignty of the States. He opposed the war of 1812 fortwo reasons:--1. Offensive war was in itself unconstitutional, being a_national_ act. 2. War was nationalizing. A hundred times before thewar, he foretold that, if war occurred, the sovereignty of the Stateswas gone forever, and we should lapse into nationality. A thousandtimes after the war, he declared that this dread lapse had occurred. At a public dinner, after the return of peace, he gave the oncecelebrated toast, "States' Rights, --_De mortuis nil nisi bonum_. " Asbefore the war he sometimes affected himself to tears while dwellingupon the sad prospect of kindred people imbruing their hands in oneanother's blood, so during the war he was one of the few Americancitizens who lamented the triumphs of their country's arms. In hissolitude at Roanoke he was cast down at the news of Perry's victory onthe lake, because he thought it would prolong the contest; and heexulted in the banishment of Napoleon to Elba, although it let loosethe armies and fleets of Britain upon the United States. "Thatinsolent coward, " said he, "has met his deserts at last. " ThisVirginia Englishman would not allow that Napoleon possessed evenmilitary talent; but stoutly maintained, to the last, that he was themerest sport of fortune. When the work of restoration was in progress, under the leadership of Clay and Calhoun, John Randolph was in hiselement, for he could honestly oppose every movement and suggestion ofthose young orators, --national bank, protective tariff, internalimprovements, everything. He was one of the small number who objectedto the gift of land and money to Lafayette, and one of the stubbornminority who would have seen the Union broken up rather than assent tothe Missouri Compromise, or to _any_ Missouri compromise. The questionat issue in all these measures, he maintained, was the same, and itwas this: Are we a nation or a confederacy?

Talent, too, is apt to play the despot over the person that possessesit. This man had such a power of witty vituperation in him, with sodecided a histrionic gift, that his rising to speak was always aninteresting event; and he would occasionally hold both the House andthe galleries attentive for three or four hours. He became accustomedto this homage; he craved it; it became necessary to him. As far backas 1811, Washington Irving wrote of him, in one of his letters fromWashington:

 "There is no speaker in either House that excites such universal attention as Jack Randolph. But they listen to him more to be delighted by his eloquence and entertained by his ingenuity and eccentricity, than to be convinced by sound doctrine and close argument. "

As he advanced in age, this habit of startling the House by unexpecteddramatic exhibitions grew upon him. One of the most vivid picturesever painted in words of a parliamentary scene is that in which thelate Mr. S. G. Goodrich records his recollection of one of thesedisplays. It occurred in 1820, during one of the Missouri debates. Atall man, with a little head and a small oval face, like that of anaged boy, rose and addressed the chairman. 

"He paused a moment, " wrote Mr. Goodrich, "and I had time to study his appearance. His hair was jet-black, and clubbed in a queue; his eye was black, small, and painfully penetrating. His complexion was a yellowish-brown, bespeaking Indian blood. I knew at once that it must be John Randolph. As he uttered the words, 'Mr. Speaker!' every member turned in his seat, and, facing him, gazed as if some portent had suddenly appeared before them. 'Mr. Speaker, ' said he, in a shrill voice, which, however, pierced every nook and corner of the hall, 'I have but one word to say, --one word, sir, and that is to state a fact. The measure to which the gentleman has just alluded originated in a dirty trick!' These were his precise words. The subject to which he referred I did not gather, but the coolness and impudence of the speaker were admirable in their way. I never saw better acting, even in Kean. His look, his manner, his long arm, his elvish fore-finger, --like an exclamation-point, punctuating his bitter thought, --showed the skill of a master. The effect of the whole was to startle everybody, as if a pistol-shot had rung through the hall. "--_Recollections_, Vol. II. P. 395. 

Such anecdotes as these, which are very numerous, both in and out ofprint, convey an inadequate idea of his understanding; for there wasreally a great fund of good sense in him and in his political creed. Actor as he was, he was a very honest man, and had a hearty contemptfor all the kinds of falsehood which he had no inclination to commit. No man was more restive under debt than he, or has better depicted itshorrors. Speaking once of those Virginia families who gave banquetsand kept up expensive establishments, while their estates were coveredall over with mortgages, he said: "I always think I can see theanguish under the grin and grimace, like old Mother Cole's dirtyflannel peeping out beneath her Brussels lace. " He was strong in theopinion that a man who is loose in money matters is not trustworthy inanything, --an opinion which is shared by every one who knows eitherlife or history. "The time was, " he wrote, "when I was fool enough to believe that a man might be negligent of pecuniary obligations, and yet be a very good fellow; but long experience has convinced me that he who is lax in this respect is utterly unworthy of trust in any other. "

He discriminated well between those showy, occasional acts ofso-called generosity which such men perform, and the true, habitual, self-denying benevolence of a solvent and just member of society. "Despise the usurer and the miser as much as you will, " he wouldexclaim, "but the spendthrift is more selfish than they. " But his veryhonesty was most curiously blended with his toryism. One of hisfriends relates the following anecdote:--

 "Just before we sailed, the Washington papers were received, announcing the defeat of the Bankrupt Bill by a small majority. At that moment, I forgot that Randolph had been one of its most determined opponents, and I spoke with the feelings of a merchant when I said to him, --

 "'Have you heard the very bad news from Washington this morning?'

 "'No, sir, ' replied he, with eagerness; 'what is it?'

 "'Why, sir, I am sorry to tell you that the House of Representatives has thrown out the Bankrupt Bill by a small majority. '

 "'Sorry, sir!' exclaimed he; and then, taking off his hat and looking upwards, he added, most emphatically, 'Thank God for all his mercies!'

 "After a short pause he continued: 'How delighted I am to think that I helped to give that hateful bill a kick. Yes, sir, this very day week I spoke for three hours against it, and my friends, who forced me to make the effort, were good enough to say that I never had made a more successful speech; it must have had _some_ merit, sir; for I assure you, whilst I was speaking, although the Northern mail was announced, not a single member left his seat to look for letters, --a circumstance which had not occurred before during the session!'

 "I endeavored to combat his objections to a Bankrupt Bill subsequently, but, of course, without any success: _he felt as a planter, and was very jealous of the influence of merchants as legislators_. "

There are flashes of sense and touches of pathos in some of his mosttory passages. As he was delivering in the House one of his emphaticpredictions of the certain failure of our experiment of freedom onthis continent, he broke into an apology for so doing, that broughttears to many eyes. "It is an infirmity of my nature, " said he, "to have an obstinate constitutional preference of the true over the agreeable; and I am satisfied, that, if I had had an only son, or what is dearer, an only daughter, --which God forbid!--I say, God forbid, for she might bring her father's gray hairs with sorrow to the grave; she might break my heart, or worse than that--what? Can anything be worse than that? Yes, sir, I _might break hers_!"

His fable, too, of the caterpillar and the horseman was conceived inarrogance, but it was pretty and effective. Every tory intellect onearth is pleased to discourse in that way of the labors of the onlymen who greatly help their species, --the patient elaborators of truth. A caterpillar, as we learn from this fable, had crawled slowly over afence, which a gallant horseman took at a single leap. "Stop, " saysthe caterpillar, "you are too flighty; you want connection and continuity; it took me an hour to get over; you can't be as sure as I am that you have really overcome the difficulty, and are indeed over the fence. "

To which, of course, the gallant horseman makes the expectedcontemptuous reply. This is precisely in the spirit of Carlyle'ssneers at the political economists, --the men who are not content tosit down and howl in this wilderness of a modern world, but bestirthemselves to discover methods by which it can be made less awilderness. 

There is so much truth in the doctrines of the original States' Rightsparty, --the party of Jefferson, Madison, and Patrick Henry, --that avery commonplace man, who learned his politics in that school, is ableto make a respectable figure in the public counsels. The mere notionthat government, being a necessary evil, is to be reduced to theminimum that will answer the purposes of government, saves from manyfalse steps. The doctrine that the central government is to confineitself to the duties assigned it in the Constitution, is a guidingprinciple suited to the limited human mind. A vast number of claims, suggestions, and petitions are excluded by it even from consideration. If an eloquent Hamiltonian proposes to appropriate the public moneyfor the purpose of enabling American manufacturers to exhibit theirproducts at a Paris Exhibition, the plainest country member of theJeffersonian school perceives at once the inconsistency of such aproposition with the fundamental principle of his political creed. Hehas a compass to steer by, and a port to sail to, instead of beingafloat on the waste of waters, the sport of every breeze that blows. It is touching to observe that this unhappy, sick, and sometimes madJohn Randolph, amid all the vagaries of his later life, had always avein of soundness in him, derived from his early connection with theenlightened men who acted in politics with Thomas Jefferson. Thephrase "masterly inactivity" is Randolph's; and it is something onlyto have given convenient expression to a system of conduct so oftenwise. He used to say that Congress could scarcely do too little. Hisideal of a session was one in which members should make speeches tillevery man had fully expressed and perfectly relieved his mind, thenpass the appropriation bills, and go home. And we ought not to forgotthat, when President John Quincy Adams brought forward his schemes forcovering the continent with magnificent works at the expense of thetreasury of the United States, and of uniting the republics of bothAmericas into a kind of holy alliance, it was Randolph's piercingsarcasm which, more than anything else, made plain to new members thefallacy, the peril, of such a system. His opposition to this wildfederalism involved his support of Andrew Jackson; but there was noother choice open to him. 

Seldom did he display in Congress so much audacity and ingenuity as indefending General Jackson while he was a candidate for the Presidencyagainst Mr. Adams. The two objections oftenest urged against Jacksonwere that he was a military chieftain, and that he could not spell. Mr. Randolph discoursed on these two points in a most amusing manner, displaying all the impudence and ignorance of the tory, inextricablymingled with the good sense and wit of the man. "General Jacksoncannot write, " said a friend. "Granted, " replied he. "General Jacksoncannot write because he was never taught; but his competitor cannotwrite because he was not teachable. " He made a bold remark in one ofhis Jacksonian harangues. "The talent which enables a man to write abook or make a speech has no more relation to the leading of an armyor a senate, than it has to the dressing of a dinner. " He pronounced afine eulogium on the Duke of Marlborough, one of the worst spellers inEurope, and then asked if gentlemen would have had that illustriousman "superseded by a Scotch schoolmaster. " It was in the sameludicrous harangue that he uttered his famous joke upon those schoolsin which young ladies were said to be "finished. " "Yes, " he exclaimed, "_finished_ indeed; finished for all the duties of a wife, or mother, or mistress of a family. " Again he said:

 "There is much which it becomes a second-rate man to know, which a first-rate man ought to be ashamed to know. No head was ever clear and sound that was stuffed with book-learning. My friend, W. R. Johnson, has many a groom that can clean and dress a racehorse, and ride him too, better than he can. "

He made the sweeping assertion, that no man had ever presided over agovernment with advantage to the country governed, who had not in himthe making of a good general; for, said he, "the talent for governmentlies in these two things, --sagacity to perceive, and decision to act. "Really, when we read this ingenious apology for, or rather eulogy of, ignorance, we cease to wonder that General Jackson should have senthim to Russia. 

The religious life of Randolph is a most curious study. He experiencedin his lifetime four religious changes, or conversions. His gentlemother, whose name he seldom uttered without' adding with tenderemphasis, "God bless her!" was such a member of the Church of Englandas gentle ladies used to be before an "Evangelical" party was known init. She taught his infant lips to pray; and, being naturally trustfuland affectionate, he was not an unapt pupil. But in the library of theold mansion on the Appomattox, in which he passed his forming years, there was a "wagon-load" of what he terms "French infidelity, " thoughit appears there were almost as many volumes of Hobbes, Shaftesbury, Collins, Hume, and Gibbon, as there were of Diderot, D'Alembert, Helvetius, and Voltaire. These works he read in boyhood; and when hecame to mingle among men, he found that the opinions of such authorsprevailed in the circles which he most frequented. Just as he, anatural tory, caught some tincture of republicanism from Jefferson andhis friends, so he, the natural believer, adopted the fashion ofscepticism, which then ruled the leading minds of all lands; and justas he lapsed back into toryism when the spell which drew him away fromit had spent its force, so he became, in the decline of his powers, aprey to religious terrors. For twenty-two years, as we have said, heheld aloof from religion, its ministers, and its temples. The diseasethat preyed upon him so sharpened his temper, and so perverted hisperceptions of character, that, one after another, he alienated allthe friends and relations with whom he ought to have lived; and heoften found himself, between the sessions of Congress, the sole whitetenant of his lonely house at Roanoke, --the sick and solitarypatriarch of a family of three hundred persons. He sought to alleviatethis horrid solitude by adopting and rearing the orphaned sons of oldfriends; to whom, when he was himself, he was the most affectionateand generous of guardians. But even they could not very long endurehim; for, in His adverse moods, he was incarnate Distrust, and, havingconceived a foul suspicion, his genius enabled him to give it suchwithering expression that it was not in the nature of a young man topass it by as the utterance of transient madness. So they too lefthim, and he was utterly alone in the midst of a crowd of blackdependants. We see from his letters, that, while he saw theimpossibility of his associating with his species, he yet longed andpined for their society and love. Perhaps there never lived a moreunhappy person. Revering women, and formed to find his happiness indomestic life, he was incapable of being a husband; and if this hadnot been the case, no woman could have lived with him. Yearning forcompanionship, but condemned to be alone, his solace was thereflection that, so long as there was no one near him, he was atorment only to himself. "Often, " he writes in one of his letters, "I mount my horse and sit upon him for ten or fifteen minutes, wishing to go somewhere, but not knowing where to ride; for I would escape anywhere from the incubus that weighs me down, body and soul; but the fiend follows me _en croupe_. .. . The strongest considerations of duty are barely sufficient to prevent me from absconding to some distant country, where I might live and die unknown. "

A mind in such a state as this is the natural prey of superstition. Adream, he used to say, first recalled his mind to the consideration ofreligion. This was about the year 1810, at the height of those hotdebates that preceded the war of 1812. For nine years, he tells us, the subject gradually gained upon him, so that, at last, it was hisfirst thought in the morning and his last at night. From the atheismupon which he had formerly plumed himself, he went to the oppositeextreme. For a long time he was plunged into the deepest gloom, regarding himself as a sinner too vile to be forgiven. He sought forcomfort in the Bible, in the Prayer-book, in conversation andcorrespondence with religious friends, in the sermons of celebratedpreachers. He formed a scheme of retiring from the world into somekind of religious retreat, and spending the rest of his life inprayers and meditation. Rejecting this as a cowardly desertion of thepost of duty, he had thoughts of setting up a school for children, andbecoming himself a teacher in it. This plan, too, he laid aside, assavoring of enthusiasm. Meanwhile, this amiable and honest gentleman, whose every error was fairly attributable to the natural limitationsof his mind or to the diseases that racked his body, was tormented byremorse, which would have been excessive if he had been a pirate. Hesays that, after three years of continual striving, he still dared notpartake of the Communion, feeling himself "unworthy. " "I was present, "he writes, "when Mr. Hoge invited to the table, and I would have givenall I was worth to have been able to approach it. " Some inkling of hiscondition, it appears, became known to the public, and excited greatgood-will towards him on the part of many persons of similar belief. 

Some of his letters written during this period contain an almostludicrous mixture of truth and extravagance. He says in one of them, that his heart has been softened, and he "_thinks_ he has _succeeded_in forgiving all his enemies"; then he adds, "There is not a humanbeing that I would hurt if it were in my power, --not even Bonaparte. "In another place he remarks that the world is a vast mad-house, and, "if what is to come be anything like what has passed, it would be wiseto abandon the bulk to the underwriters, --the worms. " In the whole ofhis intercourse with mankind, he says he never met with but threepersons whom he did not, on getting close to their hearts, discover tobe unhappy; and they were the only three he had ever known who had areligion. He expresses this truth in language which limits it to oneform or kind of religion, the kind which he heard expounded in thechurches of Virginia in 1819. Give it broader expression, and everyobserver of human life will assent to it. It is indeed most true, thatno human creature gets much out of life who has no religion, no sacredobject, to the furtherance of which his powers are dedicated. 

He obtained some relief at length, and became a regular communicant ofthe Episcopal Church. But although he ever after manifested an extremeregard for religious things and persons, and would never permit eitherto be spoken against in his presence without rebuke, he was very farfrom edifying his brethren by a consistent walk. At Washington, in thedebates, he was as incisive and uncharitable as before. Hisdenunciations of the second President Adams's personal character wereas outrageous as his condemnation of parts of his policy was just. Mr. Clay, though removed from the arena of debate by his appointment tothe Department of State, was still the object of his bitter sarcasm;and at length he included the President and the Secretary in thatmerciless philippic in which he accused Mr. Clay of forgery, andstyled the coalition of Adams and Clay as "the combination of thePuritan and the Blackleg. " He used language, too, in the course ofthis speech, which was understood to be a defiance to mortal combat, and it was so reported to Mr. Clay. The reporters, however, misunderstood him, as it was not his intention nor his desire tofight. Nevertheless, to the astonishment and sorrow of his religiousfriends, he accepted Mr. Clay's challenge with the utmost possiblepromptitude, and bore himself throughout the affair like (to use thepoor, lying, tory cant of the last generation) "a high-toned Virginiagentleman. " Colonel Benton tells us that Mr. Randolph invented aningenious excuse for the enormous inconsistency of his conduct on thisoccasion. A duel, he maintained, was private war, and was justifiableon the same ground as a war between two nations. Both were lamentable, but both were allowable when there was no other way of getting redressfor insults and injuries. This was plausible, but it did not deceive_him_. He knew very well that his offensive language respecting a manwhom he really esteemed was wholly devoid of excuse. He had thecourage requisite to expiate the offence by standing before Mr. Clay'spistol; but he could not stand before his countrymen and confess thathis abominable antithesis was but the spurt of mingled ill-temper andthe vanity to shine. Any good tory can fight a duel with a respectabledegree of composure; but to own one's self, in the presence of anation, to have outraged the feelings of a brother-man, from thedesire to startle and amuse an audience, requires the kind of valorwhich tories do not know. "Whig and tory, " says Mr. Jefferson, "belongto natural history. " But then there is such a thing, we are told, asthe regeneration of the natural man; and we believe it, and cling toit as a truth destined one day to be resuscitated and purified fromthe mean interpretations which have made the very word sickening tothe intelligence of Christendom. Mr. Randolph had not achieved theregeneration of his nature. He was a tory still. In the testing hour, the "high-toned Virginia gentleman" carried the day, without astruggle, over the communicant. 

During the last years of his life, the monotony of his anguish wasrelieved by an occasional visit to the Old World. It is interesting tonote how thoroughly at home he felt himself among the English gentry, and how promptly they recognized him as a man and a brother. He was, as we have remarked, _more_ English than an Englishman; for Englanddoes advance, though slowly, from the insular to the universal. Diningat a great house in London, one evening, he dwelt with patheticeloquence upon the decline of Virginia. Being asked what he thoughtwas the reason of her decay, he startled and pleased the lords andladies present by attributing it all to the repeal of the law ofprimogeniture. One of the guests tells us that this was deemed "astrange remark from a _Republican_" and that, before the party brokeup, the company had "almost taken him for an aristocrat. " It happenedsometimes, when he was conversing with English politicians, that itwas the American who defended the English system against the attacksof Englishmen; and so full of British prejudice was he, that, inParis, he protested that a decent dinner could not be bought formoney. Westminster Abbey woke all his veneration. He went into it, onemorning, just as service was about beginning, and took his place amongthe worshippers. Those of our readers who have attended the morningservice at an English cathedral on a week-day cannot have forgottenthe ludicrous smallness of the congregation compared with the imposingarray of official assistants. A person who has a little tincture ofthe Yankee in him may even find himself wondering how it can "pay" theBritish empire to employ half a dozen reverend clergymen and a dozenrobust singers to aid seven or eight unimportant members of thecommunity in saying their prayers. But John Randolph of Roanoke hadnot in him the least infusion of Yankee. Standing erect in the almostvacant space, he uttered the responses in a tone that was in startlingcontrast to the low mumble of the clergyman's voice, and that roseabove the melodious amens of the choir. He took it all in most seriousearnest. When the service was over, he said to his companion, afterlamenting the hasty and careless manner in which the service had beenperformed, that he esteemed it an honor to have worshipped God inWestminster Abbey. As he strolled among the tombs, he came, at last, to the grave of two men who had often roused his enthusiasm. Hestopped, and spoke:

 "I will not say, Take off your shoes, for the ground on which you stand is holy; but, look, sir, do you see those simple letters on the flagstones beneath your feet, --W. P. And C. J. F. Here lie, side by side, the remains of the two great rivals, Pitt and Fox, whose memory so completely lives in history. No marble monuments are necessary to mark the spot where _their_ bodies repose. There is more simple grandeur in those few letters than in all the surrounding monuments, sir. "

How more than English was all this! England had been growing away fromand beyond Westminster Abbey, William Pitt, and Charles James Fox; butthis Virginia Englishman, living alone in his woods, with his slavesand his overseers, severed from the progressive life of his race, wasliving still in the days when a pair of dissolute young orators couldbe deemed, and with some reason too, the most important persons in agreat empire. A friend asked him how he was pleased with England. Heanswered with enthusiasm, --

 "There never was such a country on the face of the earth as England, and it is utterly impossible that there can be any combination of circumstances hereafter to make such another country as Old England now is!"

We ought not to have been surprised at the sympathy which the EnglishTories felt during the late war for their brethren in the SouthernStates of America. It was as natural as it was for the EnglishProtestants to welcome the banished Huguenots. It was as natural as itwas for Louis XIV. To give an asylum to the Stuarts. The traveller whoshould have gone, seven years ago, straight from an Englishagricultural county to a cotton district of South Carolina, or atobacco county of Virginia, would have felt that the differencesbetween the two places were merely external. The system in both placesand the spirit of both were strikingly similar. In the old parts ofVirginia, the Carolinas, Tennessee, and Kentucky, you had only to getten miles from a railroad to find yourself among people who wereEnglish in their feelings, opinions, habits, and even in their accent. New England differs from Old England, because New England has grown:Virginia was English, because she had been stationary. Happening to besomewhat familiar with the tone of feeling in the South, --the _real_South, or, in other words, the South ten miles from a railroad, --wewere fully prepared for Mr. Russell's statement with regard to thedesire so frequently expressed in 1861 for one of the English princesto come and reign over a nascent Confederacy. Sympathies andantipathies are always mutual when they are natural; and never wasthere a sympathy more in accordance with the nature of things, thanthat which so quickly manifested itself between the strugglingSouthern people and the majority of the ruling classes of GreatBritain. 

Mr. Randolph took leave of public life, after thirty years of service, not in the most dignified manner. He furnished another illustration ofthe truth of a remark made by a certain queen of Denmark, --"The ladydoth protest too much. " Like many other gentlemen in independentcircumstances, he had been particularly severe upon those of hisfellow-citizens who earned their subsistence by serving the public. Itpleased him to speak of members of the Cabinet as "the drudges of thedepartments, " and to hold gentlemen in the diplomatic service up tocontempt as forming "the tail of the _corps diplomatique_ in Europe. "He liked to declaim upon the enormous impossibility of _his_ everexchanging a seat in Congress for "the shabby splendors" of an officein Washington, or in a foreign mission "to dance attendance abroadinstead of at home. " When it was first buzzed about in Washington, in1830, that General Jackson had tendered the Russian mission to JohnRandolph, the rumor was not credited. An appointment so exquisitelyabsurd was supposed to be beyond even Andrew Jackson's audacity. Theoffer had been made, however. Mr. Randolph's brilliant defence ofGeneral Jackson's bad spelling, together with Mr. Van Buren'swillingness to place an ocean between the new administration and amaster of sarcasm, to whom opposition had become an unchangeablehabit, had dictated an offer of the mission, couched in such seductivelanguage that Mr. Randolph yielded to it as readily as those ladiesaccept an offer of marriage who have often announced their intentionnever to marry. Having reached the scene of his diplomatic labors atthe beginning of August, he began to perform them with remarkableenergy. In a suit of black, the best, he declared, that London couldfurnish, he was presented to the Emperor and to the Empress, havingfirst submitted his costume to competent inspection. Resolute to dohis whole duty, he was not content to send his card to the diplomaticcorps, but, having engaged a handsome coach and four, he called uponeach member of the diplomatic body, from the ambassadors to thesecretaries of legation. Having performed these labors, and havingdiscovered that a special object with which he was charged could notthen be accomplished, he had leisure to observe that St. Petersburg, in the month of August, is not a pleasant residence to an invalid ofsixty. He describes the climate in these terms:--

 "Heat, dust impalpable, pervading every part and pore . .. Insects of all nauseous descriptions, bugs, fleas, mosquitoes, flies innumerable, gigantic as the empire they inhabit, who will take no denial. This is the land of Pharaoh and his plagues, --Egypt and its ophthalmia and vermin, without its fertility, --Holland, without its wealth, improvements, or cleanliness. "

He endured St. Petersburg for the space of ten days, then sailed forEngland, and never saw Russia again. When the appropriation bill wasbefore Congress at the next session, opposition members did not failto call in question the justice of requiring the people of the UnitedStates to pay twenty thousand dollars for Mr. Randolph's ten days'work, or, to speak more exactly, for Mr. Randolph's apology for thePresident's bad spelling; but the item passed, nevertheless. Duringthe reign of Andrew Jackson, Congress was little more than a board ofregistry for the formal recording of his edicts. There are those whothink, at the present moment, that what a President hath done, aPresident may do again. 

It was fortunate that John Randolph was in retirement when Calhounbrought on his Nullification scheme. The presence in Congress of a manso eloquent and so reckless, whose whole heart and mind were with theNullifiers, might have prevented the bloodless postponement of thestruggle. He was in constant correspondence with the South Carolinaleaders, and was fully convinced that it was the President of theUnited States, not "the Hamiltons and Haynes" of South Carolina, whoought to seize the first pretext to concede the point in dispute. Nocitizen of South Carolina was more indignant than he at GeneralJackson's Proclamation. He said that, if the people did not rousethemselves to a sense of their condition, and "put down this wretchedold man, " the country was irretrievably ruined; and he spoke of thetroops despatched to Charleston as "mercenaries, " to whom he hoped "noquarter would be given. " The "wretched old man" whom the people wereto "put down" was Andrew Jackson, not John C. Calhoun. 

We do not forget that, when John Randolph uttered these words, he wasscarcely an accountable being. Disease had reduced him to a skeleton, and robbed him of almost every attribute of man except his capacity tosuffer. But even in his madness he was a representative man, and spokethe latent feeling of his class. The diseases which sharpened histemper unloosed his tongue; he revealed the tendency of the Southernmind, as a petulant child reveals family secrets. In his good and inhis evil he was an exaggerated Southerner of the higher class. He waslike them, too, in this: they are not criminals to be punished, butpatients to be cured. Sometimes, of late, we have feared that theyresemble him also in being incurable. 

As long as Americans take an interest in the history of their country, they will read with interest the strange story of this sick andsuffering representative of sick and suffering Virginia. To the last, old Virginia wore her ragged robes with a kind of grandeur which wasnot altogether unbecoming, and which to the very last imposed upontory minds. Scarcely any one could live among the better Southernpeople without liking them; and few will ever read Hugh Garland's Lifeof John Randolph, without more than forgiving all his vagaries, impetuosities, and foibles. How often, upon riding away from aSouthern home, have we been ready to exclaim, "What a pity such goodpeople should be so accursed!" Lord Russell well characterized theevil to which we allude as "that fatal gift of the poisoned garmentwhich was flung around them from the first hour of theirestablishment. "

The last act of John Randolph's life, done when he lay dying at ahotel in Philadelphia, in June, 1833, was to express once more hissense of this blighting system. Some years before, he had made a willby which all his slaves were to be freed at his death. He wouldprobably have given them their freedom before his death, but for thefact, too evident, that freedom to a black man in a Slave State wasnot a boon. The slaves freed by his brother, forty years' before, hadnot done well, because (as he supposed) no land had been bequeathedfor their support. Accordingly, he left directions in his will that atract of land, which might be of four thousand acres, should be setapart for the maintenance of his slaves, and that they should betransported to it and established upon it at the expense of hisestate. "I give my slaves their freedom" said he in his will, "towhich my conscience tells me they are justly entitled. " On the lastday of his life, surrounded by strangers, and attended by two of hisold servants, his chief concern was to make distinctly known to asmany persons as possible that it was really his will that his slavesshould be free. Knowing, as he did, the aversion which hisfellow-citizens had to the emancipation of slaves, and even to thepresence in the State of free blacks, he seemed desirous of takingaway every pretext for breaking his will. A few hours before hisdeath, he said to the physician in attendance: "I confirm everydisposition in my will, especially that concerning my slaves whom Ihave manumitted, and for whom I have made provision. " The doctor, soonafter, took leave of him, and was about to depart. "You must not go, "said he, "you cannot, you shall not leave me. " He told his servant notto let the doctor go, and the man immediately locked the door and putthe key in his pocket. The doctor remonstrating, Mr. Randolphexplained, that, by the laws of Virginia, in order to manumit slavesby will, it was requisite that the master should _declare_ his will inthat particular in the presence of a white witness, who, after hearingthe declaration, must never lose sight of the party until he is dead. The doctor consented, at length, to remain, but urged that morewitnesses should be sent for. This was done. At ten in the morning, four gentlemen were ranged in a semicircle round his bed. He waspropped up almost in a sitting posture, and a blanket was wrappedround his head and shoulders. His face was yellow, and extremelyemaciated; he was very weak, and it required all the remaining energyof his mind to endure the exertion he was about to make. It wasevident to all present that his whole soul was in the act, and his eyegathered fire as he performed it. Pointing toward the witnesses withthat gesture which for so many years had been familiar to the House ofRepresentatives, he said, slowly and distinctly: "I confirm all thedirections in my will respecting my slaves, and direct them to beenforced, particularly in regard to a provision for their support. "Then, raising his hand and placing it upon the shoulder of hisservant, he added, "Especially for this man. " Having performed thisact, his mind appeared relieved, but his strength immediately lefthim, and in two hours he breathed his last. 

The last of the Randolphs, and one of the best representatives of theoriginal masters of Virginia, the high-toned Virginia gentleman, wasno more. Those men had their opportunity, but they had not strength ofcharacter equal to it. They were tried and found wanting. Theuniverse, which loves not the high-toned, even in violins, disownedthem, and they perished. Cut off from the life-giving current ofthought and feeling which kept the rest of Christendom advancing, theycame to love stagnation, and looked out from their dismal, isolatedpool with lofty contempt at the gay and active life on the flowingstream. They were not teachable, for they despised the men who couldhave taught them. But we are bound always to consider that they weresubjected to a trial under which human virtue has always given way, and will always. Sudden wealth is itself sufficient to spoil any butthe very best men, --those who can instantly set it at work for thegeneral good, and continue to earn an honest livelihood by faithfullabor. But those tobacco lords of Virginia, besides making largefortunes in a few years, were the absolute, irresponsible masters of asubmissive race. And when these two potent causes of effeminacy andpride had worked out their proper result in the character of themasters, then, behold! their resources fail. Vicious agricultureexhausts the soil, false political economy prevents the existence of amiddle class, and the presence of slaves repels emigration. Proud, ignorant, indolent, dissolute, and in debt, the dominant families, oneafter another, passed away, attesting to the last, by an occasionalvigorous shoot, the original virtue of the stock. All this poor JohnRandolph represented and was. 

Virginia remains. Better men will live in it than have ever yet livedthere; but it will not be in this century, and possibly not in thenext. It cannot be that so fair a province will not be one dayinhabited by a race of men who will work according to the laws ofnature, and whom, therefore, the laws of nature will co-operate withand preserve. How superior will such Virginians be to what Dr. FrancisLieber styles the "provincial egotism" of State sovereignty!

[Footnote 1: 1865-6. ]

STEPHEN GIRARD AND HIS COLLEGE. 

Within the memory of many persons still alive, "old Girard, " as thefamous banker was usually styled, a short, stout, brisk old gentleman, used to walk, in his swift, awkward way, the streets of the lower partof Philadelphia. Though everything about him indicated that he hadvery little in common with his fellow-citizens, he was the marked manof the city for more than a generation. His aspect was ratherinsignificant and quite unprepossessing. His dress was old-fashionedand shabby; and he wore the pig-tail, the white neck-cloth, thewide-brimmed hat, and the large-skirted coat of the last century. Hewas blind of one eye; and though his bushy eyebrows gave somecharacter to his countenance, it was curiously devoid of expression. He had also the absent look of a man who either had no thoughts or wasabsorbed in thought; and he shuffled along on his enormous feet, looking neither to the right nor to the left. There was always acertain look of the old mariner about him, though he had been fiftyyears an inhabitant of the town. When he rode it was in the plainest, least comfortable gig in Philadelphia, drawn by an ancient andill-formed horse, driven always by the master's own hand at a goodpace. He chose still to live where he had lived for fifty years, inWater Street, close to the wharves, in a small and inconvenient house, darkened by tall storehouses, amid the bustle, the noise, and theodors of commerce. His sole pleasure was to visit once a day a littlefarm which he possessed a few miles out of town, where he was wont totake off his coat, roll up his shirt-sleeves, and personally labor inthe field and in the barn, hoeing corn, pruning trees, tossing hay, and not disdaining even to assist in butchering the animals which heraised for market. It was no mere ornamental or experimental farm. Hemade it pay. All of its produce was carefully, nay, scrupulouslyhusbanded, sold, recorded, and accounted for. He loved his grapes, hisplums, his pigs, and especially his rare breed of Canary-birds; butthe people of Philadelphia had the full benefit of their increase, --atthe highest market rates. 

Many feared, many served, but none loved this singular and lonely oldman. If there was among the very few who habitually conversed with himone who understood and esteemed him, there was but one; and he was aman of such abounding charity, that, like Uncle Toby, if he had heardthat the Devil was hopelessly damned, he would have said, "I am sorryfor it. " Never was there a person more destitute than Girard of thequalities which win the affection of others. His temper was violent, his presence forbidding, his usual manner ungracious, his willinflexible, his heart untender, his imagination dead. He was odious tomany of his fellow-citizens, who considered him the hardest andmeanest of men. He had lived among them for half a century, but he wasno more a Philadelphian in 1830 than in 1776. He still spoke with aFrench accent, and accompanied his words with a French shrug andFrench gesticulation. Surrounded with Christian churches which he hadhelped to build, he remained a sturdy unbeliever, and possessed thecomplete works of only one man, Voltaire. He made it a point of dutyto labor on Sunday, as a good example to others. He made no secret ofthe fact, that he considered the idleness of Sunday an injury to thepeople, moral and economical. He would have opened his bank onSundays, if any one would have come to it. For his part, he requiredno rest, and would have none. He never travelled. He never attendedpublic assemblies or amusements. He had no affections to gratify, nofriends to visit, no curiosity to appease, no tastes to indulge. Whathe once said of himself appeared to be true, that he rose in themorning with but a single object, and that was to labor so hard allday as to be able to sleep all night. The world was absolutely nothingto him but a working-place. He scorned and scouted the opinion, thatold men should cease to labor, and should spend the evening of theirdays in tranquillity. "No, " he would say, "labor is the price of life, its happiness, its everything; to rest is to rust; every man shouldlabor to the last hour of his ability. " Such was Stephen Girard, therichest man who ever lived in Pennsylvania. 

This is an unpleasing picture of a citizen of polite and amiablePhiladelphia. It were indeed a grim and dreary world in which shouldprevail the principles of Girard. But see what this man has done forthe city that loved him not! Vast and imposing structures rise on thebanks of the Schuylkill, wherein, at this hour, six hundred poororphan boys are fed, clothed, trained, and taught, upon the income ofthe enormous estate which he won by this entire consecration to thework of accumulating property. In the ample grounds of Girard College, looking up at its five massive marble edifices, strolling in its shadywalks or by its verdant play-grounds, or listening to the cheerfulcries of the boys at play, the most sympathetic and imaginative of menmust pause before censuring the sterile and unlovely life of itsfounder. And if he should inquire closely into the character andcareer of the man who willed this great institution into being, hewould perhaps be willing to admit that there was room in the world forone Girard, though it were a pity there should ever be another. Suchan inquiry would perhaps disclose that Stephen Girard was endowed bynature with a great heart as well as a powerful mind, and thatcircumstances alone closed and hardened the one, cramped and pervertedthe other. It is not improbable that he was one of those unfortunatebeings who desire to be loved, but whose temper and appearance combineto repel affection. His marble statue, which adorns the entrance tothe principal building, if it could speak, might say to us, "Living, you could not understand nor love me; dead, I compel at least yourrespect. " Indeed, he used to say, when questioned as to his career, "Wait till I am dead; my deeds will show what I was. "

Girard's recollections of his childhood were tinged with bitterness. He was born at Bordeaux in 1750. He was the eldest of the fivechildren of Captain Pierre Girard, a mariner of substance andrespectability. He used to complain that, while his younger brotherswere taught at college, his own education was neglected, and that heacquired at home little more than the ability to read and write. Heremembered, too, that at the age of eight years he discovered, to hisshame and sorrow, that one of his eyes was blind, --a circumstance thatexposed him to the taunts of his companions. The influence of apersonal defect, and of the ridicule it occasions, upon the characterof a sensitive child, can be understood only by those whose childhoodwas embittered from that cause; but such cases as those of Byron andGirard should teach those who have the charge of youth the crime it isto permit such defects to be the subject of remark. Girard also earlylost his mother, an event which soon brought him under the sway of astep-mother. Doubtless he was a wilful, arbitrary, and irascible boy, since we know that he was a wilful, arbitrary, and irascible man. Before he was fourteen, having chosen the profession of his father, heleft home, with his father's consent, and went to sea in the capacityof cabin-boy. He used to boast, late in life, that he began the worldwith sixpence in his pocket. Quite enough for a cabin-boy. 

For nine years he sailed between Bordeaux and the French West Indies, returning at length with the rank of first mate, or, as the Frenchterm it, lieutenant of his vessel. He had well improved his time. Someof the defects of his early education he had supplied by study, and itis evident that he had become a skilful navigator. It was then the lawof France that no man should command a vessel who was not twenty-fiveyears old, and had not sailed two cruises in a ship of the royal navy. Girard was but twenty-three, and had sailed in none butmerchant-vessels. His father, however, had influence enough to procurehim a dispensation; and in 1773 he was licensed to command. He appearsto have been scarcely just to his father when he wrote, sixty-threeyears after:

 "I have the proud satisfaction of knowing that my conduct, my labor, and my economy have enabled me to do one hundred times more for my relations than they all together have ever done for me since the day of my birth. "

In the mere amount of money expended, this may have been true; but itis the _start_ toward fortune that is so difficult. His father, besides procuring the dispensation, assisted him to purchase goods forhis first commercial venture. At the age of twenty-four, we find himsailing to the West Indies; not indeed in command of the vessel, butprobably as mate and supercargo, and part owner of goods to the valueof three thousand dollars. He never trod his native land again. Havingdisposed of his cargo and taken on board another, he sailed for NewYork, which he reached in July, 1774. The storm of war, which was soonto sweep commerce from the ocean, was already muttering below thehorizon, when Stephen Girard, "mariner and merchant, " as he alwaysdelighted to style himself, first saw the land wherein his lot was tobe cast. For two years longer, however, he continued to exercise histwofold vocation. An ancient certificate, preserved among his papers, informs the curious explorer, that, "in the year 1774, Stephen Girard sailed as mate of a vessel from New York to [New] Orleans, and that he continued to sail out of the said port until May, 1776, when he arrived in Philadelphia commander of a sloop, "

of which the said Stephen Girard was part owner. 

Lucky was it for Girard that he got into Philadelphia just when hedid, with all his possessions with him. He had the narrowest escapefrom capture. On his way from New Orleans to a Canadian port, he hadlost himself in a fog at the entrance of Delaware Bay, swarming thenwith British cruisers, of whose presence Captain Girard had heardnothing. His flag of distress brought alongside an American captain, who told him where he was, and assured him that, if he ventured outto-sea, he would never reach port except as a British prize. "_MonDieu_!" exclaimed Girard in great panic, "what shall I do?" "You haveno chance but to push right up to Philadelphia, " replied the captain. "How am I to get there?" said Girard; "I have no pilot, and I don'tknow the way. " A pilot was found, who, however, demanded a preliminarypayment of five dollars, which Girard had not on board. In greatdistress, he implored the captain to be his security for the sum. Heconsented, a pilot took charge of the sloop, the anchor was heaved, and the vessel sped on her way. An hour later, while they were stillin sight of the anchorage, a British man-of-war came within the capes. But Dr. Franklin, with his oared galleys, his _chevaux de frise_, hisforts, and his signal-stations, had made the Delaware a safe harbor ofrefuge; and Girard arrived safely at Philadelphia on one of the earlydays of May, 1776. Thus it was a mere chance of war that gave Girardto the Quaker City. In the whole world he could not have found a morecongenial abode, for the Quakers were the only religious sect withwhich he ever had the slightest sympathy. Quakers he always liked andesteemed, partly because they had no priests, partly because theydisregarded ornament and reduced life to its simplest and most obviousutilities, partly because some of their opinions were in accord withhis own. He had grown up during the time when Voltaire was sovereignlord of the opinions of Continental Europe. Before landing atPhiladelphia, he was already a republican and an unbeliever, and suchhe remained to the last. The Declaration of Independence wasimpending: he was ready for it. The "Common Sense" of Thomas Paine hadappeared: he was the man of all others to enjoy it. It is, however, questionable if at that time he had English enough to understand it inthe original, since the colloquy just reported with the Americancaptain took place in French. He was slow in becoming familiar withthe English language, and even to the end of his life seemed to preferconversing in French. 

He was a mariner no more. The great fleet of Lord Howe arrived at NewYork in July. Every harbor was blockaded, and all commerce wassuspended. Even the cargoes of tobacco despatched by Congress to theirCommissioners in France, for the purchase of arms and stores, wereusually captured before they had cleared the Capes. Captain Girard nowrented a small store in Water Street, near the spot where he lived fornearly sixty years, in which he carried on the business of a grocerand wine-bottler. Those who knew him at this time report that he was ataciturn, repulsive young man, never associating with men of his ownage and calling, devoted to business, close in his dealings, of themost rigorous economy, and preserving still the rough clothing andgeneral appearance of a sailor. Though but twenty-six years of age, hewas called "old Girard. " He seemed conscious of his inability toplease, but bore the derision of his neighbors with stoicalequanimity, and plodded on. 

War favors the skilful and enterprising business-man. Girard had agenius for business. He was not less bold in his operations thanprudent; and his judgment as a man of business was well-nighinfallible. Destitute of all false pride, he bought whatever hethought he could sell to advantage, from a lot of damaged cordage to apipe of old port; and he labored incessantly with his own hands. Hewas a thriving man during the first year of his residence inPhiladelphia; his chief gain, it is said, being derived from hisfavorite business of bottling wine and cider. 

The romance, the mystery, the tragedy of his life now occurred. Walking along Water Street one day, near the corner of Vine Street, the eyes of this reserved and ill-favored man were caught by abeautiful servant-girl going to the pump for a pail of water. She wasan enchanting brunette of sixteen, with luxuriant black locks curlingand clustering about her neck. As she tripped along with bare feet andempty pail, in airy and unconscious grace, she captivated thesusceptible Frenchman, who saw in her the realization of the songs ofthe forecastle and the reveries of the quarter-deck. He sought heracquaintance, and made himself at home in her kitchen. The family whomshe served, misinterpreting the designs of the thriving dealer, forbade him the house; when he silenced their scruples by offering thegirl his hand in marriage. Ill-starred Polly Lumm! Unhappy Girard! Sheaccepted his offer; and in July, 1777, the incongruous two, beingunited in matrimony, attempted to become one. 

The war interrupted their brief felicity. Philadelphia, oftenthreatened, fell into the hands of Lord Howe in September, 1777; andamong the thousands who needlessly fled at his approach were "oldGirard" and his pretty young wife. He bought a house at Mount Holly, near Burlington, in New Jersey, for five hundred dollars, to which heremoved, and there continued to bottle claret and sell it to theBritish officers, until the departure of Lord Howe, in June, 1778, permitted his return to Philadelphia. The gay young officers, it issaid, who came to his house at Mount Holly to drink his claret, werefar from being insensible to the charms of Mrs. Girard; and traditionfurther reports that on one occasion a dashing colonel snatched akiss, which the sailor resented, and compelled the officer toapologize for. 

Of all miserable marriages this was one of the most miserable. Herewas a young, beautiful, and ignorant girl united to a close, ungracious, eager man of business, devoid of sentiment, with a violenttemper and an unyielding will. She was an American, he a Frenchman;and that alone was an immense incompatibility. She was seventeen, hetwenty-seven. She was a woman; he was a man without imagination, intolerant of foibles. She was a beauty, with the natural vanities ofa beauty; he not merely had no taste for decoration, he disapproved iton principle. These points of difference would alone have sufficed toendanger their domestic peace; but time developed something that wasfatal to it. Their abode was the scene of contention for eight years;at the expiration of which period Mrs. Girard showed such symptoms ofinsanity that her husband was obliged to place her in the PennsylvaniaHospital. In these distressing circumstances, he appears to havespared no pains for her restoration. He removed her to a place in thecountry, but without effect. She returned to his house only to renderlife insupportable to him. He resumed his old calling as a mariner, and made a voyage to the Mediterranean; but on his return he found hiswife not less unmanageable than before. In 1790, thirteen years aftertheir marriage, and five after the first exhibition of insanity, Mrs. Girard was placed permanently in the hospital; where, nine monthsafter, she gave birth to a female child. The child soon died; themother never recovered her reason. For twenty-five years she lived inthe hospital, and, dying in 1815, was buried in the hospital groundsafter the manner of the Quakers. The coffin was brought to the grave, followed by the husband and the managers of the institution, whoremained standing about it in silence for several minutes. It was thenlowered to its final resting-place, and again the company remainedmotionless and silent for a while. Girard looked at the coffin oncemore, then turned to an acquaintance and said, as he walked away, "Itis very well. " A green mound, without headstone or monument, stillmarks the spot where the remains of this unhappy woman repose. Girard, both during his lifetime and after his death, was a liberal, thoughnot lavish, benefactor of the institution which had so long shelteredhis wife. 

Fortunes were not made rapidly in the olden time. After theRevolution, Girard engaged in commerce with the West Indies, inpartnership with his brother John; and he is described in an officialpaper of the time as one who "carried on an extensive business as amerchant, and is a considerable owner of real estate. " But on thedissolution of the partnership in 1790, when he had been in business, as mariner and merchant, for sixteen years, his estate was valued atonly thirty thousand dollars. The times were troubled. The FrenchRevolution, the massacre at St. Domingo, our disturbed relations withEngland, and afterwards with France, the violence of our partycontests, all tended to make merchants timid, and to limit theiroperations. Girard, as his papers indicate, and as he used to relatein conversation, took more than a merchant's interest in the events ofthe time. From the first, he had formally cast in his lot with thestruggling Colonists, as we learn from a yellow and faded documentleft among his papers:--

 "I do hereby certify that Stephen Girard, of the city of Philadelphia, merchant, hath voluntarily taken the oath of allegiance and fidelity, as directed by an act of the General Assembly of Pennsylvania, passed the 13th day of June, A. D. 1777. Witness my hand and seal, the 27th day of October, A. D. 1778. 

 "JNO. ORD. No. 1678. "

The oath was repeated the year following. When the French Revolutionhad divided the country into two parties, the Federalists and theRepublicans, Girard was a Republican of the radical school. Heremembered assisting to raise a liberty-pole in the Presidency of JohnAdams; and he was one of Mr. Jefferson's most uncompromising adherentsat a time when men of substance were seldom found in the ranks of theDemocrats. As long as he lived, he held the name of Thomas Jeffersonin veneration. 

We have now to contemplate this cold, close, ungainly, ungracious manin a new character. We are to see that a man may seem indifferent tothe woes of individuals, but perform sublime acts of devotion to acommunity. We are to observe that there are men of sterling butpeculiar metal, who only shine when the furnace of general afflictionis hottest. In 1793, the malignant yellow-fever desolatedPhiladelphia. The consternation of the people cannot be conceived byreaders of the present day, because we cannot conceive of theignorance which then prevailed respecting the laws of contagion, because we have lost in some degree the habit of panic, and because nokind of horror can be as novel to us as the yellow-fever was to thepeople of Philadelphia in 1793. One half of the population fled. Thosewho remained left their houses only when compelled. Most of thechurches, the great Coffee-House, the Library, were closed. Of fourdaily newspapers, only one continued to be published. Some peopleconstantly smoked tobacco, --even women and children, did so; otherschewed garlic; others exploded gunpowder; others burned nitre orsprinkled vinegar; many assiduously whitewashed every surface withintheir reach; some carried tarred rope in their hands, or bags ofcamphor round their necks; others never ventured abroad without ahandkerchief or a sponge wet with vinegar at their noses. No oneventured to shake hands. Friends who met in the streets gave eachother a wide berth, eyed one another askance, exchanged nods, andstrode on. It was a custom to walk in the middle of the street, to getas far from the houses as possible. Many of the sick died withouthelp, and the dead were buried without ceremony. The horrid silence ofthe streets was broken only by the tread of litter-bearers and theawful rumble of the dead-wagon. Whole families perished, --perishedwithout assistance, their fate unknown to their neighbors. Money waspowerless to buy attendance for the operation of all ordinary motiveswas suspended. From the 1st of August to the 9th of November, in apopulation of twenty-five thousand, there were four thousand andthirty-one burials, --about one in six. 

Happily for the honor of human nature, there are always, in times likethese, great souls whom base panic cannot prostrate. A few bravephysicians, a few faithful clergymen, a few high-minded citizens, afew noble women, remembered and practised what is due to humanityovertaken by a calamity like this. On the 10th of September, a notice, without signature, appeared in the only paper published, stating thatall but three of the Visitors of the Poor were sick, dead, or missing, and calling upon all who were willing to help to meet at the City Hallon the 12th. From those who attended the meeting, a committee oftwenty-seven was appointed to superintend the measures for relief, ofwhom Stephen Girard was one. On Sunday, the 15th, the committee met;and the condition of the great hospital at Bush Hill was laid beforethem. It was unclean, ill-regulated, crowded, and ill-supplied. Nursescould not be hired at any price, for even to approach it was deemedcertain death. Then, to the inexpressible astonishment and admirationof the committee, two men of wealth and importance in the city offeredpersonally to take charge of the hospital during the prevalence of thedisease. Girard was one of these, Peter Helm the other. Girard appearsto have been the first to offer himself. "Stephen Girard, " recordsMatthew Carey, a member of the committee, "sympathizing with the wretched situation of the sufferers at Bush Hill, voluntarily and unexpectedly offered himself as a manager to superintend that hospital. The surprise and satisfaction excited by this extraordinary effort of humanity can be better conceived than expressed. "

That very afternoon, Girard and Helm went out to the hospital, andentered upon their perilous and repulsive duty. Girard chose the postof honor. He took charge of the interior of the hospital, while Mr. Helm conducted its out-door affairs. For sixty days he continued toperform, by day and night, all the distressing and revolting officesincident to the situation. In the great scarcity of help, he usedfrequently to receive the sick and dying at the gate, assist incarrying them to their beds, nurse them, receive their last messages, watch for their last breath, and then, wrapping them in the sheet theyhad died upon, carry them out to the burial-ground, and place them inthe trench. He had a vivid recollection of the difficulty of findingany kind of fabric in which to wrap the dead, when the vast number ofinterments had exhausted the supply of sheets. "I would put them, " hewould say, "in any old rag I could find. " If he ever left thehospital, it was to visit the infected districts, and assist inremoving the sick from the houses in which they were dying withouthelp. One scene of this kind, witnessed by a merchant, who washurrying past with camphored handkerchief pressed to his mouth, affords us a vivid glimpse of this heroic man engaged in his sublimevocation. A carriage, rapidly driven by a black man, broke the silenceof the deserted and grass-grown street. It stopped before a framehouse; and the driver, first having bound a handkerchief over hismouth, opened the door of the carriage, and quickly remounted to thebox. A short, thick-set man stepped from the coach and entered thehouse. In a minute or two, the observer, who stood at a safe distancewatching the proceedings, heard a shuffling noise in the entry, andsoon saw the stout little man supporting with extreme difficulty atall, gaunt, yellow-visaged victim of the pestilence. Girard heldround the waist the sick man, whose yellow face rested against hisown; his long, damp, tangled hair mingled with Girard's; his feetdragging helpless upon the pavement. Thus he drew him to the carriagedoor, the driver averting his face from the spectacle, far fromoffering to assist. Partly dragging, partly lifting, he succeeded, after long and severe exertion, in getting him into the vehicle. Hethen entered it himself, closed the door, and the carriage drove awaytowards the hospital. 

A man who can do such things at such a time may commit errors andcherish erroneous opinions, but the essence of that which makes thedifference between a good man and a bad man must dwell within him. Twice afterwards Philadelphia was visited by yellow-fever, in 1797 and1798. On both occasions, Girard took the lead, by personal exertion orgifts of money, in relieving the poor and the sick. He had a singulartaste for nursing the sick, though a sturdy unbeliever in medicine. According to him, nature, not doctors, is the restorer, --nature, aidedby good nursing. Thus, after the yellow-fever of 1798, he wrote to afriend in France:

 "During all this frightful time, I have constantly remained in the city; and, without neglecting my public duties, I have played a part which will make you smile. Would you believe it, my friend, that I have visited as many as fifteen sick people in a day? and what will surprise you still more, I have lost only one patient, an Irishman, who would drink a little. I do not flatter myself that I have cured one single person; but you will think with me, that in my quality of Philadelphia physician I have been very moderate, and that not one of my _confrères_ has killed fewer than myself. "

It is not by nursing the sick, however, that men acquire colossalfortunes. We revert, therefore, to the business career of thisextraordinary man. Girard, in the ancient and honorable acceptation ofthe term, was a merchant; i. E. A man who sent his own ships to foreigncountries, and exchanged their products for those of his own. Beginning in the West India trade, with one small schooner built withdifficulty and managed with caution, he expanded his business as hiscapital increased, until he was the owner of a fleet of merchantmen, and brought home to Philadelphia the products of every clime. Beginning with single voyages, his vessels merely sailing to a foreignport and back again, he was accustomed at length to project greatmercantile cruises, extending over long periods of time, and embracingmany ports. A ship loaded with cotton and grain would sail, forexample, to Bordeaux, there discharge, and take in a cargo of wine andfruit; thence to St. Petersburg, where she would exchange her wine andfruit for hemp and iron; then to Amsterdam, where the hemp and ironwould be sold for dollars; to Calcutta next for a cargo of tea andsilks, with which the ship would return to Philadelphia. Such were thevoyages so often successfully made by the Voltaire, the Rousseau, theHelvetius, and the Montesquieu; ships long the pride of Girard and theboast of Philadelphia, their names being the tribute paid by themerchant to the literature of his native land. He seldom failed tomake very large profits. He rarely, if ever, lost a ship. 

His neighbors, the merchants of Philadelphia, deemed him a lucky man. Many of them thought they could do as well as he, if they only had hisluck. But the great volumes of his letters and papers, preserved in aroom of the Girard College, show that his success in business was notdue, in any degree whatever, to good fortune. Let a money-makinggeneration take note, that Girard principles inevitably produce Girardresults. The grand, the fundamental secret of his success, as of allsuccess, was that _he understood his business_. He had a personal, familiar knowledge of the ports with which he traded, the commoditiesin which he dealt, the vehicles in which they were carried, thedangers to which they were liable, and the various kinds of menthrough whom he acted. He observed everything, and forgot nothing. Hehad done everything himself which he had occasion to require others todo. His directions to his captains and supercargoes, full, minute, exact, peremptory, show the hand of a master. Every possiblecontingency was foreseen and provided for; and he demanded the mostliteral obedience to the maxim, "Obey orders, though you breakowners. " He would dismiss a captain from his service forever, if hesaved the whole profits of a voyage by departing from hisinstructions. He did so on one occasion. Add to this perfect knowledgeof his craft, that he had a self-control which never permitted him toanticipate his gains or spread too wide his sails; that his industryknew no pause; that he was a close, hard bargainer, keeping his wordto the letter, but exacting his rights to the letter; that he had novices and no vanities; that he had no toleration for those calamitieswhich result from vices and vanities; that his charities, thoughfrequent, were bestowed only upon unquestionably legitimate objects, and were never profuse; that he was as wise in investing as skilful ingaining money; that he made his very pleasures profitable to himselfin money gained, to his neighborhood in improved fruits andvegetables; that he had no family to maintain and indulge; that heheld in utter aversion and contempt the costly and burdensomeostentation of a great establishment, fine equipages, and a retinue ofservants; that he reduced himself to a money-making machine, run atthe minimum of expense;--and we have an explanation of his rapidlyacquired wealth, He used to boast, after he was a millionaire, ofwearing the same overcoat for fourteen winters; and one of his clerks, who saw him every day for twenty years, declares that he neverremembered having seen him wear a new-looking garment but once. Let usnote, too, that he was an adept in the art of getting men to serve himwith devotion. He paid small salaries, and was never known in his lifeto bestow a gratuity upon one who served him; but he knew how to makehis humblest clerk feel that the master's eye was upon him always. Violent in his outbreaks of anger, his business letters are singularlypolite, and show consideration for the health and happiness of hissubordinates. 

Legitimate commerce makes many men rich; but in Girard's day no mangained by it ten millions of dollars. It was the war of 1812, whichsuspended commerce, that made this merchant so enormously rich. In1811, the charter of the old United States Bank expired; and thecasting-vote of Vice-President George Clinton negatived the bill forrechartering it. When war was imminent, Girard had a million dollarsin the bank of Baring Brothers in London. This large sum, useless thenfor purposes of commerce, --in peril, too, from the disturbed conditionof English finance, --he invested in United States stock and in stockof the United States Bank, both being depreciated in England. Beingthus a large holder of the stock of the bank, the charter havingexpired, and its affairs being in liquidation, he bought out theentire concern; and, merely changing the name to Girard's Bank, continued it in being as a private institution, in the same building, with the same coin in its vaults, the same bank-notes, the samecashier and clerks. The banking-house and the house of the cashier, which cost three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, he bought for onehundred and twenty thousand. The stock, which he bought at fourhundred and twenty, proved to be worth, on the winding up of the oldbank, four hundred and thirty-four. Thus, by this operation, heextricated his property in England, invested it wisely in America, established a new business in place of one that could no longer becarried on, and saved the mercantile community from a considerablepart of the loss and embarrassment which the total annihilation of thebank would have occasioned. 

His management of the bank perfectly illustrates his singular andapparently contradictory character. Hamilton used to say of Burr, thathe was great in little things, and little in great things. Girard inlittle things frequently seemed little, but in great things he wasoften magnificently great. For example: the old bank had beenaccustomed to present an overcoat to its watchman every Christmas;Girard forbade the practice as extravagant;--the old bank had suppliedpenknives gratis to its clerks; Girard made them buy their own;--theold bank had paid salaries which were higher than those given in otherbanks; Girard cut them down to the average rate. To the watchman andthe clerks this conduct, doubtless, seemed little. Without pausing toargue the question with them, let us contemplate the new banker in hisgreat actions. He was the very sheet-anchor of the government creditduring the whole of that disastrous war. If advances were required ata critical moment, it was Girard who was promptest to make them. Whenall other banks and houses were contracting, it was Girard who stayedthe panic by a timely and liberal expansion. When all other paper wasdepreciated, Girard's notes, and his alone, were as good as gold. In1814, when the credit of the government was at its lowest ebb, when aloan of five millions, at seven per cent interest and twenty dollarsbonus, was up for weeks, and only procured twenty thousand dollars, itwas "old Girard" who boldly subscribed for the whole amount; which atonce gave it market value, and infused life into the paralyzed creditof the nation. Again, in 1816, when the subscriptions lagged for thenew United States Bank, Girard waited until the last day for receivingsubscriptions, and then quietly subscribed for the whole amount nottaken, which was three million one hundred thousand dollars. And yetagain, in 1829, when the enormous expenditures of Pennsylvania uponher canals had exhausted her treasury and impaired her credit, it wasGirard who prevented the total suspension of the public works by aloan to the Governor, which the assembling Legislature might or mightnot reimburse. 

Once, during the war, the control of the coin in the bank procured hima signal advantage. In the spring of 1813, his fine ship, theMontesquieu, crammed with tea and fabrics from China, was captured bya British shallop when she was almost within Delaware Bay. News of thedisaster reaching Girard, he sent orders to his supercargo to treatfor a ransom. The British admiral gave up the vessel for one hundredand eighty thousand dollars in coin; and, despite this costly ransom, the cargo yielded a larger profit than that of any ship of Girard'sduring the whole of his mercantile career. Tea was then selling at warprices. Much of it brought, at auction, two dollars and fourteen centsa pound, more than four times its cost in China. He appears to havegained about half a million of dollars. 

From the close of the war to the end of his life, a period of sixteenyears, Girard pursued the even tenor of his way, as keen and steady inthe pursuit of wealth, and as careful in preserving it, as though hisfortune were still insecure. Why was this? We should answer thequestion thus: Because his defective education left him no otherresource. We frequently hear the "success" of such men as Astor andGirard adduced as evidence of the uselessness of early education. Onthe contrary, it is precisely such men who prove its necessity; since, when they have conquered fortune, they know not how to availthemselves of its advantages. When Franklin had, at the age offorty-two, won a moderate competence, he could turn from business toscience, and from science to the public service, using money as ameans to the noblest ends. Strong-minded but unlettered men, likeGirard, who cannot be idle, must needs plod on to the end, addingsuperfluous millions to their estates. In Girard's case, too, therewas another cause of this entire devotion to business. His domesticsorrows had estranged him from mankind, and driven him into himself. Mr. Henry W. Arey, the very able and high-minded Secretary of GirardCollege, in whose custody are Girard's papers, is convinced that itwas not the love of money which kept him at work early and late to thelast days of his life. 

"No one, " he remarks, "who has had access to his private papers, can fail to become impressed with the belief that these early disappointments furnish the true key to his entire character. Originally of warm and generous impulses, the belief in childhood that he had not been given his share of the love and kindness which were extended to others changed the natural current of his feelings, and, acting on a warm and passionate temperament, alienated him from his home, his parents, and his friends. And when in after time there were super-added the years of bitter anguish resulting from his unfortunate and ill-adapted marriage, rendered even more poignant by the necessity of concealment, and the consequent injustice of public sentiment, and marring all his cherished expectations, it may be readily understood why constant occupation became a necessity, and labor a pleasure. "

Girard himself confirms this opinion. In one of his letters of 1820, to a friend in New Orleans, he says:--

 "I observe with pleasure that you have a numerous family, that you are happy and in the possession of an honest fortune. This is all that a wise man has the right to wish for. As to myself, I live like a galley-slave, constantly occupied, and often passing the night without sleeping. I am wrapped up in a labyrinth of affairs, and worn out with care. I do not value fortune. The love of labor is my highest ambition. You perceive that your situation is a thousand times preferable to mine. "

In his lifetime, as we have remarked, few men loved Girard, stillfewer understood him. He was considered mean, hard, avaricious. If arich man goes into a store to buy a yard of cloth, no one expects thathe will give five dollars for it when the price is four. But there isa universal impression that it is "handsome" in him to give higherwages than other people to those who serve him, to bestow gratuitiesupon them, and, especially, to give away endless sums in charity. Thetruth is, however, that one of the duties which a rich man owes tosociety is to be careful _not_ to disturb the law of supply and demandby giving more money for anything than a fair price, and _not_ toencourage improvidence and servility by inconsiderate and profusegifts. Girard rescued his poor relations in France from want, andeducated nieces and nephews in his own house; but his gifts to themwere not proportioned to his own wealth, but to their circumstances. His design evidently was to help them as much as would do them good, but not so much as to injure them as self-sustaining members ofsociety. And surely it was well for every clerk in his bank to knowthat all he had to expect from the rich Girard was only what he wouldhave received if he had served another bank. The money which in loosehands might have relaxed the arm of industry and the spirit ofindependence, which might have pampered and debased a retinue ofmenials, and drawn around the dispenser a crowd of cringing beggarsand expectants, was invested in solid houses, which Girard's booksshow yielded him a profit of three per cent, but which furnished tomany families comfortable abodes at moderate rents. To the mostpassionate entreaties of failing merchants for a loan to help themover a crisis, he was inflexibly deaf. They thought it meanness. Butwe can safely infer from Girard's letters and conversation that hethought it an injury to the community to avert from a man of businessthe consequences of extravagance and folly, which, in his view, werethe sole causes of failure. If there was anything that Girard utterlydespised and detested, it was that vicious mode of doing businesswhich, together with extravagant living, causes seven business men inten to fail every ten years. We are enabled to state, however, on thebest authority, that he was substantially just to those whom heemployed, and considerately kind to his own kindred. At least he meantto be kind; he did for them what he really thought was for their good. To little children, and to them only, he was gracious and affectionatein manner. He was never so happy as when he had a child to caress andplay with. 

After the peace of 1815, Girard began to consider what he should dowith his millions after his death. He was then sixty-five, but heexpected and meant to live to a good age. "The Russians, " he wouldsay, when he was mixing his _olla podrida_ of a Russian salad, "understand best how to eat and drink; and I am going to see how long, by following their customs, I can live. " He kept an excellent table;but he became abstemious as he grew older, and lived chiefly on hissalad and his good claret. En-joying perfect health, it was not untilabout the year 1828, when he was seventy-eight years of age, that heentered upon the serious consideration of a plan for the finaldisposal of his immense estate. Upon one point his mind had been longmade up. "No man, " said he, "shall be a gentleman on _my_ money. " Heoften, said that, even if he had had a son, he should have beenbrought up to labor, and should not, by a great legacy, be exemptedfrom the necessity of labor. "If I should leave him twenty thousanddollars, " he said, "he would be lazy or turn gambler. " Very likely. The son of a man like Girard, who was virtuous without being able tomake virtue engaging, whose mind was strong but rigid andill-furnished, commanding but uninstructive, is likely to have abarren mind and rampant desires, the twin causes of debauchery. Hisdecided inclination was to leave the bulk of his property for theendowment of an institution of some kind for the benefit ofPhiladelphia. The only question was, what kind of institution itshould be. 

William J. Duane[1] was his legal adviser then, --that honest andintrepid William J. Duane who, a few years later, stood calmly hisground on the question of the removal of the deposits against theinfuriate Jackson, the Kitchen Cabinet, and the Democratic party. Girard felt all the worth of this able and honorable lawyer. With himalone he conversed upon the projected institution; and Mr. Duane, without revealing his purpose, made inquiries among his travelledfriends respecting the endowed establishments of foreign countries. For several months before sitting clown to prepare the will, theynever met without conversing upon this topic, which was also the chiefsubject of discourse between them on Sunday afternoons, when Mr. Duaneinvariably dined at Mr. Girard's country-house. A home for theeducation of orphans was at length decided upon, and then the will wasdrawn. For three weeks the lawyer and his client were closeted, toiling at the multifarious details of that curious document. 

The minor bequests were speedily arranged, though they were numerousand well considered. He left to the Pennsylvania Hospital, thirtythousand dollars; to the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, twenty thousand; to theOrphan Asylum, ten thousand; to the Lancaster public schools, the samesum; the same for providing fuel for the poor in Philadelphia; thesame to the Society for the Relief of Distressed Sea-Captains andtheir families; to the Freemasons of Pennsylvania, for the relief ofpoor members twenty thousand; six thousand for the establishment of afree school in Passyunk, near Philadelphia; to his surviving brother, and to his eleven nieces, he left sums varying from five thousanddollars to twenty thousand; but to one of his nieces, who had a verylarge family, he left sixty thousand dollars. To each of the captainswho had made two voyages in his service, and who should bring his shipsafely into port, he gave fifteen hundred dollars; and to each of hisapprentices, five hundred. To his old servants, he left annuities ofthree hundred and five hundred dollars each. A portion of his valuableestates in Louisiana he bequeathed to the corporation of New Orleans, for the improvement of that city. Half a million he left for certainimprovements in the city of Philadelphia; and to Pennsylvania, threehundred thousand dollars for her canals. The whole of the residue ofhis property, worth then about six millions of dollars, he devoted tothe construction and endowment of a College for Orphans. 

Accustomed all his life to give minute directions to those whom heselected to execute his designs, he followed the same system in thatpart of his will which related to the College. The whole will waswritten out three times, and some parts of it more than three. Hestrove most earnestly, and so did Mr. Duane, to make every paragraphso clear that no one could misunderstand it. No candid person, sincerely desirous to understand his intentions, has ever found itdifficult to do so. He directed that the buildings should beconstructed of the most durable materials, "avoiding useless ornament, attending chiefly to the strength, convenience, and neatness of thewhole. " _That_, at least, is plain. He then proceeded to directprecisely what materials should be used, and how they should be used;prescribing the number of buildings, their size, the number and sizeof the apartments in each, the thickness of each wall, giving everydetail of construction, as he would have given it to a builder. Hethen gave briefer directions as to the management of the institution. The orphans were to be plainly but wholesomely fed, clothed, andlodged; instructed in the English branches, in geometry, naturalphilosophy, the French and Spanish languages, and whatever else mightbe deemed suitable and beneficial to them. "I would have them, " saysthe will, "taught facts and things, rather than words or signs. " Atthe conclusion of the course, the pupils were to be apprenticed to"suitable occupations, as those of agriculture, navigation, arts, mechanical trades, and manufactures. "

The most remarkable passage of the will is the following. The Italicsare those of the original document. 

 "I enjoin and require that _no ecclesiastic, missionary, or minister of any sect whatsoever, shall ever hold or exercise any station or duty whatever in the said College; nor shall any such person ever be admitted for any purpose, or as a visitor, within the premises appropriated to the purposes of the said College_. In making this restriction, I do not mean to cast any reflection upon any sect or person whatsoever; but as there is such a multitude of sects, and such a diversity of opinion amongst them, I desire to keep the tender minds of the orphans, who are to derive advantage from this bequest, free from the excitement which clashing doctrines and sectarian controversy are so apt to produce; my desire is, that all the instructors and teachers in the College shall take pains to instil into the minds of the scholars _the purest principles of morality_, so that, on their entrance into active life, they may, _from inclination and habit_, evince _benevolence toward their fellow-creatures_, and _a love of truth, sobriety, and industry_, adopting at the same time such religious tenets as their _matured reason_ may enable them to prefer. "

When Mr. Duane had written this passage at Girard's dictation, aconversation occurred between them, which revealed, perhaps, one ofthe old gentleman's reasons for inserting it. "What do you think ofthat?" asked Girard. Mr. Duane, being unprepared to comment upon suchan unexpected injunction, replied, after a long pause, "I can only saynow, Mr. Girard, that I think it will make a great sensation. " Girardthen said, "I can tell you something else it will do, --it will pleasethe Quakers. " He gave another proof of his regard for the Quakers bynaming three of them as the executors of his will; the whole number ofthe executors being five. 

In February, 1830, the will was executed, and deposited in Mr. Girard's iron safe. None but the two men who had drawn the will, andthe three men who witnessed the signing of it, were aware of itsexistence; and none but Girard and Mr. Duane had the least knowledgeof its contents. There never was such a keeper of his own secrets asGirard, and never a more faithful keeper of other men's secrets thanMr. Duane. And here we have another illustration of the old man'scharacter. He had just signed a will of unexampled liberality to thepublic; and the sum which he gave the able and devoted lawyer for histhree weeks' labor in drawing it was three hundred dollars!

Girard lived nearly two years longer, always devoted to business, andstill investing his gains with care. An accident in the street gave ashock to his constitution, from which he never fully recovered; and inDecember, 1831, when he was nearly eighty-two years of age, an attackof influenza terminated his life. True to his principles, he refusedto be cupped, or to take drugs into his system, though both wereprescribed by a physician whom he respected. 

Death having dissolved the powerful spell of a presence which few menhad been able to resist, it was to be seen how far his will would beobeyed, now that he was no longer able personally to enforce it. Theold man lay dead in his house in Water Street. While the public out ofdoors were curious enough to learn what he had done with his money, there was a smaller number within the house, the kindred of thedeceased, in whom this curiosity raged like a mania. They invaded thecellars of the house, and, bringing up bottles of the old man's choicewine, kept up a continual carouse. Surrounding Mr. Duane, who had beenpresent at Mr. Girard's death, and remained to direct his funeral, they demanded to know if there was a will. To silence their indecentclamor, he told them there was, and that he was one of the executors. On hearing this, their desire to learn its contents rose to fury. Invain the executors reminded them that decency required that the willshould not be opened till after the funeral. They even threatenedlegal proceedings if the will were not immediately produced; and atlength, to avoid a public scandal, the executors consented to have itread. These affectionate relatives being assembled in a parlor of thehouse in which the body of their benefactor lay, the will was takenfrom the iron safe by one of the executors. [2]

When he had opened it, and was about to begin to read, he chanced tolook over the top of the document at the company seated before him. Noartist that ever held a brush could depict the passion of curiosity, the frenzy of expectation, expressed in that group of pallid faces. Every individual among them expected to leave the apartment theconscious possessor of millions, for no one had dreamed of theprobability of his leaving the bulk of his estate to the public. Ifthey had ever heard of his saying that no one should be gentleman uponhis money, they had forgotten or disbelieved it. The openingparagraphs of the will all tended to confirm their hopes, since thebequests to existing institutions were of small amount. But the readersoon reached the part of the will which assigned to ladies andgentlemen present such trifling sums as five thousand dollars, tenthousand, twenty thousand; and he arrived erelong at the sectionswhich disposed of millions for the benefit of great cities and poorchildren. Some of them made not the slightest attempt to conceal theirdisappointment and disgust. Men were there who had married with a viewto share the wealth of Girard, and had been waiting years for hisdeath. Women were there who had looked to that event as the beginningof their enjoyment of life. The imagination of the reader must supplythe details of a scene which we might think dishonored human nature, if we could believe that human nature was meant to be subjected tosuch a strain. It had been better, perhaps, if the rich man, in hisown lifetime, had made his kindred partakers of his superabundance, especially as he had nothing else that he could share with them. Theyattempted, on grounds that seem utterly frivolous, to break the will, and employed the most eminent counsel to conduct their cause, butwithout effect. They did, however, succeed in getting the propertyacquired after the execution of the will; which Girard, disregardingthe opinion of Mr. Duane, attempted by a postscript to include in thewill. "It will not stand, " said the lawyer. "Yes it will, " saidGirard. Mr. Duane, knowing his man, was silent; and the courts havesince decided that his opinion was correct. 

Thirty-three years have passed since the city of Philadelphia enteredupon the possession of the enormous and growing estate with which Mr. Girard intrusted it. It is a question of general interest how thetrust has been administered. No citizen of Philadelphia needs to beinformed, that, in some particulars, the government of their city hasshown little more regard to the manifest will of Girard than hisnephews and nieces did. If he were to revisit the banks of theSchuylkill, would he recognize, in the splendid Grecian temple thatstands in the centre of the College grounds, the home for poororphans, devoid of needless ornament, which he directed should bebuilt there? It is singular that the very ornaments which Girardparticularly disliked are those which have been employed in theerection of this temple; namely, pillars. He had such an aversion topillars, that he had at one time meditated taking down those whichsupported the portico of his bank. Behold his College surrounded withthirty-four Corinthian columns, six feet in diameter and fifty-nine inheight, of marble, with capitals elaborately carved, each pillarhaving cost thirteen thousand dollars, and the whole colonnade fourhundred and forty thousand! And this is the abode of poor little boys, who will leave the gorgeous scene to labor in shops, and to live insuch apartments as are usually assigned to apprentices!

Now there is probably no community on earth where the number ofhonorable men bears a larger proportion to the whole population thanin Philadelphia. Philadelphia is a community of honest dealers andfaithful workmen. It is a matter of the highest interest to know howit could happen that, in such a city, a bequest for such a purposeshould be so monstrously misappropriated. 

The magnitude of the bequest was itself one cause of itsmisappropriation, and the habits of the country were another. When weset about founding an institution, our first proceeding is to erect avast and imposing edifice. When we pronounce the word College, avision of architecture is called up. It was natural, therefore, thatthe people of Philadelphia, bewildered by the unprecedented amount ofthe donation, should look to see the monotony of their city relievedby something novel and stupendous in the way of a building; and thereappears to have been no one to remind them that the value of a schooldepends wholly upon the teachers who conduct it, provided thoseteachers are free to execute their plans. The immediate cause, however, of the remarkable departure from the will in the constructionof the principal edifice was this: the custody of the Girard estatefell into the hands of the politicians of the city, who regarded thepatronage appertaining thereunto as part of the "spoils" of victory atthe polls. As we live at a time when honest lovers of their countryfrequently meditate on the means of rescuing important publicinterests from the control of politicians, we shall not deem a littleof our space ill bestowed in recounting the history of thepreposterous edifice which Girard's money paid for, and which Girard'swill forbade. 

On this subject we can avail ourselves of the testimony of the lateMr. Duane. During his own lifetime he would not permit the followingnarrative to be published, though he allowed it to be used as a sourceof information. We can now give it in his own words:--

 "In relation to the Girard College, _the whole community of Philadelphia, and all political parties in it_, are culpable. At the time of Mr. Girard's death there was a mixture of Democrats and Federalists in our Councils: the former preponderating in number. It is said that of all steps the first is the most important, and that the first proceeding has either a good or a bad influence in all that follow. Now, what was the first step of the Democratic Councils, after Mr. Girard's death, in relation to the College? Were they satisfied with the plan of it as described in his will? Did they scout the project of building a palace for poor orphans? Were there no views to offices and profits under the trust? As I was in the Select Council at the time myself, I can partly answer these questions. Instead of considering the plan of a College given in the will a good one, the Democratic Councils offered rewards to architects for other plans. And as to offices, some members of Councils looked forward to them, to say nothing of aspirants out of doors. 

 "I have ever been a Democrat in principle myself, but not so much of a modern one in practice as to pretend that the Democratic party are free from blame as to the College. If they had been content with Mr. Girard's plain plan, would they have called in architects for others?

 "If they had been opposed to pillars and ornaments, why did they invite scientific men to prepare pictures and plans almost inevitably ornamental? If they had been so careful of the trust funds, why did they stimulate the community, by presenting to them architectural drawings, to prefer some one of them to the simple plan of Girard himself? Besides, after they had been removed from power, and saw preparations made for a temple surrounded with costly columns, why did they not invoke the Democratic Legislature to arrest that proceeding? If they at any time whatever did make such an appeal, I have no recollection of it. For party effect, much may have been said and done on an election day, but I am not aware that otherwise any resistance was made. No doubt there were many good men in the Democratic party in 1831-2, and there always have been many good men in it; but I doubt whether those who made the most noise about the College on election days were either the best Democrats or the best men. The leaders, as they are called, were just as factious as the leaders of their opponents. _The struggle of both for the Girard Fund was mainly with a view to party influence. _ How much at variance with Mr. Girard's wishes this course was, may readily be shown. 

 "Immediately after his death in 1831, his will was published in the newspapers, in almanacs, and in other shapes likely to make its contents universally known. In it he said: 'In relation to the organization of the College and its appurtenances, I leave necessarily many details to the mayor, aldermen, and citizens of Philadelphia, and their successors; and I do so with the more confidence, as, from the nature of my bequests and the benefit to result from them, I trust that my fellow-citizens will observe and evince especial care and anxiety in selecting members for their City Councils and other agents, '

 "What appeal could have been more emphatic than this? How could the testator have more delicately, but clearly, indicated his anxiety that his estate should be regarded as a sacred provision for poor orphans, and not 'spoils' for trading politicians?

 "In this city, however, as almost everywhere else, to the public discredit and injury, our social affairs had been long mingled with the party questions of the Republic. At each rise or fall of one or the other party, the 'spoils' were greedily sought for. Even scavengers, unless of the victorious party, were deemed unworthy to sweep our streets. Mr. Girard's estate, therefore, very soon became an object of desire with each party, in order to increase its strength and favor its adherents. Instead of selecting for the Councils the best men of the whole community, as Mr. Girard evidently desired, the citizens of Philadelphia persisted in preserving factious distinctions, and in October, 1832, the Federal candidates prevailed. 

 "The triumphant party soon manifested a sense of their newly acquired power. Without making any trial whatever of the efficiency of the rules prepared by their predecessors for the management of the Girard trusts, they at once abolished them; and there were various other analogous evidences of intolerance. 

 "Without asserting that party passions actuated them, certain it is, that those who were now in power placed none of Mr. Girard's intimate friends in any position where they could aid in carrying out his views. No serious application was ever made, to my knowledge, to one of them for explanation on any point deemed doubtful. On the contrary, objections made by myself and others to the erection of a gorgeous temple, instead of a plain building for orphans, were utterly disregarded. 

 "A majority of the citizens of Philadelphia as a political class, and not a majority, as a social community, as trustees of a fund for orphans, having thus got entire control of the Girard estate, they turned their attention to the plans of a College collected by their Democratic predecessors. Neither of the parties appears to have originally considered whether the plan described in the will ought not to be followed, if that could be done practically. The main desire of both so far seems to have been to build in the vicinity of this city a more magnificent edifice than any other in the Union. 

 "At this time, Mr. Nicholas Biddle was in the zenith of his power. Hundreds of persons, who at the present day find fault with him, were then his worshippers. He could command any post which he was willing to fill. I do not pretend that he sought any post, 'but it suited his inclinations to be at the head of those who were intrusted by Councils with the construction of the College. Over his colleagues in this, as in another memorable instance, he seems to have had an absolute control. The architect, also, whose plan had been preferred, appears to have considered himself bound to adapt it to Mr. Biddle's conceptions of true excellence. And you now behold the result, --a splendid temple in an unfinished state, instead of the unostentatious edifice contemplated by Mr. Girard. 

 "Is all this surprising V Why should Democrats think it so? It was by them that plans and pictures of architects were called for. Why should their opponents be astonished? It was by them that a _carte blanche_ seems to have been given to Mr. Biddle in relation to the plans and the College. Is Mr. Biddle culpable? Is there no excuse for one so strongly tempted as he was, not merely to produce a splendid edifice, but to connect his name, in some measure, with that of its founder? While I am not an apologist for Mr. Biddle, I am not willing to cast blame upon him alone for the waste of time and money that we have witnessed. As a classical scholar, a man of taste, and a traveller abroad, it was not unnatural that he should desire to see near his native city the most magnificent edifice in North America. Having all the pride and sense of power which adulation is calculated to produce, the plain house described in his will may have appeared to him a profanation of all that is beautiful in architecture, and an outrage at once against all the Grecian orders. In short, the will of Mr. Girard to the contrary, Mr. Biddle, like another distinguished person, may have said, 'I take the responsibility. '"

 "It is true that this responsibility was a serious one, but less so to Mr. Biddle than to the City Councils. They were the trustees, and ought to have considered Mr. Girard's will as law to them. They should have counted the cost of departing from it. They ought to have reflected that by departing from it many orphans would be excluded from the benefits of education. They should have considered whether a Grecian temple would be such a place as poor orphans destined to labor ought to be reared in. The Councils of 1832-3, therefore, have no apology to offer. But Mr. Biddle may well say to all our parties: 'You are all more in fault than I am. You Democrats gave rewards for plans. You Federalists submitted those plans to me, and I pointed out the one I thought the best, making improvements upon it. A very few persons, Mr. Ronaldson, Mr. Duane, and one or two others alone objected; while the majority of my fellow-citizens, the Councils, and the Legislature, all looked on at what I was doing, and were silent. '"

While erecting an edifice the most opposite to Girard's intentionsthat could be contrived by man, the architect was permitted to followthe directions of the will in minor particulars, that rendered thebuilding as inconvenient as it was magnificent. The vaulted ceilingsof those spacious rooms reverberated to such a degree, that not aclass could say its lesson in them till they were hung with cottoncloth. The massive walls exuded dampness continually. The rooms of theuppermost story, lighted only from above, were so hot in the summer asto be useless; and the lower rooms were so cold in winter as toendanger the health of the inmates. It has required ingenuity andexpense to render the main building habitable; but even now thevisitor cannot but smile as he compares the splendor of thearchitecture with the homely benevolence of its purpose. The Parthenonwas a suitable dwelling-place for a marble goddess, but the mothers ofAthens would have shuddered at the thought of consigning their littleboys to dwell in its chilling grandeurs. 

We can scarcely overstate the bad effect of this first mistake. It hasconstantly tended to obscure Mr. Girard's real purpose, which was toafford a plain, comfortable home, and a plain, substantial educationto poor orphans, destined to gain their livelihood by labor. Alwaysthere have been two parties in the Board of Directors: one favoring ascheme which would make the College a _college_; the other striving tokeep it down to the modest level of the founder's intentions. Thathuge and dazzling edifice seems always to have been exerting apowerful influence against the stricter constructionists of the will. It is only within the last two years that this silent but ponderousargument has been partially overcome by the resolute good-sense of amajority of the Directors. Not the least evil consequent upon theerection of this building was, that the delay in opening the Collegecaused the resignation of its first President, Alexander D. Bache, agentleman who had it in him to organize the institution aright, andgive it a fair start. It is a curious fact, that the extensive reportby this gentleman of his year's observation of the orphan schools ofEurope has not been of any practical use in the organization of GirardCollege. Either the Directors have not consulted it, or they havefound nothing in it available for their purpose. 

The first class of one hundred pupils was admitted to the College onthe first day of the year 1848. The number of inmates is now sixhundred. The estate will probably enable the Directors to admit atlength as many as fifteen hundred. It will be seen, therefore, thatGirard College, merely from the number of its pupils, is aninstitution of great importance. 

Sixteen years have gone by since the College was opened, but it cannotyet be said that the policy of the Directors is fixed. TheseDirectors, appointed by the City Councils, are eighteen in number, ofwhom six go out of office every year, while the Councils themselvesare annually elected. Hence the difficulty of settling upon a plan, and the greater difficulty of adhering to one. Sometimes a majorityhas favored the introduction of Latin or Greek; again, themanual-labor system has had advocates; some have desired a liberalscale of living for the pupils; others have thought it best to givethem Spartan fare. Four times the President has been changed, andthere have been two periods of considerable length when there was noPresident. There have been dissensions without and trouble within. Asmany as forty-four boys have run away in a single year. Meanwhile, theAnnual Reports of the Directors have usually been so vague and soreticent, that the public was left utterly in the dark as to thecondition of the institution. Letters from masters to whom pupils havebeen apprenticed were published in the Reports, but only the letterswhich had nothing but good to say of the apprentices. Large numbers ofthe boys, it is true, have done and are doing credit to the College;but the public have no means of judging whether, upon the whole, thetraining of the College has been successful. 

Nevertheless, we believe we may say with truth that invaluableexperience has been gained, and genuine progress has been made. Tomaintain and educate six hundred boys, even if those boys hadenlightened parents to aid in the work, is a task which would exhaustthe wisdom and the tact of the greatest educator that ever lived. Butthese boys are all fatherless, and many of them motherless; themothers of many are ignorant and unwise, of some are even vicious anddissolute. A large number of the boys are of very inferior endowments, have acquired bad habits, have inherited evil tendencies. It would behard to overstate the difficulty of the work which the will of Girardhas devolved upon the Directors and teachers of Girard College. Mistakes have been made, but perhaps they have not been more seriousor more numerous than we ought to expect in the forming of aninstitution absolutely unique, and composed of material the mostunmanageable. 

There are indications, too, that the period of experiment draws to anend, and that the final plan of the College, on the basis ofcommon-sense, is about to be settled. Mr. Richard Vaux, the presenthead of the Board of Directors, writes Reports in a style mosteccentric, and not always intelligible to remote readers; but it isevident that his heart is in the work, and that he belongs to theparty who desire the College to be the useful, unambitious institutionthat Girard wished it to be. His Reports are not written withrose-water. They say _something_. They confess some failures, as wellas vaunt some successes. We would earnestly advise the Directors neverto shrink from taking the public into their confidence. The public iswiser and better than any man or any board. A plain statement everyyear of the real condition of the College, the real difficulties inthe way of its organization, would have been far better than thecarefully uttered nothings of which the Annual Reports have generallyconsisted. It was to Philadelphia that Girard left his estate. Thehonor of Philadelphia is involved in its faithful administration. Philadelphia has a right to know how it is administered. 

The President of the College is Major Richard Somers Smith, a graduateof West Point, where he was afterwards a Professor. He has served withdistinction in the Army of the Potomac, in which he commanded abrigade. To learn how to be an efficient President of Girard Collegeis itself a labor of years; and Major Smith is only in the second yearof his incumbency. The highest hopes are indulged, however, that underhis energetic rule, the College will become all that the public oughtto expect. He seems to have perceived at once the weak point of theinstitution. 

"I find in the College, " he says in one of his monthly reports, "a certain degree of impatience of study, an inertness, a dragging along, an infection of 'young-Americanism, ' a disposition to flounder along through duties half done, hurrying to reach--what is never attained--an 'easy success'; and I observe that this state of things is confined to the higher departments of study. In the elementary departments there is life; but as soon as the boy has acquired the rudiments of his English or common-school education, he begins to chafe, and to feel that it Is time for him to _go out_, and to make haste to 'finish (!) his studies, '--which of course he does without much heart. "

And again:---

 "The 'poor white male orphan, ' dwelling for eight or ten years in comfort almost amounting to luxury, waited upon by servants and machinery in nearly all his domestic requirements, unused to labor, or laboring only occasionally, with some reward in view in the form of extra privileges, finds it hard to descend from his fancied elevation to the lot of a simple apprentice; and his disappointment is not soothed by the discovery that with all his learning he has not learned wherewithal to give ready satisfaction to his master. "

It has been difficult, also, to induce the large manufacturers to takeapprentices; they are now accustomed to place boys at once upon thefooting of men, paying them such wages as they are worth. Men whoemploy forty boys will not generally undertake the responsibilitiesinvolved in receiving them as bound apprentices for a term of years. 

To remedy all these evils, Major Smith proposes to add to the Collegea Manual Labor Department, in which the elder boys shall acquire therudiments of the arts and trades to which they are destined. This willalleviate the tedium of the College routine, assist the physicaldevelopment of the boys, and send them forth prepared to render moredesirable help to their employers. The present Board of Directorsfavor the scheme. 

In one particular the College has fulfilled the wishes of its founder. He said in his will, "I desire that by every proper means, a pure attachment to our republican institutions, and to the sacred rights of conscience, as guaranteed by our happy Constitution, shall be formed and fostered in the minds of the scholars. "

Three fourths of the whole number of young men, out of their time, whowere apprenticed from Girard College, have joined the Union army. Wemust confess, also, that a considerable number of its apprentices, _not_ out of their time, have run away for the same purpose. Withregard to the exclusion of ecclesiastics, it is agreed on all handsthat no evil has resulted from that singular injunction of the will. On the contrary, it has served to call particular attention to thereligious instruction of the pupils. The only effect of the clause is, that the morning prayers and the Sunday services are conducted bygentlemen who have not undergone the ceremony of ordination. 

The income of the Girard estate is now about two hundred thousanddollars a year, and it is increasing. Supposing that only one half ofthis revenue is appropriated to the College, it is still, we believe, the largest endowment in the country for an educational purpose. Themeans of the College are therefore ample. To make those meanseffective in the highest degree, some mode must be devised by whichthe politics of the city shall cease to influence the choice ofDirectors. In other words, "Girard College must be taken out ofpolitics. " The Board of Directors should, perhaps, be a more permanentbody than it now is. At the earliest possible moment a scheme ofinstruction should be agreed upon, which should remain unchanged, inits leading features, long enough for it to be judged by its results. The President must be clothed with ample powers, and held responsible, not for methods, but results. He must be allowed, at least, tonominate all his assistants, and to recommend the removal of any forreasons given; and both his nominations and his recommendations ofremoval, so long as the Directors desire to retain his services, should be ratified by them. He must be made to feel strong in hisplace; otherwise, he will be tempted to waste his strength upon themanagement of committees, and general whitewashing. Human nature is soconstituted, that a gentleman with a large family will not willinglygive up an income of three thousand dollars a year, with lodging in amarble palace. If he is a strong man and an honorable, he will do it, rather than fill a post the duties of which an ignorant or officiouscommittee prevent his discharging. If he is a weak or dishonest man, he will cringe to that committee, and expend all his ingenuity inmaking the College show well on public days. It might even be well, inorder to strengthen the President, to give him the right of appeal tothe Mayor and Councils, in case of an irreconcilable difference ofopinion between him and the Directors. Everything depends upon thePresident. Given the right President, with power enough and timeenough, and the success of the College is assured. Given a badPresident, or a good one hampered by committees, or too dependent upona board, and the College will be the reproach of Philadelphia. 

It is a question with political economists, whether, upon the whole, such endowments as this are a good or an evil to a community. There isnow a considerable party in England, among whom are several clergymenof the Established Church, who think it would be better for England ifevery endowment were swept away, and thus to each succeedinggeneration were restored the privilege of supporting all its poor, caring for all its sick, and educating all its young. Dr. Chalmersappears to have been inclined to an opinion like this. It will belong, however, before this question becomes vital in America. GirardCollege must continue for generations to weigh heavily onPhiladelphia, or to lighten its burdens. The conduct of those who havecharge of it in its infancy will go far to determine whether it shallbe an argument for or against the utility of endowments. Meanwhile, weadvise gentlemen who have millions to leave behind them not to imposedifficult conditions upon the future, which the future may be unableor unwilling to fulfil; but either to bestow their wealth for someobject that can be immediately and easily accomplished, or elseimitate the conduct of that respectable and public-spirited man wholeft five pounds towards the discharge of his country's debt. 

[Footnote 1: The facts which follow I received from the lips and fromthe papers of this revered man, now no more. --J. P. ]

[Footnote 2: Mr. Duane. ]

JAMES GORDON BENNETT AND THE NEW YORK HERALD

A few years ago it seemed probable that the people of the UnitedStates would be supplied with news chiefly through the agency ofnewspapers published in the city of New York. We were threatened witha paper despotism similar to that formerly exercised in Great Britainby the London Times; since, when one city furnishes a country withnewspapers, one newspaper is sure, at length, to gain such apredominance over others that its proprietor, if he is equal to hisposition, wields a power greater than ought to be intrusted to anindividual. There have been periods when the director of the LondonTimes appeared to be as truly the monarch of Great Britain as HenryVIII. Once was, or as William Pitt during the Seven Years' War. Itwas, we believe, the opinion of the late Mr. Cobden, which Mr. Kinglake confirms, that the editor of the London Times could haveprevented the Crimean War. Certainly he conducted it. Demosthenes didnot more truly direct the resources of Athens against Philip, than didthis invisible and anonymous being those of the British Empire againstRussia. The first John Walter, who was to journalism what James Wattwas to the steam-engine, had given this man daily access to the ear ofEngland; and to that ear he addressed, not the effusions of his ownmind, but the whole purchasable eloquence of his country. He hadrelays of Demosthenes. The man controlling such a press, and fit tocontrol it, can bring the available and practised intellect of hiscountry to bear upon the passions of his countrymen; for it is a fact, that nearly the whole literary talent of a nation is at the command ofany honorable man who has money enough, with tact enough. The editorwho expends fifty guineas a day in the purchase of three short essayscan have them written by the men who can do them best. What a power isthis, to say three things every morning to a whole nation, --to saythem with all the force which genius, knowledge, and practice unitedcan give, --and to say them without audible contradiction! Fortunatefor England is it that this power is no longer concentrated in asingle man, and that the mighty influence once wielded by anindividual will henceforth be exerted by a profession. 

We in America have escaped all danger of ever falling under thedominion of a paper despot. There will never be a Times in America. Twenty years ago the New York news and the New York newspaper reacheddistant cities at the same moment; but since the introduction of thetelegraph, the news outstrips the newspaper, and is given to thepublic by the local press. It is this fact which forever limits thecirculation and national importance of the New York press. The NewYork papers reach a village in Vermont late in the afternoon, --six, eight, ten hours after a carrier has distributed the SpringfieldRepublican; and nine people in ten will be content with the brieftelegrams of the local centre. At Chicago, the New York paper is fortyhours behind the news; at San Francisco, thirty days; in Oregon, forty. Before California had been reached by the telegraph, the NewYork newspapers, on the arrival of a steamer, were sought with anavidity of which the most ludicrous accounts have been given. If thenews was important and the supply of papers inadequate, nothing wasmore common than for a lucky newsboy to dispose of his last sheets atfive times their usual price. All this has changed. A spirited localpress has anticipated the substance of the news, and most people waittranquilly for the same local press to spread before them theparticulars when the tardy mail arrives. Even the weekly andsemi-weekly editions issued by the New York daily press have probablyreached their maximum of importance; since the local daily press alsopublishes weekly and semi-weekly papers, many of which are of highexcellence and are always improving, and have the additionalattraction of full local intelligence. If some bold Yankee shouldinvent a method by which a bundle of newspapers could be shot from NewYork to Chicago in half an hour, it would certainly enhance theimportance of the New York papers, and diminish that of the rapidlyexpanding and able press of Chicago. Such an invention is possible;nay, we think it a probability. But even in that case, the local news, and, above all, the local advertising, would still remain as the basisof a great, lucrative, honorable, and very attractive business. 

We believe, however, that if the local press were annihilated, andthis whole nation lived dependent upon the press of a single city, still we should be safe from a paper despotism; because the power ofthe editorial lessens as the intelligence of the people in-creases. The prestige of the editorial is gone. Just as there is a party inEngland who propose the omission of the sermon from the church serviceas something no longer needed by the people, so there are journalistswho think the time is at hand for the abolition of editorials, and theconcentration of the whole force of journalism upon presenting to thepublic the history and picture of the day. The time for this has notcome, and may never come; but our journalists already know thateditorials neither make nor mar a daily paper, that they do not muchinfluence the public mind, nor change many votes, and that the powerand success of a newspaper depend finally upon its success in gettingand its skill in exhibiting the news. The word _newspaper_ is theexact and complete description of the thing which the true journalistaims to produce. The news is his work; editorials are his play. Thenews is the point of rivalry; it is that for which nineteen twentiethsof the people buy newspapers; it is that which constitutes the powerand value of the daily press; it is that which determines the rank ofevery newspaper in every free country. 

No editor, therefore, will ever reign over the United States, and thenewspapers of no one city will attain universal currency. Hence theimportance of journalism in the United States. By the time a town hasten thousand inhabitants, it usually has a daily paper, and in mostlarge cities there is a daily paper for every twenty thousand people. In many of the Western cities there are daily newspapers conductedwith great energy, and on a scale of expenditure which enables them toapproximate real excellence. Many of our readers will live to see theday when there will be in Chicago, St. Louis, New Orleans, Cincinnati, and San Francisco daily newspapers more complete, better executed, andproduced at greater expense than any newspaper now existing in theUnited States. This is a great deal to say, in view of the fact, that, during the late war, one of the New York papers expended in warcorrespondence alone two thousand dollars a week. Nevertheless, webelieve it. There will never be _two_ newspapers in any one city thatcan sustain such an expenditure, but in fifteen years from, to-daythere will be one, we think, in each of our great cities, and besidesthat one there will be four or five struggling to supplant it, as wellas one or two having humbler aims and content with a lowlier position. 

It is plain that journalism will henceforth and forever be animportant and crowded profession in the United States. The dailynewspaper is one of those things which are rooted in the necessitiesof modern civilization. The steam-engine is not more essential to us. The newspaper is that which connects each individual with the generallife of mankind, and makes him part and parcel of the whole; so thatwe can almost say, that those who neither read newspapers nor conversewith people who do read them are not members of the human_family_;--though, like the negroes of Guinea, they may become such intime. They are beyond the pale; they have no hold of the electricchain, and therefore do not receive the shock. 

There are two mornings of the year on which newspapers have nothitherto been published in the city of New York, --the 5th of July, andthe 2d of January. A shadow appears to rest on the world during thosedays, as when there is an eclipse of the sun. We are separated fromour brethren, cut off, lost, alone; vague apprehensions of evil creepover the mind. We feel, in some degree, as husbands feel who, far fromwife and children, say to themselves, shuddering, "What things _may_have happened, and I not know it!" Nothing quite dispels the gloomuntil the Evening Post--how eagerly seized--assures us that nothingvery particular has happened since our last. It is amusing to noticehow universal is the habit of reading a morning paper. Hundreds ofvehicles and vessels convey the business men of New York to thatextremity of Manhattan Island-which may be regarded as thecounting-house of the Western Continent. It is not uncommon for everyindividual in a cabin two hundred feet long to be sitting absorbed inhis paper, like boys conning their lessons on their way to school. Still more striking is it to observe the torrent of workingmen pouringdown town, many of them reading as they go, and most of them providedwith a newspaper for dinner-time, not less as a matter of course thanthe tin kettle which contains the material portion of the repast. Notice, too, the long line of hackney-coaches on a stand, nearly everydriver sitting on his box reading his paper. Many of our Bostonfriends have landed in New York at five o'clock in the morning, andridden up town in the street cars, filled, at that hour, with womenand boys, folding newspapers and throwing off bundles of them fromtime to time, which are caught by other boys and women in waiting. Carriers are flitting in every direction, and the town is alive withthe great business of getting two hundred thousand papers distributedbefore breakfast. 

All this is new, but it is also permanent. Having once had dailypapers, we can never again do without them; so perfectly does thisgreat invention accord with the genius of modern life. The art ofjournalism is doubtless destined to continuous improvement for a longtime to come; the newspapers of the future will be more convenient, and better in every way, than those of the present day; but the artremains forever an indispensable auxiliary to civilization. And thisis so, not by virtue of editorial essays, but because journalismbrings the events of the time to bear upon the instruction of thetime. An editorial essayist is a man addressing men; but the skilledand faithful journalist, recording with exactness and power the thingthat has come to pass, is Providence addressing men. The thing thathas actually happened, --to know that is the beginning of wisdom. Allelse is theory and conjecture, which may be right and may be wrong. 

While it is true that the daily press of the city of New York islimited by the telegraph, it has nevertheless a very great, anunapproached, national importance. We do not consider it certain thatNew York is always to remain the chief city of the United States; butit holds that rank now, and must for many years. Besides being thesource of a great part of our news, it was the first city thatafforded scope for papers conducted at the incredible expense whichmodern appliances necessitate. Consequently its daily papers reach thecontrolling minds of the country. They are found in all reading-rooms, exchanges, bank parlors, insurance-offices, counting-rooms, hotels, and wherever else the ruling men of the country congregate. But, aboveall, they are, and must be, in all newspaper offices, subject to thescissors. This is the chief source of their importance. Not merelythat in this way their contents are communicated to the whole people. The grand reason why the New York papers have national importance is, that it is chiefly through them that the art of journalism in theUnited States is to be perfected. They set daily copies for alleditors to follow. The expenditure necessary for the carrying on of acomplete daily newspaper is so immense, that the art can only beimproved in the largest cities. New York is first in the field; it hasthe start of a quarter of a century or more; and it therefore devolvesupon the journalists of that city to teach the journalists of theUnited States their vocation. It is this fact which invests the pressof New York with such importance, and makes it so well worthconsidering. 

It is impossible any longer to deny that the chief newspaper of thatbusy city is the New York Herald. No matter how much we may regretthis fact, or be ashamed of it, no journalist can deny it. We do notattach much importance to the fact that Abraham Lincoln, the latelamented President of the United States, thought it worth while, during the dark days of the summer of 1864, to buy its support at theprice of the offer of the French mission. He was mistaken in supposingthat this paper had any considerable power to change votes; which wasshown by the result of the Presidential election in the city of NewYork, where General McClellan had the great majority of thirty-seventhousand. Influence over opinion no paper can have which has itself noopinion, and cares for none. It is not as a vehicle of opinion thatthe Herald has importance, but solely as a vehicle of news. It is forits excellence, real or supposed, in this particular, that eightythousand people buy it every morning. Mr. Lincoln committed, as wecannot help thinking, a most egregious error and fault in his purchaseof the editor of this paper, though he is in some degree excused bythe fact that several leading Republicans, who were in a position toknow better, advised or sanctioned the bargain, and leadingjournalists agreed not to censure it. Mr. Lincoln could not beexpected to draw the distinction, between the journalist and thewriter of editorials. He perceived the strength of thiscarrier-pigeon's pinions, but did not note the trivial character ofthe message tied to its leg. Thirty or forty war correspondents in thefield, a circulation larger than any of its rivals, an advertisingpatronage equalled only by that of the London Times, the popularity ofthe paper in the army, the frequent utility of its maps and otherelucidations, --these things imposed upon his mind; and his wife couldtell him from personal observation, that the proprietor of this paperlived in a style of the most profuse magnificence, --maintaining costlyestablishments in town and country, horses, and yachts, to say nothingof that most expensive appendage to a reigning house, an heirapparent. 

Our friends in the English press tell us, that the Herald was one ofthe principal obstacles in their attempts to guide English opinionsaright during the late struggle. Young men in the press would point toits editorials and say:

 "This is the principal newspaper in the Northern States; this is the Times of America; can a people be other than contemptible who prefer such a newspaper as this to journals so respectable and so excellent as the Times and Tribune, published in the same city?" "As to (American) journalism, "

says Professor Goldwin Smith, "the New York Herald is always keptbefore our eyes. " That is to say, the editorial articles in theHerald; not that variety and fulness of intelligence which oftencompelled men who hated it most to get up at the dawn of day to buyit. A paper which can detach two or three men, after a battle, tocollect the names of the killed and wounded, with orders to do onlythat, cannot lack purchasers in war time. Napoleon assures us that thewhole art of war consists in having the greatest force at the point ofcontact. This rule applies to the art of journalism; the editor of theHerald knew it, and had the means to put it in practice. 

Even here, at home, we find two opinions as to the cause of theHerald's vast success as a business. One of these opinions isthis, --the Herald takes the lead because it is such a bad paper. Theother opinion is, --the Herald takes the lead because it is such a goodpaper. It is highly important to know which of these two opinions iscorrect; or, in other words, whether it is the Herald's excellences asa newspaper, or its crimes as a public teacher, which give it suchgeneral currency. Such success as this paper has obtained is a mostinfluential fact upon the journalism of the whole country, as any onecan see who looks over a file of our most flourishing daily papers. Itis evident that our daily press is rapidly becoming Heraldized; and itis well known that the tendency of imitation is to reproduce all ofthe copy excepting alone that which made it worth copying. It ishonorable to the American press that this rule has been reversed inthe present instance. Some of the more obvious good points of theHerald have become universal, while as yet no creature has been foundcapable of copying the worst of its errors. 

If there are ten bakers in a town, the one that gives the best loaffor sixpence is sure, at last, to sell most bread. A man may puff uphis loaves to a great size, by chemical agents, and so deceive thepublic for a time; another may catch the crowd for a time by thesplendor of his gilt sheaf, the magnitude of his signs, and thebluster of his advertising; and the intrinsically best baker may bekept down, for a time, by want of tact, or capital, or some personaldefect. But let the competition last thirty years! The gilt sheaffades, the cavities in the big loaf are observed; but the ugly littleman round the corner comes steadily into favor, and all the town, atlength, is noisy in the morning with the rattle of his carts. Theparticular caterer for our morning repast, now under consideration, has achieved a success of this kind, against every possible obstacle, and under every possible disadvantage. He had no friends at the start, he has made none since, and he has none now. He has had the support ofno party or sect. On the contrary, he has won his object in spite ofthe active opposition of almost every organized body in the country, and the fixed disapproval of every public-spirited human being who haslived in the United States since he began his career. What are we tosay of this? Are we to say that the people of the United States arecompetent to judge of bread, but not of newspapers? Are we to say thatthe people of the United States prefer evil to good? We cannot assentto such propositions. 

Let us go back to the beginning, and see how this man made his way tohis present unique position. We owe his presence in this country, itseems, to Benjamin Franklin; and he first smelt printer's ink inBoston, near the spot where young Ben Franklin blackened his fingerswith it a hundred years before. Born and reared on the northeasterncoast of Scotland, in a Roman Catholic family of French origin, he hasa French intellect and Scotch habits. Frenchmen residing among us canseldom understand why this man should be odious, so French is he. AFrench naval officer was once remonstrated with for having invited himto a ball given on board a ship of war in New York harbor. "Why, whathas he done?" inquired the officer. "Has he committed murder? Has herobbed, forged, or run away with somebody's wife?" "No. " "Why thenshould we not invite him?" "He is the editor of the New York Herald. ""Ah!" exclaimed the Frenchman, --"the Herald! it is a delightfulpaper, --it reminds me of my gay Paris. " This, however, was thirtyyears ago, when Bennett was almost as French as Voltaire. He was aFrenchman also in this: though discarding, in his youth, the doctrinesof his Church, and laughing them to scorn in early manhood, he stillmaintained a kind of connection with the Catholic religion. The wholeof his power as a writer consists in his detection of the evil inthings that are good, and of the falsehood in things that are true, and of the ridiculous in things that are important. He began with theRoman Catholic Church, --"the holy Roman Catholic Church, " as he oncestyled it, --adding in a parenthesis, "all of us Catholics are devilishholy. " Another French indication is, that his early tastes wereromantic literature _and_ political economy, --a conjunction verycommon in France from the days of the "philosophers" to the presenttime. During our times of financial collapse, we have noticed, amongthe nonsense which he daily poured forth, some gleams of a superiorunderstanding of the fundamental laws of finance. He appears to haveunderstood 1837 and 1857 better than most of his contemporaries. 

In a Catholic seminary he acquired the rudiments of knowledge, andadvanced so far as to read Virgil. He also picked up a little Frenchand Spanish in early life. The real instructors of his mind wereNapoleon, Byron, and Scott. It was their fame, however, as much astheir works, that attracted and dazzled him. It is a strange thing, but true, that one of the strongest desires of one of the leastreputable of living men was, and is, to be admired and held in lastinghonor by his fellow-men. Nor has he now the least doubt that hedeserves their admiration, and will have it. In 1817, an edition ofFranklin's Autobiography was issued in Scotland. It was his perusal ofthat little book that first directed his thoughts toward America, andwhich finally decided him to try his fortune in the New World. In May, 1819, being then about twenty years of age, he landed at Halifax, withless than five pounds in his purse, without a friend on the WesternContinent, and knowing no vocation except that of book-keeper. 

Between his landing at Halifax and the appearance of the first numberof the Herald sixteen years elapsed; during most of which he was avery poor, laborious, under-valued, roving writer for the daily press. At Halifax, he gave lessons in book-keeping for a few weeks, withlittle profit, then made his way along the coast to Portland, whence aschooner conveyed him to Boston. He was then, it appears, a soft, romantic youth, alive to the historic associations of the place, andsusceptible to the varied, enchanting loveliness of the scenesadjacent, on land and sea. He even expressed his feelings in verse, inthe Childe Harold manner, --verse which does really show a poetic habitof feeling, with an occasional happiness of expression. At Boston heexperienced the last extremity of want. Friendless and alone hewandered about the streets, seeking work and finding none; until, hissmall store of money being all expended, he passed two whole dayswithout food, and was then only relieved by finding a shilling on theCommon. He obtained at length the place of salesman in a bookstore, from which he was soon transferred to the printing-house connectedtherewith, where he performed the duties of proof-reader. And here itwas that he received his first lesson in the art of catering for thepublic mind. The firm in whose employment he was were more ambitiousof glory than covetous of profit, and consequently published manyworks that were in advance of the general taste. Bankruptcy was theirreward. The youth noted another circumstance at Boston. The newspapermost decried was Buckingham's Galaxy; but it was also the most eagerlysought and the most extensively sold. Buckingham habitually violatedthe traditional and established decorums of the press; he wasfamiliar, chatty, saucy, anecdotical, and sadly wanting in respect forthe respectabilities of the most respectable town in the universe. Every one said that he was a very bad man, _but_ every one wasexceedingly curious every Saturday to see "what the fellow had to saythis week. " If the youth could have obtained a sight of a file ofJames Franklin's Courant, of 1722, in which the youthful Benjaminfirst addressed the public, he would have seen a still more strikingexample of a journal generally denounced and universally read. 

Two years in Boston. Then he went to New York, where he soon met thepublisher of a Charleston paper, who engaged him as translator fromthe Spanish, and general assistant. During the year spent by him atCharleston he increased his knowledge of the journalist's art. Theeditor of the paper with which he was connected kept a sail-boat, inwhich he was accustomed to meet arriving vessels many miles from thecoast, and bring in his files of newspapers a day in advance of hisrivals. The young assistant remembered this, and turned it to accountin after years. At Charleston he was confronted, too, with the latepeculiar institution, and saw much to approve in it, nothing tocondemn. From that day to this he has been but in one thingconsistent, --contempt for the negro and for all white men interestedin his welfare, approving himself in this a thorough Celt. If, for onebrief period, he forced himself, for personal reasons, to veil thisfeeling, the feeling remained rooted within him, and soon resumed itswonted expression. He liked the South, and the people of the South, and had a true Celtic sympathy with their aristocratic pretensions. The salary of an assistant editor at that time was something betweenthe wages of a compositor and those of an office-boy. Seven dollars aweek would have been considered rather liberal pay; ten, munificent;fifteen, lavish. 

Returning to New York, he endeavored to find more lucrativeemployment, and advertised his intention to open, near the site of thepresent Herald office, a "Permanent Commercial School, " in which allthe usual branches were to be taught "in the inductive method. " Hislist of subjects was extensive, --"reading, elocution, penmanship, andarithmetic; algebra, astronomy, history, and geography; moralphilosophy, commercial law, and political economy; English grammar, and composition; and also, if required, the French and Spanishlanguages, by natives of _those countries_. " Application was to bemade to "J. G. B. , 148 Fulton Street. " Applications, however, were notmade in sufficient number, and the school, we believe, never came intoexistence. Next, he tried a course of lectures upon Political Economy, at the old Dutch Church in Ann Street, then not far from the centre ofpopulation. The public did not care to hear the young gentleman uponthat abstruse subject, and the pecuniary result of the enterprise wasnot encouraging. He had no resource but the ill-paid, unhonoreddrudgery of the press. 

For the next few years he was a paragraphist, reporter, scissorer, andman-of-all-work for the New York papers, daily and weekly, earning butthe merest subsistence. He wrote then in very much the same style aswhen he afterwards amused and shocked the town in the infant Herald;only he was under restraint, being a subordinate, and was seldomallowed to violate decorum. In point of industry, sustained andindefatigable industry, he had no equal, and has never since had butone. One thing is to be specially noted as one of the chief andindispensable causes of his success. _He had no vices_. He never drankto excess, nor gormandized, nor gambled, nor even smoked, nor in anyother way wasted the vitality needed for a long and tough grapple withadverse fortune. What he once wrote of himself in the early Herald wasstrictly true:

 "I eat and drink to live, --not live to eat and drink. Social glasses of wine are my aversion; public dinners are my abomination; all species of gormandizing, my utter scorn and contempt. When I am hungry, I eat; when thirsty, drink. Wine or viands taken for society, or to stimulate conversation, tend only to dissipation, indolence, poverty, contempt, and death. "

This was an immense advantage, which he had in common with several ofthe most mischievous men of modern times, --Calhoun, Charles XII. , George III. , and others. Correct bodily habits are of themselves sucha source of power, that the man who has them will be extremely likelyto gain the day over competitors of ten times his general worth whohave them not. Dr. Franklin used to say, that if Jack Wilkes had beenas exemplary in this particular as George III. , he would have turnedthe king out of his dominions. In several of the higher kinds oflabor, such as law, physic, journalism, authorship, art, when thecompetition is close and keen, and many able men are near the summit, the question, who shall finally stand upon it, often resolves itselfinto one of physical endurance. This man Bennett would have lived anddied a hireling scribe, if he had had even one of the common vices. Everything was against his rising, except alone an enormous capacityfor labor, sustained by strictly correct habits. 

He lived much with politicians during these years of laboriouspoverty. Gravitating always towards the winning side, he did much tobring into power the worst set of politicians we ever had, --those who"availed" themselves of the popularity of Andrew Jackson, and who wereafterwards used by him for the purpose of electing Martin Van Buren. He became perfectly familiar with all that was petty and mean in thepolitical strifes of the day, but without ever suspecting that therewas anything in politics not petty and mean. He had no convictions ofhis own, and therefore not the least belief that any politician had. If the people were in earnest about the affairs of their country, (_their_ country, not his, ) it was because the people were not behindthe scenes, were dupes of their party leaders, were a parcel of fools. In short, he acquired his insight into political craft in the schoolof Tammany Hall and the Kitchen Cabinet. His value was not altogetherunappreciated by the politicians. He was one of those whom they useand flatter during the heat of the contest, and forget in thedistribution of the spoils of victory. 

He made his first considerable hit as a journalist in the spring of1828, when he filled the place of Washington correspondent to the NewYork Enquirer. In the Congressional Library, one day, he found anedition of Horace Walpole's Letters, which amused him very much. "Whynot, " said he to himself, "try, a few letters on a similar plan fromthis city, to be published in New York?" The letters appeared. Writtenin a lively manner, full of personal allusions, and describingindividuals respecting whom the public are always curious, --free alsofrom offensive personalities, --the letters attracted much noticeand were generally copied in the press. It is said that some of theladies whose charms were described in those letters were indebted tothem for husbands. Personalities of this kind were a novelty then, and mere novelty goes a great way in journalism. At this periodhe produced almost every kind of composition known to periodicalliterature, --paragraphs and leading articles, poetry and love-stories, reports of trials, debates, balls, and police cases; his earningsranging from five dollars a week to ten or twelve. If there had beenthen in New York one newspaper publisher who understood his business, the immense possible value of this man as a journalist would have beenperceived, and he would have been secured, rewarded, and kept undersome restraint. But there was no such man. There were three or fourforcible writers for the press, but not one journalist. 

During the great days of "The Courier and Inquirer, " from 1829 to1832, when it was incomparably the best newspaper on the continent, James Gordon Bennett was its most efficient hand. It lost him in 1832, when the paper abandoned General Jackson and took up Nicholas Biddle;and in losing him lost its chance of retaining the supremacy amongAmerican newspapers to this day. We can truly say, that at that timejournalism, as a thing by itself and for itself, had no existence inthe United States. Newspapers were mere appendages of party; and thedarling object of each journal was to be recognized as the organ ofthe party it supported. As to the public, the great public, hungry forinteresting news, no one thought of it. Forty years ago, in the cityof New York, a copy of a newspaper could not be bought for money. Ifany one wished to see a newspaper, he had either to go to the officeand subscribe, or repair to a bar-room and buy a glass of something todrink, or bribe a carrier to rob one of his customers. The circulationof the Courier and Inquirer was considered something marvellous whenit printed thirty-five hundred copies a day, and its business wasthought immense when its daily advertising averaged fifty-fivedollars. It is not very unusual for a newspaper now to receive foradvertising, in one day, six hundred times that sum. Bennett, in thecourse of time, had a chance been given to him, would have made theCourier and Inquirer powerful enough to cast off all party ties; andthis he would have done merely by improving it as a vehicle of news. But he was kept down upon one of those ridiculous, tantalizing, corrupting salaries, which are a little more than a single man needs, but not enough for him to marry upon. This salary was increased by theproprietors giving him a small share in the small profits of theprinting-office; so that, after fourteen years of hard labor andScotch economy, he found himself, on leaving the great paper, acapitalist to the extent of a few hundred dollars. The chief editor ofthe paper which he now abandoned sometimes lost as much in a singleevening at the card-table. It probably never occurred to him that thispoor, ill-favored Scotchman was destined to destroy his paper and allthe class of papers to which it belonged. Any one who now examines afile of the Courier and Inquirer of that time, and knows its interiorcircumstances, will see plainly enough that the possession of this manwas the vital element in its prosperity. He alone knew the rudimentsof his trade. He alone had the physical stamina, the indefatigableindustry, the sleepless vigilance, the dexterity, tact, and audacity, needful for keeping up a daily newspaper in the face of keencompetition. 

Unweaned yet from the politicians, he at once started a cheap partypaper, "The Globe, " devoted to Jackson and Van Buren. The party, however, did not rally to its support, and it had to contend with theopposition of party papers already existing, upon whose manor it waspoaching. The Globe expired after an existence of thirty days. Itsproprietor, still untaught by such long experience, invested the wreckof his capital in a Philadelphia Jackson paper, and struggleddesperately to gain for it a footing in the party. He said to Mr. VanBuren and to other leaders, Help me to a loan of twenty-five hundreddollars for two years, and I can establish my Pennsylvanian on aself-supporting basis. The application was politely refused, and hewas compelled to give up the struggle. The truth is, he was notimplicitly trusted by the Jackson party. They admitted the services hehad rendered; but, at the same time, they were a little afraid of thevein of mockery that broke out so frequently in his writings. He wasrestive in harness. He was devoted to the party, but he was under noparty illusions. He was fighting in the ranks as an adventurer orsoldier of fortune. He fought well; but would it do to promote a manto high rank who knew the game so well, and upon whom no man could getany _hold_? To him, in his secret soul, Martin Van Buren was nothing(as he often said) but a country lawyer, who, by a dexterous use ofthe party machinery, the well-timed death of De Witt Clinton, andGeneral Jackson's frenzy in behalf of Mrs. Eaton, had come to be thechosen successor of the fiery chieftain. The canny Scotchman saw thiswith horrid clearness, and saw nothing more. Political chiefs do notlike subalterns of this temper. Underneath the politician in MartinVan Buren there was the citizen, the patriot, the gentleman, and theman, whose fathers were buried in American soil, whose children wereto live under American institutions, who had, necessarily, an interestin the welfare and honor of the country, and whose policy, upon thewhole, was controlled by that natural interest in his country'swelfare and honor. To our mocking Celt nothing of this was apparent, nor has ever been. 

His education as a journalist was completed by the failure of hisPhiladelphia scheme. Returning to New York, he resolved to attempt nomore to rise by party aid, but henceforth have no master but thepublic. On the 6th of May, 1835, appeared the first number of theMorning Herald, price one cent. It was born in a cellar in WallStreet, --not a basement, but a veritable cellar. Some persons arestill doing business in that region who remember going down into itssubterranean office, and buying copies of the new paper from itseditor, who used to sit at a desk composed of two flour-barrels and apiece of board, and who occupied the only chair in the establishment. For a considerable time his office contained absolutely nothing buthis flour-barrel desk, one wooden chair, and a pile of Heralds. "Iremember, " writes Mr. William Gowans, the well-known bookseller ofNassau Street, "to have entered the subterranean office of its editor early in its career, and purchased a single copy of the paper, for which I paid the sum of one cent United States currency. On this occasion the proprietor, editor, and vendor was seated at his desk, busily engaged writing, and appeared to pay little or no attention to me as I entered. On making known my object in coming in, he requested me to put my money down on the counter, and help myself to a paper; all this time he continuing his writing operations. The office was a single oblong underground room; its furniture consisted of a counter, which also served as a desk, constructed from two flour-barrels, perhaps empty, standing apart from each other about four feet, with a single plank covering both; a chair, placed in the centre, upon which sat the editor busy at his vocation, with an inkstand by his right hand; on the end nearest the door were placed the papers for sale. "

Everything appeared to be against his success. It was one poor man ina cellar against the world. Already he had failed three times; first, in 1825, when he attempted to establish a Sunday paper; next, in 1832, when he tried a party journal; recently, in Philadelphia. With greatdifficulty, and after many rebuffs, he had prevailed upon two youngprinters to print his paper and share its profits or losses, and hepossessed about enough money to start the enterprise and sustain itten days. The cheapness of his paper was no longer a novelty, forthere was already a penny paper with a paying circulation. He had cutloose from all party ties, and he had no influential friends exceptthose who had an interest in his failure. The great public, to whichhe made this last desperate appeal, knew him not even by name. Thenewsboy system scarcely existed; and all that curious machinery bywhich, in these days, a "new candidate for public favor" is placed, at no expense, on a thousand news-stands, had not been thoughtof. There he was alone in his cellar, without clerk, errand-boy, or assistant of any kind. For many weeks he did with his own handseverything, --editorials, news, reporting, receiving advertisements, and even writing advertisements for persons "unaccustomed tocomposition. " He expressly announced that advertisers could have theiradvertisements written for them at the office, and this at a time whenthere was no one to do it but himself. The extreme cheapness of thepaper rendered him absolutely dependent upon his advertisers, and yethe dared not charge more than fifty cents for sixteen lines, and heoffered to insert sixteen lines for a whole year for thirty dollars. 

He at once produced an eminently salable article. If just such a paperwere to appear to-day, or any day, in any large city of the world, itwould instantly find a multitude of readers. It was a very smallsheet, --four little pages of four columns each, --much better printedthan the Herald now is, and not a waste line in it. Everything _drew_, as the sailors say. There was not much scissoring in it, --the scissorshave never been much esteemed in the Herald office, --but the littlethat there was all told upon the general effect of the sheet. There isa story current in newspaper offices that the first few numbers of theHerald were strictly decorous and "respectable, " but that the editor, finding the public indifferent and his money running low, changed histactics, and filled his paper with scurrility and indecency, whichimmediately made it a paying enterprise. No such thing. The firstnumbers were essentially of the same character as the number publishedthis morning. They had the same excellences and the same defects: inthe news department, immense industry, vigilance, and tact; in theeditorial columns, the vein of Mephistophelean mockery which haspuzzled and shocked so many good people at home and abroad. A leadingtopic then was a certain Matthias, one of those long-bearded religiousimpostors who used to appear from time to time. The first article inthe first number of the Herald was a minute account of the origin andearlier life of the fellow, --just the thing for the paper, and thesure method of exploding _him_. The first editorial article, too, wasperfectly in character:--

"In _débuts_ of this kind, " said the editor, "many talk of principle--political principle, party principle--as a sort of steel-trap to catch the public. We mean to be perfectly understood on this point, and therefore openly disclaim all steel-traps, --all principle, as it is called, --all party, --all politics. Our only guide shall be good, sound, practical common-sense, applicable to the business and bosoms of men engaged in every-day life. We shall support no party, be the organ of no faction or coterie, and care nothing for any election or any candidate, from President down to constable. We shall endeavor to record facts on every public and proper subject, stripped of verbiage and coloring, with comments, when suitable, just, independent, fearless, and good-tempered. If the Herald wants the mere expansion which many journals possess, we shall try to make it up in industry, good taste, brevity, variety, point, piquancy, and cheapness. "

He proceeded immediately to give a specimen of the "comments" thusdescribed, in the form of a review of an Annual Register justpublished. The Register informed him that there were 1, 492 "rogues inthe State Prison. " His comment was: "But God only knows how many outof prison, preying upon the community, in the shape of gamblers, blacklegs, speculators, and politicians. " He learned from the Registerthat the poor-house contained 6, 547 paupers; to which he added, "anddouble the number going there as fast as indolence and intemperancecan carry them. " The first numbers were filled with nonsense andgossip about the city of New York, to which his poverty confined him. He had no boat with which to board arriving ships, no share in thepony express from Washington, and no correspondents in other cities. All he could do was to catch the floating gossip, scandal, and follyof the town, and present as much of them every day as one man couldget upon paper by sixteen hours' labor. He laughed at everything andeverybody, --not excepting himself and his squint eye, --and, though hisjokes were not always good, they were generally good enough. Peoplelaughed, and were willing to expend a cent the next day to see whatnew folly the man would commit or relate. We all like to read aboutour own neighborhood: this paper gratified the propensity. 

The man, we repeat, really had a vein of poetry in him, and the firstnumbers of the Herald show it. He had occasion to mention, one day, that Broadway was about to be paved with wooden blocks. This was not avery promising subject for a poetical comment; but he added: "Whenthis is done, every vehicle will have to wear sleigh-bells as insleighing times, and Broadway will be so quiet that you can pay acompliment to a lady, in passing, and she will hear you. " This wasnothing in itself; but here was a man wrestling with fate in a cellar, who could turn you out two hundred such paragraphs a week, the yearround. Many men can growl in a cellar; this man could laugh, and keeplaughing, and make the floating population of a city laugh with him. It must be owned, too, that he had a little real insight into thenature of things around him, --a little Scotch sense, as well as aninexhaustible fund of French vivacity. Alluding, once, to the "hardmoney" cry, by which the lying politicians of the day carriedelections, he exploded that nonsense in two lines: "If a man gets thewearable or the eatable he wants, what cares he whether he has gold orpaper-money?" He devoted two sentences to the Old School and NewSchool Presbyterian controversy: "Great trouble among thePresbyterians just now. The question in dispute is, whether or not aman can do anything towards saving his own soul. " He had, also, anarticle upon the Methodists, in which he said that the two religionsnearest akin were the Methodist and the Roman Catholic. We should addto these trifling specimens the fact, that he uniformly maintained, from 1835 to the crash of 1837, that the prosperity of the country wasunreal, and would end in disaster. Perhaps we can afford space for asingle specimen of his way of treating this subject; although it canbe fully appreciated only by those who are old enough to remember therage for land speculation which prevailed in 1836:--

 "THE RICH POOR--THE POOR RICH. --'I have made $50, 000 since last January, ' said one of these real-estate speculators to a friend. 

 "'The dense you have, ' said the other, looking up in astonishment 'Why, last January you were not worth a twenty-dollar bill. '

 "'I know that; but I now calculate I'm worth full $50, 000, if not $60, 000. '

 "How have you made it?'

 "'By speculating in real estate. I bought three hundred lots at Goose Island at $150 apiece; they are now worth $400. I would not sell them for $350 apiece, I assure you. '

 "' Do you think so?'

 "'Sartain. I have two hundred and fifty lots at Blockhead's Point, worth $150 a piece; some on them are worth $200. I have one hundred lots at Jackass Inlet, worth at least $100, at the very lowest calculation. In short, I'm worth a hull $60, 000. '

 "'Well, I'm glad to hear it. You can pay me now the $500 you have owed me for these last four years. There's your note, I believe, ' said he, handing the speculator a worn piece of paper that had a piece of writing upon it. 

 "The speculator looked blank at this. 'Oh! yes--my--now I'd like--suppose, ' but the words could not form themselves into a perfect sentence. 

 "'I want the money very much, ' said the other; 'I have some payments to make to-morrow. '

 "'Why, you don't want cash for it surely. '

 "'Yes, but I do. You say you are worth $60, 000, --surely $500 is but a trifle to pay; do let me have the cash on the nail, if you please. '

 "'Oh!--by--well--now--do tell--really, I have not got the money at present. '

 "'So you can't pay it, eh? A man worth $60, 000, and can't pay an old debt of $500?'

 "'Oh! yes I can--I'll--I'll--just give you my note for it at ninety days. '

 "'The D--l you will! A man worth $60, 000, and can't pay $500 for ninety days! what do you mean?'

 "'Well now, my dear sir, I'm worth what I say. I can pay you. There's my property, ' spreading out half a dozen very beautiful lithographs; 'but really I can't raise that amount at present. Yesterday, I had to give three per cent a month for $4, 000 to save my whole fortune. I had to look out for the mortgages. Take my note; you can get it discounted for three per cent. '

 "'No, I can't. If you will give me $250 for the debt, I shall give the other half to pay the interest on your mortgages. '. .. . 

 "Whether the proposition has been accepted we shall know to-morrow; but we have many such rich people. "--_Herald_, Oct. 28, 1836. 

But it was not such things as these that established the Herald. Confined as he was to the limits of a single town, and being compelledto do everything with his own hands, he could not have much in hiscolumns that we should now call "news. " But what is news? The answerto that question involves the whole art, mystery, and history ofjournalism. The time was when news signified the doings of the kingand his court. This was the staple of the first news-letter writers, who were employed by great lords, absent from court, to send themcourt intelligence. To this was soon added news of the doings of otherkings and courts; and from that day to this the word _news_ has beencontinually gaining increase of meaning, until now it includes allthat the public are curious to know, which may be told without injuryto the public or injustice to individuals. While this man was playingfantastic tricks before high Heaven, his serious thoughts wereabsorbed in schemes to make his paper the great vehicle of news. Earlyin the second month, while he was still losing money every day, he hitupon a new kind of news, which perhaps had more to do with the finalsuccess of the Herald than any other single thing. His working day, atthat time, was sixteen or seventeen hours. In the morning, from fiveto eight, he was busy, in the quiet of his room, with those light, nonsensical paragraphs and editorials which made his readers smile inspite of themselves. During the usual business hours of the morning, he was in his cellar, over his flour-barrel desk, engaged in theordinary routine of editorial work; not disdaining to sell the morningpaper, write advertisements, and take the money for them. 

About one o'clock, having provided abundant copy for the compositors, he sallied forth into Wall Street, picking up material for hisstock-tables and subjects for paragraphs. From four to six hewas at his office again, winding up the business, of the day. Inthe evening he was abroad, --at theatre, concert, ball, or publicmeeting, --absorbing fresh material for his paper. He convertedhimself, as it were, into a medium through which the gossip, scandal, fun, and nonsense of this great town were daily conveyed back to itfor its amusement; just as a certain popular preacher is reported todo, who spends six days in circulating among his parishioners, and onthe seventh tells them all that they have taught him. 

Now Wall Street, during the years that General Jackson was disturbingthe financial system by his insensate fury against the United StatesBank, was to journalism what the Army of the Potomac was in the year1864. The crash of 1837 was full two years in coming on, during whichthe money market was always deranged, and moneyed men were anxious andpuzzled. The public mind, too, was gradually drawn to the subject, until Wall Street was the point upon which all eyes were fixed. Theeditor of the Herald was the first American journalist to availhimself of this state of things. It occurred to him, when his paperhad been five weeks in existence, to give a little account every dayof the state of affairs in Wall Street, --the fluctuations of the moneymarket and their causes, --the feeling and gossip of the street. Heintroduced this feature at the moment when General Jackson'sembroilment with the French Chambers was at its height, and when thereturn of the American Minister was hourly expected. Some of ourreaders may be curious to see the first "money article" ever publishedin the United States. It was as follows:--

 "COMMERCIAL. 

 "Stocks yesterday maintained their prices during the session of the Board, several going up. Utica went up 2 per cent; the others stationary. Large quantities were sold. After the Board adjourned and the news from France was talked over, the fancy stocks generally went down 1 to 1-1/2 per cent; other stocks quite firm. A rally was made by the bulls in the evening, under the trees, but it did not succeed. There will be a great fight in the Board to-day. The good people up town are anxious to know what the brokers think of Mr. Livingston. We shall find out, and let them know. 

 "The cotton and flour market rallied a little. The rise of cotton in Liverpool drove it up here a cent or so. The last shippers will make 2-1/2 per cent. Many are endeavoring to produce a belief that there will be a war. If the impression prevails, naval stores will go up a good deal. Every eye is outstretched for the Constitution. Hudson, of the Merchants' News Room, says he will hoist out the first flag. Gilpin, of the Exchange News Room, says he will have her name down in his Room one hour before his competitor. The latter claims having beat Hudson yesterday by an hour and ten minutes in chronicling the England. "--_Herald_, June 13, 1835. 

This was his first attempt. The money article constantly lengthenedand increased in importance. It won for the little paper a kind offooting in brokers' offices and bank parlors, and provided manyrespectable persons with an excuse for buying it. 

At the end of the third month, the daily receipts equalled the dailyexpenditures. A cheap police reporter was soon after engaged. In thecourse of the next month, the printing-office was burnt, and theprinters, totally discouraged, abandoned the enterprise. Theeditor--who felt that he had caught the public ear, as hehad--contrived, by desperate exertions, to "rake the Herald out of thefire, " as he said, and went on alone. Four months after, the greatfire laid Wall Street low, and all the great business streetsadjacent. Here was his first real opportunity as a journalist; and howhe improved it!--spending one half of every day among the ruins, note-book in hand, and the other half over his desk, writing out whathe had gathered. He spread before the public reports so detailed, unconventional, and graphic, that a reader sitting at his ease in hisown room became, as it were, an eyewitness of those appalling scenes. His accounts of that fire, and of the events following it, are such asDefoe would have given if he had been a New York reporter. Stillstruggling for existence, he went to the expense (great then) ofpublishing a picture of the burning Exchange, and a map of the burntdistrict. American journalism was born amid the roaring flames of thegreat fire of 1835; and no true journalist will deny, that from thatday to this, whenever any very remarkable event has taken place in thecity of New York, the Herald reports of it have generally been thosewhich cost most money and exhibited most of the spirit and detail ofthe scene. For some years every dollar that the Herald made wasexpended in news, and, to this hour, no other journal equals it indaily expenditure for intelligence. If, to-morrow, we were to haveanother great fire, like that of thirty years ago, this paper wouldhave twenty-five men in the streets gathering particulars. 

But so difficult is it to establish a daily newspaper, that at the endof a year it was not yet certain that the Herald could continue. Alucky contract with a noted pill-vender gave it a great lift aboutthat time;[1] and in the fifteenth month, the editor ventured to raisehis price to two cents. From that day he had a business, and nothingremained for him but to go on as he had begun. He did so. The paperexhibits now the same qualities as it did then, --immense expenditureand vigilance in getting news, and a reckless disregard of principle, truth, and decency in its editorials. 

Almost from the first month of its existence, this paper was deemedinfamous by the very public that supported it. We can well rememberwhen people bought it on the sly, and blushed when they were caughtreading it, and when the man in a country place who subscribed for itintended by that act to distinctly enroll himself as one of theungodly. Journalists should thoroughly consider this most remarkablefact. We have had plenty of infamous papers, but they have all beenshort-lived but this. This one has lasted. After thirty-one years oflife, it appears to be almost as flourishing to-day as ever. Theforemost of its rivals has a little more than half its circulation, and less than half its income. A marble palace is rising to receiveit, and its proprietor fares as sumptuously every day as the ducalfamily who furnished him with his middle name. 

Let us see how the Herald acquired its ill name. We shall then knowwhy it is still so profoundly odious; for it has never changed, andcan never change, while its founder controls it. Its peculiarities are_his_ peculiarities. 

He came into collision, first of all, with the clergy and people ofhis own Church, the Roman Catholic. Thirty years ago, as some of ourreaders may remember, Catholics and Protestants had not yet learned tolive together in the same community with perfect tolerance of oneanother's opinions and usages; and there were still some timid personswho feared the rekindling of the fagot, and the supremacy of the Popein the United States. A controversy growing out of these apprehensionshad been proceeding for some time in the newspapers when this impudentlittle Herald first appeared. The new-comer joined in the fray, andsided against the Church in which he was born; but laid about him in amanner which disgusted both parties. For example:--

 "As a Catholic, we call upon the Catholic Bishop and clergy of New York to come forth from the darkness, folly, and superstition of the tenth century. They live in the nineteenth. There can be no mistake about it, --they will be convinced of this fact if they look into the almanac. .. . 

 "But though we want a thorough reform, we do not wish them to discard their greatest absurdities at the first breath. We know the difficulty of the task. Disciples, such as the Irish are, will stick with greater pertinacity to absurdities and nonsense than to reason and common sense. We have no objection to the doctrine of Transubstantiation being tolerated for a few years to come. We may for a while indulge ourselves in the delicious luxury of creating and eating our Divinity. A peculiar taste of this kind, like smoking tobacco or drinking whiskey, cannot be given up all at once. The ancient Egyptians, for many years after they had lost every trace of the intellectual character of their religion, yet worshipped and adored the ox, the bull, and the crocodile. They had not discovered the art, as we Catholics have done, of making a God out of bread, and of adoring and eating him at one and the same moment. This latter piece of sublimity or religious cookery (we don't know which) was reserved for the educated and talented clergy from the tenth up to the nineteenth century. Yet we do not advise the immediate disturbance of this venerable piece of rottenness and absurdity. It must be retained, as we would retain carefully the tooth of a saint or the jawbone of a martyr, till the natural progress of reason in the Irish mind shall be able, silently and imperceptibly, to drop it among the forgotten rubbish of his early loves, or his more youthful riots and rows. 

 "There must be a thorough reformation and revolution in the American Catholic Church. Education must be more attended to. We never knew one priest who believed that he ate the Divinity when he took the Eucharist. If we must have a Pope, let us have a Pope of our own, --an American Pope, an intellectual, intelligent, and moral Pope, --not such a decrepit, licentious, stupid, Italian blockhead as the College of Cardinals at Rome condescends to give the Christian world of Europe. "

This might be good advice; but no serious Protestant, at that day, could relish the tone in which it was given. Threatening letters weresent in from irate and illiterate Irishmen; the Herald was denouncedfrom a Catholic pulpit; its carriers were assaulted on their rounds;but the paper won no friends from the side which it affected toespouse. Every one felt that to this man _nothing_ was sacred, orAugust, or venerable, or even serious. He was like an unbeliever in aparty composed of men of various sects. The Baptist could fairlyattack an Episcopalian, because he had convictions of his own thatcould be assaulted; but this stranger, who believed nothing andrespected nothing, could not be hit at all. The result would naturallybe, that the whole company would turn upon him as upon a common foe. 

So in politics. Perhaps the most serious and sincere article he everwrote on a political subject was one that appeared in November, 1836, in which he recommended the subversion of republican institutions andthe election of an emperor. If he ever had a political conviction, webelieve he expressed it then. After a rigmarole of Roman history andAugustus Caesar, he proceeded thus:---

 "Shall we not profit by these examples of history? Let us, for the sake of science, art, and civilization, elect at this election General Jackson, General Harrison, Martin Yan Buren, Hugh White, or Anybody, we care not whom, the EMPEROR of this great REPUBLIC for life, and have done with this eternal turmoil and confusion. Perhaps Mr. Van Buren would be the best Augustus Caesar. He is sufficiently corrupt, selfish, and heartless for that dignity. He has a host of favorites that will easily form a Senate. He has a court in preparation, and the Praetorian bands in array. He can pick up a Livia anywhere. He has violated every pledge, adopted and abandoned every creed, been for and against every measure, is a believer in all religions by turns, and, like the first Caesar, has always been a republican and taken care of number one. He has called into action all the ragged adventurers from every class, and raised their lands, stocks, lots, and places without end. He is smooth, agreeable, oily, as Octavianus was. He has a couple of sons, also, who might succeed him and preserve the imperial line. We may be better off under an Emperor, --we could not be worse off as a nation than we are now. Besides, who knows but Van Buren is of the blood of the great Julius himself? That great man conquered all Gaul and Helvetia, which in those days comprised Holland. Caius Julius Caesar may thus have laid the foundation of a royal line to be transmitted to the West. There is a prophecy in Virgil's 'Pollio' evidently alluding to Van. But of this another day. "

A man who writes in this way may have readers, but he can have nofriends. An event occurred in his first year which revealed this factto him in an extremely disagreeable manner. There was then upon theNew York stage a notoriously dissolute actor, who, after outraging thefeelings of his wife in all the usual modes, completed his infamy bydenouncing her from the stage of a crowded theatre. The Herald tookher part, which would naturally have been the popular side. But whenthe actor retorted by going to the office of the Herald and committingupon its proprietor a most violent and aggravated assault, accompanying his blows with acts of peculiar indecency, it plainlyappeared, that the sympathies of the public were wholly with theactor, --not with the champion of an injured woman. His hand had beenagainst every man, and in his hour of need, when he was greatly in theright, every heart was closed against him. Not the less, however, didthe same public buy his paper, because it contained what the publicwanted, i. E. The news of the day, vividly exhibited. 

The course of this curious specimen of our kind during the late warwas perfectly characteristic. During the first two years of the war hewas inclined to think that the Rebels would be successful so far as towin over the Democratic party to their side, and thus constituteJefferson Davis President of the United States. If he had anypreference as to the result of the contest, it was probably this. Ifthe flag of the United States had been trailed in the mud of NassauStreet, followed by hooting ruffians from the Sixth Ward, and thesymbol of the Rebellion had floated in its stead from the cupola ofthe City Hall, saluted by Captain Rynders's gun, it would not havecost this isolated alien one pang, --unless, perchance, a rivalnewspaper had been the first to announce the fact. _That_ indeed, would have cut him to the heart. Acting upon the impression that theRebellion, in some way, would triumph, he gave it all the supportpossible, and continued to do so until it appeared certain that, whatever the issue of the strife, the South was lost for a long timeas a patron of New York papers. 

The key to most of the political vagaries of this paper is given in asingle sentence of one of its first numbers: "_We have never been in aminority, and we never shall be_" In his endeavors to act upon thislofty principle, he was sadly puzzled during the war, --so difficultwas it to determine which way the cat would finally jump. He heldhimself ready, however, to jump with it, whichever side the dubiousanimal might select. At the same time, he never for an instant relaxedhis endeavors to obtain the earliest and fullest intelligence from theseat of war. Never perhaps did any journal in any country maintain sogreat an expenditure for news. Every man in the field representingthat paper was more than authorized--he was encouraged andcommanded--to incur any expense whatever that might be necessaryeither in getting or forwarding intelligence. There were no rigid orgrudging scrutiny of reporters' drafts; no minute and insultinginquiries respecting the last moments of a horse ridden to death inthe service; no grumbling about the precise terms of a steamboatcharter, or a special locomotive. A reporter returning from the armyladen with information, procured at a lavish expense, was received inthe office like a conqueror coming home from a victorious campaign, and he went forth again full of courage and zeal, knowing well thatevery man employed on the Herald was advancing himself when he servedthe paper well. One great secret of success the proprietor of theHerald knows better than most;--he knows how to get out of those whoserve him all there is in them; he knows how to reward good service;he knows a man's value to him. There is no newspaper office in theworld where real journalistic efficiency is more certain to meetprompt recognition and just reward than in this. Not much may be saidto a laborious reporter about the hits he is making; but, on someSaturday afternoon, when he draws his salary, he finds in his hands alarger amount than usual. He hands it back to have the mistakecorrected, and he is informed that his salary is raised. 

The Herald, too, systematically prepares the way for its reporters. Some of our readers may remember how lavishly this paper extolledGeneral McClellan during the time of his glory, and indeed as long ashe held the chief command. One of the results of this policy was, that, while the reporters of other papers were out in the cold, writing in circumstances the most inconvenient, those of the Herald, besides being supplied with the best information, were often writingin a warm apartment or commodious tent, not far from head-quarters orat head-quarters. As long as General Butler held a command which gavehim control over one of the chief sources of news, the Herald hoardedits private grudge against him; but the instant he was removed fromcommand, the Herald was after him in full cry. If, to-morrow, the sameGeneral should be placed in a position which should render his officea source of important intelligence, we should probably read in theHerald the most glowing eulogiums of his career and character. 

What are we to think of a man who is at once so able and so false? Itwould be incorrect to call him a liar, because he is wanting in thatsense of truth by violating which a man makes himself a liar. Wecannot call him a traitor, for his heart knows no country; nor aninfidel, for all the serious and high concerns of man are to him ajest. _Defective_ is the word to apply to such as he. As far as hegoes, he is good; and if the commodity in which he deals were cottonor sugar, we could commend his enterprise and tact. He is like thesteeple of a church in New York, which was built up to a certainheight, when the material gave out, and it was hastily roofed in, leaving the _upper half_ of the architect's design unexecuted. Thatregion of the mind where conviction, the sense of truth and honor, public spirit and patriotism have their sphere, is in this man merevacancy. But, we repeat, as far as he _is_ built up, he is very wellconstructed. Visit him: you see before you a quiet-mannered, courteous, and good-natured old gentleman, who is on excellent termswith himself and with the world. If you are a poor musician, about togive a concert, no editor is more likely than he to lend a favorableear to your request for a few lines of preliminary notice. The personsabout him have been very long in his employment, and to some of themhe has been munificently liberal. The best of them appear to be reallyattached to his person, as well as devoted to his service, and theyrely on him as sailors rely on a captain who has brought them safethrough a thousand storms. He has the Celtic virtue of standing bythose who stand by him developed to the uttermost degree. Many aslight favor bestowed upon him in his days of obscurity he hasrecompensed a thousand-fold since he has had the power to do so. Wecannot assign a very exalted rank in the moral scale to a trait whichsome of the lowest races possess in an eminent degree, and whicheasily runs into narrowness and vice; nevertheless, it is akin tonobleness, and is the nearest approach to a true generosity that somestrong natures can attain. 

What are we to say of the public that has so resolutely sustained thispaper, which the outside world so generally condemns? We say this. Every periodical that thrives supplies the public with a certaindescription of intellectual commodity, which the public is willing topay for. The New York Ledger, for example, exists by furnishingstories and poetry adapted to the taste of the greatest number of thepeople. Our spirited friends of The Nation and Round Table supplycriticism and that portion of the news which is of special interest tothe intellectual class. The specialty of the daily newspaper is togive that part of the news of the day which interests the wholepublic. A complete newspaper contains more than this; but it ranks inthe world of journalism exactly in the degree to which it does _this_. The grand object of the true journalist is to be fullest, promptest, and most correct on the one uppermost topic of the hour. That secured, he may neglect all else. The paper that does this oftenest is thepaper that will find most purchasers; and no general excellence, noarray of information on minor or special topics, will ever atone for adeficiency on the subject of most immediate and universal interest. During the war this fundamental truth of journalism was apparent toevery mind. In time of peace, it is less apparent, but not less atruth. In the absence of an absorbing topic, general news rises inimportance, until, in the dearth of the dogdays, the great cucumbergets into type; but the great point of competition is still thesame, --to be fullest, quickest, and most correct upon the subject_most_ interesting at the moment. 

But every periodical, besides its specialty on which it lives, givesits readers something more. It need not, but it does. The universalLedger favors its readers with many very excellent essays, written forit by distinguished clergymen, editors, and authors, and gives itsreaders a great deal of sound advice in other departments of thepaper. It need not do this; these features do not materially affectthe sale of the paper, as its proprietor well knows. The essays ofsuch men as Mr. Everett and Mr. Bancroft do not increase the sale ofthe paper one hundred copies a week. Those essays are read andadmired, and contribute their quota toward the education of thepeople, and reflect honor upon the liberal and enterprising man whopublishes them; but scarcely any one buys the paper for their sake. People almost universally buy a periodical for the special thing whichit has undertaken to furnish; and it is by supplying this specialthing that an editor attains his glorious privilege and opportunity ofaddressing a portion of the people on other topics. This opportunityhe may neglect; he may abuse it to the basest purposes, or improve itto the noblest, but whichever of these things he does, it does notmaterially affect the prosperity of his paper, --always supposing thathis specialty is kept up with the requisite vigor. We have gone overthe whole history of journalism, and we find this to be its Law ofNature, to which there are only apparent exceptions. 

All points to this simple conclusion, which we firmly believe to bethe golden rule of journalism:--that daily newspaper which has thebest corps of reporters, and handles them best, _necessarily_ takesthe lead of all competitors. 

There are journalists who say (we have often heard them inconversation) that this is a low view to take of their vocation. It isof no importance whether a view is high or low, provided it iscorrect. But we cannot agree with them that this is a low view. Wethink it the highest possible. Regarded as instructors of the people, they wield for our warning and rebuke, for our encouragement andreward, an instrument which is like the dread thunderbolt of Jove, atonce the most terrible and the most beneficent, --_publicity_. Someyears ago, a number of ill-favored and prurient women and a number oflicentious men formed themselves into a kind of society for thepurpose of devising and promulgating a theory to justify thegratification of unbridled lust. They were called Free-Lovers. To haveassailed their nightly gatherings in thundering editorial articleswould have only advertised them; but a detailed _report_ of theirproceedings in the Tribune scattered these assemblies in a few days, to meet no more except in secret haunts. Recently, we have seen theFenian wind-bag first inflated, then burst, by mere publicity. TheStrong Divorce Case, last year, was a nauseous dose, which we wouldhave gladly kept out of the papers; but since it had to appear, it wasa public benefit to have it given, Herald-fashion, with all itsrevolting particulars. What a punishment to the guilty! what a lessonto the innocent! what a warning to the undetected! How much beneficialreflection and conversation it excited! How necessary, in an age ofsensation morals and free-love theories, to have self-indulgenceoccasionally exhibited in all its hideous nastiness, and without anyof its fleeting, deceptive, imaginary charms! The instantaneousdetection of the Otero murderers last autumn, and of the robbers ofAdams's express-car last winter, as related in the daily papers, andthe picture presented by them of young Ketchum seated at work in theshoe-shop of Sing-Sing Prison, were equivalent to the addition of athousand men to the police force. Herein lies the power of such aslight person as the editor of the Herald. It is not merely that heimpudently pulls your nose, but he pulls it in the view of a millionpeople. 

Nor less potent is publicity as a means of reward. How many bravehearts during the late war felt themselves far more than repaid forall their hardships in the field and their agony in the hospital byreading their names in despatches, or merely in the list of wounded, and thinking of the breakfast-tables far away at which that name hadbeen spied out and read with mingled exultation and pity. "Those wholove me know that I did my duty, --it is enough. "

Our whole observation of the daily press convinces us that its powerto do good arises chiefly from its giving the news of the day; and itspower to do harm chiefly from its opportunity to comment upon thenews. Viewed only as a vehicle of intelligence, the Herald has taughtthe journalists of the United States the greater part of all that theyyet know of their profession; regarded as an organ of opinion, it hasdone all that it was ever possible for a newspaper to do in pervertingpublic opinion, debauching public taste, offending public morals, anddishonoring the national character. 

The question arises, Why has not this paper been long ago outdone ingiving the news? It has always been possible to suppress it bysurpassing it. Its errors have given its rivals an immense advantageover it; for it has always prospered, not in consequence of itsbadness, but of its goodness. We are acquainted with two foolish youngpatriots who were wrought up to such a frenzy of disgust by itstraitorous course during the first half of our late war, that theyseriously considered whether there was any way in which they could sowell serve their country in its time of need, as by slaying thatpernicious and insolent editor; but both of those amiable lunaticswere compelled occasionally to buy the paper. Of late, too, we haveseen vast audiences break forth into wild hootings at the mention ofits name; but not the less did the hooters buy it the next morning. Nevertheless, as soon as there exists a paper which to the Herald'sgood points adds the other features of a complete newspaper, andavoids its faults, from that hour the Herald wanes and falls speedilyto the second rank. 

Two men have had it in their power to produce such anewspaper, --Horace Greeley and Henry J. Raymond. In 1841, when theHerald was six years old, the Tribune appeared, edited by Mr. Greeley, with Mr. Raymond as his chief assistant. Mr. Greeley was then, and isnow, the best writer of editorials in the United States; that is, hecan produce a greater quantity of telling editorial per annum than anyother individual. There never lived a man capable of working morehours in a year than he. Strictly temperate in his habits, andabsolutely devoted to his work, he threw himself into this enterprisewith an ardor never surpassed since Adam first tasted the sweets ofhonorable toil. Mr. Raymond, then recently from college, very young, wholly inexperienced, was endowed with an admirable aptitude for thework of journalism, and a power of getting through its routinelabors, --a sustained, calm, swift industry, --unsurpassed at that timein the American press. The business of the paper was also well managedby Mr. McElrath. In the hands of these able men, the new paper madesuch rapid advances, that, in the course of a few months, it wasfairly established, and in a year or two it had reached a circulationequal to that of the Herald. One after another, excellent writers wereadded to its corps;--the vigorous, prompt, untiring Dana; GeorgeRipley, possessing that blending of scholarship and tact, that wisdomof the cloister and knowledge of the world, which alone could fit aman of great learning and talent for the work of a daily newspaper;Margaret Fuller, whose memory is still green in so many hearts; BayardTaylor, the versatile, and others, less universally known. 

Why, then, did not this powerful combination supplant the Herald? Ifmere ability in the writing of a newspaper; if to have given animpulse to thought and enterprise; if to have won the admiration andgratitude of a host of the best men and women in America; if to haveinspired many thousands of young men with better feelings and higherpurposes than they would else have attained; if to have shaken thedominion of superstition, and made it easier for men to think freely, and freely utter their thought; if to have produced a newspaper moreinteresting than any other in the world to certain classes in thecommunity;--if all these things had sufficed to give a daily paper thefirst position in the journalism of a country, then the Tribune wouldlong ago have attained that position; for all these things, and manymore, the Tribune did. But they do not suffice. Such things may beincidental to a great success: they cannot cause it. Greatjournalism--journalism pure and simple--alone can give a journal thefirst place. If Mr. Raymond had been ten years older, and had foundedand conducted the paper, with Mr. Greeley as his chief writer ofeditorials, --that is, if the _journalist_ had been the master of thejournal, instead of the writer, the politician, and thephilanthropist, --the Tribune might have won the splendid prize. Mr. Greeley is not a great journalist. He has regarded journalism ratheras a disagreeable necessity of his vocation, and uniformly abandonedthe care of it to others. An able man generally gets what he ardentlyseeks. Mr. Greeley produced just such a paper as he himself would haveliked to take, but not such a paper as the public of the island ofManhattan prefers. He regards this as his glory. We cannot agree withhim, because his course of management left the field to the Herald, the suppression of which was required by the interests ofcivilization. 

The Tribune has done great and glorious things for us. Not free, ofcourse, from the errors which mark all things human, it has been, andis, a civilizing power in this land. We hope to have the pleasure ofreading it every day for the rest of our lives. One thing it hasfailed to do, --to reduce the Herald to insignificance by surpassing itin the particulars in which it is excellent. We have no right tocomplain. We only regret that the paper representing the civilizationof the country should not yet have attained the position which wouldhave given it the greatest power. 

Mr. Raymond, also, has had it in his power to render this greatservice to the civilization and credit of the United States. The DailyTimes, started in 1852, retarded for a while by a financial error, hasmade such progress toward the goal of its proprietors' ambition, thatit is now on the home stretch, only a length or two behind. The editorof this paper is a journalist; he sees clearly the point ofcompetition; he knows the great secret of his trade. The prize withinhis reach is splendid. The position of chief journalist gives powerenough to satisfy any reasonable ambition, wealth enough to glut thegrossest avarice, and opportunity of doing good sufficient for themost public-spirited citizen. What is there in political life equal toit? We have no right to remark upon any man's choice of a career; butthis we may say, --that the man who wins the first place in thejournalism of a free country must concentrate all his powers upon thatone work, and, as an editor, owe no allegiance to party. He must standabove all parties, and serve all parties, by spreading before thepublic that full and exact information upon which sound legislation isbased. 

During the present (1865-6) session of Congress we have had dailyillustration of this truth. The great question has been, What is thecondition of the Southern States and the feeling of the Southernpeople? All the New York morning papers have expended money and labor, each according to its means and enterprise, in getting informationfrom the South. This was well. But every one of these papers has hadsome party or personal bias, which has given it a powerful interest tomake out a case. The World and News excluded everything which tendedto show the South dissatisfied and disloyal. The Tribune, on the otherhand, diligently sought testimony of that nature. The Times, also, being fully committed to a certain theory of reconstruction, naturallygave prominence to every fact which supported that theory, and wasinclined to suppress information of the opposite tendency. Theconsequence was, that an inhabitant of the city of New York who simplydesired to know the truth was compelled to keep an eye upon four orfive papers, lest something material should escape him. This ispitiful. This is utterly beneath the journalism of 1866. The finalpre-eminent newspaper of America will soar far above such needlesslimitations as these, and present the truth in _all_ its aspects, regardless of its effects upon theories, parties, factions, andPresidential campaigns. 

Presidential campaigns, --that is the real secret. The editors of mostof these papers have selected their candidate for 1868; and, havingdone that, can no more help conducting their journals with a view tothe success of that candidate, than the needle of a compass can helppointing awry when there is a magnet hidden in the binnacle. Here, again, we have no right to censure or complain. Yet we cannot helpmarvelling at the hallucination which can induce able men to preferthe brief and illusory honors of political station to the substantialand lasting power within the grasp of the successful journalist. He, if any one, --he more than any one else, --is the master in a freecountry. Have we not seen almost every man who has held or run for thePresidency during the last ten or fifteen years paying assiduous andservile court, directly or indirectly, or both, to the editor of theHerald? If it were proper to relate to the public what is known onthis subject to a few individuals, the public would be exceedinglyastonished. And yet this reality of power an editor is ready tojeopard for the sake of gratifying his family by exposing them inParis! Jeopard, do we say? He has done more: he has thrown it away. Hehas a magnet in his binnacle. He has, for the time, sacrificed what itcost him thirty years of labor and audacity to gain. Strange weaknessof human nature!

The daily press of the United States has prodigiously improved inevery respect during the last twenty years. To the best of ourrecollection, the description given of it, twenty-three years ago, byCharles Dickens, in his American Notes, was not much exaggerated;although that great author did exaggerate its effects upon the moralsof the country. His own amusing account of the rival editors inPickwick might have instructed him on this latter point. It does notappear that the people of Eatanswill were seriously injured by thefierce language employed in "that false and scurrilous print, theIndependent, " and in "that vile and slanderous calumniator, theGazette. " Mr. Dickens, however, was too little conversant with ourpolitics to take the atrocious language formerly so common in ournewspapers "in a Pickwickian sense"; and we freely confess that in thealarming picture which he drew of our press there was only too muchtruth. 

 "The foul growth of America, " wrote Mr. Dickens, "strikes its fibres deep in its licentious press. 

 "Schools may be erected, east, west, north, and south; pupils be taught, and masters reared, by scores upon scores of thousands; colleges may thrive, churches may be crammed, temperance may be diffused, and advancing knowledge in all other forms walk through the land with giant strides; but while the newspaper press of America is in or near its present abject state, high moral improvement in that country is hopeless. Year by year it must and will go back; year by year the tone of public feeling must sink lower down; year by year the Congress and the Senate must become of less account before all decent men; and, year by year, the memory of the great fathers of the Revolution must be outraged more and more in the bad life of their degenerate child. 

 "Among the herd of journals which are published in the States, there are some, the reader scarcely need be told, of character and credit. From personal intercourse with accomplished gentlemen connected with publications of this class I have derived both pleasure and profit. But the name of these is Few, and of the others Legion; and the influence of the good is powerless to counteract the mortal poison of the bad. 

 "Among the gentry of America, among the well-informed and moderate, in the learned professions, at the bar and on the bench, there is, as there can be, but one opinion in reference to the vicious character of these infamous journals. It is sometimes contended--I will not say strangely, for it is natural to seek excuses for such a disgrace--that their influence is not so great as a visitor would suppose. I must be pardoned for saying that there is no warrant for this plea, and that every fact and circumstance tends directly to the opposite conclusion. 

 "When any man, of any grade of desert in intellect or character, can climb to any public distinction, no matter what, in America, without first grovelling down upon the earth, and bending the knee before this monster of depravity; when any private excellence is safe from its attacks, and when any social confidence is left unbroken by it, or any tie of social decency and honor is held in the least regard; when any man in that free country has freedom of opinion, and presumes to think for himself, and speak for himself, without humble reference to a censorship which, for its rampant ignorance and base dishonesty, he utterly loathes and despises in his heart; when those who most acutely feel its infamy and the reproach it casts upon the nation, and who most denounce it to each other, dare to set their heels upon and crush it openly, in the sight of all men, --then I will believe that its influence is lessening, and men are returning to their manly senses. But while that Press has its evil eye in every house, and its black hand in every appointment in the state, from a President to a postman, --while, with ribald slander for its only stock in trade, it is the standard literature of an enormous class, who must find their reading in a newspaper, or they will not read at all, --so long must its odium be upon the country's head, and so long must the evil it works be plainly visible in the Republic. 

 "To those who are accustomed to the leading English journals, or to the respectable journals of the Continent of Europe, to those who are accustomed to anything else in print and paper, it would be impossible, without an amount of extract for which I have neither space nor inclination, to convey an adequate idea of this frightful engine in America. But if any man desire confirmation of my statement on this head, let him repair to any place in this city of London where scattered numbers of these publications are to be found, and there let him form his own opinion. "

From a note appended to this passage, we infer that the newspaperwhich weighed upon the author's mind when he wrote it was the New YorkHerald. The direct cause, however, of the general license of the pressat that time, was not the Herald's bad example, but Andrew Jackson'sdebauching influence. The same man who found the government pure, andleft it corrupt, made the press the organ of his own malignantpassions by bestowing high office upon the editors who lied mostrecklessly about his opponents. In 1843 the press had scarcely begunto recover from this hateful influence, and was still the merest toolof politicians. The Herald, in fact, by demonstrating that a newspapercan flourish in the United States without any aid from politicians, has brought us nearer the time when no newspaper of any importancewill be subject to party, which has been the principal cause of theindecencies of the press. 

The future is bright before the journalists of America. The close ofthe war, by increasing their income and reducing their expenses, hasrenewed the youth of several of our leading journals, and given them abetter opportunity than they have ever had before. The great error ofthe publishers of profitable journals hitherto has been the wretchedcompensation paid to writers and reporters. To this hour there is butone individual connected with the daily press of New York, not aproprietor, who receives a salary sufficient to keep a tolerable houseand bring up a family respectably and comfortably; and if any onewould find that individual, he must look for him, alas! in the officeof the Herald. To be plainer: decent average housekeeping in the cityof New York now costs a hundred dollars a week; and there is but onesalary of that amount paid in New York to a journalist who owns noproperty in his journal. The consequence is, that there is scarcely anindividual connected with a daily paper who is not compelled ortempted to eke out his ridiculous salary by other writing, to theinjury of his health and the constant deterioration of his work. Everymorning the public comes fresh and eager to the newspaper: fresh andeager minds should alone minister to it. No work done on this earthconsumes vitality so fast as carefully executed composition, andconsequently one of the main conditions of a man's writing his best isthat he should write little and rest often. A good writer, moreover, is one of Nature's peculiar and very rare products. There is a mysteryabout the art of composition. Who shall explain to us why CharlesDickens can write about a three-legged stool in such a manner that thewhole civilized world reads with pleasure; while another man of ahundred times his knowledge and five times his quantity of mind cannotwrite on any subject so as to interest anybody? The laws of supply anddemand do not apply to this rarity; for one man's writing cannot becompared with another's, there being no medium between valuable andworthless. How many over-worked, under-paid men have we known in NewYork, really gifted with this inexplicable knack at writing, who, wellcommanded and justly compensated, lifted high and dry out of theslough of poor-devilism in which their powers were obscured andimpaired, could almost have made the fortune of a newspaper! Some ofthese Reporters of Genius are mere children in all the arts by whichmen prosper. A Journalist of Genius would know their value, understandtheir case, take care of their interest, secure their devotion, restrain their ardor, and turn their talent to rich account. We areashamed to say, that for example of this kind of policy we should haveto repair to the office named a moment since. 

This subject, however, is beginning to be understood, and of latethere has been some advance in the salaries of members of the press. Just as fast as the daily press advances in real independence andefficiency, the compensation of journalists will increase, until agreat reporter will receive a reward in some slight degreeproportioned to the rarity of the species and to the greatness of theservices of which he is the medium. By reporters, we mean, of course, the entire corps of news-givers, from the youth who relates theburning of a stable, to the philosopher who chronicles the last vagaryof a German metaphysician. These laborious men will be appreciated indue time. By them all the great hits of journalism have been made, andthe whole future of journalism is theirs. 

So difficult is the reporter's art, that we can call to mind only twoseries of triumphant efforts in this department, --Mr. Russell'sletters from the Crimea to the London Times, and N. P. Willis's"Pencillings by the Way, " addressed to the New York Mirror. Each ofthese masters chanced to have a subject perfectly adapted to his tasteand talents, and each of them made the most of his opportunity. Charles Dickens has produced a few exquisite reports. Many ignorantand dull men employed on the New York Herald have written good reports_because_ they were dull and ignorant. In fact, there are two kinds ofgood reporters, --those who know too little, and those who know toomuch, to wander from the point and evolve a report from the depths oftheir own consciousness. The worst possible reporter is one who has alittle talent, and depends upon that to make up for the meagreness ofhis information. The best reporter is he whose sole object is torelate his event exactly as it occurred, and describe his scene justas it appeared; and this kind of excellence is attainable by an honestplodder, and by a man of great and well-controlled talent. If we wereforming a corps of twenty-five reporters, we should desire to havefive of them men of great and highly trained ability, and the restindefatigable, unimaginative, exact short-hand chroniclers, caring fornothing but to get their fact and relate it in the plainest English. 

There is one custom, a relic of the past, still in vogue in theoffices of daily papers, which is of an absurdity truly exquisite. Itis the practice of paying by the column, or, in other words, paying apremium for verbosity, and imposing a fine upon conciseness. It willoften happen that information which cost three days to procure can bewell related in a paragraph, and which, if related in a paragraph, would be of very great value to the newspaper printing it. But if thereporter should compress his facts into that space, he would receivefor his three days' labor about what he expended in omnibus fare. Likea wise man, therefore, he spreads them out into three columns, andthus receives a compensation upon which life can be supported. Ifmatter must be paid for by the column, we would respectfully suggestthe following rates: For half a column, or less, twenty dollars; forone column, ten dollars; for two columns, five dollars; for threecolumns, nothing; for any amount beyond three columns, no insertion. 

To conclude with a brief recapitulation:--

The commodity in which the publishers of daily newspapers deal isnews, i. E. Information respecting recent events in which the publictake an interest, or in which an interest can be excited. 

Newspapers, therefore, rank according to their excellence as_newspapers_; and no other kind of excellence can make up for anydeficiency in the one thing for which they exist. 

Consequently, the art of editorship consists in forming, handling, andinspiring a corps of reporters; for inevitably that newspaper becomesthe chief and favorite journal which has the best corps of reporters, and uses them best. 

Editorial articles have their importance. They can be a powerful meansof advancing the civilization of a country, and of hastening thetriumph of good measures and good men; and upon the use an editormakes of his opportunity of addressing the public in this way dependshis title to our esteem as a man and fellow-citizen. But, in a merebusiness point of view, they are of inferior importance. The besteditorials cannot make, nor the worst editorials mar, the fortune of apaper. Burke and Macaulay would not add a tenth part as manysubscribers to a daily paper as the addition to its corps of twowell-trained, ably-commanded reporters. 

It is not law which ever renders the press free and independent. Nothing is free or independent in this world which is not powerful. Therefore, the editor who would conquer the opportunity of speakinghis mind freely, must do it by making his paper so excellent as avehicle of news that the public will buy it though it is a dailydisgust to them. 

The Herald has thriven beyond all its competitors, because itsproprietor comprehended these simple but fundamental truths of hisvocation, and, upon the whole, has surpassed his rivals both in thegetting and in the display of intelligence. We must pronounce him thebest journalist and the worst editorialist this continent has everknown; and accordingly his paper is generally read and its proprietoruniversally disapproved. 

And finally, this bad, good paper cannot be reduced to secondary rankexcept by being outdone in pure journalism. The interests ofcivilization and the honor of the United States require that thisshould be done. There are three papers now existing--the Times, theTribune; and the World--which ought to do it; but if the conductors ofneither of these able and spirited papers choose to devote themselvesabsolutely to this task, then we trust that soon another competitormay enter the field, conducted by a journalist proud enough of hisprofession to be satisfied with its honors. There were days lastwinter on which it seemed as if the whole force of journalism in thecity of New York was expended in tingeing and perverting intelligenceon the greatest of all the topics of the time. We have read numbers ofthe World (which has talent and youthful energy enough for a splendidcareer) of which almost the entire contents--correspondence, telegrams, and editorials--were spoiled for all useful purposes by thedetermination of the whole corps of writers to make the news tell infavor of a political party. We can truly aver, that journalism, pureand simple, --journalism for its own sake, --journalism, thedispassionate and single-eyed servant of the whole public, --does notexist in New York during a session of Congress. It ought to exist. 

[Footnote 1: We copy the following from Mr. Gowan's narrative:

 "Dr. Benjamin Brandreth, of well and wide-spread reputation, and who has made more happy and comfortable, for a longer or shorter time, as the case may be, by his prescriptions than any other son of Aesculapius, hailed me one day as I jumped from a railroad car passing up and along the shores of the Hudson River, and immediately commenced the following narrative. He held in his hand a copy of the New York Herald. 'Do you know, ' said he, holding up the paper to my face, 'that it was by and through your agency that this paper ever became successful?' I replied in the negative. 'Then, ' continued he, 'I will unfold the secret to you of how you became instrumental in this matter. Shortly after my arrival in America, I began looking about me how I was to dispose of my pills by agents and other means. Among others, I called upon you, then a bookseller in Chatham Street. After some conversation on the subject of my errand, a contract was soon entered into between us, --you to sell and I to furnish the said pills; but, ' continued he, 'these pills will be of no use to me or any one else unless they can be made known to the public, or rather the great herd of the people; and that can only be done by advertising through some paper which goes into the hands of the many. Can you point out to me any such paper, published in the city?' After a short pause I in substance said that there had lately started a small penny paper, which had been making a great noise during its existence; and I had reason to believe it had obtained a very considerable circulation among that class of people which he desired to reach by advertising, and so concluded that it would be the best paper in the city for his purpose, provided he could make terms with the owner, who, I had no doubt, would be well disposed, as in all probability he stood in need of patronage of this kind. 'I immediately, ' continued the doctor, 'adopted your advice, went directly to Mr. Bennett, made terms with him for advertising, and for a long time paid him a very considerable sum weekly for the use of his columns, which tended greatly to add to both his and my own treasury. The editor of the Herald afterwards acknowledged to me that but for his advertising patronage he would have been compelled to collapse. Hence, ' said he, 'had I never called on you, in all probability I should not have had my attention turned to the New York Herald; and, as a consequence, that sheet would never have had my advertising; and that paper would have been a thing of the past, and perhaps entirely forgotten. '"]

CHARLES GOODYEAR. 

The copy before us, of Mr. Goodyear's work upon "Gum-Elastic and itsVarieties, " presents at least something unique in the art ofbook-making. It is self-illustrating; inasmuch as, treating ofIndia-rubber, it is made of India-rubber. An unobservant reader, however, would scarcely suspect the fact before reading the Preface, for the India-rubber covers resemble highly polished ebony, and theleaves have the appearance of ancient paper worn soft, thin, and dingyby numberless perusals. The volume contains six hundred and twentypages; but it is not as thick as copies of the same work printed onpaper, though it is a little heavier. It is evident that the substanceof which this book is composed cannot be India-rubber in its naturalstate. Those leaves, thinner than paper, can be stretched only by astrong pull, and resume their shape perfectly when they are let go. There is no smell of India-rubber about them. We first saw this bookin a cold room in January, but the leaves were then as flexible as oldpaper; and when, since, we have handled it in warm weather, they hadgrown no softer. 

Some of our readers may have heard Daniel Webster relate the story ofthe India-rubber cloak and hat which one of his New York friends senthim at Marshfield in the infancy of the manufacture. He took the cloakto the piazza one cold morning, when it instantly became as rigid assheet-iron. Finding that it stood alone, he placed the hat upon it, and left the articles standing near the front door. Several of hisneighbors who passed, seeing a dark and portly figure there, took itfor the lord of the mansion, and gave it respectful salutation. Thesame articles were liable to an objection still more serious. In thesun, even in cool weather, they became sticky, while on a hot day theywould melt entirely away to the consistency of molasses. Every oneremembers the thick and ill-shaped India-rubber shoes of twenty yearsago, which had to be thawed out under the stove before they could beput on, and which, if left under the stove too long, would dissolveinto gum that no household art could ever harden again. Some decorousgentlemen among us can also remember that, in the nocturnal combats oftheir college days, a flinty India-rubber shoe, in cold weather, was amissive weapon of a highly effective character. 

This curious volume, therefore, cannot be made of the unmanageablestuff which Daniel Webster set up at his front door. So much isevident at a glance. But the book itself tells us that it can besubjected, without injury, to tests more severe than summer's sun andwinter's cold. It can be soaked six months in a pail of water, andstill be as good a book as ever. It can be boiled; it can be baked inan oven hot enough to cook a turkey; it can be soaked in brine, lye, camphene, turpentine, or oil; it can be dipped into oil of vitriol, and still no harm done. To crown its merits, no rat, mouse, worm, ormoth has ever shown the slightest inclination to make acquaintancewith it. The office of a Review is not usually provided with the meansof subjecting literature to such critical tests as lye, vitriol, boilers, and hot ovens. But we have seen enough elsewhere of theordeals to which India-rubber is now subjected to believe Mr. Goodyear's statements. Remote posterity will enjoy the fruit of hislabors, unless some one takes particular pains to destroy this book;for it seems that time itself produces no effect upon the India-rubberwhich bears the familiar stamp, "GOODYEAR'S PATENT. " In the dampestcorner of the dampest cellar, no mould gathers upon it, no decaypenetrates it. In the hottest garret, it never warps or cracks. 

The principal object of the work is to relate how this remarkablechange was effected in the nature of the substance of which it treats. It cost more than two millions of dollars to do it. It cost CharlesGoodyear eleven most laborious and painful years. His book is writtenwithout art or skill, but also without guile. 

He was evidently a laborious, conscientious, modest man, neitherlearned nor highly gifted, but making no pretence to learning orgifts, doing the work which fell to him with all his might, and with aperseverance never surpassed in all the history of invention anddiscovery. Who would have thought to find a romance in the history ofIndia-rubber? We are familiar with the stories of poor and friendlessmen, possessed with an idea and pursuing their object, amid obloquy, neglect, and suffering, to the final triumph; of which final triumphother men reaped the substantial reward, leaving to the discoverer thebarren glory of his achievement, --and that glory obscured bydetraction. Columbus is the representative man of that illustriousorder. We trust to be able to show that Charles Goodyear is entitledto a place in it. Whether we consider the prodigious and unforeseenimportance of his discovery, or his scarcely paralleled devotion tohis object, in the face of the most disheartening obstacles, we feelit to be due to his memory, to his descendants, and to the public, that his story should be told. Few persons will ever see his book, ofwhich only a small number of copies were printed for privatecirculation. Still fewer will be at the pains to pick out the materialfacts from the confused mass of matter in which they are hidden. Happily for our purpose, no one now has an interest to call his meritsin question. He rests from his labors, and the patent, which was theglory and misery of his life, has expired. 

Our great-grandfathers knew India-rubber only as a curiosity, and ourgrandfathers only as a means of erasing pencil-marks. The firstspecimens were brought to Europe in 1730; and as late as 1770 it wasstill so scarce an article, that in London it was only to be found inone shop, where a piece containing half a cubic inch was sold forthree shillings. Dr. Priestley, in his work on perspective, publishedin 1770, speaks of it as a new article, and recommends its use todraughtsmen. This substance, however, being one of those of whichnature has provided an inexhaustible supply, greater quantities foundtheir way into the commerce of the world; until, in 1820, it was adrug in all markets, and was frequently brought as ballast merely. About this time it began to be subjected to experiments witha view to rendering it available in the arts. It was found usefulas an ingredient of blacking and varnish. Its elasticity wasturned to account in France in the manufacture of suspenders andgarters, --threads of India-rubber being inserted in the web. InEngland, Mackintosh invented his still celebrated water-proof coats, which are made of two thin cloths with a paste of India-rubber betweenthem. In chemistry, the substance was used to some extent, and itssingular properties were much considered. In England and France, theIndia-rubber manufacture had attained considerable importance beforethe material had attracted the attention of American experimenters. The Europeans succeeded in rendering it useful because they did notattempt too much. The French cut the imported sheets of gum intoshreds, without ever attempting to produce the sheets themselves. Mackintosh exposed no surface of India-rubber to the air, and broughtno surfaces of India-rubber into contact. No one had discovered anyprocess by which India-rubber once dissolved could be restored to itsoriginal consistency. Some of our readers may have attempted, twentyyears ago, to fill up the holes in the sole of an India-rubber shoe. Nothing was easier than to melt a piece of India-rubber for thepurpose; but, when applied to the shoe, it would not harden. There wasthe grand difficulty, the complete removal of which cost so much moneyand so many years. 

The ruinous failure of the first American manufacturers arose from thefact that they began their costly operations in ignorance of theexistence of this difficulty. They were too fast. They proceeded inthe manner of the inventor of the caloric engine, who began by placingone in a ship of great magnitude, involving an expenditure whichruined the owners. 

It was in the year 1820 that a pair of India-rubber shoes was seen forthe first time in the United States. They were covered with gilding, and resembled in shape the shoes of a Chinaman. They were handed aboutin Boston only as a curiosity. Two or three years after, a ship fromSouth America brought to Boston five hundred pairs of shoes, thick, heavy, and ill-shaped, which sold so readily as to invite furtherimportations. The business increased until the annual importationreached half a million pairs, and India-rubber shoes had become anarticle of general use. The manner in which these shoes were made bythe natives of South America was frequently described in thenewspapers, and seemed to present no difficulty. They were made muchas farmers' wives, made candles. The sap being collected from thetrees, clay lasts were dipped into the liquid twenty or thirty times, each layer being smoked a little. The shoes were then hung up toharden for a few days; after which the clay was removed, and the shoeswere stored for some months to harden them still more. Nothing wasmore natural than to suppose that Yankees could do this as well asIndians, if not far better. The raw India-rubber could then be boughtin Boston for five cents a pound, and a pair of shoes made of itbrought from three to five dollars. Surely here was a promising basisfor a new branch of manufacture in New England. It happened too, in1830, that vast quantities of the raw gum reached the United States. It came covered with hides, in masses, of which no use could be madein America; and it remained unsold, or was sent to Europe. 

Patent-leather suggested the first American attempt to turnIndia-rubber to account. Mr. E. M. Chaffee, foreman of a Bostonpatent-leather factory conceived the idea, in 1830, of spreadingIndia-rubber upon cloth, hoping to produce an article which shouldpossess the good qualities of patent-leather, with the additional oneof being water-proof. In the deepest secrecy he experimented forseveral months. By dissolving a pound of India rubber in three quartsof spirits of turpentine, and adding lampblack enough to give it thedesired color, he produced a composition which he supposed wouldperfectly answer the purpose. He invented a machine for spreading it, and made some specimens of cloth, which had every appearance of beinga very useful article. The surface, after being dried in the sun, wasfirm and smooth; and Mr. Chaffee supposed, and his friends agreed withhim, that he had made an invention of the utmost value. At this pointhe invited a few of the solid men of Roxbury to look at his specimensand listen to his statements. He convinced them. The result of theconference was the Roxbury India-rubber Company, incorporated inFebruary, 1833, with a capital of thirty thousand dollars. 

The progress of this Company was amazing. Within a year its capitalwas increased to two hundred and forty thousand dollars. Beforeanother year had expired, this was increased to three hundredthousand; and in the year following, to four hundred thousand. TheCompany manufactured the cloth invented by Mr. Chaffee, and manyarticles made of that cloth, such as coats, caps, wagon-curtains andcoverings. Shoes, made without fibre, were soon introduced. Nothingcould be better than the appearance of these articles when they werenew. They were in the highest favor, and were sold more rapidly thanthe Company could manufacture them. The astonishing prosperity of theRoxbury Company had its natural effect in calling into existencesimilar establishments in other towns. Manufactories were started atBoston, Framingham, Salem, Lynn, Chelsea, Troy, and Staten Island, with capitals ranging from one hundred thousand dollars to half amillion; and all of them appeared to prosper. There was anIndia-rubber mania in those years similar to that of petroleum in1864. Not to invest in India-rubber stock was regarded by some shrewdmen as indicative of inferior business talents and general dulness ofcomprehension. The exterior facts were certainly well calculated tolure even the most wary. Here was a material worth only a few cents apound, out of which shoes were quickly made, which brought two dollarsa pair! It was a plain case. Besides, there were the India-rubberCompanies, all working to their extreme capacity, and selling all theycould make. 

It was when the business had reached this flourishing stage thatCharles Goodyear, a bankrupt hardware merchant of Philadelphia, firsthad his attention directed to the material upon which it was founded. In 1834, being in New York on business, he chanced to observe the signof the Roxbury Company, which then had a depot in that city. He hadbeen reading in the newspapers, not long before, descriptions of thenew life-preservers made of India-rubber, an application of the gumthat was much extolled. Curiosity induced him to enter the store toexamine the life-preservers. He bought one and took it home with him. A native of Connecticut, he possessed in full measure the Yankeepropensity to look at a new contrivance, first with a view tounderstand its principle, and next to see if it cannot be improved. Already he had had some experience both of the difficulty ofintroducing an improved implement, and of the profit to be derivedfrom its introduction. His father, the head of the firm of A. Goodyearand Sons, of which he was a member, was the first to manufacturehay-forks of spring steel, instead of the heavy, wrought-iron forksmade by the village blacksmith; and Charles Goodyear could rememberthe time when his father reckoned it a happy day on which he hadpersuaded a farmer to accept a few of the new forks as a gift, on thecondition of giving them a trial. But it was also very fresh in hisrecollection that those same forks had made their way to almostuniversal use, had yielded large profits to his firm, and were still aleading article of its trade, when, in 1830, the failure of Southernhouses had compelled it to suspend. He was aware, too, that, ifanything could extricate the house of A. Goodyear and Sons fromembarrassment, it was their possession of superior methods ofmanufacturing and their sale of articles improved by their owningenuity. 

Upon examining his life-preserver, an improvement in the inflatingapparatus occurred to him. When he was next in New York he explainedhis improvement to the agent of the Roxbury Company, and offered tosell it. The agent, struck with the ingenuity displayed in the newcontrivance, took the inventor into his confidence, partly by way ofexplaining why the Company could not then buy the improved tube, butprincipally with a view to enlist the aid of an ingenious mind inovercoming a difficulty that threatened the Company with ruin. He toldhim that the prosperity of the India-rubber Companies in the UnitedStates was wholly fallacious. The Roxbury Company had manufacturedvast quantities of shoes and fabrics in the cool months of 1833 and1834, which had been readily sold at high prices; but during thefollowing summer, the greater part of them had melted. Twenty thousanddollars' worth had been returned, reduced to the consistency of commongum, and emitting an odor so offensive that they had been obliged tobury it. New ingredients had been employed, new machinery applied, butstill the articles would dissolve. In some cases, shoes had borne theheat of one summer, and melted the next. The wagon-covers becamesticky in the sun, and rigid in the cold. The directors were at theirwits' end;--since it required two years to test a new process, andmeanwhile they knew not whether the articles made by it were valuableor worthless. If they stopped manufacturing, that was certain ruin. Ifthey went on, they might find the product of a whole winter dissolvingon their hands. The capital of the Company was already so farexhausted, that, unless the true method were speedily discovered, itwould be compelled to wind up its affairs. The agent urged Mr. Goodyear not to waste time upon minor improvements, but to direct allhis efforts to finding out the secret of successfully working thematerial itself. The Company could not buy his improved inflator; butlet him learn how to make an India-rubber that would stand thesummer's heat, and there was scarcely any price which it would notgladly give for the secret. 

The worst apprehensions of the directors of this Company wererealized. The public soon became tired of buying India-rubber shoesthat could only be saved during the summer by putting them into arefrigerator. In the third year of the mania, India-rubber stock beganto decline, and Roxbury itself finally fell to two dollars and a half. Before the close of 1836, all the Companies had ceased to exist, theirfall involving many hundreds of families in heavy loss. The clumsy, shapeless shoes from South America were the only ones which the peoplewould buy. It was generally supposed that the secret of theirresisting heat was that they were smoked with the leaves of a certaintree, peculiar to South America, and that nothing else in nature wouldanswer the purpose. 

The two millions of dollars lost by these Companies had one resultwhich has proved to be worth many times that sum; it led CharlesGoodyear to undertake the investigation of India-rubber. That chanceconversation with the agent of the Roxbury Company fixed his destiny. If he were alive to read these lines, he would, however, protestagainst the use of such a word as _chance_ in this connection. Hereally appears to have felt himself "called" to study India-rubber. Hesays himself:--

 "From the time that his attention was first given to the subject, a strong and abiding impression was made upon his mind, that an object so desirable and important, and so necessary to man's comfort, as the making of gum-elastic available to his use, was most certainly placed within his reach. Having this presentiment, of which he could not divest himself under the most trying adversity, he was stimulated with the hope of ultimately attaining this object. 

 "Beyond this he would refer the whole to the great Creator, who directs the operations of mind to the development of the properties of matter, in his own way, at the time when they are specially needed, influencing some mind for every work or calling. .. . Were he to refrain from expressing his views thus briefly, he would ever feel that he had done violence to his sentiments. "

This is modestly said, but his friends assure us that he felt itearnestly and habitually. It was, indeed, this steadfast conviction ofthe possibility of attaining his object, and his religious devotion toit, that constituted his capital in his new business. He had littleknowledge of chemistry, and an aversion to complicated calculations. He was a ruined man; for, after a long struggle with misfortune, thefirm of A. Goodyear and Sons had surrendered their all to theircreditors, and still owed thirty thousand dollars. He had a family, and his health was not robust. Upon returning home after conversingwith the agent of the Roxbury Company, he was arrested for debt, andcompelled to reside within the prison limits. He melted his firstpound of India-rubber while he was living within those limits, andstruggling to keep out of the jail itself. Thus he began hisexperiments in circumstances as little favorable as can be imagined. There were only two things in his favor. One was his conviction thatIndia-rubber _could_ be subjugated, and that he was the man destinedto subjugate it. The other was, that, India-rubber having fallen toits old price, he could continue his labors as long as he could raisefive cents and procure access to a fire. The very odium in whichbusiness-men held India-rubber, though it long retarded his finaltriumph, placed an abundance of the native gum within the means evenof an inmate of the debtor's prison, in which he often was during thewhole period of his experimenting. He was seldom out of jail a wholeyear from 1835 to 1841, and never out of danger of arrest. 

In a small house in Philadelphia, in the winter of 1834--35, he beganhis investigations. He melted his gum by the domestic fire, kneaded itwith his own hands, spread it upon a marble slab, and rolled it with arolling-pin. A prospect of success flattered him from the first andlured him on. He was soon able to produce sheets of India-rubber whichappeared as firm as those imported, and which tempted a friend toadvance him a sum of money sufficient to enable him to manufactureseveral hundred pairs of shoes. He succeeded in embossing his shoes invarious patterns, which gave them a novel and elegant appearance. Mindful, however, of the disasters of the Roxbury Company, he had theprudence to store his shoes until the summer. The hot days of Junereduced them all to soft and stinking paste. His friend wasdiscouraged, and refused him further aid. For his own part, suchexperiences as this, though they dashed his spirits for a while, stimulated him to new efforts. 

It now occurred to him, that perhaps it was the turpentine used indissolving the gum, or the lampblack employed to color it, thatspoiled his product. He esteemed it a rare piece of luck to procuresome barrels of the sap not smoked, and still liquid. On going to theshed where the precious sap was deposited, he was accosted by anIrishman in his employ, who, in high glee, informed him that he haddiscovered the secret, pointing to his overalls, which he had dippedinto the sap, and which were nicely coated with firm India-rubber. Fora moment he thought that Jerry might have blundered into the secret. The man, however, sat down on a barrel near the fire, and, onattempting, to rise, found himself glued to his seat and his legsstuck together. He had to be cut out of his overalls. The masterproceeded to experiment with the sap, but soon discovered, that thehandsome white cloth made of it bore the heat no better than thatwhich was produced in the usual manner. 

It is remarkable, that inventors seldom derive direct aid from thescience of their day. James Watt modestly ascribes to Professor Blackpart of the glory of his improvements in the steam-engine; but itseems plain from his own narrative, that he made his great inventionof the condenser without any assistance. Professor Black assisted toinstruct and form him; but the flash of genius, which made thesteam-engine what we now see it, was wholly his own. The science ofGlasgow was diligently questioned by him upon the defects of the oldengine, but it gave him no hint of the remedy. It was James Watt, mathematical-instrument maker, earning fourteen shillings a week, whobrooded over his little model until the conception of the condenserburst upon him, as he was taking his Sunday afternoon stroll onGlasgow Green. Goodyear had a similar experience. Philadelphia hasalways been noted for its chemists and its chemical works, and thatcity still supplies the greater part of the country with manufactureddrugs and chemists' materials. Nevertheless, though Goodyear explainedhis difficulties to professors, physicians, and chemists, none of themcould give him valuable information; none suggested an experiment thatproduced a useful result. We know not, indeed, whether science hasever explained his final success. 

Satisfied that nothing could be done with India-rubber pure andsimple, he concluded that a compound of some substance withIndia-rubber could alone render the gum available. He was correct inthis conjecture, but it remained to be discovered whether there wassuch a substance in nature. He tried everything he could think of. Fora short time he was elated with the result of his experiments withmagnesia, mixing half a pound of magnesia with a pound of gum. Thiscompound had the advantage of being whiter than the pure sap. It wasso firm that he used it as leather in the binding of a book. In a fewweeks, however, he had the mortification of seeing his elegant whitebook-covers fermenting and softening. Afterwards, they grew as hardand brittle as shell, and so they remain to this day. 

By this time, the patience of his friends and his own little fund ofmoney were both exhausted; and, one by one, the relics of his formerprosperity, even to his wife's trinkets, found their way to thepawnbroker. He was a sanguine man, as inventors need to be, alwaysfeeling that he was on the point of succeeding. The very confidencewith which he announced a new conception served at length to close allears to his solicitations. In the second year of his investigation heremoved his family to the country, and went to New York, in quest ofsome one who had still a little faith in India-rubber. His credit wasthen at so low an ebb that he was obliged to deposit with the landlorda quantity of linen, spun by his excellent wife. It was neverredeemed. It was sold at auction to pay the first quarter's rent; andhis furniture also would have been seized, but that he had taken theprecaution to sell it himself in Philadelphia, and had placed in hiscottage articles of too little value to tempt the hardest creditor. 

In New York, --the first resort of the enterprising and the last refugeof the unfortunate, --he found two old friends; one of whom lent him aroom in Gold Street for a laboratory, and the other, a druggist, supplied him with materials on credit. Again his hopes were flatteredby an apparent success. By boiling his compound of gum and magnesia inquicklime and water, an article was produced which seemed to be allthat he could desire. Some sheets of India-rubber made by this processdrew a medal at the fair of the American Institute in 1835, and weremuch commended in the newspapers. Nothing could exceed the smoothnessand firmness of the surface of these sheets; nor have they to this daybeen surpassed in these particulars. He obtained a patent for theprocess, manufactured a considerable quantity, sold his productreadily, and thought his difficulties were at an end. In a few weekshis hopes were dashed to the ground. He found that a drop of weakacid, such as apple-juice or vinegar and water, instantly annihilatedthe effect of the lime, and made the beautiful surface of his clothsticky. 

Undaunted, he next tried the experiment of mixing quicklime with puregum. He tells us that, at this time, he used to prepare a gallon jugof quicklime at his room in Gold Street, and carry it on his shoulderto Greenwich Village, distant three miles, where he had access tohorse-power for working his compound. This experiment, too, was afailure. The lime in a short time appeared to consume the gum withwhich it was mixed, leaving a substance that crumbled to pieces. 

Accident suggested his next process, which, though he knew it not, wasa step toward his final success. Except his almost unparalleledperseverance, the most marked trait in the character of this singularman was his love for beautiful forms and colors. An incongruousgarment or decoration upon a member of his family, or anything tawdryor ill-arranged in a room, gave him positive distress. Accordingly, wealways find him endeavoring to decorate his India-rubber fabrics. Itwas in bronzing the surface of some India-rubber drapery that theaccident happened to which we have referred. Desiring to remove thebronze from a piece of the drapery, he applied aquafortis for thepurpose, which did indeed have the effect desired, but it alsodiscolored the fabric and appeared to spoil it. He threw away thepiece as useless. Several days after, it occurred to him that he hadnot sufficiently examined the effect of the aquafortis, and, hurryingto his room, he was fortunate enough to find it again. A remarkablechange appeared to have been made in the India-rubber. He does notseem to have been aware that aquafortis is two fifths sulphuric acid. Still less did he ever suspect that the surface of his drapery hadreally been "vulcanized. " All he knew was, that India-rubber cloth"cured, " as he termed it, by aquafortis, was incomparably superior toany previously made, and bore a degree of heat that rendered itavailable for many valuable purposes. 

He was again a happy man. A partner, with ample capital, joined him. He went to Washington and patented his process. He showed hisspecimens to President Jackson, who expressed in writing his approvalof them. Returning to New York, he prepared to manufacture on a greatscale, hired the abandoned India-rubber works on Staten Island, andengaged a store in Broadway for the sale of his fabrics. In the midstof these grand preparations, his zeal in experimenting almost cost himhis life. Having generated a large quantity of poisonous gas in hisclose room, he was so nearly suffocated that it was six weeks beforehe recovered his health. Before he had begun to produce his fabrics inany considerable quantity, the commercial storm of 1836 swept away theentire property of his partner, which put a complete stop to theoperations in India-rubber, and reduced poor Goodyear to his normalcondition of beggary. Beggary it literally was; for he was absolutelydependent upon others for the means of sustaining life. He mentionsthat, soon after this crushing blow, his family having previouslyjoined him in New York, he awoke one morning to discover that he hadneither an atom of food for them, nor a cent to buy it with. Puttingin his pocket an article that he supposed a pawnbroker would value, heset out in the hope of procuring enough money to sustain them for oneday. Before reaching the sign, so familiar to him, of the three GoldenBalls, he met a terrible being to a man in his situation, --a creditor!Hungry and dejected, he prepared his mind for a torrent of bitterreproaches; for this gentleman was one whose patience he felt he hadabused. What was his relief when his creditor accosted him gayly with, "Well, Mr. Goodyear, what can I do for you to-day?" His first thoughtwas, that an insult was intended, so preposterous did it seem thatthis man could really desire to aid him further. Satisfied that theoffer was well meant, he told his friend that he had come out thatmorning in search of food for his family, and that a loan of fifteendollars would greatly oblige him. The money was instantly produced, which enabled him to postpone his visit to the pawnbroker for severaldays. The pawnbroker was still, however, his frequent resource allthat year, until the few remains of his late brief prosperity had alldisappeared. 

But he never for a moment let go his hold upon India-rubber. A timelyloan of a hundred dollars from an old friend enabled him to remove hisfamily to Staten Island, near the abandoned India-rubber factory. Having free access to the works, he and his wife contrived tomanufacture a few articles of his improved cloth, and to sell enoughto provide daily bread. His great object there was to induce thedirectors of the suspended Company to recommence operations upon hisnew process. But so completely sickened were they of the very name ofa material which had involved them in so much loss and discredit, thatduring the six months of his residence on the Island he neversucceeded in persuading one man to do so much as come to the factoryand look at his specimens. There were thousands of dollars' worth ofmachinery there, but not a single shareholder cared even to know thecondition of the property. This was the more remarkable, since he wasunusually endowed by nature with the power to inspire other men withhis own confidence. The magnates of Staten Island, however, involvedas they were in the general shipwreck of property and credit, wereinexorably deaf to his eloquence. 

As he had formerly exhausted Philadelphia, so now New York seemedexhausted. He became even an object of ridicule. He was regarded as anIndia-rubber monomaniac. One of his New York friends having been askedhow Mr. Goodyear could be recognized in the street, replied: "If yousee a man with an India-rubber coat on, India-rubber shoes, anIndia-rubber cap, and in his pocket an India-rubber purse, with not acent in it, that is he. " He was in the habit then of wearing hismaterial in every form, with the twofold view of testing andadvertising it. 

In September, 1836, aided again by a small loan, he packed a few ofhis best specimens in his carpet-bag, and set out alone for the cradleof the India-rubber manufacture, --Roxbury. The ruin of the greatCompany there was then complete, and the factory was abandoned. Allthat part of Massachusetts was suffering from the total depreciationof the India-rubber stocks. There were still, however, two or threepersons who could not quite give up India-rubber. Mr. Chaffee, theoriginator of the manufacture in America, welcomed warmly a brotherexperimenter, admired his specimens, encouraged him to persevere, procured him friends, and, what was more important, gave him the useof the enormous machinery standing idle in the factory. A brief, delusive prosperity again relieved the monotony of misfortune. By hisnew process, he made shoes, piano-covers, and carriage-cloths, sosuperior to any previously produced in the United States as to cause atemporary revival of the business, which enabled him to sell rights tomanufacture under his patents. His profits in a single year amountedto four or five thousand dollars. Again he had his family around him, and felt a boundless confidence in the future. 

An event upon which he had depended for the completeness of histriumph plunged him again into ruin. He received an order from thegovernment for a hundred and fifty India-rubber mail-bags. Havingperfect confidence in his ability to execute this order, he gave thegreatest possible publicity to it. All the world should now see thatGoodyear's India-rubber was all that Goodyear had represented it. Thebags were finished; and beautiful bags they were, --smooth, firm, highly polished, well-shaped, and indubitably water-proof. He had themhung up all round the factory, and invited every one to come andinspect them. They were universally admired, and the maker wascongratulated upon his success. It was in the summer that these fatalbags were finished. Having occasion to be absent for a month, he leftthem hanging in the factory. Judge of his consternation when, on hisreturn, he found them softening, fermenting, and dropping off theirhandles. The aquafortis did indeed "cure" the surface of hisIndia-rubber, but only the surface. Very thin cloth made by thisprocess was a useful and somewhat durable article; but for any otherpurpose, it was valueless. The public and signal failure of themail-bags, together with the imperfection of all his products excepthis thinnest cloth, suddenly and totally destroyed his risingbusiness. Everything he possessed that was salable was sold at auctionto pay his debts. He was again penniless and destitute, with anincreased family and an aged father dependent upon him. 

His friends, his brothers, and his wife now joined in dissuading himfrom further experiments. Were not four years of such vicissitudeenough? Who had ever touched India-rubber without loss? Could he hopeto succeed, when so many able and enterprising men had failed? Had hea right to keep his family in a condition so humiliating and painful?He had succeeded in the hardware business; why not return to it? Therewere those who would join him in any rational under-taking; but howcould he expect that any one would be willing to throw more money intoa bottomless pit that had already ingulfed millions without result?These arguments he could not answer, and we cannot; the friends of allthe great inventors have had occasion to use the same. It seemedhighly absurd to the friends of Fitch, Watt, Fulton, Wedgwood, Whitney, Arkwright, that they should forsake the beaten track ofbusiness to pursue a path that led through the wilderness to nothingbut wilderness. Not one of these men, perhaps, could have made areasonable reply to the remonstrances of their friends. They onlyfelt, as poor Goodyear felt, that the steep and thorny path which theywere treading was the path they _must_ pursue. A power of which theycould give no satisfactory account urged them on. And when we lookclosely into the lives of such men, we observe that, in their darkdays, some trifling circumstance was always occurring that set themupon new inquiries and gave them new hopes. It might be an _ignisfatuus_ that led them farther astray, or it might be genuine lightwhich brought them into the true path. 

Goodyear might have yielded to his friends on this occasion, for hewas an affectionate man, devoted to his family, had not one of thosetrifling events occurred which inflamed his curiosity anew. During hislate transient prosperity, he had employed a man, Nathaniel Hayward byname, who had been foreman of one of the extinct India-rubbercompanies. He found him in charge of the abandoned factory, and stillmaking a few articles on his own account by a new process. To hardenhis India-rubber, he put a very small quantity of sulphur into it, orsprinkled sulphur upon the surface and dried it in the sun. Mr. Goodyear was surprised to observe that this process seemed to producethe same effect as the application of aquafortis. It does not appearto have occurred to him that Hayward's process and his own wereessentially the same. A chemical dictionary would have informed himthat sulphuric acid enters largely into the composition of aquafortis, from which he might have inferred that the only difference between thetwo methods was, that Hayward employed the sun, and Goodyear nitricacid, to give the sulphur effect. Hayward's goods, however, wereliable to a serious objection: the smell of the sulphur, in warmweather, was intolerable. Hayward, it appears, was a very illiterateman; and the only account he could give of his invention was, that itwas revealed to him in a dream. His process was of so little use tohim, that Goodyear bought his patent for a small sum, and gave himemployment at monthly wages until the mail-bag disaster deprived himof the means of doing so. 

In combining sulphur with India-rubber, Goodyear had approached sonear his final success that one step more brought him to it. He wascertain that he was very close to the secret. He saw that sulphur hada mysterious power over India-rubber when a union could be effectedbetween the two substances. True, there was an infinitesimal quantityof sulphur in his mail-bags, and they had melted in the shade; but thesurface of his cloth, powdered with the sulphur and dried in the sun, bore the sun's heat. Here was a mystery. The problem was, how toproduce in a _mass_ of India-rubber the change effected on the surfaceby sulphur and sun? He made numberless experiments. He mixed with thegum large quantities of sulphur, and small quantities. He exposed hiscompound to the sun, and held it near a fire. He felt that he had thesecret in his hands; but for many weary months it eluded him. 

And, after all, it was an accident that revealed it; but an accidentthat no man in the world but Charles Goodyear could have interpreted, nor he, but for his five years' previous investigation. At Woburn oneday, in the spring of 1839, he was standing with his brother andseveral other persons near a very hot stove. He held in his hand amass of his compound of sulphur and gum, upon which he was expatiatingin his usual vehement manner, --the company exhibiting the indifferenceto which he was accustomed. In the crisis of his argument he made aviolent gesture, which brought the mass in contact with the stove, which was hot enough to melt India-rubber instantly; upon looking atit a moment after, he perceived that his compound had not melted inthe least degree! It had charred as leather chars, but no part of thesurface had dissolved. There was not a sticky place upon it. To saythat he was astonished at this would but faintly express his ecstasyof amazement. The result was absolutely new to all experience, --India-rubber not melting in contact with red-hot iron! A man musthave been five years absorbed in the pursuit of an object tocomprehend his emotions. He felt as Columbus felt when he saw theland-bird alighting upon his ship, and the driftwood floating by. But, like Columbus, he was surrounded with an unbelieving crew. Eagerly heshowed his charred India-rubber to his brother, and to the otherbystanders, and dwelt upon the novelty and marvellousness of his fact. They regarded it with complete indifference. The good man had wornthem all out. Fifty times before, he had run to them, exulting in somenew discovery, and they supposed, of course, that this was another ofhis chimeras. 

He followed the new clew with an enthusiasm which his friends wouldhave been justified in calling frenzy, if success had not finallyvindicated him. He soon discovered that his compound would not melt atany degree of heat. It next occurred to him to ascertain at how low atemperature it would char, and whether it was not possible to _arrest_the combustion at a point that would leave the India-rubber elastic, but deprived of its adhesiveness. A single experiment proved that thiswas possible. After toasting a piece of his compound before an openfire, he found that, while part of it was charred, a rim ofIndia-rubber round the charred portion was elastic still, and evenmore elastic than pure gum. In a few days he had established threefacts;--first, that this rim of India-rubber would bear a temperatureof two hundred and seventy-eight degrees without charring; second, that it would not melt or soften at any heat; third, that, placedbetween blocks of ice and left out of doors all night, it would notstiffen in the least degree. He had triumphed, and he knew it. Hetells us that he now "felt himself amply repaid for the past, andquite indifferent as to the trials of the future. " It was well he wasso, for his darkest days were before him, and he was still six yearsfrom a practicable success. He had, indeed, proved that a compound ofsulphur and India-rubber, in proper proportions and in certainconditions, being subjected for a certain time to a certain degree ofheat, undergoes a change which renders it perfectly available for allthe uses to which he had before attempted in vain to apply it. But itremained to be ascertained what were those proper proportions, whatwere those conditions, what was that degree of heat, what was thatcertain time, and by what means the heat could be best applied. 

The difficulty of all this may be inferred when we state that at thepresent time it takes an intelligent man a year to learn how toconduct the process with certainty, though he is provided, from thestart, with the best implements and appliances which twenty years'experience has suggested. And poor Goodyear had now reduced himself, not merely to poverty, but to isolation. No friend of his couldconceal his impatience when he heard him pronounce the wordIndia-rubber. Business-men recoiled from the name of it. He tells usthat two entire years passed, after he had made his discovery, beforehe had convinced one human being of its value. Now, too, hisexperiments could no longer be carried on with a few pounds ofIndia-rubber, a quart of turpentine, a phial of aquafortis, and alittle lampblack. He wanted the means of producing a high, uniform, and controllable degree of heat, --a matter of much greater difficultythan he anticipated. We catch brief glimpses of him at this time inthe volumes of testimony. We see him waiting for his wife to draw theloaves from her oven, that he might put into it a batch ofIndia-rubber to bake, and watching it all the evening, far into thenight, to see what effect was produced by one hour's, two hours', three hours', six hours' baking. We see him boiling it in his wife'ssaucepans, suspending it before the nose of her teakettle, and hangingit from the handle of that vessel to within an inch of the boilingwater. We see him roasting it in the ashes and in hot sand, toastingit before a slow fire and before a quick fire, cooking it for one hourand for twenty-four hours, changing the proportions of his compoundand mixing them in different ways. No success rewarded him while heemployed only domestic utensils. Occasionally, it is true, he produceda small piece of perfectly vulcanized India-rubber; but uponsubjecting other pieces to precisely the same process, they wouldblister or char. 

Then we see him resorting to the shops and factories in theneighborhood of Woburn, asking the privilege of using an oven afterworking hours, or of hanging a piece of India-rubber in the "man-hole"of the boiler. The foremen testify that he was a great plague to them, and smeared their works with his sticky compound; but, though they allregarded him as little better than a troublesome lunatic, they allappear to have helped him very willingly. He frankly confesses that helived at this time on charity; for, although _he_ felt confident ofbeing able to repay the small sums which pity for his family enabledhim to borrow, his neighbors who lent him the money were as far aspossible from expecting payment. Pretending to lend, they meant togive. One would pay his butcher's bill or his milk bill; another wouldsend in a barrel of flour; another would take in payment some articlesof the old stock of India-rubber; and some of the farmers allowed hischildren to gather sticks in their fields to heat his hillocks of sandcontaining masses of sulphurized India-rubber. If the people of NewEngland were not the most "neighborly" people in the world, his familymust have starved, or he must have given up his experiments. But, withall the generosity of his neighbors, his children were often sick, hungry, and cold, without medicine, food, or fuel. One witnesstestifies: "I found (in 1839) that they had not fuel to burn nor foodto eat, and did not know where to get a morsel of food from one day toanother, unless it was sent in to them. " We can neither justify norcondemn their father. Imagine Columbus within sight of the new world, and his obstinate crew declaring it was only a mirage, and refusing torow him ashore! Never was mortal man surer that he had a fortune inhis hand, than Charles Goodyear was when he would take a piece ofscorched and dingy India-rubber from his pocket and expound itsmarvellous properties to a group of incredulous villagers. Sure alsowas he that he was just upon the point of a practicable success. Givehim but an oven, and would he not turn you out fire-proof andcold-proof India-rubber, as fast as a baker can produce loaves ofbread? Nor was it merely the hope of deliverance from his pecuniarystraits that urged him on. In all the records of his career, weperceive traces of something nobler than this. His health being alwaysinfirm, he was haunted with the dread of dying before he had reached apoint in his discoveries where other men, influenced by ordinarymotives, could render them available. 

By the time that he had exhausted the patience of the foremen of theworks near Woburn, he had come to the conclusion that an oven was theproper means of applying heat to his compound. An oven he forthwithdetermined to build. Having obtained the use of a corner of a factoryyard, his aged father, two of his brothers, his little son, andhimself sallied forth, with pickaxe and shovels, to begin the work:and when they had done all that unskilled labor could effect towardsit, he induced a mason to complete it, and paid him in bricklayers'aprons made of aqua-fortized India-rubber. This first oven was atantalizing failure. The heat was neither uniform nor controllable. Some of the pieces of India-rubber would come out so perfectly "cured"as to demonstrate the utility of his discovery; but others, preparedin precisely the same manner, as far as he could discern, werespoiled, either by blistering or charring. He was puzzled anddistressed beyond description; and no single voice consoled orencouraged him. Out of the first piece of cloth which he succeeded invulcanizing he had a coat made for himself, which was not anornamental garment in its best estate; but, to prove to theunbelievers that it would stand fire, he brought it so often incontact with hot stoves, that at last it presented an exceedinglydingy appearance. His coat did not impress the public favorably, andit served to confirm the opinion that he was laboring under a mania. 

In the midst of his first disheartening experiments with sulphur, hehad an opportunity of escaping at once from his troubles. A house inParis made him an advantageous offer for the use of his aquafortisprocess. From the abyss of his misery the honest man promptly replied, that that process, valuable as it was, was about to be superseded by anew method, which he was then perfecting, and as soon as he haddeveloped it sufficiently he should be glad to close with theiroffers. Can we wonder that his neighbors thought him mad?

It was just after declining the French proposal that he endured hisworst extremity of want and humiliation. It was in the winter of1839--40. One of those long and terrible snow-storms for which NewEngland is noted had been raging for many hours, and he awoke onemorning to find his little cottage half buried in snow, the stormstill continuing, and in his house not an atom of fuel nor a morsel offood. His children were very young, and he was himself sick andfeeble. The charity of his neighbors was exhausted, and he had not thecourage to face their reproaches. As he looked out of the window uponthe dreary and tumultuous scene, "fit emblem of his condition, " heremarks, he called to mind that, a few days before, an acquaintance, amere acquaintance, who lived some miles off, had given him upon theroad a more friendly greeting than he was then accustomed to receive. It had cheered his heart as he trudged sadly by, and it now returnedvividly to his mind. To this gentleman he determined to apply forrelief, if he could reach his house. Terrible was his struggle withthe wind and the deep drifts. Often he was ready to faint withfatigue, sickness, and hunger, and he would be obliged to sit downupon a bank of snow to rest. He reached the house and told his story, not omitting the oft-told tale of his new discovery, --that mine ofwealth, if only he could procure the means of working it! The eagereloquence of the inventor was seconded by the gaunt and yellow face ofthe man. His generous acquaintance entertained him cordially, and lenthim a sum of money, which not only carried his family through theworst of the winter, but enabled him to continue his experiments on asmall scale. O. B. Coolidge, of Woburn, was the name of thisbenefactor. 

On another occasion, when he was in the most urgent need of materials, he looked about his house to see if there was left one relic of betterdays upon which a little money could be borrowed. There was nothingexcept his children's school-books, --the last things from which aNew-Englander is willing to part. There was no other resource. Hegathered them up and sold them for five dollars, with which he laid ina fresh stock of gum and sulphur, and kept on experimenting. 

Seeing no prospect of success in Massachusetts, he now resolved tomake a desperate effort to get to New York, feeling confident that thespecimens he could take with him would convince some one of thesuperiority of his new method. He was beginning to understand thecauses of his many failures, but he saw clearly that his compoundcould not be worked with certainty without expensive apparatus. It wasa very delicate operation, requiring exactness and promptitude. Theconditions upon which success depended were numerous, and the failureof one spoiled all. To vulcanize India-rubber is about as difficult asto make perfect bread; but the art of bread-making was the growth ofages, and Charles Goodyear was only ten years and a half in perfectinghis process. Thousands of ingenious men and women, aided by many happyaccidents, must have contributed to the successive invention of bread;but he was only one man, poor and sick. It cost him thousands offailures to learn that a little acid in his sulphur caused theblistering; that his compound must be heated almost immediately afterbeing mixed, or it would never vulcanize; that a portion of white leadin the compound greatly facilitated the operation and improved theresult; and when he had learned these facts, it still required costlyand laborious experiments to devise the best methods of compoundinghis ingredients, the best proportions, the best mode of heating, theproper duration of the heating, and the various useful effects thatcould be produced by varying the proportions and the degree of heat. He tells us that many times, when, by exhausting every resource, hehad prepared a quantity of his compound for heating, it was spoiledbecause he could not, with his inadequate apparatus, apply the heatsoon enough. 

To New York, then, he directed his thoughts. Merely to get there costhim a severer and a longer effort than men in general are capable ofmaking. First he walked to Boston, ten miles distant, where he hopedto be able to borrow from an old acquaintance fifty dollars, withwhich to provide for his family and pay his fare to New York. He notonly failed in this, but he was arrested for debt and thrown intoprison. Even in prison, while his father was negotiating to secure hisrelease, he labored to interest men of capital in his discovery, andmade proposals for founding a factory in Boston. Having obtained hisliberty, he went to a hotel, and spent a week in vain efforts toeffect a small loan. Saturday night came, and with it his hotel bill, which he had no means of discharging. In an agony of shame andanxiety, he went to a friend, and entreated the sum of five dollars toenable him to return home. He was met with a point-blank refusal. Inthe deepest dejection, he walked the streets till late in the night, and strayed at length, almost beside himself, to Cambridge, where heventured to call upon a friend and ask shelter for the night. He washospitably entertained, and the next morning walked wearily home, penniless and despairing. At the door of his house a member of hisfamily met him with the news that his youngest child, two years ofage, whom he had left in perfect health, was dying. In a few hours hehad in his house a dead child, but not the means of burying it, andfive living dependants without a morsel of food to give them. Astorekeeper near by had promised to supply the family, but, discouraged by the unforeseen length of the father's absence, he hadthat day refused to trust them further. In these terriblecircumstances, he applied to a friend upon whose generosity he knew hecould rely, one who had never failed him. He received in reply aletter of severe and cutting reproach, enclosing seven dollars, whichhis friend explained was given only out of pity for his innocent andsuffering family. A stranger, who chanced to be present when thisletter arrived, sent them a barrel of flour, ---a timely and blessedrelief. The next day the family followed on foot the remains of thelittle child to the grave. 

A relation in a distant part of the country, to whom Goodyear revealedhis condition, sent him fifty dollars, which enabled him to get to NewYork. He had touched bottom. The worst of his trials were over. In NewYork, he had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of twobrothers, William Rider and Emory Eider, men of some property andgreat intelligence, who examined his specimens, listened to his story, believed in him, and agreed to aid him to continue his experiments, and to supply his family until he had rendered his discoveryavailable. From that time, though he was generally embarrassed in hiscircumstances, his family never wanted bread, and he was never obligedto suspend his experiments. Aided by the capital, the sympathy, andthe ingenuity of the brothers Rider, he spent a year in New York inthe most patient endeavors to overcome the difficulties in heating hiscompound. Before he had succeeded, their resources failed. But he hadmade such progress in demonstrating the practicability of his process, that his brother-in-law, William De Forrest, a noted woollenmanufacturer, took hold of the project in earnest, and aided him tobring it to perfection. Once more, however, he was imprisoned fordebt. This event conquered his scruples against availing himself ofthe benefit of the bankrupt act, which finally delivered him from thedanger of arrest. We should add, however, that, as soon as he began toderive income from his invention, he reassumed his obligations to hisold creditors, and discharged them gradually. 

It was not till the year 1844, more than ten years after he began toexperiment, and more than five years after discovering the secret ofvulcanization, that he was able to conduct his process with absolutecertainty, and to produce vulcanized India-rubber with the requisiteexpedition and economy. We can form some conception of thedifficulties overcome by the fact, that the advances of Mr. De Forrestin aid of the experiment reached the sum of forty-six thousanddollars, --an amount the inventor did not live long enough to repay. 

His triumph had been long deferred, and we have seen in part how muchit had cost him. But his success proved to be richly worth its cost. He had added to the arts, not a new material merely, but a new classof materials, applicable to a thousand diverse uses. His product hadmore than the elasticity of India-rubber, while it was divested of allthose properties which had lessened its utility. It was stillIndia-rubber, but its surfaces would not adhere, nor would it hardenat any degree of cold, nor soften at any degree of heat. It was acloth impervious to water. It was paper that would not tear. It wasparchment that would not crease. It was leather which neither rain norsun would injure. It was ebony that could be run into a mould. It wasivory that could be worked like wax. It was wood that never cracked, shrunk, nor decayed. It was metal, "elastic metal, " as Daniel Webstertermed it, that could be wound round the finger or tied into a knot, and which preserved its elasticity almost like steel. Triflingvariations in the ingredients, in the proportions, and in the heating, made it either as pliable as kid, tougher than ox-hide, as elastic aswhalebone, or as rigid as flint. 

All this is stated in a moment, but each of these variations in thematerial, as well as every article made from them, cost thisindefatigable man days, weeks, months, or years of experiment. It costhim, for example, several years of most expensive trial to obviate theobjection to India-rubber fabrics caused by the liability of the gumto peel from the cloth. He tried every known textile fabric, and everyconceivable process before arriving at the simple expedient of mixingfibre with the gum, by which, at length, the perfect India-rubbercloth was produced. This invention he considered only second in valueto the discovery of vulcanization. The India-rubber shoe, as we nowhave it, is an admirable article, --light, strong, elegant in shape, with a fibrous sole that does not readily wear, cut, or slip. As theshoe is made and joined before vulcanization, a girl can maketwenty-five pairs in a day. They are cut from the soft sheets of gumand joined by a slight pressure of the hand. But almost every step ofthis process, now so simple and easy, was patiently elaborated byCharles Goodyear. A million and a half of pairs per annum is now theaverage number made in the United States by his process, though thebusiness languishes somewhat from the high price of the raw materials. The gum, which, when Goodyear began his experiments, was a drug atfive cents a pound, has recently been sold at one dollar and twentycents a pound, with all its impurities. Even at this high price theannual import ranges at from four to five millions of pounds. 

Poor Richard informs us that Necessity never makes a good bargain. Mr. Goodyear was always a prey to necessity. Nor was he ever a good man ofbusiness. He was too entirely an inventor to know how to dispose ofhis inventions to advantage; and he could never feel that he hadaccomplished his mission with regard to India-rubber. As soon as hehad brought his shoemaking process to the point where other men couldmake it profitable, he withdrew from manufacturing, and sold rights tomanufacture for the consideration of half a cent per pair. Five centshad been reasonable enough, and would have given him ample means tocontinue his labors. Half a cent kept him subject to necessity, whichseemed to compel him to dispose of other rights at rates equally low. Thus it happened that, when the whole India-rubber business of thecountry paid him tribute, or ought to have paid it, he remained anembarrassed man. He had, too, the usual fate of inventors, in havingto contend with the infringers of his rights, --men who owed their allto his ingenuity and perseverance. We may judge, however, of therapidity with which the business grew, by the fact that, six yearsafter the completion of his vulcanizing process, the holders of rightsto manufacture shoes by that process deemed it worth while to employDaniel Webster to plead their cause, and to stimulate his mind by afee of twenty-five thousand dollars. It is questionable if CharlesGoodyear ever derived that amount from his patents, if we deduct fromhis receipts the money spent in further developing his discovery. Hisill-health obliged him to be abstemious, and he had no expensivetastes. It was only in his laboratory that he was lavish, and there hewas lavish indeed. His friends still smiled at his zeal, or reproachedhim for it. It has been only since the mighty growth of the businessin his products that they have acknowledged that he was right and thatthey were wrong. They remember him, sick, meagre, and yellow, nowcoming to them with a walking-stick of India-rubber, exulting in thenew application of his material, and predicting its general use, whilethey objected that his stick had cost him fifty dollars; now runningabout among the comb factories, trying to get reluctant men to trytheir tools upon hard India-rubber, and producing at length a set ofcombs that cost twenty times the price of ivory ones; now shuttinghimself up for months, endeavoring to make a sail of India-rubberfabric, impervious to water, that should never freeze, and to which nosleet or ice should ever cling; now exhibiting a set of cutlery withIndia-rubber handles, or a picture set in an India-rubber frame, or abook with India-rubber covers, or a watch with an India-rubber case;now experimenting with India-rubber tiles for floors, which he hopedto make as brilliant in color as those of mineral, as agreeable to thetread as carpet, and as durable as an ancient floor of oak. There isnothing in the history of invention more remarkable than the devotionof this man to his object. No crusader was ever so devoted to his vow, no lover to his mistress, as he was to his purpose of showing mankindwhat to do with India-rubber. The doorplate of his office was made ofit; his portrait was painted upon and framed with it; his book, as wehave seen, was wholly composed of it; and his mind, by night and day, was surcharged with it. He never went to sleep without having withinreach writing materials and the means of making a light, so that, ifhe should have an idea in the night, he might be able to secure it. Some of his best ideas, he used to say, were saved to mankind by thisprecaution. 

It is not well for any man to be thus absorbed in his object. ToGoodyear, whose infirm constitution peculiarly needed repose andrecreation, it was disastrous, and at length fatal. It is well with noman who does riot play as well as work. Fortunately, we are allbeginning to understand this. We are beginning to see that a devotionto the business of life which leaves no reserve of force and time forsocial pleasures and the pursuit of knowledge, diminishes even ourpower to conduct business with the sustained and intelligent energyrequisite for a safe success. That is a melancholy passage in one ofTheodore Parker's letters, written in the premature decline of hispowers, in which he laments that he had not, like Franklin, joined aclub, and taken an occasional ramble with young companions in thecountry, and played billiards with them in the evening. He added, thathe intended to lead a better life in these particulars for the future;but who can reform at forty-seven? And the worst of it is, thatill-health, the natural ally of all evil, favors intensity, lesseningboth our power and our inclination to get out of the routine that isdestroying us. Goodyear, always sick, had been for so many years theslave of his pursuit, he had been so spurred on by necessity, andlured by partial success, that, when at last he might have rested, hecould not. 

It does not become us, however, who reap the harvest, to censure himwho wore himself out in sowing the seed. The harvest isgreat, --greater than any but he anticipated. His friends know now thathe never over-estimated the value of his invention. They know now whathe meant when he said that no one but himself would take the troubleto apply his material to the thousand uses of which it was capable, because each new application demanded a course of experiments thatwould discourage any one who entered upon it only with a view toprofit. The India-rubber manufacture, since his death, has increasedgreatly in extent, but not much in other respects, and some of theideas which he valued most remain undeveloped. He died, for example, in the conviction that sails of India-rubber cloth would finallysupersede all others. He spent six months and five thousand dollars inproducing one or two specimens, which were tried and answered theirpurpose well; but he was unable to bring his sail-making process to anavailable perfection. The sole difficulty was to make his sails aslight as those of cloth. He felt certain of being able to accomplishthis; but in the multiplicity of his objects and the pressure of hisembarrassments, he was compelled to defer the completion of his plansto a day that never came. 

The catalogue of his successful efforts is long and striking. Thesecond volume of his book is wholly occupied with that catalogue. Helived to see his material applied to nearly five hundred uses, to giveemployment in England, France, Germany, and the United States to sixtythousand persons, who annually produced merchandise of the value ofeight millions of dollars. A man does much who only founds a new kindof industry; and he does more when that industry gives value to acommodity that before was nearly valueless. But we should greatlyundervalue the labors of Charles Goodyear, if we regarded them only asopening a new source of wealth; for there have been found many uses ofIndia-rubber, as prepared by him, which have an importance farsuperior to their commercial value. Art, science, and humanity areindebted to him for a material which serves the purposes of them all, and serves them as no other known material could. 

Some of our readers have been out on the picket line during the war. They know what it is to stand motionless in a wet and miry rifle-pit, in the chilling rain of a Southern winter's night. Protected byIndia-rubber boots, blanket, and cap, the picket man performs incomparative comfort a duty which, without that protection, would makehim a cowering and shivering wretch, and plant in his bones a latentrheumatism to be the torment of his old age. Goodyear's India-rubberenables him to come in from his pit as dry as he was when he went intoit, and he comes in to lie down with an India-rubber blanket betweenhim and the damp earth. If he is wounded, it is an India-rubberstretcher, or an ambulance provided with India-rubber springs, thatgives him least pain on his way to the hospital, where, if his woundis serious, a water-bed of India-rubber gives ease to his mangledframe, and enables him to endure the wearing tedium of an unchangedposture. Bandages and supporters of India-rubber avail him much whenfirst he begins to hobble about his ward. A piece of India-rubber atthe end of his crutch lessens the jar and the noise of his motions, and a cushion of India-rubber is comfortable to his armpit. Thesprings which close the hospital door, the bands which exclude thedrafts from doors and windows, his pocket comb and cup and thimble, are of the same material. From jars thermetically closed withIndia-rubber he receives the fresh fruit that is so exquisitelydelicious to a fevered mouth. The instrument case of his surgeon andthe storeroom of his matron contain many articles whose utility isincreased by the use of it, and some that could be made of nothingelse. His shirts and sheets pass through an India-rubberclothes-wringer, which saves the strength of the washerwoman and thefibre of the fabric. When the government presents him with anartificial leg, a thick heel and elastic sole of India-rubber give himcomfort every time he puts it to the ground. An India-rubber pipe withan inserted bowl of clay, a billiard-table provided with India-rubbercushions and balls, can solace his long convalescence. 

In the field, this material is not less strikingly useful. During thiswar, armies have marched through ten days of rain, and slept throughas many rainy nights, and come out dry into the returning sunshine, with its artillery untarnished and its ammunition uninjured, becausemen and munitions were all under India-rubber. When Goodyear's ideasare carried out, it will be by pontoons of inflated India-rubber thatrivers will be crossed. A pontoon-train will then consist of one wagondrawn by two mules; and if the march is through a country thatfurnishes the wooden part of the bridge, a man may carry a pontoon onhis back in addition to his knapsack and blanket. 

In the naval service we meet this material in a form that attractslittle attention, though it serves a purpose of perhaps unequalledutility. Mechanics are aware, that, from the time of James Watt to theyear 1850, the grand desideratum of the engine builder was a perfectjoint, --a joint that would not admit the escape of steam. Asteam-engine is all over joints and valves, from most of which somesteam sooner or later would escape, since an engine in motion producesa continual jar that finally impaired the best joint that art couldmake. The old joint-making process was exceedingly expensive. The twosurfaces of iron had to be most carefully ground and polished, thenscrewed together, and the edges closed with white lead. By the use ofa thin sheet of vulcanized India-rubber, placed between the ironsurfaces, not only is all this expense saved, but a joint is producedthat is absolutely and permanently perfect. It is not even necessaryto rub off the roughness of the casting, for the rougher the surface, the better the joint. Goodyear's invention supplies an article thatWatt and Fulton sought in vain, and which would seem to put thefinishing touch to the steam-engine, --if, in these days ofimprovement, anything whatever could be considered finished. Atpresent, all engines are provided with these joints and valves, whichsave steam, diminish jar, and facilitate the separation of the parts. It is difficult to compute the value of this improvement, in money. Weare informed, however, by competent authority, that a steamer of twothousand tons saves ten thousand dollars a year by its use. Such isthe demand for the engine-packing, as it is termed, that the owners ofthe factory where it is chiefly made, after constructing the largestwater-wheel in the world, found it insufficient for their growingbusiness, and were obliged to add to it a steam-engine of two hundredhorse-power. The New York agent of this company sells about a milliondollars' worth of packing per annum. 

Belting for engines is another article for which Goodyear's compoundis superior to any other, inasmuch as the surface of the India-rubberclings to the iron wheel better than leather or fabric. Leatherpolishes and slips; India-rubber does not polish, and holds to theiron so firmly as to save a large percentage of power. It is no smalladvantage merely to save leather for other uses, since leather is anarticle of which the supply is strictly limited. It is not uncommonfor India-rubber belts to be furnished, which, if made of leather, would require more than a hundred hides. Emery-wheels of this materialhave been recently introduced. They were formerly made of wood coatedwith emery, which soon wore off. In the new manufacture, the emery iskneaded into the entire mass of the wheel, which can be worn down tillit is all consumed. On the same principle the instruments used tosharpen scythes are also made. Of late we hear excellent accounts ofIndia-rubber as a basis for artificial teeth. It is said to belighter, more agreeable, less expensive, than gold or platina, and notless durable. We have seen also some very pretty watch-cases of thismaterial, elegantly inlaid with gold. 

It thus appears, that the result of Mr. Goodyear's long and painfulstruggles was the production of a material which now ranks with theleading compounds of commerce and manufacture, such as glass, brass, steel, paper, porcelain, paint. Considering its peculiar and variedutility, it is perhaps inferior in value only to paper, steel, andglass. We see, also, that the use of the new compound lessens theconsumption of several commodities, such as ivory, bone, ebony, andleather, which it is desirable to save, because the demand for themtends to increase faster than the supply. When a set of ivorybilliard-balls costs fifty dollars, and civilization presses upon thedomain of the elephant, it is well to make our combs and ourpaper-knives of something else. 

That inventions so valuable should be disputed and pirated wassomething which the history of all the great inventions might havetaught Mr. Goodyear to expect. We need not revive those disputes whichembittered his life and wasted his substance and his time. TheHonorable Joseph Holt, the Commissioner who granted an extension tothe vulcanizing patent in 1858, has sufficiently characterized them inone of the most eloquent papers ever issued from the Patent Office:--

 "No inventor probably has ever been so harassed, so trampled upon, so plundered by that sordid and licentious class of infringers known in the parlance of the world, with no exaggeration of phrase, as 'pirates, ' The spoliations of their incessant guerilla warfare upon his defenceless rights have unquestionably amounted to millions. In the very front rank of this predatory band stands one who sustains in this case the double and most convenient character of contestant and witness; and it is but a subdued expression of my estimate of the deposition he has lodged, to say that this Parthian shaft--the last that he could hurl at an invention which he has so long and so remorselessly pursued--is a fitting finale to that career which the public justice of the country has so signally rebuked. "

Mr. Holt paid a noble tribute to the class of men of whose rights hewas the official guardian:--

 "All that is glorious in our past or hopeful in our future is indissolubly linked with that cause of human progress of which inventors are the _preux chevaliers_. It is no poetic translation of the abiding sentiment of the country to say, that they are the true jewels of the nation to which they belong, and that a solicitude for the protection of their rights and interests should find a place in every throb of the national heart. Sadly helpless as a class, and offering, in the glittering creations of their own genius, the strongest temptations to unscrupulous cupidity, they, of all men, have most need of the shelter of the public law, while, in view of their philanthropic labors, they are of all men most entitled to claim it. The schemes of the politician and of the statesman may subserve the purposes of the hour, and the teachings of the moralist may remain with the generation to which they are addressed, but all this must pass away; while the fruits of the inventor's genius will endure as imperishable, memorials, and, surviving the wreck of creeds and systems, alike of politics, religion, and philosophy, will diffuse their blessings to all lands and throughout all ages. "

When Mr. Goodyear had seen the manufacture of shoes and fabrics wellestablished in the United States, and when his rights appeared to havebeen placed beyond controversy by the Trenton decision of 1852, beingstill oppressed with debt, he went to Europe to introduce his materialto the notice of capitalists there. The great manufactories ofvulcanized India-rubber in England, Scotland, France, and Germany arethe result of his labors; but the peculiarities of the patent laws ofthose countries, or else his own want of skill in contending for hisrights, prevented him from reaping the reward of his labors. He spentsix laborious years abroad. At the Great Exhibitions of London andParis, he made brilliant displays of his wares, which did honor to hiscountry and himself, and gave an impetus to the prosperity of the menwho have grown rich upon his discoveries. At the London Exhibition, hehad a suite of three apartments, carpeted, furnished, and decoratedonly with India-rubber. At Paris, he made a lavish display ofIndia-rubber jewelry, dressing-cases, work-boxes, picture-frames, which attracted great attention. His reward was, a four days' sojournin the debtors' prison, and the cross of the Legion of Honor. Thedelinquency of his American licensees procured him the former, and thefavor of the Emperor the latter. 

We have seen that his introduction to India-rubber was through themedium of a life-preserver. His last labors, also, were consecrated tolife-saving apparatus, of which he invented or suggested a greatvariety. His excellent wife was reading to him one evening, in London, an article from a review, in which it was stated that twenty personsperished by drowning every hour. The company, startled at a statementso unexpected, conversed upon it for some time, while Mr. Goodyearhimself remained silent and thoughtful. For several nights he wasrestless, as was usually the case with him when he was meditating anew application of his material. As these periods of incubation wereusually followed by a prostrating sickness, his wife urged him toforbear, and endeavor to compose his mind to sleep. "Sleep!" said he, "how can I sleep while twenty human beings are drowning every hour, and I am the man who can save them?" It was long his endeavor toinvent some article which every man, woman, and child wouldnecessarily wear, and which would make it impossible for them to sink. 

He experimented with hats, cravats, jackets, and petticoats; and, though he left his principal object incomplete, he contrived many ofthose means of saving life which now puzzle the occupants ofstate-rooms. He had the idea that every article on board a vesselseizable in the moment of danger, every chair, table, sofa, and stool, should be a life-preserver. 

He returned to his native land a melancholy spectacle to hisfriends, --yellow, emaciated, and feeble, --but still devoted to hiswork. He lingered and labored until July, 1860, when he died in NewYork, in the sixtieth year of his age. Almost to the last day of hislife he was busy with new applications of his discovery. Aftertwenty-seven years of labor and investigation, after having founded anew branch of industry, which gave employment to sixty thousandpersons, he died insolvent, leaving to a wife and six children only aninheritance of debt. Those who censure him for this should considerthat his discovery was not profitable to himself for more than tenyears, that he was deeply in debt when he began his experiments, thathis investigations could be carried on only by increasing hisindebtedness, that all his bargains were those of a man in need, thatthe guilelessness of his nature made him the easy prey of greedy, dishonorable men, and that his neglect of his private interests wasdue, in part, to his zeal for the public good. 

Dr. Dutton of New Haven, his pastor and friend, in the Sermondedicated to his memory, did not exaggerate when he spoke of him as

 "one who recognized his peculiar endowment of inventive genius as a divine gift, involving a special and defined responsibility, and considered himself called of God, as was Bezaleel, to that particular course of invention to which he devoted the chief part of his life. This he often expressed, though with his characteristic modesty, to his friends, especially his religious friends. His inventive work was his religion, and was pervaded and animated by religious faith and devotion. He felt like an apostle commissioned for that work; and he said to his niece and her husband, who went, with his approbation and sympathy, as missionaries of the Gospel to Asia, that he was God's missionary as truly as they were. "

Nothing more true. The demand for the raw gum, almost created by him, is introducing abundance and developing industry in the regions whichproduce it. As the culture of cotton seems the predestined means ofimproving Africa, so the gathering of caoutchouc may procure for theinhabitants of the equatorial regions of both continents such of theblessings of civilization as they are capable of appropriating. 

An attempt was made last winter to procure an act of Congressextending the vulcanizing patent for a further period of seven years, for the benefit of the creditors and the family of the inventor. Thepetition seemed reasonable. The very low tariff paid by themanufacturers could have no perceptible effect upon the price ofarticles, and the extension would provide a competence for a worthyfamily who had claims upon the gratitude of the nation, if not uponits justice. The manufacturers generally favored the extension, sincethe patent protected them, in the deranged condition of our currency, from the competition of the foreign manufacturer, who pays low wagesand enjoys a sound currency. The extension of the patent would haveharmed no one, and would have been an advantage to the generalinterests of the trade. The son of the inventor, too, in whose namethe petition was offered, had spent his whole life in assisting hisfather, and had a fair claim upon the consideration of Congress. Butthe same unscrupulous and remorseless men who had plundered poorGoodyear living, hastened to Washington to oppose the petition of hisfamily. A cry of "monopoly" was raised in the newspapers to which theyhad access. The presence in Washington of Mrs. Goodyear, one of themost retiring of women, and of her son, a singularly modest young man, who were aided by one friend and one professional agent, was denouncedas "a powerful lobby, male and female, " who, having despoiled thepublic of "twenty millions, " were boring Congress for a grant oftwenty millions more, --all to be wrung from an India-rubber-consumingpublic. The short session of Congress is unfavorable to private bills, even when they are unopposed. These arts sufficed to prevent theintroduction of the bill desired, and the patent has since expired. 

The immense increase in the demand for the gum has frequentlysuggested the inquiry whether there is any danger of the supplybecoming unequal to it. There are now in Europe and America more thana hundred and fifty manufactories of India-rubber articles, employingfrom five to five hundred operatives each, and consuming more than tenmillions of pounds of gum per annum. The business, too, is consideredto be still in its infancy. Certainly, it is increasing. Nevertheless, there is no possibility of the demand exceeding the supply. The beltof land round the globe, five hundred miles north and five hundredmiles south of the equator, abounds in the trees producing the gum, and they can be tapped, it is said, for twenty successive seasons. Forty-three thousand of these trees were counted in a tract of countrythirty miles long and eight wide. Each tree yields an average of threetable-spoonfuls of sap daily, but the trees are so close together thatone man can gather the sap of eighty in a day. Starting at daylight, with his tomahawk and a ball of clay, he goes from tree to tree, making five or six incisions in each, and placing under each incisiona cup made of the clay which he carries. In three or four hours he hascompleted his circuit and comes home to breakfast. In the afternoon heslings a large gourd upon his shoulder, and repeats his round tocollect the sap. The cups are covered up at the roots of the tree, tobe used again on the following day. In other regions the sap isallowed to exude from the tree, and is gathered from about the roots. But, however it is collected, the supply is superabundant; and thecountries which produce it are those in which the laborer needs only alittle tapioca, a little coffee, a hut, and an apron. In SouthAmerica, from which our supply chiefly comes, the natives subsist atan expense of three cents a day. The present high price of the gum inthe United States is principally due to the fact that greenbacks arenot current in the tropics; but in part, to the rapidity with whichthe demand has increased. Several important applications of thevulcanized gum have been deferred to the time when the raw materialshall have fallen to what Adam Smith would style its "natural price. "

Charles Goodyear's work, therefore, is a permanent addition to theresources of man. The latest posterity will be indebted to him. 

HENRY WARD BEECHER AND HIS CHURCH

Is there anything in America more peculiar to America, or more curiousin itself, than one of our "fashionable" Protestant churches, --such aswe see in New York, on the Fifth Avenue and in the adjacent streets?The lion and the lamb in the Millennium will not lie down togethermore lovingly than the Church and the World have blended in thesesingular establishments. We are far from objecting to the coalition, but note it only as something curious, new, and interesting. 

We enter an edifice, upon the interior of which the upholsterer andthe cabinet-maker have exhausted the resources of their trades. Theword "subdued" describes the effect at which those artists have aimed. The woods employed are costly and rich, but usually of a sombre hue, and, though elaborately carved, are frequently unpolished. The lightwhich comes through the stained windows, or through the small diamondpanes, is of that description which is eminently the "_dim_, religious. " Every part of the floor is thickly carpeted. The pewsdiffer little from sofas, except in being more comfortable, and thecushions for the feet or the knees are as soft as hair and cloth canmake them. It is a fashion, at present, to put the organ out of sight, and to have a clock so unobtrusive as not to be observed. Galleriesare now viewed with an unfriendly eye by the projectors of churches, and they are going out of use. Everything in the way of conspicuouslighting apparatus, such as the gorgeous and dazzling chandeliers offifteen years ago, and the translucent globes of later date, isdiscarded, and an attempt is sometimes made to hide the vulgar factthat the church is ever open in the evening. In a word the design ofthe fashionable church-builder of the present moment is to produce arichly furnished, quietly adorned, dimly illuminated, ecclesiasticalparlor, in which a few hundred ladies and gentlemen, attired inkindred taste, may sit perfectly at their ease, and see no object notin harmony with the scene around them. 

To say that the object of these costly and elegant arrangements is torepel poor people would be a calumny. On the contrary, persons whoshow by their dress and air that they exercise the less remunerativevocations are as politely shown to seats as those who roll up to thedoor in carriages, and the presence of such persons is desired, and, in many instances, systematically sought. Nevertheless, the poor arerepelled. They know they cannot pay their proportion of the expense ofmaintaining such establishments, and they do not wish to enjoy whatothers pay for. Everything in and around the church seems to proclaimit a kind of exclusive ecclesiastical club, designed for theaccommodation of persons of ten thousand dollars a year, and upward. Or it is as though the carriages on the Road to Heaven were dividedinto first-class, second-class, and third-class, and a man eithertakes the one that accords with his means, or denies himself theadvantage of travelling that road, or prefers to trudge along on foot, an independent wayfarer. 

It is Sunday morning, and the doors of this beautiful drawing-room arethrown open. Ladies dressed with subdued magnificence glide in, alongwith some who have not been able to leave at home the showier articlesof their wardrobe. Black silk, black velvet, black lace, relieved byintimations of brighter colors, and by gleams from half-hiddenjewelry, are the materials most employed. Gentlemen in uniform ofblack cloth and white linen announce their coming by the creaking oftheir boots, quenched in the padded carpeting. It cannot be said ofthese churches, as Mr. Carlyle remarked of certain London ones, that apistol could be fired into a window across the church without muchdanger of hitting a Christian. The attendance is not generally verylarge; but as the audience is evenly distributed over the wholesurface, it looks larger than it is. In a commercial city everythingis apt to be measured by the commercial standard, and accordingly achurch numerically weak, but financially strong, ranks, in theestimation of the town, not according to its number of souls, but itsnumber of dollars. We heard a fine young fellow, last summer, full ofzeal for everything high and good, conclude a glowing account of asermon by saying that it was the direct means of adding to the churcha capital of one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. He meantnothing low or mercenary; he honestly exulted in the fact that thepower and influence attached to the possession of one hundred andseventy-five thousand dollars were thenceforward to be exerted onbehalf of objects which he esteemed the highest. If therefore thechurch before our view cannot boast of a numerous attendance, it morethan consoles itself by the reflection, that there are a dozen namesof talismanic power in Wall Street on its list of members. 

"But suppose the Doctor should leave you?" objected a friend of oursto a trustee, who had been urging him to buy a pew in a fashionablechurch. 

"Well, my dear sir, " was the business-like reply; "suppose he should. We should immediately engage the very first talent which money cancommand. "

We can hardly help taking this simple view of things in richcommercial cities. Our worthy trustee merely put the thing on thecorrect basis. He frankly _said_ what every church _does_, ought todo, and must do. He stated a universal fact in the plain and sensiblelanguage to which he was accustomed. In the same way thesebusiness-like Christians have borrowed the language of the Church, andspeak of men who are "good" for a million. 

The congregation is assembled. The low mumble of the organ ceases. Afemale voice rises melodiously above the rustle of dry-goods and thewhispers of those who wear them. So sweet and powerful is it, that astranger might almost suppose it borrowed from the choir of heaven;but the inhabitants of the town recognize it as one they have oftenheard at concerts or at the opera; and they listen critically, as to aprofessional performance, which it is. It is well that highlyartificial singing prevents the hearer from catching the words of thesong; for it _would_ have rather an odd effect to hear rendered, inthe modern Italian style, such plain straightforward words as these:--

 "Can sinners hope for heaven Who love this world so well? Or dream of future happiness While on the road to hell?"

The performance, however, is so exquisite that we do not think ofthese things, but listen in rapture to the voice alone. When the ladyhas finished her stanza, a noble barytone, also recognized asprofessional, takes up the strain, and performs a stanza, solo; at theconclusion of which, four voices, in enchanting accord breathe out athird. It is evident that the "first talent that money can command"has been "engaged" for the entertainment of the congregation; and weare not surprised when the information is proudly communicated thatthe music costs a hundred and twenty dollars per Sunday. 

What is very surprising and well worthy of consideration is, that thisbeautiful music does not "draw. " In our rovings about among the notedchurches of New York, --of the kind which "engage the first talent thatmoney can command, "--we could never see that the audience was muchincreased by expensive professional music. On the contrary, we can layit down as a general rule, that the costlier the music, the smaller isthe average attendance. The afternoon service at Trinity Church, forexample, is little more than a delightful gratuitous concert of boys, men, and organ; and the spectacle of the altar brilliantly lighted bycandles is novel and highly picturesque. The sermon also is of thefashionable length, --twenty minutes; and yet the usual afternooncongregation is about two hundred persons. Those celestial strains ofmusic, --well, they enchant the ear, if the ear happens to be withinhearing of them; but somehow they do not furnish a continuousattraction. 

When this fine prelude is ended, the minister's part begins; and, unless he is a man of extraordinary bearing and talents, every onepresent is conscious of a kind of lapse in the tone of the occasion. Genius composed the music; the "first talent" executed it; theperformance has thrilled the soul, and exalted expectation; but thevoice now heard may be ordinary, and the words uttered may be homely, or even common. No one unaccustomed to the place can help feeling acertain incongruity between the language heard and the scenewitnessed. Everything we see is modern; the words we hear are ancient. The preacher speaks of "humble believers, " and we look around and ask, Where are they? Are these costly and elegant persons humble believers?Far be it from us to intimate that they are not; we are speaking onlyof their appearance, and its effect upon a casual beholder. Theclergyman reads, "Come let _us_ join in sweet accord, "

and straightway four hired performers execute a piece of difficultmusic to an audience sitting passive. He discourses upon the"pleasures of the world, " as being at war with the interests of thesoul; and while a severe sentence to this effect is coming from hislips, down the aisle marches the sexton, showing some stranger to aseat, who is a professional master of the revels. He expresses, perchance, a fervent desire that the heathen may be converted toChristianity, and we catch ourselves saying, "Does he mean _this_ sortof thing?" When we pronounce the word Christianity, it calls uprecollections and associations that do not exactly harmonize with thescene around us. We think rather of the fishermen of Palestine, on thelonely sea-shore; of the hunted fugitives of Italy and Scotland; wethink of it as something lowly, and suited to the lowly, --a refuge forthe forsaken and the defeated, not the luxury of the rich and theornament of the strong. It may be an infirmity of our mind; but weexperience a certain difficulty in realizing that the sumptuous andcostly apparatus around us has anything in common with what we havebeen accustomed to think of as Christianity. 

Sometimes, the incongruity reaches the point of the ludicrous. Werecently heard a very able and well-intentioned preacher, near theFifth Avenue, ask the ladies before him whether they were in the habitof speaking to their female attendants about their souls'salvation, --particularly those who dressed their hair. He especiallymentioned the hair-dressers; because, as he truly remarked, ladies areaccustomed to converse with those _artistes_, during the operation ofhair-dressing, on a variety of topics; and the opportunity wasexcellent to say a word on the one most important. This incidentperfectly illustrates what we mean by the seeming incongruity betweenthe ancient cast of doctrine and the modernized people to whom it ispreached. We have heard sermons in fashionable churches in New York, laboriously prepared and earnestly read, which had nothing in them ofthe modern spirit, contained not the most distant allusion to modernmodes of living and sinning, had no suitableness whatever to thepeople or the time, and from which everything that could rouse orinterest a human soul living on Manhattan Island in the year 1867seemed to have been purposely pruned away. And perhaps, if a clergymanreally has no message to deliver, his best course is to utter a jargonof nothings. 

Upon the whole, the impression left upon the mind of the visitor tothe fashionable church is, that he has been looking, not upon a livingbody, but a decorated image. 

It may be, however, that the old conception of a Christian church, asthe one place where all sorts and conditions of men came together todwell upon considerations interesting to all equally, is not adaptedto modern society, wherein one man differs from another in knowledgeeven more than a king once differed from a peasant in rank. When allwere ignorant, a mass chanted in an unknown tongue, and a shortaddress warning against the only vices known to ignorant people, sufficed for the whole community. But what form of service can be evenimagined, that could satisfy Bridget, who cannot read, and hermistress, who comes to church cloyed with the dainties of half a dozenliteratures? Who could preach a sermon that would hold attentive theman saturated with Buckle, Mill, Spencer, Thackeray, Emerson, Humboldt, and Agassiz, and the man whose only literary recreation isthe dime novel? In the good old times, when terror was latent in everysoul, and the preacher had only to deliver a very simple message, pointing out the one way to escape endless torture, a very ordinarymortal could arrest and retain attention. But this resource is goneforever, and the modern preacher is thrown upon the resources of hisown mind and talent. There is great difficulty here, and it does notseem likely to diminish. It may be, that never again, as long as timeshall endure, will ignorant and learned, masters and servants, poorand rich, feel themselves at home in the same church. 

At present we are impressed, and often oppressed, with the too evidentfact, that neither the intelligent nor the uninstructed souls are sowell ministered to, in things spiritual, as we could imagine theymight be. The fashionable world of New York goes to church everySunday morning with tolerable punctuality, and yet it seems to driftrapidly toward Paris. What it usually hears at church does not appearto exercise controlling influence over its conduct or its character. 

Among the churches about New York to which nothing we have saidapplies, the one that presents the strongest contrast to thefashionable church is Henry Ward Beecher's. Some of the difficultiesresulting from the altered state of opinion in recent times have beenovercome there, and an institution has been created which appears tobe adapted to the needs, as well as to the tastes, of the peoplefrequenting it. We can at least say of it, that it is a living body, and _not_ a decorated image. 

For many years, this church upon Brooklyn Heights has been, to thebest of the visitors to the metropolis, the most interesting object inor near it. Of Brooklyn itself, --a great assemblage of residences, without much business or stir, --it seems the animating soul. We have afancy, that we can tell by the manner and bearing of an inhabitant ofthe place whether he attends this church or not; for there is acertain joyousness, candor, and democratic simplicity about themembers of that congregation, which might be styled Beecherian, ifthere were not a better word. This church is simply the mostcharacteristic thing of America. If we had a foreigner in charge towhom we wished to reveal this country, we should like to push him in, hand him over to one of the brethren who perform the arduous duty ofproviding seats for visitors, and say to him:

 "There, stranger, you have arrived; _this_ is the United States. The New Testament, Plymouth Rock, and the Fourth of July, --_this_ is what they have brought us to. What the next issue will be, no one can tell; but this is about what we are at present. "

We cannot imagine what the brethren could have been thinking aboutwhen they ordered the new bell that hangs in the tower of PlymouthChurch. It is the most superfluous article in the known world. TheNew-Yorker who steps on board the Fulton ferry-boat about ten o'clockon Sunday morning finds himself accompanied by a large crowd of peoplewho bear the visible stamp of strangers, who are going to Henry WardBeecher's church. You can pick them out with perfect certainty. Yousee the fact in their countenances, in their dress, in their demeanor, as well as hear it in words of eager expectation. They are the kind ofpeople who regard wearing-apparel somewhat in the light of itsutility, and are not crushed by their clothes. They are the sort ofpeople who take the "Tribune, " and get up courses of lectures in thecountry towns. From every quarter of Brooklyn, in street cars and onfoot, streams of people are converging toward the same place. EverySunday morning and evening, rain or shine, there is the sameconcourse, the same crowd at the gates before they are open, and thesame long, laborious effort to get thirty-five hundred people into abuilding that will seat but twenty-seven hundred. Besides the ten ortwelve members of the church who volunteer to assist in this labor, there is employed a force of six policemen at the doors, to preventthe multitude from choking all ingress. Seats are retained for theirproprietors until ten minutes before the time of beginning; after thatthe strangers are admitted. Mr. Buckle, if he were with us still, would be pleased to know that his doctrine of averages holds good inthis instance; since every Sunday about a churchful of persons come tothis church, so that not many who come fail to get in. 

There is nothing of the ecclesiastical drawing-room in thearrangements of this edifice. It is a very plain brick building, in anarrow street of small, pleasant houses, and the interior is onlystriking from its extent and convenience. The simple, old-fashioneddesign of the builder was to provide seats for as many people as thespace would hold; and in executing this design, he constructed one ofthe finest interiors in the country, since the most pleasing andinspiriting spectacle that human eyes ever behold in this world issuch an assembly as fills this church. The audience is grandlydisplayed in those wide, rounded galleries, surging up high againstthe white walls, and scooped out deep in the slanting floor, leavingthe carpeted platform the vortex of an arrested whirlpool. Often ithappens that two or three little children get lodged upon the edge ofthe platform, and sit there on the carpet among the flowers during theservice, giving to the picture a singularly pleasing relief, as thoughthey and the bouquets had been arranged by the same skilful hand, andfor the same purpose. And it seems quite natural and proper thatchildren should form part of so bright and joyous an occasion. Behindthe platform rises to the ceiling the huge organ, of dark wood andsilvered pipes, with fans of trumpets pointing heavenward from thetop. This enormous toy occupies much space that could be betterfilled, and is only less superfluous than the bell; but we must pardonand indulge a foible. We could never see that Mr. Forrest walked anybetter for having such thick legs; yet they have their admirers. Blindold Handel played on an instrument very different from this, but thesexton had to eat a cold Sunday dinner; for not a Christian would stiras long as the old man touched the keys after service. But not oldHandel nor older Gabriel could make such music as swells and roarsfrom three thousand human voices, ---the regular choir of PlymouthChurch. It is a decisive proof of the excellence and heartiness ofthis choir, that the great organ has not lessened its effectiveness. 

It is not clear to the distant spectator by what aperture Mr. Beecherenters the church. He is suddenly discovered to be present, seated inhis place on the platform, --an under-sized gentleman in a black stock. His hair combed behind his ears, and worn a little longer than usual, imparts to his appearance something of the Puritan, and calls to mindhis father, the champion of orthodoxy in heretical Boston. Inconducting the opening exercises, and, indeed, on all occasions ofceremony, Mr. Beecher shows himself an artist, --both his language andhis demeanor being marked by the most refined decorum. An elegant, finished simplicity characterizes all he does and says: not a word toomuch, nor a word misused, nor a word waited for, nor an unharmoniousmovement, mars the satisfaction of the auditor. The habit of livingfor thirty years in the view of a multitude, together with a naturalsense of the becoming, and a quick sympathy with men andcircumstances, has wrought up his public demeanor to a point nearperfection. A candidate for public honors could not study a bettermodel. This is the more remarkable, because it is a purely spiritualtriumph. Mr. Beecher's person is not imposing, nor his natural mannergraceful. It is his complete extirpation of the desire of producing anillegitimate effect; it is his sincerity and genuineness as a humanbeing; it is the dignity of his character, and his command of hispowers, --which give him this easy mastery over every situation inwhich he finds himself. 

Extempore prayers are not, perhaps, a proper subject for comment. Thegrand feature of the preliminary services of this church is thesinging, which is not executed by the first talent that money cancommand. When the prelude upon the organ is finished, the wholecongregation, almost every individual in it, as if by a spontaneousand irresistible impulse, stands up and sings. We are not aware thatanything has ever been done or said to bring about this result; nordoes the minister of the church set the example, for he usuallyremains sitting and silent It seems as if every one in thecongregation was so full of something that he felt impelled to get upand sing it out. In other churches where congregational singing isattempted, there are usually a number of languid Christians who remainseated, and a large number of others who remain silent; but here thereis a strange unanimity about the performance. A sailor might as welltry not to join in the chorus of a forecastle song as a member of thisjoyous host not to sing. When the last preliminary singing isconcluded, the audience is in an excellent condition to sit andlisten, their whole corporeal system having been pleasantly exercised. 

The sermon which follows is new wine in an old bottle. Up to themoment when the text has been announced and briefly explained, theservice has all been conducted upon the ancient model, and chiefly inthe ancient phraseology; but from the moment when Mr. Beecher swingsfree from the moorings of his text, and gets fairly under way, hissermon is modern. No matter how fervently he may have been prayingsupernaturalism, he preaches pure cause and effect. His text may savorof old Palestine; but his sermon is inspired by New York and Brooklyn;and nearly all that he says, when he is most himself, finds anapproving response in the mind of every well-disposed person, whetherorthodox or heterodox in his creed. 

What is religion? That, of course, is the great question. Mr. Beechersays: Religion is the slow, laborious, self-conducted EDUCATION of thewhole man, from grossness to refinement, from sickliness to health, from ignorance to knowledge, from selfishness to justice, from justiceto nobleness, from cowardice to valor. In treating this topic, whatever he may pray or read or assent to, he _preaches_ cause andeffect, and nothing else. Regeneration he does not represent to besome mysterious, miraculous influence exerted upon a man from without, but the man's own act, wholly and always, and in every stage of itsprogress. His general way of discoursing upon this subject wouldsatisfy the most rationalized mind; and yet it does not appear tooffend the most orthodox. 

This apparent contradiction between the spirit of his preaching andthe facts of his position is a severe puzzle to some of ourthorough-going friends. They ask, How can a man demonstrate that thefall of rain is so governed by unchanging laws that the shower ofyesterday dates back in its causes to the origin of things, and, having proved this to the comprehension of every soul present, finishby _praying_ for an immediate outpouring upon the thirsty fields? Weconfess that, to our modern way of thinking, there is a contradictionhere, but there is none at all to an heir of the Puritans. We reply toour impatient young friends, that Henry Ward Beecher at oncerepresents and assists the American Christian of the present time, just because of this seeming contradiction. He is a bridge over whichwe are passing from the creed-enslaved past to the perfect freedom ofthe future. Mr. Lecky, in his 'History of the Spirit of Rationalism, 'has shown the process by which truth is advanced. Old errors, he says, do not die because they are refuted, but _fade out_ because they areneglected. One hundred and fifty years ago, our ancestors wereperplexed, and even distressed, by something they called the doctrineof Original Sin. No one now concerns himself either to refute orassert the doctrine; few people know what it is; we all simply let italone, and it fades out. John Wesley not merely believed inwitchcraft, but maintained that a belief in witchcraft was essentialto salvation. All the world, except here and there an enlightened andfearless person, believed in witchcraft as late as the year 1750. Thatbelief has not perished because its folly was demonstrated, butbecause the average human mind grew past it, and let it alone until itfaded out in the distance. Or we might compare the great body ofbeliefs to a banquet, in which every one takes what he likes best; andthe master of the feast, observing what is most in demand, keeps anabundant supply of such viands, but gradually withdraws those whichare neglected. Mr. Beecher has helped himself to such beliefs as arecongenial to him, and shows an exquisite tact in passing by thosewhich interest him not, and which have lost regenerating power. There_are_ minds which cannot be content with anything like vagueness orinconsistency in their opinions. They must know to a certainty whetherthe sun and moon stood still or not. His is not a mind of that cast;he can "hover on the confines of truth, " and leave the less invitingparts of the landscape veiled in mist unexplored. Indeed, the greataim of his preaching is to show the insignificance of opinion comparedwith right feeling and noble living, and he prepares the way for thetime when every conceivable latitude of mere opinion shall be allowedand encouraged. 

One remarkable thing about his preaching is, that he has not, like somany men of liberal tendencies, fallen into milk-and-waterism. Heoften gives a foretaste of the terrific power which preachers willwield when they draw inspiration from science and life. Without everfrightening people with horrid pictures of the future, he has a senseof the perils which beset human life here, upon this bank and shoal oftime. How needless to draw upon the imagination, in depicting theconsequences of violating natural law! Suppose a preacher should givea plain, cold, scientific exhibition of the penalty which Natureexacts for the crime, so common among church-going ladies and others, of murdering their unborn offspring! It would appall the Devil. Scarcely less terrible are the consequences of the most common vicesand meannesses when they get the mastery. Mr. Beecher has frequentlyshown, by powerful delineations of this kind, how large a partlegitimate terror must ever play in the services of a true church, when the terrors of superstition have wholly faded out. It cannot besaid of his preaching, that he preaches "Christianity with the bonestaken out. " He does not give "twenty minutes of tepid exhortation, "nor amuse his auditors with elegant and melodious essays upon virtue. 

We need not say that his power as a public teacher is due, in a greatdegree, to his fertility in illustrative similes. Three or fourvolumes, chiefly filled with these, as they have been caught from hislips, are before the public, and are admired on both continents. Manyof them are most strikingly happy, and flood his subject with light. The smiles that break out upon the sea of upturned faces, and thelaughter that whispers round the assembly, are often due as much tothe aptness as to the humor of the illustration: the mind receives anagreeable shock of surprise at finding a resemblance where only thewidest dissimilarity had before been perceived. 

Of late years, Mr. Beecher never sends an audience away halfsatisfied; for he has constantly grown with the growth of his splendidopportunity. How attentive the great assembly, and how quicklyresponsive to the points he makes! That occasional ripple oflaughter, --it is not from any want of seriousness in the speaker, inthe subject, or in the congregation, nor is it a Rowland Hilleccentricity. It is simply that it has pleased Heaven to endow thisgenial soul with a quick perception of the likeness there is betweenthings unlike; and, in the heat and torrent of his speech, thesuddenly discovered similarity amuses while it instructs. Philosophersand purists may cavil at parts of these sermons, and, of course, theyare not perfect; but who can deny that their general effect iscivilizing, humanizing, elevating, and regenerating, and that thismaster of preaching is the true brother of all those high and brightspirits, on both sides of the ocean, who are striving to make the soulof this age fit to inhabit and nobly impel its new body?

The sermon over, a livelier song brings the service to a happyconclusion; and slowly, to the thunder of the new organ, the greatassembly dissolves and oozes away. 

The Sunday services are not the whole of this remarkable church. Ithas not yet adopted Mrs. Stowe's suggestion of providingbilliard-rooms, bowling-alleys, and gymnastic apparatus for thedevelopment of Christian muscle, though these may come in time. Thebuilding at present contains eleven apartments, among which are twolarge parlors, wherein, twice a month, there is a social gathering ofthe church and congregation, for conversation with the pastor and withone another. Perhaps, by and by, these will be always open, so as tofurnish club conveniences to young men who have no home. Doubtless, this fine social organization is destined to development in manydirections not yet contemplated. 

Among the ancient customs of New England and its colonies (of whichBrooklyn is one) is the Friday-evening prayer-meeting. Some of ourreaders, perhaps, have dismal recollections of their early compelledattendance on those occasions, when, with their hands firmly held inthe maternal grasp, lest at the last moment they should bolt undercover of the darkness, they glided round into the back parts of thechurch, lighted by one smoky lantern hung over the door of thelecture-room, itself dimly lighted, and as silent as the adjacentchambers of the dead. Female figures, demure in dress and eyes castdown, flitted noiselessly in, and the awful stillness was only brokenby the heavy boots of the few elders and deacons who constituted themale portion of the exceedingly slender audience. With difficulty, andsometimes, only after two or three failures, a hymn was raised, which, when in fullest tide, was only a dreary wail, --how unmelodious to theears of unreverential youth, gifted with a sense of the ludicrous! Howlong, how sad, how pointless the prayers! How easy to believe, down inthat dreary cellar, that this world was but a wilderness, and man "afeeble piece"! Deacon Jones could speak up briskly enough when he wasselling two yards of shilling calico to a farmer's wife sharp at abargain; but in that apartment, contiguous to the tombs, it seemednatural that he should utter dismal views of life in bad grammarthrough his nose. Mrs. Jones was cheerful when she gave her littletea-party the evening before; but now she appeared to assent, withoutsurprise, to the statement that she was a pilgrim travelling through avale of tears. Veritable pilgrims, who do actually meet in an oasis ofthe desert, have a merry time of it, travellers tell us. It was not sowith these good souls, inhabitants of a pleasant place, andanticipating an eternal abode in an inconceivably delightful paradise. But then there was the awful chance of missing it! And the reluctantyouth, dragged to this melancholy scene, who avenged themselves bygiving select imitations of deaconian eloquence for the amusement ofyoung friends, --what was to become of _them_? It was such thoughts, doubtless, that gave to those excellent people their gloomy habit ofmind; and if their creed expressed the literal truth respecting man'sdestiny, character, and duty, terror alone was rational, and laughterwas hideous and defiant mockery. What room in a benevolent heart forjoy, when a point of time, a moment's space removed us to thatheavenly place, or shut us up in hell?

From the time when we were accustomed to attend such meetings, longago, we never saw a Friday-evening meeting till the other night, whenwe found ourselves in the lecture-room of Plymouth Church. 

The room is large, very lofty, brilliantly lighted by reflectorsaffixed to the ceiling, and, except the scarlet cushions on thesettees, void of upholstery. It was filled full with a cheerfulcompany, not one of whom seemed to have on more or richer clothes thanshe had the moral strength to wear. Content and pleasant expectationsat on every countenance, as when people have come to a festival, andawait the summons to the banquet. No pulpit, or anything like apulpit, cast a shadow over the scene; but in its stead there was arather large platform, raised two steps, covered with dark greencanvas, and having upon it a very small table and one chair. Thered-cushioned settees were so arranged as to enclose the greenplatform all about, except on one side; so that he who should sit uponit would appear to be in the midst of the people, raised above themthat all might see him, yet still among them and one of them. At oneside of the platform, but on the floor of the room, among the settees, there was a piano open. Mr. Beecher sat near by, reading what appearedto be a letter of three or four sheets. The whole scene was so littlelike what we commonly understand by the word "meeting, " the peoplethere were so little in a "meeting" state of mind, and the subsequentproceedings were so informal, unstudied, and social, that, inattempting to give this account of them, we almost feel as if we werereporting for print the conversation of a private evening party. Anything more unlike an old-fashioned prayer-meeting it is notpossible to conceive. 

Mr. Beecher took his seat upon the platform, and, after a short pause, began the exercises by saying, in a low tone, these words: "Sixtwenty-two. "

A rustling of the leaves of hymn-books interpreted the meaning of thismystical utterance, which otherwise might have been taken asannouncing a discourse upon the prophetic numbers. The piano confirmedthe interpretation; and then the company burst into one of thosejoyous and unanimous singings which are so enchanting a feature of theservices of this church. Loud rose the beautiful harmony of voices, constraining every one to join in the song, even those most unused tosing. When it was ended, the pastor, in the same low tone, pronounceda name; upon which one of the brethren rose to his feet, and the restof the assembly slightly inclined their heads. It would not, as wehave remarked, be becoming in us to say anything upon this portion ofthe proceedings, except to note that the prayers were all brief, perfectly quiet and simple, and free from the routine or regulationexpressions. There were but two or three of them, alternating withsinging; and when that part of the exercises was concluded, Mr. Beecher had scarcely spoken. The meeting ran alone, in the mostspontaneous and pleasant manner; and, with all its heartiness andsimplicity, there was a certain refined decorum pervading all that wasdone and said. There was a pause after the last hymn died away, andthen Mr, Beecher, still seated, began, in the tone of conversation, tospeak, somewhat after this manner. 

"When, " said he, "I first began to walk as a Christian, in my youthful zeal I made many resolutions that were well meant, but indiscreet. Among others, I remember I resolved to pray, at least once, in some way, every hour that I was awake. I tried faithfully to keep this resolution, but never having succeeded a single day, I suffered the pangs of self-reproach, until reflection satisfied me that the only wisdom possible, with regard to such a resolve, was to break it. I remember, too, that I made a resolution to speak upon religion to every person with whom I conversed, --on steamboats, in the streets, anywhere. In this, also, I failed, as I ought; and I soon learned that, in the sowing of such seed, as in other sowings, times and seasons and methods must be considered and selected, or a man may defeat his own object, and make religion loathsome. "

In language like this he introduced the topic of the evening'sconversation, which was, How far, and on what occasions, and in whatmanner, one person may invade, so to speak, the personality ofanother, and speak to him upon his moral condition. The pastorexpressed his own opinion, always in the conversational tone, in atalk of ten minutes' duration; in the course of which he applauded, not censured, the delicacy which causes most people to shrink fromdoing it. He said that a man's personality was not a macadamized roadfor every vehicle to drive upon at will; but rather a sacredenclosure, to be entered, if at all, with, the consent of the owner, and with deference to his feelings and tastes. He maintained, however, that there _were_ times and modes in which this might properly bedone, and that every one _had_ a duty to perform of this nature. Whenhe had finished his observations, he said the subject was open to theremarks of others; whereupon a brother instantly rose and made a veryhonest confession. 

He said that he had never attempted to perform the duty in questionwithout having a palpitation of the heart and a complete "turningover" of his inner man. He had often reflected upon this curious fact, but was not able to account for it. He had not allowed this repugnanceto prevent his doing the duty; but he always had to rush at it andperform it by a sort of _coup de main_; for if he allowed himself tothink about the matter, he could not do it at all. He concluded bysaying that he should be very much obliged to any one if he couldexplain this mystery. 

The pastor said: "May it not be the natural delicacy we feel, andought to feel, in approaching the interior consciousness of anotherperson?"

Another brother rose. There was no hanging back at this meeting; therewere no awkward pauses; every one seemed full of matter. The newspeaker was not inclined to admit the explanation suggested by thepastor. "Suppose, " said he, "we were to see a man in imminent danger of immediate destruction, and there was one way of escape, and but one, which _we_ saw and he did not, should we feel any delicacy in running up to him and urging him to fly for his life? Is it not a want of faith on our part that causes the reluctance and hesitation we all feel in urging others to avoid a peril so much more momentous?"

Mr. Beecher said the cases were not parallel. Irreligious persons, heremarked, were not in imminent danger of immediate death; they mightdie to-morrow; but in all probability they would not, and an ill-timedor injudicious admonition might forever repel them. We must accept thedoctrine of probabilities, and act in accordance with it in thisparticular, as in all others. 

Another brother had a puzzle to present for solution. He said that hetoo had experienced the repugnance to which allusion had been made;but what surprised him most was, that the more he loved a person, andthe nearer he was related to him, the more difficult he found it toconverse with him upon his spiritual state. Why is this? "I shouldlike to have this question answered, " said he, "if there _is_ ananswer to it. "

Mr. Beecher observed that this was the universal experience, and hewas conscious himself of a peculiar reluctance and embarrassment inapproaching one of his own household on the subject in question. Hethought it was due to the fact that we respect more the personalrights of those near to us than we do those of others, and it was moredifficult to break in upon the routine of our ordinary familiaritywith them. We are accustomed to a certain tone, which it is highlyembarrassing to jar upon. 

Captain Duncan related two amusing anecdotes to illustrate the rightway and the wrong way of introducing religious conversation. In hisoffice there was sitting one day a sort of lay preacher, who was notedfor lugging in his favorite topic in the most forbidding and abruptmanner. A sea-captain came in who was introduced to this individual. 

"Captain Porter, " said he, with awful solemnity, "are you a captain inIsrael?"

The honest sailor was so abashed and confounded at this novelsalutation, that he could only stammer out an incoherent reply; and hewas evidently much disposed to give the tactless zealot a piece of hismind expressed in the language of the quarter-deck. When the solemnman took his leave, the disgusted captain said, "If ever I should becoming to your office again, and that man should be here, I wish youwould send me word, and I'll stay away. "

A few days after, another clergyman chanced to be in the office, noother than Mr. Beecher himself, and another captain came in, aroistering, swearing, good-hearted fellow. The conversation fell uponsea-sickness, a malady to which Mr. Beecher is peculiarly liable. Thiscaptain also was one of the few sailors who are always sea-sick ingoing to sea, and gave a moving account of his sufferings from thatcause. Mr. Beecher, after listening attentively to his tale, said, "Captain Duncan, if I was a preacher to such sailors as your friend here, I should represent hell as an eternal voyage, with every man on board in the agonies of sea-sickness, the crisis always imminent, but never coming. "

This ludicrous and most unprofessional picture amused the old saltexceedingly, and won his entire good-will toward the author of it; sothat, after Mr. Beecher left, he said, "That's a good fellow, CaptainDuncan. I like _him_, and I'd like to hear him talk more. "

Captain Duncan contended that this free-and-easy way of address wasjust the thing for such characters. Mr. Beecher had shown him, to hisgreat surprise, that a man could be a decent and comfortable humanbeing, although he was a minister, and had so gained his confidenceand good-will that he could say _anything_ to him at their nextinterview. Captain Duncan finished his remarks by a decided expressionof his disapproval of the canting regulation phrases so frequentlyemployed by religious people, which are perfectly nauseous to men ofthe world. 

This interesting conversation lasted about three quarters of an hour, and ended, not because the theme seemed exhausted, but because thetime was up. We have only given enough of it to convey some littleidea of its spirit. The company again broke into one of their cheerfulhymns, and the meeting was dismissed in the usual manner. 

During the whole evening not a canting word nor a false tone had beenuttered. Some words were used, it is true, and some forms practised, which are not congenial to "men of the world, " and some doctrines wereassumed to be true which have become incredible to many of us. These, however, were not conspicuous nor much dwelt upon. The subject, too, of the conversation was less suitable to our purpose than most of thetopics discussed at these meetings, which usually have a more directbearing upon the conduct of life. Nevertheless, is it not apparentthat such meetings as this, conducted by a man of tact, good sense, and experience, must be an aid to good living? Here were a number ofpeople, --parents, business-men, and others, --most of them heavilyburdened with responsibility, having notes and rents to pay, customersto get and keep, children to rear, --busy people, anxious people, ofextremely diverse characters, but united by a common desire to livenobly. The difficulties of noble living are very great, --never sogreat, perhaps, as now and here, --and these people assemble every weekto converse upon them. What more rational thing could they do? If theycame together to snivel and cant, and to support one another in amiserable conceit of being the elect of the human species, we mightobject. But no description can show how far from that, how opposite tothat, is the tone, the spirit, the object, of the Friday-eveningmeeting at Plymouth Church. 

Have we "Liberals"--as we presume to call ourselves--ever devisedanything so well adapted as this to the needs of average mortalsstruggling with the ordinary troubles of life? We know of nothing. Philosophical treatises, and arithmetical computations respecting thenumber of people who inhabited Palestine, may have their use, but theycannot fill the aching void in the heart of a lone widow, or teach ananxious father how to manage a troublesome boy. There was an old ladynear us at this meeting, --a good soul in a bonnet four fashionsold, --who sat and cried for joy, as the brethren carried on theirtalk. She had come in alone from her solitary room, and enjoyed allthe evening long a blended moral and literary rapture. It was abanquet of delight to her, the recollection of which would brightenall her week, and it cost her no more than air and sunlight. To thehappy, the strong, the victorious, Shakespeare and the Musical Glassesmay appear to suffice; but the world is full of the weak, thewretched, and the vanquished. 

There was an infuriate heretic in Boston once, whose antipathy to whathe called "superstition" was something that bordered upon lunacy. Butthe time came when he had a child, his only child, and the sole joy ofhis life, dead in the house. It had to be buried. The broken-heartedfather could not endure the thought of his child's being carried outand placed in its grave without _some_ outward mark of respect, _some_ceremonial which should recognize the difference between a dead childand a dead kitten; and he was fain, at last, to go out and bring tohis house a poor lame cobbler, who was a kind of Methodist preacher, to say and read a few words that should break the fall of the darlingobject into the tomb. The occurrence made no change in his opinions, but it revolutionized his feelings. He is as untheological as ever;but he would subscribe money to build a church, and he esteems no manmore than an honest clergyman. 

If anything can be predicated of the future with certainty, it is, that the American people will never give up that portion of theirheritage from the past which we call Sunday, but will always devoteits hours to resting the body and improving the soul. All ourtheologies will pass away, but this will remain. Nor less certain isit, that there will always be a class of men who will do, professionally and as their settled vocation, the work now done by theclergy. That work can never be dispensed with, either in civilized orin barbarous communities. The great problem of civilization is, how tobring the higher intelligence of the community, and its better moralfeeling, to bear upon the mass of people, so that the lowest grade ofintelligence and morals shall be always approaching the higher, andthe higher still rising. A church purified of superstition solves partof this problem, and a good school system does the rest. 

All things improve in this world very much in the same way. Theimprovement originates in one man's mind, and, being carried intoeffect with evident good results, it is copied by others. We are allapt lazily to run in the groove in which we find ourselves; we arecreatures of habit, and slaves of tradition. Now and then, however, inevery profession and sphere, if they are untrammelled by law, anindividual appears who is discontented with the ancient methods, orsceptical of the old traditions, or both, and he invents better ways, or arrives at more rational opinions. Other men look on and approvethe improved process, or listen and imbibe the advanced belief. 

Now, there appears to be a man upon Brooklyn Heights who has found outa more excellent way of conducting a church than has been previouslyknown. He does not waste the best hours of every day in writingsermons, but employs those hours in absorbing the knowledge andexperience which should be the matter of sermons. He does not fritteraway the time of a public instructor in "pastoral visits, " and otheruseless visitations. His mode of conducting a public ceremonialreaches the finish of high art, which it resembles also in itssincerity and simplicity. He has known how to banish from his churcheverything that savors of cant and sanctimoniousness, --so loathsome tohonest minds. Without formally rejecting time-honored forms andusages, he has infused into his teachings more and more of the modernspirit, drawn more and more from science and life, less and less fromtradition, until he has acquired the power of preaching sermons whichEdwards and Voltaire, Whitefield and Tom Paine, would heartily andequally enjoy. Surely, there is something in all this which could beimitated. The great talents with which he is endowed cannot beimparted, but we do not believe that his power is wholly derived fromhis talent. A man of only respectable abilities, who should catch hisspirit, practise some of his methods, and spend his strength ingetting knowledge, and not in coining sentences, would be ableanywhere to gather round him a concourse of hearers. The great secretis, to let orthodoxy slide, as something which is neither to bemaintained nor refuted, --insisting only on the spirit of Christianity, and applying it to the life of the present day in this land. 

There are some reasons for thinking that the men and the organizationsthat have had in charge the moral interests of the people of theUnited States for the last fifty years have not been quite equal totheir trust. What are we to think of such results of New Englandculture as Douglas, Cass, Webster, and many other men of greatability, but strangely wanting in moral power? What are we to think ofthe great numbers of Southern Yankees who were, and are, the bitterestfoes of all that New England represents? What are we to think of theRings that seem now-a-days to form themselves, as it were, spontaneously in every great corporation? What of the club-houses thatspring up at every corner, for the accommodation of husbands andfathers who find more attractions in wine, supper, and equivocalstories than in the society of their wives and children? What are weto think of the fact, that among the people who can afford toadvertise at the rate of a dollar and a half a line are those whoprovide women with the means of killing their unborn children, --adouble crime, murder and suicide? What are we to think of the moralimpotence of almost all women to resist the tyranny of fashion, andthe _necessity_ that appears to rest upon them to copy everydisfiguration invented by the harlots of Paris? What are we to thinkof the want both of masculine and moral force in men, which makes themhelpless against the extravagance of their households, to supportwhich they do fifty years' work in twenty, and then die? What are weto think of the fact, that all the creatures living in the UnitedStates enjoy good health, except the human beings, who are nearly allill?

When we consider such things as these, we cannot help calling inquestion a kind of public teaching which leaves the people inignorance of so much that they most need to know. Henry Ward Beecheris the only clergyman we ever heard who habitually promulgates thetruth, that to be ill is generally a sin, and always a shame. We neverheard him utter the demoralizing falsehood, that this present life isshort and of small account, and that nothing is worthy of muchconsideration except the life to come. He dwells much on the enormouslength of this life, and the prodigious revenue of happiness it mayyield to those who comply with the conditions of happiness. It is hishabit, also, to preach the duty which devolves upon every person, tolabor for the increase of his knowledge and the general improvement ofhis mind. We have heard him say on the platform of his church, that itwas disgraceful to any mechanic or clerk to let such a picture as theHeart of the Andes be exhibited for twenty-five cents, and not go andsee it. Probably there is not one honest clergyman in the country whodoes not fairly earn his livelihood by the good he does, or by theevil he prevents. But not enough good is done, and riot enough evilprevented. The sudden wealth that has come upon the world since theimprovement of the steam-engine adds a new difficulty to the life ofmillions. So far, the world does not appear to have made the best useof its too rapidly increased surplus. "We cannot sell a twelve-dollarbook in this country, " said a bookseller to us the other day. But howeasy to sell two-hundred-dollar garments! There seems great need ofsomething that shall have power to spiritualize mankind, and make headagainst the reinforced influence of material things. It may be thatthe true method of dealing with the souls of modern men has been, inpart, discovered by Mr. Beecher, and that it would be well for personsaspiring to the same vocation to _begin_ their preparation by making apilgrimage to Brooklyn Heights. 

COMMODORE VANDERBILT. [1]

The Staten Island ferry, on a fine afternoon in summer, is one of thepleasantest scenes which New York affords. The Island, seven milesdistant from the city, forms one of the sides of the Narrows, throughwhich the commerce of the city and the emigrant ships enter themagnificent bay that so worthily announces the grandeur of the NewWorld. The ferry-boat, starting from the extremity of ManhattanIsland, first gives its passengers a view of the East River, all alivewith every description of craft; then, gliding round past Governor'sIsland, dotted with camps and crowned with barracks, with the nationalflag floating above all, it affords a view of the lofty bluffs whichrise on one side of the Hudson and the long line of the mast-fringedcity on the other; then, rounding Governor's Island, the steamerpushes its way towards the Narrows, disclosing to view Fort Lafayette, so celebrated of late, the giant defensive works opposite to it, theumbrageous and lofty sides of Staten Island, covered with villas, and, beyond all, the Ocean, lighted up by Coney Island's belt of snowysand, glistening in the sun. 

Change the scene to fifty-five years ago: New York was then a town ofeighty thousand people, and Staten Island was inhabited only byfarmers, gardeners, and fishermen, who lived by supplying the citywith provisions. No elegant seats, no picturesque villas adorned thehillsides, and pleasure-seekers found a nearer resort in Hoboken. Theferry then, if ferry it could be called, consisted of a fewsail-boats, which left the island in the morning loaded withvegetables and fish, and returned, if wind and tide permitted, atnight. If a pleasure party occasionally visited Staten Island, theyconsidered themselves in the light of bold adventurers, who had gonefar beyond the ordinary limits of an excursion. There was only onething in common between the ferry at that day and this: the boatsstarted from the same spot. Where the ferry-house now stands atWhitehall was then the beach to which the boatmen brought theirfreight, and where they remained waiting for a return cargo. That was, also, the general boat-stand of the city. Whoever wanted a boat, forbusiness or pleasure, repaired to Whitehall, and it was a matter ofindifference to the boatmen from Staten Island, whether they returnedhome with a load, or shared in the general business of the port. 

It is to one of those Whitehall boatmen of 1810, that we have todirect the reader's attention. He was distinguished from his comradeson the stand in several ways. Though master of a Staten Island boatthat would carry twenty passengers, he was but sixteen years of age, and he was one of the handsomest, the most agile and athletic, youngfellows that either Island could show. Young as he was, there was thatin his face and bearing which gave assurance that he was abundantlycompetent to his work. He was always at his post betimes, and on thealert for a job. He always performed what he undertook. This summer of1810 was his first season, but he had already an ample share of thebest of the business of the harbor. 

Cornelius Vanderbilt was the name of this notable youth, --the sameCornelius Vanderbilt who has since built a hundred steamboats, who hassince made a present to his country of a steamship of five thousandtons' burden, who has since bought lines of railroad, and who reportedhis income to the tax commissioners, last year at something near threequarters of a million. The first money the steamboat-king ever earnedwas by carrying passengers between Staten Island and New York ateighteen cents each. 

His father, who was also named Cornelius, was the founder of theStaten Island ferry. He was a thriving farmer on the Island as earlyas 1794, tilling his own land near the Quarantine Ground, andconveying his produce to New York in his own boat. Frequently he wouldcarry the produce of some of his neighbors, and, in course of time, heran his boat regularly, leaving in the morning and returning at night, during the whole of the summer, and thus he established a ferry whichhas since become one of the most profitable in the world, carryingsometimes more than twelve thousand passengers in a day. He was anindustrious, enterprising, liberal man, and early acquired a propertywhich for that time was affluence. His wife was a singularly wise andenergetic woman. She was the main stay of the family, since herhusband was somewhat too liberal for his means, and not always prudentin his projects. Once, when her husband had fatally involved himself, and their farm was in danger of being sold for a debt of threethousand dollars, she produced, at the last extremity, her privatestore, and counted out the whole sum in gold pieces. She lived to thegreat age of eighty-seven, and left an estate of fifty thousanddollars, the fruit of her own industry and prudence. Her son, likemany other distinguished men, loves to acknowledge that whatever hehas, and whatever he is that is good, he owes to the precepts, theexample, and the judicious government of his mother. 

Cornelius, the eldest of their family of nine children, was born atthe old farm-house on Staten Island, May 27, 1794. A healthy, vigorousboy, fond of out-door sports, excelling his companions in all boyishfeats, on land and water, he had an unconquerable aversion to theconfinement of the school-room. At that day, the school-room was, indeed, a dull and uninviting place, the lessons a tedious routine oflearning by rote, and the teacher a tyrant, enforcing them by theterrors of the stick. The boy went to school a little, now and then, but learned little more than to read, write, and cipher, and theseimperfectly. The only books he remembers using at school were thespelling-book and Testament. His real education was gained in workingon his father's farm, helping to sail his father's boat, driving hisfather's horses, swimming, riding, rowing, sporting with his youngfriends. He was a bold rider from infancy, and passionately fond of afine horse. He tells his friends sometimes, that he rode a race-horseat full speed when he was but six years old. That he regrets nothaving acquired more school knowledge, that he values what is commonlycalled education, is shown by the care he has taken to have his ownchildren well instructed. 

There never was a clearer proof than in his case that the child isfather of the man. He showed in boyhood the very quality which hasmost distinguished him as a man, --the power of accomplishing things inspite of difficulty and opposition. He was a born conqueror. 

When he was twelve years old, his father took a contract for gettingthe cargo out of a vessel stranded near Sandy Hook, and transportingit to New York in lighters. It was necessary to carry the cargo inwagons across a sandy spit. Cornelius, with a little fleet oflighters, three wagons, their horses and drivers, started from homesolely charged with the management of this difficult affair. Afterloading the lighters and starting them for the city, he had to conducthis wagons home by land, --a long distance over Jersey sands. Leavingthe beach with only six dollars, he reached South Amboy penniless, with six horses and three men, all hungry, still far from home, andseparated from Staten Island by an arm of the sea half a mile wide, that could be crossed only by paying the ferryman six dollars. Thiswas a puzzling predicament for a boy of twelve, and he pondered longhow he could get out of it. At length he went boldly to the onlyinnkeeper of the place, and addressed him thus:--

 "I have here three teams that I want to get over to Staten Island. If you will put us across, I'll leave with you one of my horses in pawn, and if I don't send you back the six dollars within forty-eight hours you may keep the horse. "

The innkeeper looked into the bright, honest eyes of the boy for amoment and said:--

"I'll do it. "

And he did it. The horse in pawn was left with the ferryman on theIsland, and he was redeemed in time. 

Before he was sixteen he had made up his mind to earn his livelihoodby navigation of some kind, and often, when tired of farm work, he hadcast wistful glances at the outward-bound ships that passed his home. Occasionally, too, he had alarmed his mother by threatening to runaway and go to sea. His preference, however, was to become a boatmanof New York harbor. On the first of May, 1810, --an important day inhis history, --he made known his wishes to his mother, and asked her toadvance him a hundred dollars for the purchase of a boat. Shereplied:--

"My son, on the twenty-seventh of this month you will be sixteen yearsold. If, by your birthday, you will plough, harrow, and plant withcorn that lot, " pointing to a field, "I will advance you the money. "

The field was one of eight acres, very rough, tough, and stony. Heinformed his young companions of his mother's conditional promise, andseveral of them readily agreed to help him. For the next two weeks thefield presented the spectacle of a continuous "bee" of boys, pickingup stones, ploughing, harrowing, and planting. To say that the workwas done in time, and done thoroughly, is only another way of statingthat it was undertaken and conducted by Cornelius Vanderbilt. On hisbirthday he claimed the fulfilment of his mother's promise. Reluctantly she gave him the money, considering his project only lesswild than that of running away to sea. He hurried off to a neighboringvillage, bought his boat, hoisted sail, and started for home one ofthe happiest youths in the world. His first adventure seemed tojustify his mother's fears, for he struck a sunken wreck on his way, and just managed to run his boat ashore before she filled and sunk. 

Undismayed at this mishap, he began his new career. His success, as wehave intimated, was speedy and great. He made a thousand dollarsduring each of the next three summers. Often he worked all night, buthe was never absent from his post by day, and he soon had the cream ofthe boating business of the port. 

At that day parents claimed the services and the earnings of theirchildren till they were twenty-one. In other words, families madecommon cause against the common enemy, Want. The arrangement betweenthis young boatman and his parents was that he should give them allhis day earnings and half his night earnings. He fulfilled hisengagement faithfully until his parents released him from it, and withhis own half of his earnings by night he bought all his clothes. Hehad forty competitors in the business, who, being all grown men, coulddispose of their gains as they chose; but of all the forty, he alonehas emerged to prosperity and distinction. Why was this? There wereseveral reasons. He soon came to be the best boatman in the port. Heattended to his business more regularly and strictly than any other. He had no vices. His comrades spent at night much of what they earnedby day, and when the winter suspended their business, instead ofliving on the last summer's savings, they were obliged to lay up debtsfor the next summer's gains to discharge. In those three years ofwilling servitude to his parents, Cornelius Vanderbilt added to thefamily's common stock of wealth, and gained for himself threethings, --a perfect knowledge of his business, habits of industry andself-control, and the best boat in the harbor. 

The war of 1812 suspended the commerce of the port, but gave a greatimpulse to boating. There were men-of-war in the harbor and garrisonsin the forts, which gave to the boatmen of Whitehall and Staten Islandplenty of business, of which Cornelius Vanderbilt had his usual share. In September, 1813, during a tremendous gale, a British fleetattempted to run past Fort Richmond. After the repulse, the commanderof the fort, expecting a renewal of the attempt, was anxious to getthe news to the city, so as to secure a reinforcement early the nextday. Every one agreed that, if the thing could be done, there was butone man who could do it; and, accordingly, young Vanderbilt was sentfor. 

"Can you take a party up to the city in this gale?"

"Yes, " was the reply; "but I shall have to carry them part of the wayunder water. "

When he made fast to Coffee-House slip, an hour or two after, everyman in the boat was drenched to the skin. But there they were, and thefort was reinforced the next morning. 

About this time, the young man had another important conversation withhis mother, which, perhaps, was more embarrassing than the onerecorded above. He was in love. Sophia Johnson was the maiden'sname, --a neighbor's lovely and industrious daughter, whose affectionshe had wooed and won. He asked his mother's consent to the match, andthat henceforth he might have the disposal of his own earnings. Sheapproved his choice, and released him from his obligations. During therest of that season he labored with new energy, saved five hundreddollars, and, in December, 1813, when he laid up his boat for thewinter, became the happy husband of the best of wives. 

In the following spring, a great alarm pervaded all the sea-boardcities of America. Rumors were abroad of that great expedition which, at the close of the year, attacked New Orleans; but, in the spring andsummer, no one knew upon which port the blow would fall. The militiaof New York were called out for three months, under a penalty ofninety-six dollars to whomsoever should fail to appear at therendezvous. The boatmen, in the midst of a flourishing business, andespecially our young husband, were reluctant to lose the profits of aseason's labor, which were equivalent, in their peculiar case, to theincome of a whole year. An advertisement appeared one day in thepapers which gave them a faint prospect of escaping this disaster. Itwas issued from the office of the commissary-general, Matthew L. Davis, inviting bids from the boatmen for the contract of conveyingprovisions to the posts in the vicinity of New York during the threemonths, the contractor to be exempt from military duty. The boatmencaught at this, as a drowning man catches at a straw, and put in bidsat rates preposterously low, --all except Cornelius Vanderbilt. 

"Why don't you send in a bid?" asked his father. 

"Of what use would it be?" replied the son. "They are offering to dothe work at half-price. It can't be done at such rates. "

"Well, " added the father, "it can do no harm to try for it. "

So, to please his father, but without the slightest expectation ofgetting the contract, he sent in an application, offering to transportthe provisions at a price which would enable him to do it with therequisite certainty and promptitude. His offer was simply fair to bothparties. 

On the day named for the awarding of the contract, all the boatmen buthim assembled in the commissary's office. He remained at theboat-stand, not considering that he had any interest in the matter. One after another, his comrades returned with long faces, sufficientlyindicative of their disappointment; until, at length, all of them hadcome in, but no one bringing the prize. Puzzled at this, he strolledhimself to the office, and asked the commissary if the contract hadbeen given. 

"O yes, " said Davis; "that business is settled. Cornelius Vanderbiltis the man. "

He was thunderstruck. 

"What!" said the commissary, observing his astonishment, is it you?"

"My name is Cornelius Vanderbilt. "

"Well, " said Davis, "don't you know why we have given the contract toyou?"

"No. "

"Why, it is because we want this business _done_, and we know you'lldo it. "

Matthew L. Davis, as the confidant of Aaron Burr, did a good manyfoolish things in his life, but on this occasion he did a wise one. The contractor asked him but one favor, which was, that the daily loadof stores might be ready for him every evening at six o'clock. Therewere six posts to be supplied: Harlem, Hurl Gate, Ward's Island, andthree others in the harbor or at the Narrows, each of which requiredone load a week. Young Vanderbilt did all this work at night; andalthough, during the whole period of three months, he never oncefailed to perform his contract, he was never once absent from hisstand in the day-time. He slept when he could, and when he could notsleep he did without it. Only on Sunday and Sunday night could he besaid to rest. There was a rare harvest for boatmen that summer. Transporting sick and furloughed soldiers, naval and militaryofficers, the friends of the militia men, and pleasure-seekersvisiting the forts, kept those of the boatmen who had "escaped thedraft, " profitably busy. It was not the time for an enterprising manto be absent from his post. 

From the gains of that summer he built a superb little schooner, theDread; and, the year following, the joyful year of peace, he and hisbrother-in-law. Captain De Forrest, launched the Charlotte, a vessellarge enough for coasting service, and the pride of the harbor formodel and speed. In this vessel, when the summer's work was over, hevoyaged sometimes along the Southern coast, bringing home considerablefreights from the Carolinas. Knowing the coast thoroughly, and beingone of the boldest and most expert of seamen, he and his vessel werealways ready when there was something to be done of difficulty andperil. During the three years succeeding the peace of 1815, he savedthree thousand dollars a year; so that, in 1818, he possessed two orthree of the nicest little craft in the harbor, and a cash capital ofnine thousand dollars. 

The next step of Captain Vanderbilt astonished both his rivals and hisfriends. He deliberately abandoned his flourishing business, to acceptthe post of captain of a small steamboat, at a salary of a thousanddollars a year. By slow degrees, against the opposition of theboatmen, and the terrors of the public, steamboats had made their way;until, in 1817, ten years after Fulton's experimental trip, the longhead of Captain Vanderbilt clearly comprehended that the supremacy ofsails was gone forever, and he resolved to ally himself to the newpower before being overcome gone forever, and he resolved to allyhimself to the new power before being overcome by it. Besides, heprotests, that in no enterprise of his life has his chief object beenthe gain of money. Being in the business of carrying passengers, hedesired to carry them in the best manner, and by the best means. Business has ever been to him a kind of game, and his ruling motivewas and is, to play it so as to win. _To carry his point_, that hasbeen the motive of his business career; but then his point hasgenerally been one which, being carried, brought money with it. 

At that day, passengers to Philadelphia were conveyed by steamboatfrom New York to New Brunswick, where they remained all night, and thenext morning took the stage for Trenton, whence they were carried toPhiladelphia by steamboat. The proprietor of part of this line was theonce celebrated Thomas Gibbons, a man of enterprise and capital. Itwas in his service that Captain Vanderbilt spent the next twelve yearsof his life, commanding the steamer plying between New York and NewBrunswick. The hotel at New Brunswick, where the passengers passed thenight, which had never paid expenses, was let to him rent free, andunder the efficient management of Mrs. Vanderbilt, it becameprofitable, and afforded the passengers such excellent entertainmentas to enhance the popularity of the line. 

In engaging with Mr. Gibbons, Captain Vanderbilt soon found that hehad put his head into a hornet's nest. The State of New York hadgranted to Fulton and Livingston the exclusive right of runningsteamboats in New York waters. Thomas Gibbons, believing the grantunconstitutional, as it was afterwards declared by the Supreme Court, ran his boats in defiance of it, and thus involved himself in a longand fierce contest with the authorities of New York. The brunt of thisbattle fell upon his new captain. There was one period when for sixtysuccessive days an attempt was made to arrest him; but the captainbaffled every attempt. Leaving his crew in New Jersey (for they alsowere liable to arrest), he would approach the New York wharf with alady at the helm, while he managed the engine; and as soon as the boatwas made fast he concealed himself in the depths of the vessel. At themoment of starting, the officer (changed every day to avoidrecognition) used to present himself and tap the wary captain on theshoulder. 

"Let go the line, " was his usual reply to the summons. 

The officer, fearing to be carried off to New Jersey, where aretaliatory act threatened him with the State's prison, would jumpashore as for life; or, if carried off, would beg to be put ashore. Inthis way, and in many others, the captain contrived to evade the law. He fought the State of New York for seven years, until, in 1824, ChiefJustice Marshall pronounced New York wrong and New Jersey right. Theopposition vainly attempted to buy him off by the offer of a largerboat. 

"No, " replied the captain, "I shall stick to Mr. Gibbons till he isthrough his troubles. "

That was the reason why he remained so long in the service of Mr. Gibbons. 

After this war was over, the genius of Captain Vanderbilt had fullplay, and he conducted the line with so much energy and good sense, that it yielded an annual profit of forty thousand dollars. Gibbonsoffered to raise his salary to five thousand dollars a year, but hedeclined the offer. An acquaintance once asked him why he refused acompensation that was so manifestly just. 

"I did it on principle, " was his reply. "The other captains had butone thousand, and they were already jealous enough of me. Besides, Inever cared for money. All I ever have cared for was to carry mypoint. "

A little incident of these years he has sometimes related to hischildren. In the cold January of 1820, the ship Elizabeth--the firstship ever sent to Africa by the Colonization Society--lay at the footof Rector Street, with the negroes all on board, frozen in. For manydays, her crew, aided by the crew of the frigate Siam, her convoy, hadbeen cutting away at the ice; but, as more ice formed at night thancould be removed by day, the prospect of getting to sea wasunpromising. One afternoon, Captain Vanderbilt joined the crowd ofspectators. 

"They are going the wrong way to work, " he carelessly remarked, as heturned to go home. "I could get her out in one day. "

These words, from a man who was known to mean all he said, made animpression on a bystander, who reported them to the anxious agent ofthe Society. The agent called upon him. 

"What did you mean, Captain, by saying that you could get out the shipin one day?"

"Just what I said. "

"What will you get her out for?"

"One hundred dollars. "

"I'll give it. When will you do it?"

"Have a steamer to-morrow, at twelve o'clock, ready to tow her out. I'll have her clear in time. "

That same evening, at six, he was on the spot with five men, threepine boards, and a small anchor. The difficulty was that beyond theship there were two hundred yards of ice too thin to bear a man. Thecaptain placed his anchor on one of his boards, and pushed it out asfar as he could reach; then placed another board upon the ice, laiddown upon it, and gave his anchor another push. Then he put down histhird board, and used that as a means of propulsion. In this way heworked forward to near the edge of the thin ice, where the anchorbroke through and sunk. With the line attached to it, he hauled a boatto the outer edge, and then began cutting a passage for the ship. 

At eleven the next morning she was clear. At twelve she was towed intothe stream. 

In 1829, after twelve years of service as captain of a steamboat, being then thirty-five years of age, and having saved thirty thousanddollars, he announced to his employer his intention to set up forhimself. Mr. Gibbons was aghast. He declared that he could not carryon the line without his aid, and finding him resolute, said:--

"There, Vanderbilt, take all this property, and pay me for it as youmake the money. "

This splendid offer he thankfully but firmly declined. He did sochiefly because he knew, the men with whom he would have had toco-operate, and foresaw, that he and they could never work comfortablytogether. He wanted a free field. 

The little Caroline, seventy feet long, that afterward plunged overNiagara Falls, was the first steamboat ever built by him. His progressas a steamboat owner was not rapid for some years. The business was inthe hands of powerful companies and wealthy individuals, and he, thenew-comer, running a few small boats on short routes, labored underserious disadvantages. Formidable attempts were made to run him offthe river; but, prompt to retaliate, he made vigorous inroads into theenemy's domain, and kept up an opposition so keen as to compel acompromise in every instance. There was a time, during his famouscontest with the Messrs. Stevens of Hoboken, when he had spent everydollar he possessed, and when a few days more of opposition would havecompelled him to give up the strife. Nothing saved him but the belief, on the part of his antagonists, that Gibbons was backing him. It wasnot the case; he had no backer. But this error, in the very nick oftime, induced his opponents to treat for a compromise, and he wassaved. 

Gradually he made his way to the control of the steamboat interest. Hehas owned, in whole or in part, a hundred steam vessels. His variousopposition lines have permanently reduced fares one half. Superintending himself the construction of every boat, having aperfect practical knowledge of the business in its every detail, selecting his captains well and paying them justly, he has never losta vessel by fire, explosion, or wreck. He possesses, in a remarkabledegree, the talent of selecting the right man for a place, and ofinspiring him with zeal. Every man who serves him _knows_ that he willbe sustained against all intrigue and all opposition, and that he hasnothing to fear so long as he does his duty. 

The later events in his career are, in some degree, known to thepublic. Every one remembers his magnificent cruise in the North Star, and how, on returning to our harbor, his first salute was to thecottage of his venerable mother on the Staten Island shore. To her, also, on landing, he first paid his respects. 

Every one knows that he presented to the government the steamer thatbears his name, at a time when she was earning him two thousanddollars a day. He has given to the war something more precious than aship: his youngest son, Captain Vanderbilt, the most athletic youththat ever graduated at West Point, and one of the finest young men inthe country. His friends tell us that, on his twenty-second birthdayhe lifted nine hundred and eight pounds. But his giant strength didnot save him. The fatigues and miasmas of the Corinth campaign plantedin his magnificent frame the seeds of death. He died a year ago, aftera long struggle with disease, to the inexpressible grief of hisfamily. 

During the last two or three years, Commodore Vanderbilt has beenwithdrawing his capital from steamers and investing it in railroads. It is this fact that has given rise to the impression that he has beenplaying a deep game in stock speculation. No such thing. He has_never_ speculated; he disapproves of, and despises speculation; andhas invariably warned his sons against it as the pursuit ofadventurers and gamblers. "Why, then, " Wall Street may ask, "has hebought almost the whole stock of the Harlem railroad, which pays nodividends, running it up to prices that seem ridiculous?" We cananswer this question very simply: he bought the Harlem railroad to_keep_. He bought it as an investment. Looking several inches beyondhis nose, and several days ahead of to-day, he deliberately concludedthat the Harlem road, managed as he could manage it, would be, in thecourse of time, what Wall Street itself would call "a good thing. " Weshall see, by and by, whether he judged correctly. What was the NewJersey railroad worth when he and a few friends went over one day andbought it at auction? Less than nothing. The stock is now held at onehundred and seventy-five. 

After taking the cream of the steamboat business for a quarter of acentury, Commodore Vanderbilt has now become the largest holder ofrailroad stock in the country. If tomorrow balloons should supersederailroads, we should doubtless find him "in" balloons. 

Nothing is more remarkable than the ease with which great business menconduct the most extensive and complicated affairs. At ten or elevenin the morning, the Commodore rides from his mansion in WashingtonPlace in a light wagon, drawn by one of his favorite horses, to hisoffice in Bowling Green, where, in two hours, aided by a single clerk, he transacts the business of the day, returning early in the afternoonto take his drive on the road. He despises show and ostentation inevery form. No lackey attends him; he holds the reins himself, With anestate of forty millions to manage, nearly all actively employed iniron works and railroads, he keeps scarcely any books, but carries allhis affairs in his head, and manages them without the least anxiety orapparent effort. 

We are informed by one who knows him better almost than any one else, that he owes his excellent health chiefly to his love of horses. Hepossesses the power of leaving his business in his office, and neverthinking of it during his hours of recreation. 

Out on the road behind a fast team, or seated at whist at theClub-House, he enters gayly into the humors of the hour. He is rigidon one point only;--not to talk or hear of business out of businesshours. 

Being asked one day what he considered to be the secret of success inbusiness, he replied:--

"Secret? There is no secret about it. All you have to do is to attendto your business and go ahead. "

With all deference to such an eminent authority, we must be allowed tothink that that is not the whole of the matter. Three things seemessential to success in business: 1. To _know_ your business. 2. Toattend to it. 3. To keep down expenses until your fortune is safe frombusiness perils. 

On another occasion he replied with more point to a similarquestion:--

"The secret of my success is this: I never tell what I am going to dotill I have done it. "

He is, indeed, a man of little speech. Gen. Grant himself is not moreaverse to oratory than he. Once, in London, at a banquet, his healthwas given, and he was urged to respond. All that could be extortedfrom him was the following:--

"Gentlemen, I have never made a fool of myself in my life, and I amnot going to begin now. Here is a friend of mine (his lawyer) who cantalk all day. He will do my speaking. "

Nevertheless, he knows how to express his meaning with singularclearness, force, and brevity, both by the tongue and by the pen. Someof his business letters, dictated by him to a clerk, are models ofthat kind of composition. He is also master of an art still moredifficult, --that of _not_ saying what he does not wish to say. 

As a business man he is even more prudent than he is bold. He hassometimes remarked, that it has never been in the power of any man orset of men to prevent his keeping an engagement. If, for example, heshould bind himself to pay a million of dollars on the first of May, he would at once provide for fulfilling his engagement in such amanner that no failure on the part of others, no contingency, privateor public, could prevent his doing it. In other words, he would havethe money where he could be sure of finding it on the day. 

No one ever sees the name of Cornelius Vanderbilt on a subscriptionpaper, nor ever will. In his charities, which are numerous andliberal, he exhibits the reticence which marks his conduct as a man ofbusiness. His object is to render real and permanent service todeserving objects; but to the host of miscellaneous beggars thatpervade our places of business he is not accessible. The last years ofmany a good old soul, whom he knew in his youth, have been made happyby a pension from him. But of all this not a syllable ever escapes_his_ lips. 

He has now nearly completed his seventy-first year. His frame is stillerect and vigorous; and, as a business man, he has not a livingsuperior. Every kind of success has attended him through life. Thirteen children have been born to him, --nine daughters and foursons, --nearly all of whom are living and are parents. One of hisgrandsons has recently come of age. At the celebration of his goldenwedding, three years ago, more than a hundred and forty of hisdescendants and relations assembled at his house. On that joyfuloccasion, the Commodore presented to his wife a beautiful littlegolden steamboat, with musical works instead of an engine, --emblematicat once of his business career and the harmony of his home. If ever heboasts of anything appertaining to him, it is when he is speaking ofthe manly virtues of his son lost in the war, or when he says that hiswife is the finest woman of her age in the city. 

Commodore Vanderbilt is one of the New World's strong men. His careeris one which young men who aspire to lead in practical affairs maystudy with profit. 

[Footnote 1: This narrative of the business-life of CommodoreVanderbilt was written immediately after I had heard him tell thestory himself. It was written at the request of Robert Bonner, Esq. , and published by him in the New York Ledger of April 8, 1865. I shouldadd, that several of the facts given were related to me at varioustimes by members of Mr. Vanderbilt's family. ]

THEODOSIA BURR. 

New York does well to celebrate the anniversary of the day when theBritish troops evacuated the city; for it was in truth the birthday ofall that we now mean by the City of New York. One hundred andseventy-four years had elapsed since Hendrick Hudson landed upon theshores of Manhattan; but the town could only boast a population oftwenty-three thousand. In ten years the population doubled; in twentyyears trebled. Washington Irving was a baby seven months old, at hisfather's house in William Street, on Evacuation Day, the 25th ofNovember, 1783. On coming of age he found himself the inhabitant of acity containing a population of seventy thousand. When he died, at theage of seventy-five, more than a million of people inhabited thecongregation of cities which form the metropolis of America. 

The beginnings of great things are always interesting to us. New-Yorkers, at least, cannot read without emotion the plain, matter-of-fact accounts in the old newspapers of the manner in whichthe city of their pride changed masters. Journalism has altered itsmodes of procedure since that memorable day. No array of headings inlarge type called the attention of readers to the details of thisgreat event in the history of their town, and no editorial article inextra leads commented upon it. The newspapers printed the merestprogramme of the proceedings, with scarcely a comment of their own;and, having done that, they felt that their duty was done, for nosubsequent issue contains an allusion to the subject. Perhaps thereader will be gratified by a perusal of the account of the evacuationas given in Rivington's Gazette of November 26, 1783. 

New York, November 26:--Yesterday in the Morning the American Troopsmarched from Haerlem, to the Bowery-Lane--They remained there untilabout One o'Clock, when the British Troops left the Posts in theBowery, and the American Troops marched into and took Possession ofthe City, in the following Order, _viz. _

1. A Corps of Dragoons. 

2. Advance Guard of Light Infantry. 

3. A Corps of Artillery. 

4. Battalion of Light Infantry. 

5. Battalion of Massachusetts Troops. 

6. Rear Guard. 

After the Troops had taken Possession of the City, the GENERAL[Washington] and GOVERNOR [George Clinton] made their Public Entry inthe following Manner:

1. Their Excellencies the General and Governor, with their Suites, onHorseback. 

2. The Lieutenant-Governor, and the Members of the Council, for theTemporary Government of the Southern District, four a-breast. 

3. Major General Knox, and the Officers of the Army, eight a-breast. 

4. Citizens on Horseback, eight a-breast. 

5. The Speaker of the Assembly, and Citizens, on Foot, eight a-breast. 

Their Excellencies the Governor and Commander in Chief were escortedby a Body of West-Chester Light Horse, under the command of CaptainDelavan. 

The Procession proceeded down Queen Street [now Pearl], and throughthe Broadway, to _Cape's_ Tavern. 

The Governor gave a public Dinner at _Fraunces's_ Tavern; at which theCommander in Chief and other General Officers were present. 

After Dinner, the following Toasts were drank by the Company:

1. The United States of America. 

2. His most Christian Majesty. 

3. The United Netherlands. 

4. The king of Sweden. 

5. The American Army. 

6. The Fleet and Armies of France, which have served in America. 

7. The Memory of those Heroes who have fallen for our Freedom. 

8. May our Country be grateful to her military children. 

9. May Justice support what Courage has gained. 

10. The Vindicators of the Rights of Mankind in every Quarter of theGlobe. 

11. May America be an Asylum to the persecuted of the Earth. 

12. May a close Union of the States guard the Temple they have erectedto Liberty. 

13. May the Remembrance of THIS DAY be a Lesson to Princes. 

The arrangement and whole conduct of this march, with the tranquillitywhich succeeded it, through the day and night, was admirable! and thegrateful citizens will ever feel the most affectionate impressions, from that elegant and efficient disposition which prevailed throughthe whole event. 

Such was the journalism of that primitive day. The sedate Rivington, for so many years the Tory organ, was in no humor, we may suppose, tochronicle the minor events of the occasion, even if he had notconsidered them beneath the dignity of his vocation. He says nothingof the valiant matron in Chatham Row who, in the impatience of herpatriotism, hoisted the American flag over her door two hours beforethe stipulated moment, noon, and defended it against a British provostofficer with her broomstick. Nor does he allude to the great scene atthe principal flag-staff, which the retiring garrison had plentifullygreased, and from which they had removed the blocks and halyards, inorder to retard the hoisting of the stars and stripes. He does nottell us how a sailor-boy, with a line around his waist and a pocketfull of spikes, hammered his way to the top of the staff, and restoredthe tackling by which the flag was flung to the breeze before thebarges containing the British rear-guard had reached the fleet. It wasa sad day for Mr. Rivington, and he may be excused for not dwellingupon its incidents longer than stern duty demanded. 

The whole State of New York had been waiting impatiently for theevacuation of the City. Many hundreds of the old Whig inhabitants, whohad fled at the entrance of the English troops seven years before, were eager to come again into possession of their homes and property, and resume their former occupations. Many new enterprises waited onlyfor the departure of the troops to be entered upon. A large number ofyoung men were looking to New York as the scene of their futurecareer. Albany, which had served as the temporary capital of theState, was full of lawyers, law-students, retired soldiers, merchants, and mechanics, who were prepared to remove to New York as soon asRivington's Gazette should inform them that the British had reallyleft, and General Washington taken possession. As in these dayscertain promises to pay are to be fulfilled six months after theUnited States shall have acknowledged the independence of a certainConfederacy, so at that time it was a custom for leases and othercompacts to be dated from "the day on which the British troops shallleave New York. " Among the young men in Albany who were intending torepair to the city were two retired officers of distinction, AlexanderHamilton, a student at law, and Aaron Burr, then in the second year ofhis practice at the bar. James Kent and Edward Livingston were alsostudents of law in Albany at that time. The old Tory lawyers being allexiled or silenced, there was a promising field in New York for youngadvocates of talent, and these two young gentlemen had both contractedmarriages which necessitated speedy professional gains. Hamilton hadwon the daughter of General Schuyler. Burr was married to the widow ofa British officer, whose fortune was a few hundred pounds and two finestrapping boys fourteen and sixteen years of age. 

And Burr was himself a father. Theodosia, "his only child, " was bornat Albany in the spring of 1783. When the family removed to New Yorkin the following winter, and took up their abode in Maiden Lane, --"therent to commence when the troops leave the city, "--she was an engaginginfant of seven or eight months. We may infer something of thecircumstances and prospects of her father, when we know that he hadventured upon a house of which the rent was two hundred pounds a year. We find him removing, a year or two after, to a mansion at the cornerof Cedar and Nassau streets, the garden and grapery of which wereamong the finest in the thickly settled portion of the city. Fiftyyears after, he had still an office within a very few yards of thesame spot, though all trace of the garden of Theodosia's childhood hadlong ago disappeared. She was a child of affluence. Not till she hadleft her father's house did a shadow of misfortune darken its portals. Abundance and elegance surrounded her from her infancy, and whateveradvantages in education and training wealth can produce for a childshe had in profusion. At the same time her father's vigilant stoicismguarded her from the evils attendant upon a too easy acquisition ofthings pleasant and desirable. 

She was born into a happy home. Even if we had not the means ofknowing something of the character of her mother, we might still inferthat she must have possessed qualities singularly attractive to inducea man in the position of Burr to undertake the charge of a family atthe outset of his career. She was neither handsome nor young, nor hadshe even the advantage of good health. A scar disfigured her face. Burr, --the brilliant and celebrated Burr, --heir of an honored name, had linked his rising fortunes with an invalid and her boys. The eventmost abundantly justified his choice, for in all the fair island ofManhattan there was not a happier family than his, nor one in whichhappiness was more securely founded in the diligent discharge of duty. The twelve years of his married life were his brightest and best; andamong the last words he ever spoke were a pointed declaration that hiswife was the best woman and the finest lady he had ever known. It washer cultivated mind that drew him to her. "It was a knowledge of yourmind, " he once wrote her, "which first inspired me with a respect for that of your sex, and with some regret I confess, that the ideas you have often heard me express in favor of female intellectual power are founded in what I have imagined more than in what I have seen, except in you. "

In those days an educated woman was among the rarest of rarities. Thewives of many of our most renowned revolutionary leaders weresurprisingly illiterate. Except the noble wife of John Adams, whoseletters form so agreeable an oasis in the published correspondence ofthe time, it would be difficult to mention the name of one lady of therevolutionary period who could have been a companion to the _mind_ ofa man of culture. Mrs. Burr, on the contrary, was the equal of herhusband in literary discernment, and his superior in moral judgment. Her remarks, in her letters to her husband, upon the popular authorsof the day, Chesterfield, Rousseau, Voltaire, and others, show thatshe could correct as well as sympathize with her husband's taste. Sherelished all of Chesterfield except the "indulgence, " which Burrthought essential. She had a weakness for Rousseau, but was notdeluded by his sentimentality. She enjoyed Gibbon without stumbling athis fifteenth and sixteenth-chapters. The home of Theodosia presentsto us a pleasing scene of virtuous industry. The master of the house, always an indomitable worker, was in the full tide of a successfulcareer at the bar. His two step-sons were employed in his office, andone of them frequently accompanied him in his journeys to distantcourts as clerk or amanuensis. No father could have been more generousor more thoughtful than he was for these fatherless youths, and theyappeared to have cherished for him the liveliest affection. Mrs. Burrshared in the labors of the office during the absence of her lord. Allthe affairs of this happy family moved in harmony, for love presidedat their board, inspired their exertions, and made them one. Onecircumstance alone interrupted their felicity, and that was thefrequent absence of Burr from home on business at country courts; buteven these journeys served to call forth from all the family thewarmest effusions of affection. 

"What language can express the joy, the gratitude of Theodosia!"writes Mrs. Burr to her absent husband, in the fifth year of theirmarriage. 

 "Stage after stage without a line. Thy usual punctuality gave room for every fear; various conjectures filled every breast. One of our sons was to have departed to-day in quest of the best of friends and fathers. This morning we waited the stage with impatience. Shrouder went frequently before it arrived; at length returned--_no letter_. We were struck dumb with disappointment. Barton [eldest son] set out to inquire who were the passengers; in a very few minutes returned exulting--a packet worth the treasures of the Universe. Joy brightened every face; all expressed their past anxieties, their present happiness. To enjoy was the first result. Each made choice of what they could best relish. Porter, sweet wine, chocolate, and sweetmeats made the most delightful repast that could be enjoyed without thee. The servants were made to feel their lord was well; are at this instant toasting his health and bounty. While the boys are obeying thy dear commands, thy Theodosia flies to speak her heartfelt joy--her Aaron safe--mistress of the heart she adores, can she ask more? Has Heaven more to grant?"

What a pleasing picture of a happy family circle is this, and howrarely are the perils of a second marriage so completely overcome! Itwas in such a warm and pleasant nest as this that Theodosia Burrpassed the years of her childhood. 

Charles Lamb used to say that babies had no right to our regard merely_as_ babies, but that every child had a character of its own by whichit must stand or fall in the esteem of disinterested observers. Theodosia was a beautiful and forward child, formed to be the pet andpride of a household. "Your dear little Theo, " wrote her mother in herthird year, "grows the most engaging child you ever saw. It isimpossible to see her with indifference. " From her earliest years sheexhibited that singular fondness for her father which afterward becamethe ruling passion of her life, and which was to undergo the severesttests that filial affection has ever known. When she was but threeyears of age her mother would write: "Your dear little daughter seeksyou twenty times a day; calls you to your meals, and will not sufferyour chair to be filled by any of the family. " And again:

 "Your dear little Theodosia cannot hear you spoken of without an apparent melancholy; insomuch that her nurse is obliged to exert her invention to divert her, and myself avoid to mention you in her presence. She was one whole day indifferent to everything but your name. Her attachment is not of a common nature. "

Here was an inviting opportunity for developing an engaging infantinto that monstrous thing, a spoiled child. She was an only daughterin a family of which all the members but herself were adults, and thehead of which was among the busiest of men. 

But Aaron Burr, amidst all the toils of his profession, and in spiteof the distractions of political strife, made the education of hisdaughter the darling object of his existence. Hunters tell us thatpointers and hounds _inherit_ the instinct which renders them suchvaluable allies in the pursuit of game; so that the offspring of atrained dog acquires the arts of the chase with very littleinstruction. Burr's father was one of the most zealous and skillful ofschoolmasters, and from him he appears to have derived that pedagogiccast of character which led him, all his life, to take so muchinterest in the training of _protégés_. There was never a time in hiswhole career when he had not some youth upon his hands to whoseeducation he was devoted. His system of training, with many excellentpoints, was radically defective. Its defects are sufficientlyindicated when we say that It was pagan, not Christian. Plato, Socrates, Cato, and Cicero might have pronounced it good andsufficient: St. John, St. Augustine, and all the Christian host wouldhave lamented it as fatally defective. But if Burr educated his childas though she were a Roman girl, her mother was with her during thefirst eleven years of her life, to supply, in some degree, what waswanting in the instructions of her father. 

Burr was a stoic. He cultivated hardness. Fortitude and fidelity werehis favorite virtues. The seal which he used in his correspondencewith his intimate friends, and with them only, was descriptive of hischaracter and prophetic of his destiny. It was a Rock, solitary in themidst of a tempestuous ocean, and bore the inscription, "_Nee flatunee fluctu_"--neither by wind nor by wave. It was his principle tosteel himself against the inevitable evils of life. If we were askedto select from his writings the sentence which contains most of hischaracteristic way of thinking, it would be one which he wrote in histwenty-fourth year to his future wife: "That mind is truly great whichcan bear with equanimity the trifling and unavoidable vexations oflife, and be affected only by those which determine our substantialbliss. " He utterly despised all complaining, even of the greatestcalamities. He even experienced a kind of proud pleasure in enduringthe fierce obloquy of his later years. One day, near the close of hislife, when a friend had told him of some new scandal respecting hismoral conduct, he said: "That's right, my child, tell me what theysay. I like to know what the public say of me, --the _great_ public!"Such words he would utter without the slightest bitterness, speakingof the _great_ public as a humorous old grandfather might of awayward, foolish, good little child. 

So, at the dawn of a career which promised nothing but glory andprosperity, surrounded by all the appliances of ease and pleasure, hewas solicitous to teach his child to do and to endure. He would haveher accustomed to sleep alone, and to go about the house in the dark. Her breakfast was of bread and milk. He was resolute in exacting theless agreeable tasks, such as arithmetic. He insisted upon regularityof hours. Upon going away upon a journey he would leave written ordersfor her tutors, detailing the employments of each day; and, during hisabsence, a chief topic of his letters was the lessons of the children. _Children_, --for, that his Theodosia might have the advantage of acompanion in her studies, he adopted the little Natalie, a Frenchchild, whom he reared to womanhood in his house. "The letters of ourdear children, " he would write, "are a feast. To hear that they are employed, that no time is absolutely wasted, is the most flattering of anything that could be told me of them. It insures their affection, or is the best evidence of it. It insures in its consequences everything I am ambitious of in them. Endeavor to preserve regularity of hours; it conduces exceedingly to industry. "

And his wife would answer:

 "I really believe, my dear, that few parents can boast of children whose minds are so prone to virtue. I see the reward of our assiduity with inexpressible delight, with a gratitude few experience. My Aaron, they have grateful hearts. "

Or thus: "Theo [seven years old] ciphers from five in the morninguntil eight, and also the same hours in the evening. This prevents ourriding at those hours. "

When Theodosia was ten years old, Mary Wollstonecraft's eloquentlittle book, "A Vindication of the Eights of Woman, " fell into Burr'shands. He was so powerfully struck by it that he sat up nearly allnight reading it. He showed it to all his friends. "Is it owing toignorance or prejudice, " he wrote, "that I have not yet met a singleperson who had discovered, or would allow the merit of this work?" Thework, indeed, was fifty years in advance of the time; for itanticipated all that is rational in the opinions respecting theposition and education of women which are now held by the ladies whoare stigmatized as the Strong-minded, as well as by John Mill, HerbertSpencer, and other economists of the modern school. It demanded fairplay for the _understanding_ of women. It proclaimed the essentialequality of the sexes. It denounced the awful libertinism of that age, and showed that the-weakness, the ignorance, the vanity, and theseclusion of women prepared them to become the tool and minion of badmen's lust. It criticised ably the educational system of Rousseau, and, with still more severity, the popular works of bishops andpriests, who chiefly strove to inculcate an abject submission to manas the rightful lord of the sex. It demonstrated that the solepossibility of woman's elevation to the rank of man's equal and friendwas in the cultivation of her mind, and in the thoughtful discharge ofthe duties of her lot. It is a really noble and brave little book, undeserving of the oblivion into which it has fallen. No intelligentwoman, no wise parent with daughters to rear, could read it nowwithout pleasure and advantage. 

"Meekness, " she says, "may excite tenderness, and gratify the arrogant pride of man; but the lordly caresses of a protector will not gratify a noble mind that pants and deserves to be _respected_. Fondness is a poor substitute for friendship. .. A girl whose spirits have not been damped by inactivity, or innocence tainted by false shame, will always be a romp, and the doll will never excite attention unless confinement allows her no alternative Most of the women, in the circle of my observation, who have acted like rational creatures, have accidentally been allowed to run wild, as some of the elegant formers of the fair sex would insinuate Men have better tempers than women because they are occupied by pursuits that interest the _head_ as well as the heart. I never knew a weak or ignorant person who had a good temper Why are girls to be told that they resemble angels, but to sink them below women? They are told that they are only like angels when they are young and beautiful; consequently it is their persons, not their virtues, that procure them this homage It is in vain to attempt to keep the heart pure unless the head is furnished with ideas Would ye, O my sisters, really possess modesty, ye must remember that the possession of virtue, of any denomination, is incompatible with ignorance and vanity! Ye must acquire that soberness of mind which the exercise of duties and the pursuit of knowledge alone inspire, or ye will still remain in a doubtful, dependent situation, and only be, loved while ye are fair! The downcast eye, the rosy blush, the retiring grace, are all proper in their season; but modesty being the child of reason cannot long exist with the sensibility that is not tempered by reflection. .. . With what disgust have I heard sensible women speak of the wearisome confinement which they endured at school. Not allowed, perhaps, to step out of one broad path in a superb garden, and obliged to pace, with steady deportment, stupidly backward and forward, holding up their heads and turning out their toes, with shoulders braced back, instead of bounding forward, as Nature directs to complete her own design, in the various attitudes so conducive to health. The pure animal spirits, which make both mind and body shoot out and unfold the tender blossoms of hope, are turned sour and vented in vain wishes or pert repinings, that contract the faculties and. Spoil the temper; else they mount to the brain, and, sharpening the understanding before it gains proportionable strength, produce that pitiful cunning which disgracefully characterizes the female mind, --and, I fear, will ever characterize it while women remain the slaves of power. "

In the spirit of this book Theodosia's education was conducted. Hermind had fair play. Her father took it for granted that she couldlearn what a boy of the same age could learn, and gave her preciselythe advantages which he would have given a son. Besides the usualaccomplishments, French, music, dancing, and riding, she learned toread Virgil, Horace, Terence, Lucian, Homer, in the original. Sheappears to have read all of Terence and Lucian, a great part ofHorace, all the Iliad, and large portions of the Odyssey. "Cursedeffects, " exclaimed her father once, "of fashionable education, of which both sexes are the advocates, and yours eminently the victims. If I could foresee that Theo would become a mere fashionable woman, with all the attendant frivolity and vacuity of mind, adorned with whatever grace and allurement, I would earnestly pray God to take her forthwith hence. But I yet hope by her to convince the world what neither sex appears to believe, that women have souls. "

How faithfully, how skilfully he labored to kindle and nourish theintelligence of his child his letters to her attest. He was never toobusy to spare a half-hour in answering her letters. In a countrycourt-room, in the Senate-chamber, he wrote her brief and sprightlynotes, correcting her spelling, complimenting her style, reproving herindolence, praising her industry, commenting on her authors. Rigoroustaskmaster as he was, he had a strong sense of the value of justcommendation, and he continued to mingle praise very happily withreproof. A few sentences from his letters to her will serve to showhis manner. 

(In her tenth year. )--

 "I rose up suddenly from the sofa, and rubbing my head, 'What book shall I buy for her?' said I to myself. 'She reads so much and so rapidly that it is not easy to find proper and amusing French books for her; and yet I am so flattered with her progress in that language that I am resolved she shall, at all events, be gratified. Indeed I owe it to her. ' So, after walking once or twice briskly across the floor, I took my hat and sallied out, determined not to return till I had purchased something. It was not my first attempt. I went into one bookseller's shop after another. I found plenty of fairy tales and such nonsense, fit for the generality of children nine or ten years old. 'These, ' said I, 'will never do. Her understanding begins to be above such things'; but I could see nothing that I would offer with pleasure to an _intelligent, well-informed_ girl nine years old. I began to be discouraged. The hour of dining was come. 'But I will search a little longer, ' I persevered. At last I found it. I found the very thing I sought. It is contained in two volumes octavo, handsomely bound, and with prints and registers. It is a work of fancy, but replete with instruction and amusement. I must present it with my own hand. "

He advised her to keep a diary; and to give her an idea of what sheshould record, he wrote for her such a journal of one day as he shouldlike to receive. 

_Plan of the Journal_. --

 "Learned 230 lines, which finished Horace. Heigh-ho for Terence and the Greek Grammar to-morrow. Practised two hours less thirty-five minutes, which I begged off. Hewlett (dancing-master) did not come. Began Gibbon last evening. I find he requires as much study and attention as Horace; so I shall not rank the reading of _him_ among amusements. Skated an hour; fell twenty times, and find the advantage of a hard head. Ma better, --dined, with us at table, and is still sitting up and free from pain. "

She was remiss in keeping her journal; remiss, too, in writing to herfather, though he reminded her that he never let one of _her_ lettersremain unanswered a day. He reproved her sharply. "What!" said he, "can neither affection nor civility induce you to devote to me the small portion of time which I have required? Are authority and compulsion then the only engines by which you can be moved? For shame, Theo. Do not give me reason to think so ill of you. "

She reformed. In her twelfth year, her father wrote: "Io triumphe!there is not a word misspelled either in your journal or letter, whichcannot be said of one you ever wrote before. " And again:

 "When you want punctuality in your letters, I am sure you want it in everything; for you will constantly observe that you have the most leisure when you do the most business. Negligence of one's duty produces a self-dissatisfaction which unfits the mind for everything, and _ennui_ and peevishness are the never-failing consequence. "

His letters abound in sound advice. There is scarcely a passage inthem which the most scrupulous and considerate parent coulddisapprove. Theodosia heeded well his instructions. She became nearlyall that his heart or his pride desired. 

During the later years of her childhood, her mother was grievouslyafflicted with a cancer, which caused her death in 1794, beforeTheodosia had completed her twelfth year. From that time, such was theprecocity of her character, that she became the mistress of herfather's house and the companion of his leisure hours. Continuing herstudies, however, we find her in her sixteenth year translating Frenchcomedies, reading the Odyssey at the rate of two hundred lines a day, and about to begin the Iliad. "The happiness of my life, " writes herfather, "depends upon your exertions; for what else, for whom else, doI live?" And, later, when all the world supposed that his whole soulwas absorbed in getting New York ready to vote for Jefferson and Burr, he told her that the ideas of which _she_ was the subject that passeddaily through his mind would, if committed to writing, fill an octavovolume. 

Who so happy as Theodosia? Who so fortunate? The young ladies of NewYork, at the close of the last century, might have been pardoned forenvying the lot of this favorite child of one who then seemed thefavorite child of fortune. Burr had been a Senator of the UnitedStates as soon as he had attained the age demanded by theConstitution. As a lawyer he was second in ability and success to noman; in reputation, to none but Hamilton, whose services in theCabinet of General Washington had given him great celebrity. Agedmembers of the New York bar remember that Burr alone was theantagonist who could put Hamilton to his mettle. When other lawyerswere employed against him, Hamilton's manner was that of a man whofelt an easy superiority to the demands upon him; he took few notes;he was playful and careless, relying much upon the powerfuldeclamation of his summing up. But when Burr was in the case, --Burrthe wary, the vigilant, who was never careless, never inattentive, whocame into court only after an absolutely exhaustive preparation of hiscase, who held declamation in contempt, and knew how to quench itseffect by a stroke of polite satire, or the quiet citation of afact, --then Hamilton was obliged to have all his wits about him, andhe was observed to be restless, busy, and serious. There are now buttwo or three venerable men among us who remember the keen encountersof these two distinguished lawyers. The vividness of theirrecollection of those scenes of sixty years ago shows what animpression must have been made upon their youthful minds. 

If Hamilton and Burr divided equally between them the honors of thebar, Burr had the additional distinction of being a leader of therising Democratic Party; the party to which, at that day, the youth, the genius, the sentiment, of the country were powerfully drawn; theparty which, by his masterly tactics, was about to place Mr. Jeffersonin the Presidential chair after ten years of ineffectual struggle. 

All this enhanced the _éclat_ of Theodosia's position. As she rodeabout the island on her pony, followed at a respectful distance, asthe custom then was, by one of her father's slaves mounted on acoach-horse, doubtless many a fair damsel of the city repined at herown homelier lot, while she dwelt upon the many advantages whichnature and circumstances had bestowed upon this gifted and happymaiden. 

She was a beautiful girl. She inherited all her father's refinedbeauty of countenance; also his shortness of stature; the dignity, grace, and repose of his incomparable manner, too. She was a plump, petite, and rosy girl; but there was that in her demeanor which becamethe daughter of an affluent home, and a certain assured, indescribableexpression of face which seemed to say, Here is a maiden who to theobject of her affection could be faithful against an execratingworld, --faithful even unto death. 

Burr maintained at that time two establishments, one in the city, theother a mile and a half out of town on the banks of the Hudson. Richmond Hill was the name of his country seat, where Theodosiaresided during the later years of her youth. It was a large, massive, wooden edifice, with a lofty portico of Ionic columns, and stood on ahill facing the river, in the midst of a lawn adorned with ancienttrees and trained shrubbery. The grounds, which extended to thewater's edge, comprised about a hundred and sixty acres. Those who nowvisit the site of Burr's abode, at the corner of Charlton and Varickstreets, behold a wilderness of very ordinary houses covering a deadlevel. The hill has been pared away, the ponds filled up, the riverpushed away a long distance from the ancient shore, and every one ofthe venerable trees is gone. The city shows no spot less suggestive ofrural beauty. But Richmond Hill, in the days of Hamilton and Burr, wasthe finest country residence on the island of Manhattan. The wife ofJohn Adams, who lived there in 1790, just before Burr bought it, andwho had recently travelled in the loveliest counties of England, speaks of it as a situation not inferior in natural beauty to the mostdelicious spot she ever saw. "The house, " she says, "is situated upon an eminence; at an agreeable distance flows the noble Hudson, bearing upon its bosom the fruitful productions of the adjacent country. On my right hand are fields beautifully variegated with grass and grain, to a great extent, like the valley of Honiton, in Devonshire. Upon my left the city opens to view, intercepted here and there by a rising ground and an ancient oak. In front, beyond the Hudson, the Jersey shores present the exuberance of a rich, well-cultivated soil. The venerable oaks and broken ground, covered with wild shrubs, which surround me, give a natural beauty to the spot, which is truly enchanting. A lovely variety of birds serenade me morning and evening, rejoicing in their liberty and security; for I have, as much as possible, prohibited the grounds from invasion, and sometimes almost wished for game-laws, when my orders have not been sufficiently regarded. The partridge, the woodcock, and the pigeon are too great temptations to the sports-men to withstand. "

Indeed the whole Island was enchanting in those early days. There werepleasant gardens even in Wall Street, Cedar Street, Nassau Street; andthe Battery, the place of universal resort, was one of the mostdelightful public grounds in the world, --as it will be again when theSpoiler is thrust from the places of power, and the citizens of NewYork come again into the ownership of their city. The banks of theHudson and of the East River were forest-crowned bluffs, lofty andpicturesque, and on every favorable site stood a cottage or a mansionsurrounded with pleasant grounds. The letters of Theodosia Burrcontain many passages expressive of her intense enjoyment of thevariety, the vivid verdure, the noble trees, the heights, the prettylakes, the enchanting prospects, the beautiful gardens, which herdaily rides brought to her view. She was a dear lover of her islandhome. The city had not then laid waste the beauty of Manhattan. Therewas only one bank in New York, the officers of which shut the bank atone o'clock and went home to dinner, returned at three, and kept thebank open till five. Much of the business life of the town partook ofthis homely, comfortable, easy-going, rural spirit. There was a mailtwice a week to the North, and twice a week to the South, and many ofthe old-fashioned people had time to live. 

Not so the younger and newer portion of the population. We learn fromone of the letters of the ill-fated Blennerhassett, who arrived in NewYork from Ireland in 1796, that the people were so busy there inmaking new docks, filling in the swamps, and digging cellars for newbuildings, as to bring on an epidemic fever and ague that drove himfrom the city to the Jersey shore. He mentions, also, that land in theState doubled in value every two years, and that commercialspeculation was carried on with such avidity that it was more likegambling than trade. It is he that relates the story of theadventurer, who, on learning that the yellow-fever prevailed fearfullyin the West Indies, sent thither a cargo of coffins in nests, and, that no room might be lost, filled the smallest with gingerbread. Thespeculation, he assures us, was a capital hit; for the adventurer notonly sold his coffins very profitably, but loaded his vessel withvaluable woods, which yielded a great profit at New York. At thattime, also, the speculation in lots, corner lots, and lands near thecity, was prosecuted with all the recklessness which we have been inthe habit of supposing was peculiar to later times. New York was NewYork even in the days of Burr and Hamilton. 

As mistress of Richmond Hill, Theodosia entertained distinguishedcompany. Hamilton was her father's occasional guest. Burr preferredthe society of educated Frenchmen and Frenchwomen to any other, and heentertained many distinguished exiles of the French Revolution. Talleyrand, Volney, Jerome Bonaparte, and Louis Philippe were amonghis guests. Colonel Stone mentions, in his Life of Brant, thatTheodosia, in her fourteenth year, in the absence of her father, gavea dinner to that chieftain of the forest, which was attended by theBishop of New York, Dr. Hosack, Volney, and several other guests ofdistinction, who greatly enjoyed the occasion. Burr was gratified tohear with how much grace and good-nature his daughter acquittedherself in the entertainment of her company. The chief himself wasexceedingly delighted, and spoke of the dinner with great animationmany years after. 

We have one pleasant glimpse of Theodosia in these happy years, in atrifling anecdote preserved by the biographer of Edward Livingston, during whose mayoralty the present City Hall was begun. The mayor hadthe pleasure, one bright day, of escorting the young lady on board aFrench frigate lying in the harbor. "You must bring none of yoursparks on board, Theodosia, " exclaimed the pun-loving magistrate; "forthey have a magazine here, and we shall all be blown up. " Oblivionhere drops the curtain upon the gay party and the brilliant scene. 

A suitor appeared for the hand of this fair and accomplished girl. Itwas Joseph Alston of South Carolina, a gentleman of twenty-two, possessor of large estates in rice plantations and slaves, and a manof much spirit and talent. He valued his estates at two hundredthousand pounds sterling. Their courtship was not a long one; forthough she, as became her sex, checked the impetuosity of his advancesand argued for delay, she was easily convinced by the reasons which headduced for haste. She reminded him that Aristotle was of opinion thata man should not marry till he was thirty-six. "A fig for Aristotle, "he replied; "let us regard the _ipse dixit_ of no man. It is only wantof fortune or want of discretion, " he continued, "that could justifysuch a postponement of married joys. But suppose, " he added, "(_merely for instance_, ) a young man nearly two-and-twenty, already of the _greatest_ discretion, with an ample fortune, were to be passionately in love with a young lady almost eighteen, equally discreet with himself, and who had a 'sincere friendship' for him, do you think it would be necessary to make him wait till thirty? particularly where the friends on both sides were pleased with the match. "

She told him, also, that some of her friends who had visitedCharleston had described it as a city where the yellow-fever and the"yells of whipped negroes, which assail your ears from every house, "and the extreme heat, rendered life a mere purgatory. She had heard, too, that in South Carolina the men were absorbed in hunting, gaming, and racing; while the women, robbed of their society, had no pleasuresbut to come together in large parties, sip tea, and look prim. Theardent swain eloquently defended his native State:--

"What!" he exclaimed, "is Charleston, the most delightfully situated city in America, which, entirely open to the ocean, twice in every twenty-four hours is cooled by the refreshing sea-breeze, the Montpelier of the South, which annually affords an asylum to the planter and the West Indian from every disease, accused of heat and unhealthiness? But this is not all, unfortunate citizens of Charleston; the scream, the yell of the miserable unresisting African, bleeding under the scourge of relentless power, affords music to your ears! Ah! from what unfriendly cause does this arise? Has the God of heaven, in anger, here changed the order of nature? In every other region, without exception, in a similar degree of latitude, the same sun which ripens the tamarind and the anana, ameliorates the temper, and disposes it to gentleness and kindness. In India and other countries, not very different in climate from the southern parts of the United States, the inhabitants are distinguished for a softness and inoffensiveness of manners, degenerating almost to effeminacy; it is here then, only, that we are exempt from the general influence of climate: here only that, in spite of it, we are cruel and ferocious! Poor Carolina!"

And with regard to the manners of the Carolinians he assured the younglady that if there was one State in the Union which could justly claimsuperiority to the rest, in social refinement and the art of elegantliving, it was South Carolina, where the division of the people intothe very poor and the very rich left to the latter class abundantleisure for the pursuit of literature and the enjoyment of society. 

"The possession of slaves, " he owns, "renders them proud, impatient of restraint, and gives them a haughtiness of manner which, to those unaccustomed to them, is disagreeable; but we find among them a high sense of honor, a delicacy of sentiment, and a liberality of mind, which we look for in vain in the more commercial citizens of the Northern States. The genius of the Carolinian, like the inhabitants of all southern countries, is quick, lively, and acute; in steadiness and perseverance he is naturally inferior to the native of the North; but this defect of climate is often overcome by his ambition or necessity; and, whenever this happens, he seldom fails to distinguish himself. In his temper he is gay and fond of company, open, generous, and unsuspicious; easily irritated, and quick to resent even the appearance of insult; but his passion, like the fire of the flint, is lighted up and extinguished in the same moment. "

Such discussions end only in one way. Theodosia yielded the points indispute. At Albany, on the 2d of February, 1801, while the country wasringing with the names of Jefferson and Burr, and while the worldsupposed that Burr was intriguing with all his might to defeat thewishes of the people by securing his own election to the Presidency, his daughter was married. The marriage was thus announced in the NewYork _Commercial Advertiser_ of February 7:--

 "MARRIED. ---At Albany, on the 2d instant, by the Rev. Mr. JOHNSON, JOSEPH ALSTON, of South Carolina, to THEODOSIA BURR, only child of AARON BURR, Esq. "

They were married at Albany, because Colonel Burr, being a member ofthe Legislature, was residing at the capital of the State. One weekthe happy pair passed at Albany. Then to New York; whence, after a fewdays' stay, they began their long journey southward. Rejoined atBaltimore by Colonel Burr, they travelled in company to Washington, where, on the 4th of March, Theodosia witnessed the inauguration ofMr. Jefferson, and the induction of her father into theVice-Presidency. Father and child parted a day or two after theceremony. The only solid consolation, he said in his first letter toher, that he had for the loss of her dear companionship, was a beliefthat she would be happy, and the certainty that they should oftenmeet. And, on his return to New York, he told her that he hadapproached his home as he would "the sepulchre of all his friends. ""Dreary, solitary, comfortless. It was no longer _home_. " Hence hisvarious schemes of a second marriage, to which Theodosia urged him. Hesoon had the comfort of hearing that the reception of his daughter inSouth Carolina was as cordial and affectionate as his heart could havewished. 

Theodosia now enjoyed three as happy years as ever fell to the lot ofa young wife. Tenderly cherished by her husband, whom she devotedlyloved, caressed by society, surrounded by affectionate and admiringrelations, provided bountifully with all the means of enjoyment, living in the summer in the mountains of Carolina, or at the home ofher childhood, Richmond Hill, passing the winters in gay and luxuriousCharleston, honored for her own sake, for her father's, and herhusband's, the years glided rapidly by, and she seemed destined toremain to the last Fortune's favorite child. One summer she and herhusband visited Niagara, and penetrated the domain of the chieftainBrant, who gave them royal entertainment. Once she had the greathappiness of receiving her father under her own roof, and of seeingthe honors paid by the people of the State to the Vice-President. Again she spent a summer at Richmond Hill and Saratoga, leaving herhusband for the first time. She told him on this occasion that every_woman_ must prefer the society of the North to that of the South, whatever she might say. "If she denies it, she is set down in my mindas insincere and weakly prejudiced. " But, like a fond and loyal wife, she wrote, "Where you are, there is my country, and in you are centredall my wishes. "

She was a mother too. That engaging and promising boy, Aaron BurrAlston, the delight of his parents and of his grandfather, was born inthe second year of the marriage. This event seemed to complete herhappiness. For a time, it is true, she paid dearly for it by the lossof her former robust and joyous health. But the boy was worth theprice. "If I can see without prejudice, " wrote Colonel Burr, "therenever was a finer boy"; and the mother's letters are full of thosesweet, trifling anecdotes which mothers love to relate of theiroffspring. Her father still urged her to improve her mind, for her ownand her son's sake, telling her that all she could learn wouldnecessarily find its way to the mind of the boy. "Pray take in hand, "he writes, "some book which requires attention and study. You will, Ifear, lose the habit of study, which would be a greater misfortunethan to lose your head. " He praised, too, the ease, good-sense, andsprightliness of her letters, and said truly that her style, at itsbest, was not inferior to that of Madame de Sévigné. 

Life is frequently styled a checkered scene. But it was the peculiarlot of Theodosia to experience during the first twenty-one years ofher life nothing but prosperity and happiness, and during theremainder of her existence nothing but misfortune and sorrow. Neverhad her father's position seemed so strong and enviable as during histenure of the office of Vice-President; but never had it been inreality so hollow and precarious. Holding property valued at twohundred thousand dollars, he was so deeply in debt that nothing butthe sacrifice of his landed estate could save him from bankruptcy. Atthe age of thirty he had permitted himself to be drawn from alucrative and always increasing professional business to thefascinating but most costly pursuit of political honors. And now; whenhe stood at a distance of only one step from the highest place, he waspursued by a clamorous host of creditors, and compelled to resort to ahundred expedients to maintain the expensive establishments supposedto be necessary to a Vice-President's dignity. His political positionwas as hollow as his social eminence. Mr. Jefferson was firmlyresolved that Aaron Burr should not be his successor; and the greatfamilies of New York, whom Burr had united to win the victory overFederalism, were now united to bar the further advancement of a manwhom they chose to regard as an interloper and a parvenu. If Burr'sprivate life had been stainless, if his fortune had been secure, if hehad been in his heart a Republican and a Democrat, if he had been aman earnest in the people's cause, if even his talents had been assuperior as they were supposed to be, such a combination of powerfulfamilies and political influence might have retarded, but could nothave prevented, his advancement; for he was still in the prime of hisprime, and the people naturally side with a man who is the architectof his own fortunes. 

On the 1st of July, 1804, Burr sat in the library of Richmond Hillwriting to Theodosia. The day was unseasonably cold, and a fire blazedupon the hearth. The lord of the mansion was chilly and serious. Anhour before he had taken the step which made the duel with Hamiltoninevitable, though eleven days were to elapse before the actualencounter. He was tempted to prepare the mind of his child for theevent, but he forebore. Probably his mind had been wandering into thepast, and recalling his boyhood; for he quoted a line of poetry whichhe had been wont to use in those early days. "Some very wise man hassaid, " he wrote, "'Oh, fools, who think it solitude to be alone!'

"This is but poetry. Let us, therefore, drop the subject, lest it leadto another, on which I have imposed silence on myself. " Then heproceeds, in his usual gay and agreeable manner, again urging her togo on in the pursuit of knowledge. His last thoughts before going tothe field were with her and for her. His last request to her husbandwas that he should do all that in him lay to encourage her to improveher mind. 

The bloody deed was done. The next news Theodosia received from herfather was that he was a fugitive from the sudden abhorrence of hisfellow-citizens; that an indictment for murder was hanging over hishead; that his career in New York was, in all probability, overforever; and that he was destined to be for a time a wanderer on theearth. Her happy days were at an end. She never blamed her father forthis, or for any act of his; on the contrary, she accepted withoutquestioning his own version of the facts, and his own view of themorality of what he had done. He had formed her mind and tutored herconscience. He _was_ her conscience. But though she censured him not, her days and nights were embittered by anxiety from this time to thelast day of her life. A few months later her father, black withhundreds of miles of travel in an open canoe, reached her abode inSouth Carolina, and spent some weeks there before appearing for thelast time in the chair of the Senate; for, ruined as he was in fortuneand good name, indicted for murder in New York and New Jersey, he wasstill Vice-President of the United States, and he was resolved toreappear upon the public scene, and do the duty which the Constitutionassigned him. 

The Mexican scheme followed. Theodosia and her husband were bothinvolved in it. Mr. Alston advanced money for the project, which wasnever repaid, and which, in his will, he forgave. His entire loss, inconsequence of his connection with that affair, may be reckoned atabout fifty thousand dollars. Theodosia entirely and warmly approvedthe dazzling scheme. The throne of Mexico, she thought, was an objectworthy of her father's talents, and one which would repay him for theloss of a brief tenure of the Presidency, and be a sufficient triumphover the men who were supposed to have thwarted him. Her boy, too, --would he not be heir-presumptive to a throne?

The recent publication of the "Blennerhassett Papers" appears todispel all that remained of the mystery which the secretive Burr choseto leave around the object of his scheme. We can now say with almostabsolute certainty that Burr's objects were the following: The throneof Mexico for himself and his heirs; the seizure and organization ofTexas as preliminary to the grand design. The purchase of lands on theWashita was for the three-fold purpose of veiling the real object, providing a rendezvous, and having the means of tempting and rewardingthose of the adventurers who were not in the secret. We can also nowdiscover the designed distribution of honors and places: Aaron L, Emperor; Joseph Alston, Head of the Nobility and Chief Minister; AaronBurr Alston, heir to the throne; Theodosia, Chief Lady of the Courtand Empire; Wilkinson, General-in-Chief of the Army; Blennerhassett, Embassador to the Court of St. James; Commodore Truxton (perhaps), Admiral of the Navy. There is not an atom of new _evidence_ whichwarrants the supposition that Burr had any design to sever the WesternStates from the Union. If he himself had ever contemplated such anevent, it is almost unquestionable that his followers were ignorant ofit. 

The scheme exploded. Theodosia and her husband had joined him at thehome of the Blennerhassetts, and they were near him when thePresident's proclamation dashed the scheme to atoms, scattered theband of adventurers, and sent Burr a prisoner to Richmond, chargedwith high treason. Mr. Alston, in a public letter to the Governor ofSouth Carolina, solemnly declared that he was wholly ignorant of anytreasonable design on the part of his father-in-law, and repelled withhonest warmth the charge of his own complicity with a design somanifestly absurd and hopeless as that of a dismemberment of theUnion. Theodosia, stunned with the unexpected blow, returned with herhusband to South Carolina, ignorant of her father's fate. He wascarried through that State on his way to the North, and there it wasthat he made his well-known attempt to appeal to the civil authoritiesand get deliverance from the guard of soldiers. From Richmond he wroteher a hasty note, informing her of his arrest. She and her husbandjoined him soon, and remained with him during his trial. 

At Richmond, during the six months of the trial, Burr tasted the lastof the sweets of popularity. The party opposed to Mr. Jefferson madehis cause their own, and gathered round the fallen leader withostentatious sympathy and aid. Ladies sent him bouquets, wine, anddainties for his table, and bestowed upon his daughter the mostaffectionate and flattering attentions. Old friends from New York andnew friends from the West were there to cheer and help the prisoner. Andrew Jackson was conspicuously his friend and defender, declaimingin the streets upon the tyranny of the Administration and the perfidyof Wilkinson, Burr's chief accuser. Washington Irving, then in thedawn of his great renown, who had given the first efforts of hisyouthful pen to Burr's newspaper, was present at the trial, full ofsympathy for a man whom he believed to be the victim of treachery andpolitical animosity. Doubtless he was not wanting in compassionatehomage to the young matron from South Carolina. Mr. Irving was then alawyer, and had been retained as one of Burr's counsel; not to renderservice in the court-room, but in the expectation that his pen wouldbe employed in staying the torrent of public opinion that was settingagainst his client. Whether or not he wrote in his behalf does notappear. But his private letters, written at Richmond during the trial, show plainly enough that, if his head was puzzled by the confused andcontradictory evidence, his heart and his imagination were on the sideof the prisoner. 

Theodosia's presence at Richmond was of more value to her father thanthe ablest of his counsel. Every one appears to have loved, admired, and sympathized with her. "You can't think, " wrote Mrs. Blennerhassett, "with what joy and pride I read what Colonel Burr saysof his daughter. I never could love one of my own sex as I do her. "Blennerhassett himself was not less her friend. Luther Martin, Burr'schief counsel, almost worshipped her. "I find, " wrote Blennerhassett, "that Luther Martin's idolatrous admiration of Mrs. Alston is almost as excessive as my own, but far more beneficial to his interest and injurious to his judgment, as it is the medium of his blind attachment to her father, whose secrets and views, past, present, or to come, he is and wishes to remain ignorant of. Nor can he see a speck in the character or conduct of Alston, for the best of all reasons with him, namely, that Alston has such a wife. "

It plainly appears, too, from the letters and journal ofBlennerhassett, that Alston did all in his power to promote theacquittal and aid the fallen fortunes of Burr, and that he did so, notbecause he believed in him, but because he loved his Theodosia. 

Acquitted by the jury, but condemned at the bar of public opinion, denounced by the press, abhorred by the Republican party, and stillpursued by his creditors, Burr, in the spring of 1805, lay concealedat New York preparing for a secret flight to Europe. Again his devotedchild travelled northward to see him once more before he sailed. Forsome weeks both were in the city, meeting only by night at the houseof some tried friend, but exchanging notes and letters from hour tohour. One whole night they spent together, just before his departure. To her he committed his papers, the accumulation of thirty busy years;and it was she who was to collect the debts due him, and thus providefor his maintenance in Europe. 

Burr was gay and confident to the last, for he was strong in thebelief that the British Ministry would adopt his scheme and aid intearing Mexico from the grasp of Napoleon. Theodosia was sick andsorrowful, but bore bravely up and won her father's commendation forher fortitude. In one of the early days of June father and daughterparted, to meet no more on earth. 

The four years of Burr's fruitless exile were to Theodosia years ofmisery. She could not collect the debts on which they had relied. Theembargo reduced the rice-planters to extreme embarrassment. Herhusband no longer sympathized with her in her yearning love for herfather, though loving her as tenderly as ever. Old friends in New Yorkcooled toward her. Her health was precarious. Months passed withoutbringing a word from over the sea; and the letters that did reach her, lively and jovial as they were, contained no good news. She saw herfather expelled from England, wandering aimless in Sweden and Germany, almost a prisoner in Paris, reduced to live on potatoes and dry bread;while his own countrymen showed no signs of relenting toward him. Inmany a tender passage she praised his fortitude. "I witness, " shewrote, in a well-known letter, "your extraordinary fortitude with new wonder at every new misfortune. Often, after reflecting on this subject, you appear to me so superior, so elevated above all other men; I contemplate you with such a strange mixture of humility, admiration, reverence, love, and pride, that very little superstition would be necessary to make me worship you as a superior being; such enthusiasm does your character excite in me. When I afterward revert to myself, how insignificant do my best qualities appear! My vanity would be greater if I had not been placed so near you; and yet my pride is our relationship. I had rather not live than not be the daughter of such a man. "

Mr. Madison was President then. In other days her father had been onterms of peculiar intimacy with Madison and his beautiful andaccomplished wife. Burr, in his later years, used to say that it washe who had brought about the match which made Mrs. Madison an inmateof the Presidential mansion. With the members of Madison's Cabinet, too, he had been socially and politically familiar. When Theodosiaperceived that her father had no longer a hope of success in hisMexican project, she became anxious for his return to America. Butagainst this was the probability that the Administration would againarrest him and bring him to trial for the third time. Theodosiaventured to write to her old friend, Albert Gallatin, Secretary of theTreasury, asking him to interpose on her father's behalf. A letterstill more interesting than this has recently come to light. It wasaddressed by Theodosia to Mrs. Madison. The coldest heart cannot readthis eloquent and pathetic production without emotion. She writes:--

 "MADAM, --You may perhaps be surprised at receiving a letter from one with whom you have had so little intercourse for the last few years. But your surprise will cease when you recollect that my father, once your friend, is now in exile; and that the President only can restore him to me and his country. 

 "Ever since the choice of the people was first declared in favor of Mr. Madison, my heart, amid the universal joy, has beat with the hope that I, too, should soon have reason to rejoice. Convinced that Mr. Madison would neither feel nor judge from the feelings or judgment of others, I had no doubt of his hastening to relieve a man whose character he had been enabled to appreciate during a confidential intercourse of long continuance, and whom [he] must know incapable of the designs attributed to him. My anxiety on this subject, has, however, become too painful to be alleviated by anticipations which no events have yet tended to justify; and in this state of intolerable suspense I have determined to address myself to you, and request that you will, _in my name_, apply to the President for a removal of the prosecution now existing against AARON BURR. I still expect it from him as a man of feeling and candor, as one acting for the world and for posterity. 

 "Statesmen, I am aware, deem it necessary that sentiments of liberality, and even justice, should yield to considerations of policy; but what policy can require the absence of my father at present? Even had he contemplated the project for which he stands arraigned, evidently to pursue it any further would now be impossible. There is not left one pretext of alarm even to calumny; for bereft of fortune, of popular favor, and almost of friends, what could he accomplish? And whatever may be the apprehensions or the clamors of the ignorant and the interested, surely the timid, illiberal system which would sacrifice a man to a remote and unreasonable possibility that he might infringe some law founded on an unjust, unwarrantable suspicion that he would desire it, cannot be approved by Mr. Madison, and must be unnecessary to a President so loved, so honored. Why, then, is my father banished from a country for which he has encountered wounds and dangers and fatigue for years? Why is he driven from his friends, from an only child, to pass an unlimited time in exile, and that, too, at an age when others are reaping the harvest of past toils, or ought at least to be providing seriously for the comfort of ensuing years? I do not seek to soften you by this recapitulation. I only wish to remind you of all the injuries which are inflicted on one of the first characters the United States ever produced. 

 "Perhaps it may be well to assure you there is no truth in a report lately circulated, that my father intends returning immediately. He never will return to conceal himself in a country on which he has conferred distinction. 

 "To whatever fate Mr. Madison may doom this application, I trust it will be treated with delicacy. Of this I am the more desirous as Mr. Alston is ignorant of the step I have taken in writing to you, which, perhaps, nothing could excuse but the warmth of filial affection. If it be an error, attribute it to the indiscreet zeal of a daughter whose soul sinks at the gloomy prospect of a long and indefinite separation from a father almost adored, and who can leave unattempted nothing which offers the slightest hope of procuring him redress. What, indeed, would I not risk once more to see him, to hang upon him, to place my child on his knee, and again spend my days in the happy occupation of endeavoring to anticipate all his wishes. 

 "Let me entreat, my dear Madam, that you will have the consideration and goodness to answer me as speedily as possible; my heart is sore with doubt and patient waiting for something definitive. No apologies are made for giving you this trouble, which I am sure you will not deem irksome to take for a daughter, an affectionate daughter, thus situated. Inclose your letter for me to A. J. Frederic Prevost, Esq. , near New Rochelle, New York. 

 "That every happiness may attend you, "Is the sincere wish of

 "THEO. BURR ALSTON. "

This letter was probably not ineffectual. Certain it is thatgovernment offered no serious obstacle to Burr's return, andinstituted no further proceedings against him. Probably, too, Theodosia received some kind of assurance to this effect, for we findher urging her father, not only to return, but to go boldly to NewYork among his old friends, and resume there the practice of hisprofession. The great danger to be apprehended was from his creditors, who then had power to confine a debtor within limits, if not to throwhim into prison. "_If the worst comes to the worst_" wrote this fondand devoted daughter, "_I will leave everything to suffer with you_. "The Italics are her own. 

He came at length. He landed in Boston, and sent word of his arrivalto Theodosia. Rejoiced as she was, she replied vaguely, partly incipher, fearing lest her letter might be opened on the way, and thesecret of her father's arrival be prematurely disclosed. She told himthat her own health was tolerable; that her child, then a fine boy ofeleven, was well; that "his little soul warmed at the sound of hisgrandfather's name"; and that his education, under a competent tutor, was proceeding satisfactorily. She gave directions respecting herfather's hoped-for journey to South Carolina in the course of thesummer; and advised him, in case war should be declared with England, to offer his services to the government. He reached New York in May, 1812, and soon had the pleasure of informing his daughter that hisreception had been more friendly than he could have expected, and thatin time his prospects were fair of a sufficiently lucrative practice. 

Surely, now, after so many years of anxiety and sorrow, Theodosia--still a young woman, not thirty years of age, stillenjoying her husband's love---might have reasonably expected a happylife. Alas! there was no more happiness in store for her on this sideof the grave. The first letter which Burr received from his son-in-lawafter his arrival in New York contained news which struck him to theheart. 

"A few miserable weeks since, " writes Mr. Alston, "and in spite of allthe embarrassments, the troubles, and disappointments which havefallen to our lot since we parted, I would have congratulated you onyour return in the language of happiness. With my wife on one side andmy boy on the other, I felt myself superior to depression. The presentwas enjoyed, the future was anticipated with enthusiasm. One dreadfulblow has destroyed us; reduced us to the veriest, the most sublimatedwretchedness. That boy, on whom all rested, --our companion, ourfriend, --he who was to have transmitted down the mingled blood ofTheodosia and myself, --he who was to have redeemed all your glory, andshed new lustre upon our families, --that boy, at once our happinessand our pride, is taken from us, --_is dead_. We saw him dead. My ownhand surrendered him to the grave; yet we are alive. But it is past. Iwill not conceal from you that life is a burden, which, heavy as itis, we shall both support, if not with dignity, at least with decencyand firmness. Theodosia has endured all that a human being couldendure; but her admirable mind will triumph. She supports herself in amanner worthy of your daughter. "

The mother's heart was almost broken. 

"There is no more joy for me, " she wrote. 

 "The world is a blank. I have lost my boy. My child is gone forever. May Heaven, by other blessings, make you some amends for the noble grandson you have lost! Alas! my dear father, I do live, but how does it happen? Of what am I formed that I live, and why? Of what service can I be in this world, either to you or any one else, with a body reduced to premature old age, and a mind enfeebled and bewildered? Yet, since it is my lot to live, I will endeavor to fulfil my part, and exert myself to my utmost, though this life must henceforth be to me a bed of thorns. Whichever way I turn, the same anguish still assails me. You talk of consolation. Ah! you know not what you have lost. I think Omnipotence could give me no equivalent for my boy; no, none, --none. "

She could not be comforted. Her health gave way. Her husband thoughtthat if anything could restore her to tranquillity and health it wouldbe the society of her father; and so, at the beginning of winter, itwas resolved that she should attempt the dangerous voyage. Her fathersent a medical friend from New York to attend her. 

"Mr. Alston, " wrote this gentleman, "seemed rather hurt that you should conceive it necessary to send a person here, as he or one of his brothers would attend Mrs. Alston to New York. I told him you had some opinion of my medical talents; that you had learned your daughter was in a low state of health, and required unusual attention, and medical attention on her voyage; that I had torn myself from my family to perform this service for my friend. "

And again, a few days after:--

 "I have engaged a passage to New York for your daughter in a pilot-boat that has been out privateering, but has come in here, and is refitting merely to get to New York. My only fears are that Governor Alston may think the mode of conveyance too undignified, and object to it; but Mrs. Alston is fully bent on going. You must not be surprised, to see her very low, feeble, and emaciated. Her complaint is an almost incessant nervous fever. "

The rest is known. The vessel sailed. Off Cape Hatteras, during a galethat swept the coast from Maine to Georgia, the pilot-boat went down, and not one escaped to tell the tale. The vessel was never heard ofmore. So perished this noble, gifted, ill-starred lady. 

The agonizing scenes that followed may be imagined. Father and husbandwere kept long in suspense. Even when many weeks had elapsed withoutbringing tidings of the vessel, there still remained a forlorn hopethat some of her passengers might have been rescued by anoutward-bound ship, and might return, after a year or two had gone by, from some distant port. Burr, it is said, acquired a habit, whenwalking upon the Battery, of looking wistfully down the harbor at thearriving ships, as if still cherishing a faint, fond hope that hisTheo was coming to him from the other side of the world. When, yearsafter, the tale was brought to him that his daughter had been carriedoff by pirates and might be still alive, he said: "No, no, no; if myTheo had survived that storm, she would have found her way to me. Nothing could have kept my Theo from her father. "

It was these sad events, the loss of his daughter and her boy, thatsevered Aaron Burr from the human race. Hope died within him. Ambitiondied. He yielded to his doom, and walked among men, not melancholy, but indifferent, reckless, and alone. With his daughter and hisgrandson to live and strive for, he might have done something in hislater years to redeem his name and atone for his errors. Bereft ofthese, he had not in his moral nature that which enables men who havegone astray to repent and begin a better life. 

Theodosia's death broke her husband's heart. Few letters are soaffecting as the one which he wrote to Burr when, at length, thecertainty of her loss could no longer be resisted. 

 "My boy--my wife--gone both! This, then, is the end of all the hopes we had formed. You may well observe that you feel severed from the human race. She was the last tie that bound us to the species. What have we left? . .. Yet, after all, he is a poor actor who cannot sustain his little hour upon the stage, be his part what it may. But the man who has been deemed worthy of the heart of _Theodosia Burr_, and who has felt what it was to be blessed with such a woman's, will never forget his elevation. "

He survived his wife four years. Among the papers of Theodosia wasfound, after her death, a letter which she had written a few yearsbefore she died, at a time when she supposed her end was near. Uponthe envelope was written, --"My husband. To be delivered after mydeath. I wish this to be read _immediately_, and before my burial. "Her husband never saw it, for he never had the courage to look intothe trunk that contained her treasures. But after his death the trunkwas sent to Burr, who found and preserved this affecting composition. We cannot conclude our narrative more fitly than by transcribing thethoughts that burdened the heart of Theodosia in view of her departurefrom the world. First, she gave directions respecting the disposal ofher jewelry and trinkets, giving to each of her friends some token ofher love. Then she besought her husband to provide at once for thesupport of "Peggy, " an aged servant of her father, formerlyhousekeeper at Richmond Hill, to whom, in her father's absence, shehad contrived to pay a small pension. She then proceeded in theseaffecting terms:--

 "To you, my beloved, I leave our child; the child of my bosom, who was once a part of myself, and from whom I shall shortly be separated by the cold grave. You love him now; henceforth love him for me also. And oh, my husband, attend to this last prayer of a doting mother. Never, never listen to what any other person tells you of him. Be yourself his judge on all occasions. He has faults; see them, and correct them yourself. Desist not an instant from your endeavors to secure his confidence. It is a work which requires as much uniformity of conduct as warmth of affection toward him. I know, my beloved, that you can perceive what is right on this subject as on every other. But recollect, these are the last words I can ever utter. It will tranquillize my last moments to have disburdened myself of them. 

 "I fear you will scarcely be able to read this scrawl, but I feel hurried and agitated. Death is not welcome to me. I confess it is ever dreaded. You have made me too fond of life. Adieu, then, thou kind, thou tender husband. Adieu, friend of my heart. May Heaven prosper you, and may we meet hereafter. Adieu; perhaps we may never see each other again in this world. You are away, I wished to hold you fast, and prevented you from going this morning. But He who is wisdom itself ordains events; we must submit to them. Least of all should I murmur. I, on whom so many blessings have been showered, --whose days have been numbered by bounties, --who have had such a husband, such a child, and such a father. O pardon me, my God, if I regret leaving these. I resign myself. Adieu, once more, and for the last time, my beloved. Speak of me often to our son. Let him love the memory of his mother, and let him know how he was loved by her. Your wife, your fond wife, "THEO. 

 "Let my father see my son sometimes. Do not be unkind toward him whom I have loved so much, I beseech you. Burn all my papers except my father's letters, which I beg you to return him. Adieu, my sweet boy. Love your father; be grateful and affectionate to him while he lives; be the pride of his meridian, the support of his departing days. Be all that he wishes; for he made your mother happy. Oh! my heavenly Father, bless them both. If it is permitted, I will hover round you, and guard you, and intercede for you. I hope for happiness in the next world, for I have not been bad in this. 

 "I had nearly forgotten to say that I charge you not to allow me to be stripped and washed, as is usual. I am pure enough thus to return to dust. Why, then, expose my person? Pray see to this. If it does not appear contradictory or silly, I beg to be kept as long as possible before I am consigned to the earth. "

JOHN JACOB ASTOR. 

We all feel some curiosity respecting men who have been eminent inanything, --even in crime; and as this curiosity is natural anduniversal, it seems proper that it should be gratified. JOHN JACOBASTOR, surpassed all the men of his generation in the accumulation ofwealth. He began life a poor, hungry German boy, and died worth twentymillions of dollars. These facts are so remarkable, that there is noone who does not feel a desire to know by which means the result wasproduced, and whether the game was played fairly. We all wish, if notto be rich, yet to have more money than we now possess. We have knownmany kinds of men, but never one who felt that he had quite moneyenough. The three richest men now living in the United States areknown to be as much interested in the increase of their possessions, and try as hard to increase them, as ever they did. 

This universal desire to accumulate property is right, and necessaryto the progress of the race. Like every other proper and virtuousdesire, it may become excessive, and then it is a vice. So long as aman seeks property honestly, and values it as the means ofindependence, as the means of educating and comforting his family, asthe means of securing a safe, dignified, and tranquil old age, as themeans of private charity and public beneficence, let him bend himselfheartily to his work, and enjoy the reward of his labors. It is a fineand pleasant thing to prosper in business, and to have a store to fallback upon in time of trouble. 

The reader may learn from Astor's career how money is accumulated. Whether he can learn from it how money ought to be employed when it isobtained, he must judge for himself. In founding the Astor Library, John Jacob Astor did at least one magnificent deed, for whichthousands unborn will honor his memory. That single act would atonefor many errors. 

In the hall of the Astor Library, on the sides of two of the pillarssupporting its lofty roof of glass, are two little shelves, eachholding a single work, never taken down and seldom perused, butnevertheless well worthy the attention of those who are curious in thesubject of which they treat, namely, the human face divine. They aretwo marble busts, facing each other; one of the founder of theLibrary, the other of its first President, Washington Irving. A finerstudy in physiognomy than these two busts present can nowhere befound; for never were two men more unlike than Astor and Irving, andnever were character and personal history more legibly recorded thanin these portraits in marble. The countenance of the author is round, full, and handsome, the hair inclining to curl, and the chin todouble. It is the face of a happy and genial man, formed to shine atthe fireside and to beam from the head of a table. It is an open, candid, liberal, hospitable countenance, indicating far more power toplease than to compel, but displaying in the position and carriage ofthe head much of that dignity which we are accustomed to call Roman. The face of the millionaire, on the contrary, is all strength; everyline in it tells of concentration and power. The hair is straight andlong; the forehead neither lofty nor ample, but powerfully developedin the perceptive and executive organs; the eyes deeper set in thehead than those of Daniel Webster, and overhung with immense bushyeyebrows; the nose large, long, and strongly arched, the veritablenose of a man-compeller; the mouth, chin, and jaws all denotingfirmness and force; the chest, that seat and throne of physical power, is broad and deep, and the back of the neck has something of themuscular fulness which we observe in the prize-fighter and the bull;the head behind the ears showing enough of propelling power, butalmost totally wanting in the passional propensities which waste theforce of the faculties, and divert the man from his principal object. As the spectator stands midway between the two busts, at some distancefrom both, Irving has the larger and the kinglier air, and the face ofAstor seems small and set. It is only when you get close to the bustof Astor, observing the strength of each feature and its perfectproportion to the rest, --force everywhere, superfluity nowhere, --thatyou recognize the monarch of the counting-room; the brain whichnothing could confuse or disconcert; the purpose that nothing coulddivert or defeat; the man who could with ease and pleasure grasp andcontrol the multitudinous concerns of a business that embraced thehabited and unhabited globe, --that employed ships in every sea, andmen in every clime, and brought in to the coffers of the merchant therevenue of a king. That speechless bust tells us how it was that thisman, from suffering in his father's poverty-stricken house thehabitual pang of hunger, arrived at the greatest fortune, perhaps, ever accumulated in a single lifetime; you perceive that whateverthing this strong and compact man set himself to do, he would becertain to achieve unless stopped by something as powerful as a law ofnature. 

The monument of these two gifted men is the airy and graceful interiorof which their busts are the only ornament. Astor founded the Library, but it was probably his regard for Irving that induced him toappropriate part of his wealth for a purpose not in harmony with hisown humor. Irving is known to us all, as only wits and poets are everknown. But of the singular being who possessed so remarkable a geniusfor accumulation, of which this Library is one of the results, littlehas been imparted to the public, and of that little the greater partis fabulous. 

A hundred years ago, in the poor little village of Waldorf, in theduchy of Baden, lived a jovial, good-for-nothing butcher, named JacobAstor, who felt himself much more at home in the beer-house than atthe fireside of his own house in the principal street of the village. At the best, the butcher of Waldorf must have been a poor man; for, atthat day, the inhabitants of a German village enjoyed the luxury offresh meat only on great days, such as those of confirmation, baptism, weddings, and Christmas. 

The village itself was remote and insignificant, and though situatedin the valley of the Rhine, the native home of the vine, a region ofproverbial fertility, the immediate vicinity of Waldorf was not a richor very populous country. The home of Jacob Astor, therefore, seldomknew any medium between excessive abundance and extreme scarcity, andhe was not the man to make the superfluity of to-day provide for theneed of to-morrow; which was the more unfortunate as the periods ofabundance were few and far between, and the times of scarcity extendedover the greater part of the year. It was the custom then in Germanyfor every farmer to provide a fatted pig, calf, or bullock, againstthe time of harvest; and as that joyful season approached, the villagebutcher went the round of the neighborhood, stopping a day or two ateach house to kill the animals and convert their flesh into bacon, sausages, or salt beef. During this happy time, Jacob Astor, a merrydog, always welcome where pleasure and hilarity were going forward, had enough to drink, and his family had enough to eat. But the merrytime lasted only six weeks. Then set in the season of scarcity, whichwas only relieved when there was a festival of the church, a wedding, a christening, or a birthday in some family of the village rich enoughto provide an animal for Jacob's knife. The wife of this idle andimprovident butcher was such a wife as such men usually contrive topick up, --industrious, saving, and capable; the mainstay of his house. Often she remonstrated with her wasteful and beer-loving husband; thedomestic sky was often overcast, and the children were glad to flyfrom the noise and dust of the tempest. 

This roistering village butcher and his worthy, much-enduring wifewere the parents of our millionaire. They had four sons: George PeterAstor, born in 1752; Henry Astor, born in 1754; John Melchior Astor, born in 1759; and John Jacob Astor, born July 17, 1763. Each of thesesons made haste to fly from the privations and contentions of theirhome as soon as they were old enough; and, what is more remarkable, each of them had a cast of character precisely the opposite of theirthriftless father. They were all saving, industrious, temperate, andenterprising, and all of them became prosperous men at an early periodof their career. They were all duly instructed in their father'strade; each in turn carried about the streets of Waldorf the basket ofmeat, and accompanied the father in his harvest slaughtering tours. Jovial Jacob, we are told, gloried in being a butcher, but three ofhis sons, much to his disgust, manifested a repugnance to it, whichwas one of the causes of their flight from the parental nest. Theeldest, who was the first to go, made his way to London, where anuncle was established in business as a maker of musical instruments. Astor and Broadwood was the name of the firm, a house that stillexists under the title of Broadwood and Co. , one of the most notedmakers of pianos in England. In his uncle's manufactory George Astorserved an apprenticeship, and became at length a partner in the firm. Henry Astor went next. He alone of his father's sons took to hisfather's trade. It used to be thrown in his teeth, when he was athriving butcher in the city of New York, that he had come over toAmerica as a private in the Hessian army. This may only have been thegroundless taunt of an envious rival. It is certain, however, that hewas a butcher in New York when it was a British post during therevolutionary war, and, remaining after the evacuation, made a largefortune in his business. The third son, John Melchior Astor, foundemployment in Germany, and arrived, at length, at the profitable postof steward to a nobleman's estate. 

Abandoned thus by his three brothers, John Jacob Astor had to endurefor some years a most cheerless and miserable lot. He lost his mother, too, from whom he had derived all that was good in his character andmost of the happiness of his childhood. A step-mother replaced her, "who loved not Jacob, " nor John Jacob. The father, still devoted topleasure, quarrelled so bitterly with his new wife, that his son wasoften glad to escape to the house of a schoolfellow (living in 1854), where he would pass the night in a garret or outhouse, thankfullyaccepting for his supper a crust of dry bread, and returning the nextmorning to assist in the slaughter-house or carry out the meat. It wasnot often that he had enough to eat; his clothes were of the poorestdescription; and, as to money, he absolutely had none of it. Theunhappiness of his home and the misconduct of his father made himashamed to join in the sports of the village boys; and he passed muchof his leisure alone, brooding over the unhappiness of his lot. Thefamily increased, but not its income. It is recorded of him that hetended his little sisters with care and fondness, and sought in allways to lessen the dislike and ill-humor of his step-mother. 

It is not hardship, however, that enervates a lad. It is indulgenceand luxury that do that. He grew a stout, healthy, tough, and patientboy, diligent and skilful in the discharge of his duty, oftensupplying the place of his father absent in merry-making. If, in laterlife, he overvalued money, it should not be forgotten that few menhave had a harder experience of the want of money at the age whencharacter is forming. 

The bitterest lot has its alleviations. Sometimes a letter would reachhim from over the sea, telling of the good fortune of a brother in adistant land. In his old age he used to boast that in his boyhood hewalked forty-five miles in one day for the sole purpose of getting aletter that had arrived from England or America. The Astors havealways been noted for the strength of their family affection. Ourmillionaire forgot much that he ought to have remembered, but he wasnot remiss in fulfilling the obligations of kindred. 

It appears, too, that he was fortunate in having a better schoolmasterthan could generally be found at that day in a village school ofGermany. Valentine Jeune was his name, a French Protestant, whoseparents had fled from their country during the reign of Louis XIV. Hewas an active and sympathetic teacher, and bestowed unusual pains uponthe boy, partly because he pitied his unhappy situation, and partlybecause of his aptitude to learn. Nevertheless, the school routine ofthose days was extremely limited. To read and write, to cipher as faras the Rule of Three, to learn the Catechism by heart, and to sing theChurch Hymns "so that the windows should rattle, "--these were the soleaccomplishments of even the best pupils of Valentine Jeune. Baden wasthen under the rule of a Catholic family. It was a saying in Waldorfthat no man could be appointed a swineherd who was not a Catholic, andthat if a mayoralty were vacant the swineherd must have the place ifthere were no other Catholic in the town. Hence it was that the linewhich separated the Protestant minority from the Catholic majority wassharply defined, and the Protestant children were the more thoroughlyindoctrinated. Rev. John Philip Steiner, the Protestant pastor ofWaldorf, a learned and faithful minister, was as punctilious inrequiring from the children the thorough learning of the Catechism asa German sergeant was in exacting all the niceties of the parade. Young Astor became, therefore, a very decided Protestant; he lived anddied a member of the Church in which he was born. 

The great day in the life of a German child is that of hisconfirmation, which usually occurs in his fourteenth year. Theceremony, which was performed at Waldorf every two years, was afestival at once solemn and joyous. The children, long preparedbeforehand by the joint labors of minister, schoolmaster, and parents, walk in procession to the church, the girls in white, the boys intheir best clothes, and there, after the requisite examinations, therite is performed, and the Sacrament is administered. The dayconcludes with festivity. Confirmation also is the point of divisionbetween childhood and youth, --between absolute dependence and thebeginning of responsibility. After confirmation, the boys of a Germanpeasant take their place in life as apprentices or as servants; andthe girls, unless their services are required at home, are placed insituations. Childhood ends, maturity begins, when the child has tastedfor the first time the bread and wine of the Communion. Whether a boythen becomes an apprentice or a servant depends upon whether hisparents have been provident enough to save a sum of money sufficientto pay the usual premium required by a master as compensation for histrouble in teaching his trade. This premium varied at that day fromfifty dollars to two hundred, according to the difficulty andrespectability of the vocation. A carpenter or a blacksmith might besatisfied with a premium of sixty or seventy dollars, while acabinet-maker would demand a hundred, and a musical instrument makeror a clock-maker two hundred. 

On Palm Sunday, 1777, when he was about fourteen years of age, JohnJacob Astor was confirmed. He then consulted his father upon hisfuture. Money to apprentice him there was none in the paternalcoffers. The trade of butcher he knew and disliked. Nor was heinclined to accept as his destiny for life the condition of servant orlaborer. The father, who thought the occupation of butcher one of thebest in the world, and who needed the help of his son, particularly inthe approaching season of harvest, paid no heed to the entreaties ofthe lad, who saw himself condemned without hope to a business which heloathed, and to labor at it without reward. 

A deep discontent settled upon him. The tidings of the good fortune ofhis brothers inflamed his desire to seek his fortune in the world. Thenews of the Revolutionary War, which drew all eyes upon America, andin which the people of all lands sympathized with the strugglingcolonies, had its effect upon him. He began to long for the "NewLand, " as the Germans then styled America; and it is believed inWaldorf that soon after the capture of Burgoyne had spread abroad aconfidence in the final success of the colonists, the youth formed thesecret determination to emigrate to America. Nevertheless, he had towait three miserable years longer, until the surrender of Cornwallismade it certain that America was to be free, before he was able toenter upon the gratification of his desire. 

In getting to America, he displayed the same sagacity in adaptingmeans to ends that distinguished him during his business career in NewYork. Money he had never had in his life, beyond a few silver coins ofthe smallest denomination. His father had none to give him, even if hehad been inclined to do so. It was only when the lad was evidentlyresolved to go that he gave a slow, reluctant consent to hisdeparture. Waldorf is nearly three hundred miles from the seaport inHolland most convenient for his purpose. Despite the difficulties, this penniless youth formed the resolution of going down the Rhine toHolland, there taking ship for London, where he would join hisbrother, and, while earning money for his passage to America, learnthe language of the country to which he was destined. It appears thathe dreaded more the difficulties of the English tongue than he didthose of the long and expensive journey; but he was resolved not tosail for America until he had acquired the language, and saved alittle money beyond the expenses of the voyage. It appears, also, thatthere prevailed in Baden the belief that Americans were exceedinglyselfish and inhospitable, and regarded the poor emigrant only in thelight of prey. John Jacob was determined not to land among such apeople without the means of understanding their tricks and paying hisway. In all ways, too, he endeavored to get a knowledge of the countryto which he was going. 

With a small bundle of clothes hung over his shoulder upon a stick, with a crown or two in his pocket, he said the last farewell to hisfather and his friends, and set out on foot for the Rhine, a few milesdistant. Valentine Jeune, his old schoolmaster, said, as the lad waslost to view: "I am not afraid of Jacob; he '11 get through the world. He has a clear head and everything right behind the ears. " He was thena stout, strong lad of nearly seventeen, exceedingly well made, thoughslightly undersized, and he had a clear, composed, intelligent look inthe eyes, which seemed to ratify the prediction of the schoolmaster. He strode manfully out of town, with tears in his eyes and a sob inhis throat, --for he loved his father, his friends, and his nativevillage, though his lot there had been forlorn enough. While still insight of Waldorf, he sat down under a tree and thought of the futurebefore him and the friends he had left. He there, as he used to relatein after-life, made three resolutions: to be honest, to beindustrious, and not to gamble, --excellent resolutions, as far as theygo. Having sat awhile under the tree, he took up his bundle andresumed his journey with better heart. 

It was by no means the intention of this sagacious youth to walk allthe way to the sea-coast. There was a much more convenient way at thattime of accomplishing the distance, even to a young man with only twodollars in his pocket. The Black Forest is partly in Astor's nativeBaden. The rafts of timber cut in the Black Forest, instead offloating down the Rhine in the manner practised in America, used to berowed by sixty or eighty men each, who were paid high wages, as thelabor was severe. 

Large numbers of stalwart emigrants availed themselves of this mode ofgetting from the interior to the sea-coast, by which they earned theirsubsistence on the way and about ten dollars in money. The traditionin Waldorf is, that young Astor worked his passage down the Rhine, andearned his passage-money to England as an oarsman on one of theserafts. Hard as the labor was, the oarsmen had a merry time of it, cheering their toil with jest and song by night and day. On thefourteenth day after leaving home, our youth found himself at a Dutchseaport, with a larger sum of money than he had ever before possessed. He took passage for London, where he landed a few days after, in totalignorance of the place and the language. His brother welcomed him withGerman warmth, and assisted him to procure employment, --probably inthe flute and piano manufactory of Astor and Broadwood. 

As the foregoing brief account of the early life of John Jacob Astordiffers essentially from any previously published in the UnitedStates, it is proper that the reader should be informed of the sourceswhence we have derived information so novel and unexpected. Theprincipal source is a small biography of Astor published in Germanyabout ten years ago, written by a native of Baden, a Lutheranclergyman, who gathered his material in Waldorf, where were thenliving a few aged persons who remembered Astor when he was a sad andsolitary lad in his father's disorderly house. The statements of thislittle book are confirmed by what some of the surviving friends anddescendants of Mr. Astor in New York remember of his own conversationrespecting his early days. He seldom spoke of his life in Germany, though he remembered his native place with fondness, revisited it inthe time of his prosperity, pensioned his father, and forgot notWaldorf in his will; but the little that he did say of his youthfulyears accords with the curious narrative in the work to which we havealluded. We believe the reader may rely on our story as beingessentially true. 

Astor brought to London, according to our quaint Lutheran, "a pious, true, and godly spirit, a clear understanding, a sound youthfulelbow-grease, and the wish to put it to good use. " During the twoyears of his residence in the British metropolis, he strove mostassiduously for three objects: 1. To save money; 2. To acquire theEnglish language; 3. To get information respecting America. Much tohis relief and gratification, he found the acquisition of the languageto be the least of his difficulties. Working in a shop with Englishmechanics, and having few German friends, he was generally dependentupon the language of the country for the communication of his desires;and he was as much surprised as delighted to find how many points ofsimilarity there were between the two languages. In about six weeks, he used to say, he could make himself understood a little in English, and long before he left London he could speak it fluently. He neverlearned to write English correctly in his life, nor could he everspeak it without a decided German accent; but he could always expresshis meaning with simplicity and force, both orally and in writing. Trustworthy information respecting America, in the absence of maps, gazetteers, and books of travel, was more difficult to procure. Theordinary Englishman of that day regarded America with horror orcontempt as perverse and rebellious colonies, making a great to-doabout a paltry tax, and giving "the best of kings" a world of troublefor nothing. He probably heard little of the thundering eloquence withwhich Fox, Pitt, Burke, and Sheridan were nightly defending theAmerican cause in the House of Commons, and assailing the infatuationof the Government in prosecuting a hopeless war. As often, however, asour youth met with any one who had been in America, he plied him withquestions, and occasionally he heard from his brother in New York. Henry Astor was already established, as a butcher on his own account, wheeling home in a wheelbarrow from Bull's Head his slender purchasesof sheep and calves. But the great difficulty of John Jacob in Londonwas the accumulation of money. Having no trade, his wages werenecessarily small. Though he rose with the lark, and was at work asearly as five in the morning, --though he labored with all his might, and saved every farthing that he could spare, --it was two years beforehe had saved enough for his purpose. In September, 1783, he possesseda good suit of Sunday clothes, in the English style, and about fifteenEnglish guineas, --the total result of two years of unremitting toiland most pinching economy; and here again charity requires the remarkthat if Astor the millionaire carried the virtue of economy to anextreme, it was Astor the struggling youth in a strange land wholearned the value of money. 

In that month of September, 1783, the news reached London that Dr. Franklin and his associates in Paris, after two years of negotiation, had signed the definitive treaty which completed the independence ofthe United States. Franklin had been in the habit of predicting thatas soon as America had become an independent nation, the best blood inEurope, and some of the finest fortunes, would hasten to seek a careeror an asylum in the New World. Perhaps he would have hardly recognizedthe emigration of this poor German youth as part of the fulfilment ofhis prophecy. Nevertheless, the news of the conclusion of the treatyhad no sooner reached England than young Astor, then twenty years old, began to prepare for his departure for the "New Land, " and in Novemberhe embarked for Baltimore. He paid five of his guineas for a passagein the steerage, which entitled him to sailors' fare of salt beef andbiscuit. He invested part of his remaining capital in seven flutes, and carried the rest, about five pounds sterling, in the form ofmoney. 

America gave a cold welcome to the young emigrant. The winter of1783-4 was one of the celebrated severe winters on both sides of theocean. November gales and December storms wreaked all their fury uponthe ship, retarding its progress so long that January arrived beforeshe had reached Chesapeake Bay. Floating ice filled the bay as far asthe eye could reach, and a January storm drove the ship among themasses with such force, that she was in danger of being broken topieces. It was on one of those days of peril and consternation, thatyoung Astor appeared on deck in his best clothes, and on being askedthe reason of this strange proceeding, said that if he escaped withlife he should save his best clothes, and if he lost it his clotheswould be of no further use to him. Tradition further reports that he, a steerage passenger, ventured one day to come upon the quarter-deck, when the captain roughly ordered him forward. Tradition adds that thatvery captain, twenty years after, commanded a ship owned by thesteerage passenger. When the ship was within a day's sail of her portthe wind died away, the cold increased, and the next morning beheldthe vessel hard and fast in a sea of ice. For two whole months sheremained immovable. Provisions gave out. The passengers were onlyrelieved when the ice extended to the shore, and became strong enoughto afford communication with other ships and with the coasts of thebay. Some of the passengers made their way to the shore, and travelledby land to their homes; but this resource was not within the means ofour young adventurer, and he was obliged to stick to the ship. 

Fortune is an obsequious jade, that favors the strong and turns herback upon the weak. This exasperating delay of two months was themeans of putting young Astor upon the shortest and easiest road tofortune that the continent of America then afforded to a poor man. Among his fellow-passengers there was one German, with whom he madeacquaintance on the voyage, and with whom he continually associatedduring the detention of the winter. They told each other their pasthistory, their present plans, their future hopes. The strangerinformed young Astor that he too had emigrated to America, a few yearsbefore, without friends or money; that he had soon managed to get intothe business of buying furs of the Indians, and of the boatmen comingto New York from the river settlements; that at length he had embarkedall his capital in skins, and had taken them himself to England in areturning transport, where he had sold them to great advantage, andhad invested the proceeds in toys and trinkets, with which to continuehis trade in the wilderness. He strongly advised Astor to follow hisexample. He told him the prices of the various skins in America, andthe prices they commanded in London. With German friendliness heimparted to him the secrets of the craft: told him where to buy, howto pack, transport, and preserve the skins; the names of the principaldealers in New York, Montreal, and London; and the season of the yearwhen the skins were most abundant. All this was interesting to theyoung man; but he asked his friend how it was possible to begin such abusiness without capital. The stranger told him that no great capitalwas required for a beginning. With a basket of toys, or even of cakes, he said, a man could buy valuable skins on the wharves and in themarkets of New York, which could be sold with some profit to New Yorkfurriers. But the grand object was to establish a connection with ahouse in London, where furs brought four or five times their value inAmerica. In short, John Jacob Astor determined to lose no time afterreaching New York, in trying his hand at this profitable traffic. 

The ice broke up in March. The ship made its way to Baltimore, and thetwo friends travelled together to New York. The detention in the iceand the journey to New York almost exhausted Astor's purse. He arrivedin this city, where now his estate is valued at forty millions, withlittle more than his seven German flutes, and a long German head fullof available knowledge and quiet determination. He went straight tothe humble abode of his brother Henry, a kindly, generous, jovialsoul, who gave him a truly fraternal welcome, and received withhospitable warmth the companion of his voyage. 

Henry Astor's prosperity had been temporarily checked by theevacuation of New York, which had occurred five months before, andwhich had deprived the tradesmen of the city of their best customers. It was not only the British army that had left the city in November, 1783, but a host of British officials and old Tory families as well;while the new-comers were Whigs, whom seven years of war hadimpoverished, and young adventurers who had still their career tomake. During the Revolution, Henry Astor had speculated occasionallyin cattle captured from the farmers of Westchester, which were sold atauction at Bull's Head, and he had advanced from a wheelbarrow to theownership of a horse. An advertisement informs us that, about the timeof his brother's arrival, this horse was stolen, with saddle andbridle, and that the owner offered three guineas reward for therecovery of the property; but that "for the thief, horse, saddle, andbridle, ten guineas would be paid. " A month after, we find himbecoming a citizen of the United States, and soon he began to share inthe returning prosperity of the city. 

In the mean time, however, he could do little for his new-foundbrother. During the first evening of his brother's stay at his housethe question was discussed, What should the young man do in his newcountry? The charms of the fur business were duly portrayed by thefriend of the youth, who also expressed his preference for it. It wasagreed, at length, that the best plan would be for the young man toseek employment with some one already in the business, in order tolearn the modes of proceeding, as well as to acquire a knowledge ofthe country, The young stranger anxiously inquired how much premiumwould be demanded by a furrier for teaching the business to a novice, and he was at once astonished and relieved to learn that no such thingwas known in America, and that he might expect his board and smallwages even from the start. So, the next day, the brothers and theirfriend proceeded together to the store of Robert Bowne, an aged andbenevolent Quaker, long established in the business of buying, curing, and exporting peltries. It chanced that he needed a hand. Pleased withthe appearance and demeanor of the young man, he employed him (astradition reports) at two dollars a week and his board. Astor took uphis abode in his master's house, and was soon at work. We can tell thereader with certainty what was the nature of the youth's first day'swork in his adopted country; for, in his old age, he was often heardto say that the first thing he did for Mr. Bowne was to beat furs;which, indeed, was his principal employment during the whole of thefollowing summer, --furs requiring to be frequently beaten to keep themoths from destroying them. 

Perhaps among our readers there are some who have formed theresolution to get on in the world and become rich. We advise such toobserve how young Astor proceeded. We are far from desiring to hold upthis able man as a model for the young; yet it must be owned that inthe art of prospering in business he has had no equal in America; andin _that_ his example may be useful. Now, observe the secret. It wasnot plodding merely, though no man ever labored more steadily than he. Mr. Bowne, discovering what a prize he had, raised his wages at theend of the first month. Nor was it _merely_ his strict observance ofthe rules of temperance and morality, though that is essential to anyworthy success. The great secret of Astor's early, rapid, and uniformsuccess in business appears to have been, that he acted always uponthe maxim that KNOWLEDGE IS POWER! He labored unceasingly at Mr. Bowne's to _learn the business_. He put all his soul into the work ofgetting a knowledge of furs, fur-bearing animals, fur-dealers, fur-markets, fur-gathering Indians, fur-abounding countries. In thosedays a considerable number of bear skins and beaver skins were broughtdirectly to Bowne's store by the Indians and countrymen of thevicinity, who had shot or trapped the animals. These men Astorquestioned; and neglected no other opportunity of procuring theinformation he desired. It used to be observed of Astor that heabsolutely loved a fine skin. In later days he would have a superiorfur hung up in his counting-room as other men hang pictures; and this, apparently, for the mere pleasure of feeling, showing, and admiringit. He would pass his hand fondly over it, extolling its charms withan approach to enthusiasm; not, however, forgetting to mention that inCanton it would bring him in five hundred dollars. So heartily did hethrow himself into his business. 

Growing rapidly in the confidence of his employer, he was soonintrusted with more important duties than the beating of furs. He wasemployed in buying them from the Indians and hunters who brought themto the city. Soon, too, he took the place of his employer in theannual journey to Montreal, then the chief fur mart of the country. With a pack upon his back, he struck into the wilderness above Albany, and walked to Lake George, which he ascended in a canoe, and havingthus reached Champlain he embarked again, and sailed to the head ofthat lake. Returning with his furs, he employed the Indians intransporting them to the Hudson, and brought them to the city in asloop. He was formed by nature for a life like this. His frame wascapable of great endurance, and he had the knack of getting the bestof a bargain. The Indian is a great bargainer. The time was gone bywhen a nail or a little red paint would induce him to part withvaluable peltries. It required skill and address on the part of thetrader, both in selecting the articles likely to tempt the vanity orthe cupidity of the red man, and in conducting the tedious negotiationwhich usually preceded an exchange of commodities. It was in this kindof traffic, doubtless, that our young German acquired thatunconquerable propensity for making hard bargains, which was so markeda feature in his character as a merchant. He could never rise superiorto this early-acquired habit. He never knew what it was to exchangeplaces with the opposite party, and survey a transaction from _his_point of view. He exulted not in compensating liberal serviceliberally. In all transactions he kept in view the simple object ofgiving the least and getting the most. 

Meanwhile his brother Henry was flourishing. He married the beautifuldaughter of a brother butcher, and the young wife, according to thefashion of the time, disdained not to assist her husband even in theslaughter-house as well as in the market-place. Colonel Devoe, in hiswell-known Market Book, informs us that Henry Astor was exceedinglyproud of his pretty wife, often bringing her home presents of gaydresses and ribbons, and speaking of her as "de pink of de Bowery. "The butchers of that day complained bitterly of him, because he usedto ride out of town fifteen or twenty miles, and buy up the droves ofcattle coming to the city, which he would drive in and sell at anadvanced price to the less enterprising butchers. He gained a fortuneby his business, which would have been thought immense, if thecolossal wealth of his brother had not reduced all other estates tocomparative insignificance. It was he who bought, for eight hundreddollars, the acre of ground on part of which the old Bowery Theatrenow stands. 

John Jacob Astor remained not long in the employment of Robert Bowne. It was a peculiarity of the business of a furrier at that day, that, while it admitted of unlimited extension, it could be begun on thesmallest scale, with a very insignificant capital. Every farmer's boyin the vicinity of New York had occasionally a skin to sell, and bearsabounded in the Catskill Mountains. Indeed the time had not long goneby when beaver skins formed part of the currency of the-city. AllNorthern and Western New York was still a fur-yielding country. EvenLong Island furnished its quota. So that, while the fur business wasone that rewarded the enterprise of great and wealthy companies, employing thousands of men and fleets of ships, it afforded an openingto young Astor, who, with the assistance of his brother, could commanda capital of only a very few hundred dollars. In a little shop inWater Street, with a back-room, a yard, and a shed, the shop furnishedwith only a few toys and trinkets, Astor began, business about theyear 1786. He had then, as always, the most unbounded confidence inhis own abilities. He used to relate that, at this time, a new row ofhouses in Broadway was the talk of the city from their magnitude andbeauty. Passing them one day, he said to himself: "I'll build sometime or other a greater house than any of these, and in this verystreet. " He used also to say, in his old age: "The first hundredthousand dollars--that was hard to get; but afterward it was easy tomake more. "

Having set up for himself, he worked with the quiet, indomitable ardorof a German who sees clearly his way open before him. At first he dideverything for himself. He bought, cured, beat, packed, and sold hisskins. From dawn till dark, he assiduously labored. At the properseasons of the year, with his pack on his back, he made shortexcursions into the country, collecting skins from house to house, gradually extending the area of his travels, till he knew the State ofNew York as no man of his day knew it. He used to boast, late in life, when the Erie Canal had called into being a line of thriving townsthrough the centre of the State, that he had himself, in hisnumberless tramps, designated the sites of those towns, and predictedthat one day they would be the centres of business and population. Particularly he noted the spots where Rochester and Buffalo now stand, one having a harbor on Lake Erie, the other upon Lake Ontario. Thoseplaces, he predicted, would one day be large and prosperous cities, and that prediction he made when there was scarcely a settlement atBuffalo, and only wigwams on the site of Rochester. At this time hehad a partner who usually remained in the city, while the agile andenduring Astor traversed the wilderness. 

It was his first voyage to London that established his business on asolid foundation. As soon as he had accumulated a few bales of theskins suited to the European market, he took passage in the steerageof a ship and conveyed them to London. He sold them to greatadvantage, and established connections with houses to which he couldin future consign his furs, and from which he could procure thearticles best adapted to the taste of Indians and hunters. But hismost important operation in London was to make an arrangement with thefirm of Astor & Broadwood, by which he became the New York agent forthe sale of their pianos, flutes, and violins. He is believed to havebeen the first man in New York who kept constantly for sale a supplyof musical merchandise, of which the annual sale in New York is nowreckoned at five millions of dollars. On his return to New York, heopened a little dingy store in Gold Street, between Fulton and Ann, and swung out a sign to the breeze bearing the words:--FURS ANDPIANOS. 

There were until recently aged men among us who remembered seeing thissign over the store of Mr. Astor, and in some old houses are preservedancient pianos, bearing the name of J. J. Astor, as the seller thereof. Violins and flutes, also, are occasionally met with that have his nameupon them. In 1790, seven years after his arrival in this city, he wasof sufficient importance to appear in the Directory thus:--ASTOR, J. J. , Fur Trader, 40 Little Dock Street (now part of Water Street). 

In this time of his dawning prosperity, while still inhabiting thesmall house of which his store was a part, he married. Sarah Todd wasthe maiden name of his wife. As a connection of the family ofBrevoort, she was then considered to be somewhat superior to herhusband in point of social rank, and she brought him a fortune, by nomeans despised by him at that time, of three hundred dollars. Shethrew herself heartily into her husband's growing business, laboringwith her own hands, buying, sorting, and beating the furs. He used tosay that she was as good a judge of the value of peltries as himself, and that her opinion in a matter of business was better than that ofmost merchants. 

Of a man like Astor all kinds of stories will be told, some true, somefalse; some founded upon fact, but exaggerated or distorted. It issaid, for example, that when he went into business for himself, heused to go around among the shops and markets with a basket of toysand cakes upon his arm, exchanging those articles for furs. There arecertainly old people among us who remember hearing their parents saythat they saw him doing this. The story is not improbable, for he hadno false pride, and was ready to turn his hand to anything that washonest. 

Mr. Astor still traversed the wilderness. The father of the latelamented General Wadsworth used to relate that he met him once in thewoods of Western New York in a sad plight. His wagon had broken downin the midst of a swamp. In the _mélee_ all his gold had rolled awaythrough the bottom of the vehicle, and was irrecoverably lost; andAstor was seen emerging from the swamp covered with mud and carryingon his shoulder an axe, --the sole relic of his property. When atlength, in 1794, Jay's treaty caused the evacuation of the westernforts held by the British, his business so rapidly extended that hewas enabled to devolve these laborious journeys upon others, while heremained in New York, controlling a business that now embraced theregion of the great lakes, and gave employment to a host of trappers, collectors, and agents. He was soon in a position to purchase a ship, in which his furs were carried to London, and in which he occasionallymade a voyage himself. He was still observed to be most assiduous inthe pursuit of commercial knowledge. He was never weary of inquiringabout the markets of Europe and Asia, the ruling prices andcommodities of each, the standing of commercial houses, and all otherparticulars that could be of use. Hence his directions to his captainsand agents were always explicit and minute, and if any enterprisefailed to be profitable it could generally be distinctly seen that itwas because his orders had not been obeyed. In London, he became mostintimately conversant with the operations of the East-India Companyand with the China trade. China being the best market in the world forfurs, and furnishing commodities which in America had becomenecessaries of life, he was quick to perceive what an advantage hewould have over other merchants by sending his ships to Cantonprovided with furs as well as dollars. It was about the year 1800 thathe sent his first ship to Canton, and he continued to carry oncommerce with China for twenty-seven years, sometimes with loss, generally with profit, and occasionally with splendid and bewilderingsuccess. 

It was not, however, until the year 1800, when he was worth a quarterof a million dollars, and had been in business fifteen years, that heindulged himself in the comfort of living in a house apart from hisbusiness. In 1794 he appears in the Directory as "Furrier, 149Broadway. " From 1796 to 1799 he figures as "Fur Merchant, 149Broadway. " In 1800 he had a storehouse at 141 Greenwich Street, andlived at 223 Broadway, on the site of the present Astor House. In1801, his store was at 71 Liberty Street, and he had removed hisresidence back to 149 Broadway. The year following we find him againat 223 Broadway, where he continued to reside for a quarter of acentury. His house was such as a fifth-rate merchant would nowconsider much beneath his dignity. Mr. Astor, indeed, had a singulardislike to living in a large house. He had neither expensive tastesnor wasteful vices. His luxuries were a pipe, a glass of beer, a gameof draughts, a ride on horseback, and the theatre. Of the theatre hewas particularly fond. He seldom missed a good performance in thepalmy days of the "Old Park. "

It was his instinctive abhorrence of ostentation and waste thatenabled him, as it were, to glide into the millionaire without beingobserved by his neighbors. He used to relate, with a chuckle, that hewas worth a million before any one suspected it. A dandy bank-clerk, one day, having expressed a doubt as to the sufficiency of his name toa piece of mercantile paper, Astor asked him how much he thought hewas worth. The clerk mentioned a sum ludicrously less than the realamount. Astor then asked him how much he supposed this and thatleading merchant, whom he named, was worth. The young man endowed themwith generous sum-totals proportioned to their style of living. "Well, " said Astor, "I am worth more than any of them. I will not sayhow much I am worth, but I am worth more than any sum you havementioned. " "Then, " said the clerk, "you are even a greater fool thanI took you for, to work as hard as you do. " The old man would tellthis story with great glee, for he always liked a joke. 

In the course of his long life he had frequent opportunities ofobserving what becomes of those gay merchants who live up to theincomes of prosperous years, regardless of the inevitable time ofcommercial collapse. It must be owned that he held in utter contemptthe dashing style of living and doing business which has too oftenprevailed in New York; and he was very slow to give credit to a housethat carried sail out of proportion to its ballast. Nevertheless, hewas himself no plodder when plodding had ceased to be necessary. Atthe time when his affairs were on their greatest scale, he would leavehis office at two in the afternoon, go home to an early dinner, thenmount his horse and ride about the Island till it was time to go tothe theatre. He had a strong aversion to illegitimate speculation, andparticularly to gambling in stocks. The note-shaving and stock-jobbingoperations of the Rothschilds he despised. It was his pride and boastthat he gained his own fortune by legitimate commerce, and by thelegitimate investment of his profits. Having an unbounded faith in thedestiny of the United States, and in the future commercial supremacyof New York, it was his custom, from about the year 1800, to investhis gains in the purchase of lots and lands on Manhattan Island. 

We have all heard much of the closeness, or rather the meanness, ofthis remarkable man. Truth compels us to admit, as we have beforeintimated, that he was not generous, except to his own kindred. Hisliberality began and ended in his own family. Very seldom during hislifetime did he willingly do a generous act outside of the littlecircle of his relations and descendants. To get all that he could, andto keep nearly all that he got, --those were the laws of his being. Hehad a vast genius for making money, and that was all that he had. 

It is a pleasure to know that sometimes his extreme closeness defeatedits own object. He once lost seventy thousand dollars by committing apiece of petty injustice toward his best captain. This gallant sailor, being notified by an insurance office of the necessity of having achronometer on board his ship, spoke to Mr. Astor on the subject, whoadvised the captain to buy one. 

"But, " said the captain, "I have no five hundred dollars to spare forsuch a purpose; the chronometer should belong to the ship. "

"Well, " said the merchant, "you need not pay for it now; pay for it atyour convenience. "

The captain still objecting, Astor, after a prolonged higgling, authorized him to buy a chronometer, and charge it to the ship'saccount; which was done. Sailing-day was at hand. The ship was hauledinto the stream. The captain, as is the custom, handed in his account. Astor, subjecting it to his usual close scrutiny, observed the novelitem of five hundred dollars for the chronometer. He objected, averring that it was understood between them that the captain was topay for the instrument. The worthy sailor recalled the conversation, and firmly held to his recollection of it. Astor insisting on his ownview of the matter, the captain was so profoundly disgusted that, important as the command of the ship was to him, he resigned his post. Another captain was soon found, and the ship sailed for China. Anotherhouse, which was then engaged in the China trade, knowing the worth ofthis "king of captains, " as Astor himself used to style him, boughthim a ship and despatched him to Canton two months after the departureof Astor's vessel. Our captain, put upon his mettle, employed all hisskill to accelerate the speed of his ship, and had such success, thathe reached New York with a full cargo of tea just seven days after thearrival of Mr. Astor's ship. Astor, not expecting another ship formonths, and therefore sure of monopolizing the market, had not yetbroken bulk, nor even taken off the hatchways. Our captain arrived ona Saturday. Advertisements and handbills were immediately issued, andon the Wednesday morning following, as the custom then was, theauction sale of the tea began on the wharf, --two barrels of punchcontributing to the _éclat_ and hilarity of the occasion. The cargowas sold to good advantage, and the market was glutted. Astor lost inconsequence the entire profits of the voyage, not less than the sumnamed above. Meeting the captain some time after in Broadway, hesaid, --

"I had better have paid for that chronometer of yours. "

Without ever acknowledging that he had been in the wrong, he was gladenough to engage the captain's future services. This anecdote wereceived from the worthy captain's own lips. 

On one occasion the same officer had the opportunity of rendering thegreat merchant a most signal service. The agent of Mr. Astor in Chinasuddenly died at a time when the property in his charge amounted toabout seven hundred thousand dollars. Our captain, who was not then inAstor's employ, was perfectly aware that if this immense property fellinto official hands, as the law required, not one dollar of it wouldever again find its way to the coffers of its proprietor. By a seriesof bold, prompt, and skilful measures, he rescued it from the officialmaw, and made it yield a profit to the owner. Mr. Astor acknowledgedthe service. He acknowledged it with emphasis and a great show ofgratitude. He said many times:--

"If you had not done just as you did, I should never have seen onedollar of my money; no, not one dollar of it. "

But he not only did not compensate him for his services, but he didnot even reimburse the small sum of money which the captain hadexpended in performing those services. Astor was then worth tenmillions, and the captain had his hundred dollars a month and a familyof young children. 

Thus the great merchant recompensed great services. He was not morejust in rewarding small ones. On one occasion a ship of his arrivedfrom China, which he found necessary to dispatch at once to Amsterdam, the market in New York being depressed by an over-supply of Chinamerchandise. But on board this ship, under a mountain of tea-chests, the owner had two pipes of precious Madeira wine, which had been senton a voyage for the improvement of its constitution. 

"Can you get out that wine, " asked the owner, "without discharging thetea?"

The captain thought he could. 

"Well, then, " said Mr. Astor, "you get it out, and I'll give you ademijohn of it. You'll say it's the best wine you ever tasted. "

It required the labor of the whole ship's crew for two days to get outthose two pipes of wine. They were sent to the house of Mr. Astor. Ayear passed. The captain had been to Amsterdam and back, but he hadreceived no tidings of his demijohn of Madeira. One day, when Mr. Astor was on board the ship, the captain ventured to remind the greatman, in a jocular manner, that he had not received the wine. 

"Ah!" said Astor, "don't you know the reason? It isn't fine yet. Waittill it is fine, and you'll say you never tasted such Madeira. " Thecaptain never heard of that wine again. 

These traits show the moral weakness of the man. It is only when weregard his mercantile exploits that we can admire him. He was, unquestionably, one of the ablest, boldest, and most successfuloperators that ever lived. He seldom made a mistake in the conduct ofbusiness. Having formed his plan, he carried it out with a nerve andsteadiness, with such a firm and easy grasp of all the details, thathe seemed rather to be playing an interesting game than transactingbusiness. "He could command an army of five hundred thousand men!"exclaimed one of his admirers. That was an erroneous remark. He couldhave commanded an army of five hundred thousand tea-chests, with aheavy auxiliary force of otter skins and beaver skins. But a commanderof men must be superior morally as well as intellectually. He must beable to win the love and excite the enthusiasm of his followers. Astorwould have made a splendid commissary-general to the army of Xerxes, but he could no more have conquered Greece than Xerxes himself. 

The reader may be curious to know by what means Mr. Astor became sopreposterously rich. Few successful men gain a single million bylegitimate commerce. A million dollars is a most enormous sum ofmoney. It requires a considerable effort of the mind to conceive it. But this indomitable little German managed, in the course of sixtyyears, to accumulate twenty millions; of which, probably, not morethan two millions was the fruit of his business as a fur trader andChina merchant. 

At that day the fur trade was exceedingly profitable, as well as ofvast extent. It is estimated that about the year 1800 the number ofpeltries annually furnished to commerce was about six millions, varying in value from fifteen cents to five hundred dollars. Whenevery respectable man in Europe and America wore a beaver skin uponhis head, or a part of one, and when a good beaver skin could bebought in Western New York for a dollar's worth of trash, and could besold in London for twenty-five English shillings, and when thosetwenty-five English shillings could be invested in English cloth andcutlery, and sold in New York for forty shillings, it may be imaginedthat fur-trading was a very good business. Mr. Astor had his share ofthe cream of it, and that was the foundation of his colossal fortune. Hence, too, the tender love he felt for a fine fur. 

In the next place, his ventures to China were sometimes exceedinglyfortunate. A fair profit on a voyage to China at that day was thirtythousand dollars. Mr. Astor has been known to gain seventy thousand, and to have his money in his pocket within the year. He was remarkablylucky in the war of 1812. All his ships escaped capture, and arrivingat a time when foreign commerce was almost annihilated and tea haddoubled in price, his gains were so immense, that the million or morelost in the Astorian enterprise gave him not even a momentaryinconvenience. 

At that time, too, tea merchants of large capital had an advantagewhich they do not now enjoy. A writer explains the manner in which thebusiness was done in those days:--

 "A house that could raise money enough thirty years ago to send $260, 000 in specie, could soon have an uncommon capital, and this was the working of the old system. The Griswolds owned the ship Panama. They started her from New York in the month of May, with a cargo of perhaps $30, 000 worth of ginseng, spelter, lead, iron, etc. , and $170, 000 in Spanish dollars. The ship goes on the voyage, reaches Whampoa in safety (a few miles below Canton). Her supercargo in two months has her loaded with tea, some china ware, a great deal of cassia or false cinnamon, and a few other articles. Suppose the cargo, mainly tea, costing about thirty-seven cents (at that time) per pound on the average. 

 "The duty was enormous in those days. It was twice the cost of the tea, at least: so that a tea cargo of $200, 000, when it had paid duty of seventy-five cents per pound (which would be $400, 000), amounted to $600, 000. The profit was at least fifty per cent on the original cost, or $100, 000, and would make the cargo worth $700, 000. 

 "The cargo of teas would be sold almost on arrival (say eleven or twelve months after the ship left New York in May) to wholesale grocers, for their notes at four and six months, --say for $700, 000. In those years there was _credit given by the United States_ of nine, twelve, and eighteen months! So that the East-India or Canton merchant, after his ship had made one voyage, had the use of government capital to the extent of $400, 000, on the ordinary cargo of a China ship. 

 "No sooner had the ship Panama arrived (or any of the regular East-Indiamen), than her cargo would be exchanged for grocers' notes for $700, 000. These notes could be turned into specie very easily, and the owner had only to pay his bonds for $400, 000 duty, at nine, twelve, and eighteen months, giving him time actually to send two more ships with $200, 000 each to Canton, and have them back again in New York before the bonds on the first cargo were due. 

 "John Jacob Astor at one period of his life had several vessels operating in this way. They would go to the Pacific (Oregon) and carry from thence furs to Canton. These would be sold at large profits. Then the cargoes of tea to New York would pay enormous duties, which Astor did not have to pay to the United States for a year and a half. His tea cargoes would be sold for good four and six months paper, or perhaps cash; so that for eighteen or twenty years John Jacob Astor had what was actually a free-of-interest loan from Government of over _five millions_ of dollars. "[1]

But it was neither his tea trade nor his fur trade that gave Astortwenty millions of dollars. It was his sagacity in investing hisprofits that made him the richest man in America. When he first trodthe streets of New York, in 1784, the city was a snug, leafy place oftwenty-five thousand inhabitants, situated at the extremity of theIsland, mostly below Cortlandt Street. In 1800, when he began to havemoney to invest, the city had more than doubled in population, and hadadvanced nearly a mile up the Island. Now, Astor was a shrewdcalculator of the future. No reason appeared why New York should notrepeat this doubling game and this mile of extension every fifteenyears. He acted upon the supposition, and fell into the habit ofbuying lands and lots just beyond the verge of the city. One littleanecdote will show the wisdom of this proceeding. He sold a lot in thevicinity of Wall Street, about the year 1810, for eight thousanddollars, which was supposed to be somewhat under its value. Thepurchaser, after the papers were signed, seemed disposed to chuckleover his bargain. 

"Why, Mr. Astor, " said he, "in a few years this lot will be worthtwelve thousand dollars. "

"Very true, " replied Astor; "but now you shall see what I will do withthis money. With eight thousand dollars I buy eighty lots above CanalStreet. By the time your lot is worth twelve thousand dollars, myeighty lots will be worth eighty thousand dollars"; which proved to bethe fact. 

His purchase of the Richmond Hill estate of Aaron Burr was a case inpoint. He bought the hundred and sixty acres at a thousand dollars anacre, and in twelve years the land was worth fifteen hundred dollars alot. In the course of time the Island was dotted all over with Astorlands, --to such an extent that the whole income of his estate forfifty years could be invested in new houses without buying any moreland. 

His land speculations, however, were by no means confined to thelittle Island of Manhattan. Aged readers cannot have forgotten themost celebrated of all his operations of this kind, by which heacquired a legal title to one third of the county of Putnam in thisState. This enormous tract was part of the estate of Roger Morris andMary his wife, who, by adhering to the King of Great Britain in theRevolutionary War, forfeited their landed property in the State of NewYork. Having been duly attainted as public enemies, they fled toEngland at the close of the war, and the State sold their lands, insmall parcels, to honest Whig farmers. The estate comprised fifty-onethousand one hundred and two acres, upon which were living, in 1809, more than seven hundred families, all relying upon the titles whichthe State of New York had given. Now Mr. Astor stepped forward todisturb the security of this community of farmers. It appeared, andwas proved beyond doubt, that Roger and Mary Morris had only possesseda _life-interest_ in this estate, and that, therefore, it was onlythat life-interest which the State could legally confiscate. Themoment Roger and Mary Morris ceased to live, the property would fallto their heirs, with all the houses, barns, and other improvementsthereon. After a most thorough examination of the papers by theleading counsel of that day, Mr. Astor bought the rights of the heirs, in 1809, for twenty thousand pounds sterling. At that time RogerMorris was no more; and Mary his wife was nearly eighty, and extremelyinfirm. She lingered, however, for some years; and it was not tillafter the peace of 1815 that the claims of Mr. Astor were pressed. Theconsternation of the farmers and the astonishment of the peoplegenerally, when at length the great millionaire stretched out his handto pluck this large ripe pear, may be imagined. A great clamor aroseagainst him. It cannot be denied, however, that he acted in thisbusiness with moderation and dignity. Upon the first rumor of hisclaim, in 1814, commissioners were appointed by the Legislature toinquire into it. These gentlemen, finding the claim more formidablethan had been suspected, asked Mr. Astor for what sum he wouldcompromise. The lands were valued at six hundred and sixty-seventhousand dollars, but Astor replied that he would sell his claim forthree hundred thousand. The offer was not accepted, and the affairlingered. In 1818, Mary Morris being supposed to be at the point ofdeath, and the farmers being in constant dread of the writs ofejectment which her death would bring upon them, commissioners wereagain appointed by the Legislature to look into the matter. Again Mr. Astor was asked upon what terms he would compromise. He replied, January 19, 1819:--

 "In 1813 or 1814 a similar proposition was made to me by the commissioners then appointed by the Honorable the Legislature of this State, when I offered to compromise for the sum of three hundred thousand dollars, which, considering the value of the property in question, was thought very reasonable; and, at the present period, when the life of Mrs. Morris is, according to calculation, worth little or nothing, she being near eighty-six years of age, and the property more valuable than it was in 1813, I am still willing to receive the amount which I then stated, with interest on the same, payable in money or stock, bearing an interest of--per cent, payable quarterly. The stock may be made payable at such periods as the Honorable the Legislature may deem proper. This offer will, I trust, be considered as liberal, and as a proof of my willingness to compromise on terms which are reasonable, considering the value of the property, the price which it cost me, and the inconvenience of having so long laid out of my money, which, if employed in commercial operations, would most likely have produced better profits. "

The Legislature were not yet prepared to compromise. It was not till1827 that a test case was selected and brought to trial before a jury. The most eminent counsel were employed on the part of theState, --Daniel Webster and Martin Van Buren among them. Astor's causewas entrusted to Emmet, Ogden, and others. We believe that Aaron Burrwas consulted on the part of Mr. Astor, though he did not appear inthe trial. The efforts of the array of counsel employed by the Statewere exerted in vain to find a flaw in the paper upon which Astor'sclaim mainly rested. Mr. Webster's speech on this occasion betrays, even to the unprofessional reader, both that he had no case and thathe knew he had not, for he indulged in a strain of remark that couldonly have been designed to prejudice, not convince, the jury. 

"It is a claim for lands, " said he, "not in their wild and forest state, but for lands the intrinsic value of which is mingled with the labor expended upon them. It is no every-day purchase, for it extends over towns and counties, and almost takes in a degree of latitude. It is a stupendous speculation. The individual who now claims it has not succeeded to it by inheritance; he has not attained it, as he did that vast wealth which no one less envies him than I do, by fair and honest exertions in commercial enterprise, but by speculation, by purchasing the forlorn hope of the heirs of a family driven from their country by a bill of attainder. By the defendants, on the contrary, the lands in question are held as a patrimony. They have labored for years to improve them. The rugged hills had grown green under their cultivation before a question was raised as to the integrity of their titles. "

A line of remark like this would appeal powerfully to a jury offarmers. Its effect, however, was destroyed by the simple observationof one of the opposing counsel:--

"Mr. Astor bought this property confiding in the justice of the Stateof New York, firmly believing that in the litigation of his claim hisrights would be maintained. "

It is creditable to the administration of justice in New York, andcreditable to the very institution of trial by jury, that Mr. Astor'smost unpopular and even odious cause was triumphant. Warned by thisverdict, the Legislature consented to compromise on Mr. Astor's ownterms. The requisite amount of "Astor stock, " as it was called, wascreated. Mr. Astor received about half a million of dollars, and thetitles of the lands were secured to their rightful owners. 

The crowning glory of Mr. Astor's mercantile career was that vast andbrilliant enterprise which Washington Irving has commemorated in"Astoria. " No other single individual has ever set on foot a scheme soextensive, so difficult, and so costly as this; nor has any suchenterprise been carried out with such sustained energy andperseverance. To establish a line of trading-posts from St. Louis tothe Pacific, a four-months' journey in a land of wilderness, prairie, mountain, and desert, inhabited by treacherous or hostile savages; tofound a permanent settlement on the Pacific coast as the grand _dépôt_of furs and supplies; to arrange a plan by which the furs collectedshould be regularly transported to China, and the ships return to NewYork laden with tea and silks, and then proceed once more to thePacific coast to repeat the circuit; to maintain all the parts of thisscheme without the expectation of any but a remote profit, sendingship after ship before any certain intelligence of the first ventureshad arrived, --this was an enterprise which had been memorable if ithad been undertaken by a wealthy corporation or a powerful government, instead of a private merchant, unaided by any resources but his own. At every moment in the conduct of this magnificent attempt Mr. Astorappears the great man. His parting instructions to the captain of hisfirst ship call to mind those of General Washington to St. Clair on asimilar occasion. "All the accidents that have yet happened, " said themerchant, "arose from too much confidence in the Indians. " The shipwas lost, a year after, by the disregard of this last warning. Whenthe news reached New York of the massacre of the crew and theblowing-up of the ship, the man who flew into a passion at seeing alittle boy drop a wineglass behaved with a composure that was thetheme of general admiration. He attended the theatre the same evening, and entered heartily into the play. Mr. Irving relates that a friendhaving expressed surprise at this, Mr. Astor replied:--

"What would you have me do? Would you have me stay at home and weepfor what I cannot help?"

This was not indifference; for when, after nearly two years of wearywaiting, he heard of the safety and success of the overlandexpedition, he was so overjoyed that he could scarcely containhimself. 

"I felt ready, " said he, "to fall upon my knees in a transport ofgratitude. "

A touch in one of his letters shows the absolute confidence he felt inhis own judgment and abilities, a confidence invariably exhibited bymen of the first executive talents. 

"Were I on the spot, " he wrote to one of his agents when the affairsof the settlement appeared desperate, "and had the management of affairs, I would defy them all; but, as it is, everything depends upon you and the friends about you. Our enterprise is grand and deserves success, and I hope in God it will meet it. If my object was merely gain of money, I should say: 'Think whether it is best to save what we can and abandon the place'; but the thought is like a dagger to my heart. "

He intimates here that his object was not merely "gain of money. " Whatwas it, then? Mr. Irving informs us that it was desire of fame. Weshould rather say that when nature endows a man with a remarkable giftshe also implants within him the love of exercising it. Astor loved toplan a vast, far-reaching enterprise. He loved it as Morphy loves toplay chess, as Napoleon loved to plan a campaign, as Raphael loved topaint, and Handel to compose. 

The war of 1812 foiled the enterprise. "But for that war, " Mr. Astorused to say, "I should have been the richest man that ever lived. " Heexpected to go on expending money for several years, and then to gaina steady annual profit of millions. It was, however, that very warthat enabled him to sustain the enormous losses of the enterprisewithout injury to his estate, or even a momentary inconvenience. During the first year of the war he had the luck to receive two orthree cargoes of tea from China, despite the British cruisers. In thesecond year of the war, when the Government was reduced to borrow ateighty, he invested largely in the loan, which, one year after thepeace, stood at one hundred and twenty. 

Mr. Astor at all times was a firm believer in the destiny of theUnited States. In other words, he held its public stock in profoundrespect. He had little to say of politics, but he was a supporter ofthe old Whig party for many years, and had a great regard, personaland political, for its leader and ornament, Henry Clay. He was neverbetter pleased than when he entertained Mr. Clay at his own house. Itought to be mentioned in this connection that when, in June, 1812, themerchants of New York memorialized the Government in favor of theembargo, which almost annihilated the commerce of the port, the nameof John Jacob Astor headed the list of signatures. 

He was an active business man in this city for about forty-sixyears, --from his twenty-first to his sixty-seventh year. Toward theyear 1830 he began to withdraw from business, and undertook no newenterprises, except such as the investment of his income involved. Histhree daughters were married. His son and heir was a man of thirty. Numerous grandchildren were around him, for whom he manifested a trueGerman fondness; not, however, regarding them with equal favor. Hedispensed, occasionally, a liberal hospitality at his modest house, though that hospitality was usually bestowed upon men whose presenceat his table conferred distinction upon him who sat at the head of it. He was fond, strange as it may seem, of the society of literary men. For Washington Irving he always professed a warm regard, liked to havehim at his house, visited him, and made much of him. Fitz-GreeneHalleck, one of the best talkers of his day, a man full of fun, anecdote, and fancy, handsome, graceful, and accomplished, was a greatfavorite with him. He afterward invited the poet to reside with himand take charge of his affairs, which Mr. Halleck did for many years, to the old gentleman's perfect satisfaction. Still later Dr. Cogswellwon his esteem, and was named by him Librarian of the Astor Library. For his own part, though he rather liked to be read to in his latterdays, he collected no library, no pictures, no objects of curiosity. As he had none of the wasteful vices, so also he had none of thecostly tastes. Like all other rich men, he was beset continually byapplicants for pecuniary aid, especially by his own countrymen. As arule he refused to give: and he was right. He held beggary of alldescriptions in strong contempt, and seemed to think that, in thiscountry, want and fault are synonymous. Nevertheless, we are told thathe did, now and then, bestow small sums in charity, though we havefailed to get trustworthy evidence of a single instance of his doingso. It is, no doubt, absolutely necessary for a man who is notoriouslyrich to guard against imposture, and to hedge himself about againstthe swarms of solicitors who pervade a large and wealthy city. If hedid not, he would be overwhelmed and devoured. His time would be allconsumed and his estate squandered in satisfying the demands ofimportunate impudence. Still, among the crowd of applicants there ishere and there one whose claim upon the aid of the rich man is just. It were much to be desired that a way should be devised by which thesemeritorious askers could be sifted from the mass, and the nature oftheir requests made known to men who have the means and the wish toaid such. Some kind of Benevolent Intelligence Office appears to beneeded among us. In the absence of such an institution we must not besurprised that men renowned for their wealth convert themselves intohuman porcupines, and erect their defensive armor at the approach ofevery one who carries a subscription-book. True, a generous man mightestablish a private bureau of investigation; but a generous man is notvery likely to acquire a fortune of twenty millions. Such anaccumulation of wealth is just as wise as if a man who had to walk tenmiles on a hot day should, of his own choice, carry on his back alarge sack of potatoes. A man of superior sense and feeling will notwaste his life so, unless he has in view a grand public object. On thecontrary, he will rather do as Franklin did, who, having acquired atthe age of forty-two a modest competence, sold out his thrivingbusiness on easy terms to a younger man, and devoted the rest of hishappy life to the pursuit of knowledge and the service of his country. But we cannot all be Franklins. In the affairs of the worldmillionaires are as indispensable as philosophers; and it is fortunatefor society that some men take pleasure in heaping up enormous massesof capital. 

Having retired from business, Mr. Astor determined to fulfil the vowof his youth, and build in Broadway a house larger and costlier thanany it could then boast. Behold the result in the Astor House, whichremains to this day one of our most solid, imposing, and respectablestructures. The ground on which the hotel stands was covered withsubstantial three-story brick houses, one of which Astor himselfoccupied; and it was thought at the time a wasteful and rashproceeding to destroy them. Old Mr. Coster, a retired merchant ofgreat wealth, who lived next door to Mr. Astor's residence, wasextremely indisposed to remove, and held out long against every offerof the millionaire. His house was worth thirty thousand dollars. Astoroffered him that sum; but the offer was very positively declined, andthe old gentleman declared it to be his intention to spend theremainder of his days in the house. Mr. Astor offered forty thousandwithout effect. At length the indomitable projector revealed hispurpose to his neighbor. 

"Mr. Coster, " said he, "I want to build a hotel. I have got all theother lots; now name your own price. "

To which Coster replied by confessing the real obstacle to the sale. 

"The fact is, " said he, "I can't sell unless Mrs. Coster consents. Ifshe is willing, I'll sell for sixty thousand, and you can callto-morrow morning and ask her. "

Mr. Astor presented himself at the time named. 

"Well, Mr. Astor, " said the lady in the tone of one who was conferringa very great favor for nothing, "we are such old friends that I amwilling for your sake. "

So the house was bought, and with the proceeds Mr. Coster built thespacious granite mansion a mile up Broadway, which is now known asBarnum's Museum. Mr. Astor used to relate this story with great glee. He was particularly amused at the simplicity of the old lady inconsidering it a great favor to him to sell her house at twice itsvalue. It was at this time that he removed to a wide, two-story brickhouse opposite Niblo's, the front door of which bore a large silverplate, exhibiting to awestruck passers-by the words: "MR. ASTOR. " Soonafter the hotel was finished, he made a present of it to his eldestson, or, in legal language, he sold it to him for the sum of onedollar, "to him in hand paid. "

In the decline of his life, when his vast fortune was safe from theperils of business, he was still as sparing in his personalexpenditures, as close in his bargains, as watchful over hisaccumulations as he had been when economy was essential to hissolvency and progress. He enjoyed keenly the consciousness, thefeeling of being rich. The roll-book of his possessions was his Bible. He scanned it fondly, and saw with quiet but deep delight thecatalogue of his property lengthening from month to month. The love ofaccumulation grew with his years until it ruled him like a tyrant. Ifat fifty he possessed his millions, at sixty-five his millionspossessed him. Only to his own children and to their children was heliberal; and his liberality to them was all arranged with a view tokeeping his estate in the family, and to cause it at every moment totend toward a final consolidation in one enormous mass. He was everconsiderate for the comfort of his imbecile son. One of his lastenterprises was to build for him a commodious residence. 

In 1832, one of his daughters having married a European nobleman, heallowed himself the pleasure of a visit to her. He remained abroadtill 1835, when he hurried home in consequence of the disturbance infinancial affairs, caused by General Jackson's war upon the Bank ofthe United States. The captain of the ship in which he sailed fromHavre to New York has related to us some curious incidents of thevoyage. Mr. Astor reached Havre when the ship, on the point ofsailing, had every state-room engaged; but he was so anxious to gethome, that the captain, who had commanded ships for him in formeryears, gave up to him his own state-room. Head winds and boisterousseas kept the vessel beating about and tossing in the channel for manydays. The great man was very sick and still more alarmed. At length, being persuaded that he should not survive the voyage, he asked thecaptain to run in and set him ashore on the coast of England. Thecaptain dissuaded him. The old man urged his request at everyopportunity, and said at last: "I give you tousand dollars to put meaboard a pilot-boat. " He was so vehement and importunate, that one daythe captain, worried out of all patience, promised that if he did notget out of the Channel before the next morning, he would run in andput him ashore. It happened that the wind changed in the afternoon andwafted the ship into the broad ocean. But the troubles of the sea-sickmillionaire had only just begun. A heavy gale of some days' durationblew the vessel along the western coast of Ireland. Mr. Astor, thoroughly panic-stricken, now offered the captain ten thousanddollars if he would put him ashore anywhere on the wild and rockycoast of the Emerald Isle. In vain the captain remonstrated. In vainhe reminded the old gentleman of the danger of forfeiting hisinsurance. 

"Insurance!" exclaimed Astor, "can't I insure your ship myself?"

In vain the captain mentioned the rights of the other passengers. Invain he described the solitary and rock-bound coast, and detailed thedifficulties and dangers which attended its approach. Nothing wouldappease him. He said he would take all the responsibility, brave allthe perils, endure all the consequences; only let him once more feelthe firm ground under his feet. The gale having abated, the captainyielded to his entreaties, and engaged, if the other passengers wouldconsent to the delay, to stand in and put him ashore. Mr. Astor wentinto the cabin and proceeded to write what was expected to be a draftfor ten thousand dollars in favor of the owners of the ship on hisagent in New York. He handed to the captain the result of his efforts. It was a piece of paper covered with writing that was totallyillegible. 

"What is this?" asked the captain. 

"A draft upon my son for ten thousand dollars, " was the reply. 

"But no one can read it. "

"O yes, my son will know what it is. My hand trembles so that I cannotwrite any better. "

"But, " said the captain, "you can at least write your name. I am acting for the owners of the ship, and I cannot risk their property for a piece of paper that no one can read. Let one of the gentlemen draw up a draft in proper form; you sign it; and I will put you ashore. "

The old gentleman would not consent to this mode of proceeding, andthe affair was dropped. 

A favorable wind blew the ship swiftly on her way, and Mr. Astor'salarm subsided. But even on the banks of Newfoundland, two thirds ofthe way across, when the captain went upon the poop to speak a shipbound for Liverpool, old Astor climbed up after him, saying, "Tellthem I give tousand dollars if they take a passenger. "

Astor lived to the age of eighty-four. During the last few years ofhis life his faculties were sensibly impaired; he was a child again. It was, however, while his powers and his judgment were in full vigorthat he determined to follow the example of Girard, and bequeath aportion of his estate for the purpose of "rendering a public benefitto the city of New York. " He consulted Mr. Irving, Mr. Halleck, Dr. Cogswell, and his own son with regard to the object of this bequest. All his friends concurred in recommending a public library; and, accordingly, in 1839, he added the well-known codicil to his willwhich consecrated four hundred thousand dollars to this purpose. ToIrving's Astoria and to the Astor Library he will owe a lasting famein the country of his adoption. 

The last considerable sum he was ever known to give away was acontribution to aid the election to the Presidency of his old friendHenry Clay. The old man was always fond of a compliment, and seldomaverse to a joke. It was the timely application of a jocularcompliment that won from him this last effort of generosity. When thecommittee were presented to him, he began to excuse himself, evidentlyintending to decline giving. 

"I am not now interested in these things, " said he. 

 "Those gentlemen who are in business, and whose property depends upon the issue of the election, ought to give. But I am now an old man. I haven't anything to do with commerce, and it makes no difference to me what the government does. I don't make money any more, and haven't any concern in the matter. "

One of the committee replied:

 "Why, Mr. Astor, you are like Alexander, when he wept because there were no more worlds to conquer. You have made all the money, and now there is no more money to make. " The old eye twinkled at the blended compliment and jest. 

"Ha, ha, ha! very good, that's very good. Well, well, I give yousomething. "

Whereupon he drew his check for fifteen hundred dollars. 

When all else had died within him, when he was at last nourished likean infant at a woman's breast, and when, being no longer able to ridein a carriage, he was daily tossed in blanket for exercise, he stillretained a strong interest in the care and increase of his property. His agent called daily upon him to render a report of moneys received. One morning this gentleman chanced to enter his room while he wasenjoying his blanket exercise. The old man cried out from the middleof his blanket, --

"Has Mrs. ---- paid that rent yet?"

"No, " replied the agent. 

"Well, but she must pay it, " said the poor old man. 

"Mr. Astor, " rejoined the agent, "she can't pay it now; she has hadmisfortunes, and we must give her time. "

"No, no, " said Astor; "I tell you she can pay it, and she will pay it. You don't go the right way to work with her. "

The agent took leave, and mentioned the anxiety of the old gentlemanwith regard to this unpaid rent to his son, who counted out therequisite sum, and told the agent to give it to the old man as if hehad received it from the tenant. 

"There!" exclaimed Mr. Astor when he received the money, "I told youshe would pay it, if you went the right way to work with her. "

Who would have twenty millions at such a price?

On the twenty-ninth of March, 1848, of old age merely, in the presenceof his family and friends, without pain or disquiet, this remarkableman breathed his last. He was buried in a vault in the church of St. Thomas in Broadway. Though he expressly declared in his will that hewas a member of the Reformed German Congregation, no clergyman of thatchurch took part in the services of his funeral. The unusual number ofsix Episcopal Doctors of Divinity assisted at the ceremony. A bishopcould have scarcely expected a more distinguished funeral homage. Sucha thing it is in a commercial city to die worth twenty millions! Thepall-bearers were Washington Irving, Philip Hone, Sylvanus Miller, James G. King, Isaac Bell, David B. Ogden, Thomas J. Oakley, RamseyCrooks, and Jacob B. Taylor. 

The public curiosity with regard to the will of the deceasedmillionaire was fully gratified by the enterprise of the Herald, whichpublished it entire in five columns of its smallest type a day or twoafter the funeral. The ruling desires of Mr. Astor with regard to hisproperty were evidently these two: 1. To provide amply and safely forhis children, grandchildren, nephews, and nieces; 2. To keep hisestate, as much as was consistent with his desire, in one mass in thehands of his eldest son. His brother Henry, the butcher, had diedchildless and rich, leaving his property to Mr. William B. Astor. Tothe descendants of the brother in Germany Mr. Astor left small butsufficient pensions. 

To many of his surviving children and grandchildren in America he leftlife-interests and stocks, which seem designed to produce an averageof about fifteen thousand dollars a year. Other grandsons were to havetwenty-five thousand dollars on reaching the age of twenty-five, andthe same sum when they were thirty. His favorite grandson, CharlesAstor Bristed, since well known to the public as an author and poet, was left amply provided for. He directed his executors to "provide formy unfortunate son, John Jacob Astor, and to procure for him all thecomforts which his condition does or may require. " For this purposeten thousand dollars a year was directed to be appropriated, and thehouse built for him in Fourteenth Street, near Ninth Avenue, was to behis for life. If he should be restored to the use of his faculties, hewas to have an income of one hundred thousand dollars. The number ofpersons, all relatives or connections of the deceased, who werebenefited by the will, was about twenty-five. To his old friend andmanager, Fitz-Greene Halleck, he left the somewhat ridiculous annuityof two hundred dollars, which Mr. William B. Astor voluntarilyincreased to fifteen hundred. Nor was this the only instance in whichthe heir rectified the errors and supplied the omissions of the will. He had the justice, to send a considerable sum to the brave oldcaptain who saved for Mr. Astor the large property in China imperilledby the sudden death of an agent. The minor bequests and legacies ofMr. Astor absorbed about two millions of his estate. The rest of hisproperty fell to his eldest son, under whose careful management it issupposed to have increased to an amount not less than forty millions. This may, however, be an exaggeration. Mr. William B. Astor minds hisown business, and does not impart to others the secrets of hisrent-roll. The number of his houses in this city is said to be sevenhundred and twenty. 

The bequests of Mr. Astor for purposes of benevolence show good senseand good feeling. The Astor Library fund of four hundred thousanddollars was the largest item. Next in amount was fifty thousanddollars for the benefit of the poor of his native village in Germany. "To the German Society of New York, " continued the will, "I give thirty thousand dollars on condition of their investing it in bond and mortgage, and applying it for the purpose of keeping an office and giving advice and information without charge to all emigrants arriving here, and for the purpose of protecting them against imposition. "

To the Home for Aged Ladies he gave thirty thousand dollars, and tothe Blind Asylum and the Half-Orphan Asylum each five thousanddollars. To the German Reformed Congregation, "of which I am amember, " he left the moderate sum of two thousand dollars. Theseobjects were wisely chosen. The sums left for them, also, were inmany-cases of the amount most likely to be well employed. Twenty-fivethousand dollars he left to Columbia College, but unfortunatelyrepented, and annulled the bequest in a codicil. 

We need not enlarge on the success which has attended the bequest forthe Astor Library, --a bequest to which Mr. William B. Astor has added, in land, books, and money, about two hundred thousand dollars. It isthe ornament and boast of the city. Nothing is wanting to its completeutility but an extension of the time of its being accessible to thepublic. Such a library, in such a city as this, should be open atsunrise, and close at ten in the evening. If but _one_ studious youthshould desire to avail himself of the morning hours before going tohis daily work, the interests of that one would justify the directorsin opening the treasures of the library at the rising of the sun. Inthe evening, of course, the library would probably be attended by agreater number of readers than in all the hours of the day together. 

The bequest to the village of Waldorf has resulted in the founding ofan institution that appears to be doing a great deal of good in aquiet German manner. The German biographer of Mr. Astor, from whom wehave derived some particulars of his early life, expatiates upon themerits of this establishment, which, he informs us, is called theAstor House. 

"Certain knowledge, " he says, "of Astor's bequest reached Waldorf only in 1850, when a nephew of Mr. Astor's and one of the executors of his will appeared from New York in the testator's native town with power to pay over the money to the proper persons. He kept himself mostly in Heidelberg, and organized a supervisory board to aid in the disposition of the funds in accordance with the testator's intentions. This board was to have its head-quarters in Heidelberg, and was to consist of professors in the University there, and clergymen, not less than five in all. The board of control, however, consists of the clergy of Waldorf, the burgomaster, the physician, a citizen named every three years by the Common Council, and the governor of the Institution, who must be a teacher by profession. This latter board has control of all the interior arrangements of the Institution, and the care of the children and beneficiaries. The leading objects of the Astor House are: 1. The care of the poor, who, through age, disease, or other causes, are incapable of labor; 2. The rearing and instruction of poor children, especially those who live in Waldorf. Non-residents are received if there is room, but they must make compensation for their board and instruction. Children are received at the age of six, and maintained until they are fifteen or sixteen. Besides school instruction, there is ample provision for physical culture. They are trained in active and industrious habits, and each of them, according to his disposition, is to be taught a trade, or instructed in agriculture, market-gardening, the care of vineyards, or of cattle, with a view to rendering them efficient farm-servants or stewards. It is also in contemplation to assist the blind and the deaf and dumb, and, finally, to establish a nursery for very young children left destitute. Catholics and Protestants are admitted on equal terms, religious differences not being recognized in the applicants for admission. Some time having elapsed before the preliminary arrangements were completed, the accumulated interest of the fund went so far toward paying for the buildings, that of the original fifty thousand dollars not less than forty-three thousand have been permanently invested for the support of the Institution. "

Thus they manage bequests in Germany! The Astor House was opened withmuch ceremony, January 9, 1854, the very year in which the AstorLibrary was opened to the public in the city of New York. The day ofthe founder's death is annually celebrated in the chapel of theInstitution, which is adorned by his portrait. 

These two institutions will carry the name of John Jacob Astor to thelatest generations. But they are not the only services which herendered to the public. It would be absurd to contend that inaccumulating his enormous estate, and in keeping it almost entirely inthe hands of his eldest son, he was actuated by a regard for thepublic good. He probably never thought of the public good inconnection with the bulk of his property. Nevertheless, America is soconstituted that every man in it of force and industry is necessitatedto be a public servant. If this colossal fortune had been gained inEurope it would probably have been consumed in what is there called"founding a family. " Mansions would have been built with it, parkslaid out, a title of nobility purchased; and the income, wasted inbarren and stupid magnificence would have maintained a host of idle, worthless, and pampered menials. Here, on the contrary, it is expendedalmost wholly in providing for the people of New York the verycommodity of which they stand in most pressing need; namely, _newhouses_. The simple reason why the rent of a small house in New Yorkis two thousand dollars a year is, because the supply of houses isunequal to the demand. We need at this moment five thousand morehouses in the city of New York for the decent accommodation of itsinhabitants at rents which they can afford to pay. The man who doesmore than any one else to supply the demand for houses is the patient, abstemious, and laborious heir of the Astor estate. He does a goodday's work for us in this business every day, and all the wages hereceives for so much care and toil is a moderate subsistence forhimself and his family, and the very troublesome reputation of beingthe richest man in America. And the business is done with the minimumof waste in every department. In a quiet little office in PrinceStreet, the manager of the estate, aided by two or three aged clerks(one of them of fifty-five years' standing in the office), transactsthe business of a property larger than that of many sovereign princes. Everything, also, is done promptly and in the best manner. If a tenantdesires repairs or alterations, an agent calls at the house withintwenty-four hours, makes the requisite inquiries, reports, and thework is forthwith begun, or the tenant is notified that it will not bedone. The concurrent testimony of Mr. Astor's tenants is, that he isone of the most liberal and obliging of landlords. 

So far, therefore, the Astor estate, immense as it is, appears to havebeen an unmixed good to the city in which it is mainly invested. Thereis every reason to believe that, in the hands of the next heir, itwill continue to be managed with the same prudence and economy thatmark the conduct of its present proprietor. We indulge the hope thateither the present or some future possessor may devote a portion ofhis vast revenue to the building of a new order of tenement houses, ona scale that will enable a man who earns two dollars a day to occupyapartments fit for the residence of a family of human beings. The timeis ripe for it. May we live to see in some densely populated portionof the city, a new and grander ASTOR HOUSE arise, that shalldemonstrate to the capitalists of every city in America that nothingwill pay better as an investment than HOUSES FOR THE PEOPLE, whichsnail afford to an honest laborer rooms in a clean, orderly, andcommodious palace, at the price he now pays for a corner of a dirtyfever-breeding barrack!

[Footnote 1: Old Merchants of New York. First Series. ]