The New England Magazine Volume 1_ No. 6_ June_ 1886_ Bay State Monthly Volume 4_ No. 6_ June_ 1886 Various 1053 downloads.pdf

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Volume 1, No. 6, June, 1886, Bay State Monthly Volume 4, No.
6, June, 1886
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Title: The New England Magazine Volume 1, No. 6, June, 1886, Bay State
Monthly Volume 4, No. 6, June, 1886

Author: Various

Release date: April 13, 2008 [eBook #25064]
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW
ENGLAND MAGAZINE VOLUME 1, NO. 6, JUNE, 1886, BAY STATE
MONTHLY VOLUME 4, NO. 6, JUNE, 1886 ***

THE

NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
AND

BAY STATE MONTHLY.
Old Series June, 1886. New Series
Vol. IV. No. 6 Vol. I. No. 6.

Copyright, 1886, by Bay State Monthly Company. All rights reserved.

Transcriber's Note: Minor typos have been corrected and
footnotes moved to the end of the article. Table of
contents has been created for the HTML version.

Contents
WILLIAMS COLLEGE.
THE HUNTING OF THE STAG OF ŒNOË.
WEBSTER'S VINDICATION.
HAWTHORNE'S LAST SKETCH.
ON HOOSAC MOUNTAIN.
A VERITABLE TRADER.
LYDIA MARIA CHILD.
BONNIE HAREBELLS.
MYTH IN AMERICAN COINAGE.
AN INCIDENT OF PORT HUDSON.
LUCY KEYES.
EDITOR'S TABLE.
HISTORICAL RECORD.
NECROLOGY.
LITERATURE.
INDEX TO MAGAZINE LITERATURE.

WILLIAMS COLLEGE.
BY REV. N. H. EGLESTON.

Williams College has something peculiar and romantic in its history, as well
as in its site amid the beautiful hills of Berkshire. It had its birth upon the
very frontiers of civilization, and amid the throes of that struggle which was
to decide finally whether the control of this continent, and the permanent
shaping of its institutions and its destiny were to be French or English. The
nascent colleges of Colorado, Dakota, and Oregon are relatively to-day in
the position held by Williams when it was founded.
Col. Ephraim Williams, from whom the college takes its name, had been an
active participant in the struggle to which we have alluded. He had been
commissioned by the General Court of Massachusetts to construct and
command a line of forts along the northern border of settlements from the
Connecticut River on the east to the valley of the Hoosac on the west. This
line coincided nearly with the northern boundary of Massachusetts; all
above, to the borders of Canada, being then a wilderness, through which the
roaming savages often burst with sudden violence upon the settlements of
the English colonists. The westernmost of the line of forts was not far from
what is now the site of the college, and this, being the most exposed and
most important, Williams commanded in person.
After acting in this capacity for a time, and in a manner which gained him
much distinction in the colony, he was placed in charge of a regiment of
troops, designed to participate with other forces in an expedition against the
French; the special object being the capture of Crown Point, a fortress on
Lake Champlain. While on the way to Crown Point a French force was met,
near the head of Lake George. Williams, with a detachment of troops, was
sent against it. The movement was successful. The French were repulsed,
but in the encounter Williams lost his life. A monument, erected in recent
years by the alumni of the college, marks the spot where he fell.

From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1881, by
Harper & Brothers.
CLARK HALL.
While engaged in his military duties on the frontier, Williams became much
interested in the soldiers under his command. Through his agency chiefly,
two townships of land in the vicinity of Fort Massachusetts—the name
given to the most western fort in the valley of the Hoosac—had been set off
by order of the Legislature, and lots in them had been disposed of to the
soldiers on favorable terms. Williams had also expressed the intention of
still further benefiting his comrades in arms. While resting for a day or two
at Albany, on his way to Crown Point, he bethought him of his purpose, the
execution of which had hitherto been postponed. Accordingly, he made his
will on the spot, by which he devised his property, after making some
bequests to relatives and friends, for the purpose of establishing what he
termed a Free School.

From Harper's Magazine. Copyright 1881, by
Harper & Brothers.
East College. EAST COLLEGE CAMPUS.
Library.
Such was the beginning of Williams College, for the school took the name
and form of a college in two or three years after its organization. It was
noble in purpose from the outset, but humble, indeed, in pecuniary
endowment. Some will smile, now that we think hundreds of thousands, not
to say millions, necessary for the establishment of a college, when they are
informed that the executors of Williams' estate were obliged to allow the
proceeds of it to accumulate for thirty years before they ventured to
organize the school or erect a building for its use.

From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1881, by
Harper & Brothers.
WEST COLLEGE.
That it was to be something more than an ordinary school was insured from
the beginning by the character of the trustees who so patiently brooded over
the work committed to them while the funds in their hands were gaining the
needful increase. They were among the most distinguished and intelligent
citizens of the Colony. Most of them were of collegiate training, and a large
number graduates of Yale. They believed in the value of a liberal education,
not only to the person immediately concerned, but to the community of
which he might be a member. They believed in the importance of basing
liberty upon sound education. Such men, at such a time, could hardly have
done otherwise than to lay foundations which could be fitly built upon for a
long time to come. They designed to give the youth who might come to
their school such a training as would fit them for the engagements and
duties of practical life. So they began their school in the wilderness, as it
then was, so far out on the verge of settlement that a few years before there
had been debate as to whether it was not actually beyond the boundaries of
New England. Now that the wilderness is gone, and the college, long
secluded from observation, has been made so accessible by the construction
of one of our transcontinental lines of railway along the valley of the
Hoosac, and the town to which Williams gave name has become noted far

and wide for its beauty, one wonders whether those early founders were
aware of the fair setting which Nature had provided for their school.
Certainly the æsthetic sense can ask for nothing more in the way of natural
scenery than is here presented to the eye in the combination of mountain,
valley, and stream; the infinite variety on every hand, with a quiet grandeur
characterizing all. The visitor no sooner looks out upon the enchanting
scene than he is ready to say this is pre-eminently a fit place for the training
of students; all without is so in harmony with what is best in culture and
character.

From Harper's Magazine.
Copyright, 1881, by Harper &
Brothers.
COLONEL WILLIAMS'
MONUMENT.

From Harper's Magazine. Copyright,
1881, by Harper & Brothers.
MISSION PARK MONUMENT.
But outward or geographical situation is of secondary importance with a
seat of learning. Scenery will not make scholars, though it may be desirable
and helpful, and is likely to impress itself upon the habitual beholder with
life-long influence. The college is where the teachers are. It is also what
they are. Plato made the Academy. And judged by this standard Williams
has not been deficient. From its beginning it has had able instructors, men
of sound learning, of exemplary character, and "apt to teach." Among the
earliest was Jeremiah Day, afterwards, and for so long a time, serving as the
president of Yale College. Ex-President Hopkins is just now completing the
fiftieth year of continuous instruction in the college since he was called to
be its head, and no name is higher than his as a teacher. With him have been
associated fit and eminent coadjutors in the various departments of
instruction. If the work of the college has been done quietly and
unobtrusively, it has been done well. The faculty of Williams have not been

ambitious to make a university amid the Berkshire Hills, nor to enter into a
strife with other institutions for the purpose of swelling the number of its
students. They have been content to do the work of a simple college, and to
be judged by the quality rather than the quantity of their work. Faithful to
the students who might be led to seek the benefits of such an institution,
they have sought to make their pupils faithful to themselves and to their
opportunities. In the working of the college, the training of character has
been regarded as of prime importance. While sound scholarship has been
insisted upon,—sound rather than showy,—no scholarship has been allowed
to take the place of character. The moral element has ever been held
uppermost, and the endeavor has been to blend it with all the studies of the
assigned curriculum. A truly manly character has been the finished product
which the college has sought to give to the world from year to year in the
persons of its graduates.

From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1881, by
Harper & Brothers.
THE COLLEGE CHAPEL.

From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1881, by
Harper & Brothers.
GRIFFIN HALL (OLD COLLEGE CHAPEL),
AND SOLDIERS' MONUMENT.
Colleges no less than persons have their peculiarities and special
characteristics. Its very situation made it almost certain that at Williams
much attention would be given to the natural sciences. With mountains and
meadows on every side inviting their exploration, it was almost a matter of
course that much attention should be given to botanical studies, and that the
new sciences of chemistry and geology should meet a hearty welcome. This
was made the more certain by the special qualification of the teachers of
these sciences. Professor Dewey was distinguished by his lectures and
experiments in natural philosophy and chemistry. Professor Eaton early
gave lectures in mineralogy, geology, and botany. He was a pioneer in these
departments of science, and an enthusiast whose spirit easily kindled a like
spirit in others. To pursue his favorite studies he had forsaken the profession
of law. It was his custom to take his classes into the fields and woods and
there interrogate Nature. Emmons, the younger Hopkins, Tenney, and
Chadbourne were teachers of similar spirit. Aided by the instruction of such
men the natural sciences have been studied with a zeal which has become
traditional at Williams. As evidence and result of this, a Lyceum of Natural
History has been established and maintained for many years by the

students, and has become a fixed institution. The Society has a substantial
brick building on the college campus containing a valuable collection of
specimens in the various departments of natural history, and a hall in which
the Society holds regular meetings for the reading of papers and the
discussion of questions relating to natural science. The students have been
encouraged also to pursue their researches at a distance from the college,
and various expeditions have been undertaken for this purpose. The long
summer vacations have frequently been profitably spent in this way. In
company with a professor of the college, as their guide and helper, the
members of the Society have prosecuted their researches southward to the
Gulf, and as far north as Greenland. The college has now a table in the
building of the United States Fish Commission at Wood's Holl, on the
southern coast of Massachusetts, where the students have the opportunity,
every summer, of prosecuting their biological studies.

MORGAN HALL.

From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1881, by
Harper & Brothers.
MAIN STREET, LOOKING EAST FROM EAST
COLLEGE HILL.
Of course every one who knows anything of the college knows that the
study of mental and moral science has had as prominent place as that of the
natural sciences. It could not be otherwise with such a man as Ex-President
Hopkins in the chair of instruction. Dr. Hopkins has had, in a remarkable
degree, the faculty of making these studies, usually regarded as abstruse and
repulsive to the majority of students, both intelligible and attractive. It has
been his conviction that we may know and ought to know what is nearest to
us—ourselves; that we are capable of ascertaining the laws and movements
of our own being. This is properly the science of Man. This, in his apt, clear
way, he has taught year after year. He has sought to lead the young men of
his classes to look within, to study and know themselves. For text-book he
has used now one and now another. The book has been of secondary
importance. The familiar, free discussions of the class-room have been the
most effective means of instruction, and many are the graduates of Williams
who look back upon their studies in philosophy as the most interesting and
valuable of their college course.

From Harper's Magazine. Copyright,
1881, by Harper & Brothers.
JACKSON HALL.

From Harper's Magazine Copyright, 1881, by
Harper & Brothers.
THE OLD OBSERVATORY.
Since the accession of President Carter to his place at the head of the
college, while attention to other studies has not been lessened, more
attention has been given to the study of the modern languages and to our
own native tongue, formerly so sadly neglected in most of our colleges. The
belles-lettres studies have been given a larger place than they had before.
Other changes have also been made in the curriculum and in the
arrangements and management of the college calculated to adapt it in all
respects to the wants of the time, and the present condition and needs of the
country. The list of elective studies has been increased. For some years the
senior class have had a wide liberty of choice as to the studies in which they
should be engaged. A similar liberty is now given to the juniors. As to the
lower classes, the managers of the college are not disposed to think that a
boy on coming to college is the best judge as to the studies to be pursued by
him. At the same time they recognize the fact that the average age of

students is greater by several years than it was twenty-five or fifty years
ago, and that this may well be taken into account and, coupled with the
effect of two years of college training, may make it safe and even desirable
to throw students in the latter half of their course partly upon their own
responsibility as well as privilege of choice. They are not disposed to regard
their pupils as boys when they are men, or to use compulsory requisitions
when free choice will accomplish as good results.

GYMNASIUM
WILLIAMS COLLEGE MASS
During President Carter's incumbency of office, or in recent years, large
additions have been made also to what may be called the furniture of the
college. Its funds have been sensibly augmented, and its equipment of
buildings largely increased. A new observatory has been erected to
supplement the uses of the old one, which was distinguished as being the
first observatory for astronomical purposes erected in this country. The new
one has mounted in it a meridian circle of the latest and best construction.
Other instruments in both observatories in the hands of one so eminent as
Professor Safford, furnish unusual means for the prosecution of
astronomical studies. Clark Hall, a fine new building, contains the Wilder
Mineralogical Cabinet and the college archives. A new dormitory has been
erected by the liberality of the late Ex-Governor Morgan, of New York, and
during the present year a spacious building of stone has been erected for

gymnastic purposes. As new buildings have been constructed, old ones have
been rearranged and better adapted for the various uses of the college, and
so it has been provided with the means of enlarging and improving its work,
and it is believed that few, if any, of our colleges are better equipped in this
respect than Williams.

From Harper's Magazine Copyright, 1881,
by Harper & Brothers.
GOODRICH HALL.
With such natural surroundings as the students of Williams have, such
scenery appealing everywhere to the eye and soul, mountains close at hand
to climb, and sequestered nooks to explore, it could hardly be otherwise
than that they should combine with their studies the physical exercise
necessary for the maintenance of health. They have been encouraged also
by the college authorities to engage in athletic games among themselves,

and to participate in friendly contests with the students of other colleges,
and in these contests the students of Williams have held an honorable place.
It would be wrong perhaps not to make a more distinct reference to the
moral character of the college. As has been seen, the ethical studies hold a
prominent place in the curriculum. The college has a distinctively religious
character. By this is not meant that it is a religious institution. It was not
founded by any religious sect or denomination. It is not under the control of
any such. It was founded as a school, a place of education, with no ulterior
aim. But its founder, and those who executed his will and gave shape to his
design, were men of religious character; persons who held moral character
above mere scholarship, and who believed that every scholar should have a
devout spirit. Their successors and those who from the first have held the
position of instructors, have been of like feeling. They have been Christian
scholars themselves, and have sought to make their pupils such; not,
however, in any forced or unpleasant way. The chapel has its place among
the college buildings. There the students assemble every morning for the
reading of the sacred scriptures and for prayer; and on the Sabbath religious
services are conducted after the customary manner of the churches. Studies
in natural theology and in the catechism also form a part of the college
course. The religious atmosphere which surrounds the college is as genial
and cheerful as the natural atmosphere which bathes the hills and valleys
around in October days. It has no element of sectarianism or bigotry. Free
alike from cant, from looseness and indifference, the religious tone of the
college is altogether wholesome.
Williams, the westernmost of our New England colleges, blends in
harmonious combination the puritan spirit of the East with the progressive
spirit of the West, and offers to all who come to her doors an education
based upon tried principles, and conducted in a healthful spirit. At his
inauguration to the office of its presidency, Dr. Hopkins said, "I desire and
shall labor that this may be a safe college; that here may be health, and
cheerful study, and kind feelings, and pure morals." No words perhaps
could better describe the character which, under his wise management, and
that of his associates, the college has maintained.
President Carter's inaugural address contained an urgent plea for a
professorship of the "History and Polity of the Hebrew Theocracy," and

although the funds for such a professorship are still wanting, the college
stands faithfully by the old traditions of reverence and worship and sound
morality.

THE HUNTING OF THE STAG OF ŒNOË.
BY CLINTON SCOLLARD.

From proud Mycenæ's lion-guarded gate,
Where King Eurystheus reigned in regal state,
One springtime morn when every field was fair
And song-birds carolled in the azure air,
A man of mighty stature swiftly strode,
And took his way along the winding road
That led to well-walled Argos and the sea.
From Lerna's fens a salty breeze blew free,
And stirred the locks that fell his shoulders down
And wreathed his forehead like a golden crown.
Upon his shield—a sight to hold men mute—
Was seen the head of the Nemean brute;
Within one hand a gnarlèd club he bore,
Hewn from an oak bole in the forest hoar.
The shafts of Hermes, and the wondrous bow,
The helm of Vulcan with its fiery glow,
The fine-wrought peplus fluttering in the breeze,
Proclaimed the hero valiant Hercules.
Beside the torrent Perseia that won
Its way to join the sweet Asterion,
Through flowery meads and field of greening grain,
The hero's pathway led him o'er the plain;
But ere the walls of Argos met his view,
Or ere he saw the Ægean shining blue,
He turned, and toward the mountain peaks that rose
Along the far horizon, capped with snows
Of lands Arcadian, pursued his quest.
And many days he fared with meagre rest
Taken in starlit hours 'neath forest boughs,
Where nightly Queen Titania's elves carouse.

By day he hasted with unflagging pace
Through woodland depths where Dian's hounds gave chase
To startled deer, through fields by yeomen tilled,
Through vineyards whence the winepress would be filled
When teeming Autumn with her purple fine
Had tinged the grape upon the yielding vine;
Through olive groves that, in good time, would bear
A bounteous fruitage 'neath the pruner's care:
And those who saw him as he sped along
Paused 'mid their work, or hushed the jocund song
To do him homage. None in all the land
But felt the blessings that his potent hand
Had widely wrought; remote were they and few
But that his face and stately presence knew.
Where'er his many wanderings led, he heard
In field or household no unwelcome word;
Whene'er he came, though bread and wine were spent,
He saw no frown nor look of ill content.

At last, when many nights the vernal moon
Had risen and set, and song-birds presaged June,
One sultry eve the weary hero came
To mountain hamlet where his matchless fame
Had been on all men's lips, but where his face
Was known to none; and in the market-place
He found a throng with wreaths and garlands bound,
And one who blew with clear, harmonious sound
Upon a hollow reed. Amidst the folk
A goodly ox, unfettered by the yoke,
Stood gayly decked with flowers in skilful wise
As though prepared for godly sacrifice.
When they beheld the noble-visaged man,
They bade him join the festal rites of Pan;
For some at heart believed that he might be,
In mortal guise, a heavenly deity;
And much they marveled at his kingly mien,
As with the throng he sought the forest green.

Within a glade where drooping birches stirred
Their silvery leaves, and where the drowsy bird
Sang plaintively a tender twilight lay,
An altar stood entwined by tendrils gay.
And soon thereon the mighty ox, new-slain,
Was sprinkled o'er with wine and barley grain;
Then one, amid the sound of choral song,
The seemly leader of the pastoral throng,
With reverent hand brought forth the sacred fire,
And prayerful knelt and lit the holy pyre.
Amid the roar of sacrificial flame
The devotees besought their God by name;
And while they worshipped, Hercules unheard,
Through flowering, fragrant thickets scarcely stirred
By evening's breezes, softly slipped away,
His vows fulfilled. The golden orb of day
Had ceased to flush the placid western sky;
With slowly lengthening shadows night drew nigh,
But still the hero with unslackened stride
Went hurrying onward, till a torrent wide,
Grown fierce with melting snow, his progress barred;
And there beneath the cloudless dome, bright-starred,
Upon his tawny shield he laid him down,
And slept till morning with her rosy crown
Followed the car of Phœbus up the East.
Then, when his limbs from slumber were released,
And he had eaten of his frugal fare,
He stemmed the stream, and up a hillside bare
Of aught but tangled bush and hindering briar
Toiled slowly to the crest, whereon a spire
Of splintered pine like lonely sentry stood.
Below him lay a wide-outreaching wood,
And far beyond a hamlet that he knew,
Œnoë called. Before the thick night dew
Had dried from off the grass and rustling leaves,
Or shepherd maids from under well-thatched eaves
Had gone afield to watch the wandering

Of flocks that fed beside a crystal spring,
Stout Hercules had trodden half the way
That 'twixt the pine-tree and the hamlet lay.

A Titan power, while yet the world was young,
Within the woodland's shady heart had flung
The green earth open, and a dark ravine,
Through which a streamlet purled o'er mossy-green,
Gigantic boulders, formed the chosen lair
For ravening beasts that through the forest fare.
At night or morn the deer were wont to seek
The freshening nectar of the crystal creek;
At night or morn the pard, with stealthy tread,
Crept softly out upon the boughs o'erhead;
A wanderer from rocky realms remote,
Here laved the mountain bear his shaggy coat;
And birds, bright-mirrored on the sedgy brink
Of darkling pools, here paused to plume and drink.

Where o'er the granite ledge the noisy stream
Came tossing down athwart the slanting gleam
Of morning sunrays, Hercules reclined
Beneath a tangled growth of vines that twined
Around o'erhanging saplings, oak and elm.
Upon the ground was cast his weighty helm,
Likewise his shield and shafts, his club and bow.
Breathless he listened with his ear bent low
Upon the earth. The moments sped; around
The honey-hoarding bees' unceasing sound,
The crested jay's complaining, shrilly call,
Were intermingled with the water's fall.
But soon upon his keen, detecting ear
There fell a noise which told that hoof of deer
Was lightly rustling through the reeds and grass.
With eye alert he scanned the narrow pass
Beside the stream, and, in a moment more,
Beheld a stag upon the shelving shore

Whose hoofs seemed brazen, and whose horns outshone
With gold like that which binds the slender zone
Of fair Aurora, daughter of the Dawn.
Deep eyes more tender had no timid fawn;
Of perfect form was every graceful limb;
The tapering flank symmetrical and slim,
The head erect, the nostril fine of curve,
The shapely shoulders flawless, and the swerve
Of stately neck a marvel to behold.
This was the stag a woodland nymph of old
To swift Diana gave, remembering she
Had been her friend in dire extremity.
This stag it was that brave Mycenæ's king
Had bidden valiant Hercules to bring
Alive unto his court. And now so fair
The creature stood before him, unaware
A foe lurked near, that he at heart was fain
To capture it without the piercing pain
The wounding dart might give; and so aside
He cast his princely peplus, purple-dyed,
And softly crept from 'neath the viny roof.
But lo! the stag with smite of startled hoof
On yielding ground, and toss of antlers high,
Flashing a look from out his frightened eye,
With agile bound sprang knee-deep in the stream,
A moment paused as in a trance or dream;
Then, casting back a calmly questioning look,
Regained the bank above the brawling brook,
And ere the hero seized his barbed dart,
Had disappeared within the forest's heart.

Twelve weary months had slowly dragged away
Since Hercules, upon that fateful day,
Within Arcadian wilds had sought in vain
To snare the sacred stag; through sun and rain,
Through wintry cold and winds that tossed and whirled
The falling leaf, through drifting snows that pearled

Arcadian slopes, untiring in pursuit,
He held a lonely chase that bore no fruit;
If he at morn descried the stag afar,
At night it vanished like a falling star;
And though his subtlest woodcraft he had tried,
The brazen hoof his cunning still defied.
Oft did the harvesters and husbandmen
Behold him ranging through an Argive glen,
And oft the wandering shepherd saw him rest
On some Arcadian upland's bosky crest.

In rapid flight the hunted stag had come
From craggy heights of Artemesium
To placid Ladon's fruitful vale, and there
Had sought a refuge in a cavern ne'er
Beheld by mortal man. Remote it stood
Within the precincts of a pathless wood
To Dian sacred. Round its entrance grew
A tangled copse, and one gigantic yew
Towered at its mouth. The river ran near by,
And on its bank was heard the bittern's cry,
For May had come again.

One morn by chance,
Just as the sun had flung its earliest lance
O'er towering treetops, Hercules drew near
The spot where every dawn the brass-hoofed deer
From out the grot came softly slipping down
To drink and lave its limbs of glossy brown.
Day after day the mighty man had sought
In vain the stag's retreat; his mind was fraught
With gathering fear lest he should find no trace
Of royal covert in that wildwood place.
Erelong a sound that smote his eager ear
Gave swift assurance that his prize was near.
With cautious hand a skimmering dart he drew,
And eager, peered the tremulous leafage through;

The pattering footfalls near and nearer came,
A moment paused,—then, like a flash of flame,
The stag in splendor dawned upon his sight,
And sniffed the crystal air with keen delight.
Upon the morning breeze the piercing twang
Of taut-drawn bowstring ominously rang,
While with a moan the noble creature sank
In pain and terror on the reedy bank.
Beneath a haughty hemlock's spicy shade
The hero stanched the wound his shaft had made;
With leathern thong the stag's slight limbs he bound,
And striding swiftly o'er the ferny ground,
His precious burden on his shoulders wide,
Toward fair Mycenæ with her walls of pride
He hurried on from lisping Ladon's shore,
Elate to feel his arduous task was o'er.
Before his steps the joyful tidings flew,
And when anigh the city's gates he drew,
A band of stately elders bade him hail;
Then came a troop of youths in garments pale,
Upon their lips a merry hunting lay;
And following close a group of maidens gay,
With twining flowers, freshed plucked, and emerald sprays.
And all the concourse wished him length of days,
O'erjoyed to see, with horns of glittering gold,
The living stag within the hero's hold.
Nor here nor there the happy hunter stayed
His rapid steps, but while the people made
Great clamor in his honor from the wall,
Sought out the king within the royal hall;
And there, 'mid cries that echoed from the street,
He laid his trophy at the monarch's feet.

WEBSTER'S VINDICATION.
BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN.

The first great National success of the Whig party was in the election of
their candidates for President and Vice-President in 1840, William Henry
Harrison, of Ohio, and John Tyler, of Virginia, being the successful
nominees. The previous influence of the party in many States of the Union,
their ability to carry out great local measures in their respective locations,
and their party power in Congress, but made the political contest which was
long and bitter, the more active and important. Party strife ran to the highest
pitch throughout the whole country, and Mr. Webster, who was the
acknowledged head in the North, and one of the principal originators of the
National Whig organization in the United States, was looked up to as a most
important personage in the contest, and his influence was deeply felt and
appreciated. General Harrison early selected Mr. Webster for one of his
Cabinet, and offered him the choice between the Treasury and the State
Department. Mr. Webster chose the latter, and during the short month of
General Harrison's life, laid out the ground plan of that important work
which kept him so busily employed for the next two years, and which under
no circumstances during the contest between Mr. Tyler, the succeeding
President, and the Whig party, did he feel willing to leave to the chances of
a settlement by a successor less familiar and perhaps less skilled in National
affairs with foreign governments than himself. Although Mr. Webster was
generally sustained by the party friends in Congress, and in part by the
whole country, the shortsighted, less skilful, and more selfish of Whig
partisans denounced him in unmeasured terms through the press and upon
the stump, for not forsaking his post and leaving the President with the rest
of the Cabinet. It was here, at the great pivotal turn of the Whig party, so far
as Mr. Webster was concerned, and not at a later period, while in the Senate
where he delivered his seventh of March speech, or in the Cabinet of
President Fillmore, that the great coalition of radical partisans was made
against him. The most bitter denunciations were launched by this
premeditated alliance of selfish politicians, who, not having been able to

bit, bridle, and drive Mr. Webster, were determined to rule or ruin, through
his political disfranchisement, from the great party he was virtually the
father of. All this, too, by false pretence; for a cool review of Mr. Webster's
course has satisfied the country that the great depth of motive, prescience of
danger to the Union and in fact, purpose of that speech, was, in the highest
sense, proper and patriotic, and in no way at variance with the interpretation
of either the old or new Constitution as now understood. The occasion was
seized upon, having failed in their first effort to denounce and defame him,
in the hope of thus building up an influence with some candidate for
President, whom they could control for their own selfish purposes. It will be
remembered that some of Mr. Webster's friends, or, at least, those who
claimed to be such, took occasion to forsake him at that time. He, however,
went into the Cabinet of President Fillmore after the death of General
Taylor, where he remained until his death. The bill pending before Congress
when he left it, was altered after Mr. Webster's speech, and he stated to his
friends that he should have proposed amendments to it on its final passage,
if he had been in the Senate. It was at this time that he prepared the
following paper, which I have always designated as "Webster's
Vindication." This document, as shown by the endorsement, in the
handwriting of Colonel Fletcher Webster, was proposed to the Cabinet by
Mr. Webster, in October, 1850, who intended it as a mandate to the United
States officials in all the States, but it was rejected by President Fillmore,
who did not wish thus to be committed. There is no doubt about the
genuineness of the document itself. It was found in looking over Mr.
Webster's papers before the Webster mansion was burned, and was
presented to the writer by Mrs. Fletcher Webster, some years before it was
made public, at the Webster Centennial Celebration at Marshfield in 1882,
where it was first read in the presence of President Arthur, who was at the
meeting. It speaks strongly for itself, and is all that will be needed, at this
late day, to convince every dispassionate lover of justice and truth, of
Webster's sincerity and singleheartedness of motive, and his unswerving
loyalty to the Constitution and the Union.

DANIEL WEBSTER.[1]

"PROPOSED

"CABINET CIRCULAR OF DANIEL WEBSTER, OCTOBER, 1850.

"The open manner in which disunion, secession, or a separation of the
States, is suggested and recommended in some parts of the country,
naturally calls on those to whom are confided the power and trust of
maintaining the Constitution, and seeing that the laws of the United States
be faithfully executed, to reflect upon the duties which events not yet
indeed probable, but possible, may require them to perform. In the Northern
and Eastern States, these sentiments of disunion are espoused principally by
persons of heated imaginations, assembling together and passing resolutions
of such wild and violent character as to render them nearly harmless. It is

not so in other parts of the country. There are States in the South in which
secession and dismemberment are proposed or recommended by persons of
character and influence, filling stations of high public trust, and, it is painful
to add, in some instances, not unconnected with the Government of the
United States itself. Legislatures of some of the States have directed the
government of those States to reassemble them in the contingency of the
passage of certain laws by Congress. While these occurrences do not
constitute an exigency calling for any positive proceeding either by the
Executive Government of the United States or by Congress, yet they justly
awaken attention, and admonish those in whose hands the administration of
the government is placed, not to be found either unadvised, surprised, or
unprepared, should a crisis arrive. The Constitution of the United States is
founded on the idea of a division of power between the general government
and the respective State governments; and this division is marked out and
defined by the Constitution of the United States with as much distinctness
and accuracy as the nature of the subject and the imperfection of language
will admit. The powers of Congress are specifically enumerated, and all
other powers necessary to carry these specified powers into effect are also
expressly granted. The Constitution was adopted by the people in the
several States, acting through the agency of conventions chosen by
themselves; the Legislatures of the States had nothing to do with this
proceeding, but to regulate the time and manner in which these conventions
thus chosen by the people, the true source of all power, should assemble.
The Constitution of the United States purports to be a perpetual form of
government; it contains no limits for its duration, and suggests no means
and no form of proceeding by which it can be dissolved, or its obligations
dispensed with; it requires the personal allegiance of every citizen of the
United States, and demands a solemn oath for its support from every man
employed in any public trust, whether under the Government of the United
States, or any State government. This obligation and this oath are enjoined
in broad and general terms without qualification or modification, and with
reference to no supposed possible change of circumstances or events.
"No man can sit in a State Legislature, or on the bench of a State court, or
execute the process of such court, or hold a commission in the militia, or fill
any other office in a State government, without having first taken and
subscribed an oath to support the Constitution of the United States. Without

looking, therefore, to what might be the result of forcible revolution, since
such cases can, of course, be governed by no previously established rule, it
is certainly the manifest duty of all those who are entrusted with the
Government of the United States in its several branches and departments to
uphold and maintain that government to the full extent of its constitutional
power and authority, to enact all laws necessary to that end, and to take care
that those laws be executed by all the means created and conferred by the
Constitution itself. We are to look to but one future, and that a future in
which the Constitution of the country shall stand as it now stands; laws
passed in conformity to it to be executed as they have hitherto been
executed, and the public peace maintained as it has hitherto been
maintained. Whatsoever of the future may be supposed to lie out of this
line, is not so much a thing to be expected, as a thing to be feared and
dreaded, and to be guarded against by the firmest resolution and the utmost
vigilance of all who are entrusted with the conduct of public affairs; no
alternative can be presented which is to authorize them to depart from the
course which they have sworn to pursue. In conferring the necessary
powers on the general government, it was foreseen that questions as to the
just extent of those powers might occur, and that cases of conflict between
the laws of the United States and the laws of individual States might arise.
It was of indispensable necessity, therefore, that the manner in which such
questions should be settled, and the tribunal which should have the ultimate
authority to decide them, should be established and fixed by the
Constitution itself: and this has been clearly and amply done. By the
Constitution of the United States, that instrument itself, all acts of Congress
passed in conformity to it, and public treaties, constitute the supreme law of
the land, and are to be of controlling force and effect, anything in any State
constitution or State law to the contrary notwithstanding; and the judges in
every State, as well as of the courts of the United States, are expressly
bound thereby. The supreme rule, then, is plainly and clearly declared and
established: it is the Constitution of the United States, the laws of Congress
passed in pursuance thereof, and treaties made under the authority of the
United States. And here the great and turning question arises, Who in the
last resort is to construe and interpret this supreme law? If it be alleged, for
example, that a particular act of a State Legislature is a violation of the
Constitution of the United States, and therefore void, what tribunal has
authority finally to determine this important question? It is evident that if

this power had not been vested in the tribunals of the United States, the
government would have wanted the means of its own preservation; all its
granted powers would have depended upon the variable and uncertain
decisions of State courts.
"It is a well-established maxim in political organization, that the judicial
power must be made co-extensive with the constitutional and legislative
power; otherwise there can be no adequate provision for the interpretation
and execution of the laws. In conformity with this plain and necessary
principle, the Constitution declares that the judicial power of the United
States shall extend to all cases in law and equity arising under the
Constitution, the laws of the United States and treaties, no matter in what
court such a case arises. Whenever and wherever such a case comes up, the
judicial power of the United States extends to it, and attaches upon it; and if
it arise in any State court, the acts of Congress have made provision for its
transfer to the Supreme Court of the United States, there to be finally heard
and adjudged. This proceeding is well known to the profession, and need
not now be particularly stated or rehearsed. Finally, the President of the
United States is by the Constitution made commander-in-chief of the army
and navy, and of the militia when called into the actual service of the United
States; and all these military means are put under his control in order that he
may be able to see that the laws be faithfully executed. The Government of
the United States, therefore, though a government of limited powers, is
complete in itself, and, to the extent of those powers, possesses all the
faculties for legislation, interpretation and execution of the laws, and
nothing is necessary but fidelity in all those who are elected by the people
to hold office in its various departments to cause it to be upheld,
maintained, and efficiently administered.
"The Constitution assigns particular classes of causes to the original
jurisdiction of the Supreme Court, and other courts are to exercise such
powers and duties as are or may be prescribed by Congress. Congress has
not as yet found it necessary or expedient to confer on the circuit or other
inferior courts all the jurisdiction created or authorized by the Constitution;
thus there are many cases in which a summary jurisdiction usually
belonging to courts, such as that of mandamus and injunction, are not
provided for by general law, but some such cases are provided for. Thus by
the act of March 2, 1833, it is declared that the jurisdiction of the Circuit

Courts of the United States shall extend to all cases in law or equity arising
under the revenue laws of the United States; and if any person be injured in
his person or property on account of any act by him done under any revenue
law of the United States, he may bring suit immediately in the Circuit Court
of the United States; and if he be sued in any State court for such act, he
may cause such suit to be immediately removed into the Circuit Court of
the United States; and if the State court refuse a copy of its record, that
record may be supplied by affidavit; and if the defendant be under arrest, or
in custody, he is to be brought by habeas corpus before the Circuit Court of
the United States. Under the first part of these provisions, writs of
mandamus and injunction may be issued, and all other writs and processes
suitable to the case; and any judge of any court of the United States is
authorized to grant writs of habeas corpus in all cases of prisoners
committed or confined for any act done in pursuance of a law of the United
States, or of any order, process or decree of any court of the United States.
These provisions are all found in the permanent sections of the act of
Congress already referred to. The importance and efficiency of these
provisions, if events were to arise in which obstruction to the collection of
revenue should be attempted or threatened, are too obvious to require
comment. The several district attorneys of the United States will take
especial care to inform themselves of these enactments of law, and be
prepared to cause them to be enforced in the first and in every case which
may arise, justly calling for their application.
"Declarations merely theoretical, or resolutions only declaratory of
opinions, from however high authority emanating, cannot properly be made
the subject of legal or judicial proceedings. They may be very intemperate,
they may be very exceptional, they may be very unconstitutional; but until
something shall be actually done or attempted, hindering or obstructing the
execution of the laws of the United States, or injuring those employed in
their execution, the officers of the government will remain vigilant indeed,
and prepared for events, but without any positive exercise of authority. It is
most earnestly to be hoped that the returning good sense of the people in all
the States, and an increase of harmony and brotherly good will everywhere,
may prevent the necessity of resorting to the exercise of legal authority; it is
to be hoped that all good citizens will be much more inclined to reflect on
the value of the Union and the benefits which it has conferred upon all, than

to speculate upon impracticable means for its severance or dissolution. No
State legislation, it is evident, is competent to declare such severance or
dissolution—the people of no State have clothed their Legislature with any
such authority; any act therefore proclaiming such severance by a
Legislature, would be merely null and void as altogether exceeding its
constitutional powers. No State was brought into the Union by the
Legislature thereof, and no State can be put out of the Union by the
Legislature thereof. Doubtless it is to be admitted that revolution, forcible
revolution, may produce dismemberment more or less extensive; but there
is no power on earth competent, by any peaceable or recognized manner of
proceeding, to discharge the consciences of the citizens of the United States
from the duty of supporting the Constitution. The government may be
overthrown, or the Union broken into fragments by force of arms or force
of numbers, but neither can be done by any prescribed form or peaceable
existing authority."

FOOTNOTES:
[1] The above portrait of Daniel Webster is taken from a book just issued by the
Fowler & Wells Co., New York, entitled, "A Natural System of Elocution and
Oratory," founded upon analysis of the Human Constitution. By Thomas A.
Hyde and William Hyde. Among other valuable subjects which this book
contains is a description and analysis of Webster oratory.

HAWTHORNE'S LAST SKETCH.
BY PHILIP R. AMMIDON.

In the list of contributors to the old "New England Magazine,"—of which
this is in a manner the legitimate successor,—among other names afterward
famous is that of Nathaniel Hawthorne, then an obscure writer for various
periodicals, and the ill-paid author of those juvenile histories that gave Mr.
S. G. Goodrich ("Peter Parley") a literary reputation he scarcely earned.
The writer has a copy of this respectable and for a time popular monthly,
with which he would be reluctant to part. It contains, for the first time
printed, "The White Old Maid," one of the weirdest and most fascinating of
the "Twice-Told Tales."
My present object is to invite the notice of readers of the "New England
Magazine" of our day to the last completed work from the hand of that man
of marvellous genius,

"Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen,
And left the tale half told."

I remember with what concern I once heard a resident of Concord, a man
not unknown in the world of letters, speak of certain evils likely to result
from "Hawthorne's fall."
This, to me, conveyed only the idea of physical disaster, and it was with a
sentiment of relief, commensurate with the contempt inspired by such an
explanation, that I was given to understand that it was the great author's
unselfish effort in behalf of his old college comrade and life-long friend,
that was supposed to imply a state of moral declension fitly indicated by the
sinister word.
It was thus that men and women, full of the cheap patriotism of the time,
and puffed up with a sort of loyal egotism that blinded them to the
possibilities of honest purpose in any whose views on politics and public

affairs varied never so slightly from their accepted standard of right,
ventured to condemn what they were constitutionally incapable of judging
with either coolness or fair appreciation.
The "Life of Franklin Pierce" is by no means a great book, and neither the
subject nor its treatment entitles it to a place among the immortal works that
preceded and followed it; but to those of us who knew and loved the writer,
and to those who through his books got some glimpses of the singular
purity of his moral nature, a quality of friendship that excludes the idea of
selfish interest seems its author's only and sufficient motive.
When the storm of civil war broke upon us, these worthy critics flung
themselves with tongue, or pen, or sword—chiefly with tongue—into the
good cause, and were scandalized at the vision of one who would fain have
dreamed while they, after their various methods, were fighting; of a poet so
far aloft in the regions of ideal fancy that the confused voices of battle well-
nigh failed to reach him. And yet, in the words of one of their own writers,
"There was but one man living whom the country could so ill
afford to lose as this strange, wayward, fitful, unreasonable poet
and dreamer, who sneered at the war, and at the great nation that
waged it, with the pettishness of a spoiled child."
But the charge that Hawthorne sneered at the righteous war, or, far worse, at
his country, is full of an injustice which seems more bitter because it comes
from one whose hearty admiration of the Author should have lifted him to
a clearer appreciation of the Man in his purity and lofty patriotism.
The writer concludes the article from which I have quoted, and which, in
keen analysis and generous, literary judgment, is rarely equalled by any of
Hawthorne's reviewers, with these and like ill-considered words:—
"Wherever he turned his weary steps, there stood in his path the
genius of the time, not beautiful, not romantic, to his eyes; not
even grand—but stern enough and in grim earnest, demanding
of him what he could not give,—the heart and voice of an
American citizen in the hour of America's danger."
The writer forgot, or, blinded by strong feeling, failed to perceive, that the
silence which, with him as with hundreds of good and earnest men, would

indeed have indicated a fatal lack of patriotic emotion, was in the case of
Hawthorne only the inevitable shrinking of a rare and sensitive spirit from
contact with the awful realities of conflict.
When the "Artist of the Beautiful" descended from the serene atmosphere,
where his lofty spiritual nature had its true home and highest sphere of
action, and devoted his delicate gifts to the useful mysteries of watch-
making, the result, while eminently satisfactory to his old employer and
well-wisher, the jeweller, and doubtless of blessed effect on the poor artist's
purse, was disastrous in loss to the world of thought, and in its influence on
his better and real self.
A writer of tenderer sympathies and nicer discrimination, takes a more
kindly and a wiser view:—
"About the whole question of the war, Hawthorne's mind was, I
think, always hovering between two views. He sympathized
with it in principle; but its inevitable accessories—the
bloodshed, the bustle, and above all, perhaps, the bunkum which
accompanied it—were to him absolutely hateful.... To any one
who knew the man, the mere fact that Hawthorne should have
been able to make up his mind to the righteousness and
expediency of the war at all, is evidence of the strength of that
popular passion which drove the North and South into conflict."
But it was not Hawthorne's silence that provoked to fiercest expression the
safe zeal of certain literary loyalists. This last sketch from that pen, the
secret of whose magic was never communicated, and which, precious in
itself, is invaluable because the last, was published in the summer of 1862
—less than two years before its author's death. Its title, "Chiefly about War
Matters," suggests its character. It was, in fact, a series of pictures of scenes
in and about Washington at this stage of the great contest.
The present writer attempts nothing here like a review of this remarkable
essay, entirely worthy as it was of its subject and its author's genius; it is
simply my purpose to call the reader's attention to a production, which,
more than anything else in Hawthorne's writings, has kindled the hostile
criticism of shallow and uncongenial minds.

So quaintly characteristic is its commencement that I am tempted to give its
opening paragraphs in full:—
"There is no remoteness of life and thought, no hermetically
scaled seclusion, except, possibly, that of the grave, into which
the disturbing influences of this war do not penetrate. Of course,
the general heart-quake of the country long ago knocked at my
cottage-door, and compelled me, reluctantly, to suspend the
contemplation of certain fantasies to which, according to my
harmless custom, I was endeavoring to give a sufficiently
lifelike aspect to admit of their figuring in a romance. As I make
no pretensions to statecraft or soldiership, and could promote the
common weal neither by valor nor counsel, it seemed at first a
pity that I should be debarred from such unsubstantial business
as I had contrived for myself, since nothing more genuine was to
be substituted for it.
"But I magnanimously considered that there is a kind of treason
in inoculating one's self from the universal fear and sorrow, and
thinking one's idle thoughts in the dread time of civil war; and
could a man be so cold and hard-hearted, he would better
deserve to be sent to Fort Warren than many who have found
their way thither on the score of violent but misdirected
sympathies.
"I remember the touching rebuke administered by King Charles
to that rural squire, the echo of whose hunting-horn came to the
poor monarch's ear on the morning before a battle, where the
sovereignty and constitution of England were at stake. So I gave
myself up to reading newspapers, and listening to the click of
the telegraph, like other people, until after a great many months
of such pastime, it grew so abominably irksome that I
determined to look a little more closely at matters with my own
eyes."
It was in the early days of March that Hawthorne, in company with his
friend and publisher, Wm. D. Ticknor, left Boston on a visit to Washington
and the seat of war, then in its immediate vicinity.

The sketches of natural scenery are touched with the same pencil that gave
us the charming picture of daily life at the Old Manse.
It was in New York that the travellers had the first clear intimation of the
unnatural order of things consequent on a state of civil war. Here they found
a rather prominent display of military goods at the shop windows—such as
swords, with gilded scabbards and trappings, epaulettes, carbines, revolvers,
and sometimes a great iron cannon at the edge of the pavement, as if Mars
had dropped one of his pocket-pistols there while hurrying to the field.
As railway companions, they had now and then a volunteer in his French-
gray great coat, returning from furlough, or a new-made officer travelling to
join his regiment in his new-made uniform, which was perhaps all of the
military character that he had about him; but proud of his eagle buttons, and
likely enough to, do them honor before the gilt should be wholly dimmed.
The country, in short, so far as bustle and movement went, was more quiet
than in ordinary times, because so large a proportion of its restless elements
had been drawn towards the seat of conflict.
But the air was full of a vague disturbance.
The author's patriotic alarm seems to have been especially excited by the
host of embryo warriors that filled the cars and thronged the stations all
along the journey. One cause of this terror will seem to us now all the more
amusing because there are not wanting those who will doubtless honestly
believe that in giving it expression he wrote with something of prophetic
unction:—
"One terrible idea occurs in reference to this matter. Even
supposing the war should end to-morrow, and the army melt into
the mass of the population within the year, what an incalculable
preponderance will there be of military titles and pretentions for
at least half a century to come! Every country neighborhood will
have its general or two, its three or four colonels, half a dozen
majors, and captains without end—besides noncommissioned
officers and privates, more than the recruiting officers ever knew
of,—all with their campaign stories which will become the
staple of fireside talk forevermore.

"Military merit, or rather, since that is not so readily estimated,
military notoriety, will be the measure of all claims to civil
distinction.
"One bullet-headed general will succeed another in the
presidential chair; and veterans will hold the offices at home and
abroad, and sit in Congress and the State Legislature, and fill all
the avenues of public life. And yet I do not speak of this
deprecatingly, since, very likely, it may substitute something
more real and genuine, instead of the many shams on which men
have heretofore founded their claims to public regard; but it
behooves civilians to consider their wretched prospects in the
future, and assume the military button before it is too late."
The day of their arrival in Washington was the date of McClellan's historic
movement on Manassas:—
"On the very day of our arrival sixty thousand men had crossed
the Potomac on their march towards Manassas; and almost with
their first steps into the Virginia mud, the phantasmagory of a
countless host and impregnable ramparts, before which they had
so long remained quiescent, dissolved quite away.
"It was as if General McClellan had thrust his sword into a
gigantic enemy, and, beholding him suddenly collapse, had
discovered to himself and the world that he had merely
punctured an enormously swollen bladder.
"There are instances of a similar character in old romances,
where great armies are long kept at bay by the arts of the
necromancers, who build airy towers and battlements, and
muster warriors of terrible aspect, and thus feign a defence of
seeming impregnability, until some bolder champion of the
besiegers dashes forward to try an encounter with the foremost
foeman, and finds him melt away in the death-grapple. With
such heroic adventures let the march upon Manassas be
hereafter reckoned.

"The whole business, though connected with the destinies of a
nation, takes inevitably a tinge of the ludicrous.
"The vast preparation of men and warlike material,—the
majestic patience and docility,—with which the people waited
through those weary and dreary months,—the martial skill,
courage, and caution, with which our movement was ultimately
made,—and at last the shock with which we were brought
suddenly up against nothing at all!"
It is in dealing with ponderous and awful blunders like this that the satiric
power of the writer finds its favorite field of action.
It is not strange that, in those excited times of bitterness and strife, certain
genuine but shallow souls should have counted it little short of treason to
extract anything like fun from an episode which for us, in the day of it, was
full of very solemn mortification. In this sketch, as indeed all through his
works, it is in the delineation of individual character—in the analysis of
motives—that Hawthorne's peculiar and amazing power is especially
manifest, intermingled withal with a certain droll self-distrust and
deprecation of adverse criticism, to which he has here given expression in a
series of foot-notes, ostensibly from the editor's pen, but written in fact by
the author himself.
The mixture of candor and apologetic self-disapproval in these addenda has
a sufficiently odd effect, intermingled as it is with the utmost freedom of
comment and criticism.
Prominent generals, cabinet ministers, and even the President himself, are
dealt with in a vein of satiric candor, but with a pervasive spirit of good-
nature evident enough and of sufficient breadth to disarm even official
sensitiveness of anything like rancor.
Whatever personal descriptions the author may have meditated, or
accomplished and afterward suppressed, the only full-length portrait he has
given us is that of McClellan, of all the deeper interest and value now that
both these famous Americans are numbered with the dead.
His impressions of President Lincoln seemed colored with a trace of
prejudice, which, however unjust and unfortunate it may appear to us now,

was really only the inevitable consequence of the wide intellectual gulf that
yawned between those two men, both of positive character, and with tastes
and sympathies the most radically opposite. But despite this unavoidable
repulsion, Hawthorne's keen, resistless insight did not fail to penetrate the
wonderful purity and simplicity of Lincoln's character. In a final word he
does him ample justice:—
"He is evidently a man of keen faculties, and, what is still more
to the purpose, of powerful character.
"As to his integrity, the people have that intuition of it which is
never deceived. Before he actually entered upon his great office,
and for a considerable time afterwards, there is no reason to
suppose that he adequately estimated the gigantic task about to
be imposed upon him, or, at least, had any distinct idea how it
was to be managed; and I presume there may have been more
than one veteran politician to propose to himself to take the
power out of President Lincoln's hands into his own, leaving our
honest friend only the public responsibility for the good or ill
success of the career. The extremely imperfect development of
his statesmanly qualities at that period may have justified such
designs. But the President is teachable by events, and has now
spent a year in a very arduous course of education; he has a
flexible mind, capable of much expansion, and convertible
towards far loftier studies and activities than those of his early
life; and if he came to Washington a backwoods humorist, he
has already transformed himself into as good a statesman (to
speak modestly) as his prime minister."
So long as a general's sword is seemingly invincible, and the uniformity of
his success silences even the cavillings of envy,—that most persistent of all
the unlovely emotions,—just so long he may safely count on a unanimity of
public approval. But let disaster befall, and, justly or otherwise, it matters
little which, the voices just now most vociferous for coronation, bellow the
loudest for crucifixion! Few of our commanders in the late war had bitterer
evidence of this than McClellan. Idolized while victorious, he was
vituperated with corresponding violence the instant fortune showed signs of
wavering in her fidelity. At this distance from those stirring times we can

easily perceive that the idolatry and the abuse were alike unjust and even
ridiculous; the same wisdom that pronounces it unsafe to praise a man until
death has set the seal to his earthly reputation, deems it no less a folly to
bestow adulation or excessive blame on a military commander before the
end of his campaigns. To his brief estimate of McClellan's character and
qualifications for his post of vast responsibility, our author brought an
admirable coolness of judgment, and that wonderful insight into men and
motives so seldom at fault. Keenly alive to the ridiculousness of the attack
on Manassas, and declaring that "no rebel artillery has played upon us with
such overwhelming effect," he was capable, with a fairness sufficiently
amazing in any critic of those days, of doing full justice to the general's
indubitable ability and patriotism. He closes his sketch of McClellan, by no
means the least valuable part of the article we are considering, with this
decided expression of opinion: "I shall not give up my faith in his
soldiership until he is defeated, nor in his courage and integrity even then."
An odd peculiarity of Hawthorne's mind was the incertitude—I use this vile
word in lack of a better at the moment—that seemed at times to invest his
reasoning powers with a sort of Indian summer haziness.
This idiosyncrasy had a striking exemplification when our travellers met "a
party of contrabands escaping out of the mysterious depths of Secessia."
"They were unlike the specimens of their race whom we are
accustomed to see at the North, and, in my judgment, were far
more agreeable.
"So rudely were they attired,—as if their garb had grown upon
them spontaneously,—so picturesquely natural in manners, and
wearing such a crust of primeval simplicity (which is quite
polished away from the Northern black man), that they seemed a
kind of creature by themselves, not altogether human, but
perhaps quite as good, and akin to the fauns and rustic deities of
olden times. I wonder if I shall excite anybody's wrath by saying
this?
"It is no great matter at all events. I felt most kindly towards the
poor fugitives, but knew not precisely what to wish in their
behalf, nor in the least how to help them. For the sake of the

manhood which is latent in them, I would not have turned them
back; but I should have felt almost as reluctant on their own
account to hasten them forward to the strangers' land; and I
think my prevalent idea was that, whoever may be benefited by
the results of this war, it will not be the present generation of
negroes, the childhood of whose race has now gone forever, and
who must henceforth fight a hard battle with the world on very
unequal terms. On behalf of my own race, I am glad, and can
only hope that an inscrutable Providence means good to both
parties."
The whimsical feature in Hawthorne's character to which we have alluded,
is thus noticed by an intimate and valued friend of the great author:—
"Nobody disliked slavery more cordially than he did; and yet the
difficulty of what was to be done with the slaves weighed
constantly upon his mind. He told me once that while he had
been consul at Liverpool a vessel arrived there with a number of
negro sailors, who had been brought from slave States, and
would, of course, be enslaved on their return. He fancied that he
ought to inform the men of the fact, but then he was stopped by
the reflection—who was to provide for them if they became
free? and, as he said with a sigh, 'While I was thinking, the
vessel sailed.' So I recollect, on the old battlefield of Manassas,
on which I strolled in company with Hawthorne, meeting a
batch of runaway slaves—weary, footsore, wretched, and
helpless beyond conception; we gave them food and wine, some
small sums of money, and got them a lift upon a train going
northward; but not long afterwards Hawthorne turned to me
with the remark, 'I am not sure that we were doing right, after
all. How can those poor beings find food and shelter away from
home?'
"Thus this ingrained and inherent doubt incapacitated him from
following any course vigorously.
"He thought on the whole that Wendell Phillips and Lloyd
Garrison and the abolitionists were in the right, but then he was

never quite certain that they were not in the wrong after all; so
that his advocacy of their cause was of a very uncertain
character."
There is a constant temptation to transcend proper limits in quoting from
this most characteristic production of our great author.
It was my purpose simply to recall to the minds of readers an article whose
authorship was scarcely known at the time of its appearance (in the July of
1862), and which has never been included in its writer's collected works.
Nothing in Hawthorne's books—not even excepting "Twice-Told Tales"—is
more suggestive and eloquent of the man and the author.
The same matchless purity of style, with never a sophomoric flight nor a
tinge of dulness; replete with subtle humor, and an irony whose tempered
edge scarcely wounds by reason of the attendant richness of good nature
that "steals away its sharpness"; as in the same soil that nourishes the keen,
aggressive nettle, is always found a certain herb of healing potency. I cannot
refrain from giving our readers some passages near the close. They are
descriptive of certain guests at Willard's Hotel, in Washington, where the
travellers lived during their stay at the Capital.
This portion of Hawthorne's last magazine article recalls forcibly passages
in the first of his published stories, "The Gray Champion."
"It is curious to observe what antiquated figures and costumes
sometimes make their appearance at Willard's. You meet elderly
men with frilled shirt-fronts, for example, the fashion of which
adornment passed away from among the people of this world
half a century ago.
"It is as if one of Stuart's portraits were walking abroad.
"I see no way of accounting for this, except that the troubles of
the times, the impiety of traitors, and the peril of our sacred
Union and Constitution have disturbed in their honored graves,
some of the venerable fathers of the country, and summoned
them forth to protest against the meditated and half-
accomplished sacrilege.

"If it be so, their wonted fires are not altogether extinguished in
their ashes,—in their throats, I might rather say,—for I beheld
one of these excellent old men quaffing such a horn of Bourbon
whiskey as a toper of the present century would be loath to
venture upon.
"But, really, one would be glad to know where these strange
figures come from.
"It shows, at any rate, how many remote, decaying villages and
country neighborhoods of the North, and forest nooks of the
West, and old mansion houses in cities, are shaken by the tremor
of our native soil, so that men long hidden in retirement put on
the garments of their youth and hurry out to inquire what is the
matter.
"The old men whom we see here have generally more marked
faces than the young ones, and naturally enough; since it must
be an extraordinary vigor and venerability of life that can
overcome the rusty sloth of age, and keep the senior flexible
enough to take an interest in new things; whereas, hundreds of
commonplace young men come hither to stare with eyes of
vacant wonder, and with vague hopes of finding out what they
are fit for. And this war (we may say so much in its favor) has
been the means of discovering that important secret to not a
few."

The writer remembers the vivid and untiring pleasure with which, when a
child, he read and re-read that marvellous book for little people,
"Grandfather's Arm Chair." It opened to him a new world of poetry and
beauty—a revelation which close and severest study of the great author's
mind and character, as developed in his maturer works, has but made
broader and deeper.
With a grateful memory of the first, I write these few lines to recall almost
the latest of Hawthorne's writings; the very last indeed, save the charming

fragment that gave to the world of letters "Little Pansy"—"The sweetest
child," says Alexander Smith, "in English literature."
I cannot close this brief and cursory notice more appropriately than in the
words of a dear friend and appreciative admirer of our author, James
Russell Lowell:—
"This now 'sacred and happy spirit' was cruelly misunderstood
among men. There were those who would have taken him away
from his proper and peculiar sphere, in which he has done more
for the true fame of his country than any other man, and made
him a politician and reformer.
"Even the faithfulness of his friendships was turned into
reproach.
"Him in whom New England was embodied as never before,
making a part of every fibre of his soul, we have heard charged
with want of patriotism.
"There were certain things and certain men with whom his
essentially aristocratic nature could not sympathize, but he was
American to the core. Just after Bull Run he wrote to a friend, 'If
the event of this day has left the people of the North in the same
grim and bloody mood in which it has left me, it will be a costly
victory to the South.'
"But it is unworthy of this noble man to defend him from
imputations which never touched him. As the years go by, his
countrymen will grow more and more proud of him, more and
more satisfied that it is, after all, something considerable to be
only a genius."

ON HOOSAC MOUNTAIN.
BY EDWARD D. GUILD.

One day, when all the city street
Lay sultry in the summer heat,
I stood on Hoosac's rocky crest,
And drank a draught of joy and rest.

The bracing Berkshire breezes blew
Across the hills, and sweeping through
The grateful valleys, gently fanned
The sun-scorched brow of Greylock grand.

From off the cragged hills Taghkonic,
High o'er the river Housatonic,
An eagle in his strength was soaring,
The paltry earth beneath ignoring.

Swift did his wings his will obey;
Straight north by east he coursed his way;
Proudly he took his fearless flight,
Toward fair Monadnock's hazy height.

Then on this rugged mountain wall,
A deeper silence seemed to fall:
Over this road, though broad and wide,
No traveller was seen to ride.

Only in vision rumbled by
A creaking coach with driver high,
Who cracked his whip, and rang his cheers—
Echoes they were of other years.

A group of graves were clustered here;

The wind wailed o'er them wild and drear:—
Could souls rise higher to the Light
When soaring from this mountain height?

And as I mused, the twilight fell:
I heard a distant evening bell;
And in the valley far below,
I heard the home-bound cattle low.

Far down where winds the Deerfield stream,
I saw a light,—a sudden gleam,
As up the narrow river riding
The Western train came swiftly gliding.

Then full to Hoosac's height it came,
When, with a sudden flare of flame,
Boldly the barrier it defied
And plunged into the mountain side.

The train was lost to sound and sight,
But still I knew it kept its flight:
I marked its subterranean way;—
Below the little graveyard lay.

Ah! trav'ller, through this cavern deep,
Fast in thy thoughts or book asleep,
Dost know that high above thy head
There rest the ashes of the dead?

A VERITABLE TRADER.
BY A. T. S.

A little remote from the centre of a village, on that strip of seacoast in the
southeastern part of New Hampshire, lived a self-made trader, Joshua
Jackson. He occupied a small, unpainted house, two stories in front, with
the roof sloping down at the back part to one story. In the rear was the barn,
with its generous red door, a well with its long "sweep," a pig-pen, and a
hen-pen; but the hens seemed equally or more at home in the barn, with
liberty of the yard, and sometimes they took a peep of curiosity into the
back entry of the house.
Here, with his mother, lived Joshua Jackson, familiarly known as "Uncle
Josh." It is a kind instinct which makes humanity in the rural districts claim,
as uncle or aunt, any single man or woman who is left one side of the
common lot of marriage and its ties. It is a relationship accepted in silent,
good-natured consent on both sides. It was difficult to think of Uncle Josh
as ever having been young. His hair, his complexion, his eyes, and even his
coat, all seemed nearly of a color—a kind of snuff-colored red. He had a
limping, rolling gait, affected by some infirmity of lameness which had,
perhaps, prevented him from engaging in farming or fishing, which
employed most men of the village; so he went into trade.
One of the "fore rooms," so called, of the house was his shop; the floor was
of immaculate neatness, and carefully sanded every morning. On one side
stood a cluster of barrels, one empty barrel surmounted by a board, exactly
a yard long, the edge notched for the quarters and inches. This was his
counter, and held a clumsy pair of scales. On the other side was a rude table
containing boxes of cotton cloth, cambrics or checked goods, sewing
cotton, buttons, thimbles, scissors, jack-knives, needles, and pins. On the
mantel-shelf stood a pile of white, blue-edged plates, and mugs, and
pitchers, from which projected sticks of red and white candy, like miniature
barber's poles, and heaps of "gibraltars," hard and solid, sweet and brittle,

and honest. Every child knew that they were a cent apiece, and thought
them worth it.
No errand was half as welcome as one to Uncle Josh, when they might take
an egg and get a skein of cotton. Sometimes he dived down into a cask of
raisins as he passed by it, and filled the hand of the waiting messenger when
he gave her whatever she came for, and took her money. Uncle Josh made
no charges; he went on the cash system. He would barter, but he kept no
running accounts with any one. The youngest child might go to him with
the same certainty of right measure and weight as the shrewdest adult. One
bright-faced little girl, who used to come often into his store, neatly dressed
in her high-necked tier, and cape-bonnet, seemed to be a great favorite with
him. He would sometimes say, half aside, that she was "pooty as a queen,"
although why the sturdy republican should make that comparison is a
mystery. One day he stood at the open door, wistfully watching her as she
walked off with her light, elastic step, and his mother, who had come in
from the back room, answered to his unspoken thought, "Yes, she does,
look a sight as Liza used to." The one woman whom others had connected
with the idea of Uncle Josh's marrying had been dead long ago. It was said
he had meant to ask her to be his wife when he should have laid by a certain
sum of money, but the shy and reticent man suddenly found her "spoken
for," as the villagers termed it, by the mate of a vessel. She died of
consumption, unmarried. Uncle Josh never referred to this passage in his
life, but his mother knew his mind, and why his words grew fewer than
ever. The little Molly reproduced the soft hazel eyes and the trim air he so
well remembered in her aunt.
Uncle Josh had a way of calling all strangers "furiners." A pale-faced girl
who was boarding at the seashore for her health was delighted to be sent by
her hostess, or any of the family, on an errand to the queer, quaint, old store,
kept by "the funny old man." "You're a furiner, I guess," he said to her one
day. "No, indeed, sir," she answered quickly, with an indignant blush, "I am
not a foreigner. I came from Rochester, New York." "Why! such a long
piece off, poor child, poor child," he muttered, as he went to a mug and took
out a bright red sugar heart, and pressed it in her hand. "Ain't you dreadful
homesick to live so fur?" "Oh, no; my home is very pleasant, and my father
and mother are travelling; but they left me here because I have not been
strong since I had the fever, and the doctor said I must bathe every day in

the ocean. I have nice times. They keep cows where I board, and let me
milk them a little sometimes. I am going to stay all summer." "Yes, yes;
there are getting to be a great many furiners here in the summer." "What did
Uncle Josh mean?" she asked on her return to the house; "did he take me for
an Irish or a German girl? He asked if I was a foreigner." "Oh, he meant a
stranger here in the village—some one not born here. He always calls 'em
so. A good many folks do."
When Uncle Josh first went to Boston to buy his stock in trade, it was said
that a merchant of whom he made large purchases, thought he did not know
about trusting so queer and shabby looking a customer,—he should have to
require good security. To his surprise, the countryman looked at the amount,
unbuttoned his coat, and, from an ample old pocket-book he counted off his
money; then from the depths of his pantaloon's pocket he brought up a
round piece of leather twisted together for fastening, and from this he
counted the exact change. Then he directed how the goods should be sent to
him by such a schooner at a certain wharf. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson," said
the merchant; "I hope we shall always be able to accommodate you. You
prefer to pay down now, I see; but if you would like to have your bill
remain awhile on credit at any time, we shall be happy to trust you." "It is
very kind in you, but I don't trade on promises. 'Tain't my way. I thank ye
all the same."
One day Uncle Josh happened to be in a merchant's store when the head of
the establishment was absent. The clerk who waited on him had the pertness
and superior airs of youth, sometimes seen even fifty years ago. He thought
it fine fun to chaff the old countryman so shabbily dressed, and who
drawled his words, and seemed so heavy and lumbering in his movements.
As his customer said he guessed he would take so much of one thing, and
then of another, the clerk said, "You are running up quite an account, it
seems to me. Dipping in pretty deep for a man like you, hey?" "Perhaps I
am," answered the old man; "I'll let 'em go," and walked out of the store.
Another clerk who had finished business with a customer, came forward,
and said to his fellow-clerk, "What made Mr. Jackson go off so suddenly?"
"Who? That old cove? I rather think he was miffed at something I said
about his dipping in deep. He didn't look as if he could afford a mouse-
trap." "He? why, he's worth his weight in gold—always money down on the
spot. If you've offended him, the governor'll be in your hair, I can tell you."

"Goodness!" cried the terrified clerk, "I'll go after him, and bring him
back," and off he started in quick pursuit. He could easily distinguish the
rusty-looking suit, and limping, sidelong gait, even among the crowd of
passengers on the sidewalk. When he had nearly overtaken him, he called
out, "Here, sir, Mr. Jackson! Please stop," but the countryman still
continued to move on at his slow pace. The clerk came up to him, and
touched his hat, saying, "Please excuse me, Mr. Jackson. I am sure I didn't
mean anything. I hope you will go back to the store, and let us wait on you.
I am sure Mr. —— would be so sorry to miss your custom. I hope you will
excuse—" "You can go back to the store, young man," answered Mr.
Jackson, "and tell your master I don't trade on excuses."
When the honest old man was gathered to his fathers, those who had known
him in trade missed him. He always recognized a good article, and was
willing to pay a fair price for it. He believed in a system of just equivalents
in all business; he was exact to the smallest fraction, but not mean. He was
simple, upright, honest, in all his dealings, never using his shrewdness to
the disadvantage of his fellow-men.

LYDIA MARIA CHILD.
BY OLIVE E. DANA.

This is an age of biography. We have the two-volumed "Lives and Letters,"
and the brief and popular biography, with many of varying length and value
between the two. And the contents of these two are outlined for us, again
and again, in magazines and newspaper sketches. The histories of famous
men and women are told and retold. It is the public's own fault if there is
not a more general interest in, and a better knowledge of, the work of the
notable characters of the century than ever before. This implies, also, a
certain familiarity with the great movements of reform and philanthropy,
and with the literature of the time. Some, however, who had a large share in
the noblest work of this century, are less known, and less brought into
notice, than we should expect. Among such is Mrs. L. M. Child. Her letters,
published in 1880, were prefaced by a brief memorial sketch by the poet
Whittier, and contained in an appendix the tribute of Wendell Phillips. An
account of her life-work, written by Susan Coolidge, appeared in the
"Famous Women" series. But her life, in many aspects, might profitably
have the attention of this younger generation, who know little either of her
antislavery work or of her literary attainments or fame. In both these
departments her work seems like that of a pioneer. She helped to clear the
way for the antislavery leaders,—Garrison and Higginson, Curtis and
Lowell and Whittier. And in a similar manner she led the way into those
paths where, for two or three decades, the woman-author has been so
conspicuously advancing,—where her success has been so brilliant and
varied. As to her literary genius, in the words of Whittier, "It is not too
much to say that half a century ago she was the most popular literary
woman in the United States." And again, "It is not exaggeration to say that
no man or woman of that period rendered more substantial service to the
cause of freedom, or made such a doing it." And when we add that her
benevolence and 'great renunciation' in philanthropy—unobtrusive as they
were—give her a valid claim to lasting remembrance, that the originality,
insight, and force of character manifest in her letters, place them among the

most valuable and suggestive of the letters of women, and that her truth,
beneficence, and devotion would have made her life and character
memorable if she had not written a line, we have stated only the barest
truth; yet reason sufficient, why we of this generation should know more of
her life and genius.
Lydia Maria Francis, afterwards Mrs. Child, was born in Medford, Mass.,
1802. Her education was obtained in her native town, with the advantage of
only one term in a private seminary. Her first book, "Hobomok," appeared
in 1821, followed in 1823 by another novel, "The Rebels." These gave her a
good degree of popularity. In 1827 she established "The Juvenile
Miscellany," "pioneer to a long line of children's magazines." In 1828 she
was married to David Lee Child, and they made their home in Boston.
Within a very few years she wrote and published "The Frugal Housewife,"
"The Mother's Book," "The Girl's Own Book," "The History of Women,"
and the "Biographies of Good Wives."
Then, while all around her were heard the murmurs of popular praise and
approval, and while in addition to the appreciation of countless humbler
readers, she was winning commendation from the highest literary
authorities,—in 1833 she "startled the country by the publication of her
noble 'Appeal in behalf of that class of Americans called Africans.'" Mr.
Whittier says: "It is quite impossible for any one of the present generation
to imagine the popular surprise and indignation which the book called forth,
or how entirely its author cut herself off from the favor and sympathy of a
large number of those who had previously delighted to do her honor." And
he continues: "Social and literary circles, which had been proud of her
presence, closed their doors against her. The sale of her books, the
subscriptions to her magazine, fell off to a ruinous extent. She knew all she
was hazarding, and made the great sacrifice, prepared for all the
consequences which followed."
She said in the preface: "I am fully aware of the unpopularity of the task I
have undertaken, but though I expect ridicule and censure, I do not fear
them. A few years hence the opinion of the world will be a matter in which I
have not even the most transient interest, but this book will be abroad on its
mission of humanity, long after the hand that wrote it is mingling with the
dust. Should it be the means of advancing, even one single hour, the

inevitable progress of truth and justice, I would not exchange the
consciousness for all Rothschild's wealth or Sir Walter's fame."
"Thenceforward," says Mr. Whittier again, "her life was a battle, a constant
rowing hard against the stream of popular prejudice and hatred. And
through it all, pecuniary privations, loss of friends and position, the
painfulness of being suddenly thrust from the still air of delightful studies
into the bitterest and sternest controversy of the age, she bore herself with
patience, fortitude, and unshaken reliance on the justice and ultimate
triumph of the cause she had espoused."
In a short time thereafter she had published four more antislavery books or
pamphlets. "Philothia," a romance whose scene is laid in ancient Greece,
appeared in 1836. For eight years, dating from 1844, Mr. and Mrs. Childs
were joint-editors of "The Anti-Slavery Standard," published in New York.
She had a room in the house of Isaac Hopper,—"a house where
disinterestedness and noble labor were as daily breath." It was during this
time that she wrote her "Letters from New York," under which title her
letters to "The Boston Courier" appeared in a volume having an enormous
sale. In 1852, having given up the editorship of "The Standard," Mrs. Child
said: "We made a humble home in Wayland, Mass., where we spent twenty-
two pleasant years entirely alone, without any domestic; mutually serving
each other, and dependent on each other for intellectual companionship."
During those years she was deeply and actively interested in the progress of
the Civil War. Its premonitions roused her. She warmly defended the cause
of John Brown, sending him a letter offering to go nurse him in prison. Very
soon she was deep in every sort of undertaking,—collecting funds,
collecting supplies, urging Whittier to the writing of patriotic songs,
sewing, knitting, quilting. Her intense interest was manifested by generous
contributions of money, how earned or saved, she only knew. She said,
"Nobles or princes cannot invent any pleasure equal to earning with one
hand and giving with the other." Twenty dollars at one time, two hundred at
another, and perhaps four hundred at yet another, she gave. During these
years, too, she was writing and compiling other books,—"The Progress of
Religious Ideas," "Looking towards Sunset," and "A Romance of the
Republic." It was in the last of these peaceful years that she wrote: "David
and I are growing old. He will be eighty in three weeks, and I was seventy-
two last February. But we keep young in our feelings. We are, in fact, like

two old children; as much interested as ever in the birds and wild flowers,
and with sympathies as lively as ever in all that concerns the welfare of the
world. Our habitual mood is serene and cheerful."
Only a few months after these words were written, her husband died, and
she left the place so full of memories of him to find a home elsewhere. Of
these later years it was said: "She lived among a singularly peaceful and
intelligent community as one of themselves, industrious, wise, and happy;
with a frugality whose motive of wide benevolence was in itself a homily
and a benediction." She died in 1880.

BONNIE HAREBELLS.
BY ANNA B. BENSEL.

Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,
Ring, oh, ring!
Ring across the listening twilight
While the fairies sing.

Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,
My love greet!
Let her hear you ringing softly
At her very feet.

Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,
Sound out clear;
Tell a little, watching maiden
I am very near.

Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,
Ring, oh, ring!
All the world with silence over
Waits listening.

MYTH IN AMERICAN COINAGE.
BY ISAAC BASSETT CHOATE.

The worship of "the almighty dollar" is of no recent origin, provided it be
the case that the dollar is represented in gold. This worship forms no special
cultus in the religions of the world. It is a survival from prehistoric times,
and is intimately connected with the earliest forms of nature-worship. The
estimate in which gold has been held has always been out of all proportion
to its utility, its scarcity, or the difficulty of mining it. There have been times
when civilized man had a comparatively far more abundant supply of gold
than he has at present, but this circumstance did not avail to depreciate the
metal. There were long ages of an incipient civilization, during which gold
flooded the markets of the world as compared with iron, but this did not
affect the relations between the nobler and the baser article of merchandise.
Gold was all the time held at a valuation far above what it would have
received from its importance to mankind in the useful arts. It was prized as
amber was prized, and the two substances were devoted to quite similar
uses. They were employed for the decoration of temples and shrines, and
were worn for personal ornament. But the wearing of such ornament had its
origin in sentiments which may be regarded as strictly religious. Beads and
rings were originally amulets to protect the wearer against invisible inimical
powers, as they were talismans to confer upon their possessor supernatural
gifts. We can get no distinct view back of this custom in time, but we may
feel well assured that when gold had acquired such use, nature-worship had
advanced far into the stage of symbolism. It was not the metal itself that
was the object of worship. That object gold typified and figured to the
devout mind.
To discover what property it was that gave this metal its early preference, it
will be necessary to trace the survival of similar views and feelings farther
than we have ourselves consciously prolonged them. It is to be observed
that among the Turks and other Oriental people, amber and yellow gems
like the topaz, still enjoy a pre-eminence in popular favor. These substances
are still supposed to possess magical power always beneficent. Among the

Chinese, yellow is both sacred and it is associated with the dignity of
imperial rank. Yellow is the color of the royal standard, and a yellow sash
distinguishes a member of the royal family. Robes of state are of the same
color. And this appropriation of yellow to certain sacred or governmental
uses is not confined to China. It is common through the East. The farther
back we trace the idea of special sacredness in color, the more exclusively
do we see this confined to yellow. This was long saved from vulgar uses
and associations. It had a significance to the ancients, such as it does not
have to us. There was a fitness in their decorating the temples and the
statues of the gods with gold, and silver, and ivory, and amber, and gems.
These offerings symbolized light, and light stood for the happier destinies
of man,—for the milder and gentler influences which lead to good; while
darkness typified malignant powers of evil. There was the same distinction
conceived of between life and death. White victims were offered to the gods
of Olympus, while for sacrifice to the gods of the under-world black victims
were selected.
Gold shines with the brightest and the warmest glow of any of the metals,
and its brilliancy and lustre are not tarnished by corrosion. To the Oriental
fancy it typified the genial light of day. To the fire-worshipper it was a fit
emblem of his faith. Fire was originally sacred, perhaps, only as the
representative of the sun; and this luminary was later spiritualized in the
idea of Apollo. Gold was sacred as far as this worship was spread, from
India to the North of Europe, and the great demand for it for sacred uses
gave the metal much of its preciousness in the markets of the world. It was
worn by the living and was buried with the dead; so that if humanity had
not refined its conception of the divine, it would have come to be the case at
length that every particle of gold in the soil would have had mortal ashes
sleeping beside it.
Gold and silver were rendered sacred and precious in early times by being
devoted to purposes of worship. The temples were the safe places of
deposit, and in these were hoarded the treasures of the world. Partly from
this circumstance it became the case that when gold and silver were first
coined, the temples were the mints, and the earliest mint-masters were the
priests. Naturally, the devices stamped upon the coins issued under such
auspices would be sacred emblems. We find them such from whatever
source they came. There was sound policy in this course, as well as good

reason for it. If coins were to circulate among people who had previously
been accustomed to paying out and receiving the precious metals by actual
weight, it was necessary to have the value of these pieces certified to in the
most solemn manner. To this end the effigies of the gods, together with the
tokens of their attributes and sacred offices, were stamped upon the coin. If
we could trace coinage to its earliest use, perhaps to its origin, among the
people who lived about the Ægean Sea, it would not be unreasonable to
expect to find that at first gold coin was issued under the patronage of
Apollo, that silver bore the stamp of Zeus, and that copper coins were
dedicated to Aphrodite, as the nearest representative among Greek divinities
of that Phoenician goddess who presided over trade in the ports and markets
of the East. But among the coins that remain—and some of these are shown
to be of early date, they are so rude in execution—we do not find this
distinction kept. It is certain that at an early period the emblems of the
several divinities were mixed, apparently with a view to giving a more
weighty sanction to the stamp impressed upon the coin.
The earlier Greek coins were struck by hand. A single die was employed in
the process, so that an impression of device or of legend appeared only on
one side. The other side bore an indent which is known as the punch-mark.
This mark is commonly a square figure divided into four smaller squares by
lines resembling somewhat a right cross. It is the indent of the spike in the
anvil on which the ball of metal was laid when being struck. Later, the coins
were made thinner, and were struck with double dies. From that time both
sides of the coin received an impression. The upper side continued to show
the greatest care. As this side always bore the head of the god under whose
auspices the coin was to be issued, it was called the obverse or face of the
piece. The opposite side was the reverse. So long as coins continued to be
struck by hand, there was no fixed relative position for the two impressions.
Coins were always printed as though they were turned horizontally from
left to right. They still continue to be so printed, and we go on in the
practice of speaking of the reverse of coins, even when we are discussing
those of our own coinage; but the fact is that ever since American coins
were stamped in the mint the impressions on the two sides bear a certain
fixed relation. In passing from the obverse of our coins to the examination
of the opposite side, we do this by inverting the piece. That side would then

properly be called the inverse of the coin, and it would, with equal propriety
be printed directly beneath its obverse.
The shape of early coins is by no means uniform. There is one peculiarity of
the coins of Bœotia and Macedonia, as well as of many colonies of these
states, which is worthy of some attention. It may indicate how it came about
that the round disk is now the prevailing form. The coins of these two
Greek states in particular were for a long period concavo-convex disks, the
convex side being in all instances the obverse. It has been suggested, by
way of accounting for this form, that it secured a more perfect impression
of the upper die, which always struck the obverse. It may be the case that a
better impression was gained on that side, but an examination will show
that the designer and engraver spared nothing of art or of skill upon the
reverses. These are executed with a care and vigor equal to that of the
obverse, and are struck with equal success. The concave shape preserved
the reverse from wear, and made it an object for both artist and artisan to
put good work on this side. It is more in accordance with the Greek way of
looking at things, to account for this shape on other ground than that of
expediency. It is more likely than otherwise, that this form is emblematic.
The ancient buckler was of this form. Of such a figure was the escutcheon
of these states. Bœotia adopted for hers the shield of Herakles, and
Macedonia that of Ares. What tends strongly to confirm this view, that the
buckler was the model for the coin, is the fact that for a long time
Macedonian coins were finished upon the obverse, in imitation of the
national shield. This is to be seen in the decoration of the border, even on
coins that were struck long after Macedonia had become a Roman province.
May it not be the case that the buckler served as model for the circular disk?
As Greek coins were issued under the sanction of some god, it was natural
that they should go out from his temple bearing his effigy and the symbols
of his worship. Apollo succeeded to the early worship paid the sun and fire.
He was the god of light and beauty. In his honor gold coins should
originally have been struck, and they should bear his emblems. It will be of
service to see what some of these were. This god was, on the whole,
beneficent, as the influences of the sun are kindly, but he inflicted plagues
by shooting his poisoned arrows among the people, just as the heat of the
sun engenders deadly fevers. We have retained a trace of the old feeling, as
our language betrays where consciousness utterly fails. We attribute certain

sudden attacks of illness to sunstroke. That word "stroke" brings vividly
before us the smiting of the Greek camp on the plain before Troy.
Representing the sun, as Apollo did, the head of this god often appears
radiated upon coins, particularly upon the coins of Rhodes. This was as the
poets were wont to describe him. Catullus alludes to his flashing eyes,
—"radiantibus oculis." Tibullus speaks of him as this youth having his
temples bound with sacred laurel—"hic juvenis casta redimitus tempora
lauro" The use of the laurel was reserved to this god, and in times of
primitive Greek and Roman piety it was allowed to men only whose
successful general would celebrate a triumph. The palm-branch is also
connected with the worship of this god, in allusion to the sacred palm-tree
under which Leta gave birth to him and to Artemis. The rays, the laurel, and
the palm are the symbols of Apollo upon our coins. Other nations have
employed the bow, the lyre, and the tripod, with many more equally
familiar symbols.
The coinage of silver belonged peculiarly to Zeus, the god of the
thunderbolt. The question arises at once, Was there fancied a resemblance
between the whiteness of this metal and dazzling brightness of the flash of
lightning? However that question may be answered, there remains the fact
that the thunderbolt was a symbol of the power of Zeus, and its figure
uniformly accompanied the effigy of the god. Ovid speaks of Zeus as of one
whose hand is armed with three-forked fires,—

"Cui deutra trisulces
Ignibus armata est."

It is worth while to give this emblem some little study. It is represented
under three varieties of one general form. We first find it a bundle of flames
wreathed closely together in the form of a double cone. It is then a token of
peace. Zeus is always seated when bearing this, and it is held downward.
Under its second form the thunderbolt consists of a similar double cone,
only it is elongated and pointed. This cone is crossed obliquely by two
zigzag flashes of lightning, terminating at either end in arrow-points. Later
forms of this symbol have the forward end the same, but the other end is
wrought into an ornamental and somewhat arborescent head. This form
with the lightning flashes is always borne uplifted, and by the god standing
in readiness to hurl the bolt. This is the form we are to look for in

connection with the worship of Zeus. The third form is of rare occurrence in
literature and art.
Another emblem of the Olympian god, more familiar even than the
thunderbolt, is the eagle. Æschylus calls this bird "the winged hound of
Zeus." This conception of the poet ruled in art as well as in literature. It was
the popular idea of divine vengeance following and punishing guilt that
sought concealment. Open impiety drew down upon the offender's head the
flashing thunderbolt. A comparative examination of a few coins will help
towards interpreting this symbolism. For this purpose the coins of Elis will
serve best. Here was Olympia, with its famous temple of Zeus, and here
were celebrated the great national Olympian games in honor of the god.
Certainly if any part of Greece was more sacred to Zeus than the rest, that
part was Elis. Its coins are covered with his symbols. Three types of about
371 b.c. form a group of especial interest. The first of these has, obverse, an
eagle tearing a ram, on a shield; reverse, a thunderbolt. Second, obverse, an
eagle tearing a serpent; reverse, a thunderbolt. Third, obverse, an eagle
tearing a hare; reverse, a winged thunderbolt. Here the identity is
sufficiently close to bring these examples under one description. They seem
to commemorate the just punishment of some enemies of Elis, or, possibly,
the deserved penalty for some wrong done Zeus himself. It would not be
easy at this late day to make sure what people or persons may have been
indicated by the ram, the serpent, and the hare. The obverse in each case
tells the story of the event so far as we can read the story, and the reverse
invariably confirms the tenor and spirit of the same. This harmony between
the two sides of the coin may be traced throughout ancient coinage, proving
that it was of a medallic character. Other coins of Elis are of a peaceful
character, and it is of interest to see how the emblems are managed upon
these. One has, obverse, head of eagle; reverse, thunderbolt within a wreath.
Another, obverse, head of Hera; reverse, eagle standing in wreath. A third,
obverse, head of Olympia; reverse, eagle within olive-wreath. It will be
observed that the reverse does not in these instances bear the symbols as
before, upon an open field, but the field is now enclosed by a wreath. The
import of this seems to have been about the same as that of the drawn sword
and the sheathed sword in modern heraldic designs. Still other examples
will show not only the harmony between obverse and reverse, but how
coins were dedicated to more than one divinity. This practice was at first

more common in the colonies than in the metropolitan cities. A coin of
Crotona of about 479 b.c. has, obverse, eagle perched on the cornice of a
temple; reverse, tripod and olive-spray. It would seem likely that this piece
was first dedicated to Zeus, and next to Apollo. Zeus often holds the eagle
on his hand as falcons were held in the days of hawking, and he is then
called the eagle-holder (exetophoros). When so represented, the god is
commonly seated as at peace; but there is one coin of Messene which shows
him holding the bird while he is standing and thundering. Later coins show
combinations which are particularly interesting in connection with the
symbolism of our own coins. One of the best of these is a Macedonian coin
of the time of Perseus—obverse, head of Perseus; reverse, an eagle on a
thunderbolt, within a wreath of oak. In connection with this example should
be examined a Roman gold coin of about 269 b.c.—obverse, head of Mars;
reverse, an eagle holding in its talons a thunderbolt. This type of reverse has
been pretty closely copied by designers for our mint.
The coins of Athens may have furnished the original for the olive-wreath so
common on American coins. They were issued under the auspices of
Athene, and bore upon the obverse the head of the goddess. The reverse
regularly bore the owl and the olive-bough. These coins were familiarly
called owls, just as we speak of eagles in our currency, and just as the
English talked of angels and crosses in the time of Elizabeth. Aristophanes
jocosely calls the Athenian pieces owls of Laurium, in allusion to the gold
mines there, in which they were hatched.
It would be of interest to trace these heraldic devices through the
intervening ages, and along the devious ways by which they have come
down to the present. This task would lead one far afield in history. In the
hasty glance just now given to the coins of Greece, we have found material
that will help to an understanding of what is impressed upon the coins of
our own country. There would be no less of propriety and pertinence in
asking what significance these symbols have brought to us from the time
they were struck in faith and in awe by the very shrines of the gods in the
temples of Greece. We may say that these symbols have no significance for
us; but centuries hence, when the beginnings of our government are no
longer a memory with the people, historians will relate with what
instructive readiness the founders of our government, finding these colonies
free and independent states, turned to the colonies and states of Greece for a

model upon which to mould a nation; and they will find in early American
coinage full confirmation of this view. The very same influence was
manifested in the architecture of America for the first half of this century, as
many a public edifice, and even private houses, sufficiently prove.
Before examining any particular coin, it may be worth the while to notice a
few of the more prominent features of our American types. The most
striking of all is the absence of portrait heads. There is good reason for this.
The theory of our government is, that it is but the collective will of the
people. Again, since the invention of printing, there is longer reason in
giving coins a medallic character. This function of coinage has been
perpetuated in Germany. A Sieges-Thaler was struck after the Franco-
Prussian War of 1870. There were a few portrait heads of Washington upon
coins struck under his administration; but the practice ended there. It is said
that the head upon some of our later coins is a portrait. If so, its American
type is not recognizable. The head, whenever it appears upon the obverse of
our coins, is Greek in outline and expression. This is so strongly the
character of the features, that even where an attempt has been made to
secure a distinctly American type, as in the case of the three-dollar gold
coin of 1854, the cast of features is still Greek. Some slight modification is
made by accessories, such as the circlet of feathers about the head. The
obverse of the gold dollar of the same date bears what is described as the
head of a beautiful Indian; but the features are Greek, and the hair is
waving, unlike any ever seen among savages.
In descriptions of American coins, the eagle, which appears so often and so
prominent, is commonly spoken of as the American eagle. If one will take
the trouble to compare this figure in every position in which it is displayed
upon our coins, with the effigy of "the winged hound of Zeus," so common
on the coins of Greece, he will find the identity complete. The only
difference will be that the old hand-struck coins show the vigor of original
work, as compared with that of a copy.
Another familiar symbol on American coins is the bundle of arrows held in
one talon or the other of the eagle. On a few of our earlier coins the number
of these arrows was four or six, or even more; but commonly there have
been three, and now they are uniformly of that number. They are arranged
at a pretty definite angle. The two obliquely transverse ones are in position

and in form precisely like the two flashes of lightning across the
thunderbolt of Zeus, only the zigzag lines have been straightened into
arrow-shafts. It seems highly probable that the point of the bolt between the
two flashes itself developed into the middle arrow, and thus makes up the
traditional number three. The fact that the thunderbolt is found in the talons
of the eagle so often, upon both Greek and Roman coins, makes the
supposition a likely one.
Regarding the laurel and the olive, it need only be said that the branch of
itself symbolizes the presence of the divinity, to which the tree is sacred, or
it typifies some attribute or the exercise of some divine office. As an
illustration, Apollo is often shown using the laurel-bough to sprinkle the
people with purifying waters. But when boughs or leaves are twined into a
wreath, it is commonly to denote worship paid to the divinity, or in its
name; for in worshipping the gods, wreaths of the proper material were
placed upon their statues in the sacred places, and it was a regular industry
in Greek towns to twine wreaths for this very use. This import of the wreath
is called to mind by observing that the legend on the reverse of the three-
dollar gold coin of 1854 is surrounded by a wreath of the leaves of the
tobacco-plant and cereals.
The obverse and the reverse of coins have always been read together, as a
whole. This rule was never more clearly exemplified than in striking the old
colonial shillings of Massachusetts, where the legend of the obverse
—"Massachusetts in"—was completed by turning the coin over and reading
on the reverse the rest of the sentence—"New England."
It remains now to look at a few examples of our national coinage. The eagle
of 1795 bears upon its obverse a head of Liberty, wearing a rather high
Phrygian cap. This cap, and the wand upon which it is more commonly
raised, are the symbols of this goddess. They are familiar enough in Roman
art and literature, if not in our own. The reverse of the coin bears an eagle
with expanded wings, holding in its beak a laurel-wreath, and grasping a
palm-branch with both talons. From what has already been said in regard to
the significance of these emblems to an earlier generation of men, this
inscription, as a whole, may be construed somewhat like this: Liberty,
through the power of Zeus, has secured victory, and through the same
helping power she now offers worship to the genius of prophetic

inspiration. With some such thought of his country would an old Greek
have scanned this coin when he bartered his soul for its possession. In the
coinage of 1838, this coin bears on its reverse an eagle with a shield—
which, by the way, is Roman—on its breast, and having its wings uplifted.
This eagle holds in its left talon three arrows, and in its right an olive-
branch.
The double eagle of 1850 bears on its obverse a head of Liberty. The face is
shown in profile, and the features are of pure Greek type. The fillet about
the head is such as was worn by the ancient priests. This circumstance
serves to connect our coinage with the earliest issues made from the
temples, under direction of the priests. The reverse of the coin has a small
eagle, nearly hidden by the shield upon its breast. Its left talon holds three
arrows, and its right an olive-branch. The distinctive mark of this reverse is
the arc of diverging rays of the sun above the head of the eagle. This arc is
found with peculiar appropriateness upon a gold coin, since it is a symbol
of the old sun-worship, or of Apollo, under whose auspices gold coins were
originally issued. Its occurrence here, moreover, emphasizes that total
disregard for the fitness of things which appears on the reverse of the half-
eagle of 1796, where clouds are seen above the eagle's head.
The silver coins of our currency have much in common with the gold. Such
parts of the designs upon these as are like what has been found upon the
gold coins will call for no further remark. The reverse of the dollar of 1798
is noticeable for this; that the eagle grasps in his right talon a bundle of four
arrows instead of three, as on later coins. From 1836 a pretty nearly uniform
pattern has prevailed for the dollar and its subdivisions. The obverse shows
a female figure seated. The face is of a pronounced Greek type. The drapery
is Greek, with one trifling variation,—the fastening of the dress is shown
upon the right shoulder. The ancient fashion of this garment put the
fastening only upon the left shoulder. Upon these coins the cap of Liberty is
not worn upon the head, but it is displayed upon a wand held in the left
hand. The right hand of the figure rests on shield and scroll. The reverse
shows an eagle with wings expanded as if about to fly. The shield covers its
breast. Unlike the eagle of the earlier coins, it is with the right talon now
that it grasps the olive-branch, and the left holds three arrows. The quarter-
dollar of 1853 has the space above the eagle on the reverse filled with

diverging rays. Apollo might not, perhaps, take it as a compliment to be
asked to sanction much of our later silver coinage.
The five-cent nickel coin of 1866 introduced some novel features upon its
reverse. The shield is most prominent, and it is overhung by branches of
olive. Above the shield appears for the first time on our national coinage the
cross. Soon after this coin was first issued, a query was made in the
"American Historical Magazine" as to the significance of this symbol in the
place it occupied. The query elicited from some official connected with the
mint a reply to the effect that the cross had not the slightest significance.
The reply carried with it a confession rather humiliating to make or to
admit. Something better than that ought to be said for a symbol that has
figured in all the heraldic decorations of religion and chivalry. It might have
been said that in colonial times, so early as 1661, coins were struck in
Maryland, the reverse of which bore a shield, and that this was surmounted
by a crown and a cross. But the strangest thing about this cross on the
nickel coin is that it happens to be of a very unusual pattern. It is the cross
of the Order of Calatrava, a military order of Spain, instituted in 1158, and
continuing a very honorable existence down to the present day. When worn
as a decoration embroidered upon the left breast of the coat, it is a red cross
fancifully worked into some resemblance to the fleur-de-lis. Of the minor
coins no special mention need be made. They present nothing unlike what
occurs upon those already examined and described.
The brief study here made of this subject is barely sufficient to indicate a
mode of interpretation which can be applied to all that is emblematic upon
our coins. So far it has nearly all been found thoroughly Greek in its origin
and character. It is proper that it should be so, for our life, in all the
activities through which money is kept in circulation, is more nearly Greek
than it is anything else. This is nothing we need blush to own. Original
genius like that of Goethe may shape its course, as the poet advised, without
looking to the past; but the less gifted will often turn back to watch the line
along which progress has hitherto been made, and they will find the
strongest reliance in keeping steadily upon the same course.

AN INCIDENT OF PORT HUDSON.
BY WILLIAM J. BURGE, M.D.

In the passage of Port Hudson by Admiral Farragut, on the night of the 14th
of March, 1863, out of a fleet of eight vessels which attempted to run the
batteries, only the two foremost ones, the "Hartford" and the "Albatross,"
succeeded in doing so. The "Hartford" was a regular steam sloop-of-war,
which the admiral had chosen for his flag-ship; while the "Albatross" was a
rather small propeller which had been purchased by the navy department,
officered, manned, and put in as complete fighting trim as her proportions
would admit of. These two vessels, lashed together, with the "Albatross" on
the port side, headed the procession up the Mississippi River. Each of the
three other large vessels which followed had a smaller one lashed to her
port side. The object of this was that, in case either of the large vessels got
aground, her companion of less draught might pull her off. It proved to be a
most fortunate precaution; for while under the severest fire the "Hartford"
grounded, and was doubtless saved from total destruction by the strenuous
exertions of her little consort. This the admiral stated to be his conviction at
the time.
The relative positions of the two vessels were such that the "Albatross"
could only work her bow gun, and with the exception of plunging shots
from the upper batteries, the men who served here were the most exposed to
the enemy's fire.
Charley Reck was sponger of the parrot-gun on the forecastle, and fully
realized the danger and responsibility of his position. He was a well-built,
noble-looking young Frenchman, but could understand and speak English
quite well. His intelligence, activity, and good temper, made him a general
favorite on board, and attracted the notice of the captain, who appointed
him his steward and gave him many privileges, allowing him time for
reading and correspondence, of which he was exceedingly fond.

Down the river at Plaquemine, there was an excellent bakery kept by an old
Frenchman and his three beautiful daughters. For a long time during the
preparations for an advance up the river, we had frequently come to anchor
opposite this little town, and never omitted to supply ourselves with fresh
bread from this bakery, and enjoy a friendly chat with the three charming
sisters. They were very affable, and there was an artlessness about them,
combined with self-respect, which was very fascinating. In his daily visits
to supply the captain's larder, and probably in part on account of like
nationality, Charley Reck lost his heart. Louise, the youngest daughter, and
the most beautiful of the three, captured it completely. Theirs was a sincere
and honest attachment, and the sequel discloses how tender must have been
their parting when the order came to proceed up the river, and face the
uncertain issues of mortal combat.
On the 14th of March, early in the morning, we were at the head of
Prophet's Island, a short distance below Port Hudson, and there the vessels
of the fleet, one after another, assembled. Then came the order to be in
readiness to run the batteries at a given signal at night. I had never been
under fire, and my bump of curiosity probably saved me on this occasion
from much of the anxiety which otherwise I might have felt, but the unusual
seriousness which seemed to pervade the whole ship's company during that
day did not escape my notice, and was, in some degree, contagious.
The officers, when not on duty, kept mostly in their staterooms, and there
was no hilarity among the men.
In the captain's storeroom there was a nook where Charley Reck was in the
habit of spending his leisure moments, and during that afternoon he had
been closeted there longer than was his wont. Just before sunset he came
out, and approaching me with the customary salute, he handed me a neat
little package, and said, "Doctor, when you go down the river, will you
please give this to Louise?" Not understanding him, I replied, "Are you
going to leave us, Charley; aren't you going to stick by the ship?"
Very sadly he answered, "This is my last day; I shall die to-night!" I tried to
rally him by saying, "Nonsense! you are just as likely to come out all right
as any of the rest of us!" But he only replied, "Please take it, Doctor; I am
sponger of that gun, and I shall do my duty; but I shall be killed to-night!"

Then I took the package and locked it in my desk, thinking as I did so that I
would return it to him on the morrow, and have a good laugh at his expense.
The story of that fearful night has long since been published, and I shall not
attempt to repeat it, further than relates to the subject of this sketch. I had
arranged the ward-room for my "cock-pit," and in the midst of the awful
conflict I heard a voice call down the companion-way, "Doctor, here's a
man with his arm shot off!" and I shouted back, "Bring him down, quick!"
We laid him on the table, unconscious. His right arm was shattered midway
between the shoulder and elbow. I thought he had fainted from loss of
blood, but the next moment I saw plainly enough that he was dead.
A shell had exploded near him, and sent a large fragment clear through his
lungs and heart, killing him instantly.
I looked in his calm, white face. It was Charley Reck.
When we were safely at anchor, out of reach of the guns, I thought of the
package for Louise which he had left in my care. It was not sealed, but
simply tied, and the captain said, in view of the relation which he and
Charley had sustained to each other, he would take the responsibility of
opening it, and ascertaining its contents before it should be delivered. There
was an ambrotype of the sweet young girl, and a letter written in French,
breathing all the devotion of a true and faithful heart. The following is a
correct translation of its closing sentences: "Good by, Louise! My darling!
My own one! When this reaches you, I shall be in the grave, but we shall
meet again, and love each other forever. Adieu, my love! I kiss you for the
last time!" On the glass, covering the picture, was plainly visible the print
of his ardent lips, so soon to be chilled in death.
There were hair-breadth escapes on board the "Albatross" that night, but not
another man was killed or wounded.
Many will regard this singular presentiment and its literal fulfilment as
merely a remarkable coincidence. I have stated only the simple facts in the
case, as they occurred under my own observation; and to me, at least, they
furnish additional evidence that "there are more things in heaven and earth
than are dreamed of in our philosophy."

LUCY KEYES.
A STORY OF MOUNT WACHUSETT.

BY A. P. MARBLE.

I.

Lucy Keyes was the daughter of Robert Keyes, who lived in the town of
Princeton, in Massachusetts, about the year 1755. At the age of two and a
half or three years, she disappeared one night at sunset, and was never
afterwards heard of by her parents. Her father spent the greater part of his
life in a fruitless search for her among the various tribes of Indians; and her
mother lost her reason in the contemplation of the unknown fate which had
befallen her little daughter. This is an account of the little girl's
disappearance, and the elucidation of a mystery which, for three-quarters of
a century, baffled all search. The story is derived from traditions in the
neighborhood, from allusions to Lucy in the local histories, and from the
dying statement of a chief actor in the tragedy.
The fourth settler in the town was Robert Keyes. It is well known that our
ancestors had frequent trouble with the Indians, and that white people were
stolen, to be either put to death or returned to their friends for a ransom.
Lancaster had been burned seventy-five years before, and Mrs.
Rowlandson, the minister's wife, was carried into captivity. She was taken
to New Hampshire, and after wandering with her captors thirty days or
more, she was returned to the foot of Mount Wachusett; and on a rock near
the shore of Wachusett Lake, where the chiefs held their councils, she was
purchased of her captors by John Hoar, an ancestor of the distinguished
Senator Hoar, for thirty dollars in silver, together with some trinkets and
provisions. King Philip himself was present, and opposed the release of
Mrs. Rowlandson; but even his influence did not overcome the cupidity of
the petty chief who held her. From this circumstance the rock is known as
Redemption Rock. It has been purchased by Senator Hoar, and its southern

face now bears an appropriate inscription to commemorate the release, and
the courage and diplomacy of John Hoar.

The Inscription.
"Upon this rock, May 2d, 1676, was made the agreement for the
ransom of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson of Lancaster, between the
Indians and John Hoar of Concord.
"King Philip was with the Indians, but refused his consent."
It was on Pine Hill, a mile or two south of this rock, and at the eastern base
of the mountain, that Robert Keyes cut down the forest, and made a home
for his little family. The spot is picturesque and sightly. To the north, and
seen through the clearing, nestles Lake Wachusett among its woody banks;
while far in the horizon are seen the New Hampshire hills, and beyond, the
blue summits of the White Mountains; to the east the landscape stretches
away, diversified with lake and valley and woody slope, till it is lost to sight
in the dimly distant line of the misty ocean; to the south is the dome-like
knoll of Pine Hill covered with evergreen trees; and on the west rises the
steep acclivity of Mount Wachusett, while between these two may be seen
the hills, twenty miles away, that divide the waters of the Connecticut from
the streams that supply the Nashua and the Merrimac.
On a sunny afternoon in summer Mr. Keyes and his boys were in the field
some distance from the house, picking up logs and burning them with the
stumps and brush, to enlarge the farm. Around the house were fields of corn
and flax and waving grain. The cows and sheep were browsing in the edge
of the woods. Mrs. Keyes was spinning flax in front of the cabin door,
seated on a low, home-made stool upon the hard and smoothly swept
ground. Within, the neatly kept log cabin had a rough floor strewn with
white sand. On one side of the single large room there was a settee stuffed
with shavings of birch-bark; and a cat lay curled up and dozing in the sun,
which streamed in through the open lattice that took the place of a window.
Around the room were the rough tables and the benches which used to serve
as furniture in such primitive dwellings. Shelves and cupboards were
fastened upon the wall. Dried apples and pumpkins, pieces of venison and
smoked ham, hung upon poles at the top of the room. The wide fireplace
and large, open chimney stood at one side. The embers smouldered between
the great andirons, ready to be kindled for preparing the evening meal.
Aloft, and reached by a ladder that rested against an opening, was the

chamber where the family used to sleep. This was the happy home of
Robert Keyes, where comfort and busy contentment reigned.
On the afternoon in question two older daughters were at play with little
Lucy under the trellis of hop-vines that shaded their mother from the sun.
Those were not the days of carpets or of painted floors. Neat housewives
would sprinkle the boards with clean white sand; and this, under the tread
of feet, would scour the wood and then be swept away. The brooms were
made by stripping the sapling birch and tying these strips in a bundle over
the end of the stick, or by tying cedar or hemlock boughs at the end of a
pointed handle. Housekeepers were unacquainted with boughten brushes
and corn-brooms and sweeping-machines.
At their mother's call the two older girls started with a bucket to go to the
shore of the lake to fetch some sand for the floor. Little Lucy, thus left
alone, soon tired of her play, and wandered away among the vines and the
corn around the door, till she came to the path that led to the lake. She
followed her sisters a long way behind them, and was never again seen by
her friends.
Soon the sun had disappeared behind the summit of the mountain, and the
deepening shadows were beginning to creep towards the cabin. The mother
had put away her spinning-wheel, and the smoke was curling up from out
the wide-mouthed chimney, in preparation of her supper. The farmer and his
sons had left the field and gone to a little blacksmith shop a few rods down
the hill, where he had mended a broken buck-scythe. The two girls had
joined them there; and now they all came trooping together to the house.
The boys and their father were washing their hands and faces from the
sweat of the forge and the burnt logs. The mother was busy with her
cooking. The girls had put away the bucket of sand and gone out to play,
when they missed Lucy, and began to search for her among the hills of
corn. Not finding her, they came back to the log cabin and told their mother.
She thought the little girl must be near, and sent the sisters to look again,
while she arranged the wooden plates and the pewter dippers and the iron
knives and wooden spoons upon the table. The girls soon came back
without finding Lucy, but the mother even then supposed that she had fallen
asleep, overcome by her play and the heat of the sun. She stepped to the
door and called loudly for Lucy; and the family sat down to supper,

expecting her every minute to walk in. She did not come; and hastily
finishing their meal, they all went to search the farm. Not finding Lucy,
they became thoroughly alarmed.
Adjoining Mr. Keyes' farm, and between it and the foot of the mountain,
was the clearing of a Mr. Littlejohn. He had no family. His farm was but
little cultivated, and his cabin had not the air of home and comfort which
Mrs. Keyes had put into hers. He was a hunter also, and he had a brace or
two of dogs. Bearskins were tacked to the walls of his hut, to dry; and deer-
horns, and fox-skins still further showed the hunter. This man was of a
morose and hermit-like nature. There was a mystery about his early history;
he had come from the old world, where he had mingled in affairs of state,
and whence he had fled. Little children were afraid of him. He was
quarrelsome, too; and before this time he had claimed a part of Mr. Keyes'
land. As the two farmers could not agree upon the boundary line, they had
called in two of their neighbors, and a surveyor from Lancaster, to fix the
boundary. These had decided in favor of Mr. Keyes. The two neighbors had
very little to do with each other after that; and the hermit became still more
unsocial and morose. But in his distress Mr. Keyes called upon this man for
help, and Mr. Littlejohn appeared to enter heartily into the search. The
frequency of captures by the Indians, at once led to the suspicion that they
had stolen Lucy. Mr. Littlejohn, as a hunter, assumed direction of the
searching party. He sent the father and boys to follow the path towards the
lake, the mother and daughters to go down the hill towards the east, while
he went to the south and up the mountain. All hunted fast and far till late in
the evening, when the gathering darkness had settled on the woods and
hills; and then they turned their weary steps homeward. About this time all
the members of the Keyes family saw the light of a huge bonfire,
northwesterly from their house, and turned their steps towards the spot; for
this was a signal that the lost was found. On reaching the place, however,
they found Mr. Littlejohn, but no Lucy. He said that the darkness prevented
further search that night, and he had lighted the fire, in order if possible, to
attract the attention of the child, and also to bring together all the
inhabitants around, to institute a more thorough search in the morning.
Afterwards others came in; and when they heard the story, one of them
proposed to give a shoe or an apron of Lucy's to one of the dogs and let him
follow the scent. But Mr. Littlejohn said this would not do, for the dogs

were fierce and used to hunting for prey only. They would tear the little girl
in pieces if they were to find her. And Mrs. Keyes would not consent to
have the dogs set on the track. Another proposed to hunt with torches. With
this plan all fell in; and the party, now swelled to ten or fifteen, were
divided into squads and sent to hunt, each in a different direction. All night
they kept up the search. They called aloud for Lucy again and again, and in
all directions; they scoured the woods for miles around; they hunted on the
shore of the lake for the tracks of little feet. Behind rocks and trees, under
logs and clumps of bushes, they peered; but no trace was to be seen—
nothing but darkness and gloomy night. Now and then the hoot of an owl
would be mistaken for a child's cry, and hope would momentarily rise in the
breast of a hunter only to fall as the sound became more distinct. And thus
the night dragged on. When morning came, the various squads of hunters
came back to the houses all with the same story of failure. They were weary
with wakefulness and the heavy tramp. After a hasty meal they carefully
searched the ground within two or three miles of the house. The whole day
was spent in this; and at nightfall the party came back to the desolate house
without hope. The mother, almost frantic, called for Lucy, and nothing but
the echoes gave answer. One by one the neighbors went to their own homes
and cares. The conviction forced itself upon the minds of all, that Lucy had
been captured by the Indians. Mr. Keyes and his boys hunted in the woods
for days afterwards, till the only hope that Lucy was alive lay in her being
captured. Otherwise she must have died from exposure or starvation.
Sorrow and desolation now surrounded the cabin of Mr. Keyes. The sanded
floor remained unswept; the trellis was broken by the wind; the vines hung
straggling; the smooth, spacious front of the door was cluttered; the mewing
cat gave voice to the general gloom. Mrs. Keyes could not forget her grief.
All day she worked listlessly; and as the shadows from the mountain crept
towards the cottage, she would stand in the doorway, and call, "Lucy,
Lucy." For years the echoes daily sent back that sunset cry.
A few months after the loss of little Lucy, a hunter returned from the region
of Lake George. On hearing the story, he reported that a white child had
been seen in that neighborhood with a tribe of Indians; and the rumor
reached the ears of Mr. Keyes. The autumn leaves had put on their dying
robes of yellow and crimson and gold when, leaving the rest of his harvest
to be gathered by his sons, he went to Lake George. After great risks, and

many a hair-breadth escape, he found a captive maiden; but she was many
years older than Lucy, and she knew only the life of the Indians. He reached
his home late in the winter. In the spring a friendly Indian reported that a
white girl was held captive by a tribe on the St. Lawrence; and again Mr.
Keyes started in pursuit. Six months or more he spent in the search; but
when he found the tribe and their captive, it was a black-eyed little girl that
he saw; but Lucy's eyes were blue, and he travelled home. With each new
rumor of a captive child among the Indian tribes in Maine or Connecticut,
in New York or Canada, Mr. Keyes would start again on one of those sad
pilgrimages; and he always came back disappointed and alone. Mr.
Littlejohn had now left his farm, and it was occupied by strangers.
Meantime, the boys had grown to be men. They no longer had any
sympathy with the fruitless search. They made homes for themselves in the
now farther remote frontier. And the girls had grown to womanhood and
married. Old, and poor, and alone,—for his wife had died, and long ago
ceased her plaintive evening call for her long-lost little Lucy,—Mr. Keyes
petitioned the "Great and General Court" for the grant of a tract of public
land which lay near his home. In this petition, now to be found in the
archives of the State, he sets forth that he is poor in consequence of the
prolonged search for his daughter, and too feeble to maintain himself.

(Concluded in next number.)

EDITOR'S TABLE.
Considerable has been heard lately of the American Institute of Civics, an
organization whose plans for promoting good citizenship are broader and
more comprehensive than have ever before been systematically attempted
in this country. That the Institute is obtaining the encouragement and
support of many of the strongest public men in the country must be
gratifying to all who recognize the necessity of having sound political ideas
prevail among the rising generation. The object of the Institute is, in outline,
to secure thorough instruction in all schools and colleges on topics relating
to government and citizenship; to establish special schools of civics at
important central points; to secure, as far as possible, the influence of the
press in promotion of the same high purpose, and to disseminate, far and
wide, sound political literature. That the project has the interest of our
soundest statesmen and scholars may be seen from the fact that the
President of the National Advisory Board is Chief Justice Waite of the
United States Supreme Court, while the Board includes United States
Senators Colquitt, Hawley, Wilson, Blair, and Morrill, Secretary Lamar and
Ex-Secretary Hugh McCullough, Presidents Noah Porter and Julius H.
Seelye, Commissioner Eaton, and others. Among the New England officers
and members are such men as Judge Mellen Chamberlain of Boston,
Secretary of Education Dickinson, General Carrington, and many college
presidents, leading business men, prominent editors, etc. The membership is
now something over two thousand, and it is worth noting that aside from
the small fees thus obtained, there is no income, and the officers are none of
them in the receipt of any salary whatsoever. The Institute is entirely
unpartisan, and the importance of the work, which it is its purpose to
accomplish, cannot be overestimated. It has entered upon the work of
political education in the United States at a favorable time, under the best of
circumstances, and under the auspices of the most eminent men of the day.
Indeed, it may be doubted whether any undertaking of a patriotic and
educational character has ever commanded in this or any other country the
unqualified support of so large a number of citizens of high distinction,
belonging to every class and calling. There seems, so far as our study of the

plan of the Institute enables us to judge, but one thing needful to its
permanency and highest success as a moulding influence in American
political life of the highest importance. So long as its officers are obliged to
depend wholly upon the dues contributed by members, an element of
uncertainty will enter into its plans which cannot fail to largely interfere
with the fullest realization of its possibilities for good. This danger may be
wholly obviated, the Institute placed on a secure foundation, and its future
usefulness be assured, if some public-spirited men of wealth, desirous of
conferring the incalculable benefits upon future generations, which will
follow upon the realization of the Institute's plans, will provide for it an
endowment, the income of which will be sufficient to defray the expense of
maintaining its executive office.
We would be glad if some New England man of ample means should secure
the honor of thus endowing the American Institute of Civics with a fund
sufficient to establish it on the firm footing which it should have.

For the New Englander who would seek the delights of the country in the
summer months, what a diversity of scene may be found in his own six
States. Within the radius of a few hours' ride from Boston are an almost
infinite variety of "resorts," from the most primitive to the most luxuriant.
In Massachusetts alone are the delightful Nantasket and Revere beaches,
elegant Nahant, and the myriad of charming nooks from Cape Ann to
Provincetown. Then the Berkshire hills; Lenox and Stockbridge, and other
equally beautiful towns, but with less pretensions to aristocracy; the lovely
valley of the Connecticut, the romantic Deerfield and the pleasant Franklin
hills. In Maine, beginning with Old Orchard, perhaps the finest beach on the
Atlantic coast, what delightful harbors and islands there are. And in the
Maine woods there is a wealth of health and sport. Grandeur is found in the
White Mountains, comfort and elegance at their great hotels. And here, as
well as through the hundreds of rural towns on and among the Green
Mountains, are the quiet farmhouses where one may abide, and see the New
England character—sometimes, not always—at its very best. Whether one
sighs for the wildness of the primeval woods, the quiet of the rural farm, or

the elegance of a luxurious villa or superb hotel, he need not, unless he
desires to travel, look beyond the border lines of fair New England.

There is a growing tendency with our New England people to make rest and
recreation matters of considerable importance in themselves. Business is
driven at a greater speed than it used to be, and an annual relaxation from
business or professional cares and toils has become a positive necessity. The
earlier generations worked more slowly and coolly, and a man could endure
many years if need be without a thought of a regular vacation, while those
who did go from the city to the mountains or seashore in the summer
months were those who could afford it as a luxury, rather than so doing as a
matter of physical or mental economy. Then again, country
accommodations were very limited, and facilities for travel were
exceedingly meagre as compared with the present. This was the case no
more than a score of years ago. The era of great summer hotels, of "special
trains for the season," and of swift and commodious steamboats to the
beaches had not begun. Now the vast amount of summer travel forms
almost a world of itself. All classes are included. The rich merchant resorts
to his beautiful cottage by the sea, or to the splendid hotel in the mountains,
for a stay of perhaps three or four months; the family of moderate means
engage board at some one of the multitude of "resorts"; the ill-paid clerk or
poor artisan may arrange for a week or two in the country, or, at least, may
enjoy a few Saturday afternoons at the beaches; and now, God bless them!
even the half-fed children of the narrowest street and lane may have a run in
the green fields or shady woods on some hot summer day. That ways exist
for the relief of so many, rich and poor, from the pent-up city in the sultry
months is indeed a blessing, and, like all others, it requires intelligence for
its proper use and appreciation. To work and worry eleven months at fever
heat, and then relax both brain and body for one, may not afford a longer or
more happy life than a continuous routine of labor performed in a more
temperate, less-exciting way; but if we must work at such high pressure in
this age, let us make the most of our times of rest. Woe to the man who
carries with him to the cool mountains or the quiet beach such a

paraphernalia of civilization (?) and fashion that he comes back to town
more jaded than he went.

The impudence of newspaper reporters has furnished material for many a
good-natured joke, but there is getting to be more truth than humor in the
imputation. This became very apparent during the weeks preceding the
marriage of the President, but it reached its climax when the horde of men
and youth attached to various newspapers rushed to Deer Park and almost
literally besieged the cottage to which the distinguished couple had retired.
Such actions would be insolent enough had Mr. Cleveland been much less
than the President of the United States; but it has always been supposed that
there was a certain dignity attaching to this high office, which citizens,
whatever their estimate of the man, were bound to respect. Whether this be
so or not, it seems pretty certain that no dignity has anything to do with "a
reporter." Indeed, the ability and brilliancy of a newspaper correspondent
seem to be commensurate with his "cheek,"—to use his own word. And yet,
why deprecate the reporters? They are simply the servants of the journals
they represent. They only obey the will of editors and publishers. The one
and the only conclusion is that the "great dailies,"—excepting those which
do have a measure left of honor and dignity, of which, thank Heaven, a few
are yet published—are on a grade far below many things which they would
not themselves dare to sanction. As the "New York Evening Post" says, "If
it be true that journalism is really a calling in which men must do or say
anything which will increase sales, it is the lowest occupation, not
absolutely criminal, known to modern society." And what is worse, these
journals attempt to defend their pernicious course by declaring that they
"give only what the public demands." If the public is thus given over to
sensationalism and folly, is the press fulfilling its mission by pandering to
its thirst? It was once a theory that the press was a leader of the people. Has
the journal of the present no ambition beyond the biggest circulation and
the largest cash receipts?

HISTORICAL RECORD.
April 10.—Serious disaster at the Pemberton Mills, Lawrence, Mass. A fire
broke out in the picker-room and dye-house, destroying the building. Two
men were killed and several injured. The great disaster at these mills
occurred January 10, 1860, when one hundred and forty-five persons were
killed by falling or fire.

April 19.—The one hundred and eleventh anniversary of the battle of
Concord was celebrated in that town. In the evening there was a meeting in
the town hall, at which Hon. John S. Keyes read the original documents
relating to the famous fight.

April 19.—The Sixth Massachusetts Regiment celebrated, at Lowell, the
twenty-fifth anniversary of its march through Baltimore. There was an
enthusiastic attendance. Addresses were delivered by Col. B.F. Watson, Col.
E. F. Jones, and others.

April 20.—A large reservoir at East Lee, Mass., gave way, and many mills
and houses and six bridges were swept away by the flood. Seven persons
were drowned. A relief fund was established to aid the many destitute
families, and assistance has also been given to the town, whose loss on
highways and bridges is very great.

April 20.—General meeting of the New England conferences of Methodists
at Newburyport.

April 24.—Arbor Day in Massachusetts.

April 29.—Annual dinner of the Boston Latin School. Judge Devens
presided. Addresses were given by President of the Association Dixwell,
Head-master Moses Merrill, Dr. Benjamin Apthorp Gould, and others. A
poem was read by Rev. James Freeman Clarke.

May 3.—Extensive strike went into effect in Boston, among the carpenters
and builders. About five thousand men left work.

May 11.—Monthly meeting of the Bostonian Society. The chief interest
centered in a collection of historical curiosities, among them the original
subscription list to a new, large map of New England to be published in
1785. Among the subscriber's names were those of General Lafayette, John
Hancock, Samuel Adams, and James Bowdoin. The address by Daniel
Goodwin, Jr., of Chicago, was in relation to this exhibition, and dealt
largely with the life of James Pitts.

May 13.—Monthly meeting Massachusetts Historical Society, Dr. Ellis in
the chair.

May 13.—Erection of a statue of William Lloyd Garrison on
Commonwealth Avenue, Boston. Among the inscriptions on the pedestal are
these: "I am in earnest; I will not equivocate; I will not excuse; I will not
retreat a single inch, and I will be heard." "My country is the world; my
countrymen are all mankind."
The statue was designed by Olin L. Warner of New York.

NECROLOGY.
April 14.—Edwin C. Morse, born in West Natick, 1817, Judge of the Natick
Police Court, died at Natick, Mass.

April 14.—George F. Emery, born in Portsmouth, N. H., in 1812, died in
Boston. He had been U.S. General Appraiser for New England, also
paymaster; and was treasurer of the Union Institution for Savings.

April 15.—Anson K. Warner, of Greenfield, died from the effects of injuries
received at the West Deerfield railroad disaster. Mr. Warner was closely
connected with the institutions of his town, and held many offices of trust.
His will bequeaths $50,000 for the education of Greenfield boys and girls.

April 18.—Hon. Stephen H. Gifford, Clerk of the Massachusetts Senate,
died at his home in Duxbury. He was born in Pembroke, Mass., July 21,
1815, and while a boy earned his living on a farm. He learned the
shoemaker's trade, and still later attended the academy in Hanover, N. H.
Subsequently he became a teacher, and established a private school in
Duxbury, in which he continued until 1885, excepting a year or two in
which he was engaged in mercantile pursuits. In 1850 he was a member of
the House; in 1851 was appointed an inspector in the Boston Custom
House. During a few weeks in 1854 he was Assistant Clerk of the Senate,
and the next year he was chosen as Assistant Clerk of the House. The
Legislature of 1855 elected him as Auditor of Accounts, for which office he
was nominated by the Republicans the same year. The party was defeated at

the polls, and Mr. Gifford shared the fate of his friends. In 1857 he was
again appointed Assistant Clerk of the House. In 1858 he was elected Clerk
of the Senate, and held the office until his death. On March 10, 1882, a
complimentary dinner was tendered Mr. Gifford in testimonial of his
twenty-five years of clerkship.

April 19.—Hon. Charles Adams, Jr., formerly State Treasurer, died at his
home in North Brookfield. Mr. Adams was born at Antrim, N. H., Jan. 31,
1819, and his long life since has been a most busy and useful one. In 1816
his father removed from New Hampshire to Massachusetts, settling at
Oakham, and in the district schools of this town Charles Adams received
the most of his early education. When sixteen years of age he began
business as a clerk in a country store at Petersham, and there remained five
years. He then became bookkeeper for J.B. Fairbanks & Co., at Ware, but
after a year's service in this position left it to enter the employ of T. and E.
Batcheller & Co., at North Brookfield, as their bookkeeper. For twenty-
eight years he remained with Batcheller & Co., the last nine years being a
partner in the firm. Mr. Adams was active in State and national politics, and
served seventeen years at the State House in various capacities, as member
of the Legislature, Senate, and Council, and as State Treasurer from 1870 to
1875. He was married May 8, 1834, and on May 8, 1884, celebrated the
fiftieth anniversary of the marriage. Of late years he has given his attention
to genealogical and historical matters connected with the town of North
Brookfield. Mr. Adams was an upright, honest man, enjoying the highest
confidence of the community in which he lived.

April 22.—Deacon Nathaniel Hatch, of Bradford, Mass., died suddenly of
heart disease. He was a graduate of Bowdoin, class of 1844; had been a
teacher and a business man.

April 23.—Hon. John Phelps, who was born in Hubbardston, Mass., in
1824, died at New Orleans. He went South at the age of twenty-two; was
one of the founders, and became President of the New Orleans Cotton
Exchange, and later President of the National Cotton Exchange.

April 24.—Death of Maj. Albert L. Richardson, for thirty years postmaster
of Montvale, in Woburn, Mass.

April 24.—Mrs. Wendell Phillips died at her home on Common Street,
Boston. She was married to the great abolitionist orator about fifty years
ago, but before that time she had espoused the antislavery cause.

April 25.—Hon. Edmund Wilson, of Thomaston, Me., died. He had been
prominent in the political affairs of his section, and was also for the past ten
years a member of the Democratic National Committee.

April 26.—Joseph Weld Morrison died at Campton Village, N. H., at the
age of sixty-nine. He was an extensive dealer in lumber.

April 27.—Henry H. Richardson died at his residence in Brookline, Mass.,
at the age of 48. Mr. Richardson had achieved a wide reputation as an
architect, his rank in that profession being variously estimated from that of
one of the first in this country to that of the first in the world or the age.

Probably the most conspicuous example of his genius is Trinity Church in
Boston.

April 29.—Col. Ezra J. Trull, a well-known citizen of Boston, died at his
home in Charlestown at the age of 43. He served in the war with the Fourth
Battalion of Rifles, the 13th Massachusetts Volunteers, and the 39th
Regiment. At the close of the war he joined the 5th Regiment, of which he
became colonel. In 1855 he was elected commander of the Ancient and
Honorable Artillery. He was also commander of the Boston Light Infantry
Veterans, and a member of the Loyal Legion. Col. Trull was also connected
with various societies of civil, military, and masonic character. In civil
office he served in the Boston Common Council in 1875, 1876, 1877, in the
Massachusetts Senate in 1884 and 1885, and was a Director of Public
Institutions.

May 1.—Chas. M. Shepard, professor at Amherst College, died at
Charleston, S.C., at the age of 82.

May 3.—Hon. John Boynton Hill, for many years a leading lawyer in
Bangor, Me., and more recently of Mason, N. H., died at Temple, N. H. Mr.
Hill was born in Mason, Nov. 25, 1796, and was graduated at Harvard
College in 1821. Among his classmates were Governor Kent of Maine,
Charles W. Upham of Salem, Senator Barnwell of South Carolina, and
Ralph Waldo Emerson.

May 4.—Rev. Francis A. Foxcroft, one of the oldest Episcopal clergymen in
the State, died at Cambridge, Mass., at the age of 77.

May 7.—William R. Patten, of Winchester, a soldier in the Civil War, and
later, Judge-Advocate, died in Concord. He was born in 1837.

May 8.—Death of George W. Ray, a citizen and a manufacturer in
Springfield, Mass.

LITERATURE.
In Scriptures, Hebrew and Christian,[2] the task has been undertaken of
rendering the Bible narrative in a form which shall be convenient and
readable for young readers. Such an idea does not wholly please us, for it
does not seem possible to rewrite the sacred history without losing the spirit
of the close translation from the Hebrew and Greek. There is an excuse for
simplifying Bible stories for young children, but this work seems adapted
only to those who must be mature enough to fully understand the reading of
the Scriptures themselves. Yet, for those who can profitably employ such a
book, this work could hardly be better. It is evidently prepared with great
care. The first volume, which is at hand, contains the Hebrew story from
Creation to the Exile, and for it one must commend the writers for their
conscientious and painstaking work, which, without doubt, will prove to be
of value to many.

History is a subject so vast and complex that it requires great skill to
properly present even an outline of the whole in a single volume. Such
compendiums have, however, been made, and have had a useful purpose.
Professor Fisher is a man who has extensive qualifications for such a task,
and he has given us a work[3] which should have a place in every public and
private library, and be in the hands of every student. The whole subject,
from the earliest to present times, is outlined in a manner which has
rendered it readable and interesting,—a rare quality for such a condensed
work. We like the arrangement, which does not treat each country always
by itself, but the whole plan of the book is, in general, chronological, by
which the condition of different countries at any given period is readily
compared. By the use of different types in printing, a notable convenience is
afforded the reader. For instance, the general thread of narrative is carried
on through the coarser type, while in another type one may read of
contemporary literature, art, science, etc. In fact, the record of these

subjects is one of the valuable features of the work. The typography is
excellent,—a matter of special importance in such a book.

A concise monograph,[4] lately translated from the German, is interesting as
an argument in favor of gas as against electricity for artificial lighting. The
author is impressed with the fact that the triumphs of electric lighting have
been overestimated, and that its healthful, legitimate development has been
retarded by the hosts of speculators. Dr. Schilling quotes many statistics,
from both European and American sources, to show that many of the claims
for electric lighting are unfounded, and that gas has been the subject of
numerous false assertions as to its danger, etc., simply to glorify the electric
light. The author seems disposed to fairness, in general, but when, after
admitting that the electric light has a future before it, he declares that "gas
will remain in future, as it always has been, the universal means of
illumination," he is at least injudicious. "Universal" and "always" are too
broad; certainly, as far as the past is concerned, if not the future. Those who
are interested in the subject will find it worth while to read this book. The
translation has been carefully made, and it is clearly printed.

Lynn, Mass., has long been famous for its boots and shoes, but from a
comfortably sized book[5] in hand, we are led to believe that the town has
something interesting about it besides heels and soles. This volume is,
according to its name, a series of sketches of the history of the town, well
interspersed with anecdotes, most of them from the storehouse of the
author's own memory. Although he spent, as he declares, twenty years on
the shoemaker's bench, he has not limited his knowledge to his trade. He
has evidently been a keen observer; and his command of Anglo-Saxon,
together with what may be called the genuine Yankee language, has enabled
him to relate his stories and make his comments in a clear and vigorous
style. It is, indeed, a very pleasant variation of the regulation town history; a
volume of information and good-natured wit; such a book as we imagine
every citizen and native of Lynn would delight to read.

FOOTNOTES:
[2] Scriptures, Hebrew and Christian. Arranged and edited for young readers as
an introduction to the study of the Bible. By Edw. T. Bartlett, A.M., and John P.
Peters, Ph.D. Vol. I, pp. 545. New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons.
[3] Outlines of Universal History. Designed as a text-book and for private
reading. By George Park Fisher, Professor in Yale College, pp. 674. New York:
Ivison, Blakeman, Taylor & Co.
[4] The Present Condition of Electric Lighting. A report made at Munich,
September 26, 1885, by N. H. Schilling, Ph.D. 55 pp. Boston: Cupples, Upham
& Co.
[5] Sketches of Lynn; or, The Changes of Fifty Years. By David N. Johnson, pp.
490. Lynn; Thomas P. Nichols, printer.

INDEX TO MAGAZINE LITERATURE.
(MAY, 1886.)

Art, Architecture. American Country Dwellings. Mrs. Schuyler van
Rensselaer. 1.—The Care of Pictures and Prints. P. G. Hamerton. 5.—Art in
Brooklyn. Various. 16.—Ceilings and Walls. J. H. Pollen. 22.—An English
Sculptor. Leander Scott. 22.—Art in Metal Work. Lewis F. Day. 22—An
American Gallery. Chas. De Kay. 22.
Biography, Genealogy. The Life of William Lloyd Garrison. Freeman M.
Post, D.D. 3.—A Sturdy Christian. Henry J. van Dyke, Jr., D.D. 3.—Edwin
M. Stanton. Dan Piatt. 4.—Francis Galton., 5.—Horatio Seymour. Isaac S.
Hartley, D.D. 6.—Personal Recollections of John D. Philbrick. Mrs. H. B.
B. Lord. 8.—Gen. Turner Ashby. A. E. Richards. 17.—Benjamin Disraeli.
George Sandsbury. 22.—The Webster Family. Hon. Stephen M. Allen. 23.—
Henry Barnard. John D. Philbrick. 23.
Civil War. From the Peninsula to Antietam. Geo. B. McLellan. 1.—
McClellan at the Head of the Grand Army. Warren Lee Goss. 1.—The
Battle of South Mountain, or Boonsboro'. Gen. D. H. Hill. 1.—Defence of
Charleston, S.C. Gen. G. T. Beauregard. 4.—The Removal of McClellan.,
4.—Shiloh. Gen. W.F. Smith. 6.—The Battle of Cross Keys. Alfred E. Lee.
6.—War Prisons and War Poetry. Jas. W. A. Wright. 17.—Arkansas Past.
Wm. J. Oliphant. 17.—The War in Missouri. Richard H. Musser. 17.
Description, Travel, Adventure. The Flour Mills of Minneapolis. E. V.
Smalley. 1.—Lick Observatory. Taliesin Evans. 1.—After Geronimo. III.
Lieut. John Bigelow. 7.—The Last Voyage of the Surprise., 7.—Around the
World on a Bicycle. VIII. Thomas Stevens. 7.—Three Weeks of Savage
Life.—Maurice Thompson. 7.—A Blockade Runner under Fire. R. C.
Coffin. 7.—A Lonely Vigil. T. C. Jones. 10.—How we went Trouting. W. S.
Hutchinson. 10.—Memories of London. W. J. Stillman. 11.—English and
American Railways. Wm. H. Rideing. 16.—The World's Great Bridges.

Mrs. F. G. De Fontaine. 16.—The Women of Brazil. Frances A. de
Magalhaes. 16.
Education. Liberal Education in Germany. J. H. Stuckenberg, D.D. 3.—
History in American Colleges. Prof. H. B. Adams. 8.—Public Schools and
Nervous Children. Elizabeth Cummings. 8.—Notable Features of the
English System of Elementary Education. A. Tolman Smith. 8.—Improved
Methods of Classical Instruction. Wm. E. Jillson. 8.—The Harvard Annex.
M. C. Smith. 8.—Elective Studies in College. Prof. Isaac C. Dennett. 8.—
National Aid to Popular Education. R. B. Hayes. 16.—Trinity College,
Hartford. Prof. Samuel Hart. 23.
History. Historical Colorado. Katherine Hodges. 6.—An Old House in
New Orleans. Chas. Dimitry. 6.—History of a Newspaper. P. L. Ford. 6.—
March of the Spaniards across Illinois. E. G. Mason. 6.—History in
American Colleges. H. B. Adams. 8.—The Martial Experiences of the
California Volunteers. Edward Carlson. 10.—The Virginia Cavaliers. K. M.
Rowland. 17.—The Kentucky Resolutions of 1798-99. R. T. Durrett. 17.—
New Bedford. Herbert L. Aldrich. 23.
Literature. Hawthorne's Philosophy. Julian Hawthorne. 1.—The American
Dramatist. Augustin Daly. 4.—The Evolution of Language. M. A.
Hovelacque. 5.—The Poetry of Thoreau. Joel Benton. 9.—Our Experience
Meetings. Cora M. Potter and Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 9.—Dies Iræ. A New
Translation. John S. Hagen. 10.—Wordsworth's Passion. Titus Munson
Evan. 15.—The Novel of our Times. F. N. Zutsickie. 15.—War Poetry., 17.
Miscellaneous. De Caudelle on the Production of Men of Science. W. H.
Larrabee. 5.—The Aryan Homestead. E. P. Evans. 11.—The Marriage
Question. Harriett Prescott Spofford and Frances E. Willard. 16.—Judicial
Falsifications of History.—Hon. Chas. Cowley. 23.
Politics, Economics, Public Affairs. The Future of the Colored Race.
Frederick Douglass. 4.—Letter to Judge Thurman. Arthur Richmond. 4.—
Our "House of Lords.", 4.—Ship Building vs. Ship Owning. Capt. John
Codman. 4.
Statesmanship, Old and New. Gail Hamilton. 4.—Strikes and Arbitration. T.
V. Powderly. 4.—The Hours of Labor. Edward Atkinson. 4.—The

Difficulties of Railroad Regulation. Arthur T. Hadley. 5.—An Economic
Study of Mexico. II. David A. Wells. 4.—Prison Labor. Robt. Devlin. 10.—
Discussion of the Liquor Traffic. G. A. Moore. 10.—Weakness of the
United States Government under the Articles of Confederation. John Fiske.
11.—The Present Position of Civil Service Reform. Theodore Roosevelt.
15.—The Freedmen During the War. O. O. Howard. 15.—National Aid to
Popular Education.—R. B. Hayes.16.
Recreation, Sports. Ranch Life and Game Shooting in the West. III.
Theodore Roosevelt. 7.—The Stanley Show. Joseph Pennell. 7.—Trout
Fishing in Maine. J. R. Hitchcock. 7.—British Yachting. C. J. C. McAlister.
7.
Religion, Morals. The Possibilities of Religious Reform in Italy. Wm.
Chauncy Langdon, D.D. 3.—Development of the Moral Faculty. James
Sully. 5.—The Seventh Petition. George Bancroft. 15.—Are Church Fairs
Beneficial? Mrs. H. W. Beecher. 16.
Science, Natural History, Discovery, Inventions. The Problem of
Crystallization. Alfred Einhorn. 5.—The Factors of Organic Evolution. II.
Herbert Spencer. 5.—Food Accessories and Digestion. Dr. J. B. Yeo. 5.—
Photographing the Heavens. Dr. H. Y. Klein. 5.—How Alcoholic Liquors
are Made. Joseph Dawson. 5.—The Science of Flat-fish., 5.—Must Life,
Beginning Here, Necessarily End Here? E. A. Clark. 10.—The Genesis of
Bird Song. Maurice Thompson. 11.—Speech: Its Mental and Physical
Elements. M. Allen Starr. 15.—The Breeding of Fancy Pigeons. E. S. Starr.
1.
Theology, Polemics. Evolution and the Faith. T. T. Munger. 1.—Egyptian
Monotheism. C. Loring Bruce. 15.

1 The Century.
2 Harper's Monthly.
3 Andover Review.
4 North American Review.
5 Popular Science Monthly.
6 Magazine of Am. History.
7 Outing.
8 Education.

9 Lippincott's Magazine.
10 Overland Monthly.
11 Atlantic Monthly.
11 New England Historical and Genealogical Register.
13 Rhode Island Historical Magazine.
14 The Forum.
15 New Princeton Review.
16 The Brooklyn Magazine.
17 The Southern Bivouac.
18 The Citizen.
19 Political Science Quarterly.
20 Unitarian Review.
21 New Englander.
22 Magazine of Art.
23 New England Magazine.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW
ENGLAND MAGAZINE VOLUME 1, NO. 6, JUNE, 1886, BAY STATE
MONTHLY VOLUME 4, NO. 6, JUNE, 1886 ***

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