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Full text of "Recollections of a lifetime; or, Men and things I have seen; in a series of familiar letters to a friend, historical, biographical, anecdotical, and descriptive"


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Naw Tdik, ffi Pus Bow :— Aubdui, lOT Qmii^T. 

t, ■ 


r'f'••.^f .x./. ^<' . ""^^ 

Entered aoconllng to Act of Congrese, In the jear ISSC, 


In the Gl«k*k Offlc« of the IMfitrict Court of the United 8tatM for the Soutnera 

District of New York. 

R. C. VALEN nN«, 

'.r ^nteh-it., oor. FaltOD, 
Nbw Toul. 

C. K. ALVoRD, Pkiwt««, 
No. 15 Vaniliiwaior Street. N. V 


■ 1 

.»'* . 'i 


LErrrEK kxil 

Iwtford ConvODlion— tta origin— Te«timoay rf No«h Webster— 
h of Rog»T M. Sli ennui— Gatb«ring ot the Con v so tion— Doings 
ij iberanpoD — PhjRiogiiaiii; of ths Convention — SksUlic* 
iHime tif tba momben — Coloael Jesiinp — Dbqiootocj in the elR«M 
Report ofthB CoDvoalion — Keceptioa o( Ibe doingi of tb« Contan- 
u by UaiJiooQ uid bin ptny — lu nlfscc uni) example — CompaP- 
n of tbe Hirtfurtt Coavenllou with tlie nolliSeiB^The UnioD for- 

ThB Connt VJoe— LeesonB in French, nnd > tnmlition of Benj— 8e- 
vare retributioa for imprndeuoa — The end of the pocket-book fkotor; 
— HapoleoQ retanu to Pam and npsets mj *&in — Divera eiperiencM 
■nd rBfleo^oDB upon dumioff — Ti»t to New York — Oliver Wolcott and 
Archibald Grade— Balbton and Saratoga— Dr. Pajiion and the (hrce 
rowdiea — lllnew and death of m; ancle — Fnrtnerahip with Geon^ 
Sheldon — Hiaillneu and death 11 

Tba boiine of ISlt ind 181T— Panio in New England— HigratifRia to 
Ohio— Tother aide of Ohio— ToleratiDn— Downfall of Meralism— Ol- 
iver Woioott and (he democtacj — Connectiout upset — The new Con- 
atitation— Gov. Smith and Gov. Wolcott— lilcbfleld-Uriab Trace;— 
Frederick Woleott— Tap|Hn; Baeve— Col. Talmadge-JamM Goold- 
J. W. Hontiogtcn- The Litcbfleld oentenoial ealebntion 78 


Stephen R. Bradley— My pnrunlt of the voh 
liB her —Scott's pOBma— General cntliuni 
reception— The Wovcrley novels— Their 
D of them — Literary clnb 

Wright, laaaeToaoey, Will 

ion of bookseller and pnb- 
n— Byron 'e pocuis— Their 
nnziiig popularity — 1 pub- 
t Hartford— J. M. Wda- 
a L. Stone, Ao.— The Ronnd Table— Ort- 


ginal American works — State of opinion as to American literature — 
Publication of Trumbull's poems — Books for education — Kev. C. A. 
Goodrich— Dr. Comstock — Woodbridge's Geography 90 


Sketches of the " Hartford Wits"— Dr. Hopkins— Trumbull, author of 
McFingal — David Humphries — Dr. Strong — Theodore D wight — 
Thomas H. Gallaudet — Daniel Wadsworth— Dr. Coggswell — Mrs. 
Sigouruey 114 


Dr. Percival— His early life — His father's attempt to cure his shyness — 
College life — His early love — His medical experience — His poetical ca- 
reer — An awkward position — The saddle on his own back — Cooper 
and Percival at the City Hotel — Publication of his poems at New 
York — The edition in England — Other literary avocations— His sta- 
tion at West Point — His great learning — Asubtant of Dr. Webster in 
bis Dictionary — State geologist in Connecticut — In Wisconsin — His 
death — Estimate of his character 121 


A few wajTside notes— The poet Brainard — His first introduction — Rip- 
ley's tavern — Aunt Lucy — The little back-parlor— Brainard's office- 
Anecdote — Tlie devil's dun — The lines on Niagara — Other poems — 
One that is on the Sea — The sea-bird's song — Publication of Brainard's 
poems — General remarks — His death 141 


My first voyage across the Atlantic — England — London — My tour on 
the continent — Return to England — Visit to Barley- wood— Hannah 
More — Inquiries as to books for education — Ireland — Dublin — ^The 
Giant's Causeway — Scotland — Scenery of the Lady of the Lake — Glas- 
gow — Edinburgh 161 


Edinburgh— The Court of Sessions — Cranstoun, Cockbum, Moncrief— 
Lockhartr-Jeffrey— Sir Walter Scott 170 


Preparations for a ride— Mr. Jeffrey in a rough-and-tumble— A glance 
at Edinburgh from Braid's Hill— A shower — The maids of the mist — 
Durable impressioua 177 



Willinm Blukwooii— The UigannB— A liinnor M KaobwoodV 

IWJanijni! — Lonl Byioa *ud Lsdj- <JiiroIine l^nlb — The Gsiiant] A»- 

■mmUj'Ol'acoiiaod— I)r. Chiloiara lU 

A dinner M Lookhart'i— Convorsatiou about BjTon— Mra. Ifloltlrin— 
Irnng — Profbaaor TiclCBOi — Musiu — The pitiroth lod Mjh Edgnworll 
— AnecJoten of the la JUiw — Soutiioy nud second sight — Coopur't IT- 
oneen— The Pitoc-^Fanl Jonoa— Brock Jen Brown— BuniB—Trioln of 
the preu— ChHrtM Soglt— The WaUh [«r»oi.— The llnUui bow-tlol 
pUyer— Penniial appetoaoce of Sit Walter— Dcputurs fur Liindan— 
A^Q in Edinburgh in ISSa— Lwt niomenla of Sir Waller— Tlio tyin- 


Joome; to LoadoD — Remuks on EDgland, ax it appeora to the Amei^ 
ic«n traveler— The climate— The landicape— Jeaiougiia lietwean the 
English aod Americsni — Plan for necuriug peace SIO 

Londuii lliirty years ajjo— Its grcut inoroii^Q— (itfi'rse IV'.— Ascot Rhcct 
— The Diike of Welliiiglou— Jacob i'lrkin^ an.l tho -tcam-giin— Tlia 
Duke of Sussex- Duke of Yorfc-lloiiiwlo* Hca'.h -rarli^imcnt- 
Canniiig-Slackiiitosli— Brougliani- I'ulintr.tuii— H.;ii»e of Lords- 
Lord >:lduu-Khia Kbiu— CatuliDi— Slt;uorma Uartiu-Kdwud Ir- 
viog- B) ron'fl colHn 2i2 


Eelurn lo America— Removal to Boston — Literary position of Boslou — 
Prominent literary charaetcra— Tho pro-.s-Tho pHl].1t— Tho bar— 
Kew York now the literary mctropoliit — My publication of variniia 
work»-Tha Legandary-N, P. Wiilis-Tha era of AniiuulH-The 
Token— The Bnisla engaged in it— The aiitliois— Ita termination. S58 


The eontrihutors to tlio Token— N. P. Willi=-N. llawthonje-Mtiia 
froncis — Mr. Greenwood — Mr. Pierporit- Ciiarlo,-' Spragut— Mrs. 
Sigourney- Misi Sedgwick — Mrs. Ofgooil, and othern- Cliiorrels 
between author* and pubiisherB — AnecJotea — Tlio publiahers' 
fesUval «1 




The flret of the Parley books — Its reircption — ^Various poblications — 
Threatening attack of iilne«« — Voyage to Europe — Consultation of 
phyfticiana at Turis — Sir lienj. Brodie, of I^ndou — Abercrombie, of 
Edinburgh — Return to America — Re^^idence in tlje country — Prosecu- 
tion of my literary labors — Footing up the account — Annoyances of 
aathorahip— Letter to the New York Daily Times 27 D 


Bepublioation of Parley^s Tales in London — Mr. Tegg*8 operations- 
Imitated by other publishers — Peter Parley Martin— Letter to Mr. 
Daiton — An edition of the false Parleys in America — The conse- 
quenooB 292 


Objections to the Parley books — My theory as to books for children — 
Attempt in England to revive the old nursery books — Mr. Felix Sum- 
merly — Hallowell^s Nursery Rhymes of England — Dialogue between 
Timothy and his mother — Motlier Goose — The Toad's Story — Books 
of instruction 308 

LErrER L. 
Journey to the South — ^Anecdotes — Reception at New Orleans 822 


Betrospeotion — Confessions — The mice among my papers— A reckoning 
with the past nft3 


Speech at St. Albans — Lecture upon Ireland and the Irish — The Broad- 
Btrcet riot — ^Burning the Charlestown convent — My political career — 
A. n. Everett — The fifteen-gallon Jug — The Harrison campaign of 
1840 — Hard cider and log cabins — General bankruptcy — EU^ciiou 
of Harrison — His death — Consequences — Anecdotes — The ** Sniall-tuil 
Movement" — A model candidate — William Cpp, or shingling a 
bam 389 


International copyright — Mr. Dickens's mission — His failure and his 
revenge — The Boston convention — Inquiry into the basis of copyright 
^Founded in abeolute justice — What is property ? — Grounds upon 

which fonmrnenC pratuu propertj — IliHtoi7 of copfrigbt — Prownt 
stale of oopjright law— Polioj llie buia ttf local copyright law— InWr- 
■utional copfright demutdeij by gunlicfi— Scliaiiii tur liiUmatioDal 
eopftigla -nith Great Britaia-BoMon* for it KGfi 



BeeoHM^ODii of Wuliiiigtoa — The Hooxe of Bepresentativei — Mlsaonrl 
oomprcFtnlto — CUy, Eaudolph, uud Lowndaa — Tlie SeoaW— Burns 
Kin?— Williaoj Pinknoy— Mr. Maceo— Judge Marshiili— Elestion of 
Juhji QuiDcy Adama — PrfjideuE Uoaroe — Ueelln^f of Adauu and 
JackKHi — Jackfton'a admioutntiiiD — Gay — CalhouD — Webatir — An- 
•vdoK*. BBS 


LondOD and Tuia compaTed — Paris thirtj jean ago — Loni* XVIII. — 
Ths Pariaiana— Oarden of the Tnileriee— Wsahinpon Irving— Mr. 
Warden, the AmerioiD coninl — Soaiiti Philoniatique — Baron Larrey 
— GeoffroySl. Hilairo— The Institute — Arago — Lamarck- Gay-LaatBO 
— Cn vier— Lacroi i — Laplacs — Idemieo — Dupny lien — Talma — llada- 
moiselle Mars MT 



EreDtavliicli immediatelj foltoired the revel ntion — StmnoaiD thaatreals 
of Paris — Aniisty of strangers — Froceedlnge of the Aroericans^Ad- 
ilreea to the Provisional Q ovem men t— Reply of M. Arago— Procension 
in the streets— 1 nan gii ration of llie repnblie— Fnnenil of the victims— 
PressntalioD of flags— Conepiraay oftlie ISthofMay- iGSurreutioti of 
Jiui»— Adoption of the cooslJtutioo— Louis Xapoleaa President. 471 

TlMdatieaofaootiBal—Fnrsuit of a missing family- Paying for eip»- 




Character of the French republic — Its contract with the American re- 
public — Aspect of the government in Franco — Tx>uitf Napoleon'^ nmbi- 
tioas dcnigWH — He flatters the army — Spreads rumors of socialirtt j^lols 
— Divisions in the National Ashemblv — A levee at the Elvsee— The 
Coup d^Etat — Character of this act — Napoleon's government — Feel 
ingB of the people 4S9 


Meeting of Americans in Paris to commemorate the death of Clay and 
Webster — ^Termination of my consular duties — Character of the lYench 
nation — The ** black-coat^* circular 504 

Viait to Italy — Florence — Rome — Naples .... 



Leave-taking— Improvement ever}'wherc — In science — Geology, chem- 
istry, agriculture, manufactures, astronomy, navigation, the domestic 
arts — Anthracite coal — Traveling — Painting — Daguerreotypes — The 
Electric Telegraph — Moral progress — In foreign countries : in the Uni- 
ted States 5j^0 


INDEX 654 



^ Bagtr il. SHrman—GaOtrinj v/tlid (hntrTUion—Doinjn)/ iftmae- 
racy tkitnfm — Phfiiaftuimgiffllu Omt*mlien — .SMcW^miM^U* 
MrmlMrr — OrtinulJimp—lifiKiiirarsi in lit Slntlt— Rtport o/tlit On- 
WBfVfli— ftny(j>./> "/ M. liix.iij' </ III, ro,.eiiitiei Mj lf,jdi'oit find 
*w Party— lu ^tet and Biampit—Oompariton ffOi* Sar^ord Cb*- 
wRtion aitkOu SaUifien—Hu Union foi'rDtr. 

I come now to the " Hartford Convention." Me- 
thinks I hear jou remark, with an aspect of dismay — 
are you not venturing into deep water in treating of 
sauh a subject, generally regarded as an historical 
abyss, in which much may be lost and nothing can 
be gained ? 

Well, zay friend, suppose you do ask this — is it 
really a good reason why I should not tell what I have 
seen, wliat I know, what I believe, in relation to it? 
The Hartford Convention was in my time : my uncle, 
Ch.iuncey Goodrich, was one of its prominent mem- 
bers. I was then living with him;* I saw all the 

•■ I liaiB Blotcii elcewliere Ihat lie hud promiscJ to muke mo one of 
tiia Bids. AccorUingly, II. L. Ellsworth— aflcrwnrd ladinn Agent DiiJ 
ComoiiH i oner or Paten U> — and mjnelf were appointed, with ttie mnii of 


persons constituting that famous body, at his house 
the image and superscription of the most distinguish 
ed individuals are fresh in my recollection. I reraem 
ber the hue and aspect of the political atmosphere 
then and there. Why should I not tell these things 
You may, perhaps, entertain the common notion tha 
the Hartford Convention was a congregation of con 
spirators — traitors — ^and I shall invite you to abandoi 
this delusion. It may not be pleasant to hear you: 
cherished opinions controverted : it is always a litth 
disagreeable to receive truth, which requires us to sac 
rifice something of our self-esteem, by giving up errors 
which have become part of our mental constitution 
But certainly you will not silence mo on any such nar 
row ground as this. The time has come when one 
may speak freely on this subject, and surely withoul 
offense. Forty years have passed since- the gathering 
of that far-famed body. Every member of it is dead. 
I will not insist that you shall say nothing of them 
which is not good ; but I claim the privilege of say- 
ing of them what I know to be true. I am sure you 
will listen to me patiently, if not approvingly. 

mi^or, April 17, 1815. I was not very ambitious of my title, for not 
long after "Major OoodruUje^'''' of Bun/i^or, Muinc, acquired an infamous 
notoriety, in consequence of a trial (Decern iK-r, 1^16) in which Daniel 
Webster made a celebrated pleu, unmaskiutr one of the most extraordi- 
nary cases of duplicity and hypocrisy on recor<l. This Major Ooodridee 
pretended to liave been robbed, and the crime was charjrcd upon two 
persons by the name of Kcnniston. In the defense of these, Mr. Web- 
ster proved that the charge was false, and that the accuser had himself 
fabricated the whole story of the robbery. (See Webster** Works, vol. 
V. page 441.) 


You mar perhaps suppose that there ia but one 
opinioD in the country as tu the character of that as- 
sembly ; but let me observe that thore are two opin- 
iocs upiiu the Hubjcct, and if one is uufavorabic, the 
other is diametrically opposite. In Now England, 
the memories of those who constituted the Conven- 
tion are held in reverence and esteem, by the great 
body of their fellow -citizens, including a large mo- 
jtirity of those whose opinions are of weight and 
Talae, and this has been so from the beginning', 

1 have said that they are now all gathered to their 
fathers. Aa they have gone down, one by one, tn 
their last resting-place, public opinion has, pronounced 
sentence upon their lives and characters. I ask your 
attention to the historical fact, that in every instance, 
this has been a eulogy — not for tjdent only, but the 
higher virtues of humanity. Of the twenty -six mem- 
bers who constituted the Convention, everjf one has 
passed to an honored grave. The members of the Hart- 
ford Convention were, iu effect, chosen by the people, 
at a time of great trouble and alarm, for the purpose 
of devising the ways and means to avert threatening- 
impending evils. All felt the necessity of selecting 
persons of the highest wisdom, prudence, and virtue, 
and never was a choice more happily made. Most of 
these men were indeed of that altitude of talent, piety, 
dignity, and patriotism, which partisan pigmies natu- 
rally hate, by the inherent antipathy of littleness to 
greatness, and of vice to virtue ; but in New England, 


the enlightened generation among whom they lived, 
estimated them according to their true merits. These 
never believed them to be conspirators ; they knew, 
indeed, the fact to be otherwise. Even the blinding 
influence of party spirit has never made the better 
class of democrats in New England believe that the 
Convention meditated treason. As to the mass of 
the people, they held and still hold that the Hartford 
Convention was one of the ablest and wisest assem- 
blies ever convened in the countrv. 

I am aware, however, that the prevailing opinion 
in the United States at large has been, and perhaps 
still is, the reverse of this. Out of New England, 
democracy is the dominant party. The war was a 
democratic measure, and the Convention was the 
work of the federalists, who opposed the war. It is, 
doubtless, too much to expect that party spirit will 
exercise candor toward those who brave and baffle 
it — at least during the conflict. There were many 
reasons why the Convention was an unpardonable 
sin in the eyes of democracy : it was opposition to 
the war, and that itself was treason : the war was 
attended with defeat, disaster, disgrace, and to turn 
retribution from the heads of the war-makers, it was 
considered politic to charge every miscarriage to the 
war opposers. In short, it was deemed the best way 
for self-preservation, by the democratic leaders, to sink 
the federalists in undying infamy. Hence they per- 
sisted in denouncing the Convention as an assembly 


of exnuipirators. It ia admitted that there was no overt 
RCt of trcnsoD, but it is nuuiitnined there was 
treason in their hearts, the developmeut of which was 
only prevented by the return of jjeac*, and the intlig- 
nant rebuke of public sentiment. 

The founilation of this tenacious calumny is doubt- 
less to be traced to John Quincy Adams, who, hav- 
ing lost the confidence of his political associntea — 
the fe-deralists of Massachusetts — and not being elect- 
ed to a second term as Senator of the United States, 
speedily changed his politics, and made a disclosure, 
real or pretended, to Jefferson, in 180S,* to the eli'oct 
that the federalists of the North — taking advantage 
of the uneasiness of the people on account of the 
distresses imposed upon them by the embargo — were 
meditating a separation from the Union, and an alli- 
ance with Great Britain — of all things the most likely 
to obtain democratic belief, and to excite democratic, 

Here was the germ of that clinging scandal against 
New England, which has been perpetuated for forty 
years. It certainly had a respectable voucher at the 
beginning, but its utter want of foundation has long 
since been proved. For about twenty years, however, 
the libel was permitted — in secret and of course with- 
out contradiction — to ferment and expand and work 
itself over the minds of Jefferson and his associates. 

■ S«e note on pnge 271, vol. i. of tbis woik. Also Hildreth, ■eooad 


It had created such an impression, that Madison — 
when President — had only to be told by an unaccred- 
ited foreigner, that he had the secret of a federal plot 
for disunion in Massachusetts, and he at once bought 
it, and paid fifty thousand dollars for it out of the 
public treasury.* No doubt he really expected to find 
that he had a rope round the necks of half the feder- 
alists in New England. He soon discovered, however, 
that the biter was bit. John Henry duped the Presi- 
dent, who seized the hook, because it was baited with 
suspicions, the seeds of which John Q. Adams had 
furnished some years before. 

It was not till the year 1828, when that person was 
a candidate for the presidency a second time, that the 
whole facts in regard to this calumny were developed. 
He was then called seriously to account,f and such 

♦ In March, 1812, Madison sent to Congress certain documents, pre- 
tending to disclose a secret plot, for the dismemberment of the Union, 
and the formation of the JSastern States into a politic:d connection 
with Great Britain. It seems that in the winter of 1809, Sir J. II. 
Craig, Governor-general of Canada, employed John Henry to undertake 
a secret mission to the United States for this object. Ilenry proceeded 
throufjh Vermont and Now Hampshire to Boston. He, however, never 
found a person to whom he could broach the subject ! As he stated, 
the British government refused the promised compensation, and there- 
fore he turned traitor, and sold liis secret to our government. The 
subject was fully discussed in Parliament, and it appeared that Hen- 
r}'s scheme was not known to or authorized by the BritUh govern- 
ment. The whole substance of the matter wa.<^, that our poverument 
was duped by a miserable adventurer. The conduct of Madison, in 
this evident greediness to inculpate the federalists, w:is a lastinp ground 
of dislike and hostility to him. Sec Youug^a Arrur. StaUftinan^ p. 248. 

t I was living in Boston at the time (^October, 1823) when the pubHo 
first became fully aware of the tact, that, twenty years before, Mr. Ad- 
Aiiis had planted the seeds of this accusation againat the northern fed 


was the eETect, that &om that time bo was sileut. In 
vain did he attempt to furaish evidence of a plausible 
foundntion for his story. He referred to varioua wit- 
nesses, but it was pointedly remarked that all, save 
one,* were dead. Yet these even seemed to rise up 

(nli»t« ID the e&ger aoUof Ur. Jefferson 'g mind, where it hid flonrished 
in seemt, ■od wbence il bsd bean widely iliucmiuited. TIibio ir»a a 
p*nenl — indeed, bd tlmoit miiveniil — fe«liD^ of iniiigiwlloii and Mton- 
ithment. Tlie prai<)enU»I eleotion w« it hand, and Mr. Aduni «u 
llucan<IuIsM of the wtiig partf Ibr ■ soDocd Isrm. Tliiwe ttrf panooa, 
whom ho had ihat mHii^ed^tliembalvu qr Ihe'tt dflicfludAn1«— were 
DOW bis ORpporton. Tha electioa wu parmitlcd M pnaa, and tfusft- 
ohonelti s^v« her voM for Kr, Adsme ; iis wm, bowover, defektod, uiJ 
Jwluon beunie hlit lacccKior. 

And now came Ilie rBtfitintioD. Mt. Ad*ni» woe addrcoiied by IL Q. 
Oil., T, II. Pprkini, William Prpsootl, Cli.irlcs Ju.ikion, an,! oliiiip*— 
men of the highest standing, and representing the old federal putr, 
charged with treMon by him — dom8ndln)[ the proofs of the BCCunition 

ciiMion wliich follDved. Thowiv'^nwinh ran 9ad the l-sso clearly staled 

Iv wof, ih;it Mr. Adwiw utiowcd no Rroiinds, even fori'nj.pidon. of wlmt 
be chsraed ; and Ihat, even if tliere had bccu BOine fonnilallun for his 

conld not, by any Ahow of fact, reiiioo, or logic, be oonuected with tlio 
llartford Convention, ludcei], no person caa now read the controversy 
refcrreJ to, wUhont comiiie to this obvious conclusion. It will be re- 
membered, in eonfirination of thi:*, that John Henry, llio Rrlti^ilj aceiit, 
sent forlbepnrpoBO of scdming Iho Boston Icdemlisls, by the Briiish 
governor, Crai;, never found an individual to whom be dared even lo 

At all event-, aocb ww the eliook of pnl.lic fee 

ings, cnui^ed by the 

<1i«cl».nre of Mr. Adams's duirgo nuule to JelT.-r 

on, that for a long 

time, when he walked tha slreela of Boston, whicl 

lie occssionallv vis- 

iied, he vas, generally passed without beini; spoke 

to, even bv his for- 

ded, but he never 

recovered the full lonfldenco of the people of Mnssa 

chiiseUs: they were 

content, however, in view of his greiit merits, to 

let the matter pass 

iulu oblivion. It is only iu obedience to the caU o 
these facts. 
■ This individual was William 1-lumer, a Senat 

history that 1 write 

r from Naw Hsmp- 

ahira, who euied that in 18(j3 and 18M, ha was 

liinseir iu favor of 


and speak from their very graves. Sons, brothers, rel- 
atives, associates — including some of the first men in 
the United States — indignantly denied, in behalf of 
those for whom they had a right to speak, the impu- 
tations thus cast upon them. No fair-minded man 
can read the discussion now, and fail to see that Mr. 
Adams either invented his story — which, however, 
is by no means to be presumed — or that, according 
to the peculiar structure of his mind, having become 
hostile to the federal leaders in Massachusetts, he 
really thought he saw evidences of mischief in events 
which, fairly viewed, furnished not the slightest 
ground even for suspicion. 

Thus, as I think, this foundation, this beginning of 
the idea that the Hartford Convention originated in 
treasonable designs on the part of its members, is 
shown to be absolutely groundless. Not one particle 
of evidence, calculated to satisfy an honest inquirer 
after truth, has ever been adduced to sustain the 
charge. The investigation has been in the highest 
degree inquisitorial : it was deemed vital to the in- 
terests of the democratic party to prove, to estab- 
lish this allegation of treason. Public documents, 
newspaper articles, private correspondence, personal 

forming a Bepamte governmcut for New England, but he abandoned 
these ideas, and used his influence against them, when, as he says, they 
were revived in 1809 and 1812. He, too, underwent a close examina- 
tion, and it appeared that he was unable to produce any reliable evi- 
dence whatever, that any plot for disunion was formed, or that any in- 
dividual, connected with the Hartford Convention, countenanced such 
a scheme. See Toung^s Amer. StaUtmany p. 455, &c. 


intcrcoorae — all have been subjected to the rack 
and the thumb- screw. The question has been 
pushed to the conscience of an individual member 
of the Convention, and he has been calleti to testify, 
on ootA, as to the origin and intentions of that as- 
sembly. Its journal, declared to contain every act, 
every motion, every suggestion, that took place, 
has been published ; and now — after forty years 
of discussion, thus urged by hostile parties — sober 
history is compelled to say, that not a public docu- 
ment, not a private letter, not a speech, not an act, 
secret or open, has been brought to light, which 
proves, or tends to prove, the treasonable origin of 
the Hartford Conventioo 1 

The charge of treason is a serious one : so far 
as it may have a just foundation, it is fatal to per- 
sonal character : it is a stain upon the State to which 
it attaches : it is a discredit to human nature, espe- 
cially in a country like ours, and in a case like that 
which we are discussing. It should therefore not be 
made — surely it should not be maintained — unless 
npon positive, undeniable proof. It should not rest 
for its defense upon partisan malice, or that inhe- 
rent littleness which teaches base minds to accept 
^fkon as conclusive evidence of what they be- 
lie^^ only because it coincides with their evil 
thoughts. While, therefore, there seems to be no 
proof of the alleged treasonable origin of the Hart- 
ford Convention — I am able to do more than can- 


dor demands, and I here present you with direct 
testimony from a source that will not be impugned 
or discredited, showing that the said Convention origi- 
nated with the people and from the circumstances of 
the times, and not with conspirators, and that its ob- 
jects were just, proper, patriotic. I shall hereafter 
call upon you to admit, that the proceedings of the 
Convention were in accordance with this its lawful 
and laudable origin. 

I now ask your candid attention to the following 
statement, made some years after the Convention, 
by Noah Webster* — a man perhaps as universally 

♦ It is certainly not necessary for me to write the bioifraphy or cer- 
tify to the character of Noah Webster : these have been carried all over 
our country by his Spelling-book and his Dictionary, erecting moriu- 
mdnta of gratitude in the hearts of the millions whom he has taught 
to read, and the millions whom he still teaches, in the perfect use of 
our language. It has been said, and with much truth, that he has held 
communion with more minds than any other author of modern times. 
His learning, his assiduity, his piety, his patriotism, were the ground- 
work of these successful and beneficent labors. It is the privilege of a 
great and good man to speak, and when he speaks, to be listened to. 
The passage here quoted is comprised in his " Collection of Essays," 
published in 1843: it was written with a sincere and earnest purpose, 
and it seems no more than due to truth and the justice of logic, to re- 
ceive it as conclusive proof of the facts it asserts. 

Mr. Webster, as is well known, was a native of Hartford, Conn., and 
was bom in Oct. 1758. Among his classmates at Yale College were Joel 
Barlow, Oliver Woloott, Uriah Tracy, Zepheniah Swift, and other men 
of eminence. His life was spent in various literary pursuits. I knew 
him well, and must mention an incident respecting liim, still ^|^in 
my memory. In the suniraer of 1S24, 1 was in Paris, and stnyioflHpBe 
Hotel Montmorency. One morning, j\t an early hour, I entered th'^oourt 
of the hotel, and on the opposite side, I saw a Uill, slender form, with a 
black coat, black small-clothes, black silk stockings, moving back and 
forth, with its hands behind it, and evidently in a state of meditation. 
It was a curious, quaint, Connecticut looking apparition, strangely in 
contrast to the prevailing forms and aspects in this gay metropolis. I 

mnosioAi^ xstcDcmoAt, era 19 

known and esteemed as any otUer in our history. 
He testifies to facta within hia own knowledge, and 
surely no one will deny that, to this extent, he is a 
competent and credible witness. 

F«w transacticiiis of ttie federaliats, during tbe eorlf periods 
of onr government, celled so moch the angry pflssiona of thoir 
opposers as the Hartford OoUTention — ao caHe^d — dnring tlie 
pmriilency of Mr. MadUon. A» I wa^ present at the first meet' 
mg of the ^Dtlemen who suggested auch a coDvention ; as I 
■wte ■ meraber of ihe House of Gepreaentativea in MiwaaehtiBetts 
when Ibe resolve was parsed for appointing the delegates, I nd- 
vocateil that resolve ; and further, as I have copies of the doo- 
Dmenl?. wliioii n" i>lbcr pt-r^ion mnj have preserved, it s«tiis to 
Iw incnmbent on me to present to the pnblic tlie real &ote in 
regard to the origin of the mea§nre, which have been vilely fal- 
wfled and raia represented. 

After the War of 1812 had continued two years, our public 
affairs were reduced to a dep!oral)Ie condition. The troops? of 
Ihe United States, intended for defending the sencoaat, had been 
withdrawn to carry on the war iu Canada; a British sipiadniu 
was stationed in the Sound to prevent the escape of a frigate 
from tiie harbor of New London, ami to intercept our conating- 
trade; one town in Maine was in possession of the liritish 
forces ; the banks south of New Englan<l had all suspcndci the 
payment of s[ieeie ; oiir shipping l;iy in our harbors, embar^'oed, 
dismantled, and perisliitig; the treasury of tlie Uaited Stales 
was eihanstcd to the laat cent ; and a general gloom was H|)read 
over the country. 

In this condition of affairs, a number of gentlemen, in North- 
said la in>>flf— '■ If H wero po^^iUlt, I slumlJ ™y time wus Xu:i1i Wub- 
»ter!" iwunluj. toluru.unJ fgiiiid it was mtited lie. At i.he ago 
orBiity-Hix, he liuJ comu to Europa to perfect hit) DItUoiiury ! It 

•□ch counts^, woro couiblnud with uU the rcliiicd unil ntnlublu qiial- 
itici whieli digairy nod embelliHh domeatia and private lifa. 


ampton, in MasflaohnsettB, after oonsnltation, detennmed to in- 
vite some of the principal inhabitants of the three counties cm 
the river, formerly composing the old county of Hampshire, to 
meet and consider whether any measure could be taken to arrest 
the continuance of the war, and provide for the public safety. 
In pursuance of this determination, a circular letter was ad- 
dressed to several gentlemen in the three counties, requesting 
them to meet at Northampton. The following is a copy of the 
letter : 

NoRTHAMFTON, Jan. 5, 1814. 

Sir: In consequence of the alarming state of our public affain, and 
the doubts which have existed oa to the correct course to be pursaed 
by the friends of peace, it has been thought advisable by a number of 
gentlemen in this vicinity, who have consulted together on the subject, 
that a meeting slioold be called of some few of the mo»t discreet and 
intelligent inhabitants of the old county of Hampshire, for the purpose 
of a free and dispassionate discussion touching our public concerns. 
The legislature will soon be in session, and would probably be gratified 
with a knowledge of the feelings and wishes of the people ; and should 
the gentlemen who may be assembled recommend any course to be pur- 
Bued by our fellow-citizens, for the more distinct expression of the pub- 
lic sentiment, it is necessary the proposed meeting should be called a*. 
an early day. 

We have therefore ventured to propose that it should be held at Col. 
Chapman's, in this town, on Wednesday, the 19th day of January cur- 
rent, at 12 o'clock in the forenoon, and earnestly request your attend- 
ance at the above time and place for the purpose before stated. 
With much respect, I am, sir, your obedient servant, 

Joseph Ltican. 

In compliance with the request in this letter, several gentle- 
men met at Northampton, on the day appointed, and ailer a free 
conversation on the subject of public afifairs, agreed to send to 
the several towns in the three counties on the river, the follow- 
ing circular address : 

Sir: The multiplied evils in which the United States have been in- 
volved by the measures of the late and present administrations, are 
subjects of general complaint, and in the opinion of our wisest states- 
men call for some effectual remedy. His excellency, the Governor of 
the Commonwealth, in his address to the General Court, at the last aDd 



jnacDl *a*aion, luB (tatad, in tempante, bot eleu- and dKoded Un- 
gufte, hU opinioD or Uie injuttioe oT the prsHut wn, ud iatimiCod 
thM mMRBrw nugLt to be ulopted by the IngulMure bi bcuig it to a 
tpMdf doae. H( duo aiU the Bttention of the Ipgblature to Mma 
lueHOrsa of the geuernl goTFrameiil, Which ore bclisTed to be anfOD' 
•tluitiuiul. la DiJ the meMaree of tbo genenl goionimeat, the pno- 
pl* of UiB Uuiud BtUea hive ■ oamman ooDoera, but there ve loina 
1>»B uid r^DlatioDS, vhlob caUl mare partianliu'l]' fbr the attention of 
til* Nunbem States, and are deepi; intemtiiig to the people of Uile 
Commonwealth. Feeling thw interest, u it reipcat* tbe pre»«Dt und 
tnlmv geiieratioiu, k numbec of gentlemea from vuioun tovnn iu Ui« 
old ooODlf ot Iliunpabire, bsTe met uid oonfemd on the sub;|ecl, and 
upon foil conriclion that the btUs we sotfar are not wholij of a leiiiiw- 
IV7 nalare, epringiag (Vom t^e war, but eomo of tbam of ■ permaiimtt 
obaracter, rantling' ft^m a pervarao ojiutrucllaa of the Canalitation of 
tte Coiteii States, we have thought it » duty wt owe (o our evaatxy, Ut 
inrits the atteation of the ^od people of tbe ooDDtlM of Bampaliira, 
HimpiiEB, tad Franklin, to the railioal causes of these eviia. 

•a foot, sod peace vitl remove nuay pnblio evila. It is an event we 
irdeotl; desire. Bnt when we coasider hovr often tbe people of tbe 
Fonnlry have been dinappoinled in Ihelr eipeclatioca of peace, and of 
vise meaaurcn; und when we consider the terms which onr adminla- 

DOI to be jr 
not very Hon 
But Ktin, a 

demanded, s 
of which, ii 

noof w 




bopcH of a speedy pi 

IS question ocimrs, whether, without an ameod- 

can enjoy tlie o<lva[it4iges to which their wealth, atrength, and white 
population jnslly entitle thorn. By tncoos of the repreienlallon of 
slaves, the Southern States have an intluence in our national eouocile 
alto^tber disproportionate to their wealth, strength, and resources ; and 
we presume it to be a fact capable of demunslration, thatforahoul twen- 
ty yeart pa>t the Cnited States have been governed by a reprCHOntatioU 
of about two-fiflhs of tho actual property of the country. 

In addition to this, the creation of new States io tlie South, and out 
of the original litaitB of the Dultcd !>tateH, ha.? incrcaaod the southern 
interest, which has appeared po hostile to the peace and commercial 
prosperity of the Northern Stalea. This power aasumeii by CongrcHB 
of bringing into the Union new States, not comprehcmled within the 

Titory o 

1 Stat< 

t the 

e federal ci 

■bitniry, iinjusl 

iiid dan 



pow«r f To what coiiMqnenoes would itl«ul f How ean Um people of 
the Nofthera Sutas answer to theinselree end to their poeterity for an 
ecqaie»oence in the exercise of thia power, that an^rmentB an inflnenee 
alreadr destructive of onr proeperitr, and will in time annihilate the 
best interests of the northern people f 

There are other measares of the general govemment, which, we ap- 
prehend, ought to excite eerioas alarm. The power aaanmed to lay a 
permanent embargo appears not to be constitnticMial, but an encroaeh- 
ment on the rights of onr dtlaens^ which calls for decided oppoution. 
It ia a power, we believe, never before exereised bj a commercial na- 
tion ; and how can the Northera States, which are habitnaD j commer- 
cial, and whose active foreign trade is so necessarflj connected with the 
interest of the fiomer and mechanic, sleep in tranqaillity nnder sncfa a 
violent infKngement of their rights f Bat this b not alL The late act 
imposing an embargo is subversive of the first prindples of civil lib- 
erty. The trade coastwise between different ports in the «mm SiaU is 
arbitrarily and anconstitntionally prohibited, and the sabordinate of- 
fices of gin^emment are vested with powers altogether inconsistent with 
our republican institntious. It arms the President and hb agents with 
complete control of pennons and property, and authorisM the employ- 
ment of military' force to carry its extraordinary provisions into execa- 

VTe ibrbear to enumerate all the measures of the federal government 
which we consider as violations of the Constitution, and encroachmenta 
u|HHi the rights of the people, and which bear particnlariy hard upon 
the commercial peoj^e of the North. But we would invite our fellow- 
citlicns to cims»der whether peace will remedy our public evils, without 
s^>me amendments of the Constitution, which shall secure to the North- 
cm States their due weight and infiuence in our national councib. 

The Northern States acceded to the representation of sU\-es as a mat- 
ter of compiomiss, upon the cxpre** stipulatioc in the Constitution that 
they should be protectee) in the ei^\vment of their commernal rights. 
These stipulations have been repeatedly violated : and it can not be ex- 
pected that the Northern States should be willing to bear their portion 
of the burdens of the federal government without ei^ying the benefits 

If our fMlow-dtiaens should concur with as in opinion, we would 
suggest whether it would not be expedient for the people in town meet- 
ings to address memorials to the General Court, at their present session, 
petitioQing that honorable body to propose a convention of all the North- 
em and eoramercial States, by delegates to be appoicted by their re- 
spective legislatures, to consult upon measures in concert, A>r procuring 
such alterations in the fiKleral Cons::tutic»n as will eiv*" tc» the Northern 
States a due proportion of representation, and secure them fh>m the fu- 
ture exervise of powers injurious to their commercial intereets : or if the 
Genenl Court ahall see fit, that they should pursue such other coorwe, 


' ■• tliBjr, in tbeir wisdom, ahkll ile«tu best calcnlutod to efTscI theSB otK 
jwita. Th« tneanuro ia of inch mignitude, [Jiut vie oppnlicnd a coDCtfl 
af Sttttef will be Dufol and aven Dccasairy lo procnte the uiKMiiJmiiiiu 
propoesdi bdJ eboald ItiB people of tbe eeveral States coutar in tlii* 
opuuon, il would ba eTpadieot f) aot on the aabject without dfllaj. 

We raqnwt yon, »r, tu wuaolC wiUi joiir Mends oa the aubject, duiI, 
if it should be thaugbt advisubls, to la/ Lhiii «ouuiiuiiicatiiia betoie ibe 
people of your town. 

Id bsbolf, snii b; diiection of the gentlemen saseiabled. 

JoHFH Lntas, CAairmtm. 

In cootptiaoce with the request and enggetitdcins id tbb oirou- 
lar, nuu>y town maetings were held, and with great, nnnnimiljr, 
iddrMees and memorials were voted to be preeeuted to the Gen- 
eral Oonrt, BtaltDg the sufferinge of the couiitrj' ia oonsequeuoe 
of the embafgo, the war, and arbitrarj restrictions on our coaat- 
iog trade, with the violations of oor const! tatjoDo] rights, nod 
reqacatiiig the legislature to take moaaures for obtaining redrees, 
either by a conventinn of ddcgntea from the Sorthern and corn- 
ntrthl StatM, or by aaoh other meaanree as they shonld Judge 
to ba axpadient. 

llieaa addreeaea and memorials were traiumitted to the Gen- 
<nl Oonrt then in seeaion, bnt aa oonumsaionera had been eent 
to Eoropa for the purpose of aegDtiating a treaty of peace, it 
was Jadged advisable not to have aoy action npoD them till the 
TCsolt of tbe negotiatioQ shonld be known. But dnring the fol- 
lowing nunmer, no news of peaoe arrived ; and the dietresBee of 
the oonntiy increasing, and the eeoooast remaining defenseless, 
QoTonor Strong stuninoned a epedal meeting of the legiHlatnre 
ta October, in which the petitions of the towns were taken into 
Mondentlon, and a resolve was passed appointing delates to 
a convention to be held in Hartford. The sabeeqnent history 
of that ooBventioa is known by thmr reporL 

"Dm measnre rf resorting to a convention for the pnrpose of 
arresting the evils of a bad adrainietration, roused the jealousy 
of the advocates of the war, and called forth the bitterest invec- 
tives. The convention was represented as a treasonable combl- 
oation, originating in Boston, for the purpose of diiisolving the 


Union. But citizens of Boston had no concern in originating 
the proposal for a convention ; it was wholly the project of the 
people in old Hampshire county — as respectable and patriotic 
republicans as ever trod the soil of a free country. The citizens 
who first assembled in Northampton, convened under the 
authority of the hill of rights^ which declares that the people 
have a right to meet in a peaceable manner and consult for 
the public safety. The citizens had the same right then to 
meet in convention as they have now ; the distresses of the 
country demanded extraordinary measures for redress; the 
thought of dissolving the Union never entered into the head of 
any of the projectors, or of the members of the Convention; 
the gentlemen who composed it, for talents and patriotism have 
never been surpassed by any assembly in the United States, and 
beyond a question the appointment of the Hartford Convention 
had a very £Eivorable effect in hastening the conclusion of a treaty 
of peace. 

All the reports which have been circulated respecting the 
evil designs of that Convention, I know to be the foulest mis- 
representations. Indeed, respecting the views of the disciples 
of Washington and the supporters of his policy, many, and prob- 
ably most of the people of the United States in this generation, 
are made to believe £Eir more falsehood than truth. I speak of 
facts within my own personal knowledge. We may well say 
with the prophet — *'*' Truth is fiillen in the street, and equity can 
not enter." Party spirit produces an unwholesome zeal to de- 
preciate one dass of men for the purpose of exalting another. It 
becomes rampant in propagating slander, which engenders con- 
tempt for personal worth and superior excellence ; it blunts the 
sensibiUty of men to injured reputation; impairs a sense of 
honor ; banishes the charities of life ; debases the moral sense of 
the community; weakens the motives that prompt men to idm 
at high attainments and patriotic acliievements ; degrades na- 
ti(»nal character, and exposes it to the scorn of the civilized 


Such is the testimony — direct, positive, documea- 
tary — of Noah Webster, as to the origin of the Hart- 
ford Convention.* This, be it remembered, is evidence 
fiiroished by one outside of that assembly : let me 
now present you with the testimony of Roger Minot 
Sherman — a member of that body, and a worthy 
bearer of one of the most honored names in Ameri- 
can history. 

[From IhB Norwilk Ghetto, Jinnoiy, I881.) 
Td th* EdttoToftht e<aetU: 

Previoas to the Iria] of 'WliilniaQ Mead, on the charge of Hbd, 
(rfwhicb yon gave a brief notice in yonr last namber, the pris- 

• This BUlenieril, on Che part of Mr. Webster, does not exclude th« 
■DppositioQ [hit Uie idea of • conventkii nf tho New Enfclnnd Sutw 
nny h»ve been previously sugireslcd by olherp. Snch a thing van very 
likely to occur to many minds, iiianmucb aa New England had been 
accustomed, from time immcniorhd, to hold conventions, in periods 
of trouble and anxiety. His testimony, however, showB clearly that 

Oilier testimony shows that somo prominent fsder«liatii did not at first 
favor it. and only yielded at last to a feeling of prudence, in following 
this lesii of the people. 

Tiie following latter from Harrison Gray OtLs lo Mrs. Willard, writ- 
ten iti reply to a request from her. for information on the wiibjocl, will 
be seen to correspond with Mr. Webster's statement, and also wilb tlio 
proceedinea of the Convention, and all other known facts relating to it, 

"The Hartford Convention, far from being the original oontrivaiico 
of a cabal for any pnr|«)s« of faction or disunion, was a result growing, 
by natural consequences, out of existing eircumstunces. More than a 
year previous to its institution, a convention was simultaneously called 
for by tlie people in their town meetings, in nil parti of Mas'iacliusetts. 
Petitions to that effect wetu aeoiiraulnted on tlic tables of the legislativa 

of those who now su^tiiiu the odium of the meiLi.ire. Tlio adoption o( 
it was the cousequenee, not the source of ■ popular eentiineal ; and it 
■*» intended by Ihoae who voted for it, u ■ aafety'ValTe, by whloh tba 
Vol. 11.-2 


oner moyed the Oonrt for a subpoena, to Mr. Sherman, of Fidr- 
field, Mr. Groddard, of Norwich, and others, as witnesses in 
his behalf. It was allowed by the Court, and was served on 
Mr. Sherman, but could not be, seasonably, on Mr. Groddard, on 
account of the lateness of his application. One of the articles 
charged as libellous, compared a recent political meeting at Hart- 
ford with the Hartford Oonyention, and the prisoner supposed 
that a full development of the proceedings of that Convention 
would furnish a legal vindication of the article in question. With 
a view to such development, he wished the testimony of the gen- 
tlemen above named. At the instance of the prisoner, Mr. Sher- 
man testified on the trial of the case, and the inclosed paper con- 
tains his testimony, exact in substance, and very nearly in his 
language — which you are at liberty to publish. — [The trial took 
place at Fairfield, Connecticut, the place of Mr. Sherman^s resi- 
dence, in January, 1881. J 

State of Connecticat, ) 
w. > 

Whitman Mead. ) Hon, Roger Minot Sherman's Testimony, 

Question hy the Primmer. What was the nature and object of the 
Hartford Convention I 

Answer, I was a member of that Convention. It met on the 15th of 
December, 1814. The United 8tate.s were then at war with Great Brit- 
Mn. They had, in their fort^ and arnues, twenty-seven thousand ef- 
feoUve men : of these about tliirtecn hundred only were employed in 
New England. The war had been in operation two years and a half. 
We had a seacoast of almost seven hundred miles to protect, and with 
the exception of about thirteen hundred men, had the aid of no mili- 
tary force from the United States. By internal taxes, all others having 
become unproductive by reason of the war, the national government 
raised lai^sce sums from the people within our territory. Direct taxation 
was the only resource of the State governments, and this had been car- 
ried to as great an extreme in Connecticut as could be sustained. The 
banks, which furnished all our currency, either withheld their accom- 
modations or stopped payment, and the people were embarrassed by a 
general stagnation of business. Powerful fleets and armies lay off our 

steam arising from the fermentation of the times mif^ht escape, not as 
a boiler by which it is generated." (See WiUard's History of the Ukiied 
JSkiUf^ p. 851.) 



oswU, uiil were nukinf or thre»laning invuions in all p»ita of oor d»- 
hiuilcv Mi-boanl. Comnii>dare Desatur, with hiii tqnmitaa, had ukuit 
Mfugo in the w»tera of Connfcliout,andatt™oWd a pgwerfiil Mmoenlm- 
liec nf thn enemy'ii forces ou oar barduni. Cutlne, if 1 miatshB Dot, 
ind tomt other puU of the territory of Uuaiobiuetta, bid (alldi into 
tli« band* of Ihc Brlliih. The New EDgUnd States, noder ill then dU- 
•dvaaU^ea, were oliiiced to proteM IhamiolTea by thrir own militia, al 
Ibsir awn eipsnsa. The expeoiuM ofCoDaectJcatfirealJj SToeeded oar 
iHonrcea. The duration of the war eoald not be foreseen, sod out 
(ntditwateihaDBled. Attempts wers made to borrow motiej, butwilh- 
eit any adeqimlc sOMess. Tbe naUorml Canstltution prohibited the 
nniwDa of bills of credit. In this extremit;, wliile the l^slatare was 
in snaiDn at Kew Haven, in Onober, ISll, a oominuDioatioD waa ra- 
criftd from the le^nluaro of MussDataaBeltB, praposin); a coriTealion of 
dtlte*Ui from the New Eng^d States, to mnHoli on the adopiJon of 
iBCUDm for their common ufctj. This coramunicatloD wos rellOTtd 
lo a joint oommittee of both boDaen. Qeoeral Henry Cbsmpion snd 
myself were sppointed fVoni ilie Dpper noij.=t>. Ho was chnirniao of the 

I dro 

P repon 


h lbs 

propoBsl made by the State of Mauachusetts, and asaigninK the reaaona 
•I length. This report was published by order of the lepinlaiure, aad 
eitennively circulated in the nevspapertof tliii> and other States. Seven 

WM orimniieil, Mr. Oti», a dclejote from Massachusettn, proposed, nfter 
some prelBlory remarks, that it should he recommended to our several 
legi-lslures to present a petition to the Conirreis of tbe United States, 
praying that they would consent that the New Englnnd Stales, or so 

in defending themselves against the public enemy ; that so much of the 
national revenno as should be collected in these States, should be ap- 
proprialed lo the expense of that ilefcnse ; that the amount so appro- 
pnaled should be credited to the United Ststca ; and that the Unttod 
Slatee should agree to pay whatever should be eipended beyond that 
amount. This proposal was approved by t)ie Convention. T)io satne 
Tiewri had been !>Iat«d here before the mecliiib! of the delegates. By 
the CoDtlitntion of the United Stateo, no such compact lor mutual de- 
f^Euie could be formed, without the consent of Congress. By thus nag- 
meoting onr Immediate resources, and obtaining the national guaranty 
that the expenses of the war, to bo incressed by the Slates thus uniting, 
shonld be ultimately paid out of the national Ireasury, it was supposed 
that onr credit, as well as our present pecuniary resources, would bo 

menu to the Conntilutlon of the United Slates, to be proposed forsdop- 
tiun by the State legislatures. One was, that Conitress :ihoiilit not have 
power lo declare war without the concurrence of two-thirds ot both 
houaea. I can not, from recollection, dctul the proposed ai 


bnt they appear on the printed report of the Convention, of whioh I 
have a copy at my office, whioh the prisoner may use on the trial, if he 
pleases. A committee, of whom I was one, was appointed by the Con- 
vention to draw up that report to present to their respective legislatures. 
The proposal of Mr. Otis was adopted with little variation. This report 
was immediately printed by order of the Convention, and was circulated 
throughout the country. 

Among other things, aa may be seen by that report, it was recom- 
mended to the legislatures represented in the Convention, to adopt 
measures to protect their citizens from such conscriptions or impresa- 
ments as were not authorized by the Constitution of the United States. 
This resolution originated from a project of the then Secretary of War, 
which I believe was not adopted by Congress. The secretary of the 
Convention kept a journal of thoir proceedings. This, as I understand, 
was deposited by Mr. Cabot, the President, in the office of the Secretary 
of State of Massachusetts, and a copy transmitted to Washington, and 
lodged in the office of the Secretary of State of the United States. It 
was afterward published in certdn newspapers. I saw it in the Ameri- 
can Mercury, a newspaper published at Hartford, by Mr. Baboock. The 
legislatures of Massachusetts and Connecticut, pursuant to the recom- 
mendation of the Convention, sent a delegation to Washington, to pre- 
sent their respective petitions to the Congress of the United States. The 
gentiemen sent from Connecticut were Mr. Terry, Mr. Goddard, and, I 
think, Mr. Dwight. On their arrival, the Treaty of Peace, concluded at 
Ghent, reached the national government, and further measures became 

This is an outiine of the origin and proceedings of the Hartford Con- 
vention. There was not, according to my best recollection, a single mo- 
tion, resolution, or subject of debate, but what appears in the printed 
journal or report-. If any further particulars are requested, I will state 

Qusstion hy the PrUaner. Was it not an object of the Convention to 
embarrass and paralyze the government of the United States in the 
prosecution of the war with Great Britain ? 

AfiHper, It was not. Nothing of the kind was done or entertained 
by the Convention, or, so far as I know or believe, by those by whom it 
was originated. On the contrary, its principal object was a more effectual 
oo-operation in that war, as to the defense of the New England States. 

QuesHon hy the Prisoiur. Has not that Convention been generally re- 
puted in the United States to be treasonable ? 

Antvw. Much has been said and published to that effect, bnt with- 
out the least foundation. I believe I know their proceedings perfectiy ; 
and that every measure, done or proposed, has been published to the 
world. No one act has ever been pointed out, to my knowledge, as in- 
ooDsiatent with their obligations to the United States, nor was any aaoh 
•ot ever oontemplated by them. 


Here is the testimony of a great and good man — a 
member of tbe Convention — untfer oath. Who will 
venture to gainsay it? Certainly no individual who 
feels the claims of truth, and appreciates the requi- 
sitions of logic, unless he is armed with proofs, clear, 
indispatable, demonstrative ; he must bring facts 
sufficient to destroy the direct testimony of auch 
men as Noah Webster and Roger M. Sherman, and, 
indeed, a cloud of other witnesses of equal weight 
and responsibility. 

It seems to me that every candid mind, upon these 
statements, will be constrained to iidmit that ihe Con- 
vention thus originated in public necessity, and not Id 
treason ; I think the additional evidence I am about 
to present will satisfy yon that their proceedings were 
in harmony with the wise and worthy motives that 
brought the members together. 

If you look into certain partisan histories of the 
times, you might be led to suppose that on the day 
of the gathering of the Convention at Hartford — the 
15th of December, 1814 — the heavens and the earth 
were clothed in black ; that the public mind was filled 
with universal gloom ; that the bells^tremulous with 
horror — lolled in funereal chimes; that the flag of the 
country everywhere was at half-mast ; and that the 
whole American army marched with mufl!ied drums 
and inverted arms, and all this in token of the qua- 
king terror of the public mind, at the ominous gath- 
ering of a committee of some two dozen mild, respect- 


able, gray-haired old gentlemen, mostly appointed 
by the legislatures of Massachusetts, Connecticut, 
and Ehode Island, to investigate and report upon 
the state of public affairs ! Such, I recollect, was the 
picture of Hartford, that was circulated over the 
country by the democratic papers* remote from the 

* The following is from the American Mercary, the democratic or- 
g^n at Hartford — Dec. 18, 1815, a year after the Convention. There 
oan be little doubt that, at the ontset, many of the deinocrats really felt 
that the Convention meditated treason. I have already shown that the 
leaders of democracy had been made, by the revelations of John Q. 
Adams, to suHpect the nortliern federalists ; and there is no doabt 
that Madison and his cabinet, for a time, apprehended that the Hart- 
ford Convention was to be the fulfillment of Adamses prediction. Bat 
the maledictions hero poured out by the Mercury — a year after the gath- 
ering of the Convention, and when its innocence, to say the least, was 
universally known and understood — were mere electioneering devices. 
They are interesting, however, as showing the means by which the 
obstinate prejudice against the Convention was wrought into the minds 
of the mass of the democratic party. 

*'The fifteenth of December is an epoch in the history of America 
which can never be passed over by Bepublicans, without mingled emo- 
tions of regret and exultation : of regret, that we have among us * men 
— freeborn men — men born, nursed, and brought up by our firesides — 
Americans — American citizens,' who are so depraved, so wicked, as to 
aim a dagger at the vitals of their already bleeding country, and to at- 
tempt to subvert the liberties of the people ; of exultation, that the grand 
designs of these hellish conspirators have been frustrated with infamy, 
and that the Union has triumphed over their mischievous machinations 1 

** Impressed with these sentiments, the Bepublicans of Hartford, on 
Friday last (being the day of the first meeting of the Convention), dis- 
played the flag of the Union at half-mast during the early part of the 
day, as expressive of their sorrow for the depravity of those, who, one 
year since, were plotting in our city, in conjunction with Britain, the 
destruction of the liberties of the Bepublic. In the afternoon, the flag 
was raised to the masthead, as emblematical of the complete discom- 
fiture of their designs, and the triumph of the Constitution. In the 
rueful countenance of the federalibts, it was plain to discover the morti- 
fioation and chagrin which they experienced. They say, lot us bury in 
oblivion^H dark baatile all bitter recollection I But so long as New £ng- 
Iftod ii onrsed with federal mien, till she emerges from the darkni 



scene of action. The whole is very well reflected in 
tlie inspired pages of Charles Jarcd Ingersoli,* who 
may be considered as the Jeremiah of democracy, for 
iluB period of our history. He seems to have regarded 
himself as specially raised up to propheay against 
New England. " The sin of Judah" — that is, of fed- 
eralism — he has written " with a pen of iron," though 
not " with the point of a diamond." 

Now I perfectly well remember the day of the 
gathering of the Convention.f There was in the city 

uit throiiKliout New En^Und (wiiieli we trust in God ia close b[ hand), 
h becomei the imperions dot; of Bepublicana to hold up U> tha ooa- 
tempt of the peopla, their nicked and nefarious deaigne. * * * 

" We tliiak it a duty ne oire to our couutry, to publish annuatlj' tha 
namea of those wlio composed the ' Hsrtfoivl Convention,' that they may 
never be for^tlcn." Her« fallows a list of the nnmea. 

Not only the Hartforil Mercury, but the Buston I'lilriol, oiid probably 
otli«r ilemocrBtic joiiniBU, made a similar pled|;e to iioLJ up to eternal 

el ett ion e firing game, and after two or three years, tlie pledge waa for- 

• '■ nUlorical SlfleA lyf Ihi .Sfoind War Ittieftn l/it UaiUd SUxta and 
Gnat Britain, by Charles Jared Ingereoli." 

t The following are the names of tiie inemben of the aOH^slled Hart' 
ford Convetiiion : those {toxn MDBniieliUMett:^, Conneotieut, and Khode 
Island *-ere appointed from the Stale legislatures; Ihosc from Now 
Hampshire, by connty eoiiventioDS ; the delegate fhoni Vermont was 
eijoicn by persons in the county of Win Jliam. These were all nppoint- 
eii "fnr tht purpnte ijf dteuing and rttonttnending meh mramrti for tht 
laf^y 'ind anl/are of that StaUi ai may be eoaiitterU leUh our oUigutUnt 
<H meinbtn of the yalionat Union." 

from JfiM»ac*u«(M— Gcorire Cabot, Nattian Dane, William Pres- 
eoll, Harrison Gray Oils, Timothy Bigelow, Joshua ThomBM, Samuel 
Sumner Wilde, Joseph Lyman, StepticD Longfellow, Jr., Daniel Wuldo, 
Hnlljah Baylies, George Biiss. 

From Ginaecticut—Chaancey Goodrich, John Tremlwell, James Hill- 
house, Zephaniah Swifl, Katbaniel Smith, Calvin Qoddard, Koger H. 


a small squad of UDited States recruits — ^I tlunk some 
two dozen in number. These, assisted no doubt by 
others, ran up the American flag at their rendezvous, 
with the British flag at half-mast, beneath it. They 
also — these two dozen, more or less — marched through 
the streets with reversed arms and muffled drums. A 
few persons, I believe, got hold of the bell-rope of 
the Baptist meeting-house, and rang a funereal chime. 
All this — chiefly the work of the rabble — was the 
scoff of the great body of the people ; nevertheless, 
it was reported in the democratic papers abroad, as 
if some black and mighty portent had signalized the 
arrival of the Convention. The simple truth was, 
that the six and twenty gray-haired men — ^legislators, 
senators, judges — honored for long years of service — 
came quietly into town, and were welcomed by the 
mass of the citizens, according to their standing and 
their mission, with respect, esteem, and confidence. 

Let us take a sketch of what followed from the 
prophet Jared : " On the 15th of December, 1814, 
with excited sentiments of apprehension, mingled 
approval and derision, the inhabitants of Hartford 
awaited the ne&ndous Convention, which takes its 
bad name from that quiet town." " One of their 
number, Chauncey Goodrich, was mayor of Hartford, 
hy whose arrangements the Convention was disposed of 

Frijm Khodt Itland — Daniel Lyman, Samael Ward, Edward Man- 
ton, Bonjamin Hazard. 
liwn Ntw Hampshirt — Benjamin West, Mills Oloott 
From Firmon^— William Hall, Jr. 


m the rftirement of the second sto>-y of an isolated stone 
huiUitig, in which the little ^ate Senate or Oouncil sal, 
tehen, in rolalion, Hartford was tlie seat of government. 
Lodcing themselves up stairs, there, in awfully ohscttre 
emeeahnent, for three weeks, twice every day, accept Sun 
day, Christmas and New Year's-day, they were continu- 
nily in conelave," &c. 

"What an accumulation of horrors ! Tell me, my 

dear C , does not your hair bristle at the grisly 

piotare? It indeed sounds like a tale of the Inqui- 
rition. What a pity it is to spoil it 1 And yet, this 
infernal Rembrandt coloring — this violent contrast of 
light and shade — is wholly imaginary. The Con- 
vention met in the council-chamber of the State- 
house, which the gazetteers tell us — and tell ua truly 
— is a very handsome building. It is in the center 
of the city, and the most prominent edifice in the 
place. The room in which they met is still the 
sen ate- chamber, and is neither isolated nor obscure : 
on the contrary, it is one of the best and most con- 
spicuous rooms in the building: at the time, it was 
probably the finest public hall in the State.* 

It is true that the Convention sat with closed doora, 
as probably every similar convention had done be- 

* The Hon. R. U. lllmniiu, the liiMoriun ol' Contiectiaut diinn? the 
Bevohitioimry perioil, un.i Kcv«ral joam SocreliirvofSlnte, once told mo» 
prihl atiecilntc in ninlioii (otlibdnrk.tliKninl lildiiip-pliwc afllie "nel'un- 
iloua" Convoiition. One day, a niim from tlio South— 1 believo a Souih 
Carol iDm»—t>o>nc one doiibtlcHn wlio liad been reading InKer^otl'ii liis- 
tory, came inio tlie offlce of tlie Secretary, sod desired to be «hown the 
plw« vbere Uie Hurtford ConvcnUoa bm. Mr. Hiamui accordingly 


fore. The State Council — in whose room the Con- 
vention met — had furnished this example from time 
immemorial. The General Assembly of Connecticut 
had always done the same, at periods of difllculty and 
danger. The Convention that framed the Constitu- 
tion of the United States had done likewise. The 
Continental Congress did the same, through the whole 
period of the war of the Eevolution. A great part 
of the executive business of the United States Sen- 
ate is now done in secret session, and is never 
known to the public. The archives of the State De- 
partment, at Washington, are under the lock and key 
of the Executive. The legislature of every State has 
the capacity to hold secret sessions, and nobody ques- 
tions their right to exercise it according to their dis- 
cretion. Both houses of Congress discussed, resolved 
upon, and voted the war of 1812, in secret session I 
And yet, what was useful, proper, and of good re- 
took him into the room. Tho Btranji^er looked aronnd with mach cnri> 
osity, and presently he saw Staart's likeness of Washington — for in 
this chamber is one of the most celebrated of the full-length portraits 
of the Father of his Country. 

The stranger started. ** And was this picture here, when the Con- 
vention held its sittings !" said he. 

" Yes, certainly," s^d the secretary. 

" Well," replied the man — observing the high color which Stuart 
had given to the countenance of Washington, in the picture — " well, 
ril be d d if he's got the blush off yet 1" 

This is a sharp joke ; but yet, it is natural to ask — if Washington's 
picture should blush for the Hartford Convention — which above all 
things advocated the preservation of the Union — what should it have 
done in the presence of that Convention in South Carolina, November, 
1882, which resulted in an open, avowed opposition to the Union, and 
has perhaps laid the foundation for its overthrow, in establishing the 
doctrine of Secession ! 


port in all other similar bodies, was "nefiindous" in 
the Hartford Convention ! So saith Jared, the his- 
torian, whose account seems to consist largely of the 
prejudices and exaggerations of the democratic pa- 
pers of that day — mked together in one undigested 
heap. As Buch it is amusing— nay, instructive — but 
alas, how is history degraded, when such a mass of 
incongruities assumes its sacred name 1 

I have told you that I was at this time living with 
my uncle, Chauncey Goodrich — then a member of the 
Convention. His house, of course, became the fre- 
qTjent rendezvous of the other members, and here I 
often saw them. On one occasion, in the evening, 
they all met at his house, by invitation — the only 
instance in which they partook of any similar festiv- 
ity. At this time, the other persons present, so far 
as I recollect, were William Coleman * editor of the 

1T«G. He sliic]\e<l liiw, aii.1 »eitltil at Greenfield aboul 1791, wLero ho 
erecitd a house, noleil fur ttit Brchiieriuriil beauty. Here ho also editod 
> newspaper. Biiukiii?liBni— vol. ii. p. 819— aayg thai lie was remarkable 

leet him, be vias a Inr^ mnn, of robust appeaniiiec, with n vigorous and 
maDlv countenanco. His nose wns bony and proiniTienI, and in con- 
nection with a iitronel} defiued brow, gave hiH face an expre.ision oC 
TJzor and nagacity. Hin eye was itray, bis bairli^iit brown, and at Ibo 
tinjv 1 speak of, wiu slightly grizzled, lie removed to New York, where 
be piiUHohed some lav bouts, and in 1301 (Nov. Ifl), founded the Evo- 
niiiz Host, nrhieli Iwcanie u leadiiiir federal paper, and so conlinned for 
many years. Ilrt cohiinns wero distinguished for ability, as well In its 
politit-al dincussioiiJi u« its litcmry eiSi>u}s and criticism?. In general, he 
■el a good example of dignity of stylo and gentlemanly deeorutil, though 
he was drawn into some violent altercations witli t'bectham and Uuane. 
It ii aufGcicnt eulogy of Mr. CoUman to Bay that he enjoyed tbe con- 


New York Evening Post, Theodore Dwight, sec- 
retary of the Convention, my cousin, Elizur Good- 
rich, now of Hartford, and myself. The majority of 
the members were aged men, and marked not only 
with the gravity of years, but of the positions which 
they held in society — for some of them had been gov- 
ernors, some senators, some judges. I do not recol- 
lect ever to have seen an assemblage of more true 
dignity in aspect, manner, and speech. They were 
dressed, on the evening in question, somewhat in 
the ancient costume — ^black coats, black silk waist- 
coats, black breeches, black silk stockings, black 
shoes. I wonder that this universal black has not 
been put into the indictment against them I Perhaps 
the silvery -whiteness of their heads — for the majority 
were past fifty, several past sixty — ^may have pleaded 
in extenuation of this sinister complexion of their dress. 
The most imposing man among them, in personal 
appearance, was George Cabot,* the president. He 
was over six feet in height, broad-shouldered, and of 
a manly step. His hair was white — for he was past 
sixty — ^his eye blue, his complexion slightly florid. He 
seemed to me like Washington — as if the great man, 

lidence of IlamUton, Eing^ Jay, and other notabilities of that day, and 
that he made the £vening Post worthy of the editorial succesaorship of 
LeggeU (1829) and of Bryant (1886). 

♦ George Cabot waa a native of Salem, Mass., bom in 1752. He waa 
originally a shipmaster, but he rose to various stations of eminence. 
He became a senator of the United States, and in 1798 was appointed 
the first Secretary of the Navy, but declined. His penonal ii^uenoe 
in Boston was unbounded. He died in that city, 1828. 


i8 painted hj Btaart| had walked out of the oanvaa^ 
and lived and breathed among na. He wasi in &ct^ 
Washingtonian in hia whole air and bearing, as was 
proper for one who was Washington's fxiendi and 
who had drank deep at the same fbnntain — ^that of 
the Berolntion— of the spirit of troth, honor, and 
patriotism. In aspect and general appearanoe, he 
was strikingly dignified, and soch was the effect of 
his presenee^ that in a crowded room, and amid other 
men of mark — when you once became consdons that 
ha' was there, you oonld hardly finget it Yon seem- 
ed always to see him — as the traveler in Svntzerland 
sees Mont Blanc towering above other mountains 
aronnd him, wherever he may be. And yet he was 
easy and gracious in his manners, his countenance 
wearing a calm but radiant cheerfulness, especially 
when he spoke. He was celebrated for his conver- 
BStional powers, and I often remarked that when he 
b^an to converse, all eyes and ears turned toward 
him, as if eager to catch the music of his voice and 
the light of his mind. He came to my uncle's al- 
most every morning before the meeting of the Con- 
vention, and I have never felt more the power of 
goodness and greatness, than in witnessing the inter- 
course between these two men. 

The next person as to prominence, in the Massa- 
chusetts delegation, was Harrison Gray Otis,* then in 

♦ Harrison Gray Otis, son of Samnel A. Otis, the first Secretary of 
the Senate of the United States, was bom in 1766, and died 1848. Ue 


the zenith of his years and his fame. He had a name 
honorable by tradition, and a position — social as well 
as political — due to his great wealth, his eminent tal- 
ents, and his various accomplishments. He was 
doubtless the most conspicuous political character in 
New England — for the sun of Webster was but just 
rising in the horizon. He was deemed ambitious, 
and hence was regarded by the democrats as the 
arch instigator of the traitorous Convention. Such 
an opinion, however, shows the greatest ignorance of 
his character and the actual state of things. Mr. 
Otis was a far-seeing politician, and knew there was 
no treason in the hearts of the people of New Eng- 
land: he stood at the highest point to which am- 
bition could lead him, and any step in that direction 
must be downward. Besides, he was of the cau- 
tious, not the dashing school of statesmanship, as well 
by constitution as training. To suppose him a plot- 
ter of treason, is to divest him of all his attributes — 
inherent and conventional. It is, furthermore, his- 
torical and beyond dispute, that he was averse to the 
Convention. By his influence, it was delayed, long 
after it was proposed and almost clamored for by the 

was one of the most eminent of the MaftsachnsettH bar, even by the side 
of Ainea, Parsonft, Lowell, and Gore. He succeeded Ames in Congress, 
in 1797. In 1817, he became a senator of the United Slates. To learn- 
ing and vigor of intellect, he added great powers of oratory, captivating 
fdike to the simple and the refined. He held various other offices, and 
iu these, discharged his duties with distinguished ability. Ills resi- 
dence waa at Boston. He retained his mental faculties, his cheerfulnea^ 
and his amenity of demeanor, to the last. 


people. He objected to being a member of it, a 
only yielded at last, that he might use his influence 
to secure to it a safe and trauquiliziug direction. 
At the very opening of the Convention, he signal- 
ized himself by proposing the safe and discreet meas- 
ures which were fiually adopted. Hence, he always 
felt, with a keen sense of injosticc, the imputation 
which long hung about him, as being the leader io a 
treasonable enterprise. 

The impression he made on my mind upon the oc- 
casion I am describing, was deep and lasting. Ho 
hud not the lofty Washingtonian dignity of George 
Cabot, nor the grave suavity of Chauncey Goodrich ; 
he was, in feet, of quite a different type — easy, pol- 
ished, courtly — passing from one individual to an- 
other, and carrying a line of light &om countenance 
to countenance, either by his playful wit or gracious 
personal allusions. He seemed to know everybody, 
and to be able to say to each precisely the most ap- 
propriate thing that could be said. He was one of the 
handsomest men of his time ; his features being classi- 
cally cut, and still full of movement and expression. 
To me — who had seen little of society beyond Connec- 
ticnt, and accustomed therefore to the rather staid man- 
ners of public men — Mr. Otis waa an object of strange, 
yet admiring curiosity, I knew him well, some 
years after and when I waa more conversant with the 
world, and he still seemed to me a very high exam- 
ple of the finished gentlemau of the assidaoua and 


courtly school. He lowered himself, no doubt, in the 
public estimation by his somewhat restive and quer- 
ulous — though masterly and conclusive — vindica- 
tions of the Convention; while all the other members, 
conscious of rectitude, scorned to put themselves in 
the attitude of defense. We may forgive what seemed 
a weakness in Mr. Otis, while we must pay homage to 
that dignity in his associates, which would not stoop 
to ask in life, the justice which they knew posterity 
must render them, in their graves. 

Of the other members of the Massachusetts dele- 
gation, I have less distinct personal reminiscences. 
Mr. Prescott, father of the historian,* and Mr. Long- 
fellow,! father of the poet — worthy, by their talents, 
their virtues, and their position, of such descendants 
— I only remember as two grave, respectable old 
gentlemen, seeming, by a magic I did not then com- 
prehend, to extort from all around them peculiar 

* William Prescott was a native of Pepperell, Mass., born 1762. His 
&ther, ColoDel Prescott, commanded at the battle of Bunker Hill. He 
became one of the most eminent lawyers in the State, and filled varions 
pablic stations. Mr. Webster said of him at the time of his death, in 
1844 : " No man in the community, during the last quarter of a centu- 
ry, felt himself too high, either from his position or his talents, to ask 
counsel of Mr. Prescott." 

t Stephen Longfellow, of Portland, Maine, was an eminent lawyer, 
and ranked among the most distinguished and estimable citizens of New 
England. He was noted for un^<allied purity of life and character, an 
inflexible devotion to his convictions, great powers of conversation, 
and winning amenity of manners, always mingling an elevated piety 
with a kindly cliarity to all other sects. While Maine was a part of 
Massachusetts, he exercised great influence in the State : after the sep- 
aration, he was one of the loading men of this new member of the 
Union. He died in 1849 

H19TOB10AI^ AiraCTXrnCll., ETC. 


marks of deference and respect. Since I have known 
their history, I have ascertained the secret.* 
One of the oldest, and in some respects the moat r&- 

* The oLher nuioilien from MuBssubuatjttit were nU enuDeDt for thair 
rirtnes uid thsir Ulenw. 

Few moie* in our hisloiy are icDrt> honorabl; romombered thkn that 
of Nathui Dane. Be wu a native of Ipswich, UantiBcliiiaetU, bom In 
ITH. Ha was ■ lawyer of irrcRt emioeuee, and ■ gtategmui of iliitin- 
irninheil patriotitni snd wiBdom. He wis a member of CongreM under 
the Confederaaon, and wb» iho frsmor of tlia Aimed ordinances of 
IIST, fbr (lie govemmCDt ot the terriUirj of tlie United Sutirs nortli- 
weat of Ibe Obia nvsr; u adminible code oT U«, by wbicb tbe |>riii' 
oiples of tne gavtnmtM, to Ihe exciusion of «U»«rj, were etwndtd 
to an immeoM region, uid ite polilicsl and moral inlereilB eeenrod on 
1 prrmanent bnols. He pnblished some nucfiil works, and founded 
1 professonhip of law in, Harvard Oniversit;. Hia life is along reoord 
ef beneflecDt works. Ha died in Feb. 1BS6. 

Timolhy Bigelow ww s learned, eloquent, and popnlar lawyer, bom 
in i;ST, and died in 1821. For more than twenty yeara he was a member 
of the Maa«a;hu setts l^ixlature, and for Eleven years he was Speaker 
of its Hou^e of Uepreaentntirea. His realdcnce was at Medford. Mra. 
Abbott Lawrence wa.i one of bin duiitrhtcra. 

Jo>epti Ljman, of Xorlhampton, was born in 17S7, and died In 1S4T. 
He was the person sasocialed with Noab Webster and others, in the 
Hrvt movement for the Hartford Convention, as previonaly noticed. 
He held many important ofilceH, and enjoved, in nn nnbonnJed deprce, 
the oonlideiioe of the community. Hs wan an eminently digniBed and 

h kindn 


scension. lis never failed to attend the polh, and depoi-ited liis fifty- 
ninth ballot the year of hi* death ! 

Joslma Thomaa, bom 1751, and died 1821, held for many years the 
office of Judge of Probate fbr the county of Plymouth. 

Samuel Snmner Wilds, born 1771 and died M.IS, was an eminent law- 
yer, and several years judgs of the Supreme Conrt— the aamo in whieb 
Farr-ons, Story, Sedgwick, and Sewall hnd otHeiated, He H-as » man 
of unbending integrity, and the ntmoHt diirnity and purity of life. He 
was the father-in-law of Caleb Ciishin?— the present Attorney-general 
of tlie United Sutos. 

Gaori-e RIipb, born 1764, died IKn, wns a distinguished Inwyer of 
Springfleid. He enjoyed in an eminent degreo the re^peet and coufl- 
deuce of all who knew him. 

Danisl Waldo was bom in 1763 at Boston : he settled at Woroeatnr 


markable member of the Convention, was Mr. West,* 
of New Hampshire. I recollect him distinctJy, partly 
because of his saintly appearance, and partly because 
of the terms of affection and respect in which my 
uncle spoke of him. He, too, was often at our house, 

and devoted himself to mercanUIe affaire with great success. He ae- 
qaired in a high degree the confidence of the oommnnity around him. 
He was distinguished for integrity, justice, and punctuality, in all the 
affairs of life. He died in 1845. 

Thomas Handyside Perkins, born in Boston, 1764, and died in 1854. 
He was an eminent merchant of that city, and having amassed a large 
fortune, was distinguished for his liberality. Several literary and char- 
itable institutions owe their existence to him. In pereon, he was a large 
man, with a grave countenance, but with an expres.sion indicative of hia 
large and generous heart. 

Hodijah Baylies was bom in 1757. He served during the Revolution- 
ary war, and was at one time aid to General Lincoln, and afterward to 
Washington. He held various public offices, and was noted as com- 
bining, in a high degree, the Christian character with that of the gentle- 
man. He died in 1843. 

The four members from Bhode Island were among the most respect 
able citizens of that State. 

Daniel Lyman was a native of Connecticut, born in 1776 and died in 
1830. He served through the Revolutionary war, and rose to the rank 
of major. He afterward settled in Rhode Island, became eminent as a 
lawyer, and was finally chief-justice of the Supreme Court of that State. 

Samuel Ward, son of Gov. Ward, of that State, was born in and 

died in . In the Revolution he was a soldier, and accompanied Ar- 
nold in his perilous march against Quebec. After the peace he devoted 
himself to commerce. As a soldier, patriot, and citizen, his character 
was without a stain. 

Benjamin Hazard was among the ablest lawyere of his day, enjoying 
the highest esteem for his private worth. He was very swarthy, with 
long frizzled hair, and I particularly noticed him, among the other mem- 
bers, for the singularity of his appearance. He was often called by the 
people of his neighborhood ** Black Ben." He was bom in 1776 and died 
in 1 841 . He was elected to the Assembly of Rhode Island sixty-two times 1 

Edward Manton was a merchant of Johnston, and distinguished for 
his probity and moral worth. He was born in 1760 and died in 1820. 

♦ Benjamin West was a native of Massachusetts, bod of Rev. T. 
West, and bom in 1746. He was graduated at Harvard College, studied 
law, and Betded at Charleatown, N. H., where he died, July 27, 1817 


ftnd seldom have I seen a man who commaoded such 
ready love and admiration. He was then sixty-eight 
years old : his form tall but slender, his hair white, 
long, and flowing, hia countenance serene, hia voice 
full of feeling and melody. His appearance indica- 
ted the finest moral texture ; but when bis mind was 
turned to a subject of interest, his brow flashed with 
tokens of that high intellectual power which distin- 
guished him. His character and hia position were well 
displayed in a single passage of hia history ; " He waa 
chosen a memberof Congress under the old Confedera- 
tion ; a member of the convention which framed the 
Constitution of his adopted State, and a member of 
Congress under the Constitution ; he was appointed 
Attorney -general and Judge of Probate, and yet all 
these offices he refused, owing to his aversion to pub- 
lic life, and his sincere, unambitious love of domestic 
peace and tranquillity." His great abilities, however, 
were not hidden in a napkin. He devoted himself to 
the practice of the law, which he pursued with eminent 
success, for the space of thirty years. It was in the 
evening of his days that be accepted his lirst prom- 
inent public station, and that was as member of the 
Hartford Convention. This he did, under a convic- 
tion that it was a period of great difliculty and dan- 
ger, and he felt that duty called u[)on hirn to sacrifice 
his private comfort to public exigencies. Who will 

44 hMToam — ^biooj 

believe that man to have been a conspirator, or that 
the people who designated him for this place were 

As to the CJonnecticnt members of the CJonvention, 
I could easily gather up pages of eulogy. There are, 
indeed, few such men now ; I am afiraid that in this 
age of demagogism, there are few who can compre- 
hend them« I shall, however, present you with brief 
delineations of their lives and characters from the 
sober records of the historian. 

^ At the head of the Connecticat delegation stood his honor, 
Channcej Goodrich,* whose blanched locks and noble features 
had long been oonspicaoos in the halls of national legislation ; a 
gentleman whose character b identified with truth and honor in 
all parts of the Union ; a gentleman of whom Albert Gallatin 
was wont to say, that when he endeavored to meet the argu- 
ments of his opponents, he was accustomed to select those of Mr. 
Groodrich, as containing the entire strength of all that could be 
said upon that ade— feeling that if he could answer him, he 
could maintain his cause; a man whom Jefferson — no mean 
Judge of intellectual strength — used playfully to say, ' That white- 
headed senator from Connecticut is by &r the most powerful 
opponent I have, to my administration.* 

*^ Next to him was James IIiIlhouse,t the great financier of the 

* For a sketch of the life of Channcey Goodrich, see page 526, vol. i. 
of this work. 

t James Hillhouse was one of the most remarkable men of his time. 
He was bom in 1754, entered upon the practice of the law, engaged in 
the Revolntionary war, t>ecame a member of Congress, and was sixteen 
years a senator. lie possessed an iron frame, and his industry and de- 
votion to his duties knew no bounds. He usually slept but four or five 
hours in twenty-four. His personal appearance was remarkable. H« 
was over six f^t high, of a large bony frame: his complexion was 
swarthy, and his eye black and keen. He was thought to have something 


Bute, who fonnd our School Fnnd in darkuoti.'t, aa& left it ta 
li^t ; Uie scholar and the father, who soperintemJoti the early 
Dullnre of that poet-bo/, and laid the fo^Qdatiun of that bright 
ani] ^orioas intellect, which in the bowers of ' Saob«m'a Wood' 
saw, u in a Tigion, the magnifioeDt eccnes of Iludad, and r»- 
ceired »a paeste in western groves, the spiriu of oriental oracle 
mi! Mng; HUlhoiiee — the man of taste, who pUoIod the New 
Haven elms; the native American, with Irish blood in 
— the man who, like 'Waehington, never told a He. 
"John Treadwell* was tlie third delegate, whoso life was filled 

of the Indiaa ia hia phyiiognom; uid his walk, and he hnniOTDDalj 
bvond this ides. He aaa once challenged by t SoalberDcr, toi borib- 
Ihioii: Qtlored in dehate, ia the SonaW. Ha aoeeptsd tba chiJlaogf , but 

He wu foil of sit,iDd it ia aaid that ana day, aa he waa ataodingon tha 
Otfs of the Capitol with Randolph, a drove of aasu chanced to be 

'There ere eome of jour coOBlilncjits !"' naid Eandolph. "Yea," uid 
HitlhoQfe; " they are^inR toboHchoolmasUra io VJririnia:" TbiaBtory 

HiUhonse always acotfod ut the abuae heaped upon the Hartlbrd CoD- 
ventioii. Several years after the meeting of this body, he hadaoiiio buai- 
De?4 at Boston, which required scverul adverli^einoiita in a ticwspaper. 

b«eii fnrioua iigaiii!<t the Convention. Wlien he went to pay the bill, 
he ile^ired to eec tlie editor. Being introduced to liim, ho Hald — "Sir, 
mv name ia Hillhouw:, and 1 was a member of the Hartford Conven- 
liou. You inserted tlie names of Ibu members for several yean, and 
pTbmbeil to keep them in eternal remeiiibranee. I am very proud of 
having been a member of that body, and feel that I owe you a debt of 
gratitude. So I have selected your paper aa the object of my patronage. 


money. I ha 
neglected you 

n dollar 


keep us before the world." Thia led lo a 
hearty langh, and the two gentlemen parted. The history of Conneoti- 
cntis'full of thia man's good works. He died in 1SS2. 

■ John Treadwell, of Farmington, war* born in 1745, and died inlSSS. 
He studied law, and afterward waa employed for thirty years in public 
utationit, rising Biially to the ofliae of Govoriior of the Sute. lie waa a 
man of learning, and received the title of LL.D. from Yale College, tie 
irta distinguished as a consistent profeeaor of religion, and a firm aup- 
p«it«r of iU intereats. He was the Arst Fresidenl of the American For- 

46 I.ffrTKB8 — BIOGRAPHiaAL, 

with hon(»v and usefhbien.^ He was then on the yerge of 
threescore and t^ and the oldest man in the Convention. 

^ The fourth was Chief-jostice Swift,* the first commentator 
upon the Uws of onr little republic, of whom no lawyer in the 
United States would dare to feign ignorance, lest he should put 
at risk his professional reputation. 

^^ Nathaniel Smitht was the fifth, whom the Qod of nature 
chartered to be great bj the divine prerogative of genius ; a 
jurist wiser than the books ; whose words were so loaded with 
convincing reasons that they struck an adversary to the earth 
like blows dealt by a hand gauntleted in steel; to listen to 
whom, when he spoke in the Convention, Harrison Gray Otis 
turned back as he was leaving the chamber, and stood gazing in 
silent admiration, unconscious of the flight of time. 

''*■ The sixth was Calvin Goddord,! who long enjoyed the repu- 

eign MLBsionary Society, and for thirty years was deacon of the charch 
— ^thus mingling the humble with the higher offices of life, and di»- 
chari^ng the daties of each with the most exemplary fidelity. In per- 
son, he was short and bolboos about the waist, with a certain air of 
importance in his fiice and carriage. Some little weaknesses can be for- 
given in one whose life is so full of honors. 

* Zephaniah Swift was bom in 1759 ; having been a member of Con- 
gress, he accompanied Oliver Ellsworth, ambassador to France in 1798, 
as his secretary. In 1801 he was appointed judge of the Superior Court, 
and was chief-justice A'om 1806 to 1819. He was a large man, of strong 
manly features ; in conversation he spoke rapidly, without grace of man- 
ner or expression, but with force and perspicuity. His mind was emi- 
nently fitted for juridical duties. He died while on a visit to Ohio in 1823. 

t For a sketch of the life and character of Nathaniel Smith, see page 
808, voL 1. of this work. 

X Calvin Goddard was bom 1768, and died 1842. He filled various 
public offices, and was mayor of Norwich for seventeen years. It is 
difficult to say which predominated, his learning, his wit, or his ame- 
nity. I chanced to be with him and Gen. Terry in the stage-coach from 
New Haven to New York, when, in Febuarj-. 1815, they were proceed 
ing to Washington, to carry the proceedings of the Convention. Gen. 
Terry slept nearly all the way, nor could Mr. Goddard -s ceaseless wit 
arouse him. When they got to Washington, the news of peace had 
just arrived, and their ** occupation was gone." They experienced some 
gibes, but it is said that Goddard paid back with compound interest. 
No man was more competent. 


UtioD of being the most learned and fnccesafot lawyer east tif 
the Connecticut river: an upright judge, a wise coanselor, an 
lionest man. 

" Last, bot not least of the Connecticut del^ation, wa? Roger 
Minot Shemmn.* a profound nicta physician, n scholar equal to 
the yonnger Adams, one of the prinoipal oraolee of the New 
York city bar for the last twenty yesre of hk life, who seemed 
muf* filly than any other nwn to represent the lawgiver, Rogi-r 
Loiiliiw, and to inhabit the town wliiuh he hod planted, whns« 
Ifve) ftcroa he had sown with the qaick seeds of civil liberty, and 
then left the np-epringing crop to be harvested by the sickle of 

This is the verdict — not of the apologist, not oi 
the partisan— but of the historian, in a sober review 
of the past, with all the light which time has thrown 

* Boglr Hinot Sbarnuu, ncpbev of the cel«bnit«d Roger Shsnnaa, 
VIS a nUive of Wobnm, Uns., and bom la 1778, He eatablithcd 
himulf u a liwjer mt Fairfield, Conn., and roae to the flrel rank of bis 
proltaeioD. Ho wh distingaished for Bcnte login] powem, uid great 
elaganoe of diction — ^words and aenlencws iteming to flow froRi bit lips 
*n if he were reading trom the Spectator. He wu a msn of reflned per- 
KHiil appearance and mannen ; tall, and stooping a little in bis walk ; 
daliberata in bis movemenla and speech, indicating circumspeaCion, 
which was one of bis charactciiitics. Hii oonnteasQce was pale aod 
IhoDgbCfnl, bis e^e remarkable for ■ keen, penetmliag eipresaion. 
Though a man of grave general aspect, he wan not de«tilD[e of hnmor. 
He was oncB traveling in Western Virginia, and slopping at a tmall tav- 
era, wm beset with qnestions by the lanillord, as to wbere he oame from, 
whither be was going, <feo. At last said Ur. Sherman — " Sit down, sir, 
and I will tell you all abont it." The landlord saC down. " Sir," aaid 
he, " I am rrom the Bine Light State of Conoecticat I" Tlie landlord 
•tared. " 1 am deacon in a Calvinistio oburch." The landlord was evi- 
dently shocked. "I was a member of the Hartford ConvetiUon I" This 
waa too mach for the democraliD nerves of the landlord ; be speedily 
departed, and left bis lodger to himself. Mr. Slierman filled various 
offices, and la ISM, became judge of the Superior Coiitt. To a mind at 
once brilliant and profound, he added the omtielliiiliinBDls of litoratnrs 
and sdanoe and the graosa of Christianity. He died Deo. 30, 1 814. 


upon the lives of those whom he thus character- 

And now, my dear C , let me ask you to look 

at the ELartford Convention, through these CSonneo- 
ticut delegates — all grave and reverend seigniors — 
one of them sixty-nine years of age, and having been 
governor of the State ; one of them, at the time, 
chiefjustice of the State ; another a judge of the Su- 
perior CJourt ; two of them grown gray in the Senate 
of the United States : all past fifty, all distinguished 
for prudence, caution, sobriety ; all of the Washington 
school in politics, morals, manners, religion. Look at 
these men, and then tell me if there was treason, con- 
spiracy, dismemberment of the Union, either in their 
hearts, or the hearts of the people who elected them ? 
If there be any thing holy in truth, any thing sacred 
in justice, degrade not the one, desecrate not the 
other, by calling these men traitors I Say rather 
that their presence in the Hartford Convention is 
proof — clear, conclusive, undeniable, in the utter 
absence of all evidence to the contrary — ^that it was 
an assembly of patriots, chosen by a patriotic people, 
wisely seeking the best good of the country. If this 
be not so, then there is no value in a good name, no 
ground for faith in human virtue. Treason is the 
highest crime against society : is there not something 
shocking to the universal sense of decency in char 

* HoUistor^B matory of Conneotioat, vol. u. p. 808. 


ging this upon men thus signalized for their virtues ? 
Such perverse logic would make Judaa a saint, and 
the eleven true disciples, betrayers. 

But I must leave discussion, and proceed with my 
narralive. As the Convention sat with closed doors, 
the world without, despite their eager curiosity, were 
kept in general ignorance as to their proceedings. 
There was a rumor, however, that Mr. Otis opened 
the debate, and was followed, first by Chauncey Good- 
rich and then by Nathaniel Smith — the latter making 
one of those masterly speeches for which he was re- 
nowned, and which shook even thLs assembly of great 
men with emotions of surprise and admiration. The 
first day's debate was said to have brought all minda 
to a general agreement as to the course to be adopted 
—that of mild and healing measures, calculated to 
appease the irritated minds of their constituents, to 
admonish the national government of the general feel- 
ing of danger and grievance, and thus to save the 
country from an example either of popular outbreak 
or organized resistance to the laws. Subsequent 
events showed that these rumors were well founded. 

While such was the course of things in the Con- 
veotion, some curious scenes transpired without and 
around it. I cannot do better, in order to give yoa 
an idea of these, than to transcribe part of a letter, 
which I recently received from a friend in Hartford, 
to whom I had written for some details, to refresh 
and confirm ray own recollections. This was hastily 

Vol, II.— 8 


writteD, and with no idea of its publication ; but it 
is, nevertheless, graphic, and coming firom an old 
democrat, will be received as good authority for the 
facts it presents, even by the contemners of the (Con- 
vention and its federal supporters. 

^'PrevioitB to the war, Captain Morgan recrnited in Hartford 
a company of light dragoons. Elijah Boardman was his lieu- 
tenant, and Owen Ranson — ^afterward Mtgor Ranson — was cor- 
net When war was declared, and an army was to be raised, 
the first thing was to appoint officers, and the respeetahlts — 
that is, the federalists — ^being to a man opposed to the war, none 
of them applied for commissions; so that the administration 


was compelled — nothing loth — to officer the army from the dem- 
ocrats. Having a great number of appointments to make, and 
little time to examine the qualifications of the applicants, and, as 
I have remarked, having only the democrats to select from, many 
men received commissions who were hardly qualified to carry a 
musket in the ranks. Among the appointments was a general 
of brigade in the Vermont militia — Jonas Cutting, a boatman 
on the Connecticut river — who obtained his appointment of 
colonel through the influence of J. and £. L . . . ., good demo- 
crats, for whom he boate<l. He was ordered to Hartford on 
recruiting service, where he established the head-quarters of the 
25th regiment. He was a rude, boorish, uncouth man, and re- 
ceived but little attention from the citizens generally, and none 
from the respectables — the federalists : he was, however, suc- 
cessful in raising recruits. Alter a time he was sent to the lines, 
and was succeeded by LieutcDant-colonel Jos. L. Smith, of Ber- 
lin — a large, handsome man, of some talents, but a gt)od deal 
of a fire-eater. He assumed the command at Hartford, but was 
not kindly received by the federalists. There was in fact no 
love lost between liim and them. 
^^ Thia brings na near the time of the Hartford Conrentioo 


the winter of 1914, preparatory to aootfaer CAmpiigu on tlio 
frontier. A rery comiderable fbrce tit nigulflr truoixi w«ro in 
tfmtotiiiinat in Hartford. The rederaliEU, wliu wure u lurgtt 
tniycirity, lu joa know, baled the dtiuiocr&tH, deuunuced the 
war, and dctcstiHl the troopi geaerally, and Lleuteuant-coloael 
Smith in portioulnr — fur he thon^t it • part of hi» dutf to make 
liiinBelf M ofliDun to them bb possible. lib reeraitiiigi purtJM were 
oucutanttj pomdiDg the oit,v, and mi>n'i|)oliiliig tbo dldewalfca, 
in all the pump nod circamstanoe of iflurious war. With gait, 
drum, trumpet, blunderbass, and thrinder, they crowded the 
ladi«B into the ^tters, frightened borMa, and annoyed the cit- 
izens. Some of them called on Colonel Smith, as the oom- 
manding ofiirar, and hegg«d of him, m a gentleinaii, to keep his 
recruiting parties fruin Main-street — onr priucipnl avonuo. I 
need not say that by this time an intensely bitter feeling had 
jniwn np between the two polilital partiea, and tlie dL^mocrats 
were oveijoyed tliat Colonel S. took pains to show bis hatred 
and contempt for the anti-war party, and no they ciicnoraged 
liim to pet^evere, and do his duty by duuting the feds, and in 
raising recrajls for the glorioiis war. So tlie more the citizens 
reqoested bim to desiat, the more he would not. 

" In this slate of things, tiie city conocil assembled, and paw- 
ed and pablished an ordinance that no military parties should 
ixi ]>ertuittod to march on the siiiewalks, but should coiitiue theni- 
Mtlven to the Ktreetti. The democrats and Col, >S. scouted tlie idea 
that the council had tUu power to rtgulate tlic march of United 
Stal«s troops, and so the troops persisii-d in this annoyance. 
TliB Governor's Foot Guard, one hundred luuskets strong, com- 
posed of onr most respectable young men, and all federalists, 
commanded by Nathaniel Terry, Esq., now prepared a quantity 
of ball cartridgea. which, with their armx, were deposited in 
the old Hartford Bank, The men were retinlred to be always 
reaiiy to act when nece^siiry. The ^'ivprniiicnt recruits not 
tieeiling the ordinance, Capt, Uoardiuun and suiue other officers 
■od non-OMnmissioned ofBcers were arrested atid imprisoned. 


The United States troops, reinforced by all the out parties in 
the neighboring towns, now came into the city, and oompletelj 
monopolized the streets by night and by day. 

*^ The Superior Goort was in session at this time, and each day 
during the session, the military bands, with divers snpemnme- 
rary bass-drnms, incessantly marched around the Courthouse 
with so much din that the court was obliged to acyoum. This 
was repeated daily, and matters had arrived at a terrible pass, 
when the administration at Washington saw the necessity of inter- 
fering. It was obvious that the difficulty arose chiefly from the 
impertinence and vulgarity of the army officers ; so they ordered 
Colonel Jessup to come to Hartford and assume the command, 
and packed off Smith to the lines or somewhere else. 

^^ Colonel Jesup on his arrival called at once on Chauncey 
Groodrich, the mayor, and begged him to let him know how 
matters stood. Jesup was a man of sense and a gentleman, 
and all difficulties speedily vanished. The troops were kept in 
their cantonments, a certain distance out of town ; and only a 
few at a time, of the most orderly, were pennitted to come into 
the city, and without military parade. Colonel Jesup was re- 
ceived into society, and caressed by the better class of citizens, 
and became a great favorite. lie was dined and teaM to his 
hearths content by the federalists, after which the democracy 
rather cut him. So ended this little war. 

*^ The celebrated Hartford Convention assembled here about 
this time, and Mr. Thomas Bull, a large, x>ortly, courtly old gen- 
tleman, was the doorkeeper and messenger. As it was proper 
that this dignified body should have all things done decently and 
in order, Mr. Bull was directed to call on the reverend clergy, 
in turn, to pray with the Convention. Dr. Strong made the 
first prayer, and Dr. Perkins and other eminent clergymen 
followed. The Rev. Philander Chase* — afterward Bishop Chase 

♦ Philander Chase was a native of Vermont, born 1775, and died 1852. 
He was a man of imposing personal appearance and manners. He b»- 
oome bishop of Ohio in 1810, and afterward was elected bishop of Illinois. 


— waa at thi? time rector of Christ Church — a high Chnrch- 
man, who probably never hi nli his ministrj offered an exlcin- 
pora)i«ons jjrnjer. lie was, in his turn, callwl ou by Mr. Ijnll, 
who in liis blandest manner informiMl him iif the honor conferred 
on him, and begged his ollcndntico to pray Bl the opening of the 
morning sessinn. What imist have been his horror, when Mr. 
Chaw declined, aaying that he knew of no form of prayer for 
rebellion 1 Mr. Chase himBelf related this anecdote to mo acuta 
iSter. Major J. M. Goodwin was present and heard it. Never- 
Lheleea, I believe tliie epeech wag hardly original : some of thi; 
tor; Episcopal clergyraea had stud the same thing during the 
Eevolation. They bad foroM of prayer for the king, bat none 
for liberty. 

"No annoyance was offered to the Convention. A body uf 
United States troops, onder coramand of Jemmy Lamb, a face- 
tious old Irishman, and the lown-crier, in a fantastic military 
dresa, marched around the Stale-house, while Ibey were in sra- 
rioD — the mnaic playing the * Rogoea' March.' The Convention, 
bowever, excited lees attent'ion in Hartford than in other places. 
"Tb distance lends enchantment,' Ac. Very little more notice 
was taken of their proceedings by the people here — eiclusive of 
vMent partiwnB — than of those of the Snperior Court" 

Thifl sketch givea a clear insight into the state of 
popular feeling at this period, in Hartford, which has 
been the theme of mach discossion and gross mis- 
representation. It is obvious that, had there been 
no other reason for it, the danger of intrusion and 
interruption from the irritated United States recruits, 
led hj incendiary officers and encouraged by reckless 
mischief- makers, rendered it a matter of prudence for 
the Convention to sit with closed doors. The State 
court bad been braved and insulted, and the far more 


obnoxious Convention would doubtless have expe- 
rienced still more emphatic demonstrations of rude- 
ness. Had the sessions been open, a guard of a hun- 
dred men would scarcely have protected them from 
interruption, perhaps violence. 

It is creditable to all parties that Col. Jesup was 
sent thither : it showed a disposition on the part of 
the administration to afford no ground of oflfense; 
it proved that the citizens — the federalists — sought 
no quarrel, and would interpose no difficulties to 
the government troops or their officers in the lawful 
discharge of their duties. It showed, moreover, that 
they could appreciate gentlemanly qualities, and were 
ready to bestow honor on a gallant soldier who had 
fought and bled in battle for the country, even al- 
though they disapproved of the war. 

As to Colonel Jesup* — Brigadier-general Jesup 
now — I must say a few words. At the time I speak 
of, he was some thirty years old. He had recently 
come from the northern frontier, where he had won 
laurels by the side of Scott, Miller, Brown, Kipley, 
and other gallant soldiers. He was of modest demea- 
nor, pleasing address, and gentlemanly tastes : it was 
no disparagement to his agreeable appearance that he 

♦ Thomas S. Jesup was a native of Virginia, and holding the rank of 
Major, distinguished liimself at Chippewa, Niagara, <fec, daring the 
campaign of 1814. While he was at Hartford, in the winter of 1814-15, 
there was a public ball, in which I was one of the managers. I recol- 
lect that he was present, and was dressed in blue undress military ooat 
with epaulettes, white amall-clothes, and white Bilk-Btockings, and 
quite a favorite with the ladies — a proper homage to the brave. 


had his arm in a sling— a touchiug teatiraonial of hia 
HKTits brought fmm the field of buttle. He was the 
completi: anli|iode of the J. L, Smiths and Joseph 
CuttiDgB who had preceded him, and who thought 
it a part of iholr democratic duty to be conspicuously 
vulgar. He did not seek to promote democracy by 
ivndering it disgusting to all who held opposite opin- 
ions. He mingled in amicable intercourse with the 
citizens ; sought interviews with the leading inhabit- 
iints — with the mayor of the city, and the governor of 
the state when he chanced to be on a visit there. I 
know he took counsel with my uncle and became ac- 
quainted with members of the Convention, and thus 
found means not only to smooth away the difficultica 
which had been engendered by his rude and reck- 
less predecessors in the military command of that 
station, but gained correct information as to the ac- 
tual state of things. 

It was perfectly well understood, at this time, that 
he was not only a military officer, but that be was 
the diplomatic agent of the government at Washing- 
ton, and communicated his observations to the Exec- 
utive. He was not, for this reason, either shunned or 
depreciated. It is evident, from his letters sent almost 
daily to Madison — and the substance of which has 
transpired, at least in part — that the real intentions of 
the Convention were penctmted by him almost from 
^he beginning. It is evident tiiat he never found the 
lightest proof of treasonable intentions on the part 


of that assembly.* It has been reported that he in- 
tends publishing his personal memoirs, and that in 
these he will give some interesting revelations re- 
specting the Convention : I trust he will fulfill his 
design, and I am equally confident that his report 
will be in unison with the views I have here pre- 
sented. As a matter of principle — ^regarding it from 
his point of view — he will doubtless condemn that 

• Mr. IngereoU, in his history of the " Lato War," professes to report 
the substance of Jesap's letters to the President : in one of these he 
sajB, among other things, that after an interview whioh he had with 
Gov. Tompkins, of Now York, on his way to Hartford, he thinks the 
" Convention will complain, remonstrate, and probably address the peo- 
ple, bat that its proceedings will neither result in an attempt to sunder 
the Union, nor in a determination to resist by force the measures of the 
general government." 

This is sensible. Thus Col. Jesup, even before ho reached Hartford, 
had discovered the actual state of things in New England. I can testify 
that, living in the very midst of the members of the Convention, I never 
heard such a thing as disunion advocated, or oven suggested, as proba- 
ble or possible. In conflnnation of this, Mr. Ingersoll adds : 

** Colonel Jistup soon aseertained that the Chnnectieui members of the 
Convention toere opposed to disunion^ to disorder ; that eaery throb of the 
people's heart was Amerioan,^^ &c., <&c. Surely no sensible man needed 
a ghost to tell him that ; and yet, strange to say, there are persons who 
still believe that the Convention, pushed on by the people of New Eng- 
land, were a band of traitors, at least in their hearts 1 

Mr. Ingersoll states that one member of the Convention — Chauncey 
Goodrich — ^listened favorably to Jesup's counterplot, which was, that 
New England should put her shoulder to the war, capture Halifax and the 
adjacent territories, and these, with Canada, should be annexed to New 
England I That the ardent young lieutenant-colonel should have made 
Buch a suggestion, is very possible, but those who knew the parties, will 
smile at the idea that a scheme so utterly preposterous — so hopeless 
in the actual state of the country, so opposed to public sentiment, so 
oertain to protract and aggravate the war — should have been entertained 
for a moment by the far-sighted person to whom it was proposed. If 
such a plot was ever seriously suggested, it was no doubt respectAilly 
listened to as a matter of courtesy, but in no other sense could it have 
been received. 

HiBTOHicAt, AmoDonoAL, rro, 57 

assembly, bat as to matters of fact, I am certain he 
will never furnish the slightest support to the charge 
of treason, either secret or open. 

But I must draw thU long letter to a close. The 
result of the Hartford Couvention is well known. 
After asession of three weeks, it temainated its labora, 
and, in perfect conformity with public expectation and 
public sentiment at the North, it issued an address, 
full of loyalty to the Constitution, recommending 
padenoe to the people, and while admitting theii 
grievances, still only suggesting peaceable and con- 
Btitutional remedies. The authors of this docament 
knew well the community for which it was intended : 
their purpose was to allay anxiety, to appease irrita- 
tion, to draw off in harmless channels the lightning 
of public indignation. They therefore pointed out 
modes of relief, in the direction of peace, and not in 
the direction of civil war. They were federalists, as 
were the people who supported them ; they belonged 
to that party who founded the Constitution, in oppo- 
sition to the democracy.* Leaving it for democracy, 
which opposed the Constitution in its cradle, to fur- 

" The ptineoro seeker for truth slioiilJ n;ad the liblory of llio parties 
of thin period, in ooiinectJon with their previouH HimalK. " It is u re- 
mwkuble l»c(," says Noah Wetwter, ii 
the United Sute», "that the deinocn 

lioiiH, opponed tlic rntiBcation of tlia CoiiMlitulioii ; and he;oiid a qu 
tion, had that oppoaition fluooeeded, niiflrchy or civil war would hi 
been the oonseqi.iiice. Tiie fedcrallHts ni;ido the fom of govoraine 
and with iininenso efTorta procured it to ha ratilled, in opposition 
nearly oae-balf of iho citizens of (be Uuitei3 SUtes, beaded bj lumt 
tho ablest meo in the Union." 


nish the first examples of Nullification, Disanion, Se- 
cession — with a discretion and a patriotism which 
does them infinite credit — they found the means of 
removing the cloud from the minds of their constit- 
uents, and yet without in any degree shaking the pil- 
lars of the Union, which was their ark of the cove- 
nant of national honor and glory and prosperity. 

It is said Mr. Madison laughed when he heard the 
result : it is very likely, for he had really feared that 
the Convention meditated treason ; he perhaps felt a 
little uneasy in his conscience, from a conviction that 
his administration had afforded serious grounds for 
discontent. He, as well as those who shared his views, 
were no doubt relieved, when they found the cloud 
had passed. Some of the democratic editors satisfied 
themselves with squibs, and some found relief in 
railing. Those especially who had insisted that the 
Convention was a band of traitors, seemed to feel 
personally aff'ronted that it did not fulfill their evil 
prophecies. There is perhaps no greater offense to 
a partisan who has predicted evil of his adversary, 
than for the latter to do what is right, and thus turn 
the railer into ridicule. At all events, so bitter was 
the disappointment of the fanatical portion of the 
democrats, on the occasion in question, that they 
sought relief in declaring that if the Convention did 
not act treason, they at least felt it ! Perhaps in 
consideration of their disappointment, we may pass 
over this obliquity as one of those frailties of hu- 

man nature, which time teaches us to forget and for- 

As to the general effect of the course adopted by 
the ConventioD, no reasonable man can deny that it 
was eminently salutary. It immediately appeased 
the irritation and anxiety of the public mind in New 
England ; it Uught the people the propriety of calm 
and prudent measures in times of difUcalty and dan- 
ger ; and more than all, it set an example worthy of 
being followed for all future time, by holding the 
Constitution of the United States as sacred, and by 
rreommctiiliiig the people tn seek remedies for their 
grievances by legal and not by revolutionary means. 
" Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall see God." 
I know of no similar benediction upon the promoters 
of civil war. 

And now I have done. The treaty of Ghent 
speedily came to smooth the ruffled waters. Monroe 
succeeded to Madison, and an era of good feeling 
steined to dawn upon the country. It is true the 
promised millennium was not fully realized : the dy- 
ing flurries of the old federal party, under the har- 
pooning of triumphant democracy, caused some froth 
upon the sea of politics. Connecticut passed through 
the spasms of Toleration, in which that hard old 
federalist, Oliver Wolcott, became the candidate of 
democracy, and overturned the Charter of Charles II, 
and with it all his early political associations — public 
and personal. It was a strange dance, and with a 


curions arrangement of partners. Similar moyements 
took place in other parts of the country — the result 
of which was, a new crystallization of parties, in which 
the terms federalist and democrat lost their original 
signification. I have before adverted to this fact, and 
have stated that — in application to present parties — 
they are little more than names to discriminate be- 
tween conservatives and radicals. 

I have thus deemed it due to truth, in giving my 
recollections of the war, to give them frankly and 
fearlessly. Believing the old federalists — especially 
those of Connecticut, for with them my acquaint- 
ance was personal — to have been honest and patri- 
otic, as I knew them to be virtuous and wise, so 
I have said, and given my reasons for the f&ith 
that is in me. While doing them this justice, I 
do not aflBlrm that in all things their measures were 
right. I contend, however, that they were true 
men, and, on the whole, have left memories behind 
them which every dictate of virtue and patriotism 
teaches us to cherish. By the side of their oppo- 
nents — and the very best of them — they may claim 
at least equal respect. As time advances and the 
mists of party are cleared from the horizon, I doubt 
not their images will be seen and recognized by all, 
as rising higher and higher among the nobler monu- 
ments of our history. One truth will stand — they 
were of those who reared the glorious fabric of the 
Union, and under all circumstances taught the peo- 

pie to regard it as sacred. Before any man presumes 
to call them traitors, let him see that his own hands 
are equally pure, bia own spirit equally exalted. 


Tit OmhI Valut—ZtHOiu in FWnri, anW a Traniialian iff Seni—Sntit 
lUirilxitum /or Impriutmei—Thi End iff tki roeitt-boat Factory— 
Xapolan ntimt to Parii and u^wb my J^airt — Divert &pm-im»t 
and Sfflietieni upon Oanaaf— Fitil ta Stit Tork—OUiier WnUott and 
A"hJMJ ''fr>iHt--Ba!J>Mn a,id Saralogis^Dr. Pay-aa a>iJ lit U.rn 
Simdi— — lUtu— and UtalJt e/ mji (Tncfa — Partii4nAip wtU- Otorgt 
Shilicm Hi* lUodu and Dtath. 

Ut deab O**"" 

I must now go back and take up a few dropped 
Btitches in ray narrative. I have told you that my 
apprenticeship terminated in the summer of 1814. 
Previous to that time, I had made some advances in 
the study of the French language under M. Value, 
or, to give him his title, the Count Value. This per- 
son had spent his early life in Paris, but he afterward 
migrated to St. Domingo, where he owned a large 
estate. In the insurrection of 1794, he escaped only 
with his life. With admirable cheerfulness and se- 
renity, he devoted himself to teaching French and 
dancing, as means of support. He settled for a 
time at New Haven, where, at the age of seventy, he 
was captivated and captured by a tall, red-haired 
schoolmistress of twenty. She accounted to me, for 


her success, bj stating that, at the time, she was 

called the " Eose of Sharon" — she being a native of 
a town in Litchfield county bearing the latter name. 
The Count finally established himself at Hartford, 
and I became one of his pupils. I pursued my 
studies with considerable assiduity, and to practice 
myself in French, I translated Chateaubriand's Rene. 
One of my friends had just established a newspaper 
at Middletown, and my translation was published 
there. About this time my health was feeble, and 
my eyes became seriously aflfected iti consequence 
of my night studies. Unaware of the danger, I per- 
severed, and thus laid the foundation of a nervous 
weakness and irritability of my eyes, which has since 
been to me a rock ahead in the whole voyage of life. 
From that time, I have never been able to read or 
write, but with pain. As if by a kind of fatality, I 
seemed to be afterward drawn into a literary career, 
for which I was doubly disqualified — first, by an im- 
perfect education, and next, by defective eyesight 
Oh 1 what penalties have I paid for thus persisting 
in a course which seems to have been forbidden to 
me by Providence. After a long and laborious life, 
I feel a profound consciousness that I have done noth- 
ing well ; at the same time, days, months, nay years, 
have I struggled with the constant apprehension that 
I should terminate my career in blindness ! How 
little do we know, especially in the outset of our ex- 
istence, what is before us I It is indeed well that we 


do not know, for the prospect would often over- 
whelm ua. 

In the aatamn uf 1814, as already stated, I estjUfr. 
lished, in company with a friend, a pocke»-book fac- 
tory at Hartford ; but the peace put a speedy termina- 
tion to that enterprise. We got out of it with a amaU 
loss, and my kind-hearted paxtner pocketed this, " for 
he had money, and I had none," He forgave me, 
and would liave done the same, bad the defalcation 
been more considerable — for he was a true friend, j 

Early in the following spring, I made an arrange' 
meiit to go to P;iris as a, clerk iu a l)raiLi.'h of the im- 
porting house of Richards, Taylor 4; Wilder, of New 
York. About a month after, the news came that Bo- 
naparte had suddenly returned from Elba, and as busi- 
ness was prostrated by that event, my engagement 
failed. For nearly a year, my health continued indiffer- 
ent, and my eyes in such a state that I was incapable of 
undertaking any serious business. I spent my time 
partly at Berlin,* with my parents, and partly at Hart- 


* I Imre already eaid that my Tatlier, hiivin^ n^ked n 

diamissioa ttoia 

h;> porotliial charge at RUeeflcld, vm settled— ISll— 

in Berlin, eleven 

mile*. Pooth of HRrtford. It » a plca.-nnt village, git. 

mted on . alight 

•Icvation, riaing from a fartile vsUsy, bounded oq tlis 


liieh, thirty yean. 

t^o, were the principal sent of the tin mnnuraeture, 

from which the 

■liole connlry via long Biipplied bj pedJlera. The . 

,m of these be- 

Oiime provcrbinl ; not eonflning tliemselves lo the sale ■ 

of tin-wnre, Ihey 

States, it is pro- 

tended, they paliiie J off upou the people " wooUen nuti 

iicgs," "oak-leaf 


ford. I read a little, and practiced my French with 

Value and his scholars. I also felt the need of disci- 
plining my hands and feet, which about these days 
seemed to me to have acquired a most absurd develop- 
ment — giving me an awful feeling of embarrassment 
when I entered into company. I therefore took les- 
sons in dancing, and whether I profited by it or not, 
as to manners, I am persuaded that this portion of 
my education was highly beneficial to me in other 
points of view. 

As many good people have a prejudice against 
dancing, I am disposed to write down my experience 
on the subject. In the winter, our good old teacher 
had weekly cotillion parties, for the purpose of practi- 
cing his scholars. The young men invited the young 
ladies, and took them to these gatherings, and after 
the exercises, conducted them home again. I know 
this will sound strange to those who only understand 
metropolitan manners at the present day ; but let 
me tell you that I never knew an instance, in my 
own experience or observation, in which the strictest 
propriety was departed from. These parties took 

Btriking intellectual activity, but woh marked with great vicisaitadea ot 
fortune. One of the Berlin peddlers, by the name of B . . . ., chanced 
to be at one of Riley's book-auction sales, when he bid off a thousand 
copies of a cheap edition of Young's Night Thoughts. These he ped- 
dled in the South and West as fnid hoohtt^ getting flvo dollars apiece for 
them 1 When remonstrated with for imposition, he insisted that it was 
a good moral and religious operation ! 

At the present day, New Britain, one of the parishes of Berlin, is 
noted for extensive brass and iron foaudries, and varioos other mana- 


place in the evening: they began at eight o'clock, and. 
continued till ten or eleven — sometiines till Iwelva, 
The company consisted entirely of young pcreons— 
from fifteen to twenty years of age: they included 
the children of the respectable inhabitants, with a 
number of young ladies from the boarding-scboola. 
Some of these I have since seen the wives of biat 
ops, senatoTS, and governors of States — filling in- 
de«d the first stations to which the sex can aspire ia 
this country, 

[ have bad enough experience of the world to know 
that such things could not be in the great cities of 
Europe or America — perhaps nowhere out of New 
England. The division of society into castes in mo- 
narchical countries, no doubt involves the necessity 
of keeping young ladies jealously aloof from compan- 
ionship with the other sex, because they might en- 
tangle themselves in engagements which would de- 
feat the system of building up families and estates by 
politic marriages. In this state of society, it might be 
found dangerous for young persons of opposite sexes 
to be left even casually together, for a spirit of intrigue 
is always indigenous under a system of restraint and 
espionage. But however this may be, I am satisfied 
that these Hartford parties, under the auspices of 
our amiable and respectable old teacher, were every 
way refining and elevating: not only did they im- 
part ease of manner, but, as I think, purity of senti- 
ment. The earlier emotions of youth are delicate, 



modest, conservative ; and if acquaintance with life 
be made at this period, these stamp their refinements 
upon the feelings, and form a safe, conservative basis 
of future habits of thought and conduct. I* do not 
mean to favor latitudinarianism of manners ; I do 
not, indeed, say that this system can be adopted in 
large cities, but I believe that dancing parties, con- 
sisting of young persons of both sexes, under proper 
guidance— as, for instance, under the eye of parents, 
either in a public hall, or by the domestic fireside- 
have a refining influence, beneficial alike to manners 
and morals. I believe that even public assemblies 
for dancing, regulated by the presence of good peo- 
ple, are eminently useful. 

I have been in Catholic countries, where the sys- 
tem is to keep girls in cloisters, or schools resembling 
them, till they are taken out by their parents or 
guardians to be married ; and it is precisely in these 
countries, where education is the most jealous, and 
discipline the most rigorous, that intrigue is the great 
game of life — especially with the upper classes — of 
both sexes. I have seen society where Puritan ideas 
prevailed, and where religious people held dancing 
to be a device of the devil ; and here I have often 
found that practices, secret or open, quite as excep- 
tionable as dancing, were current in society. If in 
the earlier ages of our New England history, a hard, 
self-denying system was profitable, it is not so in the 
present state of society. We are created with social 


feelings, which demand indulgence. No system of 
religion, no code or contrivance of state policy, ium 
been able to get over this fact. We can not kill tho 
voice of God and nature in the soul : we can only 
regulate it, and by using common sense and the lighta 
of religion, give it a safe and beneficent development, 
Ih it not time for society to cast off prejudice, and to 
be governed by truth and experience ? It must t» 
remembered that what ia condemned by the good aad 
wise, often thereby becomes evij, though in itself it 
miiy be beneficial. Has not this wrong been done 
among us ? It seems to me that good people, piouB 
people, may at least inquire whether it may not be 
well for them to take under their patronage, that 
branch of education which proposes at once to per- 
fect the manners and refine the sentiments of youth. 
It is not to dictate, but to aid in tbis inquiry, that I 
give you with some minuteness my observations on 
this subject; hence I offer you my testimony to the ; 
fact that in the course of three winters, during which 
I attended these cotillion partias at Hartford, I never/ 
saw or heard of an instance of impropriety in word/ 
or deed. 

Let me further suggest that there is a principle here 
which it is important to recognize and appreciate. 
These young people were brought together at a period 
when their emotions were still .sheltered in the folds 
of that sensitive and shrinking modesty, designed to 
protect them at the period of their first adventure 



into mixed society. This modesty is to the heart of 
youth, like the envelope in which nature enshrines 
the choicest products of the vegetable kingdom, till 
they are ripened and prepared for the harvest. This 
shrinking delicacy of feeling is conservative ; to this, 
license is oflFensive, and if suggested, is repelled. K 
young people associate together at this period — ^under 
the restraints which necessarily exist in an assembly 
such BE I am contemplating — ^habits of delicacy, in 
thought and manner, are likely to be established. 
A person who has been thus trained, seems to me 
armed, in some degree at least, against those coarse 
seductions which degrade, and at last destroy, so many 
young persons of both sexes. To young men, an 
early familiarity with the refined portion of the gen- 
tler sex, placing them at ease in their society and 
making this a sort of necessity to them, I conceive to 
be one of the greatest safeguards to their morals and 
manners in after life. And as a preparation for this — 
as an introduction, an inducement to this — ^I conceive 
that the art of dancing, practiced by young people 
of both sexes, together, is to be commended. 

I am aware that I am treading upon delicate 
ground. You may share the idea entertained by 
many good, pious people, that dancing is always de- 
grading and vicious in its tendencies. This, however, 
I think, arises from considering it in its abuses. I am 
not contending for juvenile balls, as a pursuit fit to 
absorb the whole thought and attention. Remember, 


I am speaking of daociiig ss s, part of ediicatiou — to 
be conducted with propriety — in order to train young 
people of both sexes to habits of easy and deiioato 
intercourse. Ab to the practice of daocing, afWis 
ward, thia must be regulated by the judgment of 
parents. One custom may be proper in one places 
and not in another. In this cotintry, oar habits attt> 
ditferent from those of others; in Asia, where woinuc 
is designed for the harem, and in Europe, where shQ 
ia trained to be the make-weight of a. bargain, jeal- 
ousy becomes tlie seiitinc! of society; iu the United 
States, woman ia comparatively free, and here confi- 
dence must be the guardian of society. I am inclined 
to think, in this respect, our system has the advan- 
tage, provided it be not abused by license on the one 
hand, nor bigotry on the other. 

In respect to the case I am describing in my early 
experience, in which the young gentlemen conducted 
the young ladies to and from the dancing hall — the 
confidence of parents, thus reposed in their children, 
fortified and recommended by the purer suggestions 
of the heart — appealed to motives of honor, and was 
usually responded to by scrupulous rectitude of de- 
meanor. If you doubt the justice of this philosophy, 
I ask your attention to the fact that, at this day — 
forty years subsequent to the period to which I refer 
—in this very city of Hartford, with a population of 
twenty thousand people, women, young and old, of 
all daasea, walk the streeta till midnight, with as 



much sense of security and propriety, as at noonday I 
Where will you find higher evidence of a refined 
state of society than this ? 

In the spring of 1815 I paid a visit to New York, 
and having letters of introduction to Oliver Wolcott 
and Archibald Gracie, I called on these gentlemen. 
Mr. Wolcott lived in Pine-street, nearly opposite where 
the custom-house is now, and at a short distance was 
John Wells, an eminent lawyer of that day. But a 
considerable number of the higher aristocracy was 
gathered toward the lower part of the city, the Battery 
being pretty nearly the focus of fashion. Streets now 
desecrated by the odor of tar and turpentine, were then 
filled with the flush and the fair. Nath'l Prime lived 
at No. 1 Broadway; Mr. Gracie in the Octagon House, 
corner of Bridge and State streets. Near by was his 
son-in-law, Charles King, now president of Columbia 
College, and his son, Wm. Gracie, who had married the 
second daughter of Oliver Wolcott. In this quarter, 
also, were Wm. Bayard, Gen. Morton, Matthew Clark- 
son, J. B. Coles, Moses Rogers, &c., all eminent citizens. 

My lodgings were at the City Hotel, situated on 
the western side of Broadway, between Thames and 
Cedar streets — the space being now occupied by ware- 
houses. It was then the Astor House of New York, 
being kept by a model landlord, whose name was 
Jennings, with a model barkeeper by the name oi 
Willard. The latter was said never to sleep — night 
or day — for at all hours hv. v»ns at his post, and never 



forgot a customer, even after an abeetice of twen^ J 

It was late in the spring, and Mr. Qracie called fixC^ 
me and took me to Ilia country-seat, occupying 4 
little promoDtorj on the weetem side of Hurlgate 
diurming spot, now cnt up into some thirty city lotMi ^ 
Conliguoua to it, toward the city, were the summev j 
residences of J. J. Astor, Nathaniel Prime, and Wia- 
Bhinelander ; on the other side were the seats of Com- J 
modore Chauncey, Joshua Jones, and othera. 

Ilere I sj>ent a fortnight very agreeably, Mr. Ora- 
cle was at this period distinguished alike on account 
of his wealth, his intelligence, and his amiable and 
honorable character. Never have I witnessed any 
thing more charming — more affectionate, dignified, 
and graceful — than the intercourse of the family with 
one another. The sons and daughters, most of them 
happily connected in marriage — as they gathered here 
— seemed, to my unpracticed imagination, to consti- 
tute a sort of dynasty, something like the romance of 
the middle ages. Not many years after, Mr. Gracia 
lost his entire fortune by the vicissitudes of com- 
merce, but his character was beyond the reach ol 
accident. He is still remembered with affectionate 
respect by all those whose memories reach back to 
the times in which he flourished, and when it might 
be said, without disparagement to any other man, 
that he was the first merchant in New York. 

I must not omit to mention two other celebrities 


whom I saw during tliis visit to New York. You 
must recollect I was on my travels, and so, as in duty 
bound, I sought to see the lions. Of course 1 went 
to the court-house, and there I saw two remarkable 
men — Judge Kent, and Thomas Addis Emmet — ^the 
first, chancellor of the State of New York, and the 
latter one of the most eminent lawyers in the city, 
perhaps in the United States. 

Judge Kent* I had seen before, at my uncle's 
house. He had been educated at Yale College, was 
my father's classmate, and formed an early acquaint- 
ance with our family, resulting in a friendly inter- 
course which was maintained throughout his whole 
life. It would be difficult now to point to a man so 
universally honored and esteemed. To the most ex- 
tensive learning, he added a winning simplicity of 
manners and transparent truthfulness of character. 
All this was written in his countenance, at once irre- 
sistible by its beaming intelligence, and its not less 
impressive benevolence. The greatness and good- 
ness of his character shone full in his face. 

I remember perfectly well the scene, when I saw 
Emmetf and the judge together. The former was 

♦ James Kent was bom in Putnam county, N. Y., 1768. He rose to 
eminence in the profession of the law, and was appointed by John Jay, 
then governor, judge of the supreme court. He was afterward chief- 
justice, and, in 18U, chancellor. He died in New York, which had 
been his residence, in 1847 — an ornament to human nature, to the bar, 
the bench, and the Christian profession. 

t Thomas Addis Emmet, a native of Cork, in Ireland, was bom in 
1764. He was one of the Committee of the Society of United Irishmen, 


arming a case, but there were only half a dozen per- 
jions present, and it was rather a conversation than a 
p]vv.. Emmet was a somewhat short hut very atlilctio 
Dinn, with large, rosy cheeks, an enormous mouth, 
uud full, expressive eyea. His Irish brogue, rich and 
sonorous, rolled from his lips like a cataract of music. 
Kent listened, but frequently changed position, and 
often broke into the argument with a question, which 
eometimea resulted in a dialogue. His whole manner 
waa easy, familiar, and very different from the statue- 
like dignity of other judges I had seen. The whole 
spectacle left on my mind the impresaion that two 
great men were rather consulting together, than that 
one was attempting to win from the other an opinion 
to suit an inicrested client, I recollect to have seen, 
listening to this discussion, a large, florid, handsome 
man, with a dark, eloquent eye ; I inquired hia name, 
and was told that it was John Wells, the renowned 
lawyer, already mentioned. 

As I thus saw the lions of the town, I also heard 
the thunderers of the pulpit. On one occasion I lis- 
tened to a discourse from Dr. J. B. Romeyn* — a tall, 
thin, eloquent man^I think in Cedar-street. He was 
celebrated in his day; and, if I understood him cor- 

nnd wm involved in tho iinfortnnoto rebellion of 1799. Mr. Emmet WM 

gave liim a place nmonit 'lio Bn>t luvjen of tlie coiintrj-. Ho died In 1S2T 
■ Jaha B. Romefn «m seciled first at Bbinobooh, ihen bC SchcDsit 
tudj, and finally at N«w Yurk. lie woa born in 1709, and died ISW. 
Vou Tl.—i 


rectly, he maintained the doctrine of election in sucK 
rigor as to declare that if he knew who the elect were, 
he would preach only to them, inasmuch as it would 
be useless to preach to other persons ! 

In a new church in Murray-street, I heard Dr. 
Mason,* then regarded as the Boanerges of the city. 
Instead of a pulpit — which serves as a sort of shelter 
and defense for the preacher — he had only a little 
railing along the edge of the platform on which he 
stood, so as to show his large and handsome person, 
almost down to his shoe-buckles. He preached 
without notes, and moved freely about, sometimes 
speaking in a colloquial manner, and then suddenly 
pouring out sentence after sentence, glowing with 
lightning and echoing with thunder. The effect of 
these outbursts was sometimes very startling. The 
doctor was not only very imposing in his person, but 
his voice was of prodigious volume and compass. 
He was sometimes adventurous in his speech, occa- 
sionally passing off a joke, and not unfrequently 

* John M. Ma»on, D. D. — son of Dr. John Mason of the Scotch Church 
— was bom in 1770, and died in 1829. Ho was alike diHtin^uislied for 
tais wit, hi» intellectual powers, and bis eloquence. lie was the nnthor 
of several religious works of great ability. I hAve beard the following 
anecdote of him : A certain parishioner of his, after the establishment of 
a Unitarian church in New York, joined it. One day, when the Doctor 
chanced to meet bim, the former said — 

" Mr. S . . . ., it is some time since I have seen you at Murray-street.** 

" I have not been there lately, it is true," was the reply — " and I will 
tell yon the reason. I think you make religion too difficult ; I prefer 
rather to travel on a turnpike, than on a rough and thorny road." 

"Tea," said the Doctor; " but you must look oat, and see tlutt yott 
donH have a Hell of a toll to pay I*' 


verging on what might Bcem profane, but for the 
solemnity of his manner. When I heard him, in 
speaking of some recent Unitarian point of faith, liQ 
sail], " This is diimnable doctrine— I say it ia damm^ 
tie doctrine I" — the deep, guttural emphasis giving to 
the repetition a thrilling eiTect, 

Eiirly in the ensuing summer, my uncle, Chaunoey 
Goodrich, being in bad health, paid a visit to Sara- 
toga* and Ballston for the benefit of the waters, and 
I accompanied him. We eoon returned, however, for 

to^vhen we lodged. Ona Bandij mamiDg, u thv compuif ut down 
to brsabfuit at a long table, ■ email, dark, anil isther iDiii(-mflcint look- 
ing minister said gTmx. As hood as bo bcgnn, and his voice sttntcted 
notioij, mwC of Ibe penioUB gate Tespcctful actciition to his words; bat 
Ihreo gay jonng men took pains to Bignify tbeir aiipcriority to such a 
vnt^r custom by claxliing tho knicenand forkK, call i tig upon the wuten, 
and proceeding to their work. Alter breakfiist, a noti™ wa» given to 
the todgera tbat a Bcrmon would be preached in the dining-lmll at 10 
o'clock. At thii bonr the lodgers generally gathered there, and among 
them the three young men— these, however, with a decided Gallio air 
and manner. Iniiecd, it was pretty eviJent that they had coma to quir 
the little pardon. The hitter soon entered, with a peculiarly noiselesa 
onostentaCioiis step and demeanor. He But down and meditated for a 
few minutes, and then rose to pray. The Brat tones of his voice were 
faint, but they grew in strength ; and as we took our seat*, all began to 
look with straiipo interest upon tlie countenance of that lillic, dark, un- 
pretending preacher. He read a funiiliar hymn, but it seemed new aitd 
striking i he read a familiar chapter in tlie Bible, but It liiul a depth 
and meaninn not realized before. He look ]iis teit, and preached puch 
a sermoQ as seldom falls from the lips of man. Every heart was thrilled, 
and even the three young men who caine to scoff, reuiained to pray. 
Never have I seen such alternations of feelings a.' pa'sed over their 
coonunances— flrst of ridicule, then of a.itoniahment, then of shame, 
and at last, of conBtcrnalion and contrition. " Anii who is this slmnga 

said the people. It was Edward Psyson, afti-rwurls D. D., of Portland, 
one of the most pionn, devoted, and eloquent ministers of his day. U« 
WIS bom at Bindge, in New llampahire, in 1T8S, and died in 1837. 


it was now apparent that he had a disease of the heart, 
which was rapidly tending to a fatal result Expe- 
riencing great suflfering at intervals, he gradually 
yielded to the progress of his malady, and at last, on 
the 18th of August, 1815 — while walking the room, 
and engaged in cheerful conversation — he faltered, 
sank into a chair, and instantly expired. "His 
death," says the historian, "was a shock to the whole 
community. Party distinctions were forgotten, un- 
der a sense of the general calamity ; and in the sim- 
ple but expressive language which was used at his 
funeral, *all united in a tribute of respect to the man 
who had so long been dear to us, and done us so 
much good.'" To me, the loss was irreparable — 
leaving, however, in my heart a feeling of gratitude 
that I had witnessed an example of the highest intel- 
lectual power united with the greatest moral excel- 
lence — and that, too, in one whose relationship to me 
enforced and commended its teachings to my special 
observance. Alas, how little have I done in life that 
is worthy of such inspiration ! 

Not long after this, my friend George Sheldon hav- 
ing established himself as a bookseller and publisher, 
he invited me to become his partner — and this I did, 
early in the year 1816. We pursued the business for 
nearly two years, during which time we published, 
among other works, Scott's Family Bible, in five 
volumes quarto — a considerable enterprise for that 
period, in a place like Hartford. In the autumn of 



1817 I had gone to Berlin, for the purpose of making 
a short excursion for the benefit of my health, when a 
me^enger came from Hartlbrd, saying that my part- 
ner was very ill, and wished me to return. I imme- 
diiitcly complied, and on entering the room of my 
friend, I found him in a high fever, his mind already 
wandering in painful dreams, Aa I came to his bod- 
6ide he said — "Oh, take away these horrid knives; 
they cut me to the heart I" I stooped over him and 
etiid — 

" There are no knives here ; you are only di«am- 

"Oh, is it you?" said he. "I am glad you have 
come. Do stay with me, and speak to me, so as to 
keep off these dreadful fancies." 

I did stay by him for four days and nights — but 
his doom was sealed. His mind continued in a state 
of wild delirium till a few minutes before his death 
I stood gazing at his face, when a sudden change 
came over him ; the agitated and disturbed look of 
insanity bad passed — a quiet pallor bad come over his 
countenance, leaving it calm and peaceful.' He open- 
ed his eyes, and, as if waking from sleep, looked on 
me with an aspect of recognition. Hia lips moved, and 
he pronounced the name of his wife; she came, with 
all the feelings of youth and love — aye, and of hope, 
too, in her heart. She bent over him: he raised his 
feeble and emaciated arms and clasped her to his heart : 
be gave ber one kiss, and passed to another life 1 



7%6 FiimiM 0^1816 and IQ17 — Panie in New England— Migratioiu to 
Ohio — T other Side of Ohio — 'JbUraUon — DoumfiUlof Federaliam — Oli- 
ver Woloott and the Democracy— Oonnedieui uptet — The new OoneUtutkm 
—Gov. Smith and Oov, Wolcott^-LUchJUld— Uriah Tracey—Frederidn 
Woloott— Tapping Reeve— OoiL Talmadge— James Oould—J. W. Bun^ 
tir.gton—The Litchfield Centennial CeUbmtion, 

My dear o****** 

I must now ask your attention to several topics 
having no connection, except unity of time and place : 
the cold seasons of 1816 and 1817, and the conse- 
quent flood of emigration from New England to the 
"West ; the political revolution in Connecticut, which 
was wrought in the magic name of Toleration, and 
one or two items of my personal experience. 

The summer of 1816 was probably the coldest that 
has been known here, in this century. In New Eng- 
land — from Connecticut to Maine — there were severe 
frosts in every month. The crop of Indian corn was 
almost entirely cut off : of potatoes, hay, oats, &c., 
there was not probably more than half the usual 
supply. The means of averting the effects of such a 
calamity — now afforded by railroads, steam naviga- 
tion, canals, and other facilities of intercommunica- 
tion — did not then exist. The following winter was 
severe, and the ensuing spring backward. At this 
time I made a journey into New Hampshire, pass- 


ing along the Connecticut rivor, in the region of 
Hanover. It was then June, and the hills were al- 
most a& barren as in November. I saw a man iit Or- 
ford, who had been fortj miles for a half bushel of 
Indian corn, and paid two dollars for itl 

Along the seaboard it was not difficult to obtaiu a 
supply of food, save only that every article was dear. . 
Ill the interior it was otherwise: the cattle died for 
want of fodder, and many of the inhabitants came 
near perishing from starvation. The desolating ef- 
fects of the war still lingered over the country, and at(. 
last a kind of despair seized upon some of the people. 
In the pressure of adversity, many persons lost their 
judgment, and thousands feared or felt that New 
England was destined, henceforth, to become a part 
of the frigid zone. At the same time, Ohio — with ita 
rich soil, its mild climate, its inviting prairies — was 
opened fully upon the alarmed and anxious vision. 
As was natural under the circumstances, a sort of 
stampede took place from cold, desolate, worn-out 
New England, to this land of promise, 

I remember very well the tide of emigration through 
Connecticut, on its way to the West, during the sum- 
mer of 1817, Some persons went in covered wagons — 
frequently a family consisting of father, mother, and 
nine small children, with one at the breast — some on 
foot and some crowded together under the cover, with 
kettles, gridirons, feather-beds, crockery, and the fam- 
ily Bible, Watta' Psalms and Hymns, and Webster's 


Spelling-book — the larea and penatea of the houae- 
hold. Others started in ox-carts, and trudged on at 
the rate of tea miles a day. In aeveral instances I 
eaw families on foot — the father and boys taking 
turns in dragging along an improvised band-wagon, 
loaded with the wreck of the household goods — occa- 
sionally giving the mother and baby & ride. Many of 
these persons were in a state of poverty, and b^;ged 
their way as they went. Some died before they 
reached the expected Canaan ; many perished after 
their arrival, from fatigue and privation ; and others, 
from the fever and ^ue, which was then certain to 
attack the new settlers. 
It was, I think, iu 1818, that I published a amall 


" Let me take your hand, stranger. My mother 
was from the Bay State, and brought me here when 
I was an infant. I have heard her speak of it. Oh, 
it must be a lovely land ! I wish I could see a 
meeting-house and a school-house, for she is always 
talking about them. And the sea — the sea — oh, if I 
could see that ! Did you ever see it, stranger?" 

** Yes, often." 

" What, the real, salt sea — the ocean — with the 
ships upon it ?" 

" Yes." 

" Well" — said the youth, scarcely able to suppress 
his emotion — " if I could see the old Bay State and 
the ocean, I should be willing then to die !" 

In another instance the traveler met — somewhere 
in the valley of the Scioto — a man from Hartford, by 
the name of Bull. He was a severe democrat, and 
feeling sorely oppressed with the idea that he was no 
better off in Connecticut under federalism than the 
Hebrews in Egypt, joined the throng and migrated to 
Ohio. He was a man of substance, but his wealth 
was of little avail in a new country, where all the 
comforts and luxuries of civilization were unknown. 

" When I left Connecticut," said he, " I was wretch- 
ed from thinking of the sins of federalism. After I 
had got across Byram river, which divides that State 
from New York, I knelt down and thanked the Lord 
for that he had brought me and mine out of such a 
Driest-ridden land. But I've been well punished, 


ing, fathers swearing — -were a mingled comedy and 
tragedy of errors. Even when they arrived in their 
new homes — along the banks of the Musljingura 
or the Scioto — frequently the whole family — father, 
mother, children — speedily exchanged the fresh c 
plexion and clastic step of their first abodes, for the 
sunken cheek and languid movement, which marks 
the victim of intermittent fever. 

The instances of home-sickncas, described by this 
vivid sketcher, were touching. Not even the captive 
Israelites, who hung their harps upon the willowB 
akiug the bank^ of tlif Kiiphratcs, wept more bitter 
tears, or looked back with more longing to their na- 
tive homes, than did these exiles from New England 
— mourning the land they had lefl, with ita roads, 
schools, meeting-houses — its hope, health, and happi- 
ness ! Two incidents, related by the traveler, I must 
mention— though I do it from recollection, as I have 
not a copy of the work. He was one day riding in 
the woods, apart from the settlements, when he met 
a youth, some eighteen years of age, in a hunting- 
frock, and with a fowling-piece in his hand. The 
two fell into conversation, 

" Where are you from ?" said the youth, at last. 

" From Connecticut," was the reply. 

" That is near the old Bay State ?" 

" Yes," 

"And have you been there?" 

" To Massachusetts ? Yes, many a time." 


that had now sprung up in the community. The 
I Episcopalians had become a large and powerful body, 
; and though they were generally federalists, they now 
\ clamored — as an offset to the endowments of Yale Col- 
: lege — ^for a sum of money to lay the foundation of a 
■ " Bishops' Fund." The Methodists and Baptists had 
discovered that the preference given to orthodoxy, 
was a union of Church and State, and that the whole 
administration was but the dark and damning machi- 
nery of privileged priestcraft. To all these sources oi 
discontent, the democracy added the hostility which 
it had ever felt toward federalism — now intensely em- 
bittered by the aggravations of the war and the Hart- 
ford Convention. 

It was clear that the doom of federalism was at 
hand, even in Connecticut Many things had con- 
spired to overthrow it in other parts of the country. 
Jefferson had saddled it, in the popular mind, with a 
tendency to monarchy and a partiality for England — 
a burden which it was hard to bear — especially near 
the revolutionary period, when the hearts of the peo- 
ple still beat with gratitude to France and aggravated 
hostility to Great Britain. John Adams, the candidate 
of the federalists, gave great strength to this charge 
by his conduct, and having thus nearly broken down 
his supporters, did what he could to complete their de- 
struction, by at last going over to the enemy. John 
Quincy Adams followed in the footsteps of his father. 
Washington was early withdrawn from the scene of 


en I agaiit "1 

and I'm now preparing to return ; when I agaiit ' 
cross Byram river, I sliiill thank God that he has per- 
milVrd me to get back ngain I" 

Mr. Bull did return, and what he hardly anticupit 
ted had taken place in his absence', the federal dy-\ 
nasty had passed away, and democracy was reigning I 
in its Btead I This was Ejected by a union of all the I 
dissenting aecta— Episcopalians, Methodists, Baptiata I ^ 
— co-operating with the democrats to overthrow the/ . 
old and established order of things. Up to this po^l 
riod, Connecticot had no other constitution than the 
colonial ohxirter gr.-iiUciI by Charles 11. This was a 
meager instrument, but long usage had supphed its 
deficiencies, and the State had, practically, all the 
functions of a complete political organization. It 
bad begun in Puritanism, and even now, aa I have 
elsewhere stated — notwithstanding gradual modifica- 
tions — the old Congregational orthodoxy still held 
many privileges, some traditionary and some statu- 
tory. Yale College — an institution of the highest 
literary standing— had been from the beginning, in 
its influence, a religious seminary in the hands of the 
Congregational clergy. The State had not only char- 
tered it, but had endowed and patronized it. And 
be.sides, the statute-book continued to give preference 
to this sect, compelling all persons to pay taxes to it, 
unless they should declare their adlieaion to some 
other persuasion. 

All this was incompatible with ideas and interests 


that had now sprung up in the community. The 
» Episcopalians had become a large and powerful bodr, 
I and though they were generally federalists, they now 
1 clamored — as an offset to the endowments of Yale Col- 
! lege — ^for a sum of money to lay the foundation of a 
: " Bishops' Fund." The Methodists and Baptists had 
discovered that the preference given to orthodoxy, 
was a union of Church and State, and that the whole 
administration was but the dark and damning machi- 
nery of privileged priestcraft. To all these sources oi 
discontent, the democracy added the hostility which 
it had ever felt toward federalism — now intensely em- 
bittered by the aggravations of the war and the Hart- 
ford Convention. 

It was clear that the doom of federalism was at 
hand, even in Connecticut. Many things had con- 
spired to overthrow it in other parts of the country. 
Jefferson had saddled it, in the popular mind, with a 
tendency to monarchy and a partiality for England — 
a burden which it was hard to bear — especially near 
the revolutionary period, when the hearts of the peo- 
ple still beat with gratitude to France and aggravated 
hostility to Great Britain. John Adams, the candidate 
of the federalists, gave great strength to this charge 
by his conduct, and having thus nearly broken down 
his supporters, did what he could to complete their de- 
struction, by at last going over to the enemy. John 
Quincy Adams followed in the footsteps of his father. 
Washington was early withdrawn from the scene of 

inaroBicALi, ASEODcmoAi^ sra. 

action: Hamilton was shot : Burr proved treacherooftv 
an<l infamous. The pillars of fedcraliflin were shaken, 
aiitl at the same time two raighty itiiSlriiin(!iits ^i 
work for its final overthrow. The great body of the 
people had got possession of sulTragG, and insisted^ ■ 
with increasing vehemence, upon the removal of ev- 
ery impediment to its universality. The conaerVi^J 
tives, in such a contest, were sure to be at last ovei^ j 
whelmed, and this issue was not long delayed. Oirt I 
thing more — the foreign element in our populatioB^ I 
augmenting every year, was almost wholly democratic. ] 
Democracy in Europe is the watchword of popular 
liber^ ; the word is in all modem languf^;es, the idea 
in all existing masses. This name was now assumed 
by the radical or republican party, and to its stand- 
ard, as a matter of course, the great body of the Euro- 
pean i rami grants— little instructed in our history or 
our institutions — spontaneously flocked, by the force 
of instinct and prepossession. And still further — as I 
have before intimated, nearly all foreigners hate Eng- 
land, and in this respect they found a ready and active 
sympathy with the democratic party — the federalists 
being of course charged with the damning sin of love 
for that country and its institutions. 

To these and other general influences, which had 
shattered the federal party in the Southern and Mid- 
dle States, was now added, in Connecticut, the local 
difficulties founded in sectarian discontent. But it is 
probable that a revolution could not have been speed- 


ily consummated, but for an adventitious incident 
Oliver Wolcott, who had been one of Washington's 
cabinet, and of the strictest sect of federalism, had re- 
sided some years in New York, where he had acquired 
a handsome fortune by commercial pursuits. For a 
number of years he had taken no part in politics, 
though I believe he had rather given support to the 
war. No doubt he disapproved of the course of the 
federalists, for I remember that shortly before the 
Hartford Convention he was at my uncle's house — 
the two being brothers-in-law — as I have before sta- 
ted. In allusion to the coming asi^embly, I recollect 
to have heard him say, interrogatively — 

" Well, brother Goodrich, I hope you are not about 
to breed any mischief?" 

"Sir," said my uncle, somewhat rebukingly, "you 
know me too well to make it necessary to ask that 
question 1" 

I recollect at a later period, when he was governor 
of Connecticut, to have heard him speak reproachfully 
of both political parties in New York. Said he — 

" After living a dozen years in that State, I don't 
pretend to comprehend their politics. It is a laby- 
rinth of wheels within wheels, and is understood only 
by the managers. Why, these leaders of the opposite 
parties, who— in the papers and before the world — 
seem ready to tear each other's eyes out, will meet some 
rainy night in a dark entry, and agree, whichever way 
the election goes, they will share the spoils together P 

nmmsiakL, uneoDonoAL, bio. 

At all events, about this time Oliver Wolcoil re- 
.noved to Litchfield, hia native place, and iii 1817 
was nominated for governor by tlie malcoiiteiiW of 
all parties, rallying under the name of Toleration. 
To show the violent nature of the fusion which uni- 
ted such contradictory elements into one horaogene- 
O'ls mass, it may be well to quote liere an extract 
from a Connecticut democratic organ — the American 
Mercury. This paper, with others, had charged Oli- 
ver Wolcott with burning down the War and Treaa- 
niy Departmenta at Philadelphia, in order to cover 
up the iniquilica he had commiited wiiile Secretary of 
War. The following waa its language, Feb. 8, 1801 : 

"Ad evenug puper asks the editor for hia knowledge: the 
editors of that paper, if they will apply to Israel Israel, Esq., 
may have full and perfect knowledge of the accounts publiabed. 
To conceal fraud and rob the public; (o conceal dilapidation 
and plunder, while the public are paying enormous interest for 
money to support wicked and unnecessary measures; to conceal 
a? much as possible the amount and names of the robbers, and 
the plans and evidences of the villainy — these the editor believes 
to have been the true causes of the conflagratioD. When did it 
take placet At the dusk of night, and in the rooms in which 
the books were kept, in which were contamed the registers of 
public iniqoity I" 

A short time after thia — February 26— the same 
paper copies ftom the Philadelphia Aurora an article, 
of which the following are extracts : 

"The Honorable Mr. Wolcott, ei-8ecretarj of the Treasury, 
floccMBOT to the Tirtiions Hamilton and predecessor to the eqnal- 


!j virtuons Dexter, has latcljhonorealoiiroitywithhis^reMtioe. 
IlAving done ennngh for hu ungrdtefal conntry, be ii retiring to 
tlie place fnun wbunce he caine, to enjoy the otium cam digni- 
talr. It is to be hoi>e(! he nil! have enongh of the fbntMT, to 
atlbrd hitn an upportuiiiiy of iiursiug what little he has of the 

" This r<?[jresi;utative of Mr. llaniilton was very fortnnalo la 
escaping tlie t'eilcral bonlires at Washington ; even his papera and 
private property were proeideatialty saved — hut hU fdr fame 
Biutained a tiin/it tingeing hetween the two fires ; his friends in 
Congress, it is presumed, will pass a vote which shall operate as 
ft cataplasm to the hum. 

" Our fedeiyl wurthiisi, justly appreciating the servicer of this 
valuahlc inaii, anil wisely considering that nothing coa afford more 
pleasure ihuu eating or drinking, resolved to treat him to a din- 
ner ; and as it is jiropcr the worid should know that Mr. Wolcott 
had soiiictliLug to c:tt in Philadelphia, their proceedings on the 
it leiift sik'h parte of them as will biair the lighl, i 


ly, Pedobaptism, Univerealism, nuliculism, 
intidelity— all united for the overtiirow of federalism 
and orthodoxy ; and Oliver Wolcott was the leader in 
this onset ! The election took place in April, 1817, 
and the federalists were routed, according to the es- 
tablished phrase, " horse, foot, and dragoons." John 
Cotton Smith,* the most popalar man in the Stat^ 

* John Cotton Smith wu bom io 1T8S, beonniD member of Congnma 
InlSOa.vbeTe he reniMDed eii ;e*n. BeingntWonili*:, iiu «iui UHrty 
the irhole time la the miaaiity, jh\ such naro luB ohaTBotur bdJ od- 
di«», that hfl pmiilsd more fteqaentlf, uiil with more suocosi, ovca 
the Honae, when in Committee of the Whole, than an; other member. 
" To the lolly hoBring of a Roman «en»lor," iwyo the hiitorian, " he 
lidiipil i,-<^QtlcT)ti8 FO conciliating md porsna^iva, Umt tlio spirit ol 
dinoord fled ibuhed from hi« pr*Mnoe." 

He wumj mother'! oaiisin, Mid I saw him several CimeB tX oiirboaea. 
Ila was toll, slender, uid gncefUl in form und manner. Hifi hair, a 
little pondered, was turned beck with a queue, and u sli|;>it friz ovor the 
ears. Hiadresa was of the olden time— with breed its, black nil k ftock- 
iDE". ami Aboe-buckli^s. Ilia addrcaa va» an cxtroordinar; mixture of 
dignity and gentle ptrsimsive courlasy. He was made judge of the Su- 
perior Court in 1809, and soon after lieutenant-ftovemor ; in 1812, ha 
bteaine oetiug-govemor, npon the death of tlie lamented Griswold. In 
1^13. he was elected govcruor, mid led the Slntc tliruuifh the war, aaJ 
nutil 1317, when he was defeated by the cleetion of Woicolt. 

Governor Smith vat the laat of tbOKc ttately, cuiirtly Cbriatian gentle- 
men of the " Old School," who presided over Conueclicut : with liim 
passed away lbs dignily of white-top boots, quene«, |>owdcr, and po- 
matum, ll'n »ucco8sor, Oliver Wolcott, though a foderaliat in the days 
of Washington, watt never conrtly in his nmiiners. He wan r^imjile, 
direct, almost abrupt in hia address, witli a criop brevity and pithine>i» 
of speech. Ills pcrsoual appeamuce and manner, contrasting with those 
of his prodeccasors, represented wcEonougli the change of polities which 
hii acccsaien to the gubernatorial chair iudicnted. 

Governor Smith was the tirat pre.tident of the Connecticut Bible So- 
cietT, f resident of the American Uoanl of Commissionera for Foreign 
Missions, Preaidenl of the American Biblo Society, iind rei^cived fVom 
Yale College the degree of LL.D. Ue lived iit Shuruu with patriarchal 
liberality and dignity, to tlie age of ciglity, where lie died, beloved and 
honored b; all who knew him 



ly virtuous Dexter, has lately honored our city with his'i)re9ence. 
Having done enough for hia ungrateful country, he is retiring to 
the place from whence he came, to enjoy the otium ewn digni- 
tate. It is to be hoped ho will have enough of the former, to 
afford him an opportunity of nursing what little he has of the 

" This representative of Mr. Uamilton was very fortunate in 
escaping the federal bonfires at Washington ; even his papers and 
private property were providentially saved — ^but his fair fame 
sustained a slight singeing between the two fires : his friends in 
Congress, it is presumed, will pass a vote which shall operate as 
a cataplasm to the burn. 

" Our federal worthies, justly appreciating the services of this 
valuable man, and wisely considering that nothing can afford more 
pleasure tlian eating or drinking, resolved to treat him to a din- 
ner ; and as it is proper the world should know that Mr. AVolcott 
had something to eat in Philadelphia, their proceedings on the 
occasion, at least such parts of them as will bear the light, are 
published in tlie federal prints." 

Such were the opinions — at least such were the 
representations — of the leading democratic organs, 
respecting Oliver Wolcott, the federalist, in 1801. In 
1817, he was the champion of the democratic party 
in Connecticut, and the idol of the American Mer- 
cury ! What transformations are equal to those which 
the history of political parties, for the short space of 
twenty years, brings to our view ? 

It is needless to tell you in detail what immediately 
followed. The struggle was one of the most violent 
that was ever witnessed in Connecticut. It was cu- 
rious as well as violent — for we saw fighting side by 
side, shoulder to shoulder, democracy, Methodism, 


During the period in which Oliver Wolcott was 
governor, I waa several timea at Litchfield, and often 
at his house. My sister, Mrs. Cooke, had married bis 
brother, Frederick Wolcott, living in the old family 

imbliAheJ hjbia gnadton Qibbi, Bud is a valimbb anil inleTontlni; work. 
When he oeatsd to be goveinoi, lie reCDrned to Htv York, whom )m 
died, ID IBSB. He wu an able BUt«niiiii, pousaiod of cwniililsntilii lit- 
tmy ttttalntaeaUi, end in ctmverBatiaii wis full of u^iwity, wit, and 
k«n obMTTitioiM apon Che vorld. 
Sin sister, Uu7itDiie, nife of Chaancey Ooudricb— born ]TaS — WM 

thiingh doing najiuUoe to ber beintj — wgirea in Dr. Ortswoid'n "fU' 
publkBu Court." It ia among tba honaehold aDeodolo* of the fluniljr, 
tbu dnriiig Uie SeTolatioii, alenden eUtus of Ocoiige III. «■« taken ft'om 

Itev York to LitclifiFld, and there cs«t into bnJIcIs, atid iTiat tliuse were 
formed into cartridgea hj thla lad]> aod Others in the neighborhood, for 
the armj. I never aaw her, aaehe died in 180$, before I went to Hartford. 

Of Frederick Woloolt, mj brother-in-law, 1 find the following obitu- 
117 notice in the Philsdelphin United Slates Guette, July 11, lfl3T; 

" Died on the SBth of Jane, at his residence in Litchfield, Conn., in 
tliB TOIh jear ot his sge, the Hon. Freilcrick WolootC, one of the most 
dieting uinhed citizens of that State : s patriot of Clio eld school, h gen- 
tleman of great moral aod iDtellectnal worth, a sincere, bumble, consis- 
tent Cbrbtian. It has been well said of Judge Wolcott, that he was one 
of ' nature's noblemen.' They who knew him perKonally, will appre- 
ciate the correctness and sigQlBcanee of tbe rBmurk. His noble form, 
di^tiiflcil yet sSiible and endearing manners, intelligence and purity of 
charscter, magnanimitj' of soul aud useful life, were in grand and Imr- 
inunioiis keeping, nniting to make him dietiugu lulled amoug men — 
grtatlv respected, beloved, and lionored. 

" Judge Wolcott was descended from one of the mo^t eminent fami- 
lies in Sew England, being the eon of Oliver Wolcott, former governor of 
Connecticut and one of tbe immortal signers of the Deotarulionof Indo- 

that Stale, who, together with the lato Gov, Oliver Wolcott, Secretary 
of the TrcsHury under Washington's adminii^Cnition, and brother of the 
deceaiod, were linoal descendants of Heury Wolcott, an English gen- 

knd soon after undertook the tlist scttleineiit In Connecticut, nt Wind- 
sor. After grsdusting at Yale College, at on early age, witli tlio liixheat 
honors of his dm-i, Mr. Wolcott directed hla sCudicH to the law, and 
was soDQ called to various offices of important civil trust, the chief of 
which he held Cbroogh every fluctuation of party, durioga loni; life. Hi* 


was defeated : federalism was in the dust, toleration 
was triumphant 1 

I remember that at that time, William L. Stone was 
editor of the Connecticut Mirror. Nearly the whole 
paper, immediately preceding the election, was filled 
with pungent matter. I think I filled a column or 
two myself. The feelings of the federalists were 
very much wrought up, but after it was all over, 
they took it good-naturedly. A new Constitution 
for the State — 1818 — ^and a very good one, was the 
first fruit of the revolution. Wolcott continued gov- 
ernor for ten years, and taking a moderate course, 
in the end, satisfied reasonable men of both parties. 
He was no radical, and inasmuch as a political change 
in Connecticut was inevitable, it is probable that no 
better man could have been found, to lead the people 
through the emergency.* 

♦ Oliver Wolcott waa the third governor of Connecticut in a direct 
lino iVom father to son. Roger, his grandfather, was a native of Wind- 
sor, born in 1679 and died in 1767. lie was a clever author, a oonspio- 
uons Christian, and governor of his native State from 1751 to 1754. His 
son, Oliver W., was born about 1727. He was a member of Congress in 
1776, when the Declaration of Independence waa made. Barlow, in his 
Columbiad, thus speaks of him : 

** Bold Wolcott urged the all-Important cause— 
With steady hand tho solemn scene he draws ; 
Undaunted firmness with his wisdom Joined — 
Nor kings, nor worlds, could warp his steadikst mind.** 

He waa elected governor in 1796, but died the next year. 

His son Oliver was born 1759, and became Sccrctarj' of the Treasury, 
tinder Washington, upon the retirement of Hamilton, in 1795. He waa 
continued in this office till the close of Adams's administration. After 
twelve years of public service, he retired, with but six hundred dollars 
in his i>ocket 1 He devoted himself to commerce in Now York from 
2801 to 1815. His oorrespondenoe, in two volumes octavo, has been 


history of Oonnecticat, had been dead for scTcral 
jears, but othera of great einineooe were still living — 
giving to Litchfield a remarkable prominence iu the 
State. Among theae were Tapping Reeve,* at one 
time ehief-justioe of Connecticut, and founder of the 
law school, which was long the first institution of the 
kind in the United States ; Colonel Talmadge, distin- 
guished as a gallant ofScer in the Revolution, and a 
manly, eloquent debater in Congress ; James Gould, 
a learned judge, an elegant scholar, and successor of 
Reeve in the law school ; Jabez W. Huntington — law 
lectarer, judge, senator — and distinguished in all these 
eminent stations; Lyman Beecher,t an able theolo- 

ia»rdin;1i; went, and haviiiK ]iu( lii* Excellency in excellent linmor, 

" By the way, we lisva been Cliinbing over this nomination of John- 
HD, undfinii liieroiBftROoddeiil ofobjecliou to him. Tbo dimocnU 
"ill oppose him, because yon nominated hiui ; and aomo of the feder- 
tli--ti irill oppose him, becBuse he Ib b democrat. We foar that it lia 
pwB to a vuia, ho will fall of a confirmation. Aa it would be nnforlu- 
luue. ju^t DOW, lo haic the adniinietratioQ dcfuuted, your OHenda have 
re.)ue9teii me to fug)ieat loyour Eicellonoy whether it woidd not bo beat 
lo withdraw his name and aubxUtute BQOther )" 

The President thmst his handii into his tirceches pocbcta, and Btro<le 
fiercely across the room : then coming np lo Tnu.y, ha faiit— " No, sir, 

no—thai Boston Junto will never be Batiaflcd till they drive me and 

my fiimily back lo Brsintrec to dig potatoop'. No, air— I'll iiot with- 

■ Jud^e Reeve was born in 1714, and died in ]B38. His law school 
was founded in 1794 ; in 170*, ho asBociated Judfte Gould with him. 
Id 1$30, Judge Bceve left it, and Mr. Huutin)(tan became connected 
with it. UoTB than eight hundred persons have here had their legal 
education : among Iheso there have been fifteen Dnilcd Stales Kenalor* 
— Ave have been cnbincl mcinheri'; len governors of States; iwojudpea 
of the Snpreino ('ourt; and forty judges ofSlato courls. Jiidiie tiould 
died in 1838, aged 67 : Judge HunUngton died in 1847, aged 6S. 

t Dr. Boectaer wae born at Now Itavea, in 17T6, wm ednoated at Yale 


gian and eloquent preacher, and even now more wide- 
ly known through his talented family, than his own 
genius. Litchfield Hill was in fact not only one of 
the most elevated features in the physical conforma- 
tion of Connecticut, but one of the focal points of litera- 
ture and civilization. You will readily suppose that 
my visits here were among the most interesting events 
of my early life. 

In August, 1851, there was at Litchfield a gather- 
ing of distinguished natives of the county, convened 
to celebrate its organization, which had taken place a 
century before. Appropriate addresses were made by 
Judge Church, Dr. Bushnell, F. A. Tallmadge, D. S. 
Dickinson, George W. Holley, George Gould, Henry 
Dutton, and other persons of distinction. Among 

College, Bettied at Hampton, Long iBland, 1798 ; in 1810, at Litchfield ; 
in 1826, in the HanoYer-street church, Boston ; in 1882, became Presi- 
dent of the Lane Theological Seminary, Cincinnati, which office he re- 
signed in 1848, returning to Boston, where he still residea. He haa 
published several volumes on theological subjects. He has devoted his 
long life, with prodigious activity and vigor, to the promotion of religion, 
learning, and the larger humanities of life. As a preacher he was very 
cfleotive, possessing surpassing powers of statement, illustration, and 

His spirit and genius seem to have been imparted to his large family, 
of whom Edward Bcecher, MIbs Catherine Beecher, Mrs. Stowe, Henry 
Ward Beecher, and others — all celebrated for their works — are members. 

At the time I was in Litchfield I heard the following anecdote of Dr. B. 
Ho was one evening going homo, having in bin hand a volume of Ree^s 
Encyclopsedia, which he had taken at the bookstore. In his way, he 
met a skunk, and threw tho book at him, upon which tho animal re- 
torted, and with such ofifect that the doctor reached home in a very 
shocking plight. Some time after he was assailed, rather abusively, 
by a controversialist, and a friend advised the doctor to reply. " No," 
said he — ** I onoe discharged a quarto at a skunk, and I got the worst of 
it. I do not wish to try it again I" 


the performances was a poem by Rev. J, Pierpont,* 

alike iliustralive of the local history of Litchfield and 
tlie maonere and character of New England. 

* leannotdeniriiij^alftLa plensare of inskinga few i!itnK<tB f^mthli 
aJiaimhle pcrfonnaiiM, vividly ponraying my own olnervation* tttid 
renJIectiona. HaTing deaoiibeil the boundaries of New Soglkad, Ifaa 
p«t adds : 

Here dwells a people — b; their leave I speak — 

Pecolinr, homogeneons, and nniqoe — 

With ejei wide open, ind a roiuly eai. 


IB gOlB] 

Ho loves his bbi.r, s» ht lovp? his life: 

He love* hii neighbor, aiid he lovea hi* n 


And <rhy not love her t Waa ehe not the 


Above all price, while yet she was ■ girl 1 

And, baa she not increaaed in value Binoe 

Till, in her love, he's richer than a prince 

^-ot lovo a Yankee wife 1 »hsC, under m< 


Shall he love, then, sod hope to be forglv 

So fair, ao failhfol, BO intent to plea»e, 

A "help" *o ■' meet" in health or in diaei 


And then, ench hoasewivea as these Yankees make; 
Whut can't they do t Bread, pudding, paslry, cake, 
Biscuit, and bans, ean tbey mould, roll, and bake. 
Ali they o'ereec ; their babes, their si aging- birds. 
Parlor and kitchen, company and carJ«, 
Danghlem and dairy, linens, and the lunch 
For out-door laborers — instead of ponch— 
The bulla of batter, kept so snoot and cool- 
ie boys' beads, before they go to school, 




That she hsa wonnd and covereii for them— 


All is o'erseen— o'er*eon :— nay, it is dOM, 

By these same Yankee wives :— Ifyou have 


Thus far without one, toward your setting n 


Lose no mora time, my (Yiend— go home auc 

i speak for onel 


think it may be safely said that there are few 
ities in the United States, which could fiimish 
er such a poet or such materials for poetry, as this 

The pocket-knife. To that his wistful eye 

Tuma, while he hean his mother's lullaby ; 

His hoarded cents he gladly gives to get it, 

Then leaves no ttons antamed, till he can whet it : 

And, in the education of the lad, 

No little part that implement hath had. 

His pocket-knife to the young whittler brings 

A growing knowledge of material things. 

Projectiles, music, and the sculptor's art, 

U'ls chestnut whistle, and his shingle dart 

His elder pop-gun with its hickory rod, 

Its sharp explosion and rebounding wad. 

His corn-stalk fiddle, and the deeper tone 

That murmurs from his pumpkin-leaf trombone, 

Conspire to teach the boy. To these succeed 

His bow, his arrow of a feathered reea. 

His windmill, raised the passing breeze to win, 

His water-wheel that turns upon a pin ; 

Or, if his father lives upon the shore. 

You'll see his ship, " beam-ends" upon the floor, 

Full-rigged, with raking masts, and timbers stanch, 

And waiting, near the washtub, for a launch. 

Thus by his genius and his jack-knife driven. 

Ere long he'll solve you any problem given ; 

Make any gimcrack, musical or mute, 

A plow, a coach, an organ, or a flute — 

Make you a locomotive or a clock. 

Out a canal, or build a floating-dock, 

Or lead forth Beauty from a marble block ; 

Make any thing, in short, for uea or shore, 

From a child's rattle to a seventy-four : — 

Make t^, said I ? — Ay, when ho undertakes it. 

He'll make the thing, and the machine that makes U. 

And, when the thing is made — whether it be 

To move on earth, in air, or on the sea, 

Whether on water o'er the waves to glide, 

Or upon land to roll, revolve, or slide. 

Whether to whirl, or jar, to strike, or ring. 

Whether it be a piston or a spring. 

Wheel, pulley, tube sonorous, wood or 

niBTosnuis mscoanoAL, etc. 

It has not only produced the eminent men already 
noticed, but it has been the birthplace of thirteen 
United States senators, tweuty-two representatives 

The thing deeigneJ slmll Bnrely oomo to pau; 
For, when bU haDd's apon it, ;oa inaf knoir, 
TbAt tbere's fo in it, and ho'U nakt it go I 

Tla Dot my piirjKNie lo iLppropriata 
Ail tlut u defer UJ aur lutiiri Statu : 
The eliilitrea of her aiiter Blat«9, onr oooalns, 
Pr«a«Dt their daima : — allow theai — tlioiigh bj doiaiu} 

But wboD we've v^ghed tSiem, in a balnnca traa. 
And given aur oanalDB aB that ia Ibeir duo, 
Will oot theniMlve* ■eltDOwledifn that the weight 
luclinc,-' in favor of "the Nutmeg Stnlc !" 

What if ber faith, to which ehe clings as Crae, 
Appears, to some ejOB, alighlly tinged wilb Ww/ 
With blue at blue, aside from any im. 
We tlud no fault; the spectrum of a prism. 
The mill bow, and the flowera-rfe-Iuce, that iook 
At tlieir own beauty In the glaiwy broolt, 
Eliow us a blue, thut ne.vcr fails to please ; 
So does jon lake, when rippled by a breeiaj 
In marning-glories blue looks veiy well, 
And ill Ihu little Howor they call " blue-bell." 
No butter color is there for the sky, 
Or, a. /think, for a bloiiJo beimty's eye. 
It's very pretty for a lady's bonnet, 
lit slie puta upon it; 

will insist that 

It of placi 

As KomlMr One among her siaten 
And whieh, of all irr eountie*, wil 
For f'fte, or »tren(rth, for wuler, so 
Wilb our good Mother County — w 

B " Nutmeg Stale" 


in Congress from the State of New York, alone, fif- 
teen judges of the supreme courts of other States, 
nine presidents of colleges, and eighteen professors of 
colleges I 

And to the bench — for half of all her jears — 
The brightest names of half the hemispheres? 

Oar Mother Conntj ! never shalt thoa boast 
Of mighty cities, or a seft- washed coast ! 
Not thine the marts where Commerce spreads her wings. 
And to her wharves the wealth of India brings ; 
No field of thine has e^er been given to fame, 
Or stampM, bj Ilistorj, with a hero's name ; 
For, on no field of thine was e^er displayed 
A hostile host, or drawn a battle-blade. 
The better honors thine, that wait on Peace. 
Thy namfs are chosen, not from martial Greece, 
Whose bloody laurels by the sword were won, 
Plates, Salamis, and Marathon — 
But fVom the pastoral people, strong and fVee, 
Whose hills looked down upon the Midland sea — 
The Holy Land. Thy Carmd lifts his head 
Over thy BtthUhem — thy *' h«)Uffc of breml ;" 
Not Egypt's land of Goshen equaled thine. 
For wealth of pastaro, or "well-favored kine," 
While many a streamlet through thy Canaan flows, 
And in thy Sharon blunhes many a rose. 

But, Mother Litchfield, thou hast stronger claims 
To be called holy, than thy holy names 
Can give thee. Reckon as thy jewels, then, 
Thy saintly women, and thy holy men. 
Scarce have thine early birds from sleep awoke, 
And up thy hillsides curls the cottage smoke, 
When rises with it, on the morning air, 
Tlie voice of household worship and of prayer; 
And when the night-bird sinks u{>on her nest. 
To warm her fledglingn with her downy breast, 
In reverent posture many a father stands. 
And, o'er his children, lifting holy hands. 
Gives them to God, the Guardian of tlieir sleep; 
While round their beds their nightly vigils keep, 
Those Angel minihters of heavenly grace. 
Who " olways do behold their Father*! face.** 




Stplun S. Bradlts—Ms Punuito/au Votation o/BoottiUr and PuWM- 
,r~Sf%itei Pimm—Gaund SnlHunatm-Byrrm'i Pottai—Tltar B*- 
erptim — ntWatirUy NomU—Tlitiraitkaiai/ Pepvl^iritg—! puHilk on 
EdilinA nf lAtm—LiUrarr Cltth at H.irl/«nl~J. U. ffaiiuerigU. baaa 
7b*<*y, IValiam L, Slotir, ^.—Tit Bimtnl 7bfii*—0rigiiul dnuriaiit 
Werit^Stati of Opiitim at to Amtrieoft LUwIurt—Publieatiot tf 
TrMKiin-Wi Formt—Becla for £i<daUvn—Sni. 0. A. aaadrieh—Dr. 
CWubKi — Wooiiirid</t'i Guifraphy. 

Mr DKAB O****** 

Early in the year 1818 I was married to the 
daughter of Slpphcn Rown Brailley,* of Westminster, 
Vermont Thus established in life, I pursued the 
business of bookseller and publisher at Hartford for 

• Geoend Bradley wan a native of Chephire, Conncclicnt, where ha 

w« born, Oct. ao, irs4. He Kradiialcd at Ysle Colle^ in 1775, on.l u 

' »Ut«d, viaa aid tq Gen. Wooatcr, at the timo he roll, in ■ 


ti»h, n 

r Danbn 

He 1 


iboat the year 1780, and devoting liitnself to the bur, acquired 
prapUce. Having popiilor msnncra, and u teen insight 
he bcoune a prominent politioaJ leader, and eicrcised a 
Urge iiiSiienoo in layiDg tha foundatlonB of the State of Vermont, then 
of this countn— Ethan Allen, Ira Allen, Beth Warner, and 
.'hitlenden _ all from Connecticut — being the Austins and 
of il» earlj iiistory. At the period to which I refer it w« 
n the chaoa of the Kcvolntionary war, and the ttili more din- 
t oonlesta with colonial claimants for sovereignly over her ter- 
In 1791, that State liaving come into the Union, Gen. Bradley 
□ one of ila Bist aeoatora. With an interval of bIi years— from 
01— he continued in the Senate till 1818, a period of isiiteen 
e was a member of the democratic party, and called, " bg nr- 
lu ofpoirert wt<*d in him," the caucus which nominated Uadison. and 
hi» election to the prpsidenoy. He was distingniehed for 


icily, ■ 



uof ai 

edge. Ilia converaation was eiceedingly altracti' 
tnted by pvrtinent ineodoles and apt bislorical ti 

E, being alwaya illua- 
rertncei. Ilia devel- 


four years. My vocation gave me the command of 
books, but I was able to read but little, my eyes con- 
tinuing to be so weak that I could hardly do justice 
to my affairs. By snatches, however, I dipped into a 
good many books, and acquired a considerable knowl- 
edge of authors and their works. 

During the period in which Scott had been enchant- 
ing the world with his poetry — ^that is, from 1805 to 
1815 — I had shared in the general intoxication. The 
Lady of the Lake delighted me beyond expression, 
and even now, it seems to me the most pleasing and 
perfect of metrical romances. These productions 
seized powerfully upon the popular mind, partly on 
account of the romance of their revelations, and 
partly also because of the pellucidity of the style 
and the easy flow of the versification. Everybody 
could read and comprehend them. One of my 
younger sisters committed the whole of the Lady 
of the Lake to memory, and was accustomed of an 
evening to sit at her sewing, while she recited it 
to an admiring circle of listeners. All young poets 
were inoculated with the octa-syllabic verse, and news- 

opments of the interior machinery of parties, during the times of 
Washington, Jefferson, and Madison; his portraitures of the poUt 
icol leaders of these interesting eras in our history — all freely com- 
municated at a period when he had retired Arom the active arena of 
politi(», and now looked back upon them with the feelings of a philos- 
opher — were in the highest degree interesting and instructive. He re 
ceived the degree of LL.D., and having removed to Walpole, in New 
Hampshire, a few years before, died Dec. 16, 1880, aged 76. His son, 
W. C. Bradley— still living, at the age of 74 — has also beon a dintin- 
guiahed lawyer and membtr of Congress. 


papers, magazines, and even Tolumes, teemed with im- 
iiatioiia and variations inspired by the " Wizard Harp 
ofthi; North." Notonly did Scott* himseifcontinue to 
pour oat volume after volume, but others produced set 

* RctM experleiuxd tho [nte of meet cmiiieiit irriUOT vbo havo w- 
qaim] ■ oeruin muineriam, recugDiisil b; thn coniDiimlly kt ]& 
Ihat u, he WW Iwighecl m( bjr bnrlexqnw of liin vorka. Oeorg* Cd 
tiimn, Uia Yoatigtr, though not mrj yoting, tratestieii tlie Lad;/ t^Al 
.£ai« aniter the ticia of the Ladgi^Oit ITiWib— th* latlsr of aboat Ut6 
urn* dimcnaiooi u the fonner. ]( i* u Irltli ttoiy, taW of droll ex- 
lr»ig>iic« and lao^chBlilB inutHtiona of Lha originul, at whioh they ara 

In ISIS, appnnd tbe "Rejected Addressee" of Jam ee and Boiace 

Smith, snJ in Ibrse iIie principal pcwtB of lliD ciny were iiiiUiiloii, and 
their pecaliaritiea parodied. They QiSy, ia fact, be considered aa maa- 
terly criticintne of tbe several author*, Ic which their weak poiota are 
FUongly BQ^gcated to the reader. Tiio laughable imitations of the " Lake 
Poet*"— Wordaworth, Soiilhey, and Coleridge— probably had ae much 
effect in curing them oftlicir affectations, as tbe scoffing ridicule of the 
Ijlinbu^h Review. Even Byron, who actually gained the priio offered 
by tbe mHoager of Drury Lano Theater, on tho occaxion of ilJ> opening 
in tlje new boilding, received a staggering blow from the iiiiiiation of 
Cbilde Harold, wbicb wna so cIobo iu manner u to eeein as if extracted 
t^Dm that poem, while tljc spirit of t)ic cooiposition ia strongly and ef- 
fecliveiy ridiculed. Tbe following (ire two cliBraotcristio stanzas ; 

'Bated with heme, wit 


■m llr.4 





abnwd, all teen, 







with bflh. bprc 






poems, in his style, some of them so close in their 
imitation, as to be supposed the works of Scott him- 
self, trying the effect of a disguise. At last, however, 
the market was overstocked, and the general appetite 
began to pall with a surfeit, when one of those sud- 
den changes took place in the public taste, which re- 
semble the convulsions of nature — as a whirlwind 
or a tempest in the tropics — by which a monsoon, 
having blown steadily from one point in the compass, 
for six months, is made to turn about and blow as 
steadily in the opposite direction. 

It was just at the point in which the octa-syllabic 
plethora began to revolt the public taste, that Byron 
produced his first canto of Childe Harold's Pilgrim- 
age. In London, the effect was sudden, and the 
youthful poet who went to bed a common man, woke 
up in the morning and found himself famous. This 

It i8 a point of tho highest interest in my recollections, that during 
the period in which Scott and Byron were rising into notice, and after^ 
ward, in the full tide of success, were thrilling the whole reading world 
with their masterly productions, that the Edinburgh Review, under tlie 
leadership of Jeffrey, was at its zenith. His criticisms were undoubt- 
edly the most brilliant and profound that had appeared at that period ; 
nor has any thing superior to them been written since. About the s^ame 
time Wordsworth and his fViends, Southey and Coleridge, attempted to 
make the world believe that bathos is pathos, weaknc^ strength, and 
silliness sublimity. On this experiment they wasted a large amount of 
genius. While the Edinburgh Review found a noble scope for its high- 
est efforts in illustrating the beauties of the Waverley novels, and setting 
forth as well the faults as the sublimities of Byron, it also gave full ex- 
ercise to its incomparable ridicule and raillery, in noticing the harle- 
quinisms of the Lake triumvirate. At this period, a new number of 
** the Edinburgh" created as much sensation as a now instalment of Ma- 
oaoly's history, at the present day. 


read; appredatioD there, arose in a great degree from 

tbe &ct that the author was a inan of fashion and a 
lord. In this country, these adventitious attributes 
were less readilj felt, and therefore the reception of 
ihe new poem was more hesitating and distrustful. 
For some time, only a few persons seemed to com- 
prehend it, and many who read it, scarcely knew 
whether to be delighted or shocked. As it gradually 
made its way in the public mind, it was against a 
fltrong current both of taste and principle. 

Tbe public eye and ear — imbued with the ge- 
DJus of Scott — had become adjusted to his sensuous 
paiuting of ejcternal objeuls, set in rhymes resonant 
as those of the nursery books. His poems were, 
in fact, lyrical romances, with something of epic dig- 
nity of thought and incident, presented in all the 
simplicity of ballad versification, A person with 
tastes and habits formed upon the reading of these 
productions, opening upon Childe Harold's Pilgrim- 
age, was likely to feel himself — amid the long-drawn 
Etanzjts and the deep, mystic meditations — in some- 
what of a labyrinth. Scott's poems were, moreover, 
elevating in their moral tone, and indeed the popular 
literature of tbe day — having generally purified itself 
from the poisons infused into it by the spirit of the 
French Revolution — was alike conservative in man- 
ners and morals. Campbell's Pleasures of Hope and 
Rogers' Pleasures of Memory, were favorite poems 
from 1800 to 1815 ; and during the same period, 


Thaddeus of Warsaw, the Scottish Chiefe, the Pas- 
tor's Fireside, by Jane Porter ; Sandford and Merton, 
by Day ; Belinda, Leonora, Patronage, by Miss Edge- 
worth; and Ccelebs in Search of a Wife, by Han- 
nah More — were types of the popular taste in tales 
and romances. It was therefore a fearful plunge 
from this elevated moral tone in literature, into the 
daring if not blasphemous skepticisms of the new 
■ poet. 

The power of his productions, however, could not 
be resisted : he had, in fact — in delineating his own 
i moody and morbid emotions — seemed to open a new 
1 mine of poetry in the soul ; at least, he was the first 
to disclose it to the popular mind. By degrees, the 
public eye^ — admitted to these gloomy, cavernous 're- 
gions of thought — ^became adjusted to their dim 
dusky atmosphere, and saw, or seemed to see, a ma- 
jestic spirit beckoning them deeper and deeper into its 
labyrinths. Thus, what was at first revolting, came 
at last to be a fascination. Having yielded to the 
enchanter, the young and the old, the grave and 
4;he gay, gave themselves up to the sorceries of 
the poet-wizard. The struggle over, the new-bom 
love was ardent and profound, in proportion as it 
had dallied or resisted at the beginning. The very 
magnitude of the change — in passing from Scott's 
romantic ballads to Byron's metaphysical trances — 
when at last it was sanctioned by fashion, seen\ed to 
confirm and sanctify the revolution. Thus in about 



ftvp orflixyears after the appearance of the first citTitO'l 
of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage — the others haviTtj'| 
spoedily followed — the whole poetic world had be- 1 
come Byronio. Aspiring young rhymera now nffect- 
ed the Spenserian stanzit, miKanthropy, and skepti- 
cism. As Byron advanced ia bis career of profligacy, 
and reflected his shameless debaucheries in Don Juan, 
Beppo, and other similar effusions, the public — so* j 
ducffd, bewildered, enchanted — still followed him, and 1 
condescended to bring down their morals and their | 
manners to his degraded and degrading standard. 

The secret of the power thus exercised lay in va- 1 
riouH elements. In England, tlie aristocratic rank of ( 
Byron added greatly to bia influence over the public! 
mind, and this was at last reflected in America.f 
With little real feeling of nature, he had, however, 
an imagination of flame, and an amazing gift of po- 
etic expression. The great fascination, however — 
that which creates an agonizing interest in his prin- 
cipal poems—is the constant idea presented to the 
reader that, under the disguise of his fictitious heroes, 
he is unconscioftsly depicting his own sad, despairing 
emotions. We always feel— whether in perusing 
Childe Harold, or Manfred, or Cain, or any of his 
more elaborate works — as if we were listening to the 
moans of Prometheus struggling with the vultures, 
or of Ixion toiling at his wheel. We could not, if 
we would, refuse our pity for such suffering, even in 
a demon ; how deep, then, must be our sympathy, 




when this is spoken to us in the thrilling tones of 
humanity, using as its vehicle all the music and mel- 
ody of the highest lyrical art ! 

In Y^in^erefore, was it 4ba^^*[eTnofalist^€sisted 
the jiiffusion-ofJSyf en^s p o e ms ov oiL^e country. 
The pulpit opened its thunders against them — ^teach- 
ers warned their pupils, parents their children. I 
( remember, even as late as 1820, that some booksellers 
\ refused to sell them, regarding them as infidel publi- 
; cations. About this time a publisher of Hartford, on 
this ground, declined being concerned in stereotyping 
an edition of them. It was all in vain. Byron could 
no more be kept at bay, than the cholera. His works 
have had their march over the world, and their victims 
have been probably not less numerous than those of 
/ that scourge of the nations. Byron may be, in fact, 
considered as having opened the gates to that tide of 
infidelity and licentiousness which sometimes came out 
boldly, as in the poems of Shelly, and more disguisedly 
in various other works, which converted Paul CliflFord 
and Dick Turpin into popular heroes. He lowered the 
standard of public taste, and prepared a portion of the 
people of England and America to receive with favor 
the blunt sensualities of Paul de Kock, and the subtle 
infiltrations of deism by Madame George Sand. Hap- 
pily, society has in its bosom the elements of conserva- 
tism, and at the present day the flood of license has 
subsided, or is subsiding. Byron is still read, but his 
immoralities, his atheism, have lost their relish, and 




•re now deemed oflenaes and blemishes, and at the 
same time the public taste is directing itjiclf in favor of 
a purer and more exalted moral tone in every species 
of literature. Longfellow, Bryant, and Tennyson are I 
the exponents of the public taste in poetry, and/ 
Hawthorne, Dickena, Thackeray, in ronmnce. All 
the varied fonns of light reading are t^ing a corre-l 
sponding tone of respect for morals and religion, 
Scott speedily appreciated the eclipse to which 
poetical career was doomed by the rising genius 
Byron. He now turned his attention to prose ficti< 
and in July, 1S14, completed and published Waverlev, 
which had been begun some eight or ten years before. 
It produced no sudden emotion in the literary world. 
It was considered a clever performance — nothing 
more. I recollect to have heard it criticised by some 
veteran novel readers of that day, because its leading 
character, Waverley, was only a respectable, common- 
place person, and not a perfect hero, according to the 
old standards of romance. Guy Mannering came out 
the next year, and was received with a certain degree 
of eagerness. The Antiquary, Black Dwarf, Old 
Mortality, Rob Roy, and the Heart of Mid-Lothian, 
followed in quick succession. I suspect that never, 
in any age, have the productions of any author created 
in the world so wide and deep an enthusiasm. This 
emotion reached its height upon the appearance of 
Ivanhoe in 1819, which, I think, proved the moat 
popular of these marvelous productions. 



At liis perkd. 3kl:}»:i^ there was m good deal of 
njs^ierr as to tbrir A:iib:rship, :be public generally 
i>eKrred tieri to Se^ci.* He ^^5 cJ'-.i the "Great 
Unkrrow^" — & titie vii.-ii scrrcu to create even au 
»irentztks2s irteres* in his career. The appearance 
of a i:<ev laje ^mh his pen. ca;[ised a greater sensation 
in the United Sc&ies than did siKDe of the battles of 
XajK^eon. vhkh decided the &te of thrones and em- 
piK& KT^rrloiT reafci these works: eTerybody — 
the reSned ax^l the sdraple — shazed in the delightful 
trazKcs which seec:^ to tianspoit them to remote 
ages and distant clime^;. and made them live and 
l^^iathe in the presence of the stem Covenanters of 
Svvtlani the gallant lowmen of Sherwood Forest, 
ox even the Cmsaders in Pa!e^:ine, where Coeur de 
Lion and Saladin were seen strarelinsr for the mas- 
terv! I can tcstifv ;o mv own share in this intoxi- 
cation* I was nv^t able, on account of mv eyes, to 
read thcs^^ works mvs^lC but I fecund friends to read 

* ll t» » fWs ^»v«hT of Se:ac ts>»'i. th*: ^hDe th* eridenoe that Scott 
w«» Use AUlbor of th* \VAT>fr>T Xov>fCs w«^ ole&r and coadasive, various 
xflnt^^^* assserttisi th< vvcinry. Soof vvi::enievi that thor w«re writtoa 
by Sir Wahvr** brv<r«r. T:.vXR*"^ in Carsia; *«Mne, thev were the 
fvrodttotiv'iui of a vvnari: — or r*:i:<:r as t%v>."*^.j**— I>r. Giv«n field, Ac. 
Tho subj^^t wa* di*ous*-od "•::;.. crval ve::«::a<fr.v'e, and somethinjBT like 
)>ar1ijian bitttrti*?**. It wa* provevi to dem^nsitrat'.on, over and over 
a^iuu« by *vmw of ll o>o w >5:avi\>, frvx:: ii.:«?r::al, external, moral, reli- 
j;lx»us ax^d jHn'.tiv"*!; c\;v:ciav, :' *: S r Walter Soon oould not be the 
author. Th* loundation v»f al! t'r.> w;^* xh*i envj, inherent in »ome 
min^ia, which U offciuiod l.\ :t::v\'^:-<s, lVrx:is of th'5 class invente*!, 
and at last bolievevl. the alv^url'tit^ ti-i.ich they prv^fvaurated- The fiict ia 
hiatruvHive, lor it teaches us ti.e dar.cerof foUowir.irlhe lead of littleness 
tttd mal)|^uitj. i aiuU'r is a sa;\r ^uide than envy or malice. 

HISrOKlOAt, AHBCDoncAL, BTO. " 109 

ttiem to me. To one good old maJd — IIoaTen bleea 
hor! — I was indebted for the perusal of no less than 
seven of these tales. 

Of coarse, there were many editions of these worka 
in the United States, and among ethers, I published 
nn edition, I think in eight volumes, octavo — inclu- 
ding those which had appeared at that time. About I 
this period — that is, in 1819 — I was one of a literiiry / 
dub, of wiiicb J. M, "Wainwright,* Isaac Touccy/ 
William L. Stone, Jonathan Law, 3. H. HuntingtonJ 
and others, were members. The first^meeting was w 
my house, anil I coraposi?d a poem flir the oeciisiim, 

• Dr. Wainwright was bom el Liverpool, in 1792, of psrenW who 
■ ere tillzcnn of the Unitei! Rtnte», but who at IhnI date were on ■ vinlt 
to Enelind. lie came to tbia conntr; at the gga of 11, was eJncated at 
CumbriiiKO, and was in»Iitiited rector of CLrist Clinrcli at Hartford, in 
ISi."!. He came to New York ahoiit 1820, nnd allcr Hiliiicr vorious tni- 
portant slationif, wba in lsS2 eleeled proviBioiial bishop of llic diooci.e of 
Xcn York. Ho won nn in'C"iiipliMhCil scliolnr and pentlcman, and an 
enme«t and sucpexi^ral laborer in tlio vuiions fields to wliicli his life was 

Sir. Toucej- studied law at Newtown, and cnma to Hartford aboal 
1512, and liBK since resided there. Ha is an emincnl lawyer, and hiu 
filled the offices of t'Overnor and senator of the United SUiios. The 
.attrr place he >till holds. 

William L. Stone, born at tiopus. Now York, 17»2, was firat a printer, 
■nJ attcnvard becnniu distiiiguislicd na an editor — flnt in conducting 
» fjoUlical paper at Albnny, and then at IliiLlson. When Theodora 
Dwiifhi, wlio liad founded the Connecticut Mirror, lef^ for Albany, in 
I'^H. Mr. Stone succeeded him. In 1921, he aucceedod to the editorahip 
of the Conimercial Advertiser, at New York, which place he filled liU 
Ilia death. In 1S44. Ho published various works, among whiah were th« 
Life of Brant, Memoir of Bod Jacket, Lotlera on Mai'onry and Antinu- 
(onri, &c. He wrote with ((reot rapidity and fluency, and bad ■ r^- 
nmrkable talent in collecting materials and making euinpilntiooa. In 
peiaonal chamcter be wns excecilin(/ly oiniablo, giving his warm sym- 
pathy to all thing.. cliurlti.ble and relii^ious. 

Jonathan Law wa.illi8pot.tmnaterr.nLirtford; ho was a ff ooit schol«, V 


entitled "A Vision" — afterward published, with other 

- poemSf in 1836. I also published three or four num- 

y> bers of a email work entitled (he "Round Table^*^ the 

articles of which were written by different members ot 

the dub. 

About this time I began to think of trying to 
bring out original American works. It must be re- 
membered that I am speaking of a period prior to 
IS^dL At that date, Bryant, Inring, and Cooper — 
the founders of our modem literature — a trinity of 
genius in poetry, essay, and romance — had but just 
commenced their literary career. Neither of them 
had acquiivd a positive reputation. Halleck, Percival, 
Bruinanl, Longtellow, Willis, were at school — at least, 
all woiv unknown. The general impression was that 
we had uou and could not have, a literature. It was 
the pnvi^^ point at which Sidney Smith had ut- 
lorvvl that bitter taunt in the Edinburgh Review — 
** Who ivads an American book?'' It proved to be 
that ** darken hour just before the dawn." The 
iiUvwssaul booksellers of the country — Carey, Small, 
Thv^ma^ Warner, of Philadelphia : Campbell, Duy\> 
kiuok« Retxi Kirk & Mercein, Whiting & Watson, of 
Now York : Beers 4 Howe, of New Haven ; O. D. 

« H^Mt \^f rvAthKl ^lii^FJk with » MOftitiT*, shrinking delicacy of nmimen 
in lh« iutvvvvur^ v^f Uif^ 

Mr UmuUi^Umi Kft» b««a javl^ cf th« eoontr conrt^ and has filled 
%«lh«r t^|vivmW<» ottciMk \\< is now el«rk of the Coart of Oaims, at 
\V««Lhik\^lWK thoujth h« nwidM at Haitford—Soch were aome of the 
Hi^mUfa of vmr h(Ue duK 



Cooke, of Hartford ; West & Ricbardson, CumniiDgi 
k Uilliard, R P. & C. Williania, S. T. Armstrong, (rf J 
Boston — wei-e for the rao8t part the mere reproducoiB j 
and sellers of English books. It was positively in* j 
jurious to the commercial credit of a bookseller t» I 
undertake American works, unless they might bo 1 
Morse's Geographies, classical books, school-books, j 
devotional books, or other utilitarian works. 

Nevertheless, about this time I published an edi- . 
tion of Trumbull's poems, in two volumes, octavo^ I 
and paid him a thousand dollars, and a hundred i 
copies of the work, for the copyright. I was seriously 
counseled against this by several booksellers — and, in 
fact, Trumbull had sought a puhhsher, in vain, for 
several years previous. There was an association 
of designers and engravers at Hartford, called the 
"Graphic Company,"* and as I desired to patronize 
the liberal arts there, I employed them to execute the 
embellishments. For so considerable au enterprise, 
I took the precaution to get a subscription, ia which 
I was tolerably successful. The work was at last 
produced, but it did not come up to the public ex- 
pectation, or the patriotic zea! had cooled, and more 
than half the subscribers declined taking the work. 

* The designer of ibe eBtabllBl 

Jilcrnrj' tajile, Hn<l udmirHbln liui 
great clevt 

Dt wu Elkanah Tisdatc, a tut, (ace- 
r bj profession, but a man ofiomo 
in auooiloU. Ho illustraled, witb 
e Ecbo, puliliabed by I» 

Bilaj-— brotber in-law of Dwight and AlBOp, two of tbe prmoipal ftuthora 
— ibongh it proreetes to be from tha Porcupine Preaa, and by Paaqnln 


I ini ncc p?ESF rL rm ^*L'::'^g ' m ^x*! &oe upon the 
iSfc^. I J*? r: iikSjL ill — JTiSL-r ibr T'lVic STipiosed I 
r.iii 3^*5* n-rc-fj : j z^v t-i.:-rrTr::f»f:. ini even the au- 
•b:-r loriei jtiij^-re ii ni* -n Tie ^-eaLl>jLS aT>T*rehension 
ihsji I bfci =;A5r i>^ ^-•■•^ * tttrrain out of him — I 

Tii? w:fc« 3LJ Irs:: aer^.^u? adTentiire in pfitroaizing 

Aroci tb* 5a=>e r^^i I ramed mr attention to 
Kvi? f:-r ei'2>rarj>n ani bx^ts ibr children, being 
5n*Miir^T :u:r-r>?s»*i with tie >iea that there was here a 
' lanre ^e!i f.^r "rrv-^vezseizit. I wrv^te, mrselE a small 
ar::hTiH^T:v\ ar.xi half a dv^aen toy-Kx^ks. and published 
ibem. thoUiTb I have never bef.^re confessed their an 
thv^rship, I a'^i'.^ e:::p!ovea several per?ons to write 
j^^hool hist.^rles. ar*d eviucational manuals of chemis- 
try, nauirai philosophy, ice upon plans which I pre- 
scribcil — all of which I published ; but none of these 
were verv successful at that time. Some of them, 
j\:u^ing into other hands^ are now among the most 
popular and profitable s*"hool-books in the country.* 

• Amonjr these w^i* A -r^ /:'m VniUd ytat** of Americii^ by Rev. 
O. A. liOCKirioh: thi» vjbji the first of the tvopnlar »cho<^ histories of the 
Vuitovl Stato^, now iu cirvulatk-^n — aai, in fact, the first of my brother's 
niimorous* publicAlion*. rrev:vv:s to tl:is time, the historj' of tlie United 
State* was not one of onr >c:.o-l .<:n*lie5. Otiier works of a similar kind, 
aAur this example, ^o<>u foliowtrd, but this work has ountiniicd to be one 
of the most jnipuhir. Several hundred thoasaiid copies of it have been 

A Mother was an educational treatise on Xatural PhiloM>pfiy^ by J. L. 
i.'omstock, which is now a popuiiu* and standard work in the schools, 
and has been republished in Kn/land. Dr. Comstock also wrote, upon 
plans which I imlicated, an cducation.-U work on Chemistry, inotbio' or- 

BUfnxBOMXy unKsxynoALi ktol 118 

William 0. Woodbridge, one of the teacheis of the 
Deaf and Damb Asylum,^ at this time projected a 
tschool geography, in which I assisted him — mostly in 
preparing the details of the work for the press, and in 
the mechanical department When an edition of it 
was finally ready — after long and anxious labor, both 
on his part and mine — the state of my health com- 
pelled me to relinquish it. This work acquired great 
popularity, and became the starting-point of a new 
era in school geographies, both in this countiy and 
in England. ' 

Mineralogy, Ae., which I pnblished. Thns this excellent and Tuefhl 
aathor began that aeries of treatiiscs, designed to popularize science, 
which has placed his name among the eminent bencfactore of edacation 
in this conntrr. I am happy to say, that he is still living at Hartford, in 
the enjoyment of the respect und friendship which his amiable character 
and useful life naturally inspire — and, I may add, in the enjoyment also 
of that independence which is but a just compensation of well-directed 
industry and talent. 

Mr. Woodbridge was bom in 1795, graduated at Yale in 1811, and, 
having studied theolc^, became one of the teachers of the deaf and 
dumb, at Hartford. He was a man of tlie greatest amenity of manner and 
purity of life ; he showed also a complete devotion to what ho deemed 
his duty, viewed tlirongh a religious light. lie gave his attention to 
eduestion, und may be considered as one of the pioneers in the great 
improvements lately made in the art of instruction. He traveled in 
Europe, visiting the most celebrated educational establishments, and 
Itolding intercourse with the most enlightened friends of educational 
progress and improvement. The result of his researches and reflections 
bo gave to the public in numerous valuable and profound treatises. 
He was a little too much of a perfectionist to be immediately practical, 
and hence his books — two geographical treatises — wore somewhat be- 
yond the age in which he lived ; but still they exercised a powerful 
iijfluence in suggesting valuable ideas to others. Ills flrs*t geo>:rttphy I 
took to England in 1S23, und got it published there, for his* benefit. It 
still continues to be published in London. Mr. Woodbridge was a man 
of feeble liealth, yet struggled manfully till 1845, when he expired, at 
Boston — loved and admired by all who know him. 



Skd^kss ofikt '* BaH/ord WitiT-^Dr. Hopkiiu—TmrnhMU, mmOorofJic- 
Fiugal— David Humphrif—Dr. Strtm^^Thsodore Jhri^kt—Ttom^M R, 
GaOamU—DaMid Wadtworik—Dr. OaggnMO—Mn, ^gtmmqf. 

In order to complete the panorama of my life at 
Hartford, I must give you a brief sketch of some of 
the persons whom I knew there, and who had become 
conspicuous by their words or works. I have al- 
ready said that Hopkins,* who in point of genius 
3tood at the head of the noted literary fraternity of 
" Hartford Wits," was not living when I went to re- 
side at that place. Trumbull, the author of McFin- 
gal, was still living, and I knew him well. He was at 
that time an old man, and — alwavs small of stature — 
was now bent, emaciated, and tottering YiMh a cane. 
His features were finely cut, and he must have been 

* Dr. Lemael Hopkins was bom at Waterbanr, 1750 : he practiced 
phjTsic at Litchfield, and afterward at Hartford, where he died in 1801. 
He left a strong impression upon the public mind, as well br the eccen- 
tricity of his personal appearance and habits, as by his learning and ge- 
nios. He was often described to me as long and lank, walking with 
spreading arms and straddling legs. His noM was long, lean, and flex- 
iUe ; his eyes protruding, and his whole expre^ion a strange mixture 
of solemnity and drollery. He was of a social disposition, and often in 
talking at a neighbor's house, would forget his business engagements. 
He was intimate with Theodore Dwight, and his daughter has told me 
that she recollects his coming to their house, and being very much &- 
tigued, he laid himself down on the floor, and put a log of wood under 
his head for a pillow. Here he began to dictate poetry, which her fa- 
ther wrote down, being very likely one of those poems which has placed 
hia name among the moat vigorous of oar aatiriata. 


handsome in liis younger days. His eye was keen and 
brigbt, his nose slightly aquiline, hia mouth arching 
downward at the corners, expressive of sarcastic hu- 
mor. There was something about him that at once 
bespoke the man of letters, the poet, and the satirist.* 

* Joha TrDinbuU — tbo iWBt— tidoiigcd U ona of tliosa reiruir1ubl« 
hmillM In ConneclipM wbioh, throneh •e^eral generalioim, hnvo po«- 
Mwet) UleDU that earned them to Iha bighe*t «tiition« in tiaoittf . Joiia- 
thui Trnmball, of Lobimoii, horu in ITIO, vna elacted ^remor in ]T88, 
Hid coatinued tu b« umiiklt; elected till 17SS, when faernsi^ned, huving 
brea lhitt7 jean, wilhenc intfirniptioti, in public employmint Qis ser- 
tScea, nadtred to tbe ooanlry during the «», were regarded t» kIidmI 
■uit UiOM of WwhiDgCoD. It in said that the ouDe given to oar conn- 
t/T of " Brother Jonilhnn," came from him, in en allusion if bis oo 
optatkn iritii WmUocHni Id Ui« B«TrinCioa. Ha <Ii«d in 1T3S. Hi* 
na Jowthwi, buni at Lehanoii, ITM, wm WMhlngton'* teHlarj «iid 
*Ut,iDmiiba-ofCoiisraa In ITSS, epeikerof the Hodm In ITtl, in ITM 
MUIOT, and in ITIB, governor of Che Blate. Ho died io 1608. Joaeph 
TTDiobnll, nepbeir of the preceding, and sdll living, baa Slled Tarioa* 
office*, and been aanMor of the United Statea and governor of the 8tMe. 
Baqjamin Tnunball, the diatingDiehed historian — bom In lT3fi and died 
in 18K1— waa nephew of the Srst Gov. Trnmbull. Col. John Trambull, 
brother of tbaieoandgoveniorofthaC name and aid to 'Waahington, was 
an emineDt painter and elegant gentlemui, and died in 1S43, aged BT. 
A DoUeotiOD of hia punting*, valuable aa biatorioal and biographloal 
mameDtoea, belong* to Tale Coll^a. 

John TrumbDll, the poet, aon of tbe Bev. John T. ofWatertown, a 
oonoection of thia fiunllf, waa bom 1T50. Ataeven he waa admitted at 
eoQaga, but did not antar npou hia atadie* there till thirteen. I have haard 
bun aa; that whan ha went to enter at Yale, be rode on boraebaek behind 
hia fUber, and wore hia mother'a cloak and hood. He itndiedlaw, mln- 
(ling the eompoaitioa of poetrjrwiUi legal pnraoiti. Having bean in the 
law oflloe of John Adami, at Boston, he settled aa a lawyer at Hartford 
in ITBl, and becama diatingaiahed in hia probaaion. He wrote aeveral 
poema, the moat noted of wblob was HcE^ngal, an Imitaljan of Hndl- 
braa, uid in aomepaaaagea n» inferior to the beat portiona of that funoua 
prodootioD. TrnmbnU waa, no doubt, tbe most oonsploDoiu literary 
character of hia day, in thia conotry. 1 publiahed a revised edidoa of 
hia works in 1830, aa elsewhere stated. His aociaty waa muoh nought, 
and ha wsa the aacteaa of a band of brilliant geniaaes, iuoludiug 
Dwight, Hopkioe, Alaop, Uamphries, <Ico. 

Tb* latUr I often aaw at Hartford, naoall; on viaila to TrambulL Ha 


!r"rK TM^ TTTITTW^ It 'Til* 

r^TTTiL — -"iff TTiairrra^ r-TiiT'^rSii^rcal r^i L-'i ' l . in ike 

!::•£ vbsi rir: :f n. :ii: i** ciirr: r**Ter :o so isto ii. 
AH i:j> jrrnx. ir-vfT-jr. bki p^sisd Tbea I knew 

Tr*::^z>^r r? TTirekr r*c:ir::ci. Whi all liis earlv 

▼•as -.jwa :ii*^ »a>£ l^-jiif li i^s- laci-rj 

;: ▼T. rf IVrr 

▼i*e« be Lftd e*- 

^•t •; 

rr»!ir .*c" "ij* riM. lai. ▼■* s,"* arrf- ?-p^7- Tcrifreii, wiih & Kae cn^at 

r j* -mifi jcri btr l-crri* *r-:cr Li^icc^ .c ¥fcirli. la both which pljkces 
z< ': MX '>s<z. A.- >*!!S*i-"C. 5* ▼:» ir. "S^li a *T.*:i-iil oixtare of the 

T:::iC^ rose scxrr. r* «fll afectec rofirTr. acri oo cce occasiod — per- 
Lai* AS>il :>: ■ — csi=5* ::i i» cofc;^i-A=i-f:^r. to rei TVumbuU to *id 
bl-ji := 4Li*^ hi* FaK< rf tbe Mocker, wfco, :in:uring his master in 
»hAv;:«^. cat his cvz throkiL He b*i ce&rij cocDp«eied iu bat vi^hed a 
polnxed. epEgrfcmmaiic terTir^a?::o, Tr;isibaII took it azid reawi to the 
tndy as it wm$ vrinen. ax^ then aiiesi, vithoat stopping — 

** Drw naor svift a» W eocM poD it» 
Aad eat, froa em to ear, kl» falletr 

This comfdeted the £ib!e, and it 50 stands to thi9 day. This anecdote 
was told nie byTrambull himself, and 1 gave it toKettell, who inserted 
it in the notice of the poet, in his '•:?pecimen» of Araerican Poetry." 
Hnraphrics died in ISIS; Tnimball in 1841, having been a jadgvof the 
Superior Court from 1801 till 1819, when he was disqualified by age, 
under a law of the State. 



&uha, he had a very strong hold of the affections 
and oonfidcnce of his people. Hia face was reimirk- 
ftWy expressive, his eye keen, his lipa firm, his 
nose arched, and his long, thick, gray hair turned 
back and rolled in waves upon his shoulders. I am 
not sure that his reputation as a man of wit and 
worldly taste, now that these were cast aside, did not 
deepen the impression made by hia preaching at this J 
period- I am certain that I have never heard di(jr. J 
courses more impressive, more calculated to subdiaJ 
the pride of the heart, and turn it to religious aal^ J 
mis-^ioD, than these. He was cnrjsi-I..Te.I a ni:m of 
remarkable sagacity, especially in penetrating the 
motives of mankind, and he was at the same time 
esteemed by his clerical brethren as a very able di- 
vine. He published two volumes of sermons, but 
they furnish little evidence of the genius which was 
imputed to him. His reputation is now merely tra- 
ditional, but it is impossible not to perceive that, 
trith such eccentricities, he must have been a man 
of remarkable qualities, inasmuch as he gathered into 
his congregation the first minds in the city, and left 
& name which still seems a bond of union and strength 
to the church over which he presided.* 

* Nsthiin Strong, D.D., » 

vcDtrj, 17i9 

of Strong 

ASmitli, i.mi engiiKediu thBmimufLictnroofgin. ; 
one of his deioooB, ftood olii Mr. Corning, wiia a arocer, anJ Fold New 
Lnglood rum. Ab thin iirticle w» frequaiilly wuiiUii sflur the Bl«r« 
«u Bhat, be kspt m bural on Up M hia hoiue, bo that Iha people need 


Theodore Dwight, a younger brother of Dr. Dwight, 
was bom at Northampton, in 1764. His early life 
was spent upon the farm, and at that period when 
the wolf, wild-cat, and Indian were occasionally seen 
in the forest — furnishing him with ample materials 
for interesting descriptions of adventure in after 

not Bu£fer for the want of this staff of life I The firm of Strong <& Smith 
failed, and the minister shut himself ap in his house to avoid the sheriff, 
bat as no writ oonld be served on Sundays, he then went forth and 
preached to his congregation. All this took place toward the close of 
the last century. There was nothing in it disgraceful , then. Let those 
who deny that society has made progress in its standard of propriety, 
compare this with the universal tone of public sentiment now. 

Of the numerous anecdotes of Dr. Strong, I give you one or two spe- 
cimens. The first of these is connected with the Missionary Socie^ of 
Connecticut, of which he was a principal founder. The Rev. Mr. Bacon — 
father of the present celebrated Dr. Leonard Bacon, of New Haven — ^had 
been employed as a missionary to that part of Ohio called the Western 
Beserve. Some deeply interesting letters, detailing his operations, had 
been received, and on the Sabbath, after the service. Dr. Strong invited 
Theodore Dwight into the pulpit, to read them. This he performed, 
and the letters made a deep impression upon the audience. One old 
man, by the name of Z. . . P . . . . , who was not only hard of hearing, but 
hard of head and heart, actually wept. As Mr. Dwight was about to 
descend^ the doctor whispered to him — " You have done in thirty min- 
utes what I have not been able to accomplish in thirty years : you have 
made old Z. . . P. . . . cry I" 

Dr. 8. had issued a prospectus for his sermons, when one day he met 
Trumbull the poet. " When are your sermons to be out ?^* said the lat- 
ter. ^* I cannot exactly tell," said the doctor. " I am waiting to find a 
text to suit a man who never comes to church, except when he has a 
child to be baptized" — ^a palpable allusion to TrumbulPs neglect of the 
sanctuary about those days. 

Dr. Mason, of New York, once called on Dr. Strong, and as he was 
about to depart, he stumbled, and almost fell, in consequence of a de- 
fect in one of the door-steps. " Why don't you mend your ways I" 
said he, somewhat peevishly. ^' I was waiting for a Mason," was the 
ready reply. 

One of Dr. S.'s deacons came to him with a difficulty. ** Pray, doc- 
tor," said he, " tell me how it happens : all my hens hatch on Sunday.'* 
" The reason is," said the doctor, ** that you aet them on Sunday I" 


time. When nearly twenty, he injured his wrist, 
and being disqualified for the labors of a farmer, he 
turned his attention to study, and finally selected the 
profession of the law. He established himself at Hart- 
ford,* and rose to eminence in hia profession. He 
had, however, a strong bias toward literature, and 

• WhiD I went to rerido at Hmrtford, Hr. Dwight WH living ncM 
door to my uncle, tnd wan on iatimsle terms with him. He wn* a tnll, 

cmrlfrJ euilj Id Imi^hteroruliro. He hnd an ttifluiU tViad ornnecdoto, 
great leamltig, la nbnnduDt HHjiiiun lanes witb lilcrataro, micI \Wt]y pow- 
(in «rdeicnpIioD. Ho irrots with bcility, Bnd duheil offvenwc almost 

m»j be found in ■■ Amerimn Pobiq.," publialjod at Liwhfleld, in 1793. 
The lines, " Alfred to Philena," are hid — Pbilona being Mrs. Morton. 
ThBjaODnd BtrangljDellaCrnacan— attbisdaj— torthe productions of 
Theodore Dwight. As an editor, ha was chieay devoted to polltica, 
pursuing demooracf with the UDHparing vigilance of a falcon in chase 
of itfl prc.t. Some of hia pB.«quinades becamB vsry popnlar, and ^renl- 
If irritated the oppoxile party. Hia lines id ridicule of a JetTcriouian 
fe:ilival at New flaven, M:irch, 1303— beginning a> fuUowa, and conHist- 
icg of some dozen similar etajiioa— were siud and sung all over the 

T« Wb» of Faction, Join— 

Tonr dtujihlere and your wiTca: 
Holt C«7'a coins to dini, 

And daoH with Deaeon Irea, 
Ta ragged Ibrciag 

With well-beWnlHl wl| 

Ttai poor old man 


wrote verses and political essays. Such was the rep 
utation he soon acquired, that he was selected by 
Wolcott, Hamilton, and others, to preside over the 
Evening Post, established in 1801. This offer was 
declined, and William Coleman filled the place. Mr. 
Dwight was elected a member of the State Coun- 

^^ Terrapin Syiieniy^ waa repenled — Dwight wrote the following. It pre- 
tends to be a lyrical lament sung by the democrats at Washington, with 
whom this system had been a great favorite. 


Mourn I sons of democratio woe I 

In aadoeas bow the head : 
Bend every back with Borrow low — 

Poor TERRAPIN is dead. 

And 866 bis dying bed, around 

His weeping friends appear : 
I<ow droops bis grandslre to the ground ; 

His father drops a tear. 

Old Glopton begs the twentieth god. 

The victim's life to spare : 
Calhoun and Johnson kiss the rod. 

And Troop and Johnson swear. 

Good old Long Tom stands sniveling bj 

His dying eyes to close ; 
While Jemmy heaves a bitter sigh. 

And wipes his moumfhl nose. 

Let sharks exult with savage joy, 

The wallowing porpoise spout: 
No more his fiuigs their p^aoe annoy, 

Nor dread their ribs his snout 

Mud-turtles, paddle at your ease 

In every pond and pool ; 
Ye tadpoles, settle on your leei^ 

And in the slime-bed cooL 

Ye British weavers, shout and sing; 

Ye tinker^ join the chorus ; 
Cobblers and lailors, make a ring, 

Anil dance a jig before u< 1 

Tell old King Ocorge the glorious tale ! 

Amid his dire offences. 
Perhaps *twlll light his visage pala^ 

And bring him to his tenaaa. 


cil, and in 1806, a member of Congress. Soon 
after he established the Connecticut Mirror, and 
from that time followed the career of an editor. 
He was secretary of the Hartford Convention in 
1814. In 1815, he removed to Albany, and con- 
ducted the Albany Daily Advertiser: in 1817, he 

Uki Templn mnil naodar; 

But ieUiit «ld Oenymudul 

Tba " 6enyai»iider" licre alludsJ to, oriiiiiiaud in i. diviiion 
McbiiBetls, by Ihe democret*, in t)ia lime of Govbtdof Oeny, ii 

<jial IHatrtctH, eo oa to give that i^urty the lU^cCDdciLay. It ww s 
disrepird of (,"e%TspbLcal BHil politi«J ptoj^riol y. and tho ft'donJ- 
wtB r«t*li>t«d bjhtvingthngemoiiflter — with tail and elam, reMmbliog, 
outline, tbe ntate or Musachanetts, u thus distorted — engraved uid 
rculdtcd, with an CKCCcdingly pii^uant Datura] history of the ammal. 
look Buch etTcct thni for a long timo it gnve n oeir word to the Amer- 
111 piJitlnJ vocflbulary. It in suid by Buckingham, that Gilbort Stuart, 
(he arli»t, nutrKCnted this clever caricature. 

The fulloniUK will serve ui a specimen of Mr. Dnight's Nav-Tcar's 
Carrier's verees, which appeared annually, and acquired great popu- 
larity. This extract is from Iho CoDncctiont Mirror, Jannar; a, 1818. 

Mo K>a«3 of joy Ui. bowi 
Tb«allorh<igr>tht "hi! 

Wbert hl> 


IRpring err fcr br«d. 


l.ref ii'» blow. 


«Khl 1 






— 6 


established the Daily Advertiser in New York, of 
which he was the chief editor till 1836, when he re- 
moved to Hartford. He afterward returned to New 
York, where he died, in 1846. 

Among the Hartford notables was Daniel Wads- 
worth, son of Col. Jeremiah Wadsworth, who had 

The hurest of its hopes devoar. 
Where is that virtuous patriot hand, 
The pride, the bulwark of our land, 
Fomrd to uphold the nation's sway — 
Pinckney, and Strong, and King, and Jaj — 
Whose counsels might our country shield. 
And guide our armies in the field? 
By party leal and passions hase, 
Exiled fh)m power, and driven fk'om placet 

Who fill the void ! What names succeed? 
Bead the bright list — exult and readl 
Alston and Johnson, Fisk, Desha, 
Porter and Piper, Pond and Rhea, 
Omndy, and Hufty, and Lefevre, 
Bammons and Stow, and Shaw, and Bearer, 
Newton, McCoy, McKim. McKee, 
Bmilie, and Troup, and Widgery I— 
And shall our nation's courage sink, 
E''en on perdition's awful brink. 
When such a eon.*>tellated train 
Her highest interests sust <ln ? 

I have already alluded to the " Hartford wita," of whom Mr. Dwig^•*. 
was one. Their reputation wa« chiefly founded upon a series of arti- 
cles which appeared in various pupcrs, and were collected and publiahed 
in 1807, under the title of the Echo — including other pieces*. They 
consisted of ^»ntircl*, niot>tly in the form of parodies and burlesques — 
with occassional pas«8npcs of a more Hcrious character. They attracted 
great attention at the time, and had a wliolesome effect in curing the 
public of a taste for ridiculous bomba&t, which then prevailed. The 
principal writers wore Mr. Dwight, his brother-in-law Richard Alsop, 
of Middletown, and Dr. Hopkins, of Hartford. Mr. Theodore Dwight, 
now of New York, the son of the author 1 am noticing, has shown me 
a volume in which the lines contributed by each of these persona aro 
marked, in the handwriting of his father. This suggests the manner 
in which the whole was written — one composing a few stanzas, then 
another taking the pen, and then another. The characteristics of each 
of these several writers are clearly indicated, in compoaitionB having a 
general aspect of homogeneity. 


been a distinguished member of Congress. He had 
traveled in Europe, and was not ooly a man of large 
wealth, but he had a taste for hterature and art. Hia 
wife was daughter of the second Governor TrumbnU, 
and a very excellent example of the refined and dig- 
nified tady of the olden time. She had been at Phil- 

•InlhejMilSn twork vu psblliliul In Boiloii, ailed 'SpKlmsnt of Ara«- 
IM* F«bT,' Jes, b^ a. KclML In ■ Uofnplilial ikeloh of Blfltaird Alsof, « 
'bkuUrHuI uwnDt i> fivca br Mr. KatnO. and whfch bat Imii 

■TtwUntamnbcrof tlx Babo >pp«nd lo th* A.ui<rl«n Hamniy, U Rudbr^ 
Id ABguU. 1791. It ou written ■( Ulddletown, by BIchard Alaop uid Tbaodot* 
Dni^bL TlM utfaan, U Ib« tlm* of nrlUng lu had no eipmUllon uf lU Ulb( 
publUbHl: Ih*JrKlaob>«l WHto unuBe tlitmKlvea, ud iircw of Uielr periotud 
MrndL Th*KSD*nlucounti>flt9origtii la ^ved <n Ibeiircfueor the valuineln 
"bleb Ibe noinbsra v/fie ^i-rwird B)llcc<.jr1,«nd pnbHillwt In Ne" Ti-rt. A Tew 
linrt In Ihe eo«rM of It neio -rittcn by Ibree of thpir Wtenij frlpndn. vlt ; Dr. 
U. F. Cuggawell. Ellbn H. Srnlih. and Lemofl Ilupklnn. Dr. Hopkins »n>t« 

•Tbs 'PsIIUcil Gnen-Houu' his wrltUn bj Alwp, Hopkins, and D«l«hl. In 
uncqntl proportions" 

I Ltaiak it TDa7 be remartced that, in these oamposlUoaa, DwiRlit bLovb 
tliB mOBt biilliknt fnQcy acd playful wit, Aleop the brondest humor, 
AQii IIcplilnH tbe moat ariginal and cniBliin^ satire. Frcncti Jaoobin- 
i?ni. witli all ita brood of infldelity, rudiCHliBtn, aiid IicentiouBiie«s, is 
ttie especial objeet of attack througbout, and ia justly and unsparing); 

Though Mr. Dwight is perhaps chiefly known u the author of eatirioal 
veneii, and aa a aomeirhiit severe though able political wrilar, he wae in 
prinla life one ofthemotit pure, disinlcreated, and amiable of mea. He 
had su almost womanly MDsibilily to human suflering; he naf true to 
friendship, and infleiihiy devoted to what ho deemed Che cause of truth, 

peoed before, in which Che liwrnry maa eeetns a vindictive satirist, while 
ths aodal mto— fMend, neighbor, Tatber, huBbaod— ii fnll of the milk 


wiieiL ber &ihar was member of CongieaB^ 
and recited manT izLteresdng anecdotes of Washing- 
ton and Hamilton, and other great men, whom she 
had there seen. I was often at the hoose, and here 
frequentlj saw her Uncle, CoL TrumboIL the artist, 
with his European wife, about whom there was an 
impenetrable mTstery. She was a beantifol woman, 
and of elegant manners : her features are well pre- 
served in her husband s portrait of her, in the Trum- 
bull Gallerr, at Tale College. It was rumored that 
she was the daughter of an Enelish earL but her 
name and lineage were never divulged.* 

of homan kiiL«inew« He had gj^ai AbUici«0, and oohr mLsMd a penna- 
n«nt repGtaSioa bj settin^r too ILfht a ral::« open his performances, anti 
thod aoc bricuiarir shem ap to a hiar^er staavLird of criticism. He wrote 
U>3 mach and Cdo rapidLv for la&tio; fime. 

* Mr. Wad:»vortii vas one of the few rich men who know how to 
make a good distribaiion of their wealth. Bis charities daring hia life- 
*lime were nameroois and bestowed with kindnesa and judgment. He 
founded at Hartford the Wad^worth Athenennif which ia an Lntereatinjif 
and tuefal institution, indading many antiquities, works of art^ and a 
Talaable his^torical library. 

Among the interestiog objects connected with the city of Hartibrd, 
is his country-seat on TaIcoa*s moontain— embracing a lake, a tower, 
and other attractions. The sitoation is beaatifhl, and the whole is taste- 
fully arranged. To the west of it lies the ralley of Farmington river, 
txhibiUag a varied landscape of winding streams, swelling hills, and 
sultivated fields, all seen through the enchanting azure of distance. To 
he east is the Connecticut, rolling proudly through its borders, crowned 
fith the rid^st cultivation, and dotted with towns and villages, pre- 
.enting some thirty spires in a single view. 

The scene presented to the eye firom the top of this tower — which rises 
t«eventy feet above its platform, situated upon a high point of rock — ^is 
indeed unrivaled. The immediate objects beneath — the tasteful villa, 
the quiet lake, and, rising up from its shores — 

** Rocks, xnoanda. and knolls, conftasedly burled, 
The fragments of an earlkr worid" — 

•nggettuig a rosemblanoe to the wild borders of Looh Katrine, oonsth 



It was, I believe, through Mr. Wadsworth's influenc&\ 
that Miss Huntlj, now Mrs. Sigourney, was induced ) 
to leave her home in Norwich, and nia.tfi ^iirtCird / 
her residence. This occurred about the year 1814/ 
Koisel^y and gracefully she glided into our young 
social circle, and ere long waa its presiding geniuA 
1 shall not write her history, nor dilate upon her lit 
erary career — for who does not know them both by 
heart? Yet I may note her influence in this new re- 
lation — a part of which fell upon mysel£ Mingling 
in the gayelies of our .social gatherings, and io no re- 
spect clouding their lestivity, she led ua all toward 
intellectual pursuits and amusements. We had even [ 
a literary cotery under her inspiration, its first meet- 
ings being held at Mr. Wadsworth's. I believe one of 
my earliest attempts at composition was made here. 
The ripples thus begun, extended over the whole 
surface of our young society, producing a lasting and 
refining effect. It could not but be beneficial thus to 
mingle in intercourse with one who has the angelic 
faculty of seeing poetry in all things, and good every- 
where. Few persons living have exercised a wider 
infiuence than Mrs. Sigourney; no one that I now 
know, can look back upon a long and earnest career 
of such unblemished beneficence. 

tnte s rare «!»enihl»ge of bcuatiful nnd striking groups. II is end to 
110— butitgivBBinB 


lit =arrs» — ^sn^^s^kFrnnAZ, 

It III* mnvzuss -r^iT-' — :r V- Wnirvrrth, IiVi^d 

aTj J * z w^_ 1 r' J *^isj iz i zriiiL-. ::5 ic ires?. Iz -rirly 

OTi'i fxy/^-JOL-fclT "a-r:-^ Trrse* ii^iz^ n-rr^e !!r?i:'i*?i::Iv 
<il" tbf; MOJiiiTjeLTiu "/iain tl-r sarin' :-il iini. His iiizb- 
tvr, Aliw^ was d«if and i:inr. i; Te sreik :: tie ear 
mill iIh; lip; yet her so-il h-eari izi 5r«:ke :- i.-fr eves 
nnd luT countenance. Sie exc::«ri -i.iTrrs5l interest 
bv lifT Hwectness of charac-^r. nazners. and arrear- 
ntuv»; shi^ was, in truth, an e!«>^uen: ani jrersuasive 
liMMufor ui>on the language, and beairr. and imnior- 
ImIiiv of the soul — that lives above and bevond the 

Mr. iJnlliuulot, the founder of the Deaf and Dumb 
\i\ \\\\\\ :\\ Hartford, was a person of very diminutive 
'.<:^t\in\ with IX smooth, placid physiognomy — irradia- 
i.s^, h.nvovor, by a n^markably large, expressive eye, 
\^^*nu; rti vou ovor his spectacles. Of a frail and 
\x »'M>* >sNnst«t\ition, and a mind of no great compass, 
*».^ *i\\\ \Ni\vsvss<hI two faculties which rendered his 
, o>s \ V •^^v^^'UJ*. 11*' '^•^^l ^ clearness and precision in 
\\>- \^^5^^M^t^^^.s whioh nMulorcd his mental opera- 
, ,-v ,»;nuv.( ;js r\;u*t and certain as the movements 
,M \n.xl».r/.;Mn. It was this which enabled him to 
\\\ r .^ < \\w olrturnts of the art of teaching the deaf 
^\\s\ s\\\\\\\\ rtud to oArry that art — in its uses as well 

iM )^)uUviii^)\)^v ^i\>atly lx\youd its condition when 


he entered upon it. This principle in the head was 
im[^>elled to action bj another in the heart — a deep 
conviction that it was his duty to be useful to hia 
fellow-tnen. It is pleasing to observe how wide and 
ample a field may be harveated by a good man, even 
though be may not be a giant or a genius 1 

I must here tell you an anecdote still fresh in my 
recollection. When President Monroe made hia tour 
through the New-England States, in the summer of 
1817, the asylum was a novelty, and naturally enough 
was the pride of the good citizens of Hartford. Of 
course, the President Vioa inviled to see the perlbrm- 
ances of the new institution. He was scarcely out of 
his carriage, and delivered from the noise and confu- 
sion of his reception — for all the world turned out to 
see him — before he was hurried down to the place 
where the school was then kept. 

A high central platform was prepared, like a 
throne, for the great man, and here he took his seat 
Around were the spectators; on one side was Mr. 
Gallaudet, and Mr. Clerc, the well-known deaf and 
dumb professor from the school of the Abb6 Sicard, 
in Paris. Mr. Gallaudet was a man of admirable ad- 
dress, and all being ready, he said to the President, 
in his smooth, seductive way — 

" If your Excellency will be so kind as to ask some 
question, I will repeat it to Mr. Clerc on my fingers, 
and he will write an answer on the slate, to show the 
manner and &cility of conversation by signs." 


The Piesidenty who was exeecdinglj jaded by 
joamejy looked obfascated: bat he changed the 
positioa of his legs^ showing a coiiiciou^ness of the 
qiiesti<M^ and then fell into a very brown stndv. 
ETerybody expected something profound — equal to 
the occasion, and worthy of the chief magistrate ol 
the greatest nation on the fiiee of the globe. We 
waited a long time, ereiy minute seeming an hour, 
thzoo^ our impatience. At last it became awkward, 
and Mr. Gallaudet insinuated — 

^^ If your Excellency will be so kind as to ask some 
question, I will repeat it on my fingers to Mr. Clerc, 
and he will write an answer on the slate, to show the 
manner and fsKulity of conversing by signs." -* 

The President again changed the position of his 
legs, and again meditated. We all supposed he was 
at the very bottom of the abyss of philosophy, hunt- 
ing up some most profound and startling interroga- 
tion. Expectation was on tiptoe; every eye was 
leveled at the oracular lips, about to utter the amaz- 
ing proposition. Still, he only meditated. A long 
time passed, and the impatience became agonizing. 
Again Mr. Gallaudet, seeming to fear that the great 
man was going to sleep, roused him by repeating his 
request The President at last seemed conscious; his 
eye twinkled, his lips moved, sounds issued from his 
mouth — 

"Ask him — how old he is!" — was the profound 





Dr. Pmital—Hit tarly Li/t—IIii fuMo-'t aU^mpI (c rt>ir» hii S/tyHu 
OalUye Ij/t—Ua F%rH Lnt—Bu Mfdiail Erp.i-imr*-~ Ita J'i-Uail a»- , 
m^—Ait tahcard Parilim—TTu Saddle rn> kit atim Bai'i—Ciioptr 
and Pmaval «t tlu Oily Bolrl— PMifolwn ff Jw Pimia at A'tm 
r-rb—Tfit EiiUiir* in SngUnd—Otluf Litenff AtofftUinu—tlit SU- 
Hon at Witt FoiiO—nit gmu Jjtammg—A-wtanet <if Dr. Wttiltr M 
iu JliHU*arf—.1ltU Otoisglit in Onutaetkut^la WitmiU—Oit 
DmlA—aUonltiif&i, OiaraeUr. 

I am glad to fiml, by yoiir recent letter, that you 
approve of ray hasty sketches of the men I have seen 
and known — even though they are not all of that 
general celebrity which creates, in advance, an inter- 
est in their behalf. No doubt the portrait of a man, 
whose renown has filled our ears, is more gratifying 
than one which merely presents the liueamcnla of an 
unknown, unheard-of individual. Yet every picture 
which is life-like— which possesses an obvious veri- 
similitude — is pleasing, especially if it seems to repre- 
sent a type of some class of men, which we have seen 
in life. It is mainly upon this principle that the ficti- 
tious heroes and heroines of romance, interest us as 
deeply as even the celebrities of history. As I describe 
tilings I have seen, I hope my delineations may have 
so much seeming truth as to amuse you, even though 
they possess only that interest which attaches to all 
true pictures of humanity. I say this, not as an in- 


troduction, especially suited to this chapter, for I am 
now going to speak of names that are familiar to you : 
I make these reflections upon your letter, only as a 
precaution against any criticisms you may offer upon 
the less pretentious miniatures scattered through these 

The news comes, even while I write, that Percival, 
the poet, is dead ! Yes — one by one, those I have 
known and cherished, are falling around me. Few 
of my early acquaintances are left, and I am but a lin- 
gerer among the graves of early friendship and love I 

James Gates Percival was a native of Berlin,* the 
residence of my family, and I knew him well. His 
father was a physician — a man of ability, and of res- 
olute and energetic character. His mother was by 
nature of a susceptible and delicate organization, and 
she seems to have imparted to her son these qualities, 
with a tendency to excessive mental development. 
He early manifested a morbid shyness and shrink- 
ing sensitiveness, which his father sought to cure by 
harsh measures. On one occasion he put the child 
behind him on horseback, and rode into the thickest 
of a sham fight, during a regimental muster. The 
result was, that the boy was almost thrown into con- 

Dr. Percival died when James was still young, and 

* Berlin consists of tliree parishes — Worth ingt on, where my father 
resided, New Britain, and Kensington. The latter was Peroival's birth- 

after a time his motber married a respectable fertapr of 
th(> village by the name of Porter. The young Percl- 
va! made extraordinary progress in his studies, but wna 
little understood by those around him. He entered col- 
lege at the age of sixteen, and speedily attracted alten* 
tion by his acquisitions and his compositions. At this 
period he was often at my father's house, in Berlin, and 
beingauhjecl to paroxysms of great depression of spir- 
its, he deeply excited the interest of my motber. Al- 
though, on the whole, he pursued hia education with 
avidity and ambition, yet he often wandered forth in ' 
loneaomc places, nursing a moody melancholy, and 
at one period, he actually contemplated suicide. From 
this he was diverted — mainly, I believe, by my moth- 
er's timely counsel and other kindly offices. 

About this time he was frequently in the society 
of a beautiful and accomplished young lady of the 
neigliborhood; he botanized with her in the fields, 
and poetized with her in the library, and at last he 
thought himself in love. Months thus ran pleasantly 
on, when one day he made up his mind to give her 
a delicate hint of his condition. He did so, I believe, 
in verse. The young lady replied in plain prose, 
that she was engaged, and was speedily to be mar- 
ried ! The poet came to the conclusion that this was 
a deceitful world, and wrote Byronic verses. In 1820 
he published a volume of poeras, including the first 
part of his Prometheus. 

Having studied medicine, he went to South Caro- 


Una the same year, and established himself at Charles- 
ton, as a physician. He told me afterward, that, at 
the end of some months, he had one patient, afiflicted 
with sore lips. He prescribed a dose of salts, gratis, 
and this was a pretty fair example of his practioe. 

" I had got my name up for writing verses," said 
he, " and found myself ruined." 

"How so?" saidL 

" When a person is really ill, he will not send tot 
a poet to cure him," was his answer. 

Having little else before him, he directed his at 
tention to literature, and published the first number 
of his Clio, 1822. Soon after, he returned to the 
North, and produced some miscellanies in pioae and 
verse. At this period, he had excited a deep interest 
in the public mind, as well by his writings as his 
somewhat eccentric life and manners. The melan- 
choly which pervaded his poetry, with fugitive pieces 
of great feeling and tenderness, together with a certain 
wildness in his air and manner, rendered him an ob- 
ject of general curiosity, and in many cases of deep 
sympathy. Of all this he seemed unconscious, and 
walked the world like one who neither accepted nor 
desired its fiiendship. 

In the spring of 1823, 1 was walking up Broadway 
in New York, and met hira. I had been intimate 
with him for several previous years, having often 
seen him at my father's house ; but I now observed, 
that on seeing me, he turned aside, and evidently 



souglit to avoid me. This waa what I expected, for 
such was his habit of shrinking shyness, that it embar- 
rassed him to meet even an old friend. I put myself 
in his way, and, after a few words of recognition, 
perceiving something more than usually downcast in 
his ajjpearance, I asked him what waa the occasion 
of it. At first he denied that any thing had hap- 
j>ened, but at length, with some reluctance, he told 
rae he had been making a tour to the North, and 
was out of money. His trunk was consequently de* 
tained on board the packet la which he had ooma 
down from Albany ! 

Percival had some patrimony, and though his means 
were narrow, they might have been sufBcient for hia 
comfort, with good management. But common sense 
— in the economy of life — was, unhappily, not one of 
bis endowments. When he waa about fifteen years 
old, his friends gave him fifty dollars, mounted him on 
a horse, and told him to ride till he had spent half his 
money, and then turn about and come home — think- 
ing him competent to fulfill this simple programme. 
He rode on for two or three days, when he found that 
the horse's back waa sadly galled. Shocked at what 
seemed an inhumanity — for his feelings were exquis- 
itely tender— he resolved immediately to return. He 
would not mount the animal, for this would but ag- 
gravate its misery ; so he set out on foot, and led the 
creature hehind him. The saddle, however, still irri- 
tated the wound, and Percival, taking it &om the 


animal's back, threw it over his own shoulder, and 
thus trudged home. I was familiar with this and other 
similar anecdotes. Thus knowing his imbecility in 
the common affairs of life, it did not surprise me to 
find him now without money, and in a state of com- 
plete bewilderment as to what should be done. 

I gave him ten dollars, which he received and put 
into his pocket, making no reply — for such was his un- 
demonstrative habit and manner. I asked him to dine 
with me the next day at the City Hotel, to which he 
agreed. I invited Mr. Cooper — the novelist — to meet 
him, and he came. It is not easy to conceive of two 
persons more strongly contrasting with each other. 
As they sat side by side at the table, I noted the dif- 
ference. Mr. Cooper was in person solid, robust, 
athletic : in voice, manly ; in manner, earnest, em- 
phatic, almost dictatorial — with something of self- 
assertion, bordering on egotism. The first effect was 
unpleasant, indeed repulsive, but there shone through 
all this a heartiness, a frankness, which excited con- 
fidence, respect, and at last affection. 

Percival, on the contrary, was tall and thin, his 
chest sunken, his limbs long and feeble, his hair silk- 
en and sandy, his complexion light and feminine, his 
eye large and spectral, his whole air startled, his atti- 
tudes shy and shrinking, his voice abashed and whis- 
pering. Mr. Cooper ate like a man of excellent ap- 
petite and vigorous digestion : Percival scarce seemed 
to know that he was at the table. Cooper took his 


wine as if hia lip appreciated it : Percival swallowed 
his, evidently without knowing or caring whether it 
was wine or water. Yet these two men conversed 
plensantly together. After a time Percival was drawn 
out, and the stores of his mind were poured forth u 
from a oomucopia. I could see Coopcr'a gray eje 
dilate with delight and surprise. 

I had a design in bringing these two men together, 
and this was to have a handsome edition of Percival'fl 
poems published for his benefit, and under suoh infla* 
ences as to make it profitable to him. The matter 
was talked over between us, and before we parted, it 
was all arranged. I at once drew up a prospectus, 
and had it printed. I wrote a contract between 
Percival and the publisher, Charles Wiley, and had 
it duly signed. Mr. Cooper took the prospectus in 
hand, and aided by the powerful assistance of Mr. 
Bronson, Percival'a college classmate, the subscrip- 
tion was actively pushed. The fairest ladies of New 
York gave a helping hand, and before I left the 
city, three hundred subscribers were secured. Pro- 
vision had also been made for Percival's immediate 
comfort ; lodgings were furnished, and he was forth- 
with to prepare the copy for the promised volume. 
I returned to Hartford, but in a fortnight, got a letter 
asking me if I knew what had become of our poet ? 
Some weeks passed, during which time he was among 
the missing. At last it was discovered that he had 
beeQ auaoyed by a fiddliug Frenchman, near hia 


room, and had fled to New Haven. There he had 
entered into another contract for the publication of 
his poems 1 

It required some weeks to disentangle the affair from 
all these diflBculties. At last, however, after many 
delays and annoyances, the copy was furnished, and 
the book printed. At that time I was on the point 
of going to Europe. I delayed a fortnight to get a 
perfect copy, so that I might take it with me — in or- 
der to secure its publication in England, for Perci- 
val's benefit. At last I departed, having obtained the 
unbound sheets of a single copy. I sailed from New 
York in the packet ship Canada — Percival accompa- 
nying me in the steamboat Nautilus, from White- 
hall, to the vessel, which lay out in the stream. I 
believe he regarded me as one of his best friends, but 
as we shook hands, and I bade him farewell, he said 
coldly, " Good-by" — his pale and spectral counte- 
nance showing not a ray of emotion. 

Soon after reaching London, however, I received a 
copy of the New York Commercial Advertiser, dated 
Nov. 17, 1823, in which I read the following — there 
being a small ** P." in ink, at the bottom. I copy it 
from the file of the New York Spectator of Nov. 17, 
1823— then edited by W. L. Stone. 

The Canada. — We never saw a ship spread ber broad wings 
to tbe breeze and go out to sea in finer style than did the ship 
Canada yesterday. We received this morning the following 
effosion from a gentleman who accompanied a friend on board, 

msmsto/iL, ASTBCDonoAT^ Bra 

adH had wal«li6d the vessel rrom iLe steamboat till ahs n 

in the lilae distance, and have no doubt tiat oar friends will re*- 1 

ogm/e the author. 


The g*1luit Eli[p in out >I s«a, 

ProQiilj o'er [be water going ; 
Along hor aides Ui8 bLbws flee, 

Back in ber wtka ■ river aoning. 
Bbo dips her elem In meet tho wave, 

And high the ton'd foKin carle belbre it : 
A* if abe iblt the chser we gave. 
She takes her flight, 
Where the oe* looks brlglit, 
And tiiB BBii in aparklea flishea o'er it. 

eaOmUij » aba ouU ber nj— 

And now in distanca Gir is fleeUng, 
lliere are some on board wboae hearla ars gtj. 

And some whosa hearts are wildly beatiiig. 
Lond waa the cheer her acacoeQ gave, 

As back they eeot our welcome cheering — 
Hlny a hand waa aeen to wave, 

And hi: 


They ba^e parted, 

Heacen send thi 
They parted not for eternity. 

Our hands Hhall soon be li 

And the tops of tlic ruBlet 

Ab proudly on the vof^el fla 

Like tbe featber'd king 

ind gentle weather! 

I knew Percival too well to feel hurt at his cool 
good-by — nevertheless, it was a pleasure to have this 
evidence of his feeling aud hia friendship. On reach- 
ing London, I made a contract with John Miller for 


the publication of the poems in two volumes 12mo— 
half the profits to go to the author. I also wrote for 
it a brief biographical notice. A very handsome 
edition soon appeared, and attracted some attention, 
but excited no enthusiasm in London. On the whole, 
the publication was a failure. The edition of one 
thousand copies was not sold, but I subsequently in- 
duced Miller to send to Percival one hundred copies, 
as his share of the proceeds. This was all he ever 
received from the English edition. 

After my return to America, I frequently met Per- 
cival, but never under circumstances which renewed 
our intimacy. Indeed, by this time he had become 
confirmed in his habits of abstraction in life and 
manner, which rendered it difficult to enter into his 
thoughts or feelings. He even seemed misanthrop- 
ical, and repelled, as an offense, every thing that 
jealousy could suspect to be either interested or in- 
tended as a gratuity or a favor. There were many 
persons ready — nay desirous — to render him efficient 
service, but they did not kno^ how to approach him. 

In 1824 he was appointed assistant surgeon in the 
United States army, and professor of chemistry in 
the Military Academy at West Point. This station 
he soon abandoned, being disgusted, as he told me, 
with one part of his duty — which was to examine 
recruits, by inspection of their persons, and ascertain- 
ing their weight, height, &c. About this time he was 
employed and liberally paid by Mr. Samuel Walker, 


of Boston, in editing an extensive edition of " Elegant 
Extracte," both in verse and in prose; and afterward 
in editing Malte Brun's lar^e Geography, adding 
thereto numoroua useful notes. About this period 
he was also engaged in assisting Dr. Webster, in pre- 
paring his quarto dictionary. In 1836, he received 
from Connecticut a government appointment to assist 
in a geological survey of the State. He entered upon 
this duty, and his report was published in 1842. In 
1S52, be received a similar appointment for the State 
of Wisconsin, and made his first report in 1855, Ha 
waa ritUl eug&^tid ill Una duly, wheu liis career waa 
suddenly terminated by death, which took place at 
Hazelgreen, in the State of Wisconsin, May, 1856. 

With all the knowledge I possess of Dr. Percival'a 
life and character, he is still, to me, somewhat of an 
enigma. That he waa a man of powerful imagina- 
tion and an intellect of great capacity, is manifest : 
his poems prove the one — his amazing acquisitions, 
the other. That his understanding waa even of lar- 
ger scope and measure than his fancy, is, I think, 
apparent, for he not only had a vast range of knowl- 
edge — precise and reliable obedient to recollection 
as the stores of a cyclopedia — yet his powers of com- ' 
bination, bia judgment, were of the very first order. 
This was evinced, not only in his connection with 
Dr. Webster's Dictionary, already alluded to, by the 
nice discrimination he displayed in philological in- 
(\uirie8, and the exactitude with which he rendered 


the shadings of sense and meaning, in giving the 
definitions of words, but in the larger and grander 
surveys of geology — the largest and grandest of prac- 
tical sciences. Such compass and such precision ol 
knowledge — such power of exact as well as vast com- 
bination — are indeed marvelous. When we considei 
him in this aspect, and at the same time remember 
that thirty years ago he was captivating the world 
with his imaginative effusions, we have indeed a 
character of remarkable and almost contradictory ele- 

Yet it must be added that, on the whole, his life 
was a complete shipwreck. He lived to excite admi- 
ration and wonder ; yet in poverty, in isolation, in a 
complete solitude of the heart. He had not, I think, 
a single vice ; his life was pure, just, upright. How 
then did he fail ? The truth seems to be, that he was 
deficient in that sympathy which binds man to man, 
and hence he was an anomaly in the society among 
which he dwelt — a note out of tune with the great 
harmony of life around him. He was a grand in- 
tellect, a grand imagination, but without a heart. 
That he was born with a bosom full of all love 
and all kindness, we can not doubt ; but the golden 
bowl seems to have been broken, almost at the fount- 
ain. By the time he was twenty, he began to stand 
aloof from his fellow-man. I think he had been deep- 
ly injured — nay ruined — by the reading of Byron's 
works, at that precise age when his soul was in all 


I tte sensitive bloom of spring, and its killing frost of 

atheism, of misanthropy, of pride, and scorn, fell upon 
it, and converted it into a scene of desolation. The 
want of a genial circle of appreciation, of love aod 
friendship, around his early life, left this malign influ- 
ence to deepen his natural shyness into a positive and 
habituftl self- banishment from his fellow-man. Such 
is the sad interpretation I put upon hla career.* 

i - i 


Afia Waytidi NoUt—nt Pott Bfainard—fTu _firil Jntraluaion— Sip- 
leg I Tacen—AaTU Lucy—Tht liUie batt-fwlor—BrainarJ'i Offict- 
Ari/cd'.U—Tht iMsWi Dun— Tin Una on Niagara^Otlur Putmt— 
Oat that ii on tin Sea— Vie tiea-bird't Song— Publication of BrainanCt 
Pvemi — Gemrai Jienarkt — J/it Dt<tt^- 

I have told you that in the autumn of 1823 I 
set out to visit Europe; but a few previous events 
are needful to bring my narrative to that epoch. In 
182 1 , clouds and darkness began to gather around my 
path. By a fall from a horse, I was put upon crutches 

• Tlie nolico of Dr. Poroivfti in Ketlell's Spaoiuieni of Ameriean 
Po«ta, WB8 written at my requost by Rev, HojiJ Robbins, of Keiising- 
toti parisb, Berlin, in which tlie poet lived. It is a beautiful uiiil just 
sppreciatioii of his characlcr nt that timii. I know of no person »o eoni- 
petfiit as he to ifiva the weriii a biography of Fercival. Ho is familiar 
with the lietailM of his wholo career, and e^pcoially wiili the earlier por- 
tions of his life, and is, moreover, master of all tl-c qualiHcations requi- 
*ite to give iDtcreat uid value to aach a work 


for more than a year, and a cane for the rest of my 
life. Ere long death entered my door, and my home 
was desolate. I was once more alone — save only that 
a child was left me, to grow to womanhood, and to 
die a youthful mother, loving and beloved* — Cleaving 
an infant soon to follow her to the tomb. My affairs 
became embarrassed, my health failed, and my only 
hope of renovation was in a change of scene. 

* Sweet Spirit passed I 'Tis not for thee 
Oar bitter tears unmeasured flow — 
Thy path to Heaven is traced, but we, 
With grieving heart, must writhe below I 

We mourn thy lost yet loving tone, 
That made endearing names more dear, 

And touched with music all its own 
The warm fond hearts that clustered near. 

We mourn thy form — thy spirit bright, 
Which shone so late mid bridal flowers — 

And yet could pour angelic light 
Across the last tempestuous hours I 

We mourn for thee — so sudden-flown, 

When leaiit we thought from thee to sever- 
As if some star we deemed our own, 
At brightest hour had set forever I 

Unpitying Fate 1 thy dark designs 
Can spare the weary, wasted, bent, 

7et crush the fairest thing that shines 
Where peace and joy have pitched their tent I 

Could not the youthful mother claim 
Exemption from thy stern decree I 

Could not the child that li»ped her name. 
Extort one pitying tear from thee f 

Ah, human woes are not thy care ! 

The lightning, in its plunge of wrath, 
Turns not, with heedful thought, to spare 

The buzzing insect in its path I 


But before I give jou a sketch of my experieinje 
and observaliona abroad, I must preseDt one portrail 
more— that of my friend Brainard." He camo to 
Hartford in February, 1822, to take the editorial 
charge of the Counectieut Mirror — Mr. Stone, as I 
have slated, having lefl it a short time before. Ho 
was now twenty-six years old, and hod gained some 
repututioD for wit and poetical laltnt. Ouc day a 
young man, small in stature, with a curious misturs 
of ease and awkwardness, of humor and humility, 
came into my office, and introduced himself as Mr. 
Brainarcl. I gave him a hearty welcome, for I had 
heard veiy pleasant accounts of him, As was natu- 
ral, X made a complimentaty allusion to his poems, 

Forgive Qs, Heaven I if Ihna W6 monm 

T].B lost on emh-thc bleat sbove- 

So ruilel; troia our bosom torn, 

■With lU iu diugliiB lies of love 1 

One brighl, blent spot of Bunshine pliyed 

Yet tbers the elouda h.vo east their shade 

And there the deepeet ahadowg re»t 1 

• JohD Gardiner Caulkine Braiaard waa the youngest eon of Jeremiah 

G. BmoJrd, of New London, judge of the enpreme court, whom 1 have 

»lre»dj menliooed in the history of mj military adventures in 1818. Ilia 

two elder brother*, Wiliiun F., a lawyer, and Dyer, a physician, were 

boLli men otwil and learning; the first died some fears sioce, tlie Uttel 

iint)ll living. John, of whom 1 now write, waa born in 1795, educated 

at Yale, prepared for tba law, and settled at Middletown 1819. He died 

at Kcw Loudon, in 1828. The portrait of him in Ueaara. Duyokiueka' 

"CSglopwdia of American Literature," is from an engraving in tht 

Token for 1830, and that is Uben from a miniature I had painted oV 

him, by our mutual friend, Tiedale. 11 was from recollecljon, bnt givea 



which I had seen and admired. A smile, yet shaded 
with something of melancholy, came over his face, as 
he replied — 

" Don't expect too much of me ; I never succeeded 
in any thing yet. I never could draw a mug of cider 
without spilling more than half of it !" 

I afterward found that much truth was thus spoken 
in jest : this was, in point of fact, precisely Brain- 
ard's appreciation of himself. All his life, feeling 
that he could do something, he still entertained a 
mournful and disheartening conviction that, on the 
whole, he was doomed to failure and disappoint- 
ment. There was sad prophecy in this presentiment 
— a prophecy which he at once made and fulfilled. 

We soon became friends, and at last intimates. 
I was now boarding at "KipleyV — a good old 
fashioned tavern, over which presided Major Rip- 
ley, respected for revolutionary services, an amiable 
character, and a long Continental queue. In the 
administration of the establishment he was ably 
supported by his daughter. Aunt Lucy — the very 
genius of tavern coui-tesy, cookery, and comfort. 
Here Brainard joined me, and we took our rooms 
side by side. Thus for more than a year we were 
together, as intimate as brothers. He was of a child- 
like disposition, and craved constant sympathy. He 
soon got into the habit of depending upon me in 
many things, and at last — especially in dull weather, 
or when he was sad, or something went wrong with 

HI8TOKI0AI) AHaGDanOAL, xia 145 

lum — ^he crept into mj bed, as if it was his right. 
At that period of gloom in mj own fortunes, this 
was as well a solace to me as to him. After mj re- 
turn from Europe we resumed these relations, and for 
some months more we were thus together. 

Brainard's life has been frequently written. The 
sketch of him in Kettell's " Specimens," I furnished, 
soon after his death. Mr. Bobbins, of Berlin, wrote 
a beautiful biographical memoir of him for Hopkins' 
edition of his poems, published at Hartford, in 1842. 
A more elaborate notice of his life, character, and 
genius, had been given in Whittier's edition of his 
"Eemains," 1832. To this just and feeling memoir, 
by a kindred spirit — one every way qualified to ap- 
preciate and to illustrate his subject — I have now 
nothing to add, except a few personal recollections — 
such as were derived from my long intercourse and 
intimacy with him. 

Perhaps I cannot do better than to begin at once, 
and give you a sketch of a single incident, which will 
reflect light upon many others. The scene opens in 
Miss Lucy*s little back-parlor — a small, cozy, carpet- 
ed room, with two cushioned rocking-chairs, and a 
bright hickory fire. It is a chill November night, 
about seven o'clock of a Friday evening. The Mirror 
— Brainard's paper — is to appear on the morning of 
the morrow, it being a weekly sheet, and Saturday its 
day of publication. The week has thus far passed, 

und he has not written for it a line. How the days 
Vol. II.— 7 


have gone lie can hardly tell. He has read a litth 
dipped into Byron, pored over the last Waverley 
novel, and been to see his friends ; at all events, he 
had got rid of the time. He has not felt competent 
to bend down to his work, and has put it off till the 
last moment. No further delay is possible. He is 
now not well; he has a cold, and this has taken the 
shape of a swelling of the tonsils, almost amounting 
to quinsy, as was usual with him in such attacks. 

Miss Lucy, who takes a motherly interest in him, 
tells him not to go out, and his own inclinations sug- 
gest the charms of a quiet evening in the rocking- 
chair, by a good fire — especially in comparison with 
going to his comfortless oflSce, and drudging for the 
inky devils of the press. He lingers till eight, and 
then suddenly rousing himself, by a desperate effort, 
throws on his cloak and sallies forth. As was not 
uncommon, I go with him. A dim fire is kindled 
in the small Franklin stove in his office, and we sit 
down. Brainard, as was his wont, especially when 
he was in trouble, falls into a curious train of reflec- 
tions, half comic and half serious. 

" Would to heaven," he says, " I were a slave. I 
think a slave, with a good master, has a good time 
of it. The responsibility of taking care of himself— 
the most terrible burden of life — is put on his mas- 
ter's shoulders. Madame Roland, with a slight altera- 
tion, would have uttered a profound truth. She 
shovdd have said — * Oh, liberty, liberty, thou art a 



hmnbng 1' After all, liberty is the greatest possible 
slavery, for it puts upon & man the responsibility of 
takJDg care of himself. If he goes wrong — why he's 
damned ! If a slave sins, he's onJy iiogged, and gets 
over it, and there's an end of it. Now, if I could 
only be flogged, and settle the matter that way, I 
should be perfectly happy. But here comes my tor- 

The door is now opened, and a boy with a toosclcd 
head and inky countenance, enters, saying curtly — 
" Copy, Mr. Brainard !" 

" Come in fifteen minutes !" eays the editor, with a 
droll mixture of fun and despair. 

Brainard makes a few observations, and sits down 
at his little narrow pine table — hacked along the edges 
with many a restless penknife. He seems to notice 
these marks, and pausing a moment, says — 

" This table reminds me of one of ray brother Wil- 
liam's stories. There was an old man in Groton, who 
had but one child, and she was a daughter. Wbeu 
she was about eighteen, several young men came to 
Bee her. At last she picked out one of them, and 
desired to marry him. He seemed a fit match enough, 
but the father positively refused his consent. For a 
long time he persisted, and would give no reason for 
his conduct. At last, he took his daughter aside, and 
aaid — ' Now, Sarah, I think pretty well of this young 
man in general, but I've observed that he's given to 
whittling. There's no harm in that, but the point 


is this : he whittles and whittles, and never makes 
nothing ! Now I tell you, Vl\ never give my only 
daughter to such a feller as that I* Whenever BDl 
told this story, he used to insinuate that this whit- 
tling chap, who never made any thing, was me I At 
any rate, I think it would have suited me, exactly." 

Some time passed in similar talk, when at last 
Brainard turned suddenly, took up his pen and b^ 
gan to write. I sat apart, and left him to his work. 
Some twenty minutes passed, when, with a radiant 
smile'on his face, he got up, approached the fire, and 
taking the candle to light his paper, read as follows : 


'^ The thoughts are strange that crowd into my brun, 
While I look upward to thee. It would seem 
As if God pour'd thee from his * hollow hand,* 
And hung his bow upon thy awful front ; 
And spoke in that loud voice that seemM to him 
Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake, 
^ The sound of many waters ;^ and had bade 
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back, 
And notch his centres in the eternal rocks !^ 

He had hardly done reading, when the boy cama 
Brainard handed him the lines— K>n a small aciap of 
rather coarse paper-v^and told him to come again in 
half an hour. Before this time had elapsed, he had 
finished, and read me the following stanza : 

" Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we, 
That hear the qaestion of that voioe sablime f 

■■T«« Cll or Ni*. 


a MOta a okLy a bkid oh o al, mu 140 

<NiI what an an dw sotM that Bfw rang 
IVom war's Tain fanmpet bj thj thnndaring gida t 
Tw, wbat ia an ths riot nun oan make, 
In Ilia abort Ufa, to thy Tiinwaning roar t 
And yet, bold bKbblw, wbat art thoa to Him 
IFbo drown'd a world, and beap'd tha waten br 
AboTs its ItrftiiBt moimtaina I A B^t wiTe, 
Tbatbraathaaand whbiMraof its HakeHa might" 

Tbese lines having been fomUhedl, Bnunard left 
liis office, and we returned to Mias Lucy's parlor. "Ho 
aeemed ntterl j anconscions of wliat he had don& I 
praiaed the verses, bat he thought I only spoke vann- 
ly from inendly interest. The lines went forth, and 
piodaced a sensation of delight orer the whole coun- 
try. Almost every exchange paper that came to the 
office had extracted them : even then he would scarce 
believe that he had done any thing very clever. And 
thus, under these precise circumstances, were com- 
posed the most suggestive and sublime stanzas upon 
Niagara, that were ever penned. Brainard had never, 
as he told me, been within less than five hundred 
miles of the cataract, nor do I believe, that when he 
went to the office, he had meditated upon the sub- 
ject It was ooe of those inspiratiooa which come to 
the poet — and often come like the lightning — in the 
very midst of clouds and darkness. 

You will readily see, from the circumstances I have 
mentioned, that I knew the history of most of Bniin- 
ard's pieces, as they came out, from time to time, in 
his newspaper. I4early all of them were occasional 


— ^that is, suggested by passing events or incidents in 
the poet's experience. The exquisite lines beginning, 

" The dead leaves strew the forest walk, 
And withered are the pale wild-flowers" — 

appeared a few days after he had taken leave of a 
young lady from Savannah, who had spent a month 
at our hotel, and had left an impression upon his sen- 
sitive heart, which the lines, mournful and touching 
as they are, only reveal to those who witnessed his 
emotions. Many were struck off in the extreme exi- 
gencies of the devil's dun — his very claws upon him. 
In these cases, he doubtless resorted to the treasures 
of his mind, which seems to have been largely stored 
with the scenery of his native State, and the legends 
connected with them. Two elements, in nearly equal 
proportion, seemed to fill his soul — the humorous and 
the sublime — and often in such contiguity, or even 
mixture, as to heighten the effect of each — this, how- 
ever, being more noticeable in his conversation than 
his writings. It was sometimes amazing to watch 
the operations of his mind— even in moments of fa- 
miliarity, often starting from some trivial or perhaps 
ludicrous incident, into a train of the most lofty and 
sublime thought. I have compared him, in my own 
mind, to a child playing upon the sea-beach, who by 
chance picks up and winds a Triton's shell, or wan- 
dering into some cathedral, lays his finger upon the 
clavier of the organ, and falling upon the key-note of 


hia heart, draws from the inatroment all its sound- 
ing melody, 

I trust you will pardon ma if I give the history of 
one or two other poems, connected with my own ob- 
servation. I have told you that in the autumn of 1823, 
I went to Europe, and was absent for a year. On 
parting with Brainard, we mutually promised to writo 
each other, often. Yet I received not a line from him 
during my absence. I knew his habits and forgave 
}iim — though I was certainly pained by such neglect. 
Oa meeting him after my return, I alluded to this. 
Without aajing a word, he went away for a Khort 
time : on his Teturn, he put into my hands aicopy of 
the Mirror, which had appeared a few days before, 
and pointing to the lines — which I extract below — 
he left me. His reply, thus indicated, was indeed 
gratifying. You will understand that at the time, 
Lafayette had just arrived in the country. 



With gallant sail and b1 
Sweeping along the eplendid bay. 
That, throng'd hy thouaands, seems h 
The bearer of a precious freight, 
The Cadmns cornea ; And every wave 
Is glad the welcomed prow to lave : 
What are the ship and freight to m 
I look for One that's on the sea. 

" Welcome Fayette," the million cries 
From heart to heart the ardor flies, 



And drnm and bell and cannon noise. 
In concord with a nation^s voice, 
Is pealing through a grateful land, 
And all go with him. Here I stand, 
Musing on One that^s dear to me, 
Yet sailing on the dangerous sea. 

Be thy days happy here, Fayette I 
I Long may they be so— long — but yet 
f To me there's one that, dearest still, 
j Clings to my heart and chains my wilL 
His languid limbs and feverish head 
Are laid upon a sea-sick bed : 
Perhaps his thoughts are fix'd on me, 
While toss'd upon the mighty sea. 

I am alone. Let thousands throng 
The noisy, crowded streets along : 
Sweet be the beam of beauty's gaze — 
Loud be the shout that freemen rabe — 
Let patriots grasp thy noble hand. 
And welcome thee to Freedom's land- 
Alas I I think of none but he 
Who sails across the foaming sea ! 

I So when the moon is shedding light 
Upon the stars, and all is bright 
And beautiful ; when every eye 
Looks upward to the glorious sky ; 
How have I turn'd my silent gaze. 
To catch one little taper's blaze : 
'Twas from a spot too dear to me — 
The home of him that's on the sea. 

Ought I not to have been satisfied ? If you will 
compare these lines with those by Perdval, under 


circttmstances not altogether dissimilar, you will have 
the meaDS of comparing the two poets — the one feel- 
ing through the suggestions of his imaginatiou, the 
other esercising his imaginatioii through the impulse 
of his feelings, Percival was a poet of the faiicjr — 
Brainard, of the heart. 

Still one more passing note. The "Sea-Bird's Song" 
appears to me one of the most poetical eompoaitions 
iD Brainard's colle-ction, and the history of it can not 
be uninteresting. It was written some time after my 
return from England, and when I was again married 
and settled at Hartford. He was a frequent — almost 
daily visitor at our house, and took especial pleas- 
ure in hearing my wife sing. He had no skill in 
music, but, as with most persons of a sentimental 
turn, his choice always fell upon minors. One even- 
ing his ear caught up the old Welsh tune of " Taffy 
Murgan," which is, in point of fact, a composition of 
great power, especially when it is slowly and seri- 
ously executed. He was greatly affected by it, and 
some one suggested that he should compose a song 
to suit it. I remarked that I had often thought the 
song of a sea-bird, if treated with ballad simplicity 
and vigor, might be very effective. He began to 
ponder, and the next day brought a verse to try its 
rhylhiu with the music This being approved, he 
went on, and two days after, came with the whole 
poem, which he slightly altered and adapted upon 
hearing it sung. Having said thus much, pardon me 


for reciting the lines, and asking you to get some 
good ballad-singer to give it to you, in the cadence 
of the old Welch melody I have mentioned. Thus 
sung, it is one of the most thrilling compositions I 
have ever heard. 

THE sea-bird's SONG. 

On the deep is the mariner^s danger — 
On the deep is the mariner's death : 
Who, to fear of the tempest a stranger, 
Sees the last hahhle bnrst of his breath? 
ms the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, 

Lone looker on despair : 
The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird. 
The only witness there I 

Who watches their course, who so mildly 

Careen to the kiss of the breeze? 
Who lists to their shrieks, who so wildly 

Are clasped in the arms of the seas? 
Tis the sea-bird, &c. 

Who hovers on high o'er the lover. 

And her who has clung to his neck? 
Whose wing is the wing that can cover 

With its shadow the foondering wreck ? 
Tis the sea-bird, &c. 

Ky eye in the light of the billow. 

My wing on the wake of the wave, 
I shall take to my breast, for a pillow. 

The shrond of the fair and the brave I 
'Tis the sea-bird, &c. 

My foot on the iceberg has lighted 
When hoarse the wild winds veer aboat ; 

HnrroBiOAi., AmnDonoAL, rrc. ISS 

Mj eye, when the bark h benighted, 
Sees the lamp of tlie ligUtlionse go out I 
I'm the Bea-bird, eea-bird, Bea-binl, 

L«De looker on despair; 

The sen-bird, aea-bird, sea-bird, 

The only witness a.erel 

Where is there a song of more wild and impreasive 
iniBgery — exciting more deep and touching emotions, 
than this? 

These stanzas were written in the spring of 1826. 
The year before I had persuaded Brainard to make a 
collection of hia poems, and have them published. 
At first his lip curled at the idea, as being too preten- 
tions ; he insisted that he had done nothing to justify 
the publication of a volume. Gradually he began to 
think of it, and at length — March 14, 1825 — I induced 
him to sign a contract, authorizing me to make ar 
rangements for the work. He set about the prep 
aration, and at length — after much lagging and many 
lapses — the pieces were selected and arranged. When 
all was ready, I persuaded him to go to New York 
with me, to settle the matter with a pubhsher. I 
introduced him to Bliss & White, and they readily 
undertook it, on the terms of joint and equal profits. 
Thus appeared the little volume, with Bunyan's 
quaint rhyme for a motto — 

"Sorae said, 'John, print it' — others said, TTot bo;' 
Some said, 'It might do good' — others said, 'Nol' " 

I must note a slight incident which occurred at 


New York, illustrative of Brainard's character. He 
was keenly alive to every species of beauty, in nature 
and art. His appreciation of the beauties of literature 
amounted to passion. That he had a craving for 
pathos and sublimity, is manifest from his works; 
yet he seemed to feel the nicer and more latent 
touches of wit and humor with a greater intensity of 
delight, than any. other species of literary luxury. 
He was hence a special admirer of Halleck, and more 
than once remarked that he should like to see him. 
I proposed to introduce him ; but he was shy of all 
formal meetings, and seemed indeed to feel that there 
would be a kind of presumption in his being pre- 
sented to the leading poet of the great metropolis. 

I was therefore obliged to give up the idea of 
effecting a meeting between these two persons, both 
natives of Connecticut, and peculiarly fitted to appre- 
ciate and admire each other. One morning, how- 
ever, fortune seemed to favor me. As we entered 
the bookstore of Messrs. Bliss & White — then on the 
eastern side of Broadway, near Cedar-street — I saw 
Halleck at the further end of the room. Incautiously, 
I told this to Brainard. He eagerly asked me which 
was the poet, among two or three persons that were 
standing together. I pointed him out. Brainard 
took a long and earnest gaze, then turned on his heel, 
and I could not find him for the rest of the day ! 

His little volume was very favorably received by 
the public, and he was universally recognized as a true 


poet These effbsioiifl, howerer, were Tegarded nther 
in the light of promise than folfillinent, and there- 
fore people generally looked forward to the achiere- 
ment of some greater work. I felt this, and fiequent- 
Ij urged him to undertake a serious poem, whidi 
might develop his genius and establish his &me. Hie 
thought of it, but his habitual inertness mastered him. 
I returned to the subject, however, and we ^ngqnentlj 
conversed upon it At last, he seemed to have re- 
solved on the attempt, and actually wrote a consider- 
able number of stanzas. After a time, however, he 
gave it up in despair. He told me, frankly, that it 
was impossible for him to sustain the continuity of 
thought and consistency of purpose indispensable to 
such an achievement. What he had actually done 
was merely an introduction, and was afterward pub- 
lished under the title of " Sketch of an Occurrence on 
hoard a Brig^ Whoever has read these lines, can 
not fail to lament that weakness in the author — con- 
stitutional and habitual — which rendered him incom- 
petent to continue a flight so nobly begun. 

One anecdote — in addition to those already before 
the public — and I shall close this sketch. Brainard's 
talent for repartee was of the first order. On one 
occasion, Kathan Smith, an eminent lawyer, was at 
Ripley's taverH, in the midst of a circle of judges and 
lawyers, attending the court. He was an Episcopa- 
lian, and at this time was considered by his political 
adversaries — unjustly, no doubt — as the paid agent of 


that persuasion, now clamoring for a sum of money 
from the State, to lay the foundation of a " Bishops' 
Fund." He was thus regarded somewhat in the same 
light as O'Connell, who, while he was the great patriot 
leader of Irish independence, was at the same time 
liberally supported by the " rint" By accident, Brain- 
ard came in, and Smith, noticing a little feathery at- 
tempt at whiskers down his cheek, rallied him upon it 

" It will never do," said he ; " you can not raise it, 
Brainard. Come, here's sixpence — take that, and go 
to the barber's and get it shaved off ! It will smooth 
your cheek, and ease your conscience." 

Brainard drew himself up, and said, with great dig- 
nity — as Smith held out the sixpence on the point of 
his forefinger — " No, sir, you had better keep it for 
the Bishops' Fund I" 

I need not — ^I must not — prolong this sketch. 
What I have said, is sufficient to give you an insight 
into the character of this gifted child of genius. In 
person he was very short, with large hands and feet, 
and a walk paddling and awkward. His hair was 
light-brown, his skin pallid, his eye large and bluish- 
gray, his lips thick, his forehead smooth, white, and 
handsome ; his brow beautifully arched, and edged 
with a definite, narrow line. His general appearance 
was that of a somewhat clumsy boy. His counte- 
nance was usually dull, yet with a wonderful power of 
expression — wit, drollery, seriousness, chasing each 
other in rapid succession. Its changes were at once 




sodden and maireknuk At one moment he lookw 
stnpid and then inqnred. His &oe was like a ze 
volTing light — ^now doll and dark — now zadiant^ anc 
shedding its beams on all aroond. His manners wen 
sabjeet to a similar change ; usually he seemed nn 
ooath, yet often have I seen him sedootiTely oour- 
teons. In shorty he was a handle of contradicfcions : 
generally he was ngly, yet sometimes handsome; Son 
the moet part he was awkward, yet often gmefiil; 
his countenance was ordinarily doU, yet fieqnentlj 
beaming with light. 

Thns with a look and appearance of youth — ^wiih in 
deed something of the waywardness and improvidence 
of boyhood, even when he had reached the full ag€ 
of manhood — ^he was still full of noble thoughts and 
sentiments. In his editorial career — ^though he wa£ 
negligent, dilatoij, sometimes almost imbecile from a 
sort of constitutional inertness — still a train of inex- 
tinguishable light remains to gleam along his path. 
Many a busy, toiling editor has filled his daily col- 
umns for years, without leaving a living page behind 
him ; while Bndnard, with all his failings and irregu- 
larities, has left a collection of gems, which loving, and 
tender, and poetic hearts will wear and cherish to im- 
mortality. And among all that he wrote — ^be it re- 
membered, thus idly, recklessly, as it might seem — 
there is not a line that, '' dying, he could wish to blot'' 
Elis love of parents, of home, of kindred, was beauti- 
'ill indeed ; his love of nature, and especially of the 



scenes of his childhood, was the affection of one never 
weaned from the remembrance of his mother's breast. 
He was true in friendship, chivalrous in all that be- 
longed to personal honor. I never heard him utter a 
malignant thought — I never knew him to pursue an 
unjust design. At the early age of eight-and-twenty 
he was admonished that his end was near. With a 
submissive spirit he resigned himself to his doom, 
and, in pious, gentle, cheerful faith, he departed on 
the 26th of September, 1828. 

Weep not for him, who hath laid his head 
On a pillow of earth in the cypress shade ; 

For the sweetest dews that the night airs shed, 
Descend on the couch for that sleeper made. 


Weep not for him, though the wintry sleet 
Throw its chill folds o*er his manly breast — 

That spotless robe is a covering meet 
For the shrouded soul in its home of rest I 

Weep not for him, though his heart is still, 
And the soul-lit eye like a lamp grown dim — 

Though the noble pulse is an icy rill. 
By the hoar-frost chained — Oh, weep not for Mm I 

The diamond gathers its purest ray 

In the hidden grot where no sun is known — 

And the sweetest voices of music play 
In the trembling ear of silence alone: 

And there in the hush of that starless tomb 

A holier liglit brertk.s in on the eye, 
And wind-harps steal through the sullen gloom, 

To woo that sleeper away to the sky 1 


ifyjtm yajaS* ""^ '^ AUantio—Ii'^yUnnl—Jjondaii—Mi/ Tbur on lit 
OMUmt—lUium to EnyUiiui— VitU tu Bctrlrg Wnvd—Hanrnth Mm 
—inftint* at lo BooU /or &hiaUion—JrtUad~I/iMiH — Tin Oianfi 
CbtiMiHij' — StttUand — Soiht)/ ijf lltt LaJj) of tkt Lakt — Olatgoie—lU- 

It was, as I have aJready told you, on the 16th 
of November, 1823, that I set sail in the Canada, 
Cnptnin Macy, on my first visit to Europe. I have 
now before me four volumes of notes made during my 
tour; but be not alarmed — I shall not inflict them 
upon you. I might, perhaps, have ventured to pub- 
lish them when they were fresh, but since that period 
the world has been inundated with tales of travels. 
I shall therefore only give you a rapid outline of my 
adventures, and a few sketches of men and things, 
which may perchance interest you. 

Our voyage was — as usual at that season of the 
year— tempestuous. As we approached the British 
Islands, we were beset by a regular hurricane. On 
the 5th of December, the captain kindly informed us 
that we were almost precisely in the situation of the 
Albion,* the day before she was wrecked on the rocky 

• Tlie Albion wna a pac 

et ship plying betncin New York n 

id Liv. 

erpol. Slio -ullea from t 

e runner port April 1, 1822, onii «en 

on the 22d of the sarne 

mouth. She had twenty-four Bt«. 

en and 

twenty-eight pBseengere : 

BoveE of the foriDer auU two of Ui 


oniT, weni raved. 


headland of Kinsale — at the southeast extremity of 
Ireland — an event which had spread general gloom 
throughout the United States. As night set in, we 
were struck with a squall, and with difficulty the ves- 
sel was brought round, so as to lie to. The storm waa 
fearful, and the frequent concussions of the waves upon 
the ship, sounding like reports of artillery, made her 
reel and stagger like a drunken man. The morning 
came at last, and the weather was fair, but our deck 
was swept of its boats, bulwarks, and hen-coops. Our 
old cow in her hovel, the covering of the steerage, 
and that of the companion-way, were saved. We 
had, however, some gratis sea-bathing in our berths 
— terribly suggestive of the chill temperature of that 
abyss which might soon be our grave. The next 
morning we took a pilot, and on the 8th of December 
entered the dock at Liverpool. 

As this was my first experience at sea, I beg you 
to forgive this brief description. I had suffered fear- 
fully by sea-sickness, and had scarce strength to walk 

Among the persons lost was Alexander W. Fisher, Professor of Math- 
ematics in Yale College. He was a young man — ^twentj-eight years old 
— of fine genius, and great expectations were entertained as to his future 
achievements. A person who escaped from the wreck, whom I chanced 
to meet, told me that the last he saw of Mr. Fisher, he was in his berth 
with a pocket-compass in his hand, watching the course of the vessel. 
A moment after slie struck, and he saw him no more. 

Tiie 8hip went to pieces on the rocks, in face of high perpendicular 
cliffs. The people of the neighborhood rendered all possible assistance, 
but their efforts were but partially successful. The struggles of the suf- 
ferers, clinging to ropes, yards, and points of the rocks, in the very sight 
of persons on shore, were fearful, and the details given of these aoenet, 
rendered the event one of the most agonizing on record. 

mmmKUJLf AKmaDonoAi^ wia, 168 

adum. I filt subh hprrar-HEmoh disgust of the sea^ 
that I oould easily hsLve pledged myself never to v en- 
tuie upon it again. Strange to saj, this all passed 
awaj like a dream : my strength reyiyed, and even 
my oonstxtntion, shattered by long suffering, seemed 
to Jm renovated. With the xetom of health and spir^ 
iti^ my jonmqr to London seemed like a triumphal 
mazcL Though it was Deoember, the landscape was 
intensely green, whUe the atmosphere was dark as 
twilight The canopy of heaven seemed to have 
come half way down, as if the sky had actually be- 
gun to fall. Tet this was England I Oh, what emo- 
tions filled my breast as I looked on Kenilworth, 
Warwick, and Litchfield, and at last on London I 

I remained at the latter place about a month, and 
then went to Paris. In April I departed, and visit- 
ing Switzerland, and a portion of Germany, followed 
the Ehine to Cologne. Thence I traveled through 
Flanders and Holland, and taking a sloop at Botter- 
dam, swung down the Maese, and in May reached 
London, by way of the Thames. 

I soon after departed for Bristol — taking the re- 
nowned cathedral at Salisbury and the Druidical ruin 
of Stonehenge in my way. Having reached that city 
and seen its sights, I hired a post-coach, and went to 
Barley- wood — some ten miles distant. Hannah More 
was still there ! The house consisted of a small thatch- 
ed edifice — ^half cottage and half villa — tidily kept, 
and garnished with vines and trellices, giving it a 



cheerful and even tasteful appearance. Its site was on 
a gentle hill, sloping to the southeast, and command- 
ing a charming view over the undulating country 
around, including the adjacent village of Wrington, 
with a wide valley sloping to the Bay of Bristol — the 
latter sparkling in the distance, and bounded by the 
Welch mountains, in the far horizon. Behind the 
house, and on the crown of the hill, was a small copse, 
threaded with neat gravel walks, and at particular 
points embellished with objects of interest. In one 
place there was a little rustic temple, with this motto — 
Audi Hospes, coniemnere opes ; in another, there was a 
stone monument, erected to the memory of Bishop 
Porteus, who had been a particular friend of the pro- 
prietor of the place. A little further on, I found an- 
other monument, with this inscription : " To John 
Locke J born in this village, iliis monument is erected by 
Mrs. Montague, and presented to Hannah More,^^ From 
this sequestered spot, an artificial opening was cut 
through the foliage of the trees, giving a view of the 
very house — about a mile distant — in which Locke 
was born ! In another place was a small temple built 
of roots, which might have served for the shrine of 
some untamed race of Dryads. 

Mrs. More was now seventy-nine years of age,* and 

* Hannah More was boru at Stapleton, in 1744. She and her Risters 
CBtabIii*lied a boarding-school in this village, but afterward it was re- 
moved to Bristol, and became very successful. Hannah More early be- 
came a writer, and at the age of seventeen, she published a pastoral 
drama, entitled ** Search after Happiness." Being intimato with Qmr 


vas vary infinn, haTUiglcept Ilst room fbr two ^bzb. 
She WH small, ud wasted »waj. Her attiie was of 
dark-red btKobaziiie, made loose like a dreaBrng-gown. 
Her eyes were Uack and penetra^ng, her &oe glow* 
ing with oheerfolness, through a laoe-work of wrin- 
kles. Her head-dress was a modification of the ooif- 
fiire of her earlier days — the hair being alightl j tna- 
aed, and lightly powdered, yet the whole groap of 
moderate dimenaioiifl. 

She reoeived me with great cordiali^, and learn- 
ing that I waa from Hartford, immediately inqoiied 
aboat Mrs. Sigonmey, Kr. Gallaodet, and Alice Cogga- 
well : of tlie latter she spoke with great interest She 
mentioned several Americans who bad visited her, and 
others with whom she had held correspondence. Her 
mind and feelings were alive to eveiy subject that was 
suggested. She spoke veiy freely of her writings and 
her career. I told her of the interest I had taken, 
when a child, in the story of the Shepherd of Salis- 
bury Plain, upon which she recounted its history, 
remarking that the character of the hero was mod- 
eled from life, though the incidents were fictitious. 
Her tract, called " Village Politics, by Will Chip," 
was written at the request of the British Ministry, 

rick, aha wrota MTcnl plaji, which vert paribrmBd. Afterward she 
ngnlMd thrna irorka, her neir nligiooa vien laiding her to oandemn 
tha atage. She acaaaaed ■ handaoms fortDDe, imd purchivlng Bsrley- 
wood, ahe fltud It ap m I have degcribed it. Boon after I WM there. 
Id coDaeqiiance of the frands of bar narvanta, bcr uieunx were RO di- 
miuiBhed, that ihe «u obliged to leave it. She rcraoved to Clifton, 
OMt Bratol, tod diad SapMmbar, ISM. 


and two million copies were sold the first year. She 
showed me copies of Coelebs in Search of a Wife — 
the most successful of her works — ^in French and 
German, and a copy of one of her sacred dramas- 
"Moses in the Bullrushes" — on palm-leaves, in the 
Cingalese tongue — ^it having been translated into that 
language by the missionary school at Ceylon. She 
showed me also the knife with which the leaf had 
been prepared, and the scratches made in it to receive 
the ink. She expressed a warm interest in America, 
and stated that Wilberforce had always exerted him- 
self to establish and maintain good relations between 
Great Britain and our country. I suggested to her 
that in the United States, the general impression — 
that of the great mass of the people — ^was that the 
English were unfriendly to us. She said it was not 
so. I replied that the Americans all read the Eng- 
lish newspapers, and generally, the products of the 
British press ; that feelings of dislike, disgust, ani- 
mosity, certainly pervaded most of these publications, 
and it was natural to suppose that these were the 
reflections of public opinion in Great Britain. At all 
events, our people regarded them as such, and hence 
inferred that England was our enemy. She express- 
ed great regret at this state of things, and said all 
good people should strive to keep peace between the 
two countries : to all which I warmly assented. 

My interview with this excellent lady was, on the 
whole, most gratifying. Regarding her as one of the 

It IwnefiwtOTS of the age— Ml, indeed, one of th« 
most rem«rfc«ble women that haA erer lived — I look- 
ed upon Iwr sot onlj with TeOeraticm but iffeetioii. 
She wae one of the chief instnuoents by vhich the 
torrent of Tioe and lioentioxiineBB, emanating from 
the French BeTt>lation and inundating the Britigh 
bhrnds, vaa checked and driven hack : shewueren, 
to a gnat extent, the pmiument rofbrmcr of Brituh 
mania and manners, aM well among the high as the 
bunUc. And beaides, I felt that I owed her s apecial 
debt, and mj Tiat to her was almost like a pilgrim- 
age to the shrine of a divinity. When I left Amer^ 
ics, I bad it in mind to render my travels aobserrient 
to a desire I had long entertaiced of making a reform 
— or at least an improvement — in books for youth. I 
had made researches in London, France, and Ger- 
many, for works that might aid my design. It is trne 
I had little success, for while scnentific and classical ed- 
ucation was sedulously encouraged on the continent 
as well as in England, it seemed to be thought, either 
that popular edacation was not a subject worthy of 
attention, or that Dilwortfa and Mothei Goose bad 
done all that could be done. In this interview with 
the most sncceasfiil and moat efficient teacher of the 
age, I had the subject still in mind ; and discerning 
by what she had accomplished, the vast field that was 
open, and actually inviting cultivation, I began from 
this time to think of attempting to realize the project 
I bad formed. It is true that, in aome respecto. the 


example I had jast contemplated was different from 
my own scheme, Hannah More had written chiefly 
for the grown-up masses ; I had it in contemplation to 
begin funher back — ^with the children. Her means, 
however, seemed adapted to my purpose : her suc- 
cess, to encourage my attempt. She had discovered 
that truth could be made attractive to simple minds. 
Fiction was* indeed, often her vehicle, but it was not 
her end. The great charm of these works which 
had captivated the million, was their verisimilitude. 
Was there not, then, a natural relish for truth in 
all minds, or at least was there not a way of pre- 
senting it, which made it even more interesting than 
roni:\nce? Did not children love truth? If so, 
w;\s it necessary to feed them on fiction ? Could not 
history, natural history, geography, biography, be- 
come the elements of juvenile works, in place of fai- 
ries and giants, and mere monsters of the imagina- 
tion ? These were the inquiries that from this time 
tillod mv mind. 

Taking leave of Barley-wood and its interesting 
'jccupant, I traversed Wales, and embarking at Ho- 
lyhead, passed over to Ireland. Having seen Dublin, 
with the extraordinary contrasts of sumptuousness in 
some of its streets and edifices, with the fearful squalid- 
ness and poverty in others — I passed on to the North. 
Having taken a wondering view of the Giants' Cause- 
way, I returned to Belfast, embarked in a steamboat, 
and went over to Greenock. Thence I proceeded 

mffniiM^iAg.^ AHraxmoAL^ Kio. 169 

toward Dumbarton, and in the early evening, as I ap- 
proached the town in a small steamer, I actoall j real- 
ized, in the distance before me, the scene of the song — 

^The son has gone down behind lofty Ben Lomond, 
And left the red donds to preside o'er the soene." 

On the morrow I went to Looh Lomond, crossing 
the lake in a steamboat ; thence on foot to Gallender, 
and spent two days around Loch Katrine, amid the 
Boeneiy of the Lady of the Lake. With a copy of 
that poem in my hand, which I had bought of a peas- 
ant on the borders of Loch Lomond, I easily traced 
out the principal landmarks of the story : " Ellen's 
Isle," nearly in the middle of the lake ; on the north- 
ern shore, "the Silver Strand," where the maiden 
met Fitz James ; far to the east, Benain, rearing its 
" forehead fair" to the sky ; to the south, the rocky 
pyramid called ** Roderick's Watch-tower ;" and still 
beyond, the " Goblin's Cave." Leaving the lake, I 
passed through the Trosachs, a wild rocky glen, and 
the scene of the most startling events in the poem. 
At last I came to Coilantogle Ford, where the deadly 
struggle took place between the two heroes of the 
poem — Roderick and Fitz James. Finally, I went 
to the borders of Loch Achray — a placid sheet of 
water — ^beautiful by nature, but still more enchant- 
ing through the delightful associations of poetic art. 

" The minstrel came once more to view 
The eaetem ridge of Benvenne, 
Vol. II.— 8 


For ere he perted he would eay, 

Farewell to loTelj Loch Achray. 

Where shall he find, in foreign land, 

80 lone a lake, so sweet a strand I" 
m m m m m 

But I must forbear. I have pledged myself not 
to weaiy you with descriptions of scenery, and espe- 
cially with that which is familiar to you in twenty 
books of travels. Forgive me this instance of weak- 
ness, and I will try not to sin again — at least till I 
get out of Scotland. Having spent two days in this 
region of poetry and romance, I left for Glasgow, and 
at last reached Edinburgh. 


LoMart-^^rtf—Sir Walter SooU. 
Mtdeab €♦♦♦♦♦♦ 

Think of being in Edinburgh, and Scott, Jeffrey, 
Chalmers, Dugald Stuart, Lockhart, there I It was 
then decidedly the literary metropolis of the Three 
Kingdoms — not through the amount of its produc- 
tions, but their superiority. The eloquent, sparkling, 
trenchant Edinburgh Eeview was the type of Scot- 
tish genius ; the heavy Quarterly represented Lon- 
don. I had several letters of introduction-=-among 

BmonoAity AHBODanoix, no. 171 

them one to Blackwood, anodier to Constable, an- 
other to Mifls Y • . • • The latter proved jfortonate. 
Her &ther was a Writer to the Signet— an elderly 
gentleman of excellent position, and exceedingly fond 
of showing ofiF "* Anld Beekie." Well indeed might 
he be, for of all the dties I hay e seen, it is, in many 
respects, the most interesting. I am told it is gloomy 
in winter, but now it was the zenith of spring. The 
twilight did not wholly disappear till twelve, and the 
dawn was visible at one. If nature, in these high 
latitudes, fidls into a harah and savage humor in win- 
ter, it makes ample amends in summer. 

The very day afker delivering my letters, Mr, Y. . . . 
called on me, and showed me the lions of the town. 
Many of them, all indeed, were interesting, but I pass 
them by, and shall only linger a short time at the 
Court of Sessions, which is the supreme civil court 
of Scotland. This, with the High Court of Justi- 
tiary — ^the supreme criminal court — forms the Col- 
lege of Justice, and constitutes the supreme judicial 
system of Scotland. Their sessions are held in the 
old Parliament House, situated in the center of the 
Old Town. 

We entered a large Gothic hall, opening, as I ob- 
served, into various contiguous apartments. Here I 
saw a considerable number of persons, mostly law- 
yers and their clients — some sauntering, some medi- 
tating — some gathered in groups and conversing 
together. I noticed that many of the former, and 


more especially the older members of the bar, wore 
gowns and wigs; others wore gowns only, and still 
others were in the ordinary dress. I afterward was 
told that it was wholly at the option of individuals to 
adopt this costume, or not ; in general, it was regard- 
ed as going out of fiishion. There was a large num- 
ber of people distributed through the several apart- 
ments, and in the grand hall there was a pervading 
hum of voices which seemed to rise and rumble and 
die away amid the groinings of the roof above. 

Among the persons in this hall, a man some thirty 
years of age, tall and handsome, dressed in a gown 
but without the wig, attracted my particular atten- 
tion. He was walking apart, and there was a certain 
look of coldness and haughtiness about him. Never- 
theless, for some undefinable reason, he excited in me 
a lively curiosity. I observed that his eye was dark 
and keen, his hair nearly black, and though cut short, 
slightly curled. He carried his head erect, its largely 
developed comers behind, giving him an air of self- 
appreciation. His features were small, but sharply 
defined ; his lips were close, and slightly disdainful 
and sarcastic in their expression. 

There was a striking combination of energy and 
elegance in the general aspect of this person ; yet 
over all, I must repeat, there was something also 
of coldness and pride. Upon his &ce, expressive of 
vigor and activity — mental and physical — ^there was 
a visible tinge of discontent 

HttftiMUlklif JUnODOnOALy JETO* ITS 

" Wlio is that gentleman?" said I, to my gnide. 

"That Iarge» noble-looking person, with a gown 
and wig? That is CSranstoon, one of onr first law- 
jersi and the brother-in-law of Dogald Stuart" ' 

"No: that person beyond and to the left? He is 
withont a wig." 

"Ohi thafs Ooekbnm — a fiery whig^ and one of 
ilie keenest fellows we haye at the bar." 

"Yes: but I mean that younger person, near the 

"Oh, that small, red-&oed, fireckled man? Wby 
thatfs Moncrief— a yery sound lawyer. His &ther. 
Sir Harry Moncrief, is one of the most celebrated di- 
yines in Scotland." 

" No, no : it is that tall, handsome, proud-looking 
person, walking by himselt 

" Oh, I see : that's Lockhart^Sir Walter Scott's 
son-in-law. Would you like to know him?" 


And so I was introduced to a man* who, at that 
time, was hardly less an object of interest to me than 

* J. G. Lockhart was a native of Scotland, and bom in 1794. In 
1826, he became editor of the Qnarterly Review, and removed to Lon- 
don. In 1858, he reaif^ed this sitoation in oont»eqaenoe of ill health. 
His bic^rraphy of his father-in-law — Sir Walter Scott — is well known 
and highly appreciated. The latter part of his iife, Lookhart was af- 
flicted with deafness, which withdrew him much from society. He died 
in 1854: his wife hud died in London, 1837. His rod, John Hugli Lock- 
hart, to whom Scott dedicated his History of Scotland, under the title 
of Hugh Littlejohn, died early. Lockhart had a daughter, who also 
has a daughter, and these two are now the only living desccndanta of 
ffir Walter. 


Scott himself. Though a lawyer by profession, he 
had devoted himself to literature, and was now in the 
very height of his career. "Peter's Letters to his 
Kinsfolk," " Valerius," and other works, had given 
him a prominent rank as a man of talent ; and be- 
sides, in 1820, he had married the eldest daughter of 
the " Great Unknown." My conversation with him 
was brief at this time, but I afterward became well 
acquainted with him. 

My guide now led me into one of the side-rooms, 
where I saw a judge and jury, and a lawyer address- 
ing them. The latter was a very small man, without 
gown or wig, apparently about forty years of age, 
though he might be somewhat older. He was of dark 
complexion, with an eye of intense blackness, and 
almost painfully piercing expression. His motions 
were quick and energetic, his voice sharp and pene- 
trating — his general aspect exciting curiosity rather 
than affection. He was spealcing energetically, and, 
as we approached the bar, my conductor said to me 
in a whisper — " Jeffrey I" 

We paused, and I listened intently. The case in 
itself seemed dry enough — something, I believe, about 
a stoppage in transitu. But Jeffrey's pleading was ad- 
mirable—clear, progressive, logical. Occasionally, in 
fixing upon a weak point of his adversary, he display- 
ed a leopard-like spring of energy, altogether startling. 
He seized upon a certain point in the history of the 
case, and insisted that the property in question rested 


at that period in the hands of the defendant's agent, 
for at least a fortnight. This he claimed to be &tal to 
his adversary's plea. Having stated the &cts, with a 
clearness which seemed to prove them, he said, turn- 
ing with startling quickness upon his antagonist — 
"Now, I ask my learned brother to tell me, what was 
the state of the soul during that fortnight?" To a 
jury of Scotch Presbyterians, familiar with theological 
metaphysics, this allusion was exceedingly pertinent 
and effective. 

We passed into another room. Three full-wigged 
judges were seated upon a lofty bench, and beneath 
them, at a little table in front, was a large man, bent 
down and writing laboriously. As I approached, I 
caught a side-view of his face. There was no mis- 
taking him — it was Sir Walter himself! 

Was it not curious to see the most renowned per- 
sonage in the three kingdoms, sitting at the very feet 
of these men — they the court, and he the clerk? 
They were indeed all "lords," and their individual 
names were suggestive to the ear : one was Eobert- 
son, son of the historian of Charles V. ; another was 
Gillies, brother of the renowned Grecian scholar of 
that name; another, Mackenzie, son of the author 
of the Man of Feeling. These are high titles — but 
what were they to the author of Waverley? 

Mr. Y introduced me to him at once, breaking 

in upon his occupation with easy familiarity. As lie 
arose from his seat, I was surprised at his robust, vig- 


orous frame. He was very nearly six feet in height, 
full chested, and of a farmer-like aspect. His com- 
plexion seemed to have been originally sandy, but 
now his hair was gray. He had the rough, freckled, 
weather-beaten skin of a man who is much in the open 
air ; his eye was small and gray, and peered out keen- 
ly and inquisitively from beneath a heavy brow, edged 
with something like gray, twisted bristles — the whole 
expression of his face, however, being exceedingly 
agreeable. He wore a gown, but no wig. It would 
have been a sin to have covered up that wonderful 
head, towering, as we have all seen it in his portraits 
— the throne of the richest intellect in the world.* 

He greeted me kindly — the tone of his voice being 
hcai-ty, yet with a very decided Scotch accent I told 
him I had been to the Highlands. " It is a little too 
early," said he ; "I always wish my friends to wait till 
the middle of June, for then the ash is in its glory. 
Here in the north, summer, as you know, is a laggard. 
In America it visits you in better season ?" 

'^ I am from New England, and our forests are not 
in full leaf till June." 

* Scott was born in 1771— ho at thin timo, 1834, ho was flfty-^hUMl 
jooTA old, at tho liigliost point of his tunic, and in the full vigor of iiift 
gcniud. In 1826 he was involved in tho fiiilnre of tho Ballantynes-*^ 
printers ana x»ublisIicrN — to an extent of $70(>,000. Ho made prodigUxfw 
ctfortH to liquidate this iiiimonAO debt, and had laid the foundation fbr 
its payment, when h\» ovcn^Tou^ht brain gave way, and he died of 
paralysis, September 21, 1S32. llo marriod Miss Carpenter iu 1797, and 
liad fi>ur children: Walter, Sophia, who married Lockhart, Ann, and 
Charles. All aro now dead. Abbotsford remains in the family. 

■ ^3 


"Yet, jota olimats then ii somerhat lilce otub. 
Aie ycra from Boeton ?" 

"I am from Haztford, in Conneotiont— of which 
yoQ bava peorbape aerer heard." 

" it J Amarioaa geogn^hj is not very minute ; jet 
GonneotioDt b a &miliar name to mj ear. Do yon 
know Mr. Irving?" 

"I have never seen him bnt onoe." 

"Mr. Cooper?" 

"Tea, I know him weU." 

" Do yon stay long in Edinbazgh ?" 

"A few weeks." 

" We shall meet again, then, and talk these matter* 

So I had seen the author of Waveriey I I leave 
you to gaesa my emotions, for I could not describe 


Pnp a r a tia u far a Bid»-^Mr. J'^reg in a SavgJt-and-tvuUiU^A dlooM 
atSdinbmyk/nmlitBntidSUit-ASiouw—T/leMiidi qf Oe Mitt— 
thtraUt iMfttttion*. 

I found a note — May Slst — at my hotel, from 

Miss Y , inviting me to breakfast I went at ten, 

and we had a pleasant chat She then proposed a ride, 
and I accepted. She was already in her riding-habit, 


and putting on a hat and collar — ^both of rather mas- 
culine gender, yet not uncomely — we went forth. We 
were in Queen-street, No. 48 ; passing along a short 
distance, we turned a comer to the left, mounted the 
steps of a fine house, and rang. We entered, and I 
was introduced to the proprietor, Mrs. EusselL She 
led us into another room, and there, on the floor, in 
a romp with her two boys, was a small, dark man. 
He arose, and behold, it was Francis JeflErey I* Think 
of the first lawyer in Scotland — ^the lawgiver of the 
great Eepublic of Letters throughout Christendom — 
having a rough-and-tumble on the floor, as if he were 
himself a boy ! Let others think as they will — ^I 
loved him from that moment; and ever after, as I 
read his criticisms — cutting and scorching as they 
often were — I fancied that I could still see a kind and 
genial spirit shining through them all. At least it is 
certain that, behind his editorial causticity, there was 
in private life a fund of gentleness and geniality 

* Mr. Jeffrey was bom in Edinbargh in 1778. He was admitted to 
the bar at the age of twenty-one ; having little praotloe for a time, he 
seduloasly porsued the stndy of belles-lettres, history, ethics, criUcisro, 
<fec. In 1802, at the age of twenty-nine, he founded the Edinburgh 
Beview, of which he continued as principal editor till 1829 — ^pla(nng it 
above every other work of the kind which had ever appeared. In 1816 
he was acknowledged to be at the head of the Scottish bar as an advo- 
cate. Having held other high stations, he was appointed, in 1880, Lord- 
Advocate of Scotland, and became a member of Parliament. In 1884 
be was raised to the bench as one of the judges of the Court of Sessions. 
He died at Edinburgh in 1850. He married in 1818, at New York, liiaa 
Wilkes, grand-niece of the celebrated John Wilkes of England. In 
1815 he beoame the occupant of the villa of Craigcrook, near Edinborgh, 
aucieutly a monastery, but improved and beautified. Here he was re- 
Biding at the time I saw lum. 


wliibh endettred him to all who enjoyed his intimacy. 
Iwas now introdnoed to him, and he seemed a totally 
diffiBrent being from the fleroe and fiery gladiator of 
the l^gal arena, where I had befine seen hiuL His 
manneni were gentle and gentlemanly — ^polite to the 
ladies and gradons to me. 

Jefl&ey's house was some two miles fiom town. 
His custom was to oome to the dtj on horseback — 
and Mrs. Bnssell being his friend, he frequently 
stopped at her housCi leaving his horse in her stable. 
Some gossiping scandal arose from this intimacy, but 
it was, of course, not only idle, but absurd. We 
found Mrs. Bussell in a riding-dress, and prepared to 
accompany us in our excursion. Taking leave of 
Mr. Jeflfrey, we went to the stable, where were nearly 
a dozen horses, of various kinds and adapted to va- 
rious uses. Miss Y.... chose a shaggy gray pony, 
half savage and half pet ; Mrs. Bussell mounted a 
long, lean, clean-limbed hunter; and I, at her sug- 
gestion, took Mr. Jeffrey's mare — a bay, rollicking 
cob, with a gait like a saw-mill — ^as I found to my 

We walked our steeds gently out of town, but on 
leaving the pavements the ladies struck into a vigor- 
ous trot. Up and down the hills we went, the turn- 
pike gates flying open at our approach, the servant 
behind, paying the tolls. We passed out of the city 
by Holy Bood, and swept round to the east of Ar- 
thur's seat, leaving Portobello on the left. We rode 


steadily, noting a few objects as we passed, until at 
last, reaching an elevated mound, we paused, and the 
ladies directed mj attention to the scenes around. 
We were some two miles south of the town, upon one 
of the slopes of the Braid Hills. Ah, what a view 
was before us! The city, a vast, smoking hive, to 
the north ; and to the right, Arthur's Seat, bald and 
blue, seeming to rise up and almost peep into its streets 
and chimneys. Over and beyond all, was the sea. The 
whole area between the point where we stood and 
that vast azure line, blending with the sky, was a 
series of abrupt hills and dimpling valleys, threaded 
by a network of highways and byways — honeycomb- 
ed in spots by cities and villages, and elsewhere sprin- 
kled with country-seats. 

It is an unrivaled scene of varied beauty and in- 
terest. The natural site of Edinburgh is remarkable, 
consisting of three rocky ledges, steepling over deep 
ravines. These have all been modified by art; in 
one place a lake has been dried up, and is now cov 
ered with roads, bridges, tenements, gardens, and 
lawns. The sides of the cliflFs are in some instances 
covered with masses of buildings, the edifices occa- 
sionally rising tier upon tier — ^in one place present- 
ing a line of houses a dozen stories in height ! The 
city is divided by a deep chasm into two distinct 
parts, the Old Town, dun and smoky, and justifying 
the popular appellation of "Auld Reekie," or Old 
Smoky ; the other the New Town, with all the fi^sh 


architecture and all the rich and elaborate embelliah- 
ments of a modern city. Nearly from the center of 
the old town rises the Castle, three hundred and 
eighty feet above the level of the sea — on one side 
looking down ahnost perpendicularly, two hundred 
feet into the vale beneath — on the other holding com- 
munication with the streets by means of a winding 
pathway. In the ne\v town ia Calton Hill, rich with 
monuments of art and memorials of history, and sug- 
gesting to the mind a resemblance to the Acropolis 
of Athena. From these two commanding positions, 
the scenes are unrivaled. 

' Bat I fbrgflt thxt I Ittre taken yon to &o Braid 
Willa, The panorama, from this point, Tras not only 
besatiiiil to the eye, bat a rich hairest to the mind. 
Uy amiable guides directed my attention to various 
objects — some fax and some near, and all with names 
^miilifti* to history or song or romance. Yonder mass 
of dan and dismal ruins was Craigmillar's Castle, once 
the residence of Qaeen Mary. Nearly in the same 
direction, and not remote, is the clifi^ above whose 
boeky sides peer out the massive rains of Koslin 
Castle ; farther south are glimpses of Dalkeith Pal- 
ace, the stunptuooB seat of the Duke of Buccleugh ; 
there ia the bnsy little village of Lasswade, which 
takes the name of " Oandercleagh" in the " Tales of 
my Landlord ;" yonder winds the Esk and there the 
Galawater — both familiar in many a song; and there 
is the scenery of the "Gentle Shepherd," preaentiuog 



the very spot where that inimitable colloquy took 
place between Peggy and her companion, Jenny — 

" Gae farer up the bum to Habbie^s How, 
Where a* the sweets o* spring an' summer grow : 
Between twa birks, out o'er a little linn, 
The water fa's and makes a singan din : 
A pool, breast deep, beneath as clear as glass, 
Kisses wi' easy whirls the bordering grass. 
Well end onr washing while the morning's cool. 
And when the day grows hot, we'll to the pool. 
There wash onrsels — ^it's healthful now in May, 
An' sweetly caller on sae warm a day." 

While we were surveying these unrivaled scenes, 
the rain began to fall in a fine, insinuating mizzle : 
soon large drops pattered through the fog, and at last 
there was a drenching shower. I supposed the ladies 
would seek some shelter : not they — maids of the 
mist — accustomed to all the humors of this drizzly 
climate, and of course defying them. They pulled off 
their green vails, and stuffed them into their saddle- 
pockets; then chirruping to their steeds, they sped 
along the road, as if mounted on broomsticks. I was 
soon wet to the skin, and so, doubtless, were they — 
if one might suggest such a thing. However, they 
took to it as ducks to a pond. On we went, the wa- 
ter — accelerated by our speed — spouting in torrents 
jfrom our stirrups. In all my days, I had never such 
an adventure. And the coolness with which the la- 
dies took it — that was the most remarkable. Indeed, 


it was proYokiiig — fiyr as they would not aooqpi spor 
pathjy of oourae they oonld not giye it^ thongh mj 
reeking oondition would haye tooGhed any other heart 
thantheira Onwewent^tillat last coming to the top 
of a hilly we suddenly cropped out into the sunshine 
— ^the shower still scadding along the valley beneath 
ns. We continued our ride, getting once more soak- 
ed on our way, and again drying in the sun. At 
last we reached homci having made a circuit of fifteen 
miles. Scarcely a word was said of the rain. I saw 
my mermaid firiends to their resid^ices, and was 
thankful when I got back to the hoteL What with 
the shower, and a slight cold which ensued — ^I did 
not get the trot of Jeffrey's mare out of my bones for 
a fortnight Indeed, long after, during rough weather, 
when the gust and rain dashed against my window, 
the beast sometimes visited me in sleep, coming in the 
shape of a nightmare, carrying me at a furious rate, 
with two charming witches before, beckoning me on 
to a race. As a just moral of this adventure — ^T 
suggest to all Americans, who ride with Scotch ladies 
around Edinburgh, not to go forth in their best dress- 
coat, and pantaloons having no straps beneath the 



WiUUtm Blackwood— TU Magatin&—A Dinner at Blackwood' t-^anm 
BaUanlyns — Lord Byron and Lady OaroUne Lamb — The General Ae- 
eembly of Scotland — Dr. Chalmert, 


One or two more selections from my journal, and 
we will leave Edinburgh. I had delivered my letter 
of introduction to Blackwood, and he had treated me 
very kindly. He was, professionally, a mere book- 
seller and publisher — a plain, short, stocky person,with 
a large head, bald and flat on the top. He spoke broad 
Scotch, or rather sang it, for although all spoken 
language, in every country, has its cadences, in Scot- 
land it is a veritable song. This is more noticeable 
among the illiterate, and especially the old women. 
I sometimes thought they were mocking me, so em- 
phatic were their inflexions and modulations. I have 
since observed similar intonations in other countries, 
especially in Italy, where the rising and falling of the 
voice is so marked as to appear like an aflFectation 
of musical cadenzas, even in conversation. 

Nevertheless, Mr. Blackwood was an exceedingly 
intelligent and agreeable gentleman. The Maga- 
zine* which bears his name, was then in its glory, 

** BUckwood's Magaziue was founded in April, 1817, the office of pub- 
lication being the proprietor's bookstore, 17 Prince-Btreet. The found- 
er, William Blackwood, died some yeore since, and the Magazine is 


and of course a part of its radiance shone on him. 
He was a man of excellent judgment, even in literary 
matters, and his taste, no doubt, contributed largely 
to the success of the Magazine. He was in familiar 
intercourse with the celebrities of the day — and a 
bright constellation they were. He spoke as famil- 
iarly of great names — Scott, Lockhart, Hogg, Wilson 
- -sacred to me, as Appleton and Putnam and the Har- 
pers do of Irving, Halleck, and Bryant, or Ticknor & 

oootinaed by hit sons. In genenl, its tone has not been friendly tc 
America, and while I was there an article in the May number, 1^24, 
upon our country, then jaHt iesued, excited some attention, and 1 wm 
frequently interrogated respecting it. It was entitled the ** Five Presi- 
dcnU of the United States," and though it was written a** by an Ki.i:- 
li»hman, perhaps in order to secure itH insertion, Blackwood told niti -t, 
waA from the pen of a dUtinguL-'hed American, tlieii in Lon-lon. It a*:.-'. 
a somewhat slashing review of the administrations of the j-re-i 1' r.r-. 
from Wa«hinifton to Monroe, the latter beincr then in otfice. It ei.-i- 
bruced ^ketches of Adums, Clay, Crawford, and .Jack.-on — '\ic jr ;;j: 
nent candidates for the presidency. The following is part of the n'.*.:*-'i 
of Adams. 

Supposing a European ambassador to vi>iit Wa^liington, and is intro- 
duced into the PresidentV house, *' He sees a little man writing at a 
table, nearly bald, with a face quite formal and destitute of expression ; 
his eyes running with water — his slippers down at the l.e'.-l — his fiij„'<;r* 
stained with ink — in summer wearing a striped S'^a-sucker C/at, and 
white trowsers, and dirty waistcoat, spotted with iiik— his whole 'iress 
altogether not worth a couple of pounds ; or in a coId«r -ea.-on. KaM* 1 
in a plain blue coat, much the worse for M-ear, and other (fanii«:nts in 
projv)rtion — not so respectable as we may find in the old-c!o!hes \n}^ of 
almost any Jew in the street. This jx-rson, wliorn theauibay-sador mir- 
takes for a clerk in a department, and only wonder^, in lo'^king at 1 ir;.. 
that the President should permit a man to appoiir before him in ••■I'.ii 
dress, proves to be the President of the United SUites him-«e!f !" 

The article was written with vig<»r and di-<criniination, aii<l excited a 
pood deal of attention. Though free, and by no in-iur:-* duir.'y in its 
criticisms, it wa«*, on the whole, ju^t, and pro«luced a favorable impres- 
sion in our behalf. The author, whoever he was, evidently po«:it— .ed 
eminent qaalificationa for magazine writing. 


fields of Prescott and Longfellow. Was not that a 
time to be remembered ? 

Of course I was gratified at receiving from him a 
note, inviting me to dine with him the next day. His 
house was on the south of the old town — nearly two 
miles distant The persons present were such as I 
should myself have selected : among them Lockhart 
and James Ballantyne. I sat next the latter, and 
found him exceedingly agreeable and gentlemanlike. 
He was a rather large man, handsome, smooth in 
person and manner, and very well dressed. You will 
remember that at this time, it was not acknowledged 
by Scott or his friends that he was the author of the 
Waverley novels. Perhaps the mystery was even 
promoted by them, for, no doubt, it added adventi- 
tious interest to his works. However, the vail was 
not closely preserved in the circle of intimacy. Bal- 
lantyne said to me, in the course of a conversation 
which turned upon the popularity of authors, as indi- 
cated by the sale of their works — " We have now 
in course of preparation forty thousand volumes of 
Scott's poems and the works of the author of Waver- 
ley" — evidently intimating the identity of their au- 

There was nothing remarkable about our meal: 
it was like an English dinner, generally — ample, 
substantial, administered with hospitality, and dis- 
cussed with relish. There was a certain seriousness 
and preparation about it, conmion in Europe, but un- 

HmwioAL, AiiiEcixnicu., eto. 187 

common in our coaDtiy. We rush to the table as if 
eating was an affair to be dispatched in the shortest 
possible time : to hoger over it would seem to be an 
indecency. The Englishman, on ihe contrary, ar- 
ranges his buBtness for his dinner ; he prepares his 
mind for it; he sets himself to the table, and adjusts 
his legs beneath, for it ; he unfolds his napkin and 
lays it in his lap, or tucks a comer within his waist- 
coat, for it ; he finally qualifies himself the better to 
enjoy it, by taking a loving survey of the good things 
before him and the good friends around him. He be- 
gins leisiiri.l y, a.* if feeling that Providence smiJis \ijion 
him, and he wonld acknowledge its bounties by pro- 
longing the enjoyment of them. As he proceeds, he 
spices his gratification by sips of wine, exchangee of 
compliments with the ladies and convivial chat, right 
and left, with his neighbors. The host is attentive, 
the hostess lends a smiling countenance, the servants 
are ubiquitous, and put your wishes into deeds, with- 
out the trouble of your speaking to them. 

The first half hour has a certain earnestness about 
It, apparently occupied in reducing the MalakofEs of 
beef; Mamelons of mutton, and Redans of poultry — 
that come one after another. The victory is, at last, 
substantially won : all that remains is to capture 
the pies, cakes, tarts, ices, creams, fruits, &c., which 
ia usually done with a running artillery of light wit. 
Conversation ensues ; now and then all listen to 
some good talker; perhaps a story-teller catches, 


for a time, the attention of the company, and then 
again all around resolves itself into a joyous and 
jovial confusion of tongues. An hour is past, and 
the ladies retire. The gentlemen fill their glasses, 
and offer them a parting toast; then they drink 
" The Queen," and give themselves up to social en- 

And so it was on this occasion — only that we drank 
the King, instead of the Queen, for George lY. was 
then upon the throne. Mr. Blackwood was living 
in a plain but comfortable style, and garnished his 
entertainment with a plain, simple hospitality — which 
lost nothing by his occasional interjections of very 
broad Scotch. It was delightful to see the easy inti- 
macy of the persons present : they frequently called 
each other by their Christian names — using terms of 
endearment, which with us would seem affected, per- 
haps absurd. " Jammy, dear, tak some wine your- 
sel, and hand it to me I" said Blackwood to Ballan- 
tyne, and the latter answered in a similar tone of 
familiar kindness. The whole intercourse of the com- 
pany seemed warmed and cheered by these simple, 
habitual courtesies. Our own manners, I think, un- 
der similar circumstances, must appear bald and chill- 
ing, in comparison. 

Nor was there any thing remarkable in the conver- 
sations — save only what related to Byron. The news 
of his death at Missolonghi, on the 19th of April, had 
reached Scotland a few weeks before, and produced 

a piofirand aeiuntioii. Eren wliile I was there, the 
interest in the sabject had not subBided. Mr. Look- 
hart had not known Byion, peraonallj, but he was in 
London soon after hia departure for the eontinent^ 
and at aeveral anbaequent peiioda, and he gave na 
many interesting details respecting him* He was fie- 
quentlj at Lady Oaroline Lamb's soirfiesi where he 
met the literary celebrities of London, and especially 
the younger and gayer portion of them. Her ladyship 
had flirted with the lordly poet in the heyday of his 
fiunOi and it was said, condescended to yiait him in 
the guise of a page — ^her reputation being of that 
salamander quality, which could pass through such 
fire and suffer no damage. Her lover proved fickle, 
and at last ungrateful, and she retaliated in the novel 
of " Glenarvon" — venting her rage upon him by 
depicting him as *' having an imagination of flame 
playing around a heart of ice." 

At the time Lockhart thus mingled in Lady Caro- 
line's circle, Byron was the frequent theme of com- 
ment. She had a drawer-full of his letters, and inti- 
mate friends were permitted to read them. She had 
also borrowed of Murray the poet's manuscript auto- 
biography given to Moore, and had copied some of 
its passages. This was soon discovered, and she was 
obliged to suppress them — ^but still passages of them 
got into circulation. The work was written in a dar- 
ing, reckless spirit, setting at defiance all the laws of 
propriety, and even of decency. One of the chapters 


consisted of a rhyming list of his acquaintances, at the 
period of his highest fashionable success, in London — 
dashed off with amazing power — ^yet in such terms of 
profanity as to forbid repetition, at least in print. It 
was obvious, &om what was said by Mr. Lockhart and 
others, that such were the gross personalities, the 
shameM outrages of decorum, and the general licen- 
tiousness of this production, that it was impossible 
for any respectable publisher to be concerned in giv- 
ing it to the world. The consignment of it to the 
flames, by his friends, was as much dictated by re- 
gard to their own characters, as to the fame of the 
author, which was in a certain degree committed to 
their keeping. 

We sat down to dinner at seven, and got up at 
eleven. After a short conversation with the ladies, 
we took our departure. As I was getting into my 
carriage, Mr. Lockhart proposed to me to walk back 
to town, a distance of a mile and a half. I gladly 
accepted this proposition, and we had a very interest- 
ing conversation. Upon intimacy, Lockhart's cold- 
ness wholly disappeared. He spoke in an easy, 
rattling way, very much in the manner of the freer 
portions of Peter's Letters. The good dinner had 
doubtless cheered him a little ; but not only on this, 
but other occasions I had evidence of a more genial 
nature than might have been supposed to exist be- 
neath the haughty armor which he seemed to wear 
toward the world 


The next day I wmt to St OileB'B Church,* to see 
the Genend ABsemblj, then holding its annaal ms- 
BLon theia This body conaisted of nearly four 
hundred membena^ chosen by different parishes, bor- 
oughs^ and nniyeraitaeB. The sessions are attended by 
a Commissioner appointed by the crown, but he is seat- 
ed outside of the area assigned to the assembly, and 
has no yots^ and no right of debate. He sits under a 
pavilion, with the insignia of royalty, and a train of 
gaily-dressed pages. He opens the sessions in the 
name of the King^ the Head of the Church : the mod- 
erator then opens it in the name of the Lord Jesus 
Christy the onfy true Head of the Church I It appears 
that the Scotch, in bargaining for a union with Eng- 
land, took good care to provide for their religious in- 
dependence, and this they still jealously preserve : 
the Irish, on the contrary, were sold out, and treated 
like a conquered people. The commissioner, at this 
time, was Lord Morton — ^who, according to all the 
accounts I heard, was a disgrace to human nature. 

The aspect of the Assembly was similar to that of 
the House of Conmions — though somewhat graver. 
I observed that the debates were often stormy, with 
scraping of the floor, laughing aloud, and cries of 
"hear, hear!" The members were, in &ct, quite dis- 
orderly, showing at least as little regard for decorum 

* In 1844 ft flne ohnrcb, called Victoria Uall, was erected for the mee^ 
ioft of the General ABsembly. It is of noh Medieval Gothic archi- 
with a spire two hundred and forty-eiz fiMt in height. 


as ordinary legislatures. Sir Walter Scott once re- 
marked, in my hearing, that it had never yet been 
decided how many more than six members could 
speak at once I 

The persons here pointed out to me as celebrities 
were Dr. Chalmers, the famous pulpit orator. Dr. 
Cook, the ecclesiastical historian, and Dr. Baird, prin- 
cipal of the University, and caricatured in the print- 
shops under a rude portrait of his large face, nearly 
covered with hair, the whole labeled, Principal Beard. 
The first of these was now at the height of his fame. 
He had already begun those reforms which, some 
years later, resulted in a disruption of the Scottish 
Church. At this period the Assembly was divided 
into two opposite parties, the Moderate, and the Souna 
— the former contending for the old doctrine, that 
presbyteries were bound to receive and accept every 
qualified preacher, presented by the crown, or others 
exercising the right of such preferment, and the lat- 
ter opposing It. The importance of the question lay 
in the fact that a large number of the places in the 
Church were in the gift of the crown, and many others 
in the hands of lay-patrons, and these were fi:«quent- 
ly bestowed in such a manner as to accumulate 
two or more benefices in the hands of one person. 
The great point made by Chalmers was, that one 
church, one congregation, however small, was enough 
to occupy and absorb the attention of one minister ; 
and that a plurality of benefices was both corrupting 


to the CShnrchi hj makiiigit sabsement to pstzoiuige^ 
and dertnictiye of the apostolic spirit^ which demands 
the derotion of the whole soul to the woik of the 

I had the good fortune to hear Chalmen speak for 
a few momentSi but with great energy and power, so 
as to give me an idea of his appearance and nuumer. 
He was a large man, and as he rose he seemed rather 
heavy, slow, and awkward* His fiioe was large, its 
outline being nearly circular. His lips, when dosed, 
were thin, giving a certain sharpness and firmness to 
his countenance. His forehead was large and expan- 
siye, his brow finely arched, his eye gray, and its 
expression ordinarily heavy. Altogether his appear- 
ance, as he first rose to my view, was unpromising. 
His speech, his articulation, was even worse, at the 
outset, for he had the Fifeshire dialect — the harshest 
and most unintelligible in Scotland. He had, how- 
ever, spoken but a few sentences, when the whole man 
was transformed. That heaviness which marked his 
appearance, had wholly passed away. Upon his coun- 
tenance there was an animated yet lofty expression — 
firm and fearless, benevolent and winning — ^while 
his voice, pouring out a vast flow of thought, had in 
It a tone at once of love and command, of feeling and 
of authority, absolutely irresistible. I felt myself borne 
along in the torrent — compelled, yet lending myself 
gratefully to the movement. Sentence after sentence 
fell from his lips, thought accumulated upon thought, 
Vol. II.— 9 


illustration upoD illustration, and yet the listener com- 
passed every conception and treasured every word. 
There was something in his voice so musical, so 
touching, that the whole sank into the soul like a 
hymn. The general effect was aided by his gestures 
and movements, for though by no means graceful, 
they harmonized so well with the emotions of the 
speaker as at once to illustrate and enforce the gen- 
eral tenor of his address. 

On another occasion I heard Dr. Chalmers preach, 
in one of the churches of the city. The crowd was 
so great, however, that I saw and heard very imper- 
fectly. It seemed to me that he was rather calculated 
to produce an eflFect by his oratory, than his writings. 
He had evidently wonderful powers of amplification : 
he often started topics apparently barren and unsug- 
gestive, but soon he called around them a crowd of 
thoughts and associations of the highest interest. The 
common labors of the minister of the Gospel — enter- 
ing into the hearts and homes of the rich and the 
poor ; now leading to the stately hall, and now to the 
squalid dens of vice, poverty, and crime ; now to the 
administration of baptism, and now to the sacrament 
— this hackneyed routine, by force of his vivid imagi- 
nation and ardent spirit, presented pictures to the 
mind and awoke emotions in the heart, quite over- 
whelming. He seemed, indeed, like a magician, capa 
ble of converting even the sand and stones of the des- 
ert into images of life and power ; but it appeared 

HMNanALy' AjraaDonoAL, na 195 

to me that in oorder to do this, the voice and geBttire 
and presence of the soioerer, were indispensabla I 
have never, in reading any* thing he has written — 
noble as are his works — at all realized the emotions 
prodnced by the brie^ but startling speach I heard 
from him in the Assembly. 


A DmmtT (U Loeikarfs^Ckmvtnation aboid Byran^Jfrt, Zodthar^Jr- 
mmg—Pr^mtor Tkhnor—Uvtio-^Th* Pibroeh and Min JSd^noortK^ 
Ansedoisi o/t/u Indians — Southey and Second Sight — Oooper^t Pioneen^ 
Tkt Pilot — Paul Jone» — Brociden Brotonr—Bums — TVieks o/ths Prut 
—CkarUt Seott—TAe Wd$h Paraonr—7%s Italian Bate-viol Player-- 
Penonal Appearance qf Sir Walter — Departure /or London — Again 
M Bimlmrgh in 1882— Za<< Moments of Sir Walter— The Sympathy of 

I hope you fully comprehend that, in these 
sketches I am only dipping into my journal here 
and there, and selecting such memoranda as I think 
may amuse you. Most of these passages refer to 
individuals who have now passed to their graves. 
It is mournful — ^to me it is suggestive of feelings inex- 
pressibly sad and solemn — to reflect that of the long 
list of distinguished persons who, at the period I 
refer to, shed a peculiar glory upon Edinburgh, not 
one survives. Scott, Lockhart, JeflFrey, Chalmers — 
these, and others who stood beside them, either shar- 


ing or reflecting the blushing honors of genius and 
fantie, felling around them — all are gone from the 
high places which they then illumined with their pres- 
ence. I am speaking only of the dead — ^yet I remem- 
ber them as living, and — ^though their history, their 
works, their fame, are fiuniliar to you — it may still 
interest you to go back and participate in recollec- 
tions of them — their persons, speech, manner — and 
thus, in some degree, see them as they were seen, and 
know them as they were known. I pray you to ac- 
cept these passages from my journal, as glimpses only 
of what I saw, and not as pretending at all to a reg- 
ular account of my travels and observations, at the 
time referred to. 

On Wednesday, June 2, I dined with Mr. Lock- 
hart — 25 Northumberland-street. Besides the host 
and hostess, there were present Sir Walter Scott, his 
son, Charles Scott, Mr. Blackwood, Mr. Robinson, 
and three or four other persons. At dinner I sat next 
Sir Walter — an arrangement made, I believe, in com- 
pliment to myself Every thing went oflF pleasantly 
— with the usual ease, hospitality, and heartiness of 
an English dinner. The house and furniture were 
plain and handsome — such as were conmion to people 
of good condition and good taste. 

The meal was discussed with the usual relish, and 
with the usual garnish of wit and pleasantry. After 
the ladies had retired, the conversation became gen- 
eral and animated. Byron was the engrossing topia 


Sir Walter s]><)ke of him with the deepest feeling of 
adiiiiration and regret A few weeks before, on the 
receipt of the news of his death, he had written an 
obitaaiy notice of him, in which he compared him 
to the son, withdrawn firom the hearens at the very 
moment when ereiy telescope was leveled to discover 
either his glory or his spots. He expressed the opin< 
ion that Byron was " dying of home-sickness" — ^that 
being his phrase. For a long time he had floated 
England, and seemed to glory alike in his exile and 
his shama Yet all this time his heart was devoured 
with " the fiend ennui.'* He went to Greece, in the 
hope of doing some gallant deed that would Mripe out 
his disgrace, and create for him such sympathy in the 
breasts of his countrymen, as would enable him to 
return — ^his " faults forgiven and his sins forgot" 

Lockhart and Blackwood both told stories, and we 
passed a pleasant half hour. The wine was at last 
rather low, and our host ordered the servant to bring 
more. Upon which Scott said — " No, no, Lokert" — 
such was bis pronunciation of his son-in-law's name 
— " we have had enough : let us go and see the la- 
dies." And so we gathered to the parlor. 

Mrs. Lockhart was now apparently about two and 
twenty years old — small in person, and girl-like in 
manner. Her hair was light-brown, cut short, and 
curled in her neck and around her face. Her cheeks 
were blooming, and her countenance full of cheerful- 
ness. Her address was at once graceful and gracious 


— ^indicating a lively, appreciatdve nature and the finest 
breeding. She had a son, four years old, and at my 
request, he was brought in. He was a fine boy, 
" very like his fether," but alas, doomed to an early 

Mrs. Lockhart spoke with great interest of Mr. Ir- 
ving, who had visited the fiamily at Abbotsford. She 
^id that he slept in a room which looked out on the 
Tweed. In the morning as he came down to break- 
fast, he was very pale, and being asked the reason, 
confessed that he had not been able to sleep. The 
sight of the Tweed firom his window, and the con- 
sciousness of being at Abbotsford, so filled his imagi- 
nation — BO excited his feelings, as to deprive him of 
slumber. She also spoke of Professor Ticknor — ^lay- 
ing the accent on the last syllable — as having been 
at Abbotsford, and leaving behind him the most 
agreeable impressions. 

Our lively hostess was requested to give us some 
music, and instantly complied — the harp being her 
instrument. She sang Scotch airs, and played sev- 
eral pibrochs — all with taste and feeling. Her range 
of tunes seemed inexhaustible. Her father sat by, 
and entered heartily into the performances. He beat 
time vigorously with his lame leg, and frequently 
helped out a chorus, the heartiness of his tones ma- 
king up for some delinquencies in tune and time. 

* He died at London, Dec. 15, 1881 ; his mother followed him, M»T 
17, 1887. 


Often he made remarks upon the songs, and told an- 
ecdotes respecting them. When a certain pibroch 
had been played, he said it reminded him of the first 
time he ever saw Miss Edgeworth. There had come 
to Abbotsford, a wild Gaelic peasant from the neigh- 
borhood of Sta£EiA, and it was proposed to him to 
sing a pibroch, common in that region. He had con- 
sented, but reqoired the whole party present, to sit in 
a circle on the floor, while he should sing the song, 
and perform a certain pantomimic accompaniment^ in 
the center. All was accordingly arranged in the great 
hall, and the performer had just begun his wild chant, 
when in walked a small but stately lady, and an- 
nounced herself as Miss Edgeworth ! 

Mrs. Lockhart asked me about the American In- 
dians — expressing great curiosity concerning them. I 
told the story of one who was tempted to go into the 
rapids of the Niagara river, just above the Falls, for 
a bottle of rum. This he took with him, and having 
swam out to the point agreed upon, he turned back 
and attempted to regain the land. For a long time 
the result was doubtful: he struggled powerfully, 
but in vain. Inch by inch, he receded from the shore, 
and at last, finding his doom sealed, he raised himself 
above the water, wrenched the cork from the bottle, 
and putting the latter to his lips, yielded to the cur- 
rent, and thus went down to his doom. 

Mrs. Lockhart made some exclamations of mingled 
admiration and horror. Sir Walter then said that he 

hjMl read an account of an Indian, who was in a boat, 
approaching a calaiaci; by some accident, it was 
draim into the cuirait^ and the savage saw that his 
escape was impossilde. Upon this he arose, wrapped 
his robe of skins axound him, seated himself erect, 
and with an air of imperturbable gravity, went over 

^^ That is sublime,'* said Mrs. Lockhart : '^ as if he 
were preparing to meet the Great Spirit, and he 
thought it proper to enter his presence with dignity !" 

" The most remarkable thing about the American 
Indians," said Blackwood, " is their being able to fol 
low in the trail of their enemies, by their footprints 
left in the leaves, upon the grass, and even upon the 
moss of the rocks. The accounts given of this seem 
hardly credible." 

'* I can readily believe it, however," said Sir Wal- 
ter. " You must remember that this Ls a part of their 
education. I have learned at Abbotsford to discrim- 
inate between the hoof-marks of all our neighbors' 
horses, and I taught the same thing to Mrs. Lockhart 
It is, after all, not so difficult as you might think. 
Every horse's foot has some peculiarity — either of 
size, shoeing, or manner of striking the earth. I was 
once walking with Southey — a mile or more from 
home — across the fields. At last we came to a bridle- 
path, leading toward Abbotsford, and here I noticed 
fresh hoof-prints. Of this I said nothing ; but paus- 
ing and looking up with an inspired expression, I 

HviojUGiAL) juraoDcynoAL) vra. 


nid to Souihey — ' I have a gift of second sigbt : we 
shall have a stranger to dinner I' 

" ' And what may be his name ?' was the reply. 


** ' Ah, it is some relation of yours,' he said ; ' you 
have invited him, and you would pass off as an ex- 
ample of your Scottish gift of prophecy, a matter 
preyiously agreed upon 1' 

" ' Not at all,' said L ' I assure you that till this 
moment I never thought of such a thing.' 

" When we got home, I was told that Mr. Scott, a 
&imer living some three or four miles distant, and a 
relative of mine, was waiting to see me. Southey 
looked astounded. The man remained to dinner, and 
he was asked if he had given any intimation of his 
coming. He replied in the negative : that indeed he 
had no idea of visiting Abbotsford when he left home. 
After enjoying Southey's wonder for .some time, I 
told him that I saw the tracks of Mr. Scott's horse 
in the bridle-path, and inferring that he was going to 
Abbotsford, easily foresaw that we should have him 
to dinner." 

Mrs. Lockhart confirmed her father's statement, 
and told how, in walking over the country together, 
they had often amused themselves in studying the 
hoof-prints along the roads. 

Mr. Lockhart returned to the Indians. " I have 
lately been reading an exceedingly clever American 
novel, entitled the Pioneers, by Cooper. His descrip- 


snd I dinik be lias opened 
i itf^ iei?£ :£ rroiisire. -sciKiaZT in the hunters 
ilcoir rn? ±^ii:ze!s. -rii:. rz. zr.eir ir.:ercoxirse with 
UTi:p?s. iiT« "Sfccce >;i>' saxa^e themselves^ That 
rcriiir lii s fiZ rf izii«ieiLi. *iTentnre, poetry ; the 
dzarai!Tsr :!f rfflcnprrcekizig is ocghul and striking." 
•* I hxT^ 3e« aeen ^he iSnieers.'" said Scott ; *' bat 
I 2j:&7f; rsai ^ P^*jc b J ^ same aathor, which has 
^ist ceen nrblisieiL I* Ss tctv dero; and I think 
h wiZ TZT!! ons ^LSL his scpsigth lie? in depicting sea 
lije and ftIren;uLre. We reallT hare no good sea- 
tales^ and hefe fs a wide :ield« open to a man of troe 


- Bi:l para."* said oar hossess* *' I should think it 
rarher a narrow deld. Only a few persons go to sea, 
and the !an2Tiak;:e of sailors is so technical as to be 
hardly anders&xxi by people generally- It seems to 
me thau sea-iales can never excite the sympathy of 
the great mass of readers, because they have had no 
experience of its life and manners.'' 

^' It is no doabt a task of some difficulty," said Sir 
Walter. " to bring these home to the hearts of the 
reading million; nevertheless, to a man of genius 
for it, the materials are ample and interesting. All 
our minds are full of associations of danger, of dar- 
ing, and adventure with the sea and those who have 
made that element their home. And besides, this 
book to which I refer — the Pilot — connects its story 
with the land. It is perhaps more interesting to me, 


because I perfectly well recollect the time when Paul 
Jones — whose character ia somewhat reflected in the 
hero of Uie stoi; — oame up the Solvay in 1778 is 
tbft Baqgtar, tlKHIgb I nM tlken less thsD tea yean old. 
He kept ih» whole coast jn a rtate of ilarm ibr Bome 
tisai% Wid.niBiQ.&GitthegrertBcsnerowof tiiat age 

..**Mr.OoopariB A^nun of genia^" widLookhMrt: 
<<jio <HM ouL'denj that; but it fleema to me that 
ftvdcdeD Braini vas the moat lemarkable miter of 
fiotkiBth«tAoMricahaB'prodaoed. Tbenisaaimilazk 

ity in hia atjle to that of the Badcliffe school, and in 
the tone of mind to Godwin's Caleb Williams ; bat in 
hifl machinery, he is highly original. In his display 
of the darker passions, be surpasses all his models." 

"That may be true," said Sir Walter, "but it ia 
neither a wholesome nor a popular species of literature. 
It ia almost wholly ideal; it is not in nature; it is in 
fact contrary to it Its scenes, incidents, characters, 
do not represent life : they are alien to common ex- 
perience. They do not appeal to a wide circle of 
sympathy in the hearts of mankind. The chief emo- 
tion that it excites is terror or wonder. The suggest- 
ive manner of treating every subject, aims at keeping 
the mind constantly on the rack of uncertainty. This 
trick of art was long ago exhausted. Brown had 
wonderful powers, as many of his descriptions show ; 
bat I think he was led astray by falling under the 
iaflnenoe of bad examples, prevalent at his tima 


Had he written his own thoughts, he would have 
been, perhaps, immortal : in writing those of other?, 
his fame was of course ephemeral." 

The conversation turned upon Bums. Soott knew 
him well. He said that Tam O'Shanter was written to 
please a stonecutter, who had executed a monument 
for the poet^s father, on condition that he should 
write him a witch-story, in verse. He stated that 
Bums was accustomed, in his correspondence, more 
especially with ladies, to write an elaborate letter, 
and then send a copy of it to several persons — 
modifying local and personal passages to suit each 
individual. He said that of some of these letters, he 
had three or four copies thus addressed to different 
pereons, and all in the poet's handwriting. 

The tricks of the London newspapers wore spoken 
of, and he mentioned the following instance. A pop- 
ular ji^eaoher there, had caused a church to be built, 
in which he was to officiate. The time was fixed for 
i:^ vloviioAlion ; but two days before this, an article 
arix^arevl in one of the city prints, describing the 
bv.i'.d::;^. and speaking well of it, but suggesting 
iV.a: :ho pi-lars which supported the ga^.lerj^ were 
cr.:iT\^'v uv sliirht, and it must be exceedinslv d»in- 
ror^'^v.s :*i>r anv oonsiroEration to assemble there! This 
of Ov^urs^^ prL\luced a general alarm, and to appease 
;:;::5. iV.o prv^prioior found it necessary to have a sur- 
\ov niado bv an architect. This was done, and the 
u>:liiuvt d^vlanxl, that, as the pillars were of iron, 

uisroBicui., ANBcnxmoii., ktc. 


there was not the slightest danger. Tlie proprietor 
took this statemeDt to the editor of the paper, and 
begged him to retract his fiUae ami iiijuriouB stato- 
meat. The reply was — 

" This ia doubtless an important matter to you, but 
not of the slightest interest to me." 

" But, sir," was the reply, " you have stated what 
is not true : will you not correct your own error ?" 

"Yes, but we must be paid for it." 

" What, for telling the truth ?" 

" That depends upon circumstances r do you sup 
pose we can tell every truth tbnt everybody desires 
us to? No, sir; this is a matter of interest to you: 
yon can afford to pay for it. Give us ten guineas, 
and we will set it all right." 

The proprietor of the church bad no other resource, 
and so he paid the money. 

Charles Scott, Sir Walter's second son, a rosy- 
cheeked youth of about eighteen, was present. He bad 
recently come from Wales, where he bad been under 
the teaching of a Welch clergyman. This subject 
being mentioned, Blackwood asked Mr. Robinson — a 
very sober, clerical-looking gentleman — to give the 
company a sample of a Welch sermon. Two chairs 
were placed back to back : Blackwood sat in one — his 
bald, flat pate for a desk, and the performer mounted 
the other — taking one of Mrs. Lockhart's songs for his 
notes. It seems he was familiar with the Welch Ian- 
guage, and an admirable mimic. His performance was 


exceedingly amusing. Wlien he became animated, 
he slapped the music down on Blackwood's bald pate, 
and in capping his climaxes, gave it two or three 
smart thumps with his fist Blackwood must have 
had a substantial skull, or he could not have borne 
it. At last, even he had enough of it, and when he 
perceived another climax was coming, he dodged, 
and the sermon was speedily brought to a close. 

Mr. Bobinson was then called upon to imitate an 
Italian player on the bass-viol. He took a pair of 
tongs for his bow, and a shovel for the viol, and 
mounting a pair of spectacles on the tip-end of his 
nose, he began imitating the spluttering of the instru- 
ment by his voice. It was inimitably droll. Sir 
Walter was quite convulsed, and several of the ladies 
absolutely screamed. As to myself, I had the side- 
ache for four-and-twenty hours. 

And thus passed the evening — ^till twelve o'clock. 
I have not told you the half of what is indicated in 
the notes before me. These specimens will suffice, 
however, to give you some idea of the manner in 
which good people unbent in the £imily circle of Ed- 
inburgh, thirty years ago. You will readily suppose 
that my eye often turned upon the chief figure in this 
interesting group. I could not for a moment forget 
his presence, though nothing could be more unpre- 
tending and modest than his whole air and bearing. 

His features are doubtless impressed upon you by 
his portraits, for they have all a general resemblance. 


rhere was in Mr. Lockhart'a parlor, where we were 
sitUng, a copy of Chantry'a bust of him — since re- 
peated a thousand times in plaster. I cgmparcd it 
again and again with the original. Nothing oould 
possibly be better as a likeness. The lofty head, the 
projecting brows, the keen, peering glance of the eye, 
the long, thick upper lip, the durapy nose, the rather 
small and receding chin — each feature separately 
homely, yet all combined to form a face of agreeable 
expression. Its general effect was that of calm dig- 
nity; and now, in the presence of children and 
frl.-.h<U, \i-s}.u:'ii l,_v rroui:iI uniMlinn^;, it was one of the 
pleasantest countenances I have ever seen. When 
standing or walking, his manly form, added to an 
aspect of benevolence, completed the image — at once 
exciting affection and commanding respect. 

As to his manners, I need only add that they were 
those of a well-bred English gentleman — quiet, un- 
pretending, absolutely without self-assertion. He ap- 
peared to be happy, and desirous of making others so. 
He was the only person present, who seemed uqcoq 
scions that he was the author of Wav^ley. His in- 
tercourse with his daughter, and hers in return, were 
most charming. She called him "papa," and be 
called her "my child," "my daughter," "Sophia," 
and in the most endearing tone and manner. She 
seemed quite devoted to him, watching his lips when 
he was speaking, and seeking in every thing to anti- 
cipate and fulfill his wishes. When she was singing, 

1 ■■^ 

'.«.-- i 

-'^tr^ unt*. ♦'-^' T.^ -'j -si-bfc she was si 
rusiri TrTiiii liir. xz.L :le lize? cazie i 

JP5 aJ 

JL "car ^' lui^ul loii ^- 

-zz^ cTerv :r»>? of delirium havinsr 

J-TJrT i fcij :£ ibcii:^ iL:»£* weeis in Edinburgh, 
I '.•:i 1 r^Li':iiz.* leiT-a :c ::. izd wen: to London. 
y.,::: -zijrf liCir. S^tccci:*:' IS>± I was a^n there. 
>:-. :: vis :c !:_:5 iTiii-rei. i: Ac b*:;s:brd. Over- 
: .-;. '.;-i T".:JL li-f s::riir^"--e :o ex:rloa:e himself from 
:^ ; ■'/rt'/i: ::' 1^5 r.-n-iL-rSw zis criin had riven wav. 
iv .: :>.-: -v.^iirj :z:c11t\;: w^is in r:iinsw On the mom- 
: ,: :* :j.i 17:i. if w:i^ fr:ni a rAralvtic slumber — 

rc.^:i?t*i dTT -Av. Lx^knars came :o his bedside. " Mv 
vi:.^-." *::^^ sazd. "I mar hare but a moment to speak 
:o y:.!. iv a cood man: be virtuous — be religious: 
Iv ,i ^;«x: ::\;;n. Xo:h:r.^ else will !^ve vou anv com- 
:' r:. w •-.<::: vou ;kre oallcd uivn to lie here!" 

Oi... w:.;;: a Iv^^v.os: were th»:-se wonls, uttered bv 
tho dvi:.:: livs o: :he mi^rhricst eenius of the age! 
We mav all do well to hoed them. Few more words 
did he speak : he soon fell into a stupor, which, on 


the 21st, became the sleep of death. Thus he ex- 
pired, all his children around him. " It was a beau- 
tiful dajr," says hia biographer — " ho warm that every 
window was wide open, and so perfectly still that 
the sound of all others most delicious to hia ear, the 
gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was dis- 
tinctly audible aa we knelt around the bed, aud hi* 
eldest son kissed and closed hia eyeal" 

The signs and symbols of mourning that spread 
over Great Britain on account of the death of tha 
great and good man, were like those which com' 
nuiinnMh? tin? dii'waso of a sovereign. Bella 
tolled, sermons were preached, flags of ships were a1 
halfmast, nearly every newspaper was clothed in 
black. In Edinburgh, every lip trembled in s[ 
ing of the melancholy event. 

Two days after this, I departed with my ■ 
panion for the Highlands. On reaching Stirling, we 
found it enveloped in the drapery of dark, impene- 
trable clouds. We passed on to Callender ; we pro- 
ceeded to Loch Katrine. All around .seemed to be in 
mourning. Huge masses of dim vapor rolled around 
the pinnacle of Bcnain; the shaggy brows and rocky 
precipices of Benvenue were all shrouded in gloomy 
mist. The hoary forests of the Troaachs heaved sad 
and moaning in the breeze. The surface of the lake 
was wrinkled with falling spray. All around seemed 
to wail and weep, as if some calamity had fallen upon 
tiature itseU He who had endowed these scenes with 


immortality, was dead ; his body was now being borne 
to its tomb. While a nation wept, it was meet that 
the mountain and the lake, the stream and the glen — 
which his genius had consecrated — should also weep. 

" Call it not vain ; they do not err 

Who say, that when the poet dies, 
Mate natnre mooms her worshiper, 

And celebrates his obsequies ; 
Who say, tall cliff and cavern lone. 
For the departed bard make moan ; 
That mountains weep in crystal rill ; 
That flowers in tears of balm distill ; 
Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, 
And oaks, in deeper groans, reply ; 
And rivers teach their rushing wave 
To murmur dirges round his grave!" 


Journey to London — RemarU on England^ a* it appears to tht Ameriean 
Travder—Th4 Climate— Tfu Landscape—Jealounet between the BngUA 
and Americans — Plan far Securing Peace. 

My DEAB 0****** 

Early in June, I set out for London. My route 
led me through the village of Dalkeith, and the pos- 
sessions of the Duke of Buccleugh, extending for 
thirty miles on both sides of the road. We were 
constantly meeting objects which revived historical 
or poetic reminiscences. Among these was Cockpen, 


the scene of the celebrated ballad, and as I rode by, 
the whole romance passed before my mind, I fan- 
cied that I could even trace the pathway along which 
the old laird proceeded upon his courtahip, aa well 
aa the residence of 

"The pemijrlesa lass wiUi a kng pedigreo;" 
and who was so daft ss to reject his oEfer, althongh 

"His wig was well powtberud and us gude aa new; 
His woislcoat was red, and his coat it was lilae ; 
A ring on hia finger, his sword and cocked fiat — 
And who could refuse the auld liiird ivi' a' tiiat?" 

We crossed the Galawater and the Ettrick, and 
traveled along the banks of the Tweed — formed by 
the union of these two streams. We passed Abbots- 
ford, rising at a little distance on the leil — its baronial 
dignity being lost in the spell of more potent associa- 
tions. Further on, we s{tw the Eildon Hills, " cleft in 
three" by the wondrous wizzard, Michael Scott — as 
duly chronicled in the Lay of the Last Minstrel, We 
proceeded along the banks of the Teviot — a small lim- 
pid stream, where we observed the barefooted lassies 
washing, as in the days of Allan Ramsay. We saw 
Netherby Hall, and a little beyond Cannobie Lea, the 
scenes of the song of Young Lochinvar, All these, 
and many more localities of legendary name and 
fame, were passed in the course of a forenoon's 
progress in the stage-coach. Scotland is indeed a 
cham'ed land I 


One day's journey brought me to Carlisle : thence I 
traveled westward, looking with all due delight upon 
Wendermere, and Rydal, and Grassmere, and Helvel- 
lyn, and Derwentwater, and Skiddau. Then turning 
eastward, I traveled over a hilly and picturesque 
country, to the ancient and renowned city of York. 
Having lingered, half entranced amid its antiquities, 
and looked almost with worship upon its cathedral — 
the most beautiful I have ever seen — I departed^ and 
soon found myself once more in London. 

As I shall not return to the subject again, allow 
me to say a few words as to the impression England 
makes upon the mind of an American, traveling over 
its surface. I have visited this country several times 
within the last thirty years, and I shall group my 
impressions in one general view. The whole may be 
summed up in a single sentence, which is, that Eng- 
land is incomparably the most beautiful country in 
the world ! I do not speak of it in winter, when in- 
cumbered with fogs ; when there is 

" No son, no moon, no mom, no noon, 

No dusk, no dawn — ^no proper time of day ; 
No sky, no earthly view, no distance looking blue • 
No road, no street, no t'other side the way!" 

I take her as I do any other beauty who sits for hei 
portrait — in her best attire ; that is, in summer. The 
sun rises here as high in June, as it does in America 
Vegetation is just about as tkr advanced. The mead- 
ows, the wheat-fields, the orchards, the forests, are in 



their glory. There is one difference, howerer, be- 
tween the two countries — the son in England is not 
so hot| the air is not so highly perfomedy the bnzz of 
the insects is not so intense. Every thing is more 
tranqoiL With ns^ all nature, during summer, ap- 
peals to be in haste, as if its time was short — as if it 
fiaared the coming frost. In England, on the con- 
trsiyi there seems to be a confidence in the seasons^ 
as if there were time for the ripening harvests; as if 
the wheat might swell out its fiit sides, the hops am- 
plify its many-plaited flowers, the oats multiply and 
increase its tassels— each and all attaining their 
perfection at leisure. In the United States, the pe- 
riod of growth of most vegetables is compressed into 
ten weeks ; in Great Britain, it extends to sixteen. 

If we select the middle of June as a point of com- 
parison, we shall see that in America there is a spirit, 
vigor, energy in the climate, as indicated by vegeta- 
ble and animal life, unknown in Europe. In the 
former, the pulse of existence beats quicker than in 
the latter. The air is clearer, the landscape is more 
distinct, the bloom more vivid, the odors more pun- 
gent, the perceptions of the mind even, I doubt not, 
are more intense. A clover-field in America, in full 
bloom, is by many shades more ruddy than the same 
thing in England — ^its breath even is sweeter: the 
music of the bees stealing its honey is of a higher 
key. A summer forest with us is of a livelier green 
than in any part of Great Britain; the incense 


breathed upon the. heart, morning and evening, is, I 
think, more full and firagrant And yet, if we take 
the simmier through, this season is pleasanter in 
England than with us. Jt is longer, its excitements 
are more tranquil, and, being spread over a larger 
space, the heart has more leisure to appreciate them, 
than in the haste and hurry of our American Ali¥nid» 
There is one fact worthy of notice, which illus- 
trates this peculiarity of the English sunmner. The 
trees there are all of a more sturdy, or, as we say, 
stubbed form and character. The oaks, the elmSi the 
walnuts, beeches, are shorter and thicker, as well m 
the trunks as the branches, than ours. They ha?e 
all a stocky, John Bull form and stature. The leavei 
are thicker, the twigs larger in circumference. I hftW 
noticed particularly the recent growths of apple-treeB| 
and they are at once shorter and stouter than in 
America. This quality in the trees gives a pecu- 
liarity to the landscape. The forest is more solid and 
less gracefiil than ours. K you will look at an Eng- 
lish painting of trees, you notice the fiict I state, and 
perceive the eflFect it gives, especially to scenes of 
which trees constitute a prevailing element. All 
over Europe, in fact, the leaves of the trees have 
a less ffeathery appearance than in America ; and in 
general the forms of the branches are less arching, 
and, of course, less beautiful. Hence it will be per- 
ceived that European pictures of trees differ in this 
respect from American ones — the foliage in the for- 



■arlieiDginon Mlid, and Ae nreep of the branoha 
more angular. 

.'Bat it is in Tempeat to the eflieots of human art and 
iadtntiy, that ih» y"E^"*' lanifacape hn the chief ad- 
Taatage orer otm. England is an old oonntry, and 
ibom on its &ob &o tnnafixining infiaenoei of fif- 
teen ooatnriea ofoohrntioB. It ia, with the exoep- 
Gon«f Bdginii^ ^ most thiekly-eettled oonntay of 
Iktop^—neaxly three hnndied and fifty inhabitants 
16 the sqiuie mile, while in the United States we 
hmre bat seven. Maonchnaetta, the moat thioklj- 
lettled State in Ameiica, has but one hondred and 

England, therefore, is under a garden-like cnltira- 
tkm ; the plowing is etraigbt and even, as if regulated 
by machinery ; the boundaries of estates consist for 
the moet part of stone mason-work, the intermediate 
divisions being hedges, neatly trimmed, and forming 
a beaatifal contrast to our stiff stone walls and rail 
fences. The public roads are nicely wrought, the 
sides being turfed with neat and convenient foot- 
ways. The railway stations are beautiful specimens 
of architecture ; the sides of the railways are all sod- 
ded over, and often are blooming with patches of cul- 
tivated flowers. In looking ii-om the top of a hill 
over a large extent of conntzy, it is impossible not to 
feel a glow of delight at the splendor of the scene — 
the richness of the soil, its careful and skillful cul- 
tivation, ita green, tidy boundaries checkering the 

31$ xjETnoe — ^bmgkaphicai 


»cei.e. ii? i^erzirg crop^ its £u herds, its nnmberless 
5^1 rill-drxi-ctd sheer*. 

Xor Eiviii lie dwellings be overlooked. I pass by 
;lie cities and the maniifiumiring villages, which, in 
m :ot pans, are viable in every extended landscape^ 
sc=ietinie& as in the region of Manchester, spread- 
ing ou: for miles^ and sending np pitchv wreaths of 
snioke firom a thousand tall, tapering chimneys. I 
am speaking now of the country, and here are such 
r^idences as are unknown to usw An English castle 
would swallow up a dozen of our shingle or brick 
villas. The adjacent estate often includes a thousand 
acres — and these, be it remembered, are kept almost as 
muoii for ornament as use. Think of a dwelling that 
might gratify the pride of a priuce, surrounded by 
several square miles of wooded park, and shaven 
lawD, and winding stream, and swelling hill, and all 
Laving been for a hundred, perhaps five hundred 
years, subjected to every improvement which the 
hiirhest art could suggest I There is certainly a union 
ot unrivaled beauty and magnificence in the lordly 
estates of England. We have nothing in America 
which at all resembles them. 

And then there is every grade of imitation of these 
high examples, scattered over the whole country. 
The greater part of the surface of England belongs to 
wealthy proprietors, and these have alike the desire 
and the ability to give an aspect of neatness, finish, 
and elegance, not only to their dwellings and the 


immedmie grounda, but to their eutire estates. The 
prevailing staudard of taste thus leads to a universal 
beautifying of the surface of the countrj. Even the 
cottager feels the influence of this omnipreacnt spirit ; 
ihe brown thatch over hia dwelling, and the hedge 
before his door, must be neatly trimmed ; the green 
ivy must ciamber up and festoon his windows, and 
the little yard in front must bloom with roses and 
lilies, and other gentle flowers, in their season. 

And thus cold, foggy England is made the para- 
dise of the earth — at least during this charming 
nioDth of June. Nature now, in compensation for 
her iil humor at oilier seasons, aids in this uuiveraal 
decoration. Through the whole summer — nay, in au- 
tumn, and even in winter — the verdure of the Eng- 
lish landscape is preserved. Not in July nor August, 
not even in December, do we here see the grass 
parched with heat or grown gray in the frost. It is 
true the leaves of the trees fall, as they do with us, in 
November — not having first clothed the bills in red 
and purple and gold as in America, but, as the Eng- 
lish poet tells us — 

" the fading, manj-colored woods, 

Shade deep'ning over shade, the conntry round 
Imbrown ; a crowded oubrage, dusk and duo. 
Of everj hue, from wan, declioing green. 
To aooty dark" — 

thus, for a time, seeming to prelude the coming win- 
ter, with a drapery of mourning woven of the &ded 
Vot. n.— 10 


glories of summer. Nothing can indeed be more dis- 
mal than the aspect of England, when the black, crum- 
pled leaves are Mling in the forests — some yet flut- 
tering on the branches, and others strewn on the 
ground. But even then the sod retains its living 
hue, and when at last the leaves have fallen, there is 
still a universal mantle of verdure over the fields — 
thus redeeming winter fi-om a portion of its gloom. 

So much for the conmion aspect of England as the 
traveler passes over it The seeker for the pictu- 
resque may find abundant gratification in Devon- 
shire, Derbyshire, Westmoreland, though Wales and 
Scotland, and parts of Ireland, are still more renown- 
ed for scenic beauty. So far as combinations of na- 
ture are concerned, nothing in the world can surpass 
some of our own scenery — as along the upper waters 
of the Housatonic and the Connecticut, or among the 
islands of Lake George, and a thousand other places 
— but these lack the embellishments of art and the 
associations of romance or song, which belong to the 
rival beauties of British landscapes. 

You will notice that I confine these remarks to a 
single topic — the aspect of England, as it meets the 
eye of an American traveler. The English, with all 
their egotism, do not appreciate that wonderful dis- 
play of wealth and refinement, which the surface of 
their country presents. They do not and can not 
enjoy the spectacle as an American does, for they are 
bom to it, and have no experience which teaches 


&em to estimate it by commou and inferior stand- 
arda. Having saiil so much ou tbis subject, I sball 
not venture to speak of English society — of the lights 
and shadows of life beneath the myriad roofe of towns 
tod cities. The subject would be too exteneive, and 
besides, it baa been abundantly treated by others. I 
only say, in passing, that tlie English people are best 
studied at home. John Bull, out of his own house, is 
generally a rough customer: here, by his fireside, with 
vife, children, and friends, he is generous, genial, 
gentlemarily. Tliere in no hospitality like that of an 
Englishman, when you have crossed his threshold. 
Everywhere else he will annoy you. He will poke 
his elbow into your sides in a crowded thoroughfare ; 
he will rebuff you if, sitting at his side in a locomo 
tive, you ask a question by way of provoking a little 
conversation ; he will get the advantage of you in 
trade, if he can ; he carries at his back a load of pre- 
judices, like that of Christian in Pilgrim's Progress, 
and instead of seeking to get rid of them, he is always 
striving to increase his collection. If he becomes a 
diplomat, his great business is to meddle in every- 
body's affairs ; if an editor, he is only happy in 
proportion as he can say annoying and irritating 
things. And yet, catch this same John Bull at home, 
and bis crusty, crocodile armor falls off, and he is the 
Tery best fellow in the world — liberal, hearty, sin- 
cere — the perfection of a gentleman. 
The relations of America to England are a subject 

220 UklTJEBS — BiOiiKAFHiCALy 

of great interest to both countries. It would seem 
that by every dictate of prudence, as well as of pro- 
priety, they should remain firiends. We are of the 
same kith and kin, have the same language, the same 
faith, the same moral and social platform, the same, 
or at least similar institutions. . All these ties seem 
to bind us in the bonds of peace and amity. To this 
may be added the myriad relations of commercial in- 
terest. To do good to each other is virtually to earn 
and bless our daily bread. And yet we have been twice 
at war. There is a social war always being waged be- 
tween us. The presses of England and America seem 
to conceive that they say their best things when they 
say their worst, of the two countries. We must not, 
then, put too much faith in consanguinity. Family 
quarrels are proverbially the fiercest. It is a mourn- 
ful truth that the first murder was a fratricide. 

What then is to be done ? One thing could and 
should be done, in England. The press there is in 
the hands of the ruling people. If^ as is asserted in 
England, there is a general feeling of good-will there 
toward America, that should be made manifest by 
the common vehicles of public opinion. Certainly 
this has never yet been done. From the very be- 
ginning, the British press has been supercilious, hy- 
percritical, condemnatory of our country, its manners, 
principles, institutions. Is it possible — so long as 
this state of things shall continue — for the Amer- 
ican people to believe that the English nation do 


not, ID their tcarts, cherish hostility toward thia 
country ? 

It may, indeed, be said that the AmericaD \>ress is 
as little conciliatory toward England as that of Eng- 
land toward America. But, certainly, the good ex- 
ample should come from them. They are the older 
people — the mother country r their journals are more 
immediately within the control and influence of lead- 
ing minds and influential men, than ours. And be 
aides, all that is wanted on our part, to a good under 
standing, is an assurance, a conviction of good-will, 
towani II:? oil tlie otln.T ei-\-- of thf water. Amid all 
oar scolding at England, there ia at the bottom of the 
American heart, a profound respect for her. We care 
tery little what the French, or Dutch, or Germans, or 
Bussians, or Chinese, or Japanese, say or think of us ; 
but if the English say any thing bad of us, we are 
sure to resent it. Why can not something be done 
to bring this mischievous war to an end? 

And yet how can it be effected? Let me ven 
ture upon a suggestion : if the London Times- -that 
mighty personification of John Bull — would always 
be a gentleman, when he speaks of America, such 
would be the influence of this high example, that I 
abouM have some hope of seeing, even in my life- 
time, a millennial spirit in the intercourse of the two 



London Thirty Tears Ago^IU Oreat IncrM90—Gwrg€ IV, — Asooi Race* 
—The DuU of WeUingtonr— Jacob PerHne and i/u Steam-gun — TU 
Duke qf Sueaex—Duke of Tork—Houndow Beaih— Parliament — Can- 
ninff — Mackintosh — Brougham — Palmsreion — Bbuee of Lard* — Lord 
ELdon — Rhic Rhio — Catulani — Signarina Oareia — Edward L-vinf — Bf- 
ron** Oofin. 

Mr DEAB C****** 

It is said that Mr. Webster remarked, while in 
London, that his constant and predominant feeling 
was that of wonder at its enormous extent : fourteen 
thousand streets, two hundred thousand houses, fif- 
teen hundred places of public worship, three millions 
of human beings — all crowded within the space of 
seven miles square ! 

Yet London, when I first knew it, was not what it 
is now. Its population has at least doubled since 
1824. At that time Charing Cross was a filthy, tri- 
angular thoroughfare, a stand for hackney-coaches, a 
grand panorama of showbills pasted over the sur- 
rounding walls, with the king's mews in the immediate 
vicinity : this whole area is now the site of Trafalgar- 
Square — one of the most imposing combinations of 
magnificent architecture and tasteful embellishments 
in the world. This is an index of other and similar 
changes that have taken place all over the city. Lon- 
don has been nearly as much improved as New York 
within the last thirty years. I know a portion of it. 

mgrasmkL, AirEODonoAi^ mo. SSS 

nearly & mile square, now covered with buildings, 
which conaLsted of open fields when I first visited the 
city. At the present day, Ijondon not only surpasses 
in its extent, its wealth, its accumulations of all that 
belongs to art — the richness of its merchandises, the 
extent of its commerce, the vastness of its influence — 
all the cities that now exist, but all that the world has 
before known. What were Nineveh, or Babylon, or 
Some — even if they had an equal population- — when 
their relations were confined to the quarter of a single 
hemisphere, and their knowledge did not embrace 
the telescope, ihcmariner'a compnss, the steam-engine, 
nor the telegraph — neither railroads nor the printing- 
press; — what were thej in comparison with the me- 
tropolis of a kingdom, whose colonies now belt the 
world, and whose influence, reaching every slate and 
nation under the sun, extends to the thousand mil- 
lions of mankind! 

But what of London in 1824? King George IV, 
was then on the throne, and though he was shy of 
showing himself in public, I chanced to see him sev- 
eral times, and once to advantage — at Ascot Races. 
This was a royal course, and brought together an 
immense crowd of the nobility and gentry, as well as 
an abundant gathering of gamblers and blacklegs 
For more than an hour his majesty stood in the pa- 
vilion, surrounded by the Duke of Wellington, the 
Duke of York, the Marquis of Anglesea, and other 
peracns of note. He was a large, over-fat man, of 

2 TizbsT stZ'TZT ai.d discontented oaontenanoe. All 
iJir ins c: ie loile: OTild not dissroise the wrin- 
iles of ire. azi the ziarks of dissipation and dilap- 
:ii:::z. His lirt? wer>e sharp, his eve srravish-blue. 
iiis wiz chesnun-irovn. His cheeks hnns: dowTv 
r«ei^i:iloiisIv. and his whole fiioe seemed pallid, bloat- 
ed, sjnd fiabbr. His coat was a blue surtout, but- 
t.:r.« TiA: over the breast : his cravat a huge black: 
s:.x"k, scaiv>elT snScient to conceal his enormous. 
iiniu^adng jowl. On his left breast was a glittering 
star. He won? a common hat the brim a little broad- 
er than the feshion. But for the star and the respect 
jx'iid to him. he might have passed as only an over- 
dr-^so^e-i and rather sour old rake. I noticed that his 
c?:*: set verv close and smooth, and was told that he; 


was irusse-i and braced bv stavs, to keep his flesh in. 
place and shape. It was said to be the labor of at 
leas: two hours to prepare him for a public exhibi- 
tion, like the present He was a dandy to the last. 
The wrinkles of his coat, after it was on, were cut out 
bv the tailor, and carefully drawn up with the needle- 
He had the gout, and walked badly. I imagine there 
were few among the thousands gathered to the spec- 
tacle, who were really less happy than his majesty— 
the monarch of the three kingdoms. 

I not only saw the Duke of Wellington on this, 
but on many subsequent occasions. I think the por- 
traits give a false idea of his personal appearance. 
He was really a rather small, thin, insignificant look- 


iDg man, unless you aaw him on horseback. His 
profile was indeed fine, on account of his high Ro- 
man nose, but his front face was meager, and the 
expression cold, almost menu. His legs were too 
short, a defect which disappeared when he was in 
the saddle. He then seemed rather stately, and in a 
military dress, riding always with inimitable ease, he 
snstainefl the image of the great general. At other 
times, I never could discover in his appearance any 
thing but the features and aspect of an ordinary, 
and certainly not prepossessing, old man. I say this 
with great respect for his character, which, as a per- 
sonification of solid sense, indomitable pur]X)se, steady 
loyalty, and unflinching devotion to a sense of public 
duty, I conceive to be one of the finest in British 

At this period, our countryman, Jacob Perkins, 
was astonishing London with his steam-gun. He 
was certainly a man of extraordinary genius, and was 
the originator of numerous useful inventions. At 
the time of which I write, he fancied that he had dis- 
covered a new mode of generating steam, by which 
he was not only to save a vast amount of fuel, but to 
obtain a marvelous increase of power. So confident 
was he of success, that be told me he felt certain of 
being able, in a few months, to go from London to 
Liverpool, with the steam produced by a gallon of 
oil. Such was his fertility of invention, that while 
pursuing one discovery, others came into his mind, 


and, seizing upon his attention, kept him in a whirl 
of experiments, in which many things were begun 
and comparatively nothing completed. 

Though the steam-gun never reached any practical 
result, it was for some time the admiration of London. 
I was present at an exhibition of its wonderful per- 
formances in the presence of the Duke of Sussex, the 
king's youngest brother, and the Duke of Welling- 
ton, with other persons of note. The general purpose 
of the machine was to discharge bullets by steam, 
instead of gunpowder, and with great rapidity — at 
least a hundred a minute. The balls were put in a 
sort of tunnel, and by working a crank back and 
forth, they were let into the chamber of the barrel — 
one by one — and expelled by the steam. The noise of 
each explosion was like that of a musket, and when 
the discharges were rapid, there was a ripping uproar, 
quite shocking to tender nerves. The balls — carried 
about a hundred feet across the smithy — struck upon 
an iron target, and were flattened to the thickness of 
a shilling piece.* 

♦ Jacob Perkins waa a native of Newburyport, MaHS., bom in 1776 
lie woH niiprcnticcd to a goldsmith, and soon was noted for bis ingcnu 
Ity. Before the CAtablishment of a national mint, he was employed, and 
with success, in making dies for copper coin. At tlie age of twenty-four, 
be invented the muchine for cutting nails, which had a great ett'cct over 
the whole world. lie next invented a stump for preventing counterfeit 
bills, and then a check-plate, which was long adopted by law in M:«ssa- 
chusettR. He now discovrred a mode of c^ofiening ntecl, by decarboni- 
zation, which led to the use of softened steel for engraving. Tiie results 
of this discovery have been extensive — the bank-note engraving, now 
brought to such perfe<^tion, being one of the most prominent. Stccl 



The wbole performance was indeed quite formJda- 
hle, an J tbe Diike of Sussex — who was an enormoua, 
red-facoJ man — seemed greatly excited. I stood close 
by, and when the buUete flew pretty thick and the 
discharge came to its climax, I heard him say to the 
Duke of Wellington, in an under-tone — " Wonder- 
ful, wonderful— d d wonderful ; wonderful, won- 
derful — d- — — <1 wonderful ; wonderful, wonderful — 

d d wonderful 1" and so he went on, without va- 

liatioQ. It was in fact, save the profanily, a very 
good commentary upon the perfor 

•njmvLoii for fine pjotaras, wub Bnothsr. 
mikinic booke tlie tnoiit duiirable BrUclaa for presents — uigteid orria^, 
iMckluxe, shswli^ — thiiB producing not only ■ now gencntioa of publi- 
(•Itonx, bntB revolution id the twU of sociely. This diicoverj Mr. Per- 
kins carried to England, »i>d hero he remsiDed till bin denth in IMS. His 
other inventions arc very nMmeroua : iinionf these urc Ihe chuin-piinip, 
the butlio meter, to measure the depth of water, the plcomaler, to moas- 
nn the velocit]' of sliip«, together with a multitude of iaiprovemenls in 
nrioos devices, from liou^e-stoves to steam-engines. 

After I loft London, ho so far improved his ateani-gun, th»t he sent 
balls Ihrough eleven planks of deal, an incii thick ! A report of his ei- 
periineuis iu 1825, before a conimilleB, of which the Duke of Welling- 
ton wna the head, deseribes the power esenad, as abBolutelj terrifto. 

London. One of the snperinlendenls of this wsk Mr. Charles Toppan, 

penter A Co. To his intellietnce and kindtiCM 1 was indebted foi 
much of ihe pleasure and proflt ofmy first visit to London. Here also 
*« Asa Spencer — uri)iitially a nalchniaker iif New London, and the in- 
Tcnlor of the geotoetrie lulbe, for copying mcdu)!-, a* well an other ingo- 
luons and iifoful devices. He was a man of true genius— full of good- 
De», moJenly, and ecceiilricity. 

The honse of Mr. Perkins, at this pcpod. was a fainilior gathering 
pla«« of Americans in London— Ilia olmrming daughter! 


dent, » 

d kindlini 


Having thus spoken of the Duke of Sussex, I mus^ 
say a few words of his brother, the Duke of York, 
whom I had seen, dressed in a green frock-coat and 
white pantaloons, at Ascot He was there interested in 
the race, for he had entered a famous courser by the 
name of Moses, for one of the prizes. Some person 
reflected upon him for this, inasmuch, as among other 
titles, he held that of bishop.* His ready reply was, 
that he was devoted to Moses and the profits. De- 
spite his disgrace in the Flanders campaign, and his 
notorious profligacy, both as a gambler and a rou6, 
he was still a favorite among the British people. 
There was about him a certain native honorable- 
ness and goodness of heart, which survived, even in 
the midst of his debaucheries. English loyalty has 
the faculty of seeing the small virtues of its princes 
through the magnifying power of the telescope ; 
their vices are dwindled into comparative insignifi- 
cance by being observed with the instrument re- 
versed. And besides, the Duke of York was now 
heir-apparent to the throne, and thus stood next the 
king himself. 

I saw him not only at Ascot, but on other occa 
sions — especially in a review of the first regiment 
of foot-guards, at Hyde Park, and again at a re- 
view of four thousand horse-guards, at Hounslow 
Heath. The foot-guards were grenadiers, and their 

♦ It i» a curious item in ecclesiastical history, that the Buke of York 
was Bithop of Osnaburghy a district in the kingdom of HanoTer. 


caps were of enormons height The duke himself 
wore the same kind of cap, with a red coat of 
courae. Like all his brothers, he was a largo man, 
and of fall habit, though not op to the dimenBions 
of the Duke of Sussex. He had a red, John Bull 
fiice, -mthoiit expre^ion, save that of good feeding. 
The Dake of Wellington, at this time, was among 
the spectators. He was now in military dresa, on a 
fine chestnut-colored horse. His motions were quick, 
and frequently seemed to indicate impatience. Hia 
general aspect was highly martial. Several ladies 
as well as gentlemen on horseback, wen- aclinitt.t/d to 
the review and within the circle of the sentries sta- 
tioned to exclude the crowd. I obtained admission 
for a crown — five shillings, I mean — for I had learned 
that in England cash is quite as mighty as in Amer- 
ica. The privileged group of fair ladies and brave 
men, gathered upon a grassy knoll, to observe the 
evolutions of the soldiers, presented an assemblage 
such as the aristocracy of England alone can fur- 
nish. Those who imagine that this is an effem- 
inate generation, should learn that both the men 
and women, belonging to the British nobility, taken 
together, are without doubt the finest race in the 
world. One thing is certain, these ladies could stand 
fire — for, although the horses leaped and pranced at 
the discharges of the troops, their fair riders seemed 
as much at ease as if upon their own feet. Their 
horsetnanship was indeed admirable, and suggested 


those habits of exercise and training, to which theii 
full rounded forms and blooming countenances gave 
ample testimony. 

The review at Hounslow Heath, some eight miles 
from London — and at the present day nearly covered 
with buildings— comprised seven regiments of caval- 
ry, including the first and second of the horse-guards. 
The latter were no doubt the finest troops of the kind 
in the world — all the horses being large and black, 
and finely groomed. The caparisons were of the 
most splendid description, and the men picked for 
the purpose. All the officers were men of rank, or 
at least of good family. 

The performances consisted of various marches 
and countermarches — sometimes slow and sometimes 
quick — across the extended plain. The evolutions 
of the flviui^-arlillerv excited universal admiration. 
AVhen the whole bodv — about four thousand horse — 
rushed in a furious gallop over the ground, the clash 
of arms, the thunder of hoofs, the universal shudder 
of the earth — all together created more thrilling emo- 
tions in the mind than any other military parade I 
ever beheld. I have seen eighty thousand infantry 
ie field, but they did not impress my imagina- 
forcibly as these few regiments of cavalry at 
W Ileath. One incident gave painful effect 
stacle. As the whole body were sweeping 
jUiB field, a single trooper was pitched from 
ftll to the ground. A hundred hoofi 


passed ov-er him, and trampled him into the sod. On 
swept the gaUant host, as heedless of their fallen 
companion, as if only a feather had dropped from 
ODM of their caps. The conflict of cavalry in real 
battle, must be the moat fearful exbibition which the 
dread drama of war can furnish. On this occasion both 
the king and the Duke of York were present, so that 
it was one of universal interest. About fifty ladies 
on horseback rode back and forth over the field, ou 
the flanks of the troops, imitating their evolutions. 

You have no doubt heard enough of Parliament ; 
but I shall venture to make a few extracia from my 
note-book respecting it, inasmuch an these present 
slight sketches of persons of eminence who have now 
passed from the scene. I have been often at the House 
of Commons, but I shall now only speak of a debate 
in July, 1824, upon the petition, I believe, of the city 
of London, for a recognition of the independence of 
some of the South American States. Canning was then 
secretary of foreign affairs, and took the brunt of the 
battle made upon the ministry. Sir James Mackintosh 
led, and Brougham followed him on the same side. 

I shall not attempt to give you a sketch of the 
speeches : a mere description of the appearance and 
manner of the prominent orators will suffice. Sir 
James — then nearly si.tty years old — was a man 
rather above the ordinary size, and with a fine, phil- 
anthropic face. His accent was decidedly Scotch, and 
his voice shrill and dry. He spoke slowly, often hes 



itated, and was entirely destitute of what we call elo- 
quence. There was no easy flow of sentences, no gush 
of feeling, no apparent attempt to address the heart or 
the imagination. His speech was a rigid lecture, rather 
abstract and philosophical, evidently addressed to the 
stern intellect of stern men. He had a good deal of 
gesture, and once or twice was boisterous in tone and 
manner. His matter was logical, and occasionally 
he illustrated his propositions by historical facts, hap- 
pily narrated. On the whole, he made the impres- 
sion upon my mind that he was a very philosophical, 
but not very practical, statesman. 

Brougham, as you know, is one of the ugliest 
men in the three kingdoms. His nose is long, and 
the nostrils, slightly retreating, seem to look at you 
— sometimes to mock you. The mouth is hooked 
downward at either corner; the brow is rolled in 
folds, like the hide of a rhinoceros. And yet, strange 
to say, this odd composition of odd features makes 
up a face of rather agreeable, and certainly very effec- 
tive ex]>re.ssion. His figure is a little above the com- 
mon size, and at the time I speak of, was thin and 
wiry — a characteristic which time has since kindly 
converted into a moderate degree of portliness. He 
had abundance of words, as well as ideas. In his 
speech on the occasion I describe, he piled thought 
uj)on thought, laced sentence within sentence, min- 
gled satire and philosophy, fact and argument, history 
and anecdote, as if he had been a cornucopia, and 


vraa anxioas to diBburden himself of its abundancb. 
Ill all thia there were several hard hits, and Canning 
evidently felt them. Aa he rose to reply, I toot 
careful note of his appearance, for he was then, I im- 
agine, the moat conspicuous of the British statesmcm 
lie was a handsome man, with a bald, shining pate, 
mid a figure slightly stooping in the shoulders. Ilis 
fece was roflod, his eye large and full, his lips a little 
voluptuous — the whole bearing a lively and refined 
expression. In other respects his appearance waa not 
remarkable. His voice was musical, and he spoke 
with more ease and fluency than most other orators 
of the House of Commons ; yet even he hesitated, 
paused, and repeated his words, not only in the be- 
ginning, but sometimes in the very midst of his argu- 
ment. He, however, riveted the attention of the mem- 
bers, and his keen observations frequently brought 
out the ejaculation of "hear, hear," from both sides 
of the house. Brougham and Mackintosh watched 
him with vigilant attention, now giving nods of as- 
sent, and now signs of disapprobation. 

The difference between the manner of speaking in 
the British Parliament and the American Congress, 
has frequently been the subject of remark. There is 
certainly great heaviness, and a kind of habitual 
hesitation, in nearly all English public speakers, 
strikingly in contrast to the easy and rapid fluency, 
1 with us. I have heard not only the fa- 
1 juBt mentioned ia the British Parliament, 


but Peel, Palmerston, O'Connell, and others, and all 
of them would have been considered dull speakers 
— ^so far as mere manner is concerned — here in the 
United States. I could never perceive in any of 
them an approach to the easy and melodious flow of 
Everett, the melting earnestness of Clay, or the ma- 
jestic thunderings of Webster. 

On the occasion I am describing, Sir Francis Bur- 
dett* — then a man of notoriety, but now almost 
wholly forgotten — made a short speech. He was a 
tall, slender person, with a singularly prominent fore- 
head, the rest of his face being comparatively thin and 
insignificant. He was rather dandily dressed, and did- 
dled from right to left as he was speaking, in a very 
curious fashion. His voice was small, but penetra- 
ting. His attacks upon the ministry were very di- 
rect, but he evidently excited no great attention. It 

♦ The history of this individual is curious. He was bom in 1770 — 
and thougli tlie youngestt son of a yountrest son, by a series of calamitous 
deaths, he succeeded to the title and estates of bis affluent and ancient 
family. His wealth was increased by his marrying, in 1793, the daugh- 
ter of Coutts, the banker. In 1802, after a hot contest, he was returned 
to Parliament for Middlesex, but the House found the election void, and 
imprisoned the sheriflfe. In 1807, while he was disabled by a duel, he 
was chosen for Westminster, and continued to represent that borough 
for nearly tliirty years. He was of a turbulent disposition, and having 
quarnled with tlie House of Commons, resisted the speaker's warrant 
for his arrest, thus creating an excitement in which several lives were 
lost. When the scrgeaut-at-arms went to his house to arrest him, ho 
f<»un'l him utTcctcdly teaching a young child the Magna Oharta I He was 
for some time imprisoned in the Tower. The general impression is that, 
while professing democracy, he was a thorough aristocrat, at least in 
feeling. This opinion was confirmed in 1885, when he totally changed 
bis politics, and Tehemently supported the tory side. He died in 1844. 


ue astoaishiug that be should ever have 
been a popular leader, for his whole appearance 
was that of the ofTected and supercilious aristocrat. 
The populace have very often been made tlie dupes 
of men whose hearts were full of despotism, and 
who, in flattering the masses, only sought the means 
of gratifying their unprincipled love of power. Ev- 
ery careful observer has seen examples of this hollow 
and base democracy, and one might easily suspect 
Sir Francis Burdett to have been one of them. 

Of course I visited the House of Lords — paying 
two shillings and sixpence for admittance. The 
bishops wort' their surplice:*; a few of the lords had 
stars upon the breast, but most of them were without 
any badge whatever. The general aspect of the as- 
sembly was eminently grave and dignified. Eldon 
was the chancellor— a large, heavy, iron-looking 
man — the personification of bigoted conservatism. 
He was so opposed to reforms, that he shed tears 
when the punishment of death was abolished for 
stealing five shillings in a dwelling-house I When 
I saw him, bis head was covered with the official 
wig: his face sufEeed, however, to satisfy any one 
that his obstinacy of character was innate. 

While I was here, a cominittee from the House of 
Commons was announced; tliey had brought up a 
message to the Lords. The chancellor, taking the 
seals in his hands, approached the committee, bow- 
ing three times, and they doing the same. Then 


they separated, each moving backward, and bowing. 
To persons used to such a ceremony, this might be 
sublime ; to me, it was ludicrous — and all the more 
so on account of the ponderous starchness of the chief 
performer in the solemn farce. There was a some 
what animated debate while I was present, in which 
Lords Liverpool, Lauderdale, Harrowby, and Grey 
participated ; yet nothing was said or done by either 
that would justify particular notice at this late day. 

A great event happened in the musical world while 
I was in London — the appearance of Catalani at the 
Italian opera, after several years of absence. The 
play was Le Nozze di Figaro. I had never before seen 
an opera, and could not, even by the enchantments 
of music, have my habits of thought and my common 
sense so completely overturned and bewitched, as to 
see the whole business of life — intrigue, courtship, 
marriage, cursing, shaving, preaching, praying, lov- 
ing, hating — done by singing instead of talking, 
and yet feel that it was all right and proper. It re- 
quires both a musical ear and early training, fully to 
appreciate and feel the opera — which aims at a union 
of all the arts of rhetoric, poetry, and music, enforced 
by scenic representations, and the intense enthusiasm 
of congregated and sympathetic masses. Even when 
educated to it, the English, as well as the Americans, 
have too practical a nature and are too much grooved 
with business habits, to give themselves up to it, as is 
done in Italy, and in some other parts of the continent 


Madame CatoIaDi vss s. large, handsome woman, a 
littie masculine, and past tbrtj. She was nol only a 
very clever actress, but was deemed to have every 
musical merit — volume, compaBs, clearness of tone, 
HUrpajffiiiig powers of execution. Her whole styla 
was dramatic, bending eveu the music to the seuti- 
menu of the ohantcter and the 6ong. Some of her 
dUplays were almost terrific, her voice drowaing the 
whole soul in a flood of passion. I could appreciate, 
unlettered as I was in the arts of the o}iera, her ama- 
zing powers — though to say the truth, I was quite as 
mtich astonished as pleased. Faata and Uarcia — 
both of whom I afterwords heard — gave me infinitely 
greater pleasure, chiefly because their voices poa- 
sessed that melody of tone which excites sympathy 
in every heart — even the most untutored. Madame 
Catalan! gave the opera a sort of epic grandeur — an 
almost tragic vehemence of expression ; Pasta and 
Garcia rendered it the interpretation of those soft and 
tender emotions which haunt the soul, and for the 
expression of which God seems to have given musio 
to mankind. It was, no doubt, a great thing to hear 
the greatest cantatrice of the age, but my remem- 
brance of Madame Catalaui is that of a prodigy, 
rather than an enchantress. On the occasion I am 
Jescribing, she sang, by request. Rule Britannia, 
between the acts, which drew forth immense ap- 
plause, in which I heartily joined — not that I liked 
the words, but that I felt the music 


It was about this time that a great attraction was 
announced at one of the theatres — nothing less than 
the king and queen of the Sandwich Islands, who 
had graciously condescended to honor the perform- 
ance with their presence. They had come to visit 
England, and pay their homage to George the Fourth; 
hence the government deemed it necessary to receive 
them with hospitality, and pay them such attentions 
as were due to their rank and royal blood. The 
king's name was Tamehamaha, but he had also the 
sub-title or surname of Ehio-Rhio — which, being in- 
terpreted, meant Dog of Dogs. Canning's wit got the 
better of his reverence, and so he profanely suggest- 
ed that, if his majesty was Dog of Dogs, what must 
the queen be? However, there was an old man about 
the court who had acquired the title of Poodle, and 
he was selected as a fit person to attend upon their 
majesties. They had their lodgings at the Adelphi 
Hotel, and might be seen at all hours of the day, 
looking at the puppet-shows in the street with in- 
tense delight. Of all the institutions of Great Bri- 
tain, Punch and Judy evidently made the strongest 
and most favorable impression upon the royal party. 

They were, I believe, received at a private inter- 
view by the king at Windsor ; every thing calculated 
to gratify them was done. I saw them at the thea- 
tre, dressed in a European costume, with the addition 
of some barbarous finery. The king was an enor- 
mous man — six feet, three or four inches; the queen 


was short, but otherwise of ample dimensionB. Be- 
sides these persoDS, the par^ comprised five or ux 
other membezs of the king's household. Thej had 
all large, rotmd, flat &ce8, cf a cosne, though good- 
hnmoied expression. Their complexion was a raddj 
brown, not very ttnl^ that of the American Indians ; 
their general aspect, however, was veiy different, and 
eatiiely destitote of that mysterions, ruminating air 
which characterizes onr children <^ the forest They 
looked with a kind of vacant wonder at the play, 
evidently not comprehending it; the &rce, on the 
contrary, seemed greatly to delight them. It is sad 
to relate that this amiable couple never returned to 
their country ; both died in England — victims either 
to the climate, or the change in their habits of liv- 

* Tb« ohi«f whom I bava here noticed wu Tkmehunabit II. HU 
Bune i> DOW gaQorally ipellsd KunBhamsbK, aod bis otbar litis is wriw 
tta Ljho-Liho. They atHed in the Bhiieh >bip L'Aigle, October, 1838, 
•Dd UTiTed at PoilsmoDtb, Uk;, 1821. Of the tweDtj-flvQ tlioiuend 
dollan ehipped in their obeata, onl; ten tboneand vers toand — twelve 
tboorand having been robbed, aod three tbonseud taken for prcteoded 
eipeoMa. EHnunaln, the prindpal qneea, ind the two or three infs- 
tioT iHvcR of hi* m^jealy, eihibited themaalvea at first iu loose trowien 
ind velveteen bed-gowne — but ere loag their wustH, Ibr the first time, 
vn aatgected to conets, and thair fonoB to Parisian fWhiona. Thaj 
«ore nadve tarbsns, which became the rsgs in hl^b circles. The king 
was drewsd in the English stfla, with certain flmiwlllshnienta deaoting 
111 rank. Tbey generally behaved with propriety, though oue or the 
JUtJ seeing a mallet, resembltDg a speciei common in the Bandwioh 
Uands, seized it and hnrried )jome, whore their mDjcnties devoured It 
nw, probsbl; finding it the Bwecteet momel thty bad tinted since thejr 
left home. In Jane, isa*, the whole psrij were attaL'kcd by tlio mea- 
lier, Manui, tlie steward, fint, and the Icing next. On the evening ol 
Um ttfa the queen died, having taken an affectionate leave of her bui. 
bud. His heart iMiiied to b« broken, and on the 11th he breathed hii 


One or two items more, and this chapter shall be 
closed. Among the prominent objects of interest in 
London at this period was Edward Irving, then 
preaching at the Caledonian Chapel, Cross-street, Hat- 
ton Gardens. He was now in the full flush of his 
fame, and such was the eagerness to hear him that it 
was difficult to get admission. People of all ranks, 
literary men, philosophers, statesmen, noblemen, per- 
sons of the highest name and influence, with a full and 
diversified representation of the fair sex, crowded to 
his church. I was so fortunate as to get a seat in the 
pew of a friend, a privilege which I appreciated all 
the more, when I counted twenty coroneted coaches 
standing at the door — some of those who came in 
them, not being able to obtain even an entrance into 
the building. The interior was crowded to excess ; 
the alleys were full, and even fine ladies seemed 
happy to get seats upon the pulpit stairway. Persons 
of the highest title were scattered here and there, and 
cabinet ministers were squeezed in with the mass of 
common humanity. 

Mr. Irving's appearance was very remarkable. * He 
was over six feet in height, very broad-shouldered, 
violently cross-eyed, with long black hair hanging in 
heavy, twisted ringlets down upon his shoulders. 
Ilis complexion was pallid yet swarthy, the whole 

Ust. The bodies of the royal pair were taken to their native udands, 
aiid there interred with gfeat pomp. The remainder of the party re- 
turned to their home, one of them, however, Kapihe, dying on the way, 
at Valparaiso. 

L Ml 

e xprearion of his &ce — lulf smiBter uid lialf sanoti* 
fied — creating io the mind of the beholder a painftal 
doobt whether he was a great aaint or a great mnner. 
He vore a black-silk gown, of rich material and am- 
ple, graodhl folda. His bair was sednloiuly parted 
BO as to display one comer of hia forehead, whioh a 
white hand and a very pnre linen handkerohief fre- 
qaenUj wiped, yet ao daintily as not to disturb the 
loTfr-lookB that indoeed iL 

There was a strange mixtore of aaintUneas and 
dandyism, in the whole appearance of this man. His 
prayer was affected — strange, quaint, peculiar, in its 
phraaeology — ^yet solemn and striking. Hia reading 
of the psalm was peculiar, and a fancy or feeling 
crossed my mind that I had heard something like it, 
bat certainly not in a church. There was a vague min- 
gling in my imagination of the theatre and the house 
of worship: offoot-lights, a st^c, a gorgeous throng of 
spectators — an orchestra and a troop of players — and 
side by side with these — ^there seemed to come a psalm 
and a text and a preacher. I was in fact seeking to 
trace oat a resemblance between this strange parson 
and some star of Drury Lane or Covent Garden. Sud- 
denly I found the clew ; Edward Irving in the pulpit 
was imitating Edmund Kean upon the stage ! And he 
BQCoeeded admirably — his tall and commanding per- 
lon giving him an immense advantage over tlie little, 
iongnificant, yet inspired actor. He had the tones of 
ihe latter — his gestures, his looks even, as I bad ofiea 

Vol. U.— 11 


seen him in Bichard the Third and Shy lock. He had 
evidently taken lessons of the renowned tragedian, 
but whether in public or private, is not for me to say. 

The text was Genesis iiL 17, 18. I will extract 
from my notes, for your entertainment, a rough sketch 
of the discourse. 

" This malediction — * Cursed is the ground for thy 
sake ; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of 
thy life ; thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth 
to thee : and thou shalt eat the herb of the field' — 
this was the charter under which man held his exist- 
ence till the birth of Christ, when the benediction — 
* Peace on earth and good-will to man,' was pro- 
nounced. Since that time, these two principles and 
powers — the malediction and the benediction — ^have 
been at strife. To trace some of the consequences 
of this conflict is our present business. 

" Moses discriminates between the two natures of 
man, by first stating the creation of his body as the 
completion of one distinct part or portion of his na- 
ture, and then the Creator breathing into him a liv- 
ing soul, or more literally the spirit of lives, thus 
completing the other portion of his being. 

" I can not but pause a moment to note the stri- 
king coincidence between the statement of Moses 
and the result of philosophic speculation, which now 
makes the same discrimination; the study of the 
structure of the body, or physiology, being one 
branch of science, and the study of the mind or spi* 



nt, called metaphysics, being another. The French 
school, some time since, blended the whole nature of 
man in one physical organization, and Helvetius 
found in the sensibility of the fingers, all the rudi- 
ments — the entire foundation — of the moral and in- 
lellectual faculties of man. This crept into English 
philosophy, until the immortal mind was degraded 
into a mere tool of the body : the crumbling, earthy 
tenement alone v/as regarded, while the godlike in> 
habitant waa made its servant and its slare. 

"Let ua do justice to the truth I The spirit 
sists of ll](v«. i,arts: tW iir,<kT.-tLuiiliiiL'. wlii.-li dm- 
coureeth of sensible ideas and powers — the basis of 
what is called knowledge; the reason, which dia- 
courseth of insensible objects and insensible ideas, 
and has relation to principles and abstract science ; 
and conscience, which discourseth of duty, and hath 
regard to the relations between man and man, and 
also between man and his Maker, 

" Now the proper vocation of the body is to min- 
ister to the spirit in this threefold character. 

"Yet, I grieve to say it — the conduct of mankind 
reverses this system : it is the faculties of the spirit, 
debased from their high mission, which are every- 
where made subservient to the body. I am loth to 
pain and disgust you with pictures io evidence of 
this, but every speculation should be supported by 
fact. I beg you therefore to consider the state of 
things in this city — the Babylon around us. Divest 


yourselves of that magic influence which is exercised 
by the term — people; of that morbid fashion of see- 
ing in low vice and humble misery, only matter for 
mirth and song ; of that cruel taste which haunts the 
dark and dismal courts and lanes and labyrinths of 
labor, of want and wretchedness, for subjects for the 
pencil and the stage. Stand all aloof from the sad 
jollity with which unthinking men survey such scenes. 
Wrap the mantle of immortality about thee and go 
forth, and in the scales of eternity, weigh the things 
thou seest I 

" In the gray of the morning, you hear beneath 
your casement the heavy tread of the laborer plod- 
ding to his toil. This gradually increases, till one 
pervading volume of sound shakes every part of the 
city. Go forth and study the scene — the producers 
of this mighty uproar — the wagoner plodding by the 
side of his heavy wain, the porter staggering beneath 
his burden, the scavenger picking and prowling among 
the oflal — the hundreds, the thousands, pouring along 
in a tide, and bent on their various labors. Survey 
them as they pass, and how fearfully is the heart smit 
ten with the fact that these are reversing the true order 
of human destiny : not one among them is subjecting 
the body to the mind — all are subjecting the mind 
to the body — all are submitting themselves to the 
Malediction of the outcasts of Eden, as if the Bene 
diction of the gospel had never been pronounced. 
From the gray dawn to the deep night, these beings, 

maroRicAi., anbodotioai^ etc. 

to whom is offered the bread of immortal life, aie 
occapied with the poor thought of gaining a feflH 
crnsts to feed the mortfU body ! "" 

" If we turn to the higher claases, the picture is 
equally dark, and perhaps even more discouraging. 
Whatever we may here find of spiritual culture or 
intellectual tastes, we atill see that the cares, the pas- 
Kons, the desires of the body, though they may often 
be disguised and refined, still master the soul. The 
being, whose imagination is capable of reaching the 
stars, and whose power of faith might carry him to 
the throne of God and the companionship of angels 
andjust men made perfect — thoae whose ample meaufl 
raise them above the groveling necessities of life — 
still cling to this earthly footstool, stiil think only of 
the pleasures of this fleeting animal existence. What- 
ever there may be of soul, in their pursuits, is a sub- 
jugation of it to the senses. A subtle epicureanism 
pervades the whole atmosphere they breathe. Pleas- 
ure, ambition, pride, the desire of honor, of wealth, 
of name, fame — all hopes, all fears — center in the 
little narrow kingdom of these poor five senses. 
These which were given only as windows from which 
the soul might look out upon immortality, are used 
as doors and avenues by which the soul passes into 
its prison-house of earthly enjoyments. Thus the 
gifled, the rich, the exalted, the favorites of fortune 
—are, af\er all, forgetful of the bread of life, and 
while pampeiing the body with oil and wine, are 


Starving the soul with shriveled husks and unsatis- 
fying straw. 

" Uow hard, how disheartening is the steep ascent 
of duty, which calls upon us to contend with a worid 
thus embattled against the truth. And yet, as sol- 
diers of the cross, we may not ground our arms. If 
we can not do all we would, let us at least accomplish 
what we may. To-day, I ask you here to join me, not 
in the impossible, but the possible. If the poor re- 
ject the bread of life, it is perhaps not altogether by 
choice : the heavy sin of Dives, who, being rich and 
able to choose, preferred a sensual life, is not laid 
upon their souls — the groveling necessities of Lazarus 
have subdued them, crushed them, mastered them. It 
is through ignorance, through peculiar temptations, 
through the cares and needs of life, that they thus go 
astray. The mother, uncertain of bread, alike for her- 
self and her oflfspring — the father, anxious lest he shall 
not have a shelter for those whom God has given him 
— how can these think of aught but the immediate 
pressing cares of the body ? How can these slaves of 
mortality put on immortality ? Let Christianity kneel, 
mourning and penitent, at the throne of grace, and 
confessing that these things are so, rouse itself^ and 
say they shall be so no longer. I see around me the 
great, the powerful : let them speak, and the work is 
done. Let us carry Comfort to the poor, and as that 
enters one door, the Gospel with its glad tidings, will 
come in at the other. Each may do something. 

mnoBKUL, ixaaomttiAL, no. 847 

ITotie are too bigh, none too hmnble, to asaiBt in thig 
gknioQS work. The tich, the proud, the stnmg, in 
the coD&denoe of iheai strength, may reject eren the 
bread of life ; the poor will weloome it Believe the 
bmished bodj &om its suffering for the want of daily 
bread, and the aool, delivered from its hnmiliation, 
will aaoeBd to the throne of grace, and GK>d will bten 
it^ and he will blew jon also who have ministered to 
the good work." 

This is a mere oatline of the discourse, and only 
gives an idea of its general drift and argument The 
phraseolc^ — which was rich, fiowiug, redundant, and 
abounding in illostration, and seemed to me carefully 
modeled after that of Jeremy Taylor — I did not at- 
tempt to preserve. In spite of the evident affectation, 
the solemn dandyism, the dramatic artifices of the 
performer — ^for, after all, I could only consider the 
preacher as an actor — the sermon was very impres- 
sive. Some of the pictures presented to the imagi- 
nation were staitliug, and once or twice it seemed 
as if the whole audience was heaving and swelling 
with intense emotion, like a sea rolling beneath the 
impolses of a tempest The power of the thought, 
uded by the deep, sympathetic voice of the speaker, 
and still further enforced by his portentous figure 
and emphatic action, overrode all drawbacks, and 
carried the whole heart and imagination along upon 
its rushing tide. Considered as a display of orator* 
ical art, it was certidnly equal to any thing I have 


ever heard from the pulpit; yet it did not appeal 
to me calculated to have any permanent effect in 
enforcing Christian truth upon the conscience. The 
preacher seemed too much a player, and too little an 
apostle ; the afterthought was, that the whole effect 
was the result of stage trick, and not of sober truth. 

The character and career of Edward Irving present 
a strange series of incongruities. He was born in Scot- 
land in 1792 ; he became a preacher, and acquired 
speedy notoriety, as much by his peculiarities as his 
merits. He attracted the attention of Dr. Chalmers, 
and through his influence was for a time assistant 
minister in the parish of St. John's, at Glasgow. 
From this place he was called to the Caledonian 
Chapel, where I heard him. His fame continued to 
increase ; and having published a volume of dis- 
courses, under the quaint title, " For the Oracles of 
God, four Orations ; for Judgment to come, an Ar- 
gument in nine Parts" — three large editions of the 
work were sold in the space of six months. Where- 
ever he preached, crowds of eager listeners flocked to 
hear him. His eccentricities increased with his fame. 
He drew out his discourses to an enormous length, 
and on several occasions protracted the services to 
four hours I He soon became mystical, and took to 
studying unfulfilled prophecy, as the true kc}'' to the 
interpretation of the scriptures. From this extrava- 
gance, he passed to the doctrine that Christians, by 
the power of faith, can attain to the working of mira- 


cies and speakiog with nnknown tongues, as in the 
primiliTe ages. Such at l:tst were his vngtiricA, that 
he was cut off from communion with the Scottish 
Church ; in consequence, be became tlio founder of a 
sect which continues to the present lime in England, 
bearing the title of Irvingites. Worn out with anx- 
iety and incessant labors, he died at Glasgow, while 
on a journey for bis health, in 18S4, at the early age 
of forty -two. 

The history of this extraordinary man teaches us 
various important lessons. It shows us that genius, 
even though it be DiHcd to sincerity, is e.tsily led 
astray by flattery and personal vanity; that eccentri- 
city naturally ends in extravagance ; that fanaticism ia 
not superior to the use of artifice and affectation, even 
when they invade the pulpit and assume the badge 
of the preacher of the gospel ; in short, that a man of 
great gifts, if so be he is not controlled by common 
sense — if be do not conform his conduct to that 
every-day but safe regulator, called propriety — is very 
apt to become a misguiding and bewildering light to 
his fcllow-men, just in proportion as his abilities may 
surpass those of other persona. A large observation 
of mankind has satisfied mo that a great man, even 
though be be a preacher, if he despises the sugges- 
tions of good sense, decency, congruity, usually be- 
comes a great curse. Nearly all the religiou."* vaga- 
ries which have led the world astray, have originated 
with individuals of this character. A lai^ portion 


of the infidelity of mankind has its origin in the 
foibles of those who are set up as the great lights of 

One more event I must notice — the arrival in Lon- 
don of the mortal remains of Lord Byron, and their 
lying in state previous to interment His body had 
been preserved in spirits, and was thus brought from 
Greece, attended by five persons of his lordship's 
suite. n«aving been transferred to the coffin, it was 
exhibited at the house of Sir Edward Knatchball, 
No. 20 Great George-street, on Friday and Saturday, 
the 9th and 10th of Julj^, 1824. It caused a profound 
Rcnsatiou, and such were the crowds that rushed to 
behold the spectacle, that it was necessary to defend 
the cofiin with a stout wooden railing. When I ar- 
rived at the place the lid was closed ; I was told, 
however, that the countenance, though the finer lines 
had collapsed, was so little changed as to be easily 
recognized by his acquaintances. The general mus- 
cular form of the body was perfectly preserved. 

The aspect of the scene, even as I witnessed it, 
was altogether very impressive. The coffin was cov- 
ered withli pall, enriched by escutcheons wrought in 
gold. On the top was a lid, set round with black 
plumes. Upon it were these words — 


Born in Ix)ni>on, 22d January, 1788 : 
Died at Mubolonobi, April 19td, 1894.** 


DTioi'a Curfii. Vul S, p. til. 


At the head of the coffin was an nm containing the 
ashes of his brain and heart — ^this being also covered 
with a rich pall, wrought with figures in gold. The 
windows were dosed, and the darkened room was 
feebly illumined by numerous wax-tapers. 
( And this was all that remained of Byron I What 
a lesson upon the pride of genius, the vanity of rank, 
the fittuity of &me — all leveled in the dust, and de- 
spite the garnished pall and magnificent coffin, their 
possessor was bound to pass through the same pro- 
cess of corruption as the body of a common beggar. 
And the soul — the soul? 

Ah, what questions rose in my mind as I stood 
beside that coffin ! Where art thou, Byron ? What 
art thou? I have, never seen thee — ^I have never 
known thee, face to face : yet hast thou often spoken 
to me, and in words that can never die ! Thou art 
not dead — that were impossible : speak to me, then I 
Tell me— for such as thou might break the seal of 
the grave — what art thou? — where art thou? Whis- 
per in my ear the dread secret of the tomb ! Thou 
art silent — even thou. How fearful, how terrible is 
that spell which holds lips like thine — Childe Harold, 
Manfred, Cain — ^in the bondage of perpetual stillness! 
This, indeed, is death I / 

363 LBiiBBS — mooiatArmoAh, 


Betum to America — Removal to Botton — LUerary potUion of JSoston — 
Prominent literary charactert^The Frees — 7%e PulpU — the Bar^New 
York now the literary metropoUe—My publication of variotte work* — 
ne Leg^ndary^N. P, WilUt^The era of Annuals^The Token^Tke 
artiste engaged in it — The authors— Ite termination. 

Mt dkab C****** 

Having made a hurried trip to Paris and back 
to London, I departed for Liverpool, and thence em- 
barked for the United States, arriving there in Octo- 
ber, 1824. I remained at Hartford till October, 1826, 
as already stated, and then removed to Boston, with 
the intention of publishing original works, and at the 
same time of trying my hand at authorship — the latter 
part of my plan, however, known only to myself. 

At that time, Boston was notoriously the literary 
metropolis of the Union — the admitted Athens of 
America. Edward Everett had established the North 
American Review,* and though he had now just left 
the editorial chair, his spirit dwelt in it, and his fame 
lingered around it. Rich*d H. Dana, Edw'd T. Chan- 
ning, Jared Sparks, George Bancroft, and others, were 
among the rising lights of the literary horizon. The 

* The North American was founded in 1815, by William Tudor, whc 
bad previously been one of the principal hupporters of the Monthlj 
Anthology. Mr. Everett, however, may bo said to have given permar 
nency to the publication by his masterly administration of the editorial 


nevqiaper press presented the witty and caustic Qal- 
axy, edited by Buckingham ; the dignified and schol- 
arly Daily Advertiser, conducted by Nathan Hale;* 
and the frank, sensible, manly Centiuel, under the ed- 
itorial patriarch — Benjamin Russell. Channing was 
in the pulpit and Webster at the forum. Society was 
strongly impressed with literary tastes; genius was 
respected and cherished : a man, in those days, who 
had achieved a literary fame, was at least equal to a 
president of a bank, or a treasurer of a manufactur- 
ing company. The pulpit shone bright and far, with 
the light of Bcbolarship radiated from the names of 
Beccher, Greenwood, Piorpont, Lowell, Palfry, 
Doane, Stone, Frothingham, Gannett: the bar 
reflected tlie glory of letters through II. G. Otb, 
Charles Jackson, William Prescott, Benjamin Gor- 
ham, Willard Philips, James T. Austin, among the 
older members, and Charles G. Loriug, Charles P. 
Curtis, Richard Fletcher, Theophilus Parsons, Frank- 
lin Dexter, J. Qiiincy, jr., Edward G. Ix>ring, Bunj. 
R Curtis, among the younger. The day had not yet 
come when it was glory enough for a college profes- 
8or to marry a hundred thousand dollars of stoek^. 
or when it was the chief end of a lawyer to becomi" 

•TI18 Bo-iim D«ilj- Adverii* 

tr wiia foandoJ in Muroli 

lUle bn.'i.ii J.ii> uJiloriiil <-jreei 

■ will. i(. H nwj- Im U-kc 

wf llio hie(n-.I cIb'h of npwhi«ii« 

;» >>i Die I'mUid Stul<.->- 

woiil.) )<.;.lil1iciiltiniiiiiii 

tuit in my cuiitrv wliicli,m u u 


tt. In the Uni[cd Sut«a Ihi-n 

1 uro Bomo which emulau 

«nr, vbich siirpui it. 


the attorney of an insurance company, or a bank, or 
a manufacturing corporation. Corporations, without 
souls, had not yet become the masters and moulders of 
the soul of society. Books with a Boston imprint had 
a prestige equal to a certificate of good paper, good 
print, good binding, and good matter. And while 
such was the state of things at Boston, how was it at 
New York? Why, all this time the Harpers, who 
till recently had been mere printers in Dover-street, 
had scarcely entered upon their career as pubhshers,* 
and the App]etons,f Putnam, Derby, the Masons, and 
other shining lights in the trade of New York at the 
present time, were either unborn, or in the nursery, 
or at school. 

"What a revolution do these simple items suggest — 
wrought in the space of thirty years I The scepter 
has departed from Judah : New York is now the 

* James Harper, the eldest of the four brothers dow associated in the 
concern, served his time as apprentice to the trade of printing to Abm. 
Paul, of New York ; he and his brother John commenced as printers 
in Dover-street, 1817; in 1818, haWng removed to Fulton-street, tlicy 
printed and published Lockers Essays, which was their first enterprise 
as publishers. For a long time their publications were almost exclu- 
sively foreign books: at the present time, three- fourths are American 
works. Their Magazine publishes about one hundred and seventy 
thousand numbers a month, and surpasstes any other publication of the 
kind in its circulation. The publishing establishment of the Messrs. 
Ilurper, the legitimate result of industry, discretion, energy, and prob- 
ity, is justly the pride of New York, and one of tlie reflected glories of 
our litcrnture, probably surpassing every other establishment of the 
kind in the world in its extent and the perfectness of its organizaUon. 

t The present eminent publishing house of Appleton <& Co., consiBting 
of Mr. W. Appleton and his four brothers, was founded by their father, 
Daniel Appleton, who came from New England to New York about the 
year 1826. He died in 1849, aged fifty-eight. 


ftcknowledged metropolis of American literature, as 
vrell as of art and commerce. Nevertheless, if we 
look at Boston literature at the present time, as re- 
flected in the publishing lists of Messrs. Little, Brown 
k Co., Ticknor & Fields, Philips, Sampson & Co., 
Crocker & Brewster, Gould & Lincoln, we shall see 
that the light of other days has not degenerated. 
Is it not augmented, indeed — for since the period I 
speak o^ Prescott, Longfellow, Hawthorne, Whipple, 
Holmes, Lowell, Hillard, have joined the Boston con 
Btellation of letters? 

It can not be interesting to you to know in detail 
my business operations in Boston at this period. It 
will be sufficient to say, that among other works I 
published an edition of the novels of Charles Brock- 
den Brown, with a life of the author, furnished by 
his widow, she having a share of the edition. I also 
published an edition of Hannah More's works, and 
also of Mrs. Opie's works — these being, I believe, the 
first complete collections of the writings of these sev- 
eral authors. In 1827 I published Sketches by N. P. 
Willis, his first adventure in responsible authorship. 
The next year I issued the Common-place Book of 
Prose, the first work of the now celebrated Dr. Chee- 
ver. This was speedily followed by the Common -place 
Book of Poetry and Studies in Poetry, by the same 

* Among my lesser publioations were Beauties of the Soavenirs, His- 
JCfrj of the Kings and Queens of France, Beaaties of the Waverley Nov- 


In 1828, 1 published a first, and soon after a second, 
volume of the Legendary, designed as a periodical, 
and to consist of original pieces in prose and verse, 
principally illustrative of American history, scenery, 
and manners.* This was edited by N. P. Willis, and 
was, I believe, his first editorial engagement. Among 

e\»y Blair^t) Outlines of Ancient History, Blair's Outlines of Chronology, 
Blair's I listorj' of England, C. A. Goodrich's Outlines of Modern Geog- 
raphy, the American Journal of Education, issued monthly, Poems by 
Mrs. Sigoumey, Records of the Spanish Inquisition, translated from 
the original documents by S. Kettell, Comstock^s Mineralogy, Child's 
Botany, Sud Tales and Glad Tales by G. Mellen, Mary's Jouniey, Memoirs 
of a New England Village Choir, Specimens of American Poetry, 3 vols., 
edited by S. Kettell, Universal History, illustrated, copieil, with addi- 
tions, from Straus, the Garland of Flora, Balbi's Geography, edited by 
T. G. Bradford, llis^torical Cyclopwdia, edited by F. A. Durivage, and 
doubtless some others, which I have forgotten. These were mostly 
original works. After 1835, I ceased to be a publisher, except for my 
own works ; since 1845, these have been entirely published by others. 
* I give a few extracts from a criticism of this work upon its first ap- 
pearance: these will serve to show the estimate put upon some of the 
productions of popular authors at that time, by a noted critic; they will 
also t<how a state of things strikingly in contrast with the habits of the 
present day — for the reviewer found time and patience to notice, seria- 
tim, every article in the book, some thirty in number. This w:is the 
day of great things in criticism, and small things in the production of 
materials for criticism. 


" It would be a reproach to our country, if the proprietor of a work of 
this nature, got up under circumstances so favorable to the growth of 
our native literature — even if the Legendary were no better than the 
mob of books that one may sec every day of the year pouring forth out 
of the shops of people who pay more for puffs than for copyrights — a 
reproach to our country, 1 vow, if ho were to suffer by the enterprise. 
If we arc to luive a literature of our own, we must pay for it; and they 
wl.o arc the first to pay for it, deserve to bo the fir>t to bo repaid for it 
— with usurv. ♦ » ♦ 

** Tlie first of the tales, by the author of * Hobomok,' is called the 
* Church of the Wilderness.' Here we have the serene, bold, and beau- 
tiful style of writing which had to be fbnnd firah with in the review of 


the contributors I find the names of Halleck, Crosby, 
Lant, W. G. Clark, H. Pickering, J. O. Rockwell, 
Miss Sedgewick, Miss Francis, Mrs. Sigourney, Wil- 
lis, Pierpont, Cutter, I. M'Lellan, Jr., J. W. Miller, 
and other popular writers of that day. It was kind- 
ly treated by the press, which generouslj^ published 

*Hobomok* — no, not of 'Hobomok/ of some other story by the samo 
inthor, the title of which I forget. What I said then, I say now. 

**The second affair is a piece by a young man of this town — Wm. 
Cotter — whom I never Bos|>ected before of poetry. It is called the 
Valley of Silence/ and of a truth will bear to be treated as poetry. * 
* * But I do not believe that in a poem of forty lineSf it wonid bo fair 
plsy for any author to repeat the same idea more than c>i?hty times, or 
that HUfliiiNa and rcshino arc altogether where they should be in the 
forty lines now before me. For example, we have a bird that ^hu^hfd 
bis breath,- and wo have the hui^h of the slumbering air, and we havo 
echoes ^ huilud in their caves,* and a ^ huth that Lh grand, not awful,* 
and a *hus?ied worship,' and * hushed voices,' and all those by-buby- 
bantinif epithets in one single poem • « ♦ ♦ 

" * Unwritten Poetry,' by N. P. W., the editor of the Legendary. 
There are touches of exquisite beauty in this paj^er, and not u littlu of 
what, to speak reverently of u brother poet, I should call iicavenly nun- 
sense. ♦ • • 

'** Descriptive Sonnets,' by Mr. 11. Pickering. I hate sonnetM; I 
never saw a good one, and never shall. 

"* The Clouds:' Grcnville Mcllen. Would this wore better — wonl.l 
it were worthier of my young friend. Sonic of the ideit-^* are beautiful, 
and some powerful ; but the abrupt termination of almost every sUiiiza, 
the truncated air of the finest passages— a line being a period l»y ii>clf 
— who that knows poetry, or knows what poetry should be, can foririve i 

" 'The Pampas of Buenos Ayres,' by I. M'Lellan, jr. Here we havt* ;i 
poet ; I do not mean to say that here we have poetry, or, properly speak- 
ing, mueh poetry — for some there certainly is in every puratrraph : Imt 
sirnply that the author has within him a f-ure, tt»id 1 believe a tleep well 
of poetrj-. If ho lias, however, lie will never know ito depth, n<»r 
what riches mav lie there, till the waters have been troublcil— 1»» : n 
an/cl— if you like, lor an«;els are mijflity troublesome now, a-, well as ot' 
yore, to tiie t'ountuins of life and liealth. 

" *The Haunted Grave:' E. P. Blount. Never heard of this writer 
before. Who is he? He shows tolent — strong, dceidcd, peculiar talent. 

"* Extract from a Journal,' <fec. MeUerir-hGy i A, mere scratch or 


without charge, the best pieces in full, saving the 
reading million the trouble of buying the book and 
paying for the chaflF, which was naturally found with 
the wheat. Despite this courtesy, the work proved 
a miserable failure. The time had not come for such 
a publication : at the present day, with the present 

two of a free pen. The aathor, if it is he, will make a better figure in 
prose yet than he ever made in poetry. I do not speak of this paper, 
but of others that I know to be his. 

" * Grave of an Unknown Genius :** Joseph H. Nichols. Good poetry 
here, though not much. The best is — 

* And worthy of their harps was be, 

Worthy to wsks with them, ths grai^ 
War-snthemf or the mneic free 
or love, wUh burning lip and hand,* 

" 'Mere Accident:' N. P. Willis. Rather too Tom Moorish. How- 
ever, let that pass. For, do ye know, ye blue-eyed, fair-hairod girls, 
and yo of the dark, laniping eyes and a shadowy crown — do ye not 
know that the old proverb about kissing and telling is not worth a fig f 
V\\ give you a bettor one : * They that kiss never tell — and they that tell 
never k'usa.' 

" ^ Tlie Nun,^ by Emma C. Manly. High and pure and sensible 
poetry. But who is Emma C. Manly? Is it not another name fo. 
N. P. W. ? 

*' ' Koinance in Seal Life :* author of Redwood. This very sensible 
and happy writer, if she hod more courage, and were willing to tell the 
very truth and nothing but the truth of our country manners, would be 
more thought of a hundred years hence than she is now. 

" * Ascutney :' Mrs. A. M. Wells. Upon my word, it is very encour- 
aging to see what a few of our Yankee women are about in the world of 
literature. They only want fair play to shoot ahead of their teachers, 
the hatted ones of our earth. 

'* * Telling the Dream :' Willis. Heigho I •* Do dreams always prove 
true, lanthe ?" I say, brother Willis, you deserve to be whipped back- 
ward through your alphabet for the false quantity in that lust line — the 
very pith aud marrow of the whole poem. Up with your fingers, and 
count tliem ; out with vonr hand for the ferule, or shut vour eves and 
open your uiouth, like a good boy, and see what the ladies will send 
you. And then — * Do dreams always prove true, lanthe ?' ♦ ♦ * 

" * The Bruce's Heart,' by the author of • Moral Pieces.' Very good 
poetry, and very like what a ballad of our time should bo— » ballad of 


aooesBories, and the present public spirit, I doubt not 
that such an enterprise would be eminently successful. 
I believe I have already alluded to the Age of An- 
nuals* — ^the first work of the kind, entitled the For- 
get-me-not, having been issued by the Ackermans of 
London, in the winter of 1828, while I was in that city. 
It was successftdly imitated by Carey & Lea, at Phil- 
adelphia, in a work entitled the Atlantic Souvenir, 
and which was sustained with great spirit for several 
years. In 1828 1 conmienced and published the first 
volume of the Token, and which I continued for fif- 
teen years, editing it myself with the exception of 
the volume for 1829, which came out under the aus- 
pices of Mr. Willis. In 1836 the Atlantic Souvenir 
ceased, and after that time, by arrangement with the 
publishers, its title was added to that of the Token. 

the ^ar, I mean. But — I have always a but in resen'e, you know — why 
deal BO with the Moon ? ♦ ♦ ♦ 

" * Columbus/ by J. W. Miller. This man must be capable of writing 
maguifioont poetry. The proof: 

Stands he upon the narrow deck 

Of yon lone caravel. 
Whose tall shape as with princdy heok 

Bound to th^ heaving itceli ; 
And when the conqueror o*er her side 
Crossed meekly, roM icith living prideP 

From the lankM, June 28, 1828. 

• We are doubtless indebted to the Germans for originating the race 
of Annuals, but Ackcrman^s Forget-me-not was the first attempt at pro- 
ducing them with all the luxurious embellishments of art, and which 
became, in fact, their distinctive characteristic. At first tlie litcmry de- 
partment woM hchl inferior to the mechanical, but at liust, Scott, Kogers, 
Campbell, Mnt. Hvmans, Moore, (&c., in EnirUmd, and Bryant, Irving, 
Halleck, in America, became contributors to these works ; nay, Bryant, 
Bands, and Verplanck produced in New York an annual entitled the 
Talisman, and which was continued for three yean 


The success of this species of publication, stimula- 
ted new enterprises of the kind, and a rage for them 
spread over Europe and America. The eflfbrts of the 
first artists and the first writers were at length drawn 
into them, and forneariy twenty years every autumn 
j)roduced an abundant harvest of Diadems, Bijous, 
Pcaris, Gems, Amethysts, Opals, Amaranths, Bou- 
quets, Hyacinths, Amulets, Talismans, Forget me- 
iiots, Eemember-me's, &c.* Under these seductive 
titles, they became messengers of love, tokens of 
iViendship, signs and symbols of affection, and lux- 
u r- V and refinement ; and thus thev stole alike into the 
]»alace and the cottage, the library, the parior, and the 
Loudoir. The public taste grew by feeding on these 

* Besides these Annuals, there were, in England and the United 
States, the following : 

(lift, Keepsake, Soavonir, Literary Souvenir, Boudoir, Floral Offering, 
Friendship's Offering, Iris, Laurel, Wreath, Jewel, Cabinet, Drawing- 
room Annual, Pictorial Annual, Continental Annual, Picturesque An- 
nual, Fancy Annual, Court Album, Anniversary, I'earl* of the ICast, 
Pearlrt of the West, The Favorite, The Rhododendron, The Waif, The 
Gleaner, The Rose, and many others. Among the works which may be 
considered as successors of the Annuals, being all splendidly illustra- 
ted, there were Tableaux of Prose and Poetry, Baronial Halls of Eng- 
land, Authors of England, Artist's Sketch Book, Book of Art, Book 
of the Patisions, Calendar of Nature, Continental Sketches, Etched 
Tiioughts, Finden^s Tableaux, Wanderings of Pen and Pencil, Tales of 
tlic Brave and the Fair, Poetry of the Year, British Ballads, Book of 
Art, Book of the Passions, Gems of British Poetry, Lays of Ancient 
Koine, and a multitude of others. 

Tiio ellect of the circulation of such works as those, in creating and 
extending a taste fur the arts, and in tiicir most exquisite forms, cun only 
be appreciated by those who have examined and reflected upon the sub- 
ject. Even in tlio United States alone, four thouband vulumes of one 
of these worivs, at the price of twelve dollars each, have been aold in a 
single season 1 Not five hundred would have been sold in the same 
space of time, twenty years ago. 


luacions gifts, and soon crayed even more gorgeous 
works of the kind, whence came Heath's Book of 
Beauty, Lady Blessington's Flowers of Loveliness, 
Balwer's Pilgrims of the Khine, Butler's Leaflets of 
Memory, Christmas among the Poets, and many 
others of similar design and execution. Many of 
the engravings of these works cost five hundred 
dollars each, and many a piece of poetry, fifty dollars 
a page. In several of these works the generous pub- 
lic spent fifty thousand dollars a year I 

At last the race of Annuals drew near the end of 
its career, yet not without having produced a certain 
revolution in the public taste. Their existence had 
sprung, at least in part, from steel-engraving, which 
had been discovered and introduced by our country- 
man, Jacob Perkins. This enabled the artist to pro- 
duce works of more exquisite delicacy than had ever 
before been achieved ; steel also gave the large num- 
ber of impressions which the extensive sales of the 
Annuals demanded, and which could not have been 
obtained from copper. These charming works scat- 
tered the very gems of art far and wide, making 
the reading mass familiar with the finest specimens 
of engraving, and not only cultivating an appetite 
for this species of luxury, but in fact exalting the 
general standard of taste all over the civilized world. 

And thus, though the Annuals, by name, have per- 
ished, they left a strong necessity in the public mind 
for books enriched by all the embellishments of art. 


Hence we have such works as the Women of the 
Bible, Women of the New Testament, the Republican 
Court, by Dr. Griswold, together with rich illustrated 
editions of Byron, Rogers, Thomson, Cowper, Camp- 
bell, and others, including our own poets — Bryant, 
Halleck, Sigourney, Longfellow, Eeed, &c. Wood- 
engraving has, meanwhile, risen into a fine art, and 
lent its potent aid in making books one of the chief 
luxuries of society, fh)m the nursery to the parlor. 

In comparison with these splendid works, the To- 
ken was a very modest aflFair. The first year I oflFered 
prizes for the best pieces in prose and poetry. The 
highest for prose was awarded to the author of 
" Some Passages in the Life of an Old Maid." A 
mysterious man, in a mysterious way, presented him- 
self for the money, and, giving due evidence of his 
authority to receive it, it was paid to him, but who 
tlie author really was, never transpired, though I had, 
and still have, my confident guess upon the sub 
jeet* Even the subsequent volumes, though thej 
obtained favor in their day, did not approach the splen 
dor of the modem works of a similar kind. Never 
theless, some of the embellishments, by John Cheneyj-f 

* Tlic prizes were one hundred dollars forth© best piece in prose, and 
llie same for the best in verse. The judges — Charles Sprague, F. W, 
P. Greenwoo<l, and J. Picrpont— hesitated between two pieces for tlie 
latter: The Soldier's Widow, by Willis, and Connecticut Kiver, by Mw. 
Sii^oumey. They finally recommended that the prize be divided be- 
tween them, which was accepted by the authors. 

t John Cheney, who may be regarded as the first of American engra- 
vers in sweetness of ozprossion and delicacy of execation, was a native ol 


Ultrro&IOAL, ANBODOnOAL, ETC. 26*^ 

Ellis, Smilie, Andrews, Hatch, Kelly, Danforth, Da- 
rand, and Jewett, engraved &om the designs of Alls- 
ton, Leslie, Newton, Cole, Inman, Fisher, Doughty, 
Chapman, Weir, Brown, Alexander, and Healey, 
were very clever, even compared with the finest 
works of art at the present day. 

The literary contributions were, I believe, equal, 
on the whole, to any of the Annuals, American or 
European. Here were inserted some of the earliest 
productions of Willis, Hawthorne, Miss Francis, now / 
Mrs. Child, Miss Sedgewick, Mrs. Hale, Pierpont, 
Greenwood, and Longfellow. Several of these first 
made acquaintance with the public through the pages 
of this work. It is a curious fact that the latter, 
Longfellow, wrote prose, and at that period had 
shown neither a strong bias nor a particular talent 
for poetry. 

The Token was continued annually till 1842, 
when it finally ceased. The day of Annuals had, in- 
deed, passed before this was given up, and the last 

Manchester, ei^irht mile« eoAt of Hartford, Conn. When I firat met Iiini, 
he was working: at Hartford with Mr. Willard, u map engraver. I en- 
conraged him to come to Boi^ton, and for several years, during which 
time he vLnited London and Paris, he was wholly om])loyed for the To- 
ken. His brother Soth, not less celebrated for his udminiblo portraits 
in crayon, was also induced to come to Boston by me, nmkin«? my hoaso 
at Jamaica Plain, his stopping place at the beginning. Both these ad- 
mirable artists are wholly self-taught. They have six brothers, the 
yonnjfcst of whom made some valuable improvement in mtichinory 
which led to the establishment of a silk muiiufaotory at tlieir native 
place, which some of the rest have joined, and it has made all rich who 
are concerned in it. 


Hence we have such works as the Women of the 
Bible, Women of the New Testament, the Republican 
Court, by Dr. Griswold, together with rich illustrated 
editions of Byron, Rogers, Thomson, Cowper, Camp- 
bell, and others, including our own poets — Bryant, 
Halleck, Sigourney, Longfellow, Eeed, &c. Wood- 
engraving has, meanwhile, risen into a fine art, and 
lent its potent aid in making books one of the chief 
luxuries of society, from the nursery to the parlor. 

In comparison with these splendid works, the To- 
ken was a very modest aflFair. The first year I ofiTered 
prizes for the best pieces in prose and poetry. The 
highest for prose was awarded to the author of 
" Some Passages in the Life of an Old Maid." A 
mysterious man, in a mysterious way, presented him- 
self for the money, and, giving due evidence of his 
authority to receive it, it was paid to him, but who 
the author really was, never transpired, though I had, 
and still have, my confident guess upon the sub 
ject* Even the subsequent volumes, though they 
obtained favor in their day, did not approach the splen 
dor of the modem works of a similar kind. Never 
theless, some of the embellishments, by John Cheneyj-f 

* The prizes were one hundred dollars for the best piece in prose, and 
the same for the beat in verse. The judges — Charles Sprague, F. W. 
P. Greenwood, and J. Picrpont — hesitated between two pieces for the 
latter: The Soldier's Widow, by Willis, and Connecticut Kiver, by Mrs. 
SigoJirney. They finally recommended that the prize be divided be- 
tween them, whicli was accepted by the authors. 

t John Cheney, who may be regarded as the first of American engra- 
vers in sweetness of expression and delicacy of execation, was a native ol 


HmOUOAL, AHBODaiKUL, Kit). 263 

EUifl^ Smilie, Andrews, Hatch, Elelly, Danforth, Du- 
landy and Jewett, engraved from the designs of Alls- 
ton, Leslie, Newton, Cole, Inman, Fisher, Doughty, 
Chapman, Weir, Brown, Alexander, and Healey, 
were very deyer, even compared with the finest 
works of art at the present day. 

The literary contributions were, I belieye, equa], 
on the whole, to any of the Annuals, American or 
European. Here were inserted some of the earliest 
productions of Willis, Hawthorne, Miss Francis, now / 
Mis. Child, Miss Sedgewick, Mrs. Hale, Pierpont, 
Greenwood, and Longfellow. Several of these first 
made acquaintance with the public through the pages 
of this work. It is a curious fact that the latter, 
Longfellow, wrote prose, and at that period had 
shown neither a strong bias nor a particular talent 
for poetry. 

The Token was continued annually till 1842, 
when it finally ceased. The day of Annuals had, in- 
deed, passed before this was given up, and the last 

Manchester, eight miles east of Hartford, Conn. When I first met him, 
he was working at Hartford with Mr. Willard, a map engraver. I en- 
oooraged him to come to Boston, and for several years, during which 
time he visited London and Paris, he was wholly employed for the To- 
ken. His brother Seth, not less celebrated for liis admirable portraits 
in crayon, was also induced to come to Boston by me, making my house 
St Jamaica Plain, his stopping place at the beginning. Both these ad- 
mirable artists are wholly self-taught. They have six brothers, the 
youngest of whom made some vuluublo improvcmont in muchinery 
which led to the establishment of a silk manufactory at their native 
place, which some of the rest have joined, and it has made all rich who 
ire concerned in it. 


two or three years, it had only lingered out a poor 
and fading existence. As a matter of business, it 
scarcely paid its expenses, and was a serious draw- 
back upon my time and resources for fifteen years — 
a punishment no doubt fairly due to an obstinate 
pride which made me reluctant to allow a work to 
die in my hands, with which my name and feelings 
had become somewhat identified. 


The Guntributort to the Jbke/^—N. P. WiUU—N. Jlawthome—IiUs Francis 
— Mr. Greenwood — Mr, PierporU — Charles Sprague — Mrs. Sigoumejf — 
Miss Stdifwick — Mrs. Osgoody and others — Quarmls between Authors and 
Publishers — Anecdotes — Tlis Publishers' FtstivaL 

My DEAR C ****** 

As to the contributors for the Token, you may 
expect me to say a few words more. The most prom- 
inent writer for it was N. P. Willis ; his articles were 
the most read, the most admired, the most abused, 
and the most advantageous to the work. I published 
his first book, and his two first editorial engagements 
were with me ; hence the early portion of his literary 
career fell under my special notice. 

Ue had begun to write verses very early, and while 
in college, before he was eighteen, he had acquired an 
extended reputation, under the signature of Boy. In 



1827, when he was just twenty years old, I published 
his volume entitled *' Sketches." It brought out quite 
a shower of criticism, in which praise and blame were 
about equally dispensed : at the same time the work 
sold with a readiness quite unusual for a bpok of 
poetry at that period. It is not calculated to estab- 
lish the infallibility of critics, to look over these no- 
tices at the present day : many of the pieces which 
were doubly damned have now taken their place 
among the acknowledged gems of our literature, and 
others, which excited praise at the time, have fisided 
from the public remembrance. 

One thing is certain — everybody thought Willis 
worth criticising.* He has been, I suspect, more writ- 

* Id 1831, there appeared in Boston a little book, of some fifty or sixty 
pigeA, entitled, " Truth : A New Year*8 Gift for Scribblers." It was writ- 
ten by Joseph Snelling, who had been, I believe, an under officer in the 
United States army, and stationed in the Northwest, perhaps at Prairie 
du Chicn. He came to Boston, and acquired some notoriety sa a ner- 
vous and daring writer — his chief desire seeming to be, notoriety. The 
work waa little more than a string of abuse, without regard to justice ; 
yet it was executed with point and vigor, and as it attacked everybody 
who had written verses, it caused a good deal of wincing. The follow- 
ing is tlie exordium : 

** Moths, millers, gnats, and butterflies, I sing; 

Far-darting PbcBbna, lend my strain a sting; 

Mach-courted rirglna, long-enduring Nine, 

Screw tight the catgut of this lyre of mine: 

If D-na, D-wea, and P-rp-nt ask your aid. 

If W-II-s takes to rhyming as a trade.. 

If Irnt and F-nn to Plndus* top aspire, 

I too may blamelees beg one spark of fire; 

Not snch as wanned the brains of Pop^ &o^ Sarilk— 

With lewi assistance I can make a shift: 

To QifTord's bow and shafts I lay no claim*- 

He shot at hawks, but I at Insects aim : 

Yet grant, since I must \\ ar on little thtnffi^ 

Just flame enough to singe their puny winp; 

Vol. II.— 13 



ten about than as; other literarj man in our history. 
Some of the attacks upon him proceeded, no doubt, 
from a coDvictioQ that he was a man of extmordi- 
naiy gifts, and yet of extraonliDarj affectations, and 
the tash was applied in kindness, as that of a school- 
master to a ioTcd pupil's back ; some of them were 
dictated by envy, for we have had no other example 
of lilerarr sucoeas so early, bo general, and bo flatter, 
ing. That Mr. Willis made mistakes in literature 
and life — at the outset— may be admitted by hia best 

IS from tiia bsiiy of tlic wurk : 
I ma mn WcklBs ta fab Htgra! itd 

friends; for it must be remembered that before be 
iras five-and- twenty, be was more read than any 
other American poet of bis time; and besides, being 
possessed of an easy and captivating address, be be- 
came the pet of society, and especially of the fairei 
portion of it. Since that period, his life, on tha 
whole, has been one of serious, useful, and aucceaaful 
labor. His reputation as a poet has hardly advanced, 
and probably the public generally regard some of his 
early verses as his best. As an essayist, however, ha 

Wl.ll,> B 

-,!.., .T„ 

S.mK .; 





■Will Iho 


T Wik*. HillMk. w^tl 


d Ib^ en 




in. pl.dg.-ll,T y 



on„ Ilk. 



Tbo follixcms is n part of the ainiubla notice beetowod upon Willii : 
■'Udk. afamll «■ not • Ckw brier IIdm iirord 
To gire poor Hittf P. bis mm nvudl 
Wbal liM be doDt to b« dnplHd b/ ill 
WIthiD wliou h>nd> ht> liMrinleH scribblliiKa Ulf 

Aiint««nledi!»iTlDnt Why. ofUle. 

Du (11 lie CTltla cliv lilt thalluw pitsT 

Ttdd. Wi ■ fool ;— If thU'i 1 tuning thing. 

Let Fr-Dl-ce. Wb-tt-r, M-U-u ilso Bvlog." 
Willis replied conlemptuoUHly, but eSectivclj, in Bame h>tf-doien 
Teroes iaeerted in the Stal^sman, ami addresaed to SmtUinj Joseph. 
The hnea stuck to poor Snelling for the remainder of his life, and I 
Buipect, ID fact, contributed to his dawD&ll. As he had attacked 
everjrbodj, everybody joined in the chuckle. lie soon fell into hahila 
of diasipalJaa, which led from one degradatioa to another, till bi* -via- 
anble career \ru ended. 


Stands in the first rank, distinguislied for a keen sa- 
gacity in analyzing society, a fine perception of the 
beauties of nature, an extraordinary talent for en- 
dowing trifies with interest and meaning. As a trav- 
eler, he is among the most entertaining, sagacious, 
and instructive. It is within my knowledge, that 
Mr. Webster was an admiring reader of his itinerary 

His style is certainly peculiar — and is deemed af- 
fected, tending to an excess of refinement, and dis- 
playing an undue hankering for grace and melody — 
sometimes sacrificing sense to sound. This might 
once have been a just criticism, but the candid reader 
of his works now before the public, will deem it hy- 
percritical. His style is suited to his thought ; it is 
flexible, graceful, musical, and is adapted to the play- 
ful wit, the spicy sentiment, the dramatic tableaux, 
the artistic paintings of sea, earth, and sky, of which 
they are the vehicle. In the seeming exhaustlessness 
of his resources, in his prolonged fireshness, in his 
constantly increasing strength, Mr. Willis has refuted 
all the early prophets who regarded him only as a 
precocity, destined to shine a few brief years, and 
fade away. 

As to his personal character, I need only say that 
from the beginning, he has had a larger circle of 
steadfast friends than almost any man within my 
knowledge. There has been something in his works 
which has made the fidr sex, generally, alike his lite- 



ZB17 and personal admirers. For so many &yors, he 
has giyen the world an ample return ; for, with all 
his imputed literary &ult8 — some real and some im- 
aginary — ^I regard him as having contributed more 
to the amusement of society than almost any other 
of our living authors.* 

It is not easy to conceive of a stronger contrast 
than is presented by comparing Nathaniel Hawthorne 
with N. P. Willis. The former was for a time one 
of the principal writers for the Token, and his admi- 
rable sketches were published side by side with those 
of the latter. Yet it is curious to remark that every 
thing Willis wrote attracted immediate attention, and 
excited ready praise, while the productions of Haw- 
thorne were almost entirely unnoticed. 

The personal appearance and demeanor of these 
two gifted young men, at the early period of which I 
speak, was also in striking contrast. Willis was 
slender, his hair sunny and silken, his cheek ruddy, 
his aspect cheerful and confident. He met society 
with a ready and welcome hand, and was received 
readily and with welcome. Hawthorne, on the con- 
tnuy, was of a rather sturdy form, his hair dark and 

• Mr. N. P. Willis was the son of Nathaniel WilUs, of Boston, origi- 
nally a printer, but for a long time an editor, and mach respected for 
his indostry, his good sense, his devotion to whatever he deemed his 
daty, and his n^eful services rendered to morals, religion, Christianity, 
and philanthropy. Hi» wife was a woman of uncommon mental endow- 
ments; her conversation was elegant, full of taste, reading, and refine- 
menL The beautiful tributes which N. P. Willis has rendered to her 
memorj, are no more than was due from a gifted son to a gifted mother. 


bushy, his eye steel-gray, his brow thick, his mouth 
sarcastic, his compl'exion stony, his whole aspect 
cold, moody, distrustful. He stood aloof, and sur- 
veyed the world from shy and sheltered positions. 

There was a corresponding difference in the wri- 
tings of these two persons. Willis was all sunshine 
and summer, the other chill, dark, and wintry ; the 
one was full of love and hope, the other of doubt 
and distrust ; the one sought the open daylight — sun- 
shine, flowers, music, and found them everywhere— 
the other plunged into the dim caverns of the mind, 
and studied the grisly specters of jealousy, remorse^ 
despair. It is, perhaps, neither a subject of surprise 
nor regret, that the larger portion of the world is so 
happily constituted as to have been more ready to 
flirt with the gay muse of the one, than to descend 
into the spiritual charnel-house, and assist at the psy- 
chological dissections of the other. 

I had seen some anonymous publication which 
seemed to me to indicate extraordinary powers. I 
inquired of the publishers as to the writer, and 
through them a correspondence ensued between me 
and "N. Hawthorne." This name I considered a dis- 
guise, and it was not till after many letters had pass- 
ed, that I met the author, and found it to be a true 
title, representing a very substantial personage. At 
this period he was unsettled as to his views; he 
had tried his hand in literature, and considered him- 
self to have met with a £BitaI rebuff firom the reading 


vorld. His mind vacillated between varioos pro- 
jects, verging, I think, toward a mercaBtUo profession. 
I coiiibatcil his despondence, and assured hina of tri- 
nmpb, if he would jwrsevere in a literary career. 

He wrote numerous articles, which appeared in 
the Token ; occasionally an astute critic seemed to 
Bee through them, and to discover the soul that was 
in them ; but in general they passed without notice. 
Such articles as Sights from a Steeple, Sketches be- 
neath an Umbrella, the Wives of the Dead, the Pro- 
phetic Pictares, dow universally acknowledged to be 
productions of extraordinary depth, meaning, and 
power, extorted hardly a word of either praise or 
blame, while columns were given to pieces since to- 
tally forgotten. I felt annoyed, almost angry indeed, 
' at this. I wrote several articles in the papers, direct- 
ing attention to these productions, and finding no 
echo of my views, I recollect to have asked John 
Pickering* to read some of them, and give me his 
opinion of them. He did as I requested ; his an- 
swer was that they displayed a wonderful beauty of 
style, with a kind of double vision, a sort of second 
sight, which revealed, beyond the outward forma of 
hfe and being, a sort of spirit world, somewhat as a 

• John PiokeriEg, non of Timolhj Pickering, Washington'i Bocre- 
U17 oF Stslc, nu B diBllpguished jurist and pliilologist, and > reflned 
and BUiinble gcntlemui. A good notico of liim ii givea iu McMn 
Dnyckinck'i eicelknt Cyolopedifl of American Liwrglnro, toI. i. pagB 
(26. To thin, by the vay, I hnva often been indebted tot usiBtimoe io 
the prepmtioD of tbia work. 



lake reflects the earth around it and the sky above 
it : yet he deemed them too mystical to be popular. 
He was right, no doubt, at that period, but, ere long, 
a portion of mankind, a large portion of the read- 
ing world, obtained a new sense — how or where or 
whence, is not easily determined — which led them 
to study the mystical, to dive beneath and beyond 
the senses, and to discern, gather, and cherish gems 
and pearls of price in the hidden depths of the soul. 
Hawthorne was, in fact, a kind of Wordsworth in 
prose — less kindly, less genial toward mankind, but 
deeper and more philosophical. His fate was simi- 
lar : at first he was neglected, at last he had wor- 

In 1837, I recommended Mr. Hawthorne to pub- 
lish a volume, comprising his various pieces, which 
had appeared in the Token and elsewhere. He con- 
sented, but as I had ceased to be a publisher, it was 
difficult to find any one who would undertake to 
bring out the work. I applied to the agent of the 
Stationers' Company,* but he refused, until at last I 

* The Stationers* Compftnj, orgsDized in the autumn of 1886, wa» m 
joint-Btock company, in which some of the leading lawyers and literary 
men of Boston engaged, with a view of publishing original American 
works of a high character, and in such a way as to render dae compen- 
sation and encouragement to authors. One of the works which then 
sought a publisher, without success, was Prescott^s Ferdinand and Isa- 
bella — it being at that day supposed to be absurd for Americans to pre- write general histories. This was in fact one of the first works 
issued by this concern. In 1888 the country was suffering under a stat« 
of general commercial panic and paralysis, and this company was pr^ 
cipitated into the gulf of bankruptcy, with thousands of othen. Thougkk 

narroatOAL, AmctxmcjkL, etc. S73 

relincpiialied my copyrights on such of the talea as I 
had published, to Mr, Hawthorne, and joined a friend 
of hiB in a bond to iodeinnify them agitinst toaa ; and 
thus the work was pabliahed by the Stationers' Com- 
pany, under the title of Twice Told Tales, and for 
the author's benefit. It was deemed a failure for 
more than a year, when a breeze seemed to rise and 
fill its sails, and with it the author was carried on to 
fame and fortune. 

Among the most successful of the writers for the 
Token was Miss Francis, now Mrs. Child. I have not 
seen her for many years, but I have many pic.isant 
remembraDcea of her lively conversation, her saucy 
wit, her strong good sense, and her most agreeable 
person and presence. To Rev. F. W, P. Greenwood 
— the author of " Niagara" and the " Sea" — articles 
which are still admired by all tasteful readers — I was 
indebted not only for some of the best contributions, 
but for excellent counsel and advice in my literary 
affairs. He was a man of fine genius, gentle manners, 
and apostolic dignity of life and character. 

To Mr. Pierpont, I was indebted for encouragement 
and sympathy in my whole career, and for some of 
the best poems which appeared in the work I am no- 
ticing. I remember once to have met him, and to have 

I wu a hesitncing and reluctant sulwcribcr to the slock, and in fsotvu 
tlie last to join the assooiatlon, 1 still shared largely— I nitiy any fatally 
—in it* minfartiiDfa. It entailed upon me the lona of the little property 


asked him to give me a contribution for the Token. 
He stopped and said, reflectingly, " I had a dream not 
long ago, which I have thought to put into verse. I 
will try, and if I am successful you shall have it" A 
few days after he gave me the lines, now in all the 
gem books, beginning— 

''*• Was it the chime of a tiny bell, 

That came so sweet to my dreaming ear^* 
Like the silvery tones of a fairy^s sheO, 

That he winds on the beach so mellow and dear, 
When the winds and the waves lie together asleep, 
And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep^ 
She dispensing her silvery light, 
And he his notes, as silvery quite, 
While the boatman listens and ships his oar, 
To catch the music that comes from the shore 1 
Hark ! the notes on my ear that play. 
Are set to words ; as they float, they say, 
' Passing away, passing away I' " 

Charles Sprague wrote for me but little, yet that 
was of diamond worth. Next to Willis, Mrs. Sigour- 
ney was my most successful and liberal contributor ; 
to her I am indebted for a large part of the success 
of my editorial labors in the matter now referred to. 
To Miss Sedgwick, also, the Token owes a large 
share of its credit with the public. Grenville Mellen 
— a true poet, and a most kind, gentle spirit, doomed 
early to ** pass away" — was a favorite in my pages, 
and to me a devoted friend. To B. B. Thacher — also 
among the good and the departed ; to Mrs. Osgood, 


gifted and gone ; to John Neale, A. H. Everett, Bish- 
op Doane, Mr, Longfellow, Caleb Gushing; to the 
two Sargents — Epes and John, though masked as 
Charles Sherry or the modest letter E. ; to Misa 
Gould, Miss Leslie, 11. T. Tuckerman, 0. W. Holmes. 
Orville Dewey, J. T. Fields, T. S. Fay, G. C. Ya 
planck— to all these and to many others, I owe the 
kind remembrance which belongs to good deed^ 
kindly and graciously bestowed. 

It is not to be supposed that in a long career, both 
as bookseller and editor, I should have escaped alto 
gether the annoyances and vexations which naturally 
attach to these vocations. The relation of author and 
publisher is generally regarded as that of the cat and 
the dog, both greedy of the bone, and inherently jeal- 
ous of each other. The authors have hitherto written 
the accounts of the wrangles between these two par- 
ties, and the publishers have been traditionally gib- 
eted as a set of mean, mercenary wretches, coining 
the heart's blood of genius for their own selfish prof- 
its. Great minds, even in modern times, have not 
been above this historical prej udice. The poet Camp- 
bell is said to have been an admirer of Napoleon he- 
cause he shot a bookseller. 

Nevertheless, speaking from my own experience, 
I suspect, if the truth were told, that, even in eases 
where the world has been taught to bestow all its 
sympathy in behalf of the' author, it would appear 
that while there wire claws on one side there were 


teeth on the other. My belief is, that where there 
have been quarrels, there have generally been mutual 
provocations. I know of nothing more vexatious, 
more wearisome, more calculated to beget impa- 
tience, than the egotisms, the exactions, the unrea 
sonablenesses of authors, in cases I have witnessed."* 

* I could give some onrioos instaooeB of this. A sohoolmaftter came 
to me once with a marvelously clever grammar : it was sure to overtuni 
all others. He had figured o;it his views in a neat hand, like copper- 
plate. He estimated that there were always a million of children at 
school who would need his grammar ; providing for books worn out, 
and a supply for new-comers, half a million would be wanted every 
year. At one cent a copy for the author — which he insisted was ex- 
ceedingly moderate — this would produce to him five thousand dollars a 
year, but if I would pnblbh the work he would condescend to take half 
that sum annually, during the extent of the copyright — twenty-eight 
yearHi I declined, and he seriously believed me a hearUesa block- 
head. He obtained a publisher at last, but the work never reached a 
second edition. Every publisher is laden with similar experiences. 

I once employed a young man to block out some little books to be 
published under the nominal authorship of Solomon Bell ; these I remod- 
eled, and one or two volumes were issued. Some over-astute critic an- 
nounced them as veritable Peter Parleys, and they had a sudden sale. 
The young man who had assisted me, and who was under the most sol- 
emn obligations to keep the matter secret, thought he had an opportu- 
nity to make his fortune ; so he publicly claimed the authorship, and 
accused me of duplicity I The result was, that the books fell dead from 
that hour ; the series was stopped, and his nnprinted manuscripts, for 
which I had paid him, became utterly worthless. A portion I burnt, 
and a portion still remain amid«t the rubbish of other days. 

In other instances, I was attacked in the papers, editorially and per- 
sonally, by individuals who were living upon the employment I gave 
them. I was in daily intercourse with persons of this character, 
who, while flattering me to my face, I knew to be hawking at me in 
print. These I regarded and treated as trifles at the time ; they are less 
than trifles now. One thing may be remarked, that, in general, such 
difficulties come from poor and unsuccessful writers. They have been 
taught that publishers and booksellers are vampires, and naturally feed 
upon the vitals of genius ; assuming— honestly, no doubt — that they are 
of this latter class, they feci no great scruple in taking vengeance upon 
those whom they regard as their natural enemiea. 

HierroiticAx, AirBcixmcAL, ero. 

That there may be eiamplea of meanneas, stupidity, 
and selfishness, in pnblishers, is indisputable. But 
in general, I am satisfied that an author who will do 
justice to a publisher, will have justice in return; 

In judging of publishers, one thing should be con- 
sidered, and that is, that two-thirda of the original 
works issued by them, are unprofitable. An eminent 
London publisher once told me that he calculated that 
out of ten publications, four involved a positive, and 
often a heavy, loss ; three barely paid the cost of pa- 
per, print, and advertising ; and three paid a profit 
Nothing is moro common than fur a publisher to pay 
money to an author, every farthing of which is lost. 
Self-preservation, therefore, compels the publisher to 
look carefully to his operations. One thing is cer- 
tain — he is generally the very best judge as to the 
value of a book, in a marketable point of view : if he 
rejects it, it is solely because he thinks it will not 
pay, not because he despises genius. 

Happily, at the present day, the relations between 
these two parties — authors and publishers — are on a 
better footing than in former times : the late Festival" 

dotes. An aditot of a periodical oaoe sent me so arUcle for tbe Token, 
euliUed La Zho^im-cim ; Che pith of tba story ooneisted m a romimt'io 
;Diitb's railing in love with a young Wy, two mllaa off, through a Ule- 
ecope 1 I Tcnturod Xa reject it, and the Token fot Chat year was duly 
damned in the columns of tlio offended nuthor. 

Aud yeC, while noticing theae Crlflea, 1 urn bounil Co aay diatincCly, 
that, on Ibe whole, 1 have had generous and cDcouraglng 
from the press, and most kindly intercoune with aulhora, 

• The Complimentary Fruit Festival of the N'ew York Book Pobli 


in New York, given by the publishers to the authors, 
was a happy testimonial to the prevailing feeling that 
both are partners in the fellowship of literature, and 
that mutual good offices will best contribute to mutual 
prosperity. Indeed, a great change has taken place 
in the relative positions of the two classes. Nothing 
is now more marketable than good writing — at least 
in this country— whatever may be its form— poetry 
or prose, fact or fiction, reason or romance. Star- 
ving, neglected, abused genius, is a myth of bygone 
times. K an author is poorly paid, it is because he 
writes poorly. I do not think, indeed, that authors 
are adequately paid, for authorship does not stand 
on a level with other professions as to pecuniary 
recompense, but it is certain that a clever, industri- 
ous, and judicious writer may make his talent the 
means of living.* 

ere* Association to Authon and Booksellere, took place at the Cryatal 
Palace, September 27, 1855, and was one of the most gratifying and 
suggestive occasions I ever witnessed. The opening address of the 
president, Mr. W. Appleton, the introductory statistical sketch, by Mr. 
G. P. Putnam, the genial toasts, the excellent letters of Charles Sumner, 
Edward Everett, and B. 0. Winthrop ; the admirable speech of W. C. 
Bryant, the eloquent addresses of Messre. Milbum, Allen, Chapin, Os- 
good, Beecher, together with the witty and instructive poem by J. T. 
Fields— all together marked it as an era of prodigious interest in our 
literary annals. 

* I am here speaking particularly of the state of things in America 
at the present day. No man has more cause to know and feel the dis- 
appointments, the wear and tear of health, the headaches, the heart- 
aches, which attend authorship as a profession and a means of support, 
than myself. No one has more cause to feel and remember the illusivenesa 
of literary ambition, perhaps I may say of even humble literary success. 
In most coses, these are only obtained at the expense of shattered nervea 
and broken constitutions, leaving ammll meana of eigoying what haa 



P iol»-/(* Sictplioa—VarioiH PubOaitiiiiu— 
— RiyofM ftj Europ* — CbR*nBa(iOB of Pkp- 
)rSmii.3radU, tfLiHido»—Ahtrcrombit,o/Eli^ 
tmrlca—BmUna ia tit Chantry— Proueatim <^ 
< — foe^g vp tie Afirvnt — Aintoffaneet n/ Auihtr- 
it A'tt Fort JjaUy Tima. 

fl I was busily engaged in publisliing va- 

Ll foaud time to make my long meditated 

1 the writing of books (or children. The 

i4-iras ffiade iu 1827, and bore tke title of 

f of Peter Parley about America. No per- ^ 

Ifcy wife and one of my sisters were admit- 

i secret — for in the first place, I hesitated 

lat I was qualified to appear before the 

1 author, and in the next place, nursery 

L not then acqidred the resjiect in the 

a world it now enjoys. It is since that pe- 

i persons of acknowledged genius—Scott, 

truDthat if a mim has lAlflDt, And 

DQiI practises A|;ar'e prajer, he 

nfty LDiIepondcuce, lei hioi 

ibo a man of gcniuB, nuthorsliip is a ^lorioaa 
IttinSD of oilier and more setjvc nud p rati tshle pro f^ssi one, it 
IpllMpiriog epiaodij ; hut to one who liia no resources bnl liia 
kbtoo often tlie uoiciiig of bis beart'a blood to feud his fumily. 
y ifaoald never bo forgollau by thoso who are Umpted to follow 
ftmer, thM not oce KnLhor in a hondnd Kltaiiia aaooeia In 
Ida proftuioQ alone. 




7%t Km o/Ot Parity Heokt—Iu Ra^lioa—FaHom Publiealien*— 
nralmiag AUadt of Ilbutt — PoyajiloEiirept—GiHtruUatienn/Pij/- 
MfM alFarit—Sir B*<v- -BrtiiL*, <^ Lmdoii~Ab*raiimbiB, ^ Siuk- 
hvrji — Ritum ta Antrim — Stwidtnoi in lAe OniUrf — /'rMMuftnn i^f 
my Litrrar-g Lahart — fbt^ng vp Iht Jaaivnt — Arntoymnvi e/ A uthar- 
ihip—JMUr (u CAj Xte York DaUg Tiina. 

Though I was busily engaged in publishing va- 
rious works, I found time to make my long meditated 
expcrimeot in the writing of books £.>i cliildrcn. The 
firgt -^ftPinpt yrss fiiads iu 1827, and bore the title of 
the Tales of Peter Parley about America. No per- 
sons but my wife and one of my sistera were admit- 
ted to the secret — for in the first place, I hesitated 
to believe that I was qualified to appear before the 
public as an author, and in the next place, unrsery 
literature had not then acquired the respect in the 
eyes of the world it now enjoys. It is since that pe- 
riod, that persons of acknowledged genius — Scott, 

been thus dearly WOD. Still it is quite truo that ifH mun baa talent, and 
ia wise 8ud moderulo, and if he fuela and praclJsBa Agnr'a prayer, ha 
may liva by authoraliip ; if he fl.ipiree W easy indepeiideaoe, let liim 
rather drudge in almost niiy other employment. As an amuiicnieDt to 

pBBlimB ; to men of other and more active nnd profltublB professions, it 
ia often an inspiring episode ; but to one wlio has no resoarces bat bia 
braiun, it is too ofUn the coining of bia heart's blood to feed bia furuily. 
Oae thing should never be forgotten by those who are tempted to follow 
a literary career, that not one anthor in a hondred attains Buooeu la 
life by this profeMioQ aloDB. 

1 ^ 

Suidenlv I began to s 

all over the country, : 

its publication, it had ': 

published the Tales o 

in 1S29, Parley's Wii 

Parley's Juyenile Tal( 

Sun, Moon, and Stars. 

guessed my secret — it 

vulged by a woman — ] 

by the wav. I am indel 

mv literary career — y 

had not done me this ( 

the authorship of the Pj 

source of some gratifical 

quel, tliat it has also su 


I shall not weary you 
insrs nt. tl>i« !>»''— -- "• 


sliip, generally writing fourteen hours a day. 
part of the time I was entirely unable to read, an 
eoutd write but little, on account of the weakncs 
of my eyea In my liirger publications, I employed 
persona to block out work for me ; this was read lo 
me, and then I put it into style, generally writing by 
dictation, my wife being my amanuensis. Thus em- 
barraaaed, I still, by dint of incessant toil, produced 
five or six volumes a year, mostly small, but some of 
larger compass. 

In the midst of these labors — that is, in the spring 
of 1832 — I was suddenly attacked with Bymptoms, 
which seemed to indicate a disease of the heart, rap- 
idly advancing to a fatal termination. In the course 
of a fortnight I was so reduce-d as not to be able to 
mount a. pair of stairs without help, and a short walk 
produced palpitations of the heart, which in several 
inetODces almost deprived me of consciousness. There 
seemed no hope but in turning my back upon my 
business, and seeking a total change of scene and cli- 
mate. In May I embarked for England, and after a 
few weeks reached Paris. I here applied to Baron 
Larroque,who, assisted by L'Herminier — both eminent 
specialists in diseases of the heart — subjected me to 
various experiments, but without the slightest advan- 
tage. At this period I was obliged to be carried up 
stairs, and never ventured to walk or ride alone, 
being constantly subject to nervous spasms, which 
often brought me to the verge of suffocation. 


Despairing of relief here, I returned to London, 
and was carefully examined by Sir B. C. Brodie.* He 
declared that I had no organic disease, that my diffi 
culty was nervous irritability, and that whereas the 
French physicians had interdicted wine and required 
me to live on a light vegetable diet, I must feed well 
upon good roast bee^ and take two generous glasses of 
port with my dinner ! Thus encouraged, I passed on 
to Edinburgh, where I consulted Abercrombie,f then 
at the height of his fajne. He confirmed the views 
of Dr. Brodie, in the miain, and regarding the irregu- 
larities of my vital organs as merely functional, still 
told me that, without shortening my life, they would 
probably never be wholly removed. He told me of 
an instance in which a patient of his, who, having 
been called upon to testify before the committee of 
the House of Commons, in the trial of Warren Hast- 

* Sir Benjamin C. Brodie was at tliis time one of the most eminent 
surgeons in London. His reputation has since even been enhanced ; hia 
various publications — Clinical Lectures in Surgery, Pathol<^ical and Sur> 
gic»l Observations on Diseases of the Joints, Lectures on Diseases of 
the Urinarj' Organs, and Surgical Works — all of which have been pub- 
lished in this country — have given him a world-wide fame. It was not 
a little remarkable to me, to find a man of his eminence thus positively 
and authoritatively reversing the recommendations of French practi- 
tioners, of hardly inferior fame. Of one thing I am convinced, that for 
us Anglo-Saxons an Anglo-Saxon practitioner is much better than a 
Qallic one. I shall have a few words more to say on this subject. 

t Dr. John Abercrombie lield the highest rank in his profession at 
thifi period. He was still more distinguished as a writer, his Inquiries 
concerning the Intellectual Powers being published in 1880, and his 
Philosophy of the Moral Feelings in 1888. He was a man of refined 
personal appearance, and most gentle mannen. He died in 1844) 
aged 68. 


inga — from mere erabairassmeiit — bad been seized 
with palpitatiou of the heart, which, however, con- 
tinued till his death, many years after. Even thia 
somber view of my case was then a relief. Four and 
twenty years have passed since that period, and thus 
far my experience has verified Dr. Abercronibie's 
prediction. These nervous attacks pursue me to 
thia day, yet I have become familiar with them, and 
regarding them only as troublesome visitors, I re- 
ceive them patiently and bow them out as gently as 
I can.* 

Ailcr an absence of six monlbs I returned to Bos- 
ton, and by the advice of my physician took up my 
residence in the country. I built a house at Jamaica 
Plain, four miles from the city, and here I continued 
for more than twenty years. My health was partially 
restored, and I resumed my literary labors, which I 

* 1 make this sutemeiit ohiofl; bficaaae I tbink it ma; be luerul to 
peraong, who, like tufself, liave ibuned tlieir cotiBtitutions by BvdsuUiy 
hibita ani! etcevlvo mental labor, Had wbo confeqacntly are afflicted 
with Dervona attnoka, potting on the sembUiioa of organie iliseasea o( 
the heart. Not long Hince, 1 met vith an old TriDnd, a pi)y»iciBn, who 
liad abandoaad his piofessioa for authorship : with a dejected coutite- 
naoce he told mo he waa sioking under a iliBeiiso of the heart ! I in- 
quired hia BjTnptonia, which corresponded with mj own. I rolaled to 
bim my experience. A fen dayii after I met him, and aaw in hia cheer- 
fal fuce that 1 had cured him. I give thia prcacription gratia to all mj 
Llerary frienda ; let them beware of overlusking the brain ; but if they 
do piake tliia mltilake, let them not lay the coriMi'quent inegularitica of 
the vitiil organs to the heart. In nine cwt* out of ten they belong to 
the head— 10 the nervoua nynlem— which center? in the brain. Get 
tbat right by bodily exercine, by cheerful intercouras with fricndx, by 
aconacience void of ofitnRe, bygcntroiis living, by early rising and early 
going (o bed, and by conaidering that the body will ilwaya take ven- 
geanas opon the mind, if the latter ii permitted to abnae tJie former. 


continued, steadily, fh)m 1888 to 1850, with a few 
episodes of lecturing and legislating, three voyages 
to Europe, and an extensive tour to the South. It 
would be tedious and unprofitable to you, were I 
even to enumerate my various works — produced 
from the beginning to the present time. I may sum 
up the whole in a single sentence : I am the author 
and editor of about one hundred and seventy vol- 
umes, and of these seven millions have been sold 1* 

1 have said that however the authorship of Par- 
ley's Tales has made me many friends, it has also 
subjected me to many annoyances. Some of these 
are noticed in a letter I addressed to the editor of 
the New York Times in December, 1855, a portion 
of which I here copy, with slight modifications, as 
the easiest method of making you comprehend my 

Sib :— Some days since I learned, through a friend, that the 
editor of the Boston Courier, in noticing the death of the late 
iSamuel Kettellt had said or intimated that he was the author of 
Peter Parley^s Tales. I therefore wrote to the said editor on 
the subject, and he has thb day furnished me with the paper 
alluded to— December 10th — ^in which I find the following 

* For a list of my variooB worka, aee p. 537 of this volume. 

t Mr. Somael Kettell waa a native of Newburyport, Mass., and bom 
A. D. 1800. He waa for the most part self-educated, and without being 
a critical scholar, was a man of large acquirements, the master, I believe, 
of more than a dozen languages. In 1832 he visited Europe, and wrote 
some clover essays in the British magazines. In 1848 he assumed the 
editorship of the Boston Courier, and so continued till his death in 1855, 
though his active labors were auapended for some months before by bia 
protracted illness 



"Mr. 8. G. Goodrich also fonnd work for him— Mr. Kettell— 
Uii many of those bblorical compeadiaau wbiah came out 
onder the name of Peter Farhy, were in fact the work of Mr. 
Eetiell. Ue is the Teritsble Peter Parley," &c. 

Now, Mr. Editor, it happeoa that for nearly Utirtj yean, I 
hare appeared before the poblic as the author of Pel«r Parlej-'i 
Tales. It would Beeni, therefore, if this statement were true, 
that 1 have lieeo for this lenglb of time arrajed in boirowiHl 
plnmee, thua impoaing upon the public, aod now wronging tlic 
dv^. it waa DO doubt the amiable purpose of the writer ut 
the article in qnestion U» place me in this poaitiDn. I am, how- 
ever, pretty well used to this sort of thing, and I should not 
t^e the trouble to notice this new inslance of impertinenoe, 
were it not that I have a liatch ou hand, and may as well put 
them aH in and make one baking of them. 

To b^pn. There is a man by the name of Martin, in London, 
and who takee the name of Pet«r Parley Martin. He wriUs 
books iMildly under tbe name of Peter Parley, and they are 
palmed off as genuine works by the London publishers. These, 
and other forgeries of a similar kind by other writers, have been 
going on for fifteen years or more, until there are thirty or forty 
volumes of thera in drcu]ation in England. 

Among these London counterfeiters, there was formerly a 
bookseller by the name of Lacey. He was what is called a 
Remainder Man — that is, he bonght the unsold and unsalable 
ends of editions, put them in gaudy binding^ and thus disjioseU 
of them. When he got posaeesion of a defunct juveuile work, 
he galvanized it into life by putting Parley's name to it — as 
"Grandfather's Talee, by Peter Parley," &o. This proved a 
thrilly trade, and tbe man, as I have been told, has lately re- 
tired upon a fortuDCL 

It is indeed notorious, that handsome sums have been realized 
b London by authors and publishers there, in repnblishing the 
geauine Parley books, and also by pnbUshiDg counterfeit onee. 
This matter has gone to such lengths, and has become so miu- 


chievous to me as weD as to the public, that I have brought an 
action agsunst Darton & Co.,* one of the principal London houses 
concerned in this fraud, and I hope to haye it decided that an 
author who gives value to a name — even though it be fictitious 
— may be protected in its use and profit, as well as the Amos- 
keag Afannfacturing Company for their trade-mark, ^^ A No. 1,^* 
put upon thdr cottons, and which the courts have decided to be 
their property. 

In general, my rights in regard to the use of the name of 
Parley, have been respected in the United States ; but it appears 
that about two years ago, when I was in Europe, a New York 
bookseller — ^under the inspiration of a man who writes Beterend 
before his name — undertook to foUow in the footsteps of these 
English counterfeiters; so he put forth two volumes, naming 
the one Parley^s Pictorial, and the other Parley^s Household 
Library, &c I understand that these are made up of old plates 
from Parley^s Magazine, with slight alterations so as to disguise 
the real nature and origin of the works. Li order more com- 
pletely to deceive the public, he attached the above titles, which 
imply that these works are by me, and are issued, in their present 
form, by my sanction. 

Thus the innocent public is duped. Li point of fact, there is 
not, I think, a page of my writing in these volumes, excepting 
passages taken from my works, in violation of my copyrights. 
The credit of originating these productions belongs, I believe, to 
the reverend gentieman above alluded to, and not to the pub- 
lisher — though the latter, knowing the character of the works, 
aids and abets their circulation. 

A still more recent instance of this borrowed use of Peter 
Parley^s name has been brought to my notice. A few days 
since a man named ? who, it is said, has been a govern- 
ment employ^ abroad, and has lately got leave to return, was 
introduced to one of the public schools in this city as the verita- 
ble author of Peter Parley^s Tales. To certify his identity, it 

* See pages 296-^06. 


«u fiirther ftdded I17 the l««cber that be tm tbe fiitlier of 
"IMck Tinlo!" This man, who was not your hoiiihlt- Bervaul, 
nor, I ttiu happy to any, a rclativn, nor an acijaiunlAiiee of his, 
sliU receired these honors as his due — and perhaps I ahall ere 
long be obliged to defend myaelf against a clniiD chat hti iii I, 
and that I ain not myself I 

To paaa orer theae and otlier similar instaacea, I come now to 
the latest, if not the but — the declaration of the editor of the 
BiMton Courier, that Mr. Ketl^ll was the real author of PaHoy's 
Talea. If Mr. Kettel! were tiling, lie would even mora readily 
ooDtradict this assertion llian niyaell^ for he would have fell 
alike the ridicule and the wrong that it wonld attach to his 
namo. Were it my purpose to write a bio^aphical noti''c of 
this genllemaii, I .shoiil.i have iiolhin!; iinpltsLsant In say of him. 
He was a man of large aoqnirementa, a good deal of humor, and 
■ome wit, with great simplicity, truth, and honor of character. 
He was not, however, thrifty in tlie ways of the world. Among 
en bis writings there is not, I believe, a book of which he was 
the designer, or, strictly speaking, the author. But he was still 
a ready writer when he had his task set before him. So mach 
is dne as s passing notice to the memory of a man with whom 
I had relations for twenty years, always amicable, and I believe 
mutuatly satisfactory, if not mutaally beneficial. 

But BS to the statements of the editor of the Boston Conrier 
above alluded to, as well as some others in his obitnory of Mr. 
Eettell, there is great inaccaracy. Let me lay the sie at the 
root of the main statement at once, by declaring, that of the 
thirty or forty volumes of Parley's Tales, Mr. Kettell never wrote 
a line or sentence of any of them, nor, so far as I now recollect, 
did any other person eicept myself. The Farley Beriee was be- 
gun and in the full tide of sQCceas before I ever saw Mr, Kett^. 

It is quite true, that in my larger geographical and historical 
works — some of them eitending to over one thousand royal 
octavo pages — I bad assistants, as is usual, nay, indispensable, 
in BDch casee, Mr. Kettell among others. Bome of these were 


youog men, who haye sinoe risen to £une in both hemispheres. 
If all who assisted me were now to come forward and claim to 
be original Peter Parleys, there wonld be a very pretty family 
of usl 

The writer of the Oonrier article in question intimates that 
Mr. Kettell was ill paid, and by a Latin quotation suggests that 
T made use of him to my own advantage, while he, the real au- 
thor of books which I published, was robbed of his due I This is 
a serious charge, and it may be well to give it a pointed answer. 

As to the statement that Mr. Kettell was ill paid — ^let me ask 
the reason, if such were the fact? In general, things will bring 
their value — ^literature as well as any other commodity. Why 
was it, then, that he accepted this insufficient pay ? If I did nol 
compensate him adequately, why did he serve me ? The world is 
wide, the market free; Mr. Kettell was fsuniliarly acquainted 
with every publisher in Boston : if he wrote for me, the infer- 
ence is that I paid him better than anybody else would have 
done. Nay, if the editor of the Boston Courier does not 
know, there are others who do, that I was for years his only 
reliance and resource. He went to Europe without a dollar in 
his pocket except what I gave him for his writings. While at 
Paris, being in a state of absolute destitution, be wrote home to 
his friend, S. P. Holbrook, for help. This was furnished by the 
contributions of his friends, myself among the number. 

The editor, in enumerating Mr. Kettell^s literary labors, gives 
him high credit as the editor of the three volumes of Specimens 
of American Poetry, which I published. This is no doubt one 
of the instances, according to this writer, in which I sponged the 
brains of another to his wrong and my advantage. Let us see 
the facts : 

I projected the aforesaid work, and employed Mr. F. S. Hill 
as editor. He began it, collected materials, and wrote the first 
part of it. At his instance, I had purchased nearly one hun- 
dred scarce books for the enterprise. The work, thus begun, 
the plan indicated, the materials to a great extent at command, 


will) DDmurons articlts Actually written, {iHW^ Into Mr. Reltall's 
handa. I thiak, with the editor nftlieConrier, that ooai>M«rlllg 
tliu extent of tlie uudert^ing, and tlut it nw tben a iww en- 
terpri»e, oompelling the editor to grope in ibc mazes of a naw 
and aneiplored wilderoiMs, tbat Mr. Kettell displaced a tolera* 
bio dvgree of patience uid reeearcb, nod a lair »hare of critical 
Kigncity. Bui nevenholeaa, ttie work wait a tnoat diaiwtri>at 
fiJInrei, iDvolviog me aft only in a pecuniary \ofe of lifieen hun- 
dred dullora, but the morUiioatuHi of liaviog the work paw into 
a kind of proverb of iiii£fortune or mi^udgmcnt. ^ore than 
once I bare lieard it spoken of ns " Goodrich'H Kettle of I'oetry I" 
Tilts ar«4e, no doubt, partly from the idea tlien encouraged bjr 
the critics, that it was the heigiit of fblty for nti, Americaiui, to 
pretend to have nnr liwralnre. Tn inclmlo tlip writitip of Tiin- 
Otby Piviglit, Juul J;iu'lun-, uud PhiJiio ^li^uuliuj- ki u huolL nail- 
ed Poetry, waa then deemed a great offense at the bar of critl- 
tAera. It is true that these notions have passed away, and Dr. 
Griswold and Messrs. Duyrkinck have found in the mine 
wrought so abortively by Sir. Ketteli, both gold and glory. 
There were, however, other reaaona for bis failure, and among 
them au unfortunate Klip as to the aulfaorabip of "Hml Coium- 
bia," which stood thus: 


" We have no knowledge of this author. The popular na- 
Uonal ode which foUowa, ap|>eared first, we believe, in Phlladel- 

Such ignorance and such carelessness were deemed offensive 
by the friends of Judge Hopkinson, son of the well-known author 
of the " Battle of the Kegs," and otiier popular effunions, and 
himself a soTnewhat noted poet. Mr. Walsh mode this, and other 
blunders, the occasion of a stinging casiigniion in his National 
Gazette, Thu result wa.-* injurious to Mr. Kettell in many ways: 
it injured his risinslilerary reputation, and so shattered his nerves 
that for Bome years beloatconrageas wellaseocouragenient.ex- 
VoL. II.— 18 


<y^f t whjit I continued to give him, despite this fiulnre. It was 
»«)b<>cs:nent to this that I supplied him with the means of going 
to Fr,T\^ix\ «nd thns famished him with the opportanity of ta- 
Vin^ a new start in the world. And yet I sponiped this man*s 
VcK T>K and st4^)e hi$ fidr &me — according to this Boston writer ! 
1 s-r.rTv><k\ Mr. Editor, that this isenoogh for the present; and 
xy^ * ji-r. oisTvved to cr^ve a link more of your patience and 
XNNT.r <.ryft*y^ TO f:»t* rrsone precwdy my relations with Mr. Ket- 
tv<''^» A's' ;>.«« remoTif >.iia frxwn the disadrantageons light in 
'•Vv^l V i* T^>fri >y the il:>j=^ed preteiiseB of his too earnest 

">» '•»£ % v-«jkv o:* tw*Cre or £^«en years, and that the most 
•s^ \v «-ts- ^T,j-%i^<»cv". Tvcrvc of my liS\ I soifered greatly from 
^ V .«,xcA,^ N svx o'^s*. %r.v-iL l^-:«kt<ee^: blindness: sometimes 
<. x»s\Ax -.%i^-. »^vo ". ^•js* o*c.^.»c :o a dark room. At thai 
A.s"A , « V.V 4.^rsv;j *>oT.v >y *:v:a:voL my wile being my 
* ,* v . V >^ v«v ^'^vT^. »■«:' :iy Tjux^ Kx>kiN, she slitting on 
x^ >. * V ,\ «. i\v.r ,: - A T :. : -f '\c"":. ir.i I o::i :he orher side, 
o^ ' n\ • V ,-.v A-Tv*i>. Sf'-i-r^fcl ^.xiirDos v>f :he Token were 

» ^ V ,'.^* vN.x . \\ r. s;\>r. 1 .vci:»o-:i. and b<eins at the 

••^c sv- vv fc^:v %.'',v V: : > *^ ::r-«^. Mr. Ke::*-!! was 
.^. ,* Vx ,v vxa > tot V ^*^ fi- ' -JLT »■ "".ii *:>rariosw and 

vvv ."V, V*. \<Cv<i.". rv'W >• ^.'t ^- s \4^- ''"»"" Tr,-< a: h>i own 
%v^\'s.'>"\ rv-'* ."^ :> ."•r >».-^ v V< v-.'e c-c >-:'W:s 
v:v«< ■ Xx'. >'» ••>?», xrjsV .::: :v -.-.v.-^rvr v.-.>c." .*-c rv rje — even 

>fcS\: Si* "^Ji^i ::^.» WviV ,•■: ,^ mji> ".. vi-« < r^f^vivl-ed to 

**«^ *• J* * ^ ** ,A>«.<v *^ ^ ^**X V s* -- ■ ^ * ^ ^N *t^ 3>^. % *v *'i«**-j^ •% 

• ^ 


edme; he was also, mmetimee, my amnnneniiis; bnt he wa« 
not, nnr did he ever claim to be, in any proper pcnse of the won! 
the author of a sbgle page of & book wbich was published ul 
der my owq came, or that of Peter Parley, In the large (,•«- 
gMphicftl wort already iiUnded to, in which I had the assist 
suco of Ur. Ectt/jll, as well as of two other persons of grvn. 
ability and reputation, this assistance wan dnly oclmowledged in 
the preJftpe.* 

Now, while I thus correct the misrepresentBtions of thia tiiW' 
ton editor, 1 desire to leiive do unpleflsaci impreajioiu ii)'i>n Uii- 
oaine and memory of Mr. Kettdl. He is, indeed, beyond ili.! 
reach uf praise or blame; bnt KtiJl truth has its raqtiieitiona, an<l 
It would be a violation of these, were I to cast npon him any 
reiiroBt'h. He ofrtniulj was deficient in the nrt of devising sei'i- 
ou* and exteii'leif worli.s; lie had not the aleiidy, peneTrnlii];.' 
judgment necessary to BDch performanoea. Still, be possessed 
certain faculties in high perfection — a marveloos caj)scity for 
the acquisition of language^ a ta>ite for antiquarian lore, a large 
stock of historical anecdote, a gcoial humor, a playful though 
grotesftne wit, and, withal, a kind, gentle, truthful heart. He 
was so much a man of genius, that his fame could not he bene- 
fited by the reputation of tlje humble anthorship of Parley's 
Tales. Certainly his honest nature would have revolted at the 
pretense now set up that he was in any manner or degree, entj' 
tied to it.t 

* Sec prefKC to UniverBiI Oen^mphy, pnl)Il!ihod ia 1833, 
t Thia letter led to ■ Ungtheoed controvsn;, the resnlt of which ia 
■Uled in the Appendix to this volums, p^e 6U. 



RepiMieaiion of ParUy*t Tales in London — Mr. Ttgg^s op€raHan»—ltm^ 
taUd hy other pttbUthers — Peter Parley Martin — Letter to Mr. Darton 
— An edition o/the/aUe Parleys in America — 1%$ coneequeneee. 

Mt dear C****** 

When I was in London, in 1832, I learned that 
Mr. Tegg, then a prominent publisher there, had 
commenced the republication of Parley's Tales. I 
called upon him, and found that he had one of them 
actually in press. The result of our interview was 
a contract,* in which I engaged to prepare several 

♦ Aa my claim to the authorship of the Parley Tales ha« l>een disputed 
iu London, by interested publlshen*, I may as well copy the contract 
made with Mr. Tegg, which is now before me. It is, I believe, univer- 
sally admitted that the works published by him, were the first that 
introduced the name of Peter Parley to the public there, and as the 
contract explicitly refers them to me, it seems there should be no fur- 
ther doubt on tlie subject. 

** Memoban'dum of AoRSsXEinr, between Thomas Tegg, publisher, of 
Lonilon, and 8. G. Goodrich, of Boston, United States of America: 
"The said S. G. Goodrich having written and compiled several works, 
as Peter Parley's Tales of Animals, Peter Parley's Tales of America, of 
Europe, of Asia, of Africa, of the Sea, of the Islands in the Pacific Ocean, 
of the Sun, Moon, and Stars, <&c., <fec. 

" Now said Goodrich is to revise said works, and carefully prepare 
them for publication, aod said Te^ is to get copyrights for and publish 
the same, with cuts, maps, &c., as may be required, and said Tegg is to 
supply the market, and push the sales, and take all due measures to 
promote the success of said works. 

" And in considenition of the premises, said Tegg agrees to pay said 
Goodrich, ten pounds sterling on every thousand copies printed of Par- 
ley's Tales of Animals, after the tir^t edition (which cousista of four 
thousand copies, and is nearly printed); and for each of the other works 
he agrees to pay said Goodrich five pounds on the delivery of the revised 
oopy for the same, and five pounds for every thousand copies printed 

HT8TOR1UAL, AffHTDOTttUt, tnc 298 

of these workB, wlticb lie ngreed to pubHsb, giving 
me a small consideration tli«rcfor. Four of these 
works I prepared on the spot, and aftor my retnrD to 
America, prepared and fijrwiiriled ten others. Some 
thne after, I Icarniid that the tooks, or tit least a por- 
tion of them, had been published in London, and were 
very successful. I wrote to Mr. Tfgg several lettem 
on the subject, but could get no reply. 

Ten years passed away, and being in pressing reed 
of all that I might fairly claim as my due, I went to 
London, and asked Mr. Teg^g to render me an ac- 
count of his proceedings, under the contract. I had 
previously learned, on inquiry, that he hud indeed 
published four or five of the works as we had 
agreed, but taking advantage of these, which passed 
readily into extensive circulation, he proceeded to set 
aside the contract, and to got up a series of publica- 
tions upon the model of those I bad prepared for 
bim, giving them, in the title-pages, the name of Par- 
ley, and passing them off upon the public, by every 
artifice in his power, as the genuine works of that 

after Ihe firel eJuloii, miil alno u prtmiuiii or bonus of 6ve puimda on 
each work (in addilion to llie above etlpulatiouH), when four thousand 
oojiiee are sold or dispoaeil of, of the name. 

'■ And alien noid Goo<irich i» out of the counlry, said Te^ is 'o fur- 
ninh ccitifieatca of nit*, dc., as may he required by saiij Goudricii or 
hia ajieiil. Said Teffg, it ii- uiidersliiod, U not hounJ to piiWifii any of 
thei« works whlcli liD deeina aniuited to tlie eiiiiritry ; but said (iooit- 
rieh Is at liberly to di-puse of, to any oilier puhUaber, any work whieb 
uid Tegg, on applicaliou, dG<:liiiea publishing. 

" Thomas Teoo, 
"s. o. goodiuob." 
" London, Junt 80, ISSS," 


author. He had thus published over a dozen vol- 
umes, which he was circulating as "Peter Parley's 
Library." The speculation, as I was told, had suc- 
ceeded admirably, and I was assured, that many thou- 
sand pounds of profit had been realized thereby. 

To my request for an account of his stewardship, 
Mr. Tegg replied, in general terms, that I was misin- 
formed as to the success of the works in question ; 
that, in fact, they had been a very indifferent specu- 
lation; that he found the original works were not 
adapted to his purpose, and he had consequently got 
up others ; that he had created, by advertising and 
other means, an interest in these works, and had thus 
greatly benefited the name and fame of Parley, and, 
all things considered, he thought he had done more 
for me than I had for him; therefore, in his view, 
if we considered the account balanced, we should not 
be very far from a fair adjustment. 

To this cool answer I made a suitable reply, but 
without obtaining the slightest satisfaction. The 
contract I had made was a hasty memorandum, and 
judicially, perhaps, of no binding efiect on him. And 
besides, I had no money to expend in litigation. A 
little reflection satisfied me that I was totally at 
Tegg's mercy — a fact of which his calm and collected 
manner assured me he was even more conscious than 
myself. The discussion was not prolonged. At the 
second interview he cut the whole matter short, by 
saying — " Sir, I do not owe you a farthing ; neither 


justice nor law require me to pay you any thing. 
Still, I am an old man, and have seen a good deal of 
life, and liave learned to consider the feeliogs of 
others aa well as my own. I will pay yoa four hun- 
dred pounds, and we will be quits 1 If wo can not do 
this, we can do nothing." In view of the whole o 
this was as much aa I expected, and so I accepted the 
proposition. I earnestly remonstrated with Mr. Tegg 
against the enormity of making me responsible for 
works I never wrote, but as to all actual claims on 
the ground of the contract, I gave him a receipt in 
full, and we parted. 

Some years after this Mr. Tegg died, but his estab- 
lishment passed into the hands of one of his sons, 
with another person, by whom it is still continued ; 
the false "Parley's Library" having been recently 
enlarged by the addition of other counterfeits.* An 
example so tempting and so successful as that I have 
described, was sure to be followed by others, and ere 
long many of the first publishersof juvenile works in 
London, had employed persons to write books under 
the name of Peter Parley^-every thing being done in 
the title-pages, prefaces, advertisements, ka., to make 
the public receive them as genuine works. The extent 
to which this business was carried, and the position in 
which it placed me, may he gathered from a letter I 
addressed to a publishing house in London some two 
years since, and wliich was substantially as follows: 

* Fnr ■ lint of BOme of these worku sue p. S51 ; Me alio, p. SS8. 


St. Paul's Cofteb-Hous^ Londoit, 

October 18, 1854. 
Mr. Darton, Bookseller, 

HoLBORN HiLi^ London. 

Sir, — Happening to be in this city, I called two days 
since at your counting-room, and while waiting there for an 
answer to inquiries I had made, I was attracted by a volume, 
glowing in red and gold, lying upon the table. I took it 
up, and read in tlie title-page — 


A Christmas and New-Tear's I^resent for Young People. 

New Yore : Evans and Dickinson, ktc 

I was informed that tliis was one of your publications, de- 
signed for the coming winter sales, and I had no difficulty in 
discovering that tliere whs to be, not only an edition fur Eng- 
land, but one for the United States. 

Now I have long known that among the various books that 
had been got up in London, under the pretended authoi^hip 
of Peter Parley, you have issued an annual volume, with tlie 
above, or a similar title. Some dozen years ago, I remonstia- 
ted with you upon this, and threatened tliat I would show 
you up in the London Times. You replied, " I will give you 
fifty pounds to do it" " How so V* said L " Because you 
will sell my books without the trouble of my advertising 
them," was your answer. " But it will ruin your character," 
I added. " Poh !" said you ; " London is too big for that." 

So the matter passed, and might still have passed, h/id it 
not been for the above-named New-Y'ork imprint. This has 
forced me to a reconsideration of the whole subject of tlie*^ 
London impostures, and I have come to the conclusion, that 

HIgTOKlCAt, jUreODtmCAL, KTO. S97 

dntj to myielf, na will iw to the puhlic on both sides of the 
water, inakM it iniJiipeiuuible thMt I Hbould attempt to put lui 
end to tbi" gi^oat nrong. The c-oume 1 pro[K)«a U> purauo ia, 
imniedistely on my retiim to tlio Uoilcd Stati?^ if I find your 
edition htw l>cen on tuile tliere, to bring an action agaitut ths 
vendera of it, and I have no doubt it vill be suppressed. Il is 
ft Coutii«rf«it, injurious lo me, and fraudulent towards the pub- 
lic. Our courts have d^Hded that it w unlawful for a tuim in 
tile United States to counterfeit even British labels or triKl»- 
marks upon Brilish nianufui^ures, ihesu being ile«med private 
property, which ilie law holdn saored. If ihey will thus pro- 
lecl a loreigntr, I lliink tlii'V will of couiwj protect aa Ameri- 
can citiiieD in a case involving the same or similar princifJes. 

IT I fail in An attempt at legal remedy, I sliaJI appeal to tlje 
American public, and I cannot doubt that any vender of these 
fraudulent publications will be so rebuked as to put an end U> 
such practiceii, there. On a former occasion, it was proposed 
to issue a woik at New York, under the mime of Peter Parley. 
I simply published (he fact, that this was without my concur 
Fence, and a hurricane of denunciation fiom the press, all over 
the country, silenced the project forever. 

So far my course ia clear ' aa to the British public, I pro- 
pose to publish the facts, and make an appeal to their sense of 
jnstice. In respect to the past, there is perhaps no remedy. 
No doubt I have too long neglected this matter, and perhaps 
my silence may be urged by interested and unscrupulous par- 
ties as having sanctioned the frauil which has consequently 
grown into a system. Neverthek-ss, the fact certainly is, iLdt 
it has always been known and admitted, in England as else- 
where, that I am the original author of Peter Parley's Tales, 


and am entitled to the merit, or demerit, of haviDg given cur- 
rency to that name. You have had intercourse with me for 
the last fifteen years, and you have always kuown and admit- 
ted my claims. You have vindicated your publication of this 
false Annual to me, on no higher grounds than that it was 
begun by other parties, and would be carried on by others if 
you abandoned it 

I have had applications, as the author of Peter Parley's 
Tales, from various publishers in England, and interviews with 
still others, but never, in a single instance, have I known these 
claims to be questioned. I have seen my name circulating, 
for the last dozen years, in the London papers, as the author 
of Parley's Tales. All over Europe I have met with English 
people, who recognized me as such. 

I am aware that there is in London a man by the name of 
Martin, who has written many of these counterfeit Parley 
books, and is familiarly known there as "Peter Parley Martin." 
I believe he is the editor of your Annual. Now we know it 
to be proverbial, that a man may tell a falsehood so often as to 
believe it; and hence it is quite possible that this Martin 
thinks himself the real Peter. Still, if it be so, he is only one 
self-duped monomaniac: neither you nor any other publisher 
in London is deceived by it Uow honorable men can have 
intercourse with such a creature, and even become accessory 
to his impostures, passes my comprehension. 

It is plain then, that if I have thus delayed to rectify this 
wrong, the real facts of the case are not obscured. The Brit- 
ish public know that I am the author of the veritable works 
of Peter Parley. They may not, they cannot always distin- 
guish between the true and the &l8e, and therefore buy 


both, iudiM;rimin»te!y. Still, ihougit Unix lu-cessor}' to the 
fmiKl. it is ignornntly and nnwittingly done, ami tbey are not 
cliHigoflble with wrong, at least toward nie. The publi»lier» 
atid autli-in> of liwsa ooiintorii^ila Are tlie gnilly purliea. t 
may mmpUin of ihe:4e, liut not of tii« pL-ogili' v( England, until 
1 fauve Urst staled lo tlieui, autlioritatiTely, llie fiw^Ia, and 
pointed out the true and tbe &lee publications. When 1 Uava 
done this, if tbey »tiU encourage llie perpotratois of Ihb 
wrong, titay will become ila participators. If I unilentand tlta 
[one and wintiuient of tlw English pi;ople, they will be quit* 
•s ready to rebuke Ibis Byttem of piracy at were the people of 
the Uoiwd Stati« on the occasion to which I have referred. 

Aui>ti]i>i- liiiii^r is pNiin, tli;it arither iLo auliiors nor pub- 
liahen concerned in this system of deception and plunder, 
pursue it in doubt or ignorance of the facts. You will not 
pretend this for yourself. Other cases are equally clear. 
Some dozen years ago, being in London, and in pressing need 
of the avails of my literary labor and reputation, I was intro- 
duced to Mr. T..., then in active business, and taking the 
lead in juvenile publications. I proposed to him to publish 
Bome of mine, which 1 had just revised and emended. After 
a week's eiaminalion, he returned them, saying that they were 
clever enough in their way, but they would not do for him. 
They were tainted with Americanisms, republicanisms, Utitu- 
dinarianisms, in church and state. He could only publish 
books, orthodox according to British ideas. If I could re- 
mudi'l them, or allow them to be remodeled, so as to conform 
to this standard, we could do a good business together. 

This I did not accede to, and we parted. Yet within about 
B twelvemonth, this same Mr. T . . . published a book entitled 


** Peter Parlet/^s Lives of the Apostles, etc,"" It was written 
in a pious strain; it was thoroughly orthodox, according to 
the British platform. It was, moreover, beautifully bound, 
printed, and illustrated. No doubt it was a capital specula- 
tion, for besides its artistic and mechanical recommendations, 
it was suited to the public taste, and of course the innocent 
public were ignorant of its illegitimate parentage. Not so the 
scrupulous Mr. T. . . — not so the pious author : they knew that 
each page was contaminated with falsehood, and all the more 
base, because from the beginning to the end, there was a sed- 
ulous and, I might add, a skillful effort to make it appear that 
the book was written by me. Would the British people buy 
even such embellished orthodoxy, if they knew that the ^ trail 
of the serpent was over it all ?" 

I recite this, not because it is the worst case, but rather be- 
cause it is a fair example of the conduct of British authors and 
British publishers in this matter. Examples of practices more 
mean, if not more wicked, might be cited. At the period 
above-mentioned, there was a bookseller in London, whose 
sign was "Books tor the Million" — a "remainder" man, wlio 
bought unsold sheetnstock of publishers, put it in gaudy bind- 
ing, and sold it at a cheap rate. As I ascertained, he was ac- 
customed to tear out the original and true titles of these de- 
funct publications, and put in new and false oues, such as 
" Grrand/a therms Tales, by Peter Parley^ or somelliing of that 
kind. Peter Parley thus fathered quite a library — and thus, 
galvanized into new life, this man sold his works by the mil- 
lion, according to his sign. Recently, I am told, he has re- 
tired upon a handsome fortune. 

I think, therefore, that the plea of ignorance, on the part ot 

iiiwimniiT.t AHflmxxnoALf mx 

tba Britbh authon smd pnblisbcre in this ujHleui of iM>uiiU;r- 
fellE, will Dot atai), even if it b« niail«, AnJ whut olh«r «- 
co»e can tbey offer! If by way of palliative, rather thnn d©- 
(euse, they eay one hfl& done it, aod aiidtbor has done it, and 
therefore I did it, snd it baa hitherto pa»sed with impunilj — 
though I cannot believe this will satisfy either the consciences 
of tlie wrong-doeis, or British public opinion ; still, I feel dia- 
pow^d to let it pasa as a sort of excuse for the past. But as to 
the flilin*, is it not tny roatvifest duty to deprive them of thig 
l4ea! li it right, Eupposing I had no personal interest ot 
fediiig ill th« inaltcr, to let this go on 1 Fbu musi b* amm 
thai a nne and fna(erial fact it introduced into tht quentwm : 
you have begun, or are brijinninff, t/iU sijstcm of fraud in 
Amrricn, in Nan York, at the threshold if my dirmieilf. 
You carry the war into Africa. An example Ihue tet, if not 
rttieted, teill be toon foUouxd, and my name vritl be a» cheap 
in the United SlaUs aa tn the Three Kingdoms. Can I bo 
held innocent, if I remain silent, and ptermit the American 
public to be abused and debauched by the introduction ot 
this system there ? 

It appears to me there can be but one answer. And even 
supposing I could waive these considerations, may I not, must 
I not, as a man having some self-respect, and being besides de- 
pendent upon my literary exertions and reputation, resist this 
inroad upon my righln, and endeavor to throw off this grow- 
ing incubus upon my name and fame ! Such a burden in 
one hemisphere is enough ; must I boar it in both ) 

It is difficult to rt'tlect on such a subject as this without ir- 
ritation. Nevertheless I endeavor to school myself into a cer- 
tain degree of calmness. As to my course in America, the 

302 LErncBS — ^biogbaphioal, 

firet step is clear, as I have indicated. But how shall I b^in 
in England ? Shall I expose the &cts, refer to names, point 
out the counterfeits and the counterfeiters, and appeal to the 
moral sense of tlie people there? This is undoubtedly my 
right, and a natural indignation suggests that it is my duty 
Yet I shrink from such a proceeding. I know that I may 
bring upon myself many an envenomed shaft ; for there may 
be a powerful interest aroused into activity against me. We 
all know that in London, as elsewhere, there are mercenary 
presses, which can be hired to defend a bad cause, and such a 
defense generally consists in vengeful recrimination. 

Now I may not — nay, I do not — fear the result I will not 
suspect for a moment, that in so plain a case, the verdict of 
public opinion in England could be otherwise than favorable 
to me. Nevertheless, I am a peace-loving man, and do not 
court the process. I have been often attacked — sometimes 
very unjustly ; yet I have seldom made a reply. 

Many years ago, I presided at a convention in Boston, 
which passed resolutions against International Copyright 
As president I signed the proceedings, and thus became the 
target of many a bitter shaft, hurled at me personally, by the 
London press, which was then somewhat rabid in its attempts 
to force us into the proposed literary partnership. The late 
Mr. Hood stuck me all over with epithets of ridicule. Uis 
books are still pubUshed, and are in the popular hbraries of 
the United States, with these passages in full. I have often 
read them myself, and laughed at them, too, notwithst^inding 
their intnnsic malevolence. Yet, though I had and have an 
answer to make, and I believe an effective one, I have never 
thought it worth while to give it to the public. Being in 

aiBroKioA£, jjraoDonoix, xtc. 

London, in 1S42 I saw Mr. Hood, and )itigge»t>)d to Iiim that 
there won another side to tliis question, aud iie ottt'i'ed me the 
pitgcs of hia magaBne for tho [juliUoiition of niv views. Yet 
I did Dot accept of this ; my conviction was llinl tlie venom 
of his attack would die out, and I should bu spared tliu imt«- 
tion and annoyance of a controversy, necessarily in Bome de- 
gKa peraonaJ, inasmuch as I had been pereonolly a^siuled. 
Events have shown that 1 judged rightly. I may add, too, 
thai I am constitution ally anti-pngnacious, and instinctively 
recoil at the idea of a personal and public discussion. I huvn 
no douht indulged this to the extent of weakness, iu reap^t 
lo the matter in hand, and liuiiue the evil has assumed ilj 

And, in addition (o this, I dislike to diisturh the amicable 
relations which have long subsisted between you and me; I 
dislike exceedingly to arraign you before the world, ns one of 
the very leaders — in point of fact, the head and front offender 
— in what I conwder a great public and personal wrong. 
What I demre is, if poesihle, to conduct thia affair so as to 
avoid any direct notice of yourself in the appeal to tlie British 
public, if I conclude to make it. What I have to propose ia, 
that you now enter into an engagement, henceforth to issue 
no volume and sell no volume whatever, with Farley's name, 
■ of which I am not the acknowledged author; and further- 
more, that you make such indemnity to me, and such expla- 
nations to the public, as may be deemed right ana reasonable 
by arbitrators between us. If you must publish an annual, 
put Mr. Martin's name to it, or any other name you choose, 
only not mine. I am told that you have thriven in business, 
and that " Farley'* Annual " has largely contributed to your 


success. Yoar purse, then, and I hope your feelings, will 
make this suggestion easy. 

If you cannot be persuaded to adopt this line of conduct by 
the argument against injustice and fraud ; if you pay no re- 
gard to the influence which a public declaration of the iacts 
may have on your reputation, still, reflect on my position. 
Many of these counterfeit Parley books are to me nauseous in 
style, matter, and purpose. According to my taste, they are 
full of vulgarisms, degrading phrases, and coarse ideas. In 
some cases they advocate principles which are not mine, and 
manners and customs I disapprove. This very volume of 
yours, for 1854, in spite of its gold edges, colored engravings, 
and embossed binding, is mainly written in a low, bald, and 
vulgar style ; and withal is ridiculous from its affected Parley 
isms. Rich outside, it is within smitten with poverty. Yet 
I am obliged to bear all this. Is it feir, is it neighborly, to 
treat any one thus ? 

Remember, I am not speaking hypothetically. My reputa- 
tion has been attacked, my literary rank degraded, by being 
made responsible for works I never wrote. The Westminster 
Review, some years ago, criticised the Parley Books, as sullied 
by coarse phrases and vulgar Americanisms. Extracts were 
made to verify this criticism, and yet every extract was from 
a false book, or a false passage foisted into a true one. Not 
one line of the damnatory examples did I ever write. Pre- 
cisely this process of degradation must have been going on 
against me, for the last dozen years, in the public mind of 
England, through the influence of your counterfeits. 

Is this fair ? Will this do ? Will you stand by it here and 
hereafter? Remember, this is a totally different question 


from that of Internatiooal Copjnght. I bava nerer com- 
pla)D«d that you or any other foreign publisher htia reprinted 
my books as I wrote them. Du this, as much aa you plenae; 
M> long ns the law remaioa as it is, sach ti course b iDerilabte, 
on both fid^ of the water. Alter my books, if you ploose, 
iod publi&h them, only Htatiug dititjiictly what you have done. 
This is lawful, and I shall not coinpluin of it. In point of 
fact, you have published at leaat one book — hi thai I chanced 
to see — made up nearly, if nut quil«, of extracta from my 
works, yet a man by the name uf Greeue figured in the title- 
page as tlie author. I have also Been whole pages of my wri- 
tings, iu your other vaiiuus piibljcatioiis, the Eame, by the 
manuer of insertion, appearing a* hieing oiigiual there. Of all 
this, however I might disapprove it, I have never uttered a 
word of complaint. But what I do complaiu of, is this : that 
you taix my name, (o which I have ffiven currency, in order 
to sell books I never wrote. You say to the world, Mr. Qood- 
rich, llif author of Peter Parley's Tales, wrote this: the 
world buy it, and judge me accordinyly. And thus I am 
robbed of what to me is property, and at (be same time I suf- 
fer that other and greater calamity, the loes or damage of a 
good name. That is my complaiut. 

K upon this appeal, you assent to my proposition — though 
I must carry on the proposed prosecution in the United Stato^ 
if the edition referred to has been sent there — I shall feel that 
I can afford, so far as the Bi'itisb public are concerned, to 
make a geneial and not a particular and specific de^.lariilioii 
of the facts herein alluded to. I shall not then need lo direet 
attention personally to you, or to anybody. If, on the co&- 
ttary, you do not enter into thia or some satisfactory arrange- 


ment, I shall feel that you have been fisiirly warned, and that 
you can not hold me responsible for any annoyance you may 
suffer from the consequences. I shall, moreover, consider my- 
self at liberty, should I deem it best, to give publicity to this 
letter. However hastily written, it embodies the substance 
of my views, and though further publications would doubt- 
less become necessary, this might serve as one link in the 

chain of my statement 

I am yours truly, 


This letter was forwarded from Paris, where I was 
then residing, some weeks after it was written. Re- 
ceiving no reply, I addressed a reminder to Mr. Dar- 
ton, but that also was unanswered. In July, 1855, 
I returned to New York, and on inquiry, found that 
sixteen hundred copies of Hie Parley's Annual^ referred 
to in the preceding letter^ had been sent there, and were 
actually in iJie Oustom-house /* I could not but con- 

* TheHO Bixteen hundred copies, beiog enjoined, and remaining in 
the Custom -liouj*e beyond the time allowed by law, were consequently 
sold at auction in June, 1856, and were thus thrown into the New York 
market. The following are extracts f^om this work : 

" The Americans equal Mr. Jesse for story-telling. They are not par- 
ticularly nice as to data. Some of their stories are so preposterously 
absurd, as to puzzle us exceedingly.*' ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 

*' Peter Parley loves our good Queen, and delights to follow her in her 
various progresses," &o. ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 

*' It was delightful for old Peter to behold the Queen and the Prince, 
and not less so to see the young Prince of Wales emulating the British 
Tur, and looking like an embryo Nelson, and his heart beat with ardor 
at the cheers of the sailors and the roaring of the guns." ♦ ♦ ♦ * 

**IIe (old Peter) loves the sea-breeze, and he would sing with his 
poor old voice, like a shattered clarionet, * Hule, Britannia,' and thank 
God that he has lived to see the day when England exhibits to the world 
tliat she is still able to * rule the waves.' " * * * • 

BSTOBnuL, AsausxmoAX^ mo. 807 

eider this as a defiance on the part of Mr. Darton, 
and accordingly I commenced an action against him, 
M I had told him I should do. 

The case is still undecided. It is, perhaps, a ques- 
tion, whether a New York court has jurisdiction in 
the case, the defendant hcing a foreigner, but if it 
baa, I tru3t it will be settled by our courts that an 
author is entitled to protection in the use and behoof 
of a name — however it may be fictitious — with which 
he has become identified in the public mind, and to 
which he has given a commercial value. This prin- 
ciple has been fully established in this country as well 
as in England, in application to manufaoturera and 
merchants, and it is not to be supposed that an author 
shall be denied the same protection. 

Now, you can not suppose, from the facta here 
stated, that these things do not give me great annoy- 
ance. But one thing I am bound to say, which is, 
that I feel no personal hostility to Mr. Darton. He is 
s most amiable man, and I believe would be the last 
person in the world to do an intentional wrong. In 
the present case, he has probably yielded to the guid- 
ance of other parties, implicated like himself, and ia 
rather fighting their battles than his own. 

I have great respect for the Quoen of England, for I aoimidor litr vir- 
taoua example, in liar high slntion, an boiieflciiil, not to )ier own boand- 
lefs reutinH alone, hut lo the vliole irorld ; I liavo no objection lo Eng- 

things in a book, isjuBd in ths namo of Peter Parley, tlio preface of 
which is signed Peter Psrley, and which Is dl written no aa to moks th« 
vorld believe it ia the »ork of an American. 

808 LBrrBBs — bioosafhioal, 


Ol^ectiofu to th9 Parley Books — My theory at to hooka for children — 
Attempt in England to revive the old nursery hooks — Mr, FeUx Summerly 
— JlaUowtWe Nursery Bhymes of England — Dialogue helween Timothy 
and his mother— Motiter Goose — The Jbad'a Story— Books of instruction. 

My DUkR c****** 

It is not to be supposed that the annoyances 
arising from the falsification of the name of Parley, 
which I have just pointed out, have been the only 
obstacles which have roughened the current of my 
literary life. Not only the faults and imperfections of 
execution in my juvenile works — and no one knows 
them so well as myself — have been urged against 
them, but the whole theory on which they are found- 
ed has been often and elaborately impugned. 

It is quite true that when I wrote the first hall- 
dozen of Parley's Tales, I had formed no philosophy 
upon the subject. I simply used my experience with 
children in addressing them. I followed no models, 
I put on no harness of the schools, I pored over no 
learned examples. I imagined myself on the floor 
with d group of boys and girls, and I wrote to them as 
1 \\roulJ have spoken to them. At a later period I had 
reflected on the subject, and embodied in a few simple 
lines the leading principle of what seemed to me the 
true art of teaching children — and that is, to consider 
that their first ideas are simple and single, and formed 


of images <.»1" things palpable tu the senses; and hei 

that these images are to form the staple of lessons 
be oommunicated to them. 


I aaw a diilcl, Mme four yaan did. 

Along a meadow fltnj ; 
Alone she went, nndbeok'd, nntoldi 

Her home not tar away. 

She gazed aroond on earth and ekj, 
Now paosed and now proceeded; 

1011, valley, wood, ehe passed them hj 
Unmarked, perchanoe onheeded. 

And now gay groaps of roses hri^^t 
In oiroling thickets honnd her— 

Yet on she went with fbotst^ li§^t| 
BtiU gaang all around her. 

And now she paused and now she stooped. 

And plucked a little flower ; 
A simple daisy 'twas, that drooped 

Within a rosy bower. 

The child did kiss the little gem, 

And to her bosom pressed it, 
And there she placed the fragile stem, 

And with soft words caressed it 

I love to read a lesson true 

From nature's open book — 
And oft I learn a lesson new 

From childhood's careless look. 

Ohildren are simple, loying, true— 

'Tis God that made them so; 
And would you teach them I — ^be so, too, 

And stoop to what they know. 



Begin with simple lessons, things 

On which they love to look ; 
Flowers, pebbles, insects, birds on wings — 

These are Gk>d's spelling-book I 

And children know his A B 0, 

As bees where flowers are set: 
Wonldst thou a skillM teacher be? 

Learn then this alphabet. 

From leaf to leaf, from page to pago^ 

Gnide thoa thy pupiPs look ; 
And when he says, with aspect sage — 

*' Who made this wondrous bookf^' 

Point thou with reverend gaze to heaven. 

And kneel in earnest prayer — 
That lessons thou hast humbly given 

May lead thy pupil there I 

From this initial point I proceeded to others, and 
came to the conclusion that in feeding the mind of 
children with facts, with truth, and with objective 
truth, we follow the evident philosophy of nature and 
providence, inasmuch as these had created all chil- 
dren to be ardent lovers of things they could see and 
hear and feel and know. Thus I sought to teach 
them history and biography and geography, and all 
in the way in which nature would teach them — that 
is, by a large use of the senses, and especially by the 
eye -^the master organ of the body as well as the 
soul. I selected as subjects for my books, things ca- 
pable of sensible representation, such as familiar an- 
imals, birds, trees, and of these I gave pictures, as a 


starting point. Tbe first line I wrote vas, " Here I 
am ; my name is Pater Parley," and before I went 
further, gave an engraving representing my hero, as 
I wished him to be conceived by my pupils. Before 
I began to talk of a iion, I gave a picture of a lion 
— my object being, as you will perceive, to have the 
diild start with a distinct image of what I was about 
to give an account of. Thus I secured hia interest 
in the subject, and thus I was able to lead hia uader- 
staoding forward in the path of knowledge. 

These views of coui-se led me in a direction ex- 
actly opposite to the old theories in respect to nursery 
books, in two respectB. la the Qiat place, it was 
thought that education should, at the very threshold, 
seek to spiritualize the mind, and lid it above sensi- 
ble ideas, and to teach it to live in the world of im- 
agination. A cow was very well to give milk, but 
when she got into a book, she must jump over tho 
moon ; a little girl going to see her grandmother, 
was well enough as a matter of fact, but to be suited 
to the purposes of instruction, she must end her ca- 
reer in being eaten up by a wolf. My plan was, in 
short, deemed too utilitarian, too materialistic, and 
hence it was condemned by many persons, and among 
them the larger portion of those who bad formed their 
tastes upon the old classics, from Homer down to 
Mother Goose 1 

This was one objection ; another was, that I aimed 
at making education easy — thus bringing ap the 


child in habits of receiving knowledge only as made 
into pap, and of course putting it out of his power to 
relish and digest the stronger meat, even when his 
constitution demanded it. The use of engravings in 
books for instruction, was deemed a fatal facility, 
tending to exercise the child in a mere play of the 
senses, while the understanding was left to indolence 
and emaciation. 

On these grounds, and still others, my little books 
met with opposition, sometimes even in grave Quar- 
terlies and often in those sanctified publications, en- 
titled Journals of Education. In England, at the pe- 
riod that the name of Parley was most current — both 
in the genuine as well as the false editions — the feel- 
ing against my juvenile works was so strong among 
the conservatives, that a formal attempt was made to 
put them down by reviving the old nursery books. 
In order to do this, a publisher in London reproduced 
these works, employing the best artists to illustrate 
them, and bringing them out in all the captivating lux- 
uries of modern typography. A quaint, quiet, scholar- 
ly old gentleman, called Mr. Felix Summerly — a dear 
lover of children — was invented to preside over the 
enterprise, to rap the knuckles of Peter Parley, and 
to woo back the erring generation of children to the 
good old orthodox rhymes and jingles of England. 

I need hardly say that this attempt failed of suc- 
cess : after two bankruptcies, the bookseller who con- 
ducted the enterprise finally abandoned it Yet such 


was the reverence at the time for the old favorites of 
the nursery, that a man by the name of Hallowell* 
expended a vast amount of patient research and an- 
tiquarian lore, in hunting up and setting before the 
world, the history of these perfonnancea, from Hey 
diddle diddle to 

'^ A &rmer went trotting apon hia grsf msre — 
Bampelj, bumpety, bump 1" 

To all this I made no direct reply ; I ventured, how- 
ever, to suggest my views in the following article 
inserted in Merry's Museum for August, 1846. 


Timothy. Mother I motherl do stop & minute, and hear me 
ia.j my poetry ! 
Mother. Your poetry, my sont Who told yon how to make 

T. Oh, I don't know ; bnt hear what I hare made np. 
M. Well, go on. 

T. Now don't you kugh ; it's all nune. I didn't get a bit <if 
it out of a book. Here it is I 

" Higgloly, plgglety, pop ! 

Tlie Aog hi* eat tha map; 

Tlie pig's in ■ harr/, 

TliB cat's in b flurrj— 

Higglely, pLgglety~pop 1" 

M. WeD, goon. 

T. Why, thftl's all. Don't yon think it pretty good! 
M. Really, my Bun, 1 don't see much Banse in It. 
T. Sensor Who ever tbonght of tcnte, in poetry t Why, 

■ Nunery Khvmes of JCngliod, Ac, Collected and Edited by Judm 
Orohiird ILJIoweli. 

Vol. n.— 14 


mother, you gave me a book the other day, imd it was aU poet 
ry, and I don^t think there was a bit of sense in the whole of it 
Hear me read. [Eeads,] 

"Hub a dab! 

Three men in a tab — 
And how do yoa think they got there t 

The batcher, 

The baker, 

The candlestick-maker. 
They all jamped oat of a rotten potato : 
'Twas enough to make a man stare.** 

And here^s another. 

** A cat came fiddling oat of a bam. 
With a pair of bagpipes under her arm ; 
She coald sing nothing bat fiddle cam fee — 
The mouse has married the bumblebee — 
Pipe, cat — dance, mouse — 
We^ll have a wedding at our good house I**^ 

And here^s another. 

<' Hey, diddle, diddle. 

The cat and the fiddle, 
The cow jumped over the moon— 

The little dog laughed 

To see the craft, 
And the dish ran after the spoon.'* 

Now, mother, the book is full of sach things as these, and 1 
don't see any meaning in them. 

M. Well, my son, I think as yon do : they are really very ab- 

T. Absurd? Why, then, do yon give me such things to read? 

M, Let me ask yon a question. Do you not love to read these 
rhymes, even though they are silly ? 

T. Yes, dearly. 

M, Well, you have just learned to read, and I thought these 
jingles, silly as they are, might induce you to study your book, 
and make you familiar with reading. 

T. I don't understand you, mother ; but no matter. 

** Higglety, pigglety, pop 1 
Tlie dog bos eat the mop ; 
The pig's in a hurry—'* 


Jf. Stop, stop, my son. I dhooee yoa ■hoold nndentaiid me. 
T, But, mother, what^s the use of mideratanding yoD * 

" Higgia^, pig^fity, pop r» 

JT. Tlmothyl 

T, Ma'am? 

JT. listen to me, or you win haye cause to repent it. Listeo 
to what I say 1 I gave yon the book to amuse yon, and improre 
yon in reading, not to form yonr taste in poetry. 

T, Well, mother, pray forgive me. I did not mean to oflbiid 
yon. But I really do love poetry, beoanse it is so silly 1 

" Higglety, pigglaty, pop I" 

M. Don't say that again, Timothy 1 

T. Well, I won't; bat 111 say sometlung ont of this pretty 
book yoa gave me. , 


Doodledy, doodledj, dan I 
m have a piper to be my good man — 
And if I get less meat, I aball get game— 

Doodledy, doodledy, dan I" 

M. That's enoagh, my son. 

T, Bat, dear mother, do hear me read another. 

** We're all in the dumps, 

For diamonds are tramps — 
The kittens are gone to St. PaaPa— 

The babies are bit, 

The moon's in a fit — 
And the houses are built without walls." 

M. I do not wish to hear any more. 
T, One more ; one more, dear mother 1 

" Bound about— round about — 
Maggoty pie— 
My fa^er loves good ale, 
And BO do I.'' 

Don't yoa like that, mother ? 

M. No ; it is too coarse, and unfit to be read or spoken 

T, Bat it is here in this pretty book yoa gave me, and I like 


it very mach, mother. And here is a poem, which I think 

very fine, 

^ " On©-ery, two-ery, 
Sooary zan. 

Hollow bone, oraok a bone— 
Ninery ten : 
Spittery spat, 
It mast be done, 
Twiddledam, tweddlednm, 
Hink, apink, the paddings stink — ^*' 

M, Stop, stop, my son. Are you not ashamed to say suoh 
things 1 

7. Ashamed? No, mother. Why shonld I be? It^s all 
printed here as pldn as day. Ought I to be ashamed to say 
any thing that I find in a pretty book yon have given me % Jnst 
hear the rest of this. 

" Hink| spink, the paddings—*' 

M, Give me the book, Timothy. I see that I have made a 
mistake ; it is not a proper book for yon. 

T. Well, you may take the book ; bat I can say the rhymes, 
for I have learned them all by heart. 

** Hink, spink, the puddings — *' 

M, Timothy, how dare yon I 

T, Well, mother, I won't say it, if yon don't wish me to. But 
mayn't I say — 

«*Higglety, pigglety, pop I" 

M, I had rather you would not. 

T. And " Doodledy, doodledy, dan" — ^mayn't I say that ? 

M, No. 

r. Nor " Hey, diddle, diddle?" 

M, I do not wish you to say any of those silly things. 

T. Dear me, what shall I do ? 

Jf. I had rather you would learn some good, sensible things. 

7. Such as what ? 

M. Watts's Hynms, and Original Hymns. 


T, Do fom oall them seiuiible things! I bate 'em. 

" Doodledjr, doodlcdy, dan 1" 

M. lAside.] Bear, dear, nbat sbaU I do! The lio; lifts gi>( 
hia head turned with these silly liiymea. It was reall; a very 
iinwbe thing to put a book intu bja lionds, so fiill of nonseaxa 
and valgarity. These fcKjliah rhymoa stick like burs in bla mind, 
and tho cuareest and vileat seem to he best remembered. I mntit 
remedy this mistake; bnt I see it will take all my wit to do it. 
[Aloud.] Timothy, yon mrwl pvo me np thia book, and I will 
gel you another. 

T. Well, mother, I am sorry to part with it ; but I don't oare 
»> much about it, as I know all the beet of it by heart. 

" riiut, spluk, tim piijdinifii ai.irik"— 

M. 'I1mothy,yoii11baTeaboxon the ear, if yon repeat tbati 
T. Well, I BQppose I can sty, 

"EoDod abont—roiind abont — 
M»ggoty pie—" 
Jf. Ton go to bed 1 

T. Well, if I must, I muat. Good-night, mother 1 
pop I 
Tbe oat'B In a flurry, 

Higglety, pi^lety, pop 1" 
Good-niglit, mother I 

I trust, my friend, yoQ will not gather from ttia that 
I condemn rhymes for children, I know that there is 
a certain muaic in them that delights the ear of child- 
hood. Nor am I insensible to the fact that in Mother 
Goose's Melodies, there is frequently a sort of humor 
in the odd jingle of sound and sense. There is, far- 
thermore, in many of them, an historical significance, 
which may please the profoond student who puzzles 


it out ; but what I affirm is, that many of these pieces 
are coarse, vulgar, offensive, and it is precisely these 
portions that are apt to stick to the minds of chil- 
dren. And besides, i^ as is common, such a book 
is the first that a child becomes acquainted with, 
it is likely to give him a low idea of the purpose and 
meaning of books, and to beget a taste for mere 

With these views, I sought to prepare lessons 
which combined the various elements suited to chil- 
dren — a few of them even including frequent, repeti- 
tious rhymes — ^yet at the same time presenting rational 
ideas and gentle Ikindly sentiments. Will you ex- 
cuse me for giving you one example — my design 
being to show you how this may be done, and how 
even a very unpromising subject is capable of being 
thus made attractive to children. 

THE toad's story. 

Oh, gentle stranger, stop, 
And hear poor little Hop 
Jost sing a simple song, 
Which is not very long — 
Hip, hip, hop. 

I am an honest toad, 
Living here by the road ; 
Beneath a stone I dwell, 
In a snng little cell, 
Hip, hip, hop. 

It may seem a sad lot 
To live in sach a spot— 


Bnt wbot I saj ia trae — 
I have fnn as well as jod I 

Hip, hip, hop. 
Just listen to m; song — 
I sleep aU winter long, 
Bnt in spriag I peep oat, 
And then IJamp about — 

Hip, hip, hop. 

When the rain patter? down, 
I let it wash my orown, 
And now and then f sip 
A drop with ray lip : 
Ilip, hip, hop. 

When the bright ann is set. 
And the grass with dew ia wet, 
I sally from my cot, 
To see what's to he got, 
Hip, hip, hop. 

And now I wink my eye, 
And now I catch a fly. 
And now I take a peep, 
And now and then 1 sleep : 

Hip, hip, hop. 
And this is alll do — 
And yet they say it's true. 
That the toady's face is Bad, 
Aod his bite is very bad 1 

Hip, hip, hop. 
Oh, nanghty folks they be, 
That tell aach tales of me, 
For I'm an honest toad, 
Joflt living by the road : 

Hip, hip, hop 1 


These were my ideas in regard to first books — toy 
books — those which are put into the hands of chil- 
dren, to teach them the art of reading. As to books 
of amusement and instruction, to follow these, I gave 
them Parley's tales of travels, of history, of nature, 
and art, together with works designed to cultivate 
a love of truth, charity, piety, and virtue, and I 
sought to make these so attractive as to displace 
the bad books, to which I have already alluded — 
the old monstrosities. Puss in Boots, Jack the Giant- 
killer, and others of that class.* A principal part 

* For what I hftve said upon these sabjeots, I refer the reader to vol. 
L pafre 166. In a reoent edition of Jack the Giant-killer, I find his ex- 
ploits snmmed up as follows, on the last page : ^' At his wedding lie 
went over all the tricks he had played upon the giants ; he showed 
the company how one had tumbled into a pit and had his head cut off; 
how he had throttled two others with a rope ; how another, the double- 
headed Welch monster, had ripped himself open to let the hasty-pud- 
ding out ; and how he had brought another on his knees by a chop 
with his sword of sharpness, and spitted another like a fat fowl,^* &c. 
On the cover of this very book, which, by the way, is one of a series 
in the same vein, called Housxhold Storiss for LrrrLK Folks, I tiud 
the argument in behalf of this class of books for children, thus set forth : 

**The extravagance of the stories, the attractive manner of telling 
them, the picturesque scenery described, the marvelous deeds related, 
the reward of virtue and punishment of vioe, upon principles strictly 
in accordance with ethical laws, as applied to the formation of char- 
acter, render them peculiarly adapted to induce children to acquire a love 
for reading, and to aid them to cultivate the affections, sympathies, fan- 
cy, and imagination.^' 

If it had been said that these tales were calculated to familiarize the 
mind with things shodung and monstrous ; to cultivate a taste for tales 
of bloodshed and violence ; to teach the young to use coarse language, 
and cherish vulgar ideas; to erase f^om the young heart tender and 
gentle feelings, and substitute for them fierce and bloody thoughts and 
sentiments ; to turn the youthful mind from the cont«Miiplation of the 
real loveliness of nature, and to fill it with the horrors of a debased and 
debauched fancy ; to turn the youthful mind from the gentle pleasures 


of my machinery was the character of Peter Parley — 
a kind-hearled old man, who had seen much of the 
world — and not preauming to undertake to instruct 
older people, loved to sit down and tell his stories 
to cbiidren. Beyond these juvenile works, I pre- 
pared a graduated series upon the same general plan, 
reaching up to books for the adult library ; and thus 
. I attained one hundred and seventy volumea. 

It b true that occasionally I wrote and publishei 
a book, aside from this, my true vocation ; thus I edit- 
ed the Token, and publishod two or three volumes of 
poetry. But out of all my works, about a hundred 
and twenty are professedly juvenile; and forty are 
for my early readers, advanced to maturity. It is 
true that I have written openly, avowedly, to attract 
and to please children ; yet it has been my design at 
the same time to enlarge the circle of knowledge, 
to invigorate the understanding, to strengthen the 
moral nerve, to purify and exalt the imagination. 
Such have been my aims ; how far I have succeeded, 
I must leave to the judgment of others. One thing 
I may perhaps claim, and that is, my example and 
my success have led others — of higher gifts than 
my own^ — to enter the ample and noble field of juv* 

or home, of k 

anil frie 

Lt the 

. of hon 

ool, in th« 

le Jrcnmitof giunCa, 

plsygrounU, and to »treluh it up 
gTin<liii}f llie boncx of cljiliJrcii ' 

inuhort, hud it been ssid that these books were oiWlatod loniBkeoritn- 

iiuU of k large part of the childien who read them, I tbJDk the Cmth 

would have b«eD rauob tdoib fUrljr atkted than in th« pnaediog notiue. 



nile instruction by means of books ; many of them 
have no doubt surpassed me, and others will still 
follow, surpassing them. I look upon the art of wri- 
ting for children and youth, advanced as it has been 
of late years, still as but just begun. 


Jowmey to ik« Souik—Aneedcif—Reoeptiim at Ntw OrUant. 
Mt dear 0****** 

K thus I met with opposition, I had also my 
success, nay, I must say, my triumphs. My first pa- 
trons were the children themselves, then the mothers, 
and then, of course, the fathers. In the early part of 
the year 1846, 1 made a trip from Boston to the South, 
returning by the way of the Mississippi and the Ohio. 
I received many a kind welcome under the name of 
the fictitious hero whom I had made to tell my stories. 
Sometimes, it is true, I underwent rather sharp cross- 
questioning, and frequently was made to feel that I 
held my honors by a rather questionable title. I, who 
had undertaken to teach truth, was forced to confess 
that fiction lay at the foundation of my scheme ! My 
innocent young readers, however, did not suspect me : 
they had taken all I had said as positively true, and 
I was of course Peter Parley himself. 

" Did you really write that book about Africa ?" 


said a black-€jed, dark-faaired girl of some eight years 
old, at Mobile. 

I replied ia the affinnattve. 

" And did you reall)' get into prison, there ?" 

" No ; I was never in Africa." 

"Never in Africa?" 

" Ne\'er." 

""Weil, then, why did yoa say you had been there?" 

On another occasion, I think at Savannah, a gen- 
tleman called upon me, introducing hia two grand- 
children, who were anxioos to see Peter Parley, The 
girl mshed np to me, and gave me a ringing kiss at 
once. We were immediately the best friends in the 
world. The boy, on the contrary, held himself aloof, 
and ran hia eye over me, np and down, from top to 
toe. He then walked around, surveying me with the 
most scrutinizing gaze. After this, he sat down, and 
during the interview, took no further notice of me. 
At parting, he gave me a keen look, but said not a 
word. The next day the gentleman called and told 
me that hia grandson, as they were on their way 
home, said to him — 

"Grandfather, I wouldn't have any thing to do 
with that man : he ain't Peter Parley." 

" How do you know that ?" said the grandfather. 

" Because," said the boy, " he hasn't got his foot 
bound up, and he don't walk with a crutch !"* 



On my arrival at New Orleans I was kindly i«- 
ceived, and hod the honorsof apoblio wdcorae. the 
proccedingt; were publiabad m the papers at the timui, 
and I here inclose you a, copy of them, which I take 
from the Boston Courier of March Slsl, 18-46. Ywn 
will readily perceive the egotism implied in placing 
before you such a record as thia ; but if I chronicle 
mj failures and my triads, must I not, as a futhful 
scribe, tell you alao of my sucoess? Kyou reply thiil 
I might do it in a more modest way than thaa to 
spread the whole proceedings before you, I answer, 
that in sending you this document, I by no mt:anii 
require you to read it. If you do read it, you will 
have a right to laugh at my vanity : if not, I trust 


to nOow of completing theaearrangemeDts, advaaiage was tAk«ii 
nf the polil« oSvr of Alfred Ilennen, £sq.. to pve him a pubUo 
reoeptiuD at tu« houi»i. ander the aoapic^s of Ilia officers of tint 
People's LyoiMiai, aud sume of oor laost prontinent oitJKUii. 
Awordingly, the ceremony took place on ^tarday the 2&ili, 
between twelve and three o'clock. During tliU period therv 
was assembled an immense crowd uf children, mothers, teuclien, 
and friends of cdncation, eager to give the anthor of Parley's 
Tales a hearty welcome. Among the throng we noticed itr. 
Ohiy, the Governor and Lieutenant-govemor, Mayor, Kooorder, 
^>etiker of the House, and several membem of the legiolaluro. 
The soene waa one of the mo&t clieerfol and agreeable we ever 
witnessed. While the leading; visitors were prciienl, lliu follow- 
inn; :uU,w^-. Ill siil.Mfln(v, waa made by M. M. Cotien, E8i|., 
President of the People's Ljoenni : 

" Mr. Goodrich, or, as wa all love to call yon, Peter Parley — 
The too kind partiality of indulgent friends of yours, baa induced 
them to select me as their organ to address yon on the present 
occasion. Their reqnest was this morning conveyed to me on 
my way to the Cumraercial Court, where 1 have been engaged in 
a very dnll, dry law case. The judge of that court haa beun 
pleased to allow me a few minutes to run up here and to aay 
something to you, though what that something is, I have not 
jet any very clear perception. 1 can only hope, sir, that you 
have a much more assured knowledge of the reply which you 
are about to make ta such remarks as I may offer, than 1 have 
at present of what my remarks may be. Yet, though I au 
wLoily unprepared for tlje occasion, 1 should pity the heart that 
could remain bo cold and callous to every noble emotion, as not 
to gather warmth and inspiration from the beaming eyes of 
beautiful mothers and the glad faces of happy children, smiling 
around us. But, sir, 1 am here as the representative of others, 
and will say to you what I presume they would say, if aD were 

"Permit me, then, in behalf of these frienda and feUow- 


citizens, and what is more, and much better and brighter — in 
behalf of *our better halves* — the ladies, God bless 'era! — to 
express the pleasure they derive from your visit to New Orleans, 
to welcome you to this hospitable mansion of our enlightened 
host, Mr. Hennen, on this the last day of your sojourn in our 
city. Let me assure you how glad and grateful they all are of 
this opportunity, which enables them — as is the expression in 
some parts of our country — ^to * put yotir fece to your name,* 
and to say to your &ce what they have so often said behind 
your back — ^that they regard you as a blessed bene&ctor to the 
youth of the rising generation, as one who has emphatically 
earned the proud and endearing appellation of *• VAmi dea Bn- 

^*' For, sir, who knows into how many thousand habitations 
in the United States Peter Parley's works have found their way, 
and made the hearts of the inmates glad, and kept them pure? 
"Who can tell how oft, in the humble cottage of the poor, sorrow 
has been soothed and labor lightened, as the fond mother read 
to her listening child Peter Parley's Tales, while tears of pity 
started in Uieir glistening eyes, or pleasure shook their in£Emt 

" I have just alluded, sir, to the genial influence of your works 
in the United States. The inmiortal bard of Avon has said — 

*' ' How far that little candle throws his beams ! 
So shines a good deed in a naaghty world.' 

But your name has crossed the Atlantic ; and, in the hope of 
instilling into the minds of the youth now present a salutary 
proof how far good works will travel, permit me to read to them 
the following note, which has just been handed to me : 

" New Obleans, February 28th, 1846. 
" Dear Sir : Having, with much pleasure, this moment understood 
that you, as the President of the People\s Lyceum, have been requested 
to say something to-day to the universal friend of Children, Pelcr Par- 
ley, perliups it would be interesting to you that I should state one or 
two anecdotes in reference to the name and fame of that distinguished 


"When in London, I raroty over pBMed a plow wlii'TO notice* ■ 
■Itaved to ba put«<l np, without bavin; my eyia fclsijdened with tl 
iugl.l of tlie nUDc of Peter P.riej. Th«M uinoniioemMlM 
to carr; elailuesa to tlie lieiU1« of uhiMc^n. On tndi OManiuri', I oliaa 
ainu>«il Diydcir iif Blopj^nij: to witnecH tlie cflhot apon (lie oliildrvii M 
Uiejr putttd kloDg in thu stncls. Buvli u the fhllowintc Kctif ww of 
fraqaent oeenmiiGe. When tbejr cut llieir eyen upon lh«H BiinciUDoiy 
in«nt> it really uppaand in llioagb they had iwoD Wnubed bj id electrio 
aparit Which llUid liieir lienTCi) witb Joy. The; woalii jninp and [Hik 
about, dap tluiir handii, danoa and alamp in front of iheaa big bandbiUo, 
and aiog out in lh« parfect ftiUocae of delight, beting thsir moUien or 
Dune€ to ge away to the hooliBUire and get tbom Ui« ' naW Peter Puley.' 
gometiniei I hats beard them thus answered: ■ Oh no, yon can not bava 
Peter Parley, becaoae yoo have been a bad little child, and none but 
good ohildren are lUowed to read Peter Parley.' The ohlld, with team 
gliatening in its eyes, would reply: 'Gb, iudeed, indeed, nia, If you will 

irioded, from whHi 1 -^ . .■ ' \ i . .'i ■■ ;■ ■■! i^'lii 

" On more than one occnaiOn, when Bpetiding a few days Braotifr the 
delightful cuttagea of ' our fiitbcrland,' Lave I witnessed tlie congrega- 
tion of chililreii called from the nursery to the d raw iiig- room, whan 
they would come bounding and shaking their locks, singing out—' Oh, 
mamma, why did jou send for ns so soon ! we were redding bucIi a pretty 
story from Peter Parley !' A new work from Peter Parley was always 
welcomed ss o species uf carnival among children. 1 thought, here is a 
grateful answer to the question once bitterly and tauntlni^ly nsked— 

'What B 

san in England ever reada an Am 

lerican book )' Availing my- 

self of tl 

le prerogative of my oounlrjmeu, 

. i answer by asking-' What 

oiiU is 

there in England eo unfurtuuau 

. as R»I to have read PeUr 

Parley )■ 

" A Bhort tiino after his return from England, Mr. Webster said to ma 
— ' These are tlie American names which are batter and more nniveraally 
known and admired in England than all other American names put lo< 
gether,' and lie ashed me if I was Yankee enough to 'guess' who they 
were. I answered, Washington, and Chief-justice Mnmball. ' No,' said 
he, ' I mean living persons— and they are Judge Story, and Peter Parley; 
tor while the former is known to every lawyer in England, and generally 
among the educated classes, the latter has the entire poueesion of the 
young hearts of old England.' He wided that whenever lie went into an 

aa Mr. Webster, an American gentleman— they would be sure, with 
acircely a single exception, to approach him, and looking him In tlie laoo, 
with the utmost curiosity, would say—' Do you know Poicr i'urloy V 

"Boch facte na these were always delightful to an American when 
aliroad. It made me feel proud of my oouatry. And while 1 looked 


npon Boenea which most be ever interestiDg to every right-thinking 
American, and acknowledged with gratitude my obligations to the land 
of Sbakspeare and Milton, of Burke and Junius, I felt that we were &8t 
compensating tbat debt by worthy productions fh>m the pure and olaasio 
pens of Irving, Presoott, Bancroft, and Peter Parley. 

" BespectluUy yours, 

** M. M. CoHXN, Pres. People^s Lyceum." 

^^ To this note I will only add that, not a moment ago, a gen- 
tleman from Greeoe asaured me tbat your works were well 
known in his country, and one from England has just declared 
that although he learned to-day, for the first time, tbat Peter 
Parley was an American, yet tbat his books were known and 
admired all over Great Britain. 

^\You came, sir, to New Orleans unheralded, unannounced — 
nor military guards, nor glittering arms, nor streaming banners, 
nor artiUery, accompanied your steps. Neither trumpets* 
clangor, nor cannon's roar, nor ear-pierciog fife, nor spirit- 
stirring drum gave token of your arrival. A plain citizen you 
had been in your beautiful brown cottage near Boston — 
at once the cradle of liberty and of literature — in slippers and 
night-cap, carving out with the pen a better immortality than 
military cliieftains achieve with the sword I There, at Jamaica 
Plain, you were writing for young misses and masters little 
Peter Parley stories, and you all the while little dreaming of 
what a great man you were becoming — 

** * Great, not like Csssar, stained with blood — 
But only great as you are good.' 

" Farewell, sir, and when you leave us, be sure that when 
' the curfew tolls the knell of parting day' — or in plainer words, 
Mr. Parley, when little boys and girls have had their bread and 
milk and are going to bed, and when church-bells ring to Sun- 
day-school — then will 

*' ' Infant hands bo raised in prayer, 

That God may bless you and may spare.' 

" Once more, farewell I May you live long years of happiness, 

HtBToeicAL, JkSacixynaAL, sro. SaS 

as jon must of honor ; and when 70a die, mujr your ' ivui'kx,' 
in one B«aB«, not 'fullow after' yon, bnt remain un earlli, to 
profit nod delight, and be. like yonr fame, immortal!" 

To wbich Mr. Goodrich replied as follows: 

"Mr. Pr«sideDt — It woald bo idle allectatiiiu in me to pretend 
tlist tlib cheerful spectacle, yoiu- kind iind flatl«ring words, the 
welcome in these faces around, are not a sonree of the livdieel 
(p-otifiealion to my(«lf personally. Yet, if 1 were to regard thi« 
occasion as designed merely to Iwslow opon me a po^ising com- 
pliment, on my fintt visit 10 the Crescent City, 1 should feel b 
d«^eo of hnniiliatioQ — for it would fierce me to consider how 
Uttld I have aaliieved, oomparei] with what remains to be dune, 
and bow disproportioned are tbeee manifestations of r«t{ard tu 
any merits whifh I can presorne to claim. From the mofiient I 
nt mj foot in New Orieans, I bftTe been greeted by a laooewion 
of agreeable anrprisea; and nothing baa interested me more than 
tbe eolighteoed state of pnblio opinion wbicb I find to exist here 
in reepect to popular eduealion. I am at no loss to diaoover, in 
the faoapitolity with which 1 have been greeted, a lively appre- 
ciation of tbe great subject to which my humble labors in lile 
have been directed; and it adds to my gratification to find this 
deeper meaning in the preaent scene. 

" Considering tbe position of New Orleans, I have looked with 
peculiar satis&ction upon yonr pablic eclioob. Some of them 
would be deemed excellent in any part of New England — nay, 
in Boston iUelf. Nor is this all; these institutionH, as I learn, 
are mainly Rupport«d by the popular vote — by self-taxation. 
This marks a great advance in civilization, and insures, from this 
time forward, a constant progress toward perfection. There is 
always a sharp contest between tiglit and darkness, between 
ignorance and knowledge, before the mass of society will come 
up to the work, and support public instrnctioa at the pablic 
expense. That battle has been fougljt here, and it has resulted 
in tbe triumph of tri.tb and humanity. There is, if I may be 
permitted tbe allusion, a closer aseodation between Plymouth 


Bock and New Orleans than I had imagined. Yon have here 
both/at7^ and wark$. Your schools declare that the wise and 
philanthropic social principles of tlie Pilgrims have taken root 
in the midst of a city signalized over the world hy the extent and 
activity of its commerce. 

" Nor is this suhject only to hu viewed as it respects New 
Orleans itself If I rightly jndge, yon have a mission to perform 
even beyond this. The Orescent Oity is indeed the favorite 
daughter of the great Father of Waters, into whose lap he 
pours his unmeasured harvests. It is the commercial empo- 
rium of the finest valley on the globe, receiving a tribute which 
no one can estimate who has not looked upon your wondrous 
levee. Yet it is and is to be, perhaps for centuries to come, 
even something more — the metropolis of opinion, of fashion — 
giving social law to the millions of to-day, and the milUons 
which are to follow in the boundless West. K we consider the 
ascendency which New Orleans has already acquired, especially 
in comparison with the infancy of many of our southwestern 
settlements, it is surely not extravagant to regard her influence 
and example, in many things, as likely to be little less than de- 
cisive. We may, therefore, consider the Mississippi under the 
image of a mighty tree, whose foot is on the verge of the tropics, 
while its tops~are playing with the snows of the icy north. New 
Orleans stands at the root, and must furnish tlie sap, at least to 
some extent, which circulates through branches that spread over 
a surface equal to one-half the extent of Europe, and thus giving 
character, for good or ill, to the fhiit that may follow. In this 
view, your position becomes intensely interesting, and it may 
serve to give added impulse to that patriotism and philanthropy 
which are at work among you. 

"As I see around me some of your public functionaries — the 
master-minds of the State — and as, moreover, the subject of 
public instruction is occupying the attention of the legislature, 
assembled under your new constitution, I may be excused for 
saying a few words, of a general nature, upon this topic. It 


B)]j^t aottnd trit« and cummon-ptACc, if I weru to nay that eju> 
» the oalj ladder bj which maokiDd cau oscrDd froia 
barbariata to otviluatioii, from igiioraiice Co knuwiitdge, n-um 
dftrkneM to tight, fnmx earth to heaven. Yel. if this t>« true^ 
ran pnliliu men — rolera and lawgivers — be eimisej, if they sttk 
not to furnish this ladder to every individual in tliB State T And 
let tliera bear inmind that the controlling IceaDiw of lilb an) givtn 
in childhood. Men are bard, nod repel instrnoIiuD. Youth b 
plastic, and readily tAkee the imftreea of the die tlint is set upoo 
it. If a giant shonld nudertoke to give symmetry of form lu the 
aged oak, he might momeotsrily anbdae its gnarloil and Jagged 
branches to his wiH ; but if they fly not bnclt and strike him In 
the fage, ere to-morrow'n anu every limb and fiber will hove 
returned to its wonted posiiion. Th\i9 it ia thnt, in rlejitinj^ with 
grown-up, obdnrate mm, the higbeet talent eierted for their 
good ia often bafSed, and perhaps repaid by ingratitude or re- 
proach. On the other hand, how difierent ia it with yonth! 
Like aaplinga in the nnrsery, they readily take the form or char- 
acter which a kindly hand may bestow. The humble gardener, 
only able to carry a watering-pot in one hand and a pmning- 
knife in the other, may rear np a whole forest of treee, beautiful 
in form, and productive of the choiowt fruila. What field so 
wide, 80 promising, in every point of view so inviting, ao worthy 
the attention of the patriot and statesman, as the Tialumal nur- 
tery, bndding by milliona into life and immortality? 

" I should not be eicosed, were I to omit saying a few worda 
to the mothers here present. From the moment that a woman 
becomes a mother, we all know that dearer interests than houses 
or lands are henceforth invested in the otfspring. Dow hopeful, 
bow fearful, are her dotiea now I Wasliington and Napoleon, 
Howard and Robespierre, wore children once, and each npon a 
mother's knee. What miglity issues for good or ill are before 
the mother, in the possible consequences of the education she 
may give her child I Yet 1 would not lay upon her heart a 
responsibility which might aeem too great to hear. The h«et of 


books, as well as nniyersal experienoo, are fall of enoonragement 
to the faithfnl mother. If she performs her daty, Gk>d and na- 
ture take her part. She is the first divinity before which the 
budding spirit worships. The lessons which are gathered then, 
are likely to exert a controlling influence upon its after destiny. 
The child may be compared to a stream, and the parent to the 
mother earth over which it flows. She may not, can not stop 
its progress, but she may guide its course. She may trace out a 
channel in which it will be prone to flow, and after having fer- 
tilized and blessed its borders, it will find its way in peace to the 
great reservoir of waters. I^ on the contrary, the mother neg- 
lect or misguide her of&pring, it may, like a torrent, rush on, 
and after spreading desolation on every side, disappear in some 
sandy desert, or lose itself amid dreary and pestilent marshes. 

" And now, one word to my juvenile friends — those who have 
received me with such winning smiles— one word to them. I 
dare not begin to tell them stories in the character of their old 
friend Peter Parley, for I should not know where to leave off. 
But let me repeat what I said to those whom I met the other 
day — on the celebration of Washington's birthday — come aiid 
see me wJien you visit Boston / You will find me in a brown 
house, some four miles out of town, in a pleasant village called 
Jamaica Plain. Come one and come all, and be assured of a 
hearty welcome. And that you may bring some sign that we 
have met before, please remember these lines — 

" Ne'er till to-morrow's light delay 
What may as well be done to-day — 
Ne'er do the thing you'd wish undone, 
Viewed by to-morrow's rising sun. 

" If you will practise according to these verses, you will not 
only gratify your old friend who addresses you, but you will win 
the world's favor. Farewell!" 



Sdtotp$etUM¥~Clbf^<ution9—7%$ mic$ among mp pajjMM—A r§ektmlmg 

Id the three preceding letters I have spoken 
chiefly of the books I have written for children, and 
the trae design of which was as much to amuse as 
to instruct them. These comprise the entire series 
called Parley's Tales, with many others, bearing Par* 
ley's name. As to works for education — school- 
books, including readers, histories, geographies, Ac, 
books for popular reading, and a wilderness of prose 
and poetry, admitting of no classification — ^I have 
only to refer you to the catalogue already men- 
tioned. Let me cheer you with the statement that 
this is the closing chapter of my literary history. I 
have little indeed to say, and that is a confession. 

In looking at the long list of my publications, in 
reflecting upon the large numbers that have been 
sold, I feel &r more of humiliation than of triumph. 
If I have sometimes taken to heart the soothing flat- 
teries of the public, it has ever been speedily succeed- 
ed by the conviction that my life has been, on the 
whole, a series of mistakes, and especially in that por- 
tion of it which has been devoted to authorship. I 
have written too much, and have done nothing really 


well. You need not whisper it to the public, at least 
until I am gone ; but I know, better than any one 
can tell me, that there is nothing in this long cata- 
logue that will give me a permanent place in liter- 
ature. A few things may struggle upon the surface 
for a time, but — like the last leaves of a tree in au- 
timm, forced at last to quit their hold, and cast into 
the stream — even these will disappear, and my name 
and all I have done will be forgotten. 

A recent event, half ludicrous and half melan- 
choly, has led me into this train of reflection. On 
going to Europe in 1851, 1 sent my books and papers 
to a friend, to be kept till my return. Among them 
was a large box of business documents — letters, ac- 
counts, receipts, bills paid, notes liquidated — compri- 
sing the transactions of several years, long since passed 
away. Shortly after my return to New York — some 
three months ago— in preparing to establish myself 
and family here, I caused these things to be sent to 
me. On opening the particular box just mentioned, 
I found it a complete mass of shavings, shreds, frag- 
ments. My friend had put it carefully away in the 
upper loft of his barn, and there it became converted 
into a universal mouse-nest ! The history of whole 
generations of the mischievous little rogues was still 
visible ; beds, galleries, play -grounds, birth-places, 
and even graves, were in a state of excellent preser- 
vation. Several wasted and shriveled forms of va- 
rious sizes — the limbs curled up, the eyes extinct, the 


teeth disclosed, the long, slender tails straight and 
stiffened — testified to the joys and sorrows of the 
races that had flourished here. 

On exploring this mass of nuDs, I discovered here 
and there a file of letters eaten through, the hollow 
cavity evidently having heen the happy and innocent 
cradle of childhood, to these destroyers. Sometimes 
I fouud a bed lined with paid bills, and sometimes 
the pathway of a gallery paved with liquidated ac- 
coants. What a mass of thought, of feelings, caxea, 
anxieties, were thvm made the plunder of these 
thoughtless creatures! In examining the papers, I 
foond, for instance, letters from N. P. Willis, written 
five and twenty years ago, with only "Dear Sir" at 
the beginning and " Yours truly" at the end. I 
found epistles of nearly equal antiquity signed N. 
Hawthorne, Catharine M. Sedgwick, Maria L. Child, 
Lydia H. Sigourney, Willis Gaylord Clark, Grenville 
Mellen, William K Stone, J. G. C. Brainard — some- 
times only the heart eaten out, and sometimes the 
whole body gone. 

For all purposes of record, these papers were de- 
stroyed. I was alone, for my family had not yet 
returned from Europe; it was the beginning of No- 
vember, and I began to light my fire with these relics. 
For two whole days I pored over them, buried in 
the reflections which the reading of the fragments 
suggested. Absorbed in this dreary occupation, 1 
forgot the world without, and was only conscious oj 



bygone scenes which came up in review before me. 
It was as if I had been in the tomb, and was reckon- 
ing with the past. How little was there in all that I 
was thus called to remember — save of care, and strug- 
gle, and anxiety; and how were all the thoughts, 
and feelings, and experiences, which seemed moun- 
tains in their day, leveled down to the merest grains 
of dust I A note of hand — perchance of a thousand 
dollars — what a history rose up in recollection as I 
looked over its scarcely legible fragments : what 
clouds of anxiety had its approaching day of maturity 
cast over my mindl How had I been with a trem- 
bling heart to some bank-president* — he a god, and 
I a craven worshiper— making my offering of some 
other note for a discount, which might deliver me 
from the wrath to come ! With what anxiety have 
I watched the lips of the oracle — for my fete was in 
his hands ! A simple monosyllable — yes or no — 
might save or ruin me. What a history was in that 
bit of paper — and yet it was destined only to serve 
as stuffing for the beds of vermin I Such are the ag- 
onies, the hopes, and fears of the human heart, put 
into the crucible of time ! 

♦ Let no one say that I speak irreverently of bank-presidents. One 
of my best friends during many years of trial wa« Franklin Haven, pres- 
ident of the Merchants* Bank at Boston — who found it in liia heart, 
while adiuiiiistering his office with signal ability and success, to collect 
a library, cultivate letters, learn languages, and cherish a respect for 
literary men. It must be one among other sources of gratification, 
arising from his liberal tastes, that he long enjoyed the confidence and 
i!Hendk»hip of Daniel Webster. 


I ougbt, no doubt, to have smiled at all this — but 
I coufesB it made mo serious. Nor was it the moat 
humiliating part of my refiectiona, I have be«n too 
familiar with care, conflict, disappointincnt, to moura 
over them very deeply, now thai they were passed ; 
the seeming family of such a mass of labors as these 
papers indicated, compared with their poor results — 
however it might humble, it could not distress me. 
But there were many things suggested by iheae let- 
ters, all in rags as they were, that caused positive 
humiliation. They revived in my mind tiie vex- 
ations, xuifuudt^utandiiigii, OQiiU<Jv<jttii<;a of other 
days; and now, reviewed in the calm light of time, I 
could discover the mistakes of Judgment, of temper, 
of policy, that I had made. I turned back to my 
letter-book ; I reviewed my correspondence — and I 
came to the conclusion that in almost every difficulty 
which had arisen in my path, even if others were 
wrong, I was not altogether right: in most cases, 
prudence, conciliation, condescension, might have 
averted these evils. Thus the thorns which had 
wounded me and others too, as it seemed, had gener* 
ally sprung up from the seeds I had sown, or had 
thriven upon the culture my own hands had un- 
wisely, perhaps unwittingly bestowed. 

At first I felt disturbed at the ruin which had been 
wrought in these files of papers. Hesitating and 
doubtful, I consigned them one by one to the fiamea. 
At last the work was complete ; all had perished, and 

Vol. n.— 10 


the feathery ashes had leaped up in the strong draft 
of the chimney and disappeared forever. I felt a 
relief at last; I smiled at what had happened; I 
warmed my chill fingers over the embers; I felt that 
a load was off my shoulders. " At least" — said I in 
my heart — " these things are now past ; my reckon- 
ing is completed, the account is balanced, the respon- 
sibilities of those bygone days are liquidated. Let me 
burden my bosom with them no more I" Alas, how 
fallacious my calculation ! A few months only had 
passed, when I was called to contend with a formi- 
dable claim which came up from the midst of trans- 
actions, to which these extinct papers referred, and 
against which they constituted my defence. As it 
chanced, I was able to meet and repel it by docu- 
ments which survived, but the event caused me deep 
reflection. I could not but remark that, however we 
may seek to cover our lives with forgetfulness, their 
records still exist, and these may come up against us 
when we have no vouchers to meet the charges which 
are thus presented. Who then will be our helper? 
" I will think of that^I will think of that !" 




^SMcA at SL Albani—l4tturi ^poa Inland and IKi IrUi^Tit Broad- 
ttml SM— Burning Iht C-u-lutovin Oun.wt—lfs PditiMl Cbrftr— 
A. B. BtmU-~T%i FifHtit Oaihrt Jug^Tht Uarnnn Oampaifn iff 
\iifi—Hard Oidrr a«d Log Oailru—Unmrial SantrupleySliflim 
ijf UtrrUB-^nit iMath^OBHuqvenna—AiuadaUt—Tlu SinaU IM 
l/owenunl^A Modit OubiUaU— WiUium Cpp, or Shitflini/ a Bon. 

The first public speech I ever made was at St. 
Albaos, England, in June, IBS'^i, at a grand oelebr^ 
tion of the pass£^ of the Reforia Bill,* having ac- 
companied thither Sir Francis Vincent, the represen- 

• The Befonii Bill was ■ popular measure, wliioh swept sway the 
rotwn boroughs, and greuily extended Ibe aulTrage. After s loog 
and violent ^Cruggle. It piiwed the Houne of T^ords on the 4th of June, 
18S8, and recsived the royal sanction on the 7tli. That day I arrived 
ID Ijverpool, amid a gsneral feeling of joy and exhilaration. The Dufce 
of WellingtOD bad protested dgsinst the bill, though tlie kiug, William 
IV., and the ministry had favored it ; in consequence, he w*b iniulud 

London. Jane 18tli, the anniversary of the battle of Waterloo. A few 
diya Rtler Ibis, there was n miliuiry review in Hyde Park, and King 
William being present, a large concourse of people aaeeinbled ; among 
them was the Dake of Wellington. Alter the review was over, he wai 
CDcirded by an Immense maaa of perxons, indignant at Ibe inault he 
had received, and deitiroue of testifying their rexpect and affeo^on. 
Host of them condemned hia opposition to the reform bill, bat this could 

enC, and m 

ved on at 

the side 


e old veteran, mounted o 

n hotae- 

b»:k and d 

reaaed as 



at off, and testifying by b 


hia sensibi 

ly to the 

le sponln 

marks of regard. He 

ducted to I 

e gate of 

his residence— A psiey li 

use, and 

there he bade adieu to 

his shou 



coasion, as 

well as on 


la, I aa» King William IV 


840 uernsBB — biog&afhioal, 

tative in Parliament of that ancient borough. More 
than three thousand people, men, women, and chil- 
dren, gathered from the town and the vicinity, were 
feasted at a long table, set out in the principal street 
of the place. After this feast there were various 
sports, such as donkey races, climbing a greased pole, 
and tjie like. At six o'clock, about one hundred and 
fifty of the gentry and leading tradesmen and me- 
chanics, sat down to a dinner. Sir Francis presiding. 
The President of the United States was toasted, and 
I was called upon to respond. Entirely taken by sur- 
prise, for not a word had been said to me upon the 
subject, I made a speech. I could never recall what 
I said : all I remember is a whirl of thoughts and 
emotions as I rose, occasional cries of " hear ! hear !" 
as I went on, and a generous clapping of hands as 

red-faced man, with an amiable, though not very intellectual expreraion. 
He was, however, very popular, and in contrast to George IV., who waa 
exceedingly diHliked during the latter part of his reign, he was a fiivor- 
ite with the people, who gave him the title of the "patriot king.*' 

As I ahull have no other opportunity, I may as well complete my gal- 
lery of British sovereigna, by a brief notice of Queen Victoria, whom I 
have oflen seen. Of her character I have already apoken ; aa to her 
personal appearance, all the world have a general idea of it, from the 
portraits in the ahop-wiudowa ; but truth compels me to declare that 
all the personal beauty in these representations, is ideal. Her majesty 
is really a very ordinary and rather coarhc-lookiug woman — enpecially 
to one whose standard is founded upon the delicate and graceful type 
of American female beauty. Whou I say she is as good ob she ia home- 
ly, and ia loved and cherished by her people according to her merits, I 
give strong testimony to her virtues. Prince Albert is a very handsome 
man, and it must be said that the large family of princes and princesses 
not only resemble him, strikingly, but share in his personal good looks. 
I have seen few more gratifying sights in £ngland than this royal family 
— deaerving and reooiving the afleoUon of the people. 

msTomoAL,, AiracDOfnoAL, eto. 841 

I woand off. WLelLer this last was because I really 
made a good hh, or from another principle — 
" Th« best of Griil)ani''» speochee was Ait i«t" — 
I am tot.illy unable to say. 

My next public appeaKinue was in a lecture at the 
Tremont Temple, in Boston — my subject beioglreland 
aud the Irish, Although my discourse was written, 
and pretty well committed to memory, yel for several 
days before the time appointed for its delivery ar- 
rived — when I thought of my engagement, my heart 
rolled over with a heavy and einking seneatioti. 
When the hour came, I went to the door of the room, 
but on seeing the throng of persons collected, I felt 
that my senses were deserting me : turning on my 
heel, I went out, and going to Smith, the apothecary 
— fortified myself with some peppermint lozenges. 
When I got back, the house was waiting with impa- 
tience. I was immediately introduced to the audi- 
ence by Dr. Walter Channing, and stepping upon the 
platform, began. After the first sentence, I was per- 
fectly at my ease. I need only add that I repeated 
the same lecture more than forty times.* 

• About ihU tima there wm > strong populmr eicitemeot in Boston 
>nd tho vicinily H^Hinnt Iha Irl^li, nnd CHpecinlty the Rooiitn Cutholio 
n!liG:ion. It ni.tiiire:,te.1 it-'flt in what was culled the " Brosd-ittreet 
Biot"— Jime 11. lSS9~in which the Irich, who gathere'l in thM qnar- 
lar, were Bttscked, their bouses rifleii;, their twiis ripped open, mad tb« 
farniture deelroyed to tlie unount of tno Ihoasaud dollars; uid kl*o 
In burning down tlie Tatholio Female Seminary— a speoleB of Convent, 
where it was said there were -evil doings — io the adjaoeot town oi 
ChulestovD. Hf pnipoM wu to allij this eKcaiamMit by pi 


In the autumn of 1836 there was a large evening 

party at Jamaica Plain, at the house of Mrs. G ,^ 

the lady patroness of the village. Among the nota- 
bles present was Daniel Webster, whom I had fre- 
quently seen, but to whom I was now introduced for 
the first time. He spoke to me of many things, and 
at last of politics, suggesting that the impending pres- 
idential election involved most important questions, 
and he deemed it the duty of every man to reflect 
upon the subject, and to exert his influence as his 
conscience might dictate. 

Since my residence in Massachusetts, a period of 
nearly eight years, I had been engrossed in my busi- 
ness, and had never even cast a vote. Just at this 
time I was appointed, without any suggestion of my 
own, one of the delegates to the whig convention to 
nominate a person to represent us — the Ninth Con- 
gressional District — in Congress. This was to take 
place at Medway, at the upper end of the district. I 
went accordingly, and on the first ballot, was the 
highest candidate, save one — Mr. Hastings, of Men- 
don. I declined of course, and he was unanimously 

The canvass that ensued was a very animated one, 

the history of the Irish people, with the adversitieB they had suffered, 
and the many amiable and agreeable traits that had survived, amid all 
the causes which had operated to degrade them. I believe that my ef- 
forts were not wholly fruitless : the lecture was encouraged, and when 
printed, received a commendatory notice even from the North Ameri 
«an Review — written by T. C. Grattao, himself an Irishman. 


Mr. Tan Buren being the democratic candidate for 
the presidency, He was considered as the heir- 
apparent of tlie policy of Gea. Jackson, and had in- 
deed promised, if elected, to walk in the footsteps of 
his illustrious predecessor. Without the peisonal 
popularity of that remarkable man, he became the 
target for all the hostility which his measures had 
excited. He was, Iiowever, elected, but to be over- 
whelmed with a whirlwind of discontent and oppo- 
sition four years after. 

The candidate for Congress in our district in oppo- 
sition to Mr, Hastings, was Alexander H, Everett, 
who had been hitherto a conspicuous whig, and who 
had signalized himself by the ability aad the bitter- 
ness of his attacks on Gen. Jackson and his admin- 
istration. He had singled out Mr, Van Buren for 
especial vehemence of reproach, because, being Secre- 
tary of State at the time, Mr. Everett was superseded 
as Minister to Spain without the customary courtesy 
of an official note advising him of the appointment of 
his successor. To the amazement of the public in gen- 
eral and his friends in particular, on the 8th January, 
1836, Mr, Everett delivered an oration before the de- 
mocracy of Salem, in which — ignoring the most prom- 
inent portion of his political life — be came out with 
the warmest eulogies upon Gen. Jackson and his ad- 
ministration ! About the first of May, the precise 
period when it was necessary, in order to render him 
eligible to Congress iu the Ninth District, he took up 




his residence within its precincts, and, as was easily 
foreseen, was the democratic candidate for Congress. 

The whig district committee, of which I was one, 
and Charles Bowen, Mr. Everett's publisher, anoth- 
er — issued a pamphlet, collating and contrasting 
Mr. Everett's two opinions of General Jackson's 
policy, and especially of Mr. Van Buren — the one 
flatly contradicting the other, and, in point of date, 
being but two or three years apart. This was cir- 
culated over the towns of the district. It was a ter- 
rible document, and Mr. Everett felt its force. One 
of them was left at his own door in the general dis- 
tribution. This he took as a personal insult, and 
meeting Bowen, knocked him over the head with his 
umbrella. Bowen clutched him by the throat, and 
would have strangled him but for the timely interfe 
rence of a bystander. 

I had been among Mr. Everett's personal friends, 
but he now made me the object of special attack. 
A paper, then conducted by B. F. H .\ . ., circu- 
lated a good deal in the district, and here, under the 
name of Peter Parley, I was severely lashed, not 
because I was a candidate for office, but because I 
was chairman of the whig district committee. I rec- 
ollect that one day some rather scandalous thing came 
out against me in the editorial columns of this journal, 
and feeling very indignant, I went to see the editor. 
I did not know him personally, but from occasionally 
reading his paper, I had got the idea that he was a 


very monster of violence and vaDdalism. He wita 
aot at the office, but sucK was my irritation and im- 
patience that I went to his honac I rang, and a 
beautiful black-eyed girl, some eight years old, camo 
to the door. I asked if Mr. H. was in ? " Mother," 
said the child, in a voiise of silver, "is iather at 
home?" At this moment another child, and Btill 
younger — its bullet-pate all over curls — came to the 
door. Then a mild and handsome woman came, and 
to my inquiry she said that her husband was out, 
but would return in a few momentH. 

My xugu wat> quulleJ iu au iuaUmL " So," aaid I 
to myself, " these children call that man father, and 
this woman calls him hoaband. After all, he can not 
be such a monster as I have conceived him — with 
such a home." I turned on my heel and went away, 
my ill-humor" having totally subsided. Some two 
years after, I told this anecdote to Mr. H., and we 
had a good-humored laugh over it. Both of us had 
learned to discriminate between political controversy 
and personal animosity. 

The attacks made upon mc during this canvass had 
an effect different from what was intended. I was 
compelled to take an active part in the election, and 
deeming the success of my party essential to my own 
defense, I naturally made more vigorous efforts for that 
object. Mr. Everett was largely defeated, and the whig 
candidate as largely triumphed. At the same time I 
was chosen a member of the legislature for Boxbury 


— Jamaica Plain, where I resided, being a parish ot 
that town. The next year I was a candidate for the 
senate, in competition with Mr. Everett,* and was 
elected. In this manner I was forced into politics, and 
was indebted mainly to opposition for my success. 

During the ensuing session of the legislature, the 
winter of 1837-8, the famous " Fifteen Gallon Law" 
was passed — that is, a law prohibiting the sale of in- 
toxicating liquors in less quantities than fifteen gal- 
lons. The county I represented was largely in favor 
of the measure, and I voted for it, though I was by 
no means insensible to the agitation it was certain to 
produce. I had determined not to be a candidate for 

* Alexander H. Everett was a native of MassachoBctts, and a younijor 
brother of Edward Everett, bom in 1790. He Btudied law in the office 
of John Quincy Adams at Boston, and in 1809 ho accompanied him as 
attache in his mission to Russia. Mr. Everett's political cjireer clearly 
displays the inilnence of this early connection with Mr. Adams. Hav- 
ing remained at St. Petersburg two years, he returned to the United 
States by way of England, where he spent some months. He now took 
part with the democrats, and wrote against the Hartford Convention and 
in favor of the war. Soon after the peac« he was appointed secreUiry 
of legation to Governor Eustis, in his mission to the Netherlands. 
Here lie cx)ntinued several years, the latter part of the time as charge. 
On visiting Brussels in 1824, I called upon him, and was agreeably im- 
pressed by his fine person and dignified, though cold and distant, man- 
ners. In 1825, he was appointed by his former patron, then President 
of the United States, Minister to Spain, where he remained till he Wiu* 
dismissed by Gen. Jackson. Mr. Everett, having failed of success in 
his attempts to obtain office from the people of Ma.-^sachusetts, was em- 
ployed by the general government, first as Connnissioner to Cuba, and 
afterward to China. He died a few months subscqaci»t to his arrival at 
Canton — tliat is, in June, 1847. In literature, he hold a respectable posi- 
tion, having written several works of learning and ability, and some 
essays of great elegance. In politics, unfortunately, he followed the ex- 
ample of Mr. Adams, in a sudden and startling change of his party, under 
clrcumstHQoeB which injured his oharaotorand impaired his usefulness. 


Te-election, and therefore considered rajBelf free to 
engage in the discusaiou whicli preceded the next 
election, and which, of course, mainly turned upon 
this law. Among other things, I wrote a little pam- 
phlet, entitled " Five Letters to my Neighbor Smith, 
touching the Fifteen Gallon Jug" — the main design of 
which was to persuade the people of Massachusetts 
to make the experiment, and see whether such a re- 
Etrainl upoD the sale of intoxicating drinks would 
not be beneficial. This was published anonymously, 
and my intention was to have the authorship remain 
unknown. It, however, had an enormous sale — a 
hundred thousand copies — ^in the course of a few 
months, and curiosity soon guessed me out. 

Now in the village of Jamaica Plain, I had a neigh- 
bor, though not by the name of Smith — a rich liquor 
dealer, who did his business in Boston — a very re- 
spectable man, but a vehement opposer of the Fifteen 
Gallon Law. As the election approached, the citi- 
zens of the State were drawn out in two camps, the 
men of Israel — those in favor of prohibition— on one 
side, and the Philistines — the men in favor of free 
liquor — on the other. My neighbor was rather the 
Goliath of his party — six cubits and a span, and all 
helmeted in brass — by which I mean that he was the 
wealthiest, the most respectable, and the moat valiant 
of all the soldiers of the Philistine camp ! He insist- 
ed that by " My Neighbor Smith," I meant him, and 
though I had said nothing disagreeable of that per 


sonage, but, on the contrary, had drawn his portrait 
in very amiable colors, he held that it was a mali- 
cious personal attack. In vain did I deny the charge, 
and point to the fact that the residence, character, 
qualities of my fictitious hero, were inapplicable to 
him. Anxious, like Maw worm, to be persecuted, 
he insisted upon it that he was persecuted. 

At the county convention, which took place some 
two months prior to this election, I declined being a 
candidate. The members present, however, clearly 
discerning the gathering storm, refused to release me, 
and I was forced to accept the nomination. The 
election was to take place on Monday, in November. 
On the Saturday previous, there was issued in Boston 
a pamphlet, entitled the " Cracked Jug," a personal 
and political attack upon me. written with great mal- 
ice and some ability. It was scattered like snow- 
flakes all over the county, and was, I suspect, the 
Sunday reading of all the tipplers and tavern ers of 
the county. The bar-room critics esteemed it supe- 
rior to any thing which had appeared since the letters 
of Junius, and of course considered me as annihilated. 

On Monday, election-day, my family were insulted 
m the streets of Jamaica Plain, and as I went into 
the town-hall to cast my vote, I heard abundance of 
gibes cast at me from beneath lowering beavers. The 
result was that there was no choice of senators in 
the county. The election, when the people had thTiS 
failed to fill their places, fell upon the legislature, and 


I was choaen. The stonn gradually passed away. 
The fifteen gallon law was repealed, but it nearly 
overtunied the whig party in the Suitc, which, being 
in the majority, was made responsible for it.* I 
deemed it necessary to reply to my Neighbor Smith's 
Cracked Jug, and he rejoined. What seemed at the 
time a deadly personal struggle, was ere long forgot- 
ten — ^neither party, I believe, carrying, in his charac- 
ter or his feelings, any of the scare inflicted during 
the battle. Both had in some sort triumphed — ^both 

• In tltis electin 

, Edwiird E<er 

l^ wh 

o had 



nor of ths 

euu .InoK ISaO, «n 





grtw mo- 

MOB, wm deftmled 

y t.r 

ntfle *oie 



or, B 


or Il>« Sd- 

pnnm Court, bh-I b 

'■' '" 


";' ''' 


'!" .'!" 

.i;<l„te fbr 

nany ymr. nin 

.■i..»on In 

his place. !li>.... 





lot, that among a h 


1 thousar. 

WM llllb- 


A goo 


8 conDOct- 

«d with thi»inci Jen 

i. G 

vernor M 





ppo!^ the 


8 by llie « 




. Na 


«bila he nw governor, the braDcti nulroed, runiiitig tlirou):li hia own 
town, Tiunlon, to the thrivicg stiil tiilerpriaiug towu o( New Bed- 
ford, was eomjileted. lb io event wn tobc celtbruteil by ■ jubilee si the 
Utter place, aiid the governor wea invited to be presenL The ctrenionios 

had not arrived. The whole procecdingi' were delayed and einbnr- 
nued, until just an the clock was utriliiog one, Iba governor ap- 
peared. J. 11. Clifford, the witty and eloquent 8ute> attorney, ao 
UDiTeraallj' kaown for his admirable management of the trial of Dr. 
WebaMr, tlie morderer of PsrlimBn, and afterward bimeelf governor of 
the Btate, immediately roee and offered the following itentiment— 

OoBtrtu/r Morton, who aheayi jtU in by one I 

It i» ncedloMs to Bay that the sentiment, aa well lu the goveruor, wa- 
hailcd Willi awlanintion ; an.l it may bo sUted iuudentally, that, in;.a- 

■nU I may add iiia pnnj, thenceforward were advucatce "f railroa'lfl. 
The neit year (IMO), in the whirlwind of the Harriaon eampalgn, Gov- 
arDor Morton gave piace to '* honeat John Uavia,^' a name known and 
honored throughout the whole Dniled States. 


in some sort been beaten — both could, therefore, afford 
to return to the amicable relations of village neigh- 

The presidential canvass of 1840 presented the 
most remarkable political spectacle which has ever 
been witnessed in the United States. Gen. Jackson's 
measures in regard to the currency and the tariff re- 
sulted in a tempest, which was precipitated upon the 
administration of his successor — Mr. Van Buren. 
Bankruptcy* and ruin had swept over the country, in- 
volving alike the rich and the poor, in their avalanche 
of miseries. In the autumn of this year, the whigs nom- 
inated William Henry Harrison, as the candidate for 
the presidency, in opposition to Mr. Van Buren. He 

♦ The bankruptcies that took place in Boston from November 1, 1886, 
to May 12, 1887, were one hundred and sixty -eight — some of very large 
amount. About the same time, the crash in New York was terrific, 
bearing down many of the oldest and wealthiest houses in the city. In 
New Orleans, in May, 1887, the failures in two days, amounted to twen- 
ty-seven millions of dollars. A committee of New York, addressing 
the President, stated that the depreciation of real estate in that city was 
forty millions of dollars in six months ! They also stated that two hun- 
dred and fifty failures took place in the space of two months ; that the 
depreciation of local stocks was twenty millions, and the fall of mer- 
chandise thirty per cent, within the same period. Twenty thousand 
persons, dependent upon their labor, were swd to bo thrown out of em- 
ployment, at the same time. The committee added, ** the error of our 
rulers has produced a wider desolation than the pestilence which de- 
populated our streets, or the conflagration which laid them in ashes." 
Similar ruin visited every part of the Union — the people, corporations. 
States, being reduced to bankruptcy. It was estimated that half a mil- 
lion of persons were made bankrupt by reason of the various meas- 
ura« of the Jackson and Van Buren administrations. Uuiidreds and 
thousands of persons, destitute of employment, and almost destitute 
of bread, found relief in swelling the Harrison processions and gather- 
ings, in singing patriotic songs, and shouting for reform. 


had held various civil and military trusts, in which 
he had displayed courage, wisdom, tiiid patriotism. 
His personal character was eminently winning to the 
people, being tniirked with benevolence and simpli- 
city. He had long retired from public life, tuid for 
Bcveral yeara had lived as a farmer on the " North 
Bend" of the Ohio, near Cincinnati. The democrats 
ridiculed him as drinking hard cider and living in a 
log cabin, The masses, resenting thia as coming from 
those who — having the government spoils — were riot- 
ing in the Wliil« House on champagne, took these 
gibes, and displuycd them as their mottoes and sym- 
bols upon their banners. They gathered in barns, as 
was meet for the friends of the farmer of North Bend, 
using songs and speeches as flails, threshing his ene- 
mies with a will. The spirit spread over mountain and 
valley, and in every part of the country, men were 
seen leaving their customary employments to assem- 
ble in multitudinous conventions. Many of these 
gatherings numbered twenty thousand persons. 

During this animated canvass, I was not a candi- 
date for office, yet I took part in the great movement, 
and made about a hundred speeches in Massachusetts 
and Connecticut. Everybody, then, could make a 
speech,* and everybody could sing a song. Orators 

* A ipceelimiikcr, in tha wsBiern pan of tbe SUte of Virgini* 
during tlic CBDVA^iS, has given u^ tho fullowiug onecdolo. He wot hold- 
iog forth apoD iha mcrilH of Gen. Harrison, and especial); npon hiii 
coorage, tact, and tineccBB a§ n military oonimandor. Whiie in ttie midHt 
of his dinQonne. a tall, gaunl mau — who w«s prolMbl; * 



sprang up like mnslirooms, and the gift of tongues 
was not more universal than the gift of music 
Towns, cities, and villages, were enlivened with 
torch-light processions and with long, bannered phal- 
anxes, shouting for the hero of Tippecanoe! The 
result of the election was such as might have been 
anticipated — a most emphatic rebuke by the people 
of that policy which had spread disaster and ruin 
over the country — by the election of Harrison, giving 
him two hundred and thirty-four votes, leaving only 
sixty for Van Buren 1 The death of Harrison, how- 
ever, which took place thirty days after he had en- 

those parts — ^arose from the crowd, and Boid, in a voice which penetrated 
the whole assembly — 

" Mi>*ter — Mister I I want to ax you a question." To this the orator 
aasented, and the man went on as follows : 

" Wc are told, fellow-citizens, that Gineral Harripon is a mighty great 
gineral ; but I say he's one of the very meanest sort of ginenils. We 
are told here to-night, that he defended himself bravely at Fort Meigs ; 
but I tell you that on that occa*«ion he was guilty of the ^mall Tail 
Movement, und I challenge the orator here present to deny it !" 

The speaker declared hia utter ignorance of what the intruder meant 
by " Small Tail Movement." 

" rU tell you," said the man ; " I've got it here in black and white 
Here is Grimshaw's IJislory of the United States" — holding up the book 
— "and ril read what it says: * At this critical moment. Gen. Harrison 
executed a novel movement !' Does the gentleman deny that ?" 

*' No : go on." 

" Well, he executed a novel movement. Now, here's Johnson's dic- 
tionary" — taking the book out of his pocket and holding it up — " and 
here it savs : ' Novel— a gfnaU tale P And this was the kind of movement 
Gen. Ilurrison was guiliy of. Now, I'm no soger, and don't know much 
of milentarv tictacks — but this I do sav: a man who, in the face of an 
enemy, is guilty of a StruiU Tail Moveintnt^ is not fit to be Tre-sident of 
the United States, and he siiau't liave niv voto !" 

The relator of tl»e anecdote says that it was quite impossible for him 
to overcome the effect of this speech, and we are left to conoLude that 
the vote of that vicinity was given to Van Buren. 

EiarrofiiOAL, abkodotioal, bto. 953 

tered upon the duties of his office, willi conaequeiil 
divisions iimong the leading membera of the whig 
party at Washington, deprived the eoutitry of nearly 
ihG whole benefit due to & chaiigo so emphatiealiy 
pronounced by the voice of the people. 

From this period, I have taken no active part 
in poUtica. In reviewing the past — while duly tLp- 
preciating the honor conferred by the confidence 
bestowed upon me by the citizens who gave me their 
suffrages, I still regard my political career as aa un- 
profitable, nay, an uuliappy episode, alien to my lit- 
erary position and pursuits, and every way injurious 
to my interests and my peace of mind. It gave me 
painful glimpses into the littleness, the selfishness, the 
utter charlatanism* of a large portion of those poli- 
ticians who lead, or seem to lead, the van of parties ; 
and who, pretending to be guided by patriotism, are 

■ For example: nhlle I was in the Senute, nnd the Fifteen Qallon 
prohibitory iaw wi* under liiBcasaion, many peo()lB came into the loliby 
to listen to the del:>Hte9, wbicU excited great intereit. Atnon; these VBi 
* very respectable man from niy ohd count; of Norfolk. He asked ma 
how 1 wan going to vale. I replied that I hod hnrdly made up my niiuil, 
and ajiked his opinion as to what 1 ought to do. He atrontcly enjoined 
It upon me to vote for the measure, saying th«t the public mind gener- 
ally woe prepared for it, and that in oar county, eiipeaially, the aentinionl 
In favor of it was overwhelming. And yet, at the next election tbia very 
man was a candidate agaiiisl nie, on tit gnnisd thnt kt aai in fanor ff 
tAt rtptal of Ihi law. lie insisted that it iraa an extreme nieatmre ; and 

thing el'tc— lie Mill thought it wuul J do liatin to the cood cause '. There- 
fore he contendeil for its repeal, and the sulistitation of eomo milder 

plea fluctuate nith the tide of publio opinion, and the chances which 
arla« for riding into olBce. 



usually only riding issues, principles, platforms, as ser- 
vile hobbies which may carry them into office. As 
some compensation for this, it has also led me to a 
conviction that the great mass of the people are gov- 
erned by patriotic motives — though even with these 
I oflen noted curious instances in which the public 
interests were forgotten in a desire to achieve some 
selfish or sinister end.* 

* About these days, in a certain town not .far from Boston, there was 
a Urge family, of several generations, by the name of Cpp. At one of 
the elections for members to represent the place in the General Coart, it 
appeared that among the votes distributed at the poUs were a huge 
number for William Cpp, and the whole family were present, like 
swarming bees, actively engaged in promoting his election. One of 
them came up to the person who told me the story, and asked him to 
vote for Wiliium. He naturally desired to know the reason for such a 
measure, and the more particularly as he had never heard of any pecu- 
liar claims or qualifications, for the office in question, which the said 
William possessed. **Well," said the Cpp, "I'll tell you how 'tis. 
William's got a little behindhand, and wants to shingle his bam. This 
will cost about a hundred dollars. Now, if he can go to the General 
Court one session, heMl save a hundred dollars, and so, you sec, he can 
fihingle his barn !*' 1 have seen a good deal of thia bam-shingUng, even 
in New England. 


saroBiOAX^ anbodotioal, ric. 


^nft — Tin Bottot OniBmlidD — bigviiy inbi lAa hatU of npyrigkt — 
fIratuM m ubuluUJiutiei^Wliat i» pn^erift—GrotndMHyiin wAtcA 
fovmimmi prolMlt jmptrtg — Hiitery i^ ixpyrig/tl — frtttt ilaU <tf 
topyn^U lau—Potie]/ ikt liaMt tjf iooil a^yrigit laa—InltmaUoiial 
Lityi/Hfla ianoHdcd by jialitrSclumt far !nts^uUiail«l OvpfriffU 
HtlA Grtal SritatK^Btaami/or it. 

In the wiDter of 1842, Mr. Charles Dickens ar- 
rived in BostoD, where he was received with open 
arms, A complimentary Jiiiner* was got up for him, 
and fine speeches were made by many of the first 
citizens, all in a strain of welcome to the distin- 
guished stranger. The ball thus set in motion rolled 
over the country, and wherever Mr. Dickens went, he 
was received in a similar manner — that is, with wel- 
come, with feasting, with compliments. I remember 

* ThU dinner look place oq the 1st of February, 1842. It vu deemed 
K muter of eufficieot importiiDce to bave the whole proceedio^ — 
speeches, lellerB, and tOMta — reported, and pnblii-had in a book. In 
the light of the presenC dsy, many of these — though uparlttiug with wit 
kud good feeliDg— are rnlber calculated to mako na regret the whole 
oooaeioQ. The strain of compliment was eicewivo; it set an eiamplp 
which, in this respect, was copied elsewhere — ami the olijecl of all tiiis 

Umc, and openly ailerward, when he had got safo back to England. 
This Hbould t.c b Ics-^on to us for nil future tiiuc. Foreigner wUI judge 
us somewhat according to their own standard. They regard nil cices- 
■iye demonstrations of tlie kind hero alluded to as proceeding either 
from snobbery, or a desire to eihibit themselves, on the part of the 
leaders. They are, therefore, rUJier disgusted than ooDciUated by these 
oierdona attentions. 


to have seen him at one of the President's levees at 
Washington, there being many distinguished guests 
present — Washington Irving, the Earl of Carlisle, &c. 
These were totally neglected, while a crowd of curi- 
ous and admiring followers, forming a gorgeous train 
of fair women and brave men, glittered behind Mr. 
and Mrs. Dickens. They were, in truth, the observed 
of all observers. 

It appeared in the sequel, that the author of Pick- 
wick had crossed the Atlantic for a double purpose — 
to write a book, and to obtain international copy- 
right. In the first he succeeded, in the latter he 
failed. Since that time, however, the subject of in- 
ternational copyright has been a theme of animated 
discussion in this country, and has even been made 
a matter of diplomatic conference between Great 
Britain and the United States. A treaty has been, 
I believe, actually agreed upon between the agents of 
the two governments, for the purpose of establishing 
international copyright, but it has never been con- 
summated ; the subject was referred to the Senate, 
and there it has remained in suspense for the last 
two years. 

You will, no doubt, expect me, in giving my rec- 
ollections, to say something upon this subject. I 
cou 1, indeed, hardly pass it over. I beg, however, 
instead of writing a new essay upon the subject, 
to copy what I wrote about three years ago, at 
the request of a senator in Congress, but which was 

never forwarded. With slight modifications, it was 
as follows : 

T is dltogether a modern Wen. The 
conception appears to have been foniieil. or at least matured, 
about twenty years ago, when the snbjeot of a revision of the 
law of copyright was before the British Parlinnieat.' At that 

* Tbe fint Eo^Iiah parllamenliiTy Htntnta ia rcfonl to Ki|r>Hs1il, is 
thai at QuMB Anno, a. d. ITIO, giving copyriKbC tu (b« aulhol for 
twenn-one yean., and if lia be liviug nl tbe etpiraliaa of [hit llmo, for 
tb« residue of his litb. B; HnbtoqueDl latc, tlil* jiericKl won oxLeudeit to 
tvent^'Siglit yean. Tbe movemenl above iilluded lo, irhieh ooramBnoed 
In IBST, uid in vhieli lUlbaFd took n ieadiDK put, ainied at Mteniiiaf 
tha proleotiaD ti' forty-Cwu jeu*, *bi<:li, after dIiouI, Lwajeun ofcoiuiil 

the »nIbor shall hnvB died before the eipimtion of the fbrty-two yea™, 
the heipi miy hsve on BXlennion of the time fnr tatta yvan from the 
date of his death. 

During the dbcumioD which eonued, the eubjeet of copyright wu 
viewed in eveiy poseible liglil- A large tiumlwr of petitions was pra- 
Mnled to Piirliament in behalf of increnAd protection; among them w«s 
one from Thomas Hood, in which the following psHssgee ocaur: 

" That your petitioner is (be proprietor of certain copyrights, which 

hip fireehold. He cenaot conceive how ' Hood's Own,' without ■ change 
in the title-deed as well as tbe title, can beoome 'Everybody's Own' 

" That cbeep bread ia w deairsbta and necessary as cheap booke, but 
It hath not yet been Ihouifhl just or expedient to orrlain that afler a 
eertain number of crops, all coraHelds shall become public property. 

"That Be a man's iairt belong to his head, so his head should belong 

by a nice eulculation, tliat one of his principal copyrights will expire on 
the same day that his only Hon should come of age. The very law of 
nslnre pmlests against an annsCural law, wtiicb compels an author to 
write fbr everjbody'a posterity except his own." 

Among thee petitions is one from John Smith, booiiseller of Qlaagow, 
who says that aboat the year ISSD, be wrote an eessy in behalf of per- 
petual copyright, as demanded by justice and etiuity. I have seen no 

The eariiest direct advocaoy of intemalioniJ copyright that 1 have roaC 
wltb, ia by John Neal, in the " Yankee," 1838. 


period, the leading authors of Great Britain oomhined to ohtain 
an extension of the privileges of anthorship. In the course of 
the discussion, it was suggested that authors had an absolute 
right to the use and behoof of the products of their labor — and 
consequently that British authors might claim copyright, not 
only in Great Britain, but in all other countries Having ob- 
served that the American market absorbed a \ery largt amount 
of popular English literature, an eager desire sprang up among 
the principal British writers to annex the United States to Great 
Britain in this matter of copyright. Accordingly, a general act 
was passed by Parliament, to the effect that the privileges of the 
copyright laws in the Three Kingdoms should be granted to all 
countries which should extend to Great Britain the privileges of 
their copyright laws. In this state of things, Mr. Dickens came 
to America to consummate an international arrangement on 
this subject. His writings being exceedingly popular here, it 
was deemed that we could hardly resist a demand, regarded as 
reasonable in itself, and urged by a universal favorite, who might 
add to the requisitions of justice the argument and the feeling of 
personal gratitude to himself. 

As you are aware, Mr. Dickens's mission proved abortive, and 
he took his revenge upon us by his Notes on America, in which 
he plucked out the feathers of the American Eagle, and then 
called it a very unclean bird. It is quite as easy to explain his 
failure as his anger. The demand of International Copyright 
was suddenly made and rudely enforced. Mr. Dickens bruuglit 
with him letters and petitions to individuals, to Congress, and to 
the American people — from eminent Britbh authors, some of 
them couched in offensive terms, and demanding copyright on 
the principle of absolute justice. In order to carry the point at a 
blow, the whole British press burst upon us with the cry of thief, 
robber, pirate, because we did precisely what was then and had 
been doue everywhere — we reprinted books not protected by 
copyright I We resemble our ancestors, and do not like to be 
bullied. The first effect, therefore, of this demand thus urged, 


WW KeeDtmeDt ;* to this, reflection added apprehendon. About 
tbia time there was a Convention in Boston of pemons interested 
to the prodnetion of books : bookseUei^, printers, paper- ronkera, 
tTpe-foundern, book'binders, and ulhera oonneeted with the book 
maoufscttire. Their ahief object was to petition Congrow for a 
modiScnlion of the tariff — a reconstraction of the entire tariff 
•jstem bijng then ander consideration — so as to afford addi- 
tional protection to their various intefcete ; but, alarmed at 
the duinand of the British authors, they took the occasion to 
remouftrate, earnestl;, against tliia propowd uit«matiana] 

Discussion oF course followed, and has been aondiined to the 
present time. Anthore in the TTnited Btates have generall; 
favored the measnro; booksellers and pubiisliers resisted it for a 
time, but many of Ihora now favor it. The man nfiic luring in- 
tereata connected with the book-trade have generally opposed iL 

* Variaiu drcDDuUncea eoaipired to ■ggrsvau this feeling, Mr. 
Carlyle compiired onr reprlntiag Brlljsh booliii, without copyright, Ui 
Bob Roj'b cattle-stealing; whilo at the eBma time Brili'h publlshera 
bad done aail eontinaed to do (he same tbin^c in respeot to Ameriean 
bookie The British government had indeed offered to go into n mutiiiJ 
interchange of copyright Ut. but in the ttiean time their publishers 
went on reprinting American worlm, withonl compensation, as before. 
Their position, therefore, was only lliis : iieff aaald Hep liueinf wA«t m 
ttoutd ; and Ihi tondilion of tkeir giving up wKat tUy hdd Sa U piracy, mu 
a largain in aAith tAty mould gtl a thouiand pound*, when ua iluuld ob- 
tain perhapt a hundred I And still again : one of the loit BOta of Mr. 
Dickens, before he lefl England ou \m miasloa, was the reprodnctian 
in bis "Pic-nie Papers" of the Charcoal Sketches of Joseph C. Neale, of 
Philadolpbia, not only without copyright, but coDCoaliDg the name of 

— leaving the itopreesion that it was originally written for his book '. In 
addition to all tliia, reflecting men »a* that 
CDpjright was cliieQy ttauaii on principles 
right, which were rcpudinted, not only hy 
Great Britain, but that of all other civilized countries. These wer 
dnnces to tlie immediate po.WBgo of any intemfltional copyright i 
eoDDtry, because they crested a prejudice aitsiost it as well as feai 
ooDsequences. But these difficalties are now poat, and it is time b 
aider the sobjeet in a oahner and wiser spirit. 

il copyright law of 


80 &r as the people at large are oonoemed, I beHeve that a great 
migorit J also take an unfavorable view of the scheme. 

Now, where is the right of this question? Wliat ought we 
to do ? What ought our government to do ? 

If, as has been and is asserted, the abstract right of the author 
to the fruit of his labor is absolute, and if governments recognize 
the obligation to protect all abstract rights, then t-he question is 
settled: justice, morality, conscience, and usage require us to 
give what is asked. In this state of the case, we have no right 
to consider what is convenient or expedient; we must yield, 
whatever may be the con>*equence, to a claim which rests upon 
such foundations. 

Let us then inquire, first, is this abstract claim of absolute 
right, on the part of authors, well founded ; and, second, do 
governments recognize the obligation to protect and enforce aU 
such abstract rights ? 

It m indisputable that the author has just as good, and in fact 
tlie j»ame right, to the use and behoof of the fruit of his labor, 
as the farmer and the mechanic. In general, it may be said, 
that wliat a man makes is his, and that if it is valuable to him 
and useful to the community, he is entitled to protection in the 
])i)ssession of it. The farmer produces cum, the cabinet-maker 
a chair, the wheelwright a cart The right of the producers of 
these things to use them, sell them, to control them, absolutely, 
according to their will and pleasure, is so familiar to the mind 
as to seem self-evident. 

The author asks to be put upon the same footing. He writes 
a book ; in its first stage it is in manuscript. To this his claiui 
is undeniable; but it is a barren right, for in this condition 
it is unproductive of value. It consists of material signs — 
letters, words, sentences — conveying ideas. It is susceptible of 
being copied and multiplied by print, and these copies can be 
sold, and a reward for the author's labor may be thus realized. 
The value of the author's work, therefore^that is, the means of 
obtaining compensation for his labor — ^lies in selling copies of it ; 



v)d what he claims is the ri^t, )tn<j the eiclnsire ricl'ti thta In 
copy bb book — or, in other -wordt, wptftigkt. The corainodity 
of the BUthor, Bi well ft» the mMhcid of recompense, are differeU 
from those of the former, bat his ol^n (o the fruit of his labor 
reHs on tboHme principle. Tbo rartner'* commrxlity is hisoom. 
and be l^I■im the rif^t to cuntrol ii; the anUior's ocimiuodity is 
ooj^right, and be clotma the right to oi>Qtn>l it. Tlie fonner'B 
pro|Nirtj ii eorporeal, the anlhor's, id corporeal ; bnt the right 
t» tha oiM is the Hime as that to the other. No intieiiuitj 
hi* beeo able to Bhnw any dteiinciioo whatever between the 
prinoipla on wbicb the author'^ copyright i« fbomled, and that 
on which the Ihrmer's right to \aa «Top ii fonnded.* 

• VirioQs ,u2i,-t.t;,.n* liine'>e<n orx^A wnin-t thij; il li»» bsen Mid 

This objection \r rail/ aDBvered bv ■ Buggestion mlreadj mada, that it 
ia onl? Ik the power (o conlrol the mpjing of hu work, that u Hitbar 
ciD obtain com]>en-«»tion for bin labor. 

Anotlier KonrHtion ban been aiad« b; Ur. II. C. Carey, (o thi* atbot, 
that a book coiuinU of two parta — bets aod ideas, which he calls tb* 
bodf, aod the Urigaage, which be conaidert tbe dothiD|f, Row, he 
■an, facts sdJ iilean are old, and have become onminon propertj ; thej 
an like a pablic fonntaiD — ooinmon to all — and for this portion of hia 
work the sothor can dsim no reward : all ha oan aak oompetuatton Ibr 
b the langnsge in which he has dothed tliese bets and ideas. 

Now there are two objectioiu to this : one in an to the bet on which thia 

i* fonndc 

:d the other 

it. Ur. Carej )>» wriltei 
iDa; saj that there is not: 
in having pot old ideas in 
with him in thia. The p 
in the facta a 

worka on Poiilical Economy ; be 
' ia these, and that his only merit liv 
aoinuige, bat the public will not affree 
U not agree that there is notbiof new 
I ideas of the hiitoriex of Prescott, Bancroft, and M>- 
eaelay: ia the romances of Cooper and Soott; in the poetry of Ward»- 
worth and Byron ; in the delightful travel* of Bayard Taylor, and the 
inspired toof of Hiawatha. Indeed, there has probably been no aga 
' ' e has been so highly originiJ, In ita 

Carey consider* an wholly barren and 
makes salt ft^im the sea, which 

Vol. n.— 16 

a Ur. 




This is dear, but now oomes the other qneetioa, does govem- 
ment bold itself bound to secnre every abstract right? In gen- 
eral, it may be said that oivilized governments protect property : 
to do this is in &ct one of the chief functions of government. 
What, then, is property? 

In looking at learned anthorities, we find two distinct defini- 
tions : one regards property as a certain inherent, abstract right ; 
the other — the legal interpretation — a possession secured bylaw. 
This is, in &ct, the general notion of property : it is ownership 
-^the right to possess, e^joy, and control a thing, according to 
law. It has been asserted that property, even in this sense, 
rests upon an abstract right, and that the principle of this is, 
that what a man produces is his own. And yet, when we come 
to look at property, as it is distribnted around us, we shall see 
that by far the larger portion of it, throughout the world, is not 
in the hands of the producers.* The present distribution of land, 
in all countries, has been made to a great extent by violence, 
by conquest, usurpation, robbery. Tlie foundations of tlie great 
estates throughout Europe, is that of might and not of right 
And hence it is impossible to base the idea of property, which 
government actually does protect, on abstract right. Indeed, in 
looking at the great authorities on this subject — Cicero, Seneca, 
Grotius, Montesquieu, Blackstone — the idea is traceable tiirough 
them all, that property is a possession according to law. They 
all admit tiiat there is such a tiling as abstract right, natural 
right, and insist upon it, and upon this they base what is called 

why he shall not have oomplete control of the product of liis labor ? A 
man has a right to the fruit of hia toil ; the public may and will fix a 
price upon his prodnctii, according to the amount of labor, skill, and 
capital bestowed, but they may not deny his right to them, orconflHcate 
them or any portion of them. If a man uses old ideaH, the public will 
reward him accordingly, but it i» no argument in behalf of denying him 
the right to sell what he has produced, for what he can get. 

* There are other modes of acquisition, as diaoovcry, hunting, fishing, 
which carry the same right of possession, as actual production by 
manual labor. 

oounon kw; but yet no om kyi down the i nfaolpk that 
•bitoiot rin^ornfttanl ifi^k «itliera oomplflto and pedbsl 
ri^t^ in hnU; or that it k Motlal to the idM of propHly. 

BqAiaaBthority,aawoflndit,irithtliaoo M » fia f < i; tlMra 
!• a n«w aciiool wbioh danlea tliis indiridiial li^bt^ and dafma 
•fwy thing for aooiety. Bentbam lands aoma ooantnanea to 
tUa: hadaniaa altogether the doctrine of abatrnot rf|^ aa tha 
foimdatton of propertgr, and inaiata that in ita prinoipla it ia 
thagiftofkw. WhattfaakwgiTaaanianiahia: notUngalaa. 
Ftoiidhon goee farther, and deebrea that ^ property ia robbery^ 
^'4bl other words, not on^ ia the present distribntSon of prof^ 
ar^ the result of artifice, frand, Tiolence, bnt^ in the natore of 
thingi, property belongi to the oomnranity, and not to indivl^ 
nak. According to bim, a man who appropriates a thing to 
his own use and behoof^ robs society of what belongB to them.* 

* Nothing is more oppoAed to man's inntinctB than the negation of 
his individaality, implied by Commtmisn. A man fbela that he is a 
being, in liiraself ; that he has the right to aot and ttiink independent- 
ly, and of and for himself. It is this individuality, this independence, 
which gives value, meaning, responsibility, to his conduct. Commu- 
nism overturns this idea : this regards mankind as grouped into socie- 
ties, each society being like a tree, of which the individual person is but 
a leaf; or like the madrepores — a myriad of little insects living in the 
fibres of a sort of animal-plant rooted to a rock — all breathing, all 
nourished, all acting, with one nervous system, one consciousness, one 
aensorium. This is phalansterianism ; here is the root of Proudhon'a 
apothegm — as every thing belongs to society, it is robbery for an indi- 
vidual to appropriate any thing to himself. Nevertheless, in looking 
at civilized society, in all ages, we find something of this communiwrn ; 
that is to say, we find that mankind, living together in communities, 
give up at least a portion of their abstract rights, and agree to be governed 
by laws which take into view the highest good of all. Thus society is a 
oompromise, in which both the principle of individual rights, accord- 
ing to Blackstonc, and commnnul rights, according to Proudhon, are 
recognized. The rule was laid down nearly two thousand years ago — 
Ih to another as yr/u would hav€ another do to you, and we are not likely 
to get a better. That regards man as a being of intellect, conscience, 
and responsibility, and bound to sook his own happiness by promoting 
the happiness of others. That is Christianity, which ia above Commu- 
nism—though the latter has certainly taught ua, in aome respects. 


Thus vagae, coiifhsecl, and contradictory are the ideas which 
attach to the principle of property, even among the learned. 
The fEtct certainly is, that in its distribntion very little respect 
has been paid to abstract rights. Nearly all laws, by all gov- 
emments, from the Romans downward, have been based npon 
considerations of policy, or what they call the pnblic good. 
Some deference has no doubt been paid to the common in- 
stincts of men, and as justice is one of these, the theory of 
abstract rights has been recognized ; but yet how rarely have 
kings, and princes, and potentates molded their laws or their 
acts in obedience to the rights of man.* 

better how to carry out the aims of Christianity. As a system, it is 
fiiUacioas; as having developed instructive facts, it has contributed 
largely to civilization. 

* The idea, so familiar now, that a man has a right to the fruit of hia 
labor, is after all of rather modern date. So long as governments could 
compel men to plow, sow, reap, and thus feed society — by holding them 
in slavery — so long this was practiced all over Europe. A fundamental 
idea of the feudal system was, that the land-workers were mliairUj and 
belonged either to the soil or to the lord of the manor, and were trans- 
ferred, in purchase and sale, as such. In England, in 1860, '* the Stat- 
ute of Laborers'' punished workmen who loft their usual abodes, by 
being branded in the foreheads with the letter F. ; it required persons 
not worth forty shillings to dress in the coarsest russet cloth, and to be 
served once a day " with meat, fish, or the offal of other victuals." In 
1461, the king of France ordained that **the good fat meat should be 
sold only to the rich, and the poor should be confined to the buying Oa 
lean and stinking meat." 

During these periods, laborers who removed from place to place must 
have letters-patent granting them this privilege, or be put in the stocks. 
In 1406, children of poor parents must be brought up in the trade or call- 
ing of their parents. These absurd and iniquitous laws did not cease 
till the time of Charles II. ; indeed, so late as 1775, the colliers of Scot- 
land wore considered as belonging to the collieries in which they had 
been accustomed to work I 

The source of this system was a desire on the part of the capitalista 
to compel the laborers to work for them as slaves ; it was the. conspi- 
racy of capital against free labor ; nor was it abandoned until it was 
discovered by the governments that this system of compulsory or slave 
labor was unprofitable. Policy, necessity indeed, dictated the proteo- 
tion of labor, and it is in pursuance of this policy for some two hnn- 


If we look at the history of copyright, we ahall see that 
authors have been, from the beginning, treated according to 
these principles of government — ^which shape all things with a 
primary and controlling regard to policy or the public good. 
Knowledge is power, and this was as well understood by the 
despotisms of the middle ages as it is by those of the present 
day. They sought therefore to keep it in their own hands. 
When the art of printing was discovered, some four centuries 
ago, and threatened to diffuse knowledge among the masses of 
mankind, the governments became alarmed, and immediately 
subjected it to supervision and restraint. 

nitherto the right of copy had been worthless to the author ; 
his works could only be reproduced by the pen, and writing for 
publication was never practiced. Now a mighty change in his 
position had taken place : the press multiplied his works as by 
magic. A new idea, a new interest, was thus created. Man- 
kind had already learned to i)rize books : a copy of the Bible 
would command the price of a farm. The power to multiply and 
vend copies of books, was seen at once to be a mighty power. 
ThL* was naturally claimed by the printer as to old works, and 
as to new ones, by the author. Thus arose the notion of copy- 
right — the direct result of the discovery of the art of printing. 
Yet it does not aj)pear that this natural, abstract, absolute right 
of authors was at all regarded. They were, in fact, looked 
upon with suspicion ; the press was deemed by governments 
as well as the ])eo])le, a device of the devil. Kings, princes, 
and potentates, therefore, immediately seized upon it, not as 
a thing to be encouraged, but to be dreaded, watched, rastrain- 
ed. They suppressed whatever was offensive, and licensed 
only wliat was approved. This license was a grant of the 
soverei^ai, and it was the first form of actual copyright. It 
wjis founded on privilege alone. The licenses granted were du- 
rhig ilie lifetime of the author, or in perpetuity, according to the 

dred years thnt the riirlit of a man to tho fruit of iiis hibor has come to 
be regarded as an axiom in all truly civilized coimtrics. 


good pleasure of the Ung. Theee were deemed property, and 
were bonght and sold as snch. Thus copyright, in its origin^ 
was the gift of govemment, or in other words, of the law. 

This was the practice of all ciyilized governments. In France, 
the ordinance of Monhns, in 1566, a decree of Oharles EL, in 1571, 
and a patent of Henry III., constitnted the andent law on this 
subject. The king always t regarded himself as at liberty to grant 
or refhse the license, and to impose such conditions and restric- 
tions as he pleased. Generally the right of the author was per- 
petual, unless he assigned it to a bookseller, in which case it was 
thrown open to the public at his death. 

The early history of copyright was similar to this, in England. 
It was illegal to print a book without the government imprima- 
tur. This continued to be the law until the time of Queen 
Anne, when a general law — 1710 — ^was passed, giving the au- 
thor an interest of twenty-one years in his work. 

Thus it appears that for nearly three hundred years after the 
origin of printing, copyright rested upon privilege granted by 
the crown. During the latter part of this period it had become 
familiar to the mind that the farmer and the mechanic were 
entitled to the use and behoof of the fruits of their labor. These 
held their right at common law ; but no such right was accord- 
ed to the author, nor was he permitted to print and sell his 
book, but by license, by privilege. Even so late as 1774-, and 
long after the passage of a general act on this subject, the House 
of Lords, upon solemn abjudication, decided that the right of an 
author to his copy was the gift of the statute, and not one flow- 
ing from principles of justice. This doctrine has been substan- 
tially affirmed by the recent decision in England — that of the 
House of Lords reversing Lord Oampbell^s opinion. 

And one thing more is to be regarded, that when more liberal 
ideas had begun to prevail — when the author was emancipated 
from the censorship, and his claims were based on a general law, 
and not on privilege — ^the perpetual right of copy was taken away, 
and it was limited to twenty-one years ! Since that time the 


Dnmber ot anther? hus iacreofcd, and tbe prees has risen into 
a migbt; interest, and jet, to this da;, in no country on tit9 
&ce of the globe, is the author plitced on the looting of the 
brmer and th« mechenic : these enjoj', hy tbe couunou law, and 
the aokuowlodged priociplea of Justioe, the absolato right to 
their prwlucts, while the snlhor has only a limited proleclion, 
(lopendeat entirely a|)OD the statute. The present copyright 
laws of all civilian] governments are nearly tho same; except in 
Great Britain, the United Slates, and a few other conntriei, th« 
prcw is under a ceneoraliip, tbe governroeots aoppreeshig what 
Ihey choose : the protection pven is generally for aboat forly- 
two years, after which time, the works of anthore are thrown 
open to the pnhlic. 

It is thns obvione that &om tho beginning to tbe present time, 
the fundamental idea of copyright in all oountriee has been and 
is, that protection lu the eqjoyment of it is the gill of Btatut« 
law^-of an enactment of goverainBnt. Nowhere does it reel 
on abstract rig^t ; in no country la tbe doctrine recognized that 
«n anthor b» the same right to the frnit of his labor, as bos 
tlM fiUTDer or tbe mechanic to the fruit of his. Uateriol prq^ 
erty everywhere is protected by common law ; eTerywbere ia 
literary properly the gift of statute law. 

And yet, Int«niatioiial Copyright ia nrged by its advocates, 
npon prinoiplcB of abstract justice, principles of a 
prindples r^eoted in the praotiee of every oivUized gt 
on the face of the globe I 

It is, I think, one of tbe great mlsfartmiee of tbis qaeetioD, 
that it baa lieen tbas placed on a false basis, and for this obvl- 
ons reason, that where a cttum rests on principles of jnsdoe, 
tbe denial of it implies moral obliqaity. In such a case, bard 
Dames, harsh epithets, bitter feelings, are likely to be engen- 
dered : irritation rather than conviction is tbe reeulL What- 
ever may be the abstraot right of tbe matter, the &ct is, that aC 
governments hsive hitherto founded local oopyright on policy 
alone. When, therefore, the people of Qraat Britun ask ni to 


enter into a partnership of international copyright, we very nat- 

nrallj test the question by the principles which govern them, as 

well as other civilized nations, in dealing with local cop3rright. 

If they call ns pirates, because we reprint books not secured by 

copyright, it is inevitable that we retort by saying that they do 

the same. If they say, we are holier than thou, because we 

offer you international copyright, we are tempted to reply, 

that in the mean time your attitude is no better than this: yon 

say to ufr— ^^ We will stop stealing when you do, and not before !^^ 

If they insist that we are robbers in not giving copyright to 

Mr. Dickens, because no law protects him at the distance of 

three thousand miles — ^we reply that you are robbers, because 

you give no copjrright to the heirs of Dryden, or Pope, or Swift, 

or Scott, or Chalmers, nor do you gtM copyright to anybody 

ttfter a lapte qf about forty-two yean. 

All this we have siud, and with some show of reason, and yet 
I think, if the subject be fisdrly considered, it still leaves us in a 
fiedse position. Though, it may be, and no donbt is, true that 
all governments have denied the claim of the author to an ab- 
solute and perpetual right of copy, still no civilized government 
has assumed that he has no claim. All nteh governments Itave 
in fact given him a limited protection^ and this has been gradual- 
ly extended with the increase of light and justice among mankind. 

If we scrutinize the motives of governments in the more 
recent legislation on this subject, we are at no loss to discover 
that these consist of two considerations : one is, that the au- 
thor, like every other laborer, is worthy of his hire; as he 
contributes to the public amusement and instruction, he is en- 
titled to compensation ; and the other is, that it is for the pub- 
lic good to encourage those who thus promote the happiness of 
society. Here, then, the right of the author to the fruit of bis 
toil, is at least partially recognized ; society admits it, but in un- 
dertaking to protect him in this right, society assumes the liberty 
of prescribing certain conditions in view of tlie public good. As 
It might tend to limit the beneficent influence of genius, and to 


NHtrun tbe fhll light of literatnro in itft«r-times, to entail opon 
tbe anthor and upon his heirs, forever, the exctiBire ooiitro] gf 
his works, it has been (ioemed beat to limit that control lo n pe- 
riod of about forty-two years. 

ThU ill, I think, the theory of toca) co|>yriglit law, among 
the moxt enlJghteDed nalioua of the pre^^ent day. Kow, let 
ne Americans consider oar position in relation to liTirig Brit- 
ish SQthorB, Their books c*nie among us ; they are published 
and circulated among ne. Tou and I and everybody read tbotn, 
and profit by them. And do we pay the antlior any thing for 
all this) Not a farthing; nay, when he aika as for oonjpensa- 
tion, we say to tiim, yon live three thonannd miles off, oad the 
lawe of honeety and morality do not extend so far I 

Now, is that an honorable position 1 Is it an eitenaation to 
aay that other people do this i Does it not enhance the an- 
faimess of onr condoct to con>:idcr that the Britiah government 
Itanda ready to remedy this wrong? 

Let OS snppose that two farmers live on oppoeritA banks of a 
river ; and it occasionally happens that thdr flocks and herds 
GTOes this stream, and stray into the neighboring groimds. What 
is the trne principle of oondnct between Iheee two partiee : is 
it that each shall confiscate to his own use the property that 
thns strays into his premises? That certainly is a barbarooa 
practice. Bnt snppose one says to the other, " I am sBtuSed 
this is wrong — let ns come to an understanding : if yon will re- 
store to me sQch of my flocks and herds as stray into yonr 
grounds, I will do the same to yon, and thiu peace and Jnstice 
wilt be established between ns." And let ns snppoee that the 
other refnses this reasonable proposition, and says, " No ; we 
have both been accustomed to this kind of stealing, and I am 
determined to continue it." la not this farmer in the wrong I 

And in our refnsal to make British authors any compensation, 
are we not in the precise attitude of ttiis ungenerous farmer 1 

The truth nndoubtedly is, that in refusing International Copy- 
right altogether, we are wrong : we cannot vindicate oonelvea 


b J saying that ir« follow the example of govemmentB In fheir 
local copyright law, for although, as I have shown, the»e do not 
recogniie the aiUohUe and perpetual claim qf authors to the right 
of copy^ yet all aUow that they hate a right to eome eompeiuation 
for their works. Our wrong lies in this, that we deny all com- 
pensation. This, if it is volontary, is not very hr from robbery. 

Now I do not believe the people of the United States are to 
be charged with this willfol wrong : I am persuaded that the 
subject has not been well understood. It has appeared to them 
that a questionable right has been urged, as the means of foroing 
us into an unreasonable bargain. The general idea of the pro- 
posed international copyright| has been a mutual extension of the 
local copyright laws to the authors of the two countries ; that is 
to say, the British author shall avail himself of our copyright law, 
and the American author shall avail himself of the British copy- 
right law. In this sense, the two countries would be thrown 
into one market, available on the same terms to the authors, 
publishers, and bookseUers of each. 

For myself it seems hardly worth while seriously to discuss 
such a scheme as this, and for the plain reason that it never 
can be enacted by our government, or if enacted, it would 
speedily be repealed by the people. This claim to international 
copyright, as I have siud, has been urged in such a spirit by 
British writers, that the public mind here has been pr^udiced 
against it. It may be remarked, that the discussion of the sub- 
ject, by its advocates on this side of the water, has added to 
this feeling of aversion, a very extended conviction that sound 
policy forbids such a measure. 

The grounds of objection to the scheme thus presented are 
various, but the most formidable one is this : if the tu>o coun^ 
tries thus become one market^ it will he mainly to the advan- 
tage of the British publishers. The British are a nation of sell- 
ers, not buyers. They preach free trade to all the world, but 
when a market is open, they rush in and engross it. It is free 
trade, but only to them. If we enter into tlie proposed part* 

HmomcAL, ABxoDonoAL, Era 

nership, thej will baj few of oar copyrights — thoea only of 
oar firet authors, and few books bejond samples. We mHf per- 
tis|i« be pcrmitliyi to puiclisse aocne copyrights of th^n, sod pnb- 
lisb the works here ; but the geueral course of thiogs will be thia : 
the LoDiloD publishers, hitvlDg llie control of Brlti^th oopjriglits, 
will send their agents to New York, Boston, auii Philftdelphia, 
or they will here form branch establishments. Through theta 
tie t/uill be tupplUd ailh Britth boolt front Britiih typt, on 
£riluhpaper, and -teith BritUh hivding. 

This ia the great olyectioD, and if we are permitted to aettle 
tlie quetttion by a regard to the intereate of tlie country, it b 
fit4d to the scheme. Yet if wo ei'atniue the CAse more closely 
we shull B(« that the diffievlty it not with Bntith autA#r», but 
leith MrilitApuilithen; il ii not a^aimtt/oTtign eopyrighl, Aut 
Joreiffa hookicUeTi. Wo liaro on imnienee interest involveii in 
the diversified iudustries employed ia tlie inanufuuture of books, 
embntang tbonsands of bmiUes &Dd millions of dollAn. This 
Dstnrally revolts at a sobeme which threatens to para^ze, poeai- 
bly bi rain it, in many of its branohea. JBatjia difficulty qfthit 
nalure eould arii« frtm^ an arraitgement ffioifig copyright t9 
Britith authorty protidtd their viorhi it publithtd by Ameriea» 
atitem, and be manu/actured in the United State*. Nay, I think 
it ia easy to enggeet a plan of this nature, which wonld be ben- 
eficial to all the interests concerned — those of American anth(ns 
AS well as American book producers. 

The scheme I propose is this : 

1. An aathor, bdng a citizen of Great Britain, shall hav* 
copyright in the United States for a period not ezoeeding fonr- 
teen years, on the following conditions : 

2. He shall give due notice, in the United States,* of hte inten- 

* This notico nbonld be raoorded in same one affloa, m; in > regis- 
ter, kept (at tbst pnrpoee, at the Smithsoaiui lni>miile, bo th&t by lef 
erenoe to ttiis, bdj' pereoc ma; know if copyright of > work which is 
■aneunoed, is to i>e copyrighted, and aloo ma; see whethar thia reqol 
tition of the law haa lieea eampliad with. 


tion to secure his oopyri^t in this oonntry, three months before 
the publication of his book ; and this shall be issued in the United 
States within thirty days after its publication in Great Britain. 

8. His work shall be published by an American citizen, who 
shall lodge a certificate in the office of the clerk of the oonrt 
of the district where he resides, stating in whose behalf the 
copyright is taken, and this shall be printed on the back of the 

4. The work shall be printed on American paper,* and the 
binding shall be wholly executed in the United States. 

6. This privilege shall extend only to books, and not to pe- 

6. The arrangement thus made in behalf of the British authors 
in America, to be extended to the American authors in Grreat 
Britain, and upon similar conditions. 

This is a mere outline of the general principles of the scheme, 
by no means pretending to be complete in its details, or in the 
technical form of an enactment. To such a plan I can conceive 
no serious objections ; not only the authors of this country, but 
the publishers would £avor it I am confident it would meet the 
feelings, views, and wishes of the country at large. My reasons 
for these views ai'e briefly as follows : 

1. This plan gives us the pledge of one of our own citizens, 
living among us, and responsible in bis person, character, and 
position, for a faithful conformity to the law. Without meaning 
to cast invidious reflections, it may be said that it would be a 
strong temptation to any foreigner, under the circumstances — 
having various inducements and many facilities for imposing upon 

* I had entertwied the idea that it would be proper to prescribe the 
condition that the bookn ahonld be from American type, and American 
engravings, but several eminent pablinhers think it will be for the 
advantage of all concerned, to permit the use of foreign stereotype 
plates, inasmuch as there will often be great economy in this. We 
shall soon send as many of these to England as we shall take from 
thence. On the whole, it is believed that the true interest of engra- 
vers and type-founders even, will be best consulted by letting the ar- 
rangement be made as here proposed. 


W books roanafactnred At home — to ootflmiL this wrong; it Is 
wise, therefore, to malie provision a^-ninat it. And beeidai, thia 
plan, securing the pablicatioii in the liitn'la oC Amerioui oitixena, 
win prevent the BOoonragement of Uritisb agenoios and bronoh 
ettablishcnents, aoiuaoh appretieoded among as. 

S. A Htill niiire important pioint is this — that, as the boolcs 
will be issued by American publishera, thsj are likelj to con- 
form to Americsn ideas in respeet to price. One of the ap- 
prehenaions of international copyright, as heretofore proposed, 
faju been that, inasmuch as British books would bo to a great 
extent sappliod to us bj Britisli pnhiisbors — either directly from 
London or through their agents hero — that they woidd b« in 
expenMve and nnsoitable forms, ujid at nil events would come 
to ns at einggerBt^ prices. The plan proposed evidently re- 
move? all reoaonnbli' grunnds for tiicse ajiprelifiiaione. 

8. It is true tlint Itritish works, thus eujiyrjgbtixl and pnh- 
tUied in this conntry, would be somewhat dearer than thoy are 
now, withont copyright. But bow mucbl The o 
of copyright for an author, in the United States, is 1 
on the retail price. Let us double this, and we have twenty per 
cent, as the increased cost of the English book to the retwl 
purchaser. Thos, instead of paying one dollar for a work by 
Dickens or Bnlwer or Macanlay, we shall pay one dollar and 
twenty cents — half of tliis addition going to the author, and half 
to the publisher.* 

4. Will the American reader object to this? I.eC him consider 
the reasons for It. Is the first place, it is not pleasant, even 
though it he lawful, to read Mr. Dickens's book, and refuse to 
make him any return for the pleasure be baa given ua. In the 
absence of any arrangement by which we can render to him thia 
compensation, we may lawfully peruse his worka; but when a 

• In mnny, and probably most cases, the infreased cost of boobs 
wonid not be more than ten por cent,, and for this re*HOD, thai ws 
should imp<n Eneliab etercatype plates, Ibiix Diakinf^ • great saving m 
tha outlay of CHpilal. This would oertuinly ba the oaae in works em- 
bellished with engravings. 


plan IB proposed to m, and that a reasonable plan, and oompati* 
ble with the best interestB of the ooantry — then snoh refosal be- 
comes Tolantary and designed on oar part, and is a willful taking 
without liberty, which is a plain definition of a very disrq)ntable 
act. No American can be gratified by snch a state of things; 
on the contrary, I beUeve that every truly American heart wonld 
rejoice to make ample compensation to British authors, for the 
privilege of perusing thdr worka. The English language bdng 
our mother-tongue, we daim, as our birthri^t, firee access to 
the great fountain of British literature, that has become the 
common property of the Anglo-Saxon race; hut we will not 
teeh to rob the living author of thejruit of his genius or his toU, 

5. Besides, we Americans should remember two other things : 
first, that in consideration of the proposed arrangement in behalf 
of Mr. Dickens and his brethren of the British quill, our Irvings, 
Prescotts, Longfellows — the brotherhood of the American quill 
— ^would receive a corresponding compensation on the other side 
of the water. This would be something. Would it not be 
agreeable to every American thus to certify his gratitude to 
those of his countrymen who not only bestow upon him his most 
exalted sources of pleasure and improvement, but eminently con- 
tribute to the best interests of society ? 

But, in the second place, there are considerations infinitely 
higher than those of a personal nature. Literature is at once a 
nation's glory and defence.* Without its poets, orators, histo- 

♦ *' But are we to have— ought we have — a literature of our own f I 
Bay yes — we not only are to have, but we ought to have such a thing. 
It would do more for us in a time of peace, than our battles on the sea 
or our battles on the land in a time of war. In fiftot, authors are the 
militia of a country on the peace establishment; it is they that are to 
defend us and our firesides, the character of our country, our institu- 
tions, our hope and our £uth, when they are assailed by the pou-militia 
of Europe. And tliough — as I have had occasion to say before — ^it may 
be cheaper to buy our literature ready-made ; cheaper, so far as the 
money goes, for the present age * to import it in bales and hogsheads,' 
than to make it for ourselves, yet in the long run it would be snre to 
turn out otherwise. It would be cheaper to buy toldiert ready-made, 


Bbflrty, the «rti| the genfoi of Grseot wonll htsm 
pvkhed agn ego. These^ being reoorded and raflaotod by Hi 
fifflntnra, the became immortal — aiimYiiig ovea oooqiieBt and 
i^winn and the lapae of time. Would joa that our '^^tHra^ 
l^ory ihoold be exalted — that our fiber^ ihoold be Ttndioatedy 
Mrteaded, perpetoatedt Would yon that arte ahoold ariie and 
flonriih among na: that a noble and lofty i^teh be given to the 
natiwial mind, and that a noble and lofty destiny adueTed, at 
kit be leoorded, reflected, and carried down to after-timeat 
Whoerer has theae aqtottone^ thereby pleada for a natJonal 

To aoob I preeent the ooneideraticm that thia, like every thing 
elee^ most five by enooaragemeot That literature ia encouraged 
in this ooimtry, and, in some reepecta, as it is encouraged no- 
where dee, I admit That we surpass all other natioDs in our 
periodical press, in oor books for primary edocotion, in the liter- 
ature of the people, in manuals for the various arts and profes- 
nons, is undeniable. Nor are wo wholly delinquent in the higher 
forms of literature — science, history, romance, poetry, eloquence. 
In these things we have made a good beginning, but yet we are 
only at the threshold of what we can do and should do. In pro- 

the mercenaries of Europe to defend us in time of war, than it woald be 
to make soldiers of oar fathers and brothers and sons — cheaper in the 
outset, perhaps ; and yet, who wonld leave his country to the oare of a 
military stranger — to the good fkith of hired legions f Where would be 
the economy, at\er a few years ? Even if it were cheaper to import oor 
defenders, therefore, it would be safer and wiser to manufacture de- 
fenders ; and if in a time of war, why not in a time of peace! 

'* But granting a native literature to be essential to our character — and 
who is there to deny it f— for books travel the earth over ; books are 
read everjwhere ; and every great writer, every renowned author con- 
fers a dignity upon his nutivo country, of more worth and of more dura- 
bility than the warrior does — granting it, I say, to be so important tor 
the character and safety of a people in time of peace, how are we to 
have it? By paying for it. By making it worth the while of our young 
men to give up a portion of their time to the study of writing, not as a 
boybh pastime — no, nor even as a trade, but as an art — a science.^'-* 


portion as we love and honor onr native land ; in proportion as 
we feel desirous that onr country should be honored by the 
world— just in that proportion, by every logical consideration, 
should we feel bound to protect and encourage its literature. 

And yet, our actual position is opposed to this. We allow 
untaxed British authorship to come into this country to the 
detriment, the discouragement of our own. American anthora, 
in competition with British authors, are in the position that our 
manufacturers would be, if British merchandise were gratuitously 
distributed in our markets. The scheme herein proposed reme- 
dies these evils ; it taxes British literature, and thus — ^withhold- 
ing the encouragement it receives from being freely given away 
— ^prevents it from being a fatal and discouraging competitor of 
our own literature. 

For these reasons, as well as others which need not be sug- 
gested, I believe the proposed scheme, or somethmg resembling 
it, would be acceptable to the country. If the arrangement is 
made by treaty, it may be stipulated that it is to be terminated 
after five years, at the pleasure of either party. In its nature, 
therefore, it will be provisional and experimental, and may be 
terminated or modified, as time and experience may dictate. If 
it be said, either in this country or in Great Britain, that this is 
not all that may be desired, let us consider whether, as a prac- 
tical question, it is not as much as it is now possible to obtain. 
It is to be considered that International Copyright is a modem 
idea ; and it is not altogether unreasonable that in dealing with 
it — especially in this country, where so many and so important 
interests are at stake — we should follow the cautions steps of the 
mother country in granting copyright to her owtj f i'h'.ons, which 
at first was limited to twenty-one years. 

Such are the views I had formed three years ago. 
I was then in Europe ; since my return, I am con- 
firmed in them by various considerations, and espe- 


cially by findiog that some enlightened publishers, 
who have hitherto doubted the expediency of inter- 
national copyright, in view of some such arrangement 
aa is here suggested, are now earnestly in favor of it. 
Why, then, should we not try it? 

One thing ia certain — the subject will never rest, 
until loteniational Copyright is adopted, in some form 
or other. It is based on the same abstract but Btill 
manifest right, by which every laborer claims the use 
and behoof of the fruita of his toil; admitting that 
governments may regulate and modify these rights, 
according to the public good, still they may not alto- 
gether annihilate them. I have taken the ground 
that governments, in local copyright laws, deny the 
absolute and perpetual claim ; they reiiiae to base 
their protection on common law ; but still one thing 
is to be considered, and thaXi3,t}ia.t heal copyright every- 
where does in fad make some compensation to the author, 
and thus substantially admits bis claim. We, who 
refuse international copyright, must reflect that so 
far as we are concerned, we deny all compensation to 
the foreign authcv; and thus are manifestly in the 
wrong.* We may pretend, indeed, that local copy- 

• In Franco, copyright wo» regulaWd by roysl deeraee, tilt 1789, when 
■ general tair ww p«»ii;<t, cstabtiBhiDg the old pmctico, which gave the 
lathor copyright io perpetuity, except ttiat in case of sale to n publiaber, 
it tenninated at hia deHth. At present, hy aew of 1T»8 and 1810, th« 
«u(hor hiiii copyright diiriun his life, and then liw children twenty yeaw 
■Aer. Ifllierc are no children, the actual heira enjoy it for leu ysara. 

The copyright Ian- of Knglaiid is stated elMwhcrc. 

Id Holland and Belgium, the oopyright Uwi of Frano« tie adopted. 


right affords all needful encooragement; but is it fidr 
for us, refusing ourselves to contribute to this, to take 
to our use and behoof the articles for which we thus 
refuse to pay — and that against the protest of those 
whose toil has produced them ? Is that honorable — 
is it fair play ? 

The law is similar in Prussia, and also in the Zollverein, the heirs en- 
foying the right, however, for thirty instead of twenty years, after the 
author's deceaao. 

In Rnssia, tlie law gives copyright during the lifetime cf the author, 
and twenty-flve years after. An additional period of ten years is grant- 
ed, if an edition is publiBhed within five years before the expiration of 
the copyright. "^ 

Sardinia adopted the French law in 1846. 

In I'ortugal the law is similar to that of Prussia. 

Spain formerly gave unlimited copyright, bat often to religiona com- 
munities, and not to the author. At pr^ent, the author has copyright 
during his lifetime, and his heirs fifty years aft;er his death. 

Prussia was the first nation to pass a general act, ofibring International 
Copyright to all countries that would reciprocate the same. This was 
incorporated into her copyright law of 1837. England followed this 
example in 1888. 

Treaties for International Copyright have been entered into between 
Austria, Sardinia, and Tessin, 1840 ; Prussia and England, 1846; France, 
Sardinia, Haaover, England, and Portugal, in 1846, 1850, and 1851. 

France has added a law prohibiting the counterfeiting of foreign books 
and works of art, without requiring reciprocal stipulations from other 

It is to be remarked, that International Copyright between these Eu- 
ropean States, generally having different languagee, and trifling interests 
at stake, is very easy and natural ; it is practically a very different matter 
between England and the United States, which have the same language, 
and immense industrial arts, trades, and professions, directiy connected 
with the subject. There may, indeed, be as good a reason why such an 
agreement should exist between Great Britain and the United States as 
between Great Britain and France, but still, as it involves infinitely 
greater consequences, it is reasonable to treat the subject with more 
mature and careful consideration. 




Vt mus 0»' 

In my last letter I preaented to you some sug- 
gestioDB respecting Intcrnatioual Copyright. In do- 
ing this I have naturally gathered up my recollections 
of the book trade in the United Staiea for the last 
forty years, and compared the past with the present. 
I am so impressed with certain promineEt and re- 
markable reeoltB and inferences, that I deem it proper 
to present them to you. These may be groaped on- 
der two general heads : 

1. The great extension of the book prodaction in 
the United States. 

2. The large and increasing lelatiTe proportion of 
American works. 

Unfortunately we have no official resources for 
exact statistics upon this subject The general fact 
of a vast development in all the branches of industry 
connected with the press, is palpable to all persons 
having any knowledge on the subject ; but the de- 
tails upon which this is founded, and the precise de- 
gree of increase, are to a considerable extent matters 
of conjecture. Nevertheless, there are some facts 
within our reach, and by the grouping of these, we 


may approacli the results we seek, with a sufficient 
degree of certainty, for all practical purposes. 

I. As to the extension of the book manufacture. 

The Book PBODUonoN ob MANUFAonruBE in 1820. 

Let US go back to the year 1S20, and endeavor to estimate 
the gross amount of this trade in the United States at that 
period. The following statement, it is supposed, may approach 
the truth: 

Amount of books manufaotored and sold in the United States in 1880. 

School books $750,000 

Claswioal books 250,000 

Theological books 150,000 

Law books 200,000 

Medical books 150,000 

All others 1,000,000 

Gross amount $2,500,000 

S^~ The space between 1820 and 1830 may be considered as the pe-> 
riod in which our national literature was founded ; it was the age in 
which Irving, Cooper, Bryant, Halleck, Paulding, J. R. Drake, John 
Neal, Brainard, Percival, Ilillhouse, and others, redeemed the country 
from the sneer that nobody read American books. During this period 
we began to have confidence in American genius, and to dream of lit- 
erary ambition. The North American Review, already established, 
kept on its steady way, and other attempts were made in behalf of 
periodical literature, but with little success. 

Thx Book Manufaotubb nr 1880. 

If we take 1830 as a period for estimating the product of the 
book manufacture, we suppose it may stand thus : 

School books $1,100,000 

ClosHical books 850,000 

Theological books 250,000 

Law books 800,000 

Medical books 200,000 

All others 1,800,000 

Gross amount $8,500,000 

1 0" This shows an increase of production of forty per cent, in ten years. 

emtiBiOAi^ AtfSooonoAL, no. SSI 

From 1880 n IMO wu au tn at greni and poBitive dnr*lnjim*nt| ind 
thi ronadition uf a nlill ninm utito nm of pruerow and upaii'iii'n in 
the b«ok iniie, It may bg oanariiorcd os thu point at nlilcU oaf UtDn»- 
ture became aslnbllihed in our a<rn oouSilonco, uiil M Mme denrto, In 
the rupee* of ibo world. I>iirlli^ thSa poriod, liio tbUoirliig umhm 
eiUier fint spjiMrod or bocstne omineiilly «ii»|hoiioim : 

In Higtor; — Pnwcoll, Hporlt*, Bunuroft, Irving. 

Id Uidiflnuli«i — Vaj, K»rr*r, and the iii]lf.UD|;ht Bowtlitoh, vhou 
tnuwUtioD or the Uiotmniqae Colssle of I^plif e, it ndniitlcd to b« att- 
periortoChe oiii^iial, bjr rouoil of ita happy lUoBCntJaDa and added dla- 

In hhilologr—Webatfir, vhoaa qiiarlo Dictionwy i> now adinltloil bj 
tugh BriUnh aatharitj to tBk« {meedtiaoe of all otbera. 

In Theolt^— Bunli, BamH, Norton, Stuart, Wooda, Jnoka, UoWn- 
ton, Bpring, A. Alaiander, Diirbin, Bodge, Bmgt, Olin, L. Baaabtr, 
Tjnie, Thomwell. 

la PoUtiail &x.Tioiny, Philoaophj, Sm.—E. C. Cany, Oolton, Ltvber, 
Wa;L>nd, Upliaui, Tiiokec. 

Id Uetiunl Htlcuce, Nutiirai History, Ao.— Sitlimau, Ueiiry, Morton, 
Ko^-ora, KedflelJ, £»?)-, Anduboo, GliiulaJ, Daiia, Gniy, NntUJI, Bnr- 

Iq JariapradaQM, IntcniaUoiul I«v, ifcc. — Kent, Story, Wheaton, 
Dner, Coweri. 

la UediciDO and Bargery— Dud^IUod, N. Smith, N. B. Smith, Fige- 
loir, Dowees, Beok, Doaoe, Wood, Uott, Eberle, 

In TraTsb, Geography, Ao. — Scboolcmlt, Eaieheabarger, Btepheoa, 

Id Eaaay aod CriliciBin— Chsnniag, the tno Everetta, EmerMD. 

Id Fiotion— Cooper, Ware, Simma, Bird, Kennedy, Poa, Hiaa Sodg- 
irick, Mra. ChiJd, Miss Leslie, Fay, HoffiUBn. 

Id Poetry— Brjau I,* Spragae, I'ierpout, Dana, Willis, Longfellow, 
Whitlier, Mrs. Sigoumej, Uellen, Morriii, HcLellan, Preutioe, BenjamiD. 

Id Edncational and Cl^arch Mueio— Lowell Haion, probably the moat 
auoceaafnl anthor in the United StatOfln 

Enbiiperiodistobeuoted for the effeotive labon ofW.C. Wood- 
bridge, Jamea Q. Carter, Horace Mann, Henry Barnard, and otlien. In 
behalf of common-BChooi educaUoa, and an imtnense improrament in 
eohool-books, both in literary and meohanioal eieoujion, by meana of 
which (reography, grammar, and hi»torj, very eiteneively beoame oom 
mo3 achool atudiea. Daring the same period, history, chemistry, natural 
philoaophy, moral philosophy, rhetoric, geology, vere all popnIariMd, 
aad intrcidnced into the poblic high-scbooli. The change in sobool- 
booka during this period amonnted to » revolution, and resulted in 


ig eipftDsic 

i, which DOW marks tbe 

BQbJeot of edncation in the United Sutee. Thia also was the era of An- 
nula, which added lu^ly to the amoont oflhe book-trade. 


This is the en of the establifihineDt of the Penny Prees, wh « is at 
onoe a Bign and instniment of progress. Its home is in the laldst of 
business, edacation, literature — ^in the yery breathing and heart-beating 
of life and action : and it gives impulse and vigor to all these inter- 
ests. So powerful an instrument must sometimes seem to produoe 
evil, but on the whole it must be regarded as a great civilixer. We maj 
advert to a single illustration of its expanding influences : the three 
principal penny papers of New York, at the present day, 1856 --the 
Herald, Tribune, and Times— each of them is a political paper, with 
political opinions, yet each treats politics as a matter of general infonna 
tioD, aiid publishes the principal doings and documents of all partiea. 
This is not so in any country where the penny press does not exist. 

This is also the era in which monthly and semi-mothly Magazinea 
b^an to live and thrive among us. Among the most noted, are the 
Knickerbocker, Merchants' Magazine, Graham's, Southern Literary Mes- 
senger, all continued to the present time, with others which have ceased 
to exist 

The Book Makijfaotubx in 1840. 
The book prodnctioii for 1840 may be estimated as follows :* 

School books $2,000,000 

Classical books 560,000 

Theological books 800,000 

Law books 400,000 

Medical books 250,000 

All others 2,0 00,000 

Gross amount $5,500,000 

f^gr This calculation shows an increase of about sixty per cent, for ten 


From 1840 to 1850 was a period of general prosperity in the country, 
and the full impulse of the preceding period continued through this. 

American authorship was more appreciated at home and abroad — a 
circumstance greatiy due to the enlightened and patriotic labors of Dr. 
Griswold, who may be considered as among the first and most influential 
of our authors in cultivating a respect for our own literature. New Amer- 
ican publications became very numerous during this period ; the style 
of book manufacture was greatiy improved ; numerous magazines were 

* The following is a table of estimates of the various Industrial Inter- 
ests connected with the press, presented to Congress in behalf of the 
Convention which met at Boston in 1842. Mr. Tilcston, of Dorchester, 
and myself were the committee appointed to proceed to Washington to 
enforce the wishes of the petitioners, founded upon this exhibition. 
Mr. Fillmore, the chairman of the Committee of Ways and Means, then 

BOTOElaAI., ausodctioal, sto. oSS 

Ibmdad; th« penny prcMWMiJiffuM'l.Bnd Wiune mora clsvatsd in :ta 
ehancter uid moTD onlargod in itsB>y>p« — several ofthe editoni oonnectcd 
with it mwkinff the age by tlieir Mijucily. vigor, »Qd Urgeuen of tIbw. 

Tim en fe nI»o mwltiiit by ihe prodnotiDn of nameroua irerkt richly 
DIaElnled by attsl and wood au^viiigB. The Hupen entend apon Ha 
puMtoAtJOQ of hutcLiome edjtJODH <jf booka m all depBrtniGDl* of litera- 
ture, many at them embdliahed by fine wood engntTlngio ; the Appjo- 
tontfrf NewTwic, Butter of Philadolpliia. and olhen, irave tsthe publia 
tb«e Imoriona volnin**, aoceMuiTi of llio aumiaJs, rilrcudy alJndod to. 
The laecxaa of these rioh and DOally works aignaliiea the xlviuice Of 
pubtle laate. Putaam g^voa UB WaBihiDgt'>a Irvm^'a worka in a ^mne 
rnited to their oxtwllonoe, and k linla later, the Ilomes of Atnerii'ui 
AQthora, also lu a s^te suited la the subject. About Che eaiue tiox the 
wrUen for the Knickerbocker praent ita vetorui editor nith a Memorial 
— an exquisite volnmo — aa much a aign of the pablia ai'predatiao aa 

The iiamoiue development of the aebool-book trade le a filature of 
this em; wo now fee cditioin of ilvf , ton. twenty Ihonsnud oopies of 

ge'.gny.r-. jriiiiii, ,r-, -r..-:i.i,t; ., r. ■^.[.■r-. S|..-:.i..^ i....ik^ tOUQt 

by 111." ■!.■.■:.■ ; III- (iiuohan- 

ieal ohanictfr of these works is ohangred ; they have cast their btomi- 
paper alongh, and appear in the oostly dress of fine p^>er, flae illue- 
tnlions, and good biadiDg. Twenty thoasaud dtdlan are paid Ibr tiie 
getting up of a echool geography I 

oharged with IVamiug the Tariff bill wbich soon afWr passed into a 
ikw, gave as a patient bearing, and the views of the peUtionera were 
duly considered and acceded to. 






No. orbMki, 
Ac, snniiaJly 








8,000,000 N<* 





Type A StMMtyps Fonnd- i 




Printing. iDclDdlng Bewa- 




Mofit of the aathors which we haye named aa belonging to the pre- 
ceding era, shed their luster upon this. An«ong those who now fint 
entered the lists, we may name — 

In History — Uildreth, IngersoU, Eliot, Hawks, T. Irving, Frost, 
Headley, Abbott, Brodhead, Mrs. Willard, Loeaing, C. A. Goodrich, 
and soon after, Motley, who, at the ver>' outset, has attained a high 
reputation. In political history — Toung, Benton. 

In Jurisprudence — Greenleaf, George T. Curtis, W. W. Story, and 
soon after, B. R. Curtis, T. Parsons, Edwards, Dayton, Dean, K F. 
Smith, Dunlap, Waterman, WiUard. 

Mathematics — Pierce, Davies, Courtenay, Milllngton, Hackley, Loomia. 

Philology— Prof. C. A. Goodrich, editor of Webster's Dictionary; 
Worcester, Pickering. 

Political Economy, Philosophy, &c. — £. P. Smith, Mahan, Tappan, 

Theology — Bushnell, Hawes, Cheever, Wainwright, Wines, Hunting- 
ton, Spring, Wisner, J. A. Alexander, Taylor, McClintock, E. Beecher, 
Williams, Stevens, Fisk, Dowling, Cross, Conant, Choules. 

Medicine and Surgery — J. C. Warren, Greene, Parker, Bartlett, Cly- 
mer, Drake, Pancoast, H. H. Smith, Harris, Carson ; and since 1850, 
Bedford, Watson, Gross, Flint, Lee, Blackman. 

General Science, Natural History, Geography, &c. — Aga^siz and 
Guyot — whom we now claim as citizens ; with Bartlett, Squiers, Maury, 
Mitchell, J. D. Dana, Baird, Hall, Emmons, Mahan, D. A. Wells, 
Wood, St. John, Wilkes — the latter giving us a new continent by dis- 
covery ; Lynch, who has furnL'^hed the best account of the Dead Sea and 
its environs ; and, we may add, Com. Perry, who introduces us to Japan. 

In Classical Literature — Lcverett, Anthon, Andrews, Gould, Brooks, 
McC'lintock, Owen, Kendrick, Sophocles, Johnson, Thacher. 

Essay and Criticism — Prescott, Chapin, Giles, Spraguc, Hague, Charles 
Snmuer, Whipple, Palfhiy, Winthrop, Beecher, Cheever, Milbum. 

Travels, Geography, <fec. — Catlin, Stephens, Curtis, Bayard Taylor, 
Bartlett, Willis, Soutligate, Robinson, Olin, Kendall, Fremont, Kidder, 
Parkman, Coggshall, Colton. 

In light, racy writing, full of life-pictures and luscious fancies— Curtis, 
Cozzens, Mitchell, Bayard Taylor, Willis, Matthews, Baldwin. 

In Miscellaneous Literature — Ticknor. Tuckerman, Longfellow, Gria- 
wold, Mrs. Child, Hall, Headley, Mrs. Kirkland, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. 
Ellet, Mrs. Halo, Seba Smith ; and in 1856, E. A. and G. L. Duyckinck, 

In Fiction — Melville, Kimball, Mayo, Mrs. Stowe, Miss Mackintosh, 
Alice Carey, Elizabeth Warner, Mrs. Southworth, Miss Wormley, Mrs. 
Oakos Smith, Minnie Myrtle. 

In Poetry — Holmes, Ix)wcll, Buchanan Read, Bayard Taylor, Saxo, 
Epe? Sargent, W. R. Wallace, T. W. Parsons, Craucli, Fields. 

Books of Practical Utility — Miss Catharine Beecher, Miss Leslie, Fanny 
Feru, G. P. Putnam, J. L. Blake, Downmg, Haven, and many otbera. 

mnoBKUi., AHaaDomcuL, sia 886 

It b notpowibk toghretll tiMsaiiMBof thoM who here distliifiiklMd 
UMiBMltw in SdnQfttkNul Hinnals ; woaoog tbtm^ however, an the lbl« 
lowing: ICitohaU, OhMy, 8llliU^ Moim, Willanl, Montoith, MeNeDj, 
Ktob, MiM Cornell, Mrs. WilUrd, in School Geognphiee; In Raeden 
md SpeUets, Emervon, Perker, Town, Seanden, Swnn, Beiyent, Tower, 
tfoGoffle, Cobb, Lovdl; in Qnunman, Kirkhem, Clerk, Brown, B. CL 
Smith, Weld, Welle, Delton, Greene, Pineo; in ArithmetieB, Xmereoa, 
DeTiee, Oreenleef^ l^omeon, Stodderd, B. C. Smith, Admme; in vsrloot 
other worke, Hooker, Gelbuidet, Gometook, Borritt, Mre. Pheipe, Pfege, 
Menefleld, H. N. Dey, Boyd, Miae Dwight, Dariey, GiUeeple ; in lle|ie 
and Atlam, Mitchell, J. H. Colton. The hMer hae in prograae, and 
nearly completed, the beet Geqeral AUae ever pabliehed in any oonntiy. 

The Book MAinnrAoruBn or 1850. 
The en of 1850 affords the fbDowing eBtfanates: 

School booki $5,S00,000 

ClaflAical books 1,000,000 

Theological books 500,000 

Law books 700,000 

Mctlicnl books 400,000 

All other books 4,4(X),000 

Gross amount $12,50i>,000 

This shows an advaucc of one hundred and twenty-five per cent in 
ten years. 

From 1850 t«> 1850, the moiiiontuiii of preceiling jHiritwlH was 
reinforce<l by the quickening iinjmlse of a liost of female writers, 
wbtwe success presents a marked plienomeuon in the history of 
our literature at this time. 

To this era Uloujri* Mrn. Stowe, who, so fur as the sale of her works is 
c<»nccr»etl, iimv be cousidercd the most KUCcesHful woman-writer ever 
known; Miss Wanier, Fanny Fern, Mrs. Stephens, Mi>s Cuniniinjfs, 
Marion llarlaiid I'Mins llawen), and others, jiroihico books of whicli 
twentv, thirtv. fortv, fif\v thousatul are sold in a vcar. 

About this time is the successful era of monthly mafirazines, as Har- 
pers', Putunm's, &c. The former outstrips all otlier works of the kind 
yet published, i.'*Huintr one hundred and seventy thousand uumbore a 
month ! 

The lM*t ten year« hnvf; been luArA for the pro«luetion of local, state, 
town, an«l city histories, as well as cenealo^fieal histories. Many of 
these are of irnjal intercut, ^'(»ini: back to the lights and shadows of 
colonial jHiriod?*. Here are the future resources of historic poetry and 
romance, of paintiujj and sculpture. 

Vol. 11.— 17 


Daring this period there have also been produced nameroob valaable 
and costly works by the General Government, relating to navigation, 
geography, <&o., and also local, State sarveys, under State patronage, 
of great interest and utility. 

Daring this period, pictorial- sheet literature is brought to a climax 
in every form, up to the blanket-folio. This is the age of vigorous ad- 
vertising, by means of which *' fifty thousand copies are sold before a 
book is printed." 

This is also the millennial era of Spiritual Literature, which has now 
its periodicals, its presses, and its libraries. 

It is also the climax of the Thrilling, Agonizing Literature, and which, 
by the way, is thus rather wickedly mocked by the poet of the ** Fruit 
Festival" already alluded to : 

**This is the new * Sensation' Book— 

A work of 80 much foroe 
The first edition all blew up, 

And smashed a cart and horse I 
A Mend who read the mannacript 

Witboat sufficient care, 
Was torn to rags, although be had 

Six cables round his bair ! 

" *The Eggs ofTbought* 1*11 reoommend 

As very tbrilling lays; 
Borne poets poacli— but here Is one 

Tbat all the papors praise. 
The school coninii^hioners oat West 

Have urderod seventy tons, 
That widely they niajr be dispersed 

Among tbefr setting suns 1 

** And here's a most Astounding Tale — 

A volume full of fire; 
The author's name la known to fltme— 

Btnpendous Stabbs, EMjuIre ! 
And here's ' The Howling Ditch of Cnme,' 

By A Sapphira atresia : 
Two hundred men fell dead last night 

A workiof St the press 1' 

Thb Book Manufacture in 1356. 

The amount of the production of our American book-trade at 
this time — ^tbat is, for the year 1856 — may be estimated at about 
sixteen millions of dollars ; and the annual increat^ of this in- 
terest at about a million of dollars a year. 

This sum may be distributed as follows: 


PMdnotdinNetrTorkoitjinthejMrlSSa $«,000,000 

In other parts of the States Albany, Schenectady, Utioa, 87- 
nome, Cannovia, Ithaca, Bochester, Aabnm, BnfUo, Ao» 000,000 

InBoeton S,600,000 

In other New England towna— -New Haven, Hartford, Prov^ 
idenoe, Bprinf^field, Northampton, Salom, Newhoiyporti 

Portland, Keene, dko. ^^000 

In Phfladelphia $,400,000 

priM oparatloM of the book-Cnile to tblt ttty an vMnaem^ bat a 
lv|e uBomit of the books dlstribntad flmn thto point art mum- 
JiMtaied olMwlwra. TbebooMof LippiBeott,OnuBboAO&do« 
a krger book bosliiMi than so j other In the world. They are 
▼try extensive pobllsbeie, bat tbej often order whole editkae of 
other hoaeae.] 

In Cincinnati 1,800,000 

prUe dtf to lete tiian a eentmy old, fkom its flnit log-oebln ; yet sa 
excellent aathority says: " la 1860 this western tAtj, with a pop- 
nlatinn of 118,000, has twelre pnbllshinK hoones, which give em- 
ployment to seven hnndred people. The valae of hooks and 
periodicals puhlbhed hero is $1,JK}0,000 a year. I consider that 
there is mfire reading of hooks in Ohio than in Germany. The 
chief works in demand are religions and educational.'**] 

In the Northwcrtteni States — Detroit, Chicniero, Milwaakee.. . 100,000 

In the Dibtriot of Columbia— by the Government 760,000 

The Southern and Southwestern States consume a consider- 
able amount of book^, thou/;h smiJl in compariHon to the 
rest of the United States. Their production of books and 
of literature is still less in proportion. Baltimore, Rich- 
mond, Charleston, Columbus, Savannah, Mncon, Mobile, 
New Orleans, St. Louis, and Louisville, are considerable 
markets for the sale of books, and a few works are pub- 
lished in some of these places. In Baltimore and Loui^ 
▼ille, the publishinfj^ interest is extensive. We may esti- 
mate the whole book production in this section at 750,000 

Total in the United States $16,000,000 

You will bear in mind that this estimatey throughout^ regards only books 
vinufactured in the United States; the amount of books imported is 
robably about a million of dollars a year. If so, the whole consump- 
on of book.<« in this country* is probably not far from seventeen millions 
f dolloTB annually I 

♦ See the " Bibliographical Guide to American Literature" of Messrs. 
riibner & Co., London — an intcrcstinsr work, abounding in curious and 
artling yet gratifying facts, in respect to the literature of the United 


Now, my dear C . . . ., you must remember that the 
details of these estimates are not founded upon pre- 
cise official statistics, but are only inferences from 
general facts tolerably well established. ConsideriDg 
these as estimates merely, they may still be such 
probable approximations to the truth as to give us 
a general view of the amount and movement of the 
book production of the United States. This, of 
course, leaves out the newspaper and periodical press, 
which circulates annually six millions of copies, and 
five hundred millions of separate numbers! I do 
not dilate upon the fact that we have two hundred 
colleges, a hundred thousand elementary schools, 
fifty theological seminaries, twenty law schools, forty 
medical schools, and that our public and school libra- 
ries number five millions of volumes ;* yet these are 
to be taken in connection with the tabular views 1 
have given. Then, I ask, have we not a literature ? 
I now invite your attention to another topic : 
II. The large and increasing proportion of American 
productions — that is^ productions of American mind — in 
the books published in the United States, 

Taking, as before, certain prominent facts as the basis of cal- 
culation, we arrive at the following conclusions : 

In 1820, the book manufacture of the United States was based 
upon works of which thirty per cent, was the production of 
American authors, and seventy per cent, of British authors. 

* See Triibner's Bibliographical Guide, before quoted, page xxvii. It 
is there estimated that in 1860 the public libraries will amount to ten 
mlllioDB of volumes. 


Wnm 18S0 to 1880, m m have seen, a ooofiderable impnlee 
^▼en to American Utentara, whioh now bega^ Mnaibly to HimmMA the 
Telative proportion of British worlu among qb. 

In 1880, the book production of the United States embnioed 
forty per cent, of American works, and siity per cent of British 

From 1880 to 1840, atill greater aotivitj prevailed in American 
anthorahip, and aohool-'booke were eztensiyely multiplied ; we shall see, 
therefore, during this period, a corresponding relative incnaae of Amei^ 

In 1840, we estimate the proportion of American woifa to be 
fifty-five per cent, and that of British works forty-five per cent. 

C9" From 1840 to 1850 has been the most thriving era of American 
literatore, and daring this ten years we And that the balance haa tamed 
lugely in favor of American works. 

In 1850, we estimate the proportion of American works to be 
seventy per cent, and of British works to be thirty per cent 

In 1856, it is probable that the proportion of American works 

is eighty per cent, and that of British books twenty per cent. 

5^" It will he uruUrstood that we here ftpeah of all new editions of every 
hind: of thsMKtrks of living British authors ^ the proportion is much less 
than twenty ptr-cent. 

Some general observations shoald be made by way of explanation. 

1. School-bookd constitute a very larj^e proportion of the book 
product of the United States ; probably thirty to forty per cent, of the 
whole. Sixty years ago we used English readerx, spell iug-booka, and 
arithmetics; forty years ago we used English books adapted to our 
wants. Now our school-books are superior to those of all other coun- 
tries, and are wholly by American authors. More than a million of Web- 
ster's Spelling-books are published every year. We produce annually 
more school-books than the whole continent of Europe! 

2. The classical works in use, formerly altogether British, are now 
seven-eighths American. 

8. The elementary treatises on law, medicine, theology, and science, 
are mostly American. 
4- The dictionaries in creneral use are American. 
6. The popular reading of the masses is tlirec-fourths American. 

6. Three-fourths of the new novels and romances are American. 

7. The new foreign literature, reproduced among us, consists mainly of 
vorks of science, philosophy, jurisprudence, medicine and surgery, di- 
rinity, criticism, ojid general literature. Thirty per cent, of the works of 


these dameB— oonftUtuting the higher walks of litentare generally— - 
are of foreign origin. — See NcU IL^ p. 662, wi. ti. 

Now, not insisting upon the precise accuracy of 
these estimates, but still regarding them as approaches 
to the truth, we have the basis for some interesting 

Though, as an independent nation, we are less than 
a centuT)' old, and though we have been busily en- 
gaged in exploring wildernesses, in felling forests, 
founding States, building cities, opening roads; in 
laying down railways, in teaching steamboats to 
traverse the waters before only known to the Indian 
canoe ; in converting lakes and rivers — ^the largest in 
the world — into familiar pathways of commerce, and 
as a consummation of our progress, in netting half a 
continent with lines of telegraph — still, we have found 
time, and courage, and heart, to outstrip all that the 
world has before seen, in the diffusion of knowledge, 
by means of the periodical press; in the number and 
excellence of our common schools ; in the number, 
cheapness, and excellence of our books for elemen- 
tary education. 

Though not claiming comparison with the Old 
World in the multitude of new works of the highest 
class in literature and science, we have still made a 
good beginning, and have many readers in the other 
hemisphere, under the eaves of universities and col- 
leges, which have been founded for centuries. 

In the midst of the haste and hurry of life, induced 

mgnwiuATiy AJKWODOTtoijsj nro. 891 

by the vast fields of enterprise around ns and beck- 
oning us on to the ohase — ^we still find a larger por^ 
tion of our people devoted to education, and read- 
ing, and meditation, and reflection, than is to be met 
with in any other land ; as a corollary of this, we 
find, relatively, more hands, more purses, more heads 
and hearts, devoted to the support of literature and 
the dissemination of knowledge, than in any other 
country of equal population. 

It is also to be observed that, after all that has 
been said and surmised as to the dependence of Amer- 
ican literature upon the British press, that the ele- 
ment of British mind, in the production of American 
publications, is really but about twenty per cent, 
and this proportion is rapidly diminishing. Of the 
new books annually produced in the United States, 
not more than one-fifth part are either directly or in- 
directly of foreign origin. 

It is, however, to be at the same time admitted and 
reflected upon, that our deficiency and our depend- 
ence lie chiefly in the higher efforts of mind and 
genius — those which crown a nation's work, and 
which confirm a nation's glory ; and it is precisely 
here that we are now called upon, by every legitimate 
stimulus, to rouse the emulation, the ambition, the 
patriotism of our country.* It is, as tributary to such 

* " In order that America may take Itrt due rank in the commonwealth 
of natiouSf a literature is needed wiiieh shall be the exponent of its 
higher life. Wo live in times of turbulence and change. There is a 
general dissatis&ction, manifeating itself often in mde contests and radar 


a consummation, that I would earnestly ui^ upon 
our people, and those whom they have placed in au- 
thority, to adopt the modified but still desirable 
measure of International Copyright, already suggest- 
ed. Just at present this would be a little against us, 
that is to say, we should buy more copyrights of the 
British than they of us ; but, at the rate of progress 
hitherto attained by American literature, before twen- 
ty years — probably before ten years — are past, the 

speech, with the gulf which separates principles fVom actions. Men aro 
Btrnggling to realize dim ideals of right and truth, and each failure addn 
to the desperate earnestness of their efforts. Beneath nil the shrewd- 
ness and selfishness of the American character, there is a smouldering 
enthusiasm which flames out at the first touch of fire— sometimes at the 
hot and hasty words of party, and sometimes at the bidding of great 
thoughts and unselfish principles. The heart of the nation is easily 
stirred to its depths ; but tliose who rouse its fiory iinpulnes into action 
are often men compounded of ignorance and wickedness, and wlioUy 
unfitted to guide the passions which tliey are able to excite. There is 
no country in the world which has nobler ideas embodied in more worth- 
less shapes. All our factions, fanaticisms, reforms, parties, creeds, ri- 
diculous or dangerous though they often appear, are founded on some 
aspiration or reality which deserves a better form and expression. There 
is a mighty power in great speech. If the sources of what we call our 
fooleries and faults were rightly addressed, they would echo more ma- 
jestic and kindling truths. We want a poetry which shall speak in 
clear, loud tones to the people ; a poetry which shall make us more in 
love with our native land, by converting its ennobling scenery into the 
images of lofly thoughts ; which shall give visible form and life to the 
abstract ideas of our written constitutions ; which shall confer upon 
virtue all the strength of principle and all the energy of passion ; which 
shall disentangle fVoodom from cant and senseless hyperbole, and ren- 
der it a thing of such loveliness and grandeur as to justify all self-fe>acrl- 
fico ; which shall make us love man by the now consecnitions it sheds 
on his life and destiny ; which shall force through the thin partitions of 
conventionalism and cx]>ediency ; vindicate the majesty of reason ; give 
new power to the voice of conscience, and now vitality to human atifec- 
tion ; soften and elevate passion ; guide enthusiasm in a right direc- 
tion ; and speak out in the high language of men to a nation of mcn.^* 

R P, WhippU. 

naaoxtoALj AxxaDonoALy mo. 898 

scales will be turned in our favor, and they will buy 
more copyrights of us than we shall of them. At 
all events, an immediate and powerful stimulus would 
be added to authorship, and to some of the trades and 
professions connected with the production of books 
in this country, if we could have the British market 
opened to us on some such plan as is herein pro- 
posed. Nearly every new work would be stereotyped, 
and a set of plates sent to England ; and these, in 
view of the increased sale, and the high and im- 
proving standard of taste, abroad, would be got up 
in a superior manner, in all respects. Let us think 
well of these things ! 


£seolUctions of Wafihington — Tht House of RepresenttiUvft — Miuourt 
OompromUe — Clay, Randolph, and LowndM^The SenaU—Rufut King 
— William Pinkn^y—Mr, Macon — Judge MarahaU — Election of J. Q, 
Adams— President Monroe — Meeting of Adams and Jacison — Jackson's 
Administration— Clay^ Calhoun — Webster— Anecdotes, 

My DEAR C****** 

In the autumn of 1846, I went with my family 
to Paris, partly for literary purposes, and partly also 
to give my children advantages of education, which, 
in consequence of my absorbing cares for a series of 
years, they had been denied. Here they remained 
for nearly two years, while I returned home to at- 
tend to my affairs, spending the winters, however, 



with them. Leaving my observations upon Paris to 
be. grouped in one general view, I pass on with my 

Toward the close of 1849 I removed to New York, 
to execute certain literary engagements. These com- 
pleted, I went, in December, 1850, to Washington, 
taking my family with me. Here we remained for 
three months, when, having received the appoint- 
ment of United States Consul to Paris, I returned to 
New York, and after due preparation, sailed on the 
5th of April, 1851, to enter upon the official duties 
which thus devolved upon me. 

I invite you to return with me to Washington. 
I had often been there, and had of course seen and 
observed many of the remarkable men who had fig- 
ured in the great arena of politics, through a space 
of thirty years. I shall now gather up and present 
to you a few reminiscences connected with this, our 
national metropolis, which still linger in my mind. 
Avoiding political matters, however, which are duly 
chronicled in the books, I shall only give sketches 
of persons and things, less likely to have fallen un- 
der your observation. 

My first visit to Washington was in the winter of 
1819-20. Monroe was then President, and D. D. 
Tompkins, Vice-president ; Marshall was at the head 
of the Supreme Court ; Clay, Speaker of the House 
of Representatives. In the latter body, the two most 
noted members, exclusive of the speaker, were Wil- 

HmoBKUL, ijnoDOTioiALy iia 898 

liam Lowndes of South CaroliDai and John Ban* 
dolph of Yirginia. 

At the period of my visit, the oloods were miuh 
tering in the horizon for that tempest which not only 
agitated Congress, but the whole country, in conse- 
quence of the application of Missouri for admission 
into the Union. A few weeks later, the *' C!ompro- 
mise of 86^ SO^," was passed by both houses, but the 
actual admission of the State did not take place till 
the ensuing session. I was at Washington bilt one 
day, and of course could only take a hurried view 
of the principal objects of interest. I was in the House 
of Representatives but a single hour. While I was 
present, there was no direct discussion of the agita- 
ting subject which already filled everybody's mind, 
but still the excitement flared out occasionally in 
incidental allusions to it, like puflfs of smoke and 
jets of flame which issue from a house that is on fire 
within. I recollect that Clay descended from the 
speaker's chair, and made a brief speech, thrilling 
the House b}' a single passage, in which he spoke 
of *'poor, unheard Missouri" — she being then with- 
out a representative in Congress. His tall, tossing 
form, his long, sweeping gestures, and above all, his 
musical, yet thrilling tones, made an impression upon 
me which I can never forget. Some time after, in the 
course of the debute, a tall man, with a little head and 
a small, oval countenance like that of a boy prema- 
turely grown old, arose and addressed the chair. He 


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

* A remarkable instance of the license which Mr. Randolph allowed 
to himself, occurred in the Senate, of which he was then a member, 
Boon after Mr. Adams's accession to the presidency. In a discnssion 
which took place upon the "ranauia Mi.s.sion," Randolf>h closed a very 
int<;mperate speech with the followiui; words, on their face referrintr to 
events which had occurred at a recent race-course, but, in fact, plainly 
meaning the alliance between Mr. Adams and Mr. Clay : 

** I waa defeated, horse, foot, and dragoons — cut up, clean broke down 

Soon after Lowndes arose, and there was a general 
movement of the members fix>m the remote parts of the 
room, toward him. His appearance was remarkable. 
He was six feet two inches high — slender, bent, ema- 
ciated, and evidently of feeble frame. His complex- 
ion was sallow and dead, and his face almost without 
expression. His voice, too, was low and whispering. 
And yet he was, all things considered, the strong 
man of the House ; strong in his various knowledge, 
his comprehensive understanding, his pure heart, his 
upright intentions, and above all, in the confidence 
these qualities had inspired. Every thing he said was 
listened to as the words of wisdom. It was he who 
gave utterance to the sentiment that the " office of 
president was neither to be Bolicited nor refused." 
I was unable to hear what he said, but the stillness 
around — the intent listening of the entire assembly — 

by the coalition of Blifil and Black Geor^'e — by t^e comhination^ unheard 
qftill then, ofth^ Pvritan with the Black-leg r 

The "Coalition," bo much talked of at the time, charged Mr. Clay 
with giving Mr. Adams his influence in the election to the presidency, 
in coni<idcration tiiat he wan to be Secretary of State. This was urged 
with great vehemence and etfect, both against Mr. Adams's administra- 
tion and Mr. Clay, personally. Randolph's endorsement of the charge, 
at this time, fien<lish as the manner of it was, seemed a staggering blow, 
and Mr. Clay thought it necessary to call him to account for it. The 
duel took place on the banks of the Potomac, but Kandolph fired in 
the air, and the difficulty was appeased. 

No man in our history has been more discussed than John Kan- 
dolph. He was undoubtedly a man of genius, but, on tlie wliolc, both 
in public and private, was an exceedingly dangerous example. Ho 
Boid some good tilings, and sometimes seemed jdmosl inspired, but his 
mind and heart were soured and narrowed by inherent physical defects, 
whicli at last led to occasional lunacy. lie died at Philadelphia in 1838, 
aged 60. 


bore testimony to the estimation in which he was 
held. I never saw him afterward. About two years 
later, he died on a voyage to England for the benefit 
of his health, and thus, in the language of an emi- 
nent member of Congress, " were extinguished the 
brightest hopes of the country, which, by a general 
movement, were looking to him as the future chief- 
magistrate of the nation." 

These sketches, I know, are trifles ; but as this was 
my first look at either branch of Congress, and as, 
moreover, I had a glance at three remarkable men, 
you will perhaps excuse me for recording my im- 

In the Senate, the persons who most attracted my 
attention were Rufus King, of New York, then hold- 
ing the highest rank in that body for able states- 
manship, combined with acknowledged probity and 
great dignity of person, manner, and character ; 
Harrison Gray Otis, whom I have already described ; 
William Hunter, of Rhode Island, noted for his 
agreeable presence and his great conversational pow- 
ers; William Pinkney,* of Maryland, the most dis- 

* William Pinkney was a native of Annapolis, bom 1764. He was 
appointed to various European missions by the United States govern- 
ment, and hold other eminent public stiitions. His greatest celebrity, 
however, was attained at the bar, where he was distinguished alike for 
learning and eloquence. He was a great student, and prepared himself 
Willi the utmost care, though he affected to rely chiefly on his native 
powers. A member of Monroe's Cabinet once told me that he heard 
Pinkney, about five o'clock of a winter morning, reciting and commit- 
ting to memory, in his room, the peroration of a plea which he heard 
delivered the same day before tlie Supremo Court I 


tingoished lawyer of that era — a largOi handsome 
man, and remarkable for his somewhat foppish dress 
— wearing, when I saw him, a white waistcoat, and 
white-top boots ; and Mr. Macon, of North Carolina, 
a solid, &rmer-like man, bat greatly esteemed for 
combining a sound patriotism with a consistent polit- 
ical career. On the whole, the general aspect of the 
Senate was that of high dignity, sobriety, and refine- 
ment There were more persons of that body who 
had the marks of well-bred gentlemen, in their air, 
dress, and demeanor, than at the present day. In 
manners, the Senate has unquestionably degenerated. 
During the half hour in which I was present, there 
was no debate. I went to the hall of the Supreme 
Court, but the proceedings were without special in- 
terest. Among the judges were Marshall and Story, 
both of whom riveted my attention. The former was 
now sixty-four years old, and still in the full vigor of 
his career. He was tall and thin, with a small face, 
expressive of acuteness and amiability. His per- 
sonal manner was eminently dignified, yet his brow 
did not seem to me to indicate the full force of his 

His senatorial displays are Baid to have been often more florid than 
profound. Soon after first takinf^ his scut in the House of Representa- 
tives he nindc a speech, which wa« very brilliant, but rather pretentious 
and dictatorial. John Randolph gave him a hint of this. He said: 
** Mr. Speaker, the gentlcinnn from Muryland" — tlien pauning, and 
looking toward Piukney, added — "1 believe the gentleman is from 
Maryland T' As Fiukney had been ambussa<lor to several courts in 
Europe, and was the most conspicuous lawyer at the bar of the Supreme 
Court, ho fult this sarcasm keenly. When I saw him, he had just taken 
his teat iu the Senate ; two years afterward he died, aged fifty-seven. 


great abilities and lofty moral qualities. I saw him 
many times afterward, and learned to look with rev- 
erence upon him, as being the best representative 
of the era and spirit of Washington, which lingered 
among us. 

I pass over several visits which I made at different 
periods to the capital, and come to the winter of 
1825, when J. Q. Adams was elected President by the 
House of Representatives. I was in the gallery of 
that body at the time the vote was declared. The 
result produced no great excitement, for it had been 
foreseen for some days. The popular sentiment of the 
country, however, was no doubt overruled by elect- 
ing to the chief-magistracy the second* of the three 
candidates eligible to the oflSce, and this was severely 
avenged four years afterward at the polls* Mr. Ad- 
ams, with all the patronage of the government, was 
displaced by his rival, Gen. Jackson, in 1828, by an 
electoral vote of one hundred and seventy-eight to 

But it is not my purpose to load these light letters 
with the weightier matters of politics. I only give an 

* The electoral vote stood thus : for Gen. Jackson, ninety-nine; Mr. 
Adams, eiglity-fonr; Mr. Crawford, forty-one; Mr. Clay, thirty-seven. 
It was perfectly constitntionul to elect Mr. Adams, but the event showed 
the (litriculty of sustaining? a President who has less than one-third of 
the popular vote in his favor. 

Tiic, vote in the lloust^ of Kepre>cnt4\tives was first declared by Daniel 
AVebstcr, and then by Joim Kun-lolpli. At the anuonnccraeut that 
Adams was elected, there wa« some clappinjf of hands and there were 
Bomo hisses, whereupon tlio galleries were cleared. 


outline of public events, which may serve as firamea 
to the personal tableaux which I wish to present to 
your view. Let me take you, then, to the President's 
levee, the evening of the 2d of February, 1825 — ^in 
the afternoon of which Adams had triumphed and 
Jackson had been defeated. 

The apartments at the White House were thronged 
to repletion — for not only did all the world desire to 
meet and gossip over the events of the day, but this 
was one of the very last gatherings which would take 
place under the presidency of Monroe, and which 
had now continued for eight years. It was the first 
time that I had been present at a presidential levee, 
and it was therefore, to me, an event of no ordinary 

The President I had seen before at Hartford, as I 
have told you ; here, in the midst of bis court, he 
seemed to me even more dull, sleepy, and insignifi- 
cant in personal appearance, than on that occasion. 
He was under size, his dress plain black, and a little 
rusty; his neckcloth small, ropy, and carelessly tied; 
his frill matted ; his countenance, wilted with age 
and study and care. He was almost destitute of 
forehead, and what he had, was deeply furrowed in 
two distinct arches over his eyes, which were small, 
gray, glimmering, and deeply set in large socket^. 
Altogether, his personal appearance was owlish and 
ordinary — without dignity, either of form or expres- 
sion; indeed, I could scarce get over the idea that 


there was a certain look of meanness in his connte- 
nance. The lowness of his brow was so remarkable 
that a person in the room said to me, in looking at 
him — " He hasn't got brains enougli to hold his hat 
on I" His manners, however, which were assiduously 
courteous, with a sort of habitual diplomatic smile 
upon his face, in some degree redeemed the natural 
indifference of his form and features. I gazed with 
eager curiosity at this individual — seeking, and yet 
in vain, to discover in his appearance the explana- 
tion of the fact that his presidency had been consid- 
ered as the era of a millennial truce between the great 
parties whose strife had agitated the country to its 
foundations ; and also of another fact — that he had, 
like Washington, been elected to the presidency a 
second time, almost without opposition. I could, 
however, find no solution of these events in the 
plain, homely, undemonstrative presence before me. 
History has indeed given the interpretation — for we 
know that, despite these traits in his personal ap- 
pearance, Mr. Monroe possessed a quiet energy of 
character, combined with a sound and penetrating 
judgment, great experience, and strong sense, which 
rendered his administration in some respects emi- 
nentlv successful. 

Mrs. Monroe appeared much younger, and was of 
very agreeable manners and person. During the 
eight years of her presidency over the sociabilities of 
the White House, she exercised a genial influence in 


inftudng el^;anoe and dignity into the inteicoarae of 
the society which came ander her sway. 

I shall pass over other individuals present, only 
noting an incident which respects the two persons in 
the assembly who, most of all others, engrossed the 
thoughts of the visitors — ^Mr. Adams the elect, Oen. 
Jackson the defeated. It chanced in the course of 
the evening that these two persons, involved in the 
throng, approached each other from opposite direc- 
tions, yet without knowing it. Suddenly, as they 
were almost together, the persons around, seeing 
what was to happen, by a sort of instinct stepped 
aside and left them face to face. Mr. Adams was by 
himself; Gen. Jackson had a large, handsome lady on 
his arm. They looked at each other for a moment, 
and then Gen. Jackson moved forward, and reaching 
out his long arm, said — " How do you do, Mr. Ad- 
ams ? I give you my left hand, for the right, as you 
see, is devoted to the fair : I hope you are very well, 
sir." All this was gallantly and heartily said and 
done. Mr. Adams took the general's hand, and said, 
with chilling coldness — "Very well, sir: I hope Gen. 
Jackson is well !" It was carious to see the western 
planter, tlie Indian fighter, the stern soldier who had 
written his country's glory in the blood of the enemy 
at New Orleans — genial and gracious in the midst of 
a court, while the old courtier and diplomat was stiff, 
rigid, cold as a statue 1 It was all the more remark- 
able from the fact that, four hours before, the former 


had been defeated, and the latter was the victor, in 
a struggle for one of the highest objects of humaa 
ambition. The personal character of these two indi- 
viduals was in fact well expressed in that chance 
meeting : the gallantry, the frankness, and the hear- 
tiness of the one, which captivated all ; the coldness, 
the distance, the self-concentration of the other, which 
repelled all * 

* A somewhat severe bat still acute analyst of Mr. Adamses character 
says : '* Undoabtodly, one great reason of his unpopalarity was his oold, 
antipatlictic manner, and the suspicion of selfishness it suggested, or at 
least aided greatly to confirm. None approached Mr. Adams, bat to 
recede. He never succeeded, he never tried to conciliate." 

I recollect an anecdote somewhat illustrative of this. When he waa 
candidate for the Presidency, his political friends thought it advisable 
that ho should attend a cattle-show at Worcester, Mass., so as to concil- 
iute tlic numbers of influential men wlio mijjlit be present. Accordingly 
he went, and while there many persons were introduced to him, and 
among the rest a farmer of tlie vicinity — a man of substance and greut 
rcspeotubility. On being presented, he said — 

*' Mr. Adams, I am very glad to see you. My wife, when she was a 
gal, lived in your father^s family ; you were then a little boy, and she 
has told me a great deal about you. She has very often combed your 

" Well," said Mr. Adams, in his harsh way — " I suppose she combs 
yours now I" The poor farmer slunk back like a Itched hound, feeling 
the smart, but utterly unconscious of the provoaition. 

Mr. Adams's course in the House of Kopresentatives — to which he 
wa«» elected for a series of years, after he had been President — was liable 
to great and serious exception. His age, the high positions he had 
held, his vast experience and unbounded stores of knowledge, might 
have made him the arbiter of that body. Such, however, was his love 
of {rlttdiatorial displays, that he did more to promote scenes of collision, 
strife, and violence, in words and deeds, than any other member. I 
remember one day to have been on the floor of the House, when he at- 
tacked Mr. Wise with great personality and bitterness. In allusion to 
the Cjlley duel, with which he was connected, he spoke of him as coming 
into that assembly, ** his hands dripping with blood !" There was a 
terrible yarring tone in his voice, which gave added effect to the 
denunciation. £vcry person present seemed to be thrilled with a sort 

flWioiuoArii AMKsxmoAitf SIC 405 

I pass over seyeral yean, and oome to the period 
when Jackson was Preaident, at which time I was 
often at Washington. It was a marked epoch, for 
Webster, Calhonn, and Clay were then in the Senate. 
It is seldom that three such men appear upon the 
theater of action at the same time. They were each 
distinct from the other in person, manners, hearty 
constitution ; they were from different sections of the 
country, and to some extent reflected the manners, 
habits, and opinions of these diverse regions. They 
were all of remarkable personal appearance: Web- 
ster of massive form, dark complexion, and thought- 
ful, solemn countenance ; Clay, tall, of rather slight 
frame, but keen, flexible features, and singular ease 
and freedom in his attitudes, his walk, and his ges- 
tures. Calhoun was also tall, but erect, and rigid 
in his form — his eye grayish blue, and flashing from 
beneath a brow at once imperious and scornful. All 
these men were great actors, not through art, but na- 
ture, and gave to the effect of their high intellectual 
endowments, the added power of commanding per- 
sonal presence and singularly expressive counte- 
nances. They have passed from the stage, and all 

of horror, rather toward Mr. Adams tlian tho object of hi8 reproaches. 
In speaking of this scene to me afterward, an emlQent member of Con- 
gress Kai<l, that '* Mr. Adams's greatest delight was to be the hero of a 
row." Tiicre is no doubt that the rude personal passages wliich often 
occur in tiie Hoase of Keprcscntativcp, derived countenance from Mr. 
Adamses cxumple. It is melancholy to reflect how a great intellect, and, 
on the whole, a great life, were marred and dwarfed by inherent personal 


that survives of them belongs to the domain of his- 
tory. Many of the speeches, now recorded in their 
books, I heard and remember, with their lofty images 
still painted in my eye and their thrilling tones still 
echoing in my ear. Those who never heard them, 
never saw them, will hereafter read and ponder and 
admire the glowing words, the mighty thoughts they 
have left behind; but they can never compass the 
conceptions which linger in the minds of those who 
beheld them in the full exercise of their faculties, and 
playing their several parts on their great theater of 
life and action — the Senate of the United States. 

Calhoun was educated in Connecticut, first gradu- 
ating at Yale College, and then at the Litchfield law 
school. I have often heard his classmates speak of 
him as manifesting great abilities and great ambi- 
tion, from the beginning. He was particularly 
noted for his conversational powers, and a cordiality 
of manners which won the hearts of all. He was 
deemed frank, hearty, sympathetic. One of his inti- 
mates at Yale, told me that about the year 1812 he 
was elected to Congress. Mr. Calhoun was then a 
member, and one of the greatest pleasures his class- 
mate anticipated, was in meeting his college friend. 
He was kindly received, but in the first interview, 
he discovered that the heart of the now rising poli- 
tician was gone. He had already given up to am- 
bition what was meant for mankind. 

Mr. Calhoun had, however, many friends in New 

England, pardj from the &yorable impieBsion he 
made while residing there, and partly also from his 
oondoct daring the earlier portion of his public career. 
He had, indeed, promoted the war of 1812, but in 
maxkj of his opinions — especially in the support of 
a navy — ^he coincided with the North. His admin- 
istration of the war department firom 1817, during 
the- long period of seven years, was singularly suc- 
cessful, and everywhere increased his reputation as 
a practical statesman. It is a curious circumstance, 
explained by the &cts I have just mentioned, that in 
the election of 1824, while Jackson was defeated for 
the presidency, Calhoun was still chosen vice-presi- 
dent, and mainly by northern votes.* Thus far his 
measures, his policy, had been national ; but he soon 
changed, and frequently shifting his position, lost the 
confidence of his own party and of the country. For 
the last fifteen years of his life, " he was like a strong 
man struggling in a morass : every eflfort to extricate 
himself only sinking him deeper and deeper." He has 
passed away, leaving abundant evidences of his abil- 
ities, but with the sad distinction of having success- 
fully devoted the last years of his life to the estab- 
lishment of the doctrine in his own State and among 
many of his admirers, that domestic Slavery is a good 
and beneficent institution — compatible with the Con- 
stitution of the United States, and entitled to pro 

* Mr. Calhoun had one hundred and fourteen votes fyom the noo 
■IftTsholdiDg Statea, and aizty-eight only from the othera. 


teclion and perpetuity beneath its banner 1 What 
a departure is this from the views and opinions of 
the founders of our National Independence and the 
Federal Union — Washington, Franklin, Jefferson, 
and Madison I 

Mr. Clay was also a supporter of the war of 1812, 
and probably was, more than any other individual, 
res{X)n8ible for it. During its progress, he was the 
eloquent defender of the administration, through its 
struggles and disasters, and was hence the special 
object of New England hostility. He, however, join- 
ed Mr. Adams, in 1825, and having contributed, by 
his commanding influence, to his election, became his 
Secretary of State. His policy upon the tariff after- 
ward brought him into harmony with the North, and 
he was long the favorite candidate of the whigs for 
the presidency. But he, too, like Calhoun, was a 
man of " positions," and with all his abilities — with 
all his struggles — he slipped between them, and fell, 
without realizing the great object of his eager am- 
bition — the presidency,* 

* There »eemg to have been a Bingular fatuity in Mr. Clay's groat 
measures — if wo may be permitted to test them by time and tlieir 
result. He promoted the war, but was himself one of the negotia- 
tors of a peace with the enemy, without a single btipulation in regard 
to the cnnsca of the war, and this too after an expenditure of thirty 
thousand lives and a hundred millions of dollars on our side, and prob- 
ably an equal expenditure on the other. Tlie Missouri Compromise of 
1820, which he so far favored as to gain the credit of it, Im.-* been re- 
cently cxpuntred, leaving national discord and local civil war in its place. 
The Compromise of 1838 was regarded by many of tne eminent men iu 
the country, as one of the most disastrous political movements that could 

HDIOEIDiJii .AJnCDDOnXULi iia 409 

The first time I ever saw Mr. Webster was on the 
17ih of June, 1826, at the laying of the comer-stone 
of the Banker Hill Monument I shall never forget 
his appearance as he strode across the open area, en- 
circled by some fifty thousand persons — men and 
women — ^waiting for the " Orator of the Day,*^ nor 
the shout that simultaneously burst forth, as he was 
recognized, carrying up to the skies the name of 
" Webster 1" "Webster I" "Webster I" 

It was one of those lovely days in June, when the 

hATe beoD deviiied, and by its inooDBiBtenoy with his previoai doctrines, 
loAt him forever the confidence of hii» be«t fKends, especially at the 
North. Mr. J. Q. Adams once told me that he considered this as a &tal 
niistJike on Mr. Cluy's part, as he saved Mr. Culhoun without concilia- 
ting him, at the same time alienating many loading men thronghont the 
country who had before been devoted to him. The Compromise of 1850, 
in which Mr. Clay was the chief, has already lost its force, and is likely 
hereafter to be ruthcr a source of agitation than of peace. His grand and 
comprehensive sy.stem, to which he gave tbe name of *' American," 
and whicli proposed to build up a mighty nation through a National 
Bank, giving us a currency — Internal Improvements, promoting com- 
merce and binding the States in the bouds of union — the Tariff, to ren- 
der us in(lep«'ndent of foreign nations in peace and in war — and the 
Panama Mi^^ion, pluciiig us at the head of the powers of this conti- 
nent,— all these have Wen trampled under foot by Jackson, and Van 
Burcn, and Polk, and Pierce, and the People. They have been erased 
from our policy, and their history is chiefly memorable for the ability 
with whicii their great originator promoted them, and yet only to insure 
the defeat of his own ambition. After a few brief years, Henry Clay will 
be only known to the student of history, who looks beyond existing 
nonumcnts for testitnoniuls of the giants of bygone generations. Even 
lis speeches, stirring as they were on those who heard them— having 
10 eminence in literature, no body and soul of general truth, reflection, 
md philosophy, and little connection with current politics — will soon 
>o among the traditions of the past. The fallacy of Mr. Clay's career 
ay in this— ho created issues, founded schemes, planned systems, aa 
he ladders of ambition ; the truer plan, even for ambition, is to make 
ruth and duty and principle the polar star of life and action. 

Vol. II.— 18 


Bun is bright, the air clear, and the breath of nature 
go sweet and pure as to fill every bosom with a grate- 
ful joy in the mere consciousness of existence. There 
were present long files of soldiers in their holiday- 
attire ; there were many associations, with their mot- 
toed banners ; there were lodges and grand lodges, 
in white aprons and blue scarfe ; there were miles of 
citizens from the towns and the country round about ; 
there were two hundred gray-haired men, remnants 
of the days of the Revolution ; there was among them 
a stranger, of great mildness and dignity of appear- 
ance, on whom all eyes rested, and when his name 
was known, the air echoed with the cry — " Welcome, 
welcome, Lafayette I"* Around all this scene, was a 

* 1 was at this time Master of the Lod^e at Hartford, St. John^s No. 
4, and attended this celebration officially as a deputy fW>m the Grand 
Lodge of Connecticut. I recollect that when the lodges aft«enibled at 
Boston, Gen. Lafayette was among them. I had seen him before in Paris, 
at a dinner on Washington's birthday, a. d. 1824, when he first an- 
nounced his intention of coming to America. I afterward saw him, 
both at Washington and Paris. I may mention a single anecdote, illus- 
trative of his tenderness of heart. While he was at Washington, Mr. 
Morse — since so universally known as the inventor of the electric tele- 
graph — was employed to paint his portrait for the City Hall of New York. 
One day, when the people were collecting in the hall of the hotel for 
dinner, I saw Mr. Morse apart, in the comer of the room, reading a 
letter. I noticed, in a moment, that be was greatly agitated. I went 
to him, and asked him the cause. He could not speak; he put the 
letter into my hand, and staggered out of the room. I looked over the 
epistle, and saw that it contained the fatal intelligence of the death of his 
wife, at New Haven, whom he had left there, in health, a few days be- 
fore. He felt it necessary to leave Washington immediately, and go to 
his friends, and I agreed to accompany him. It was necessary that 
this should be communicated to Lafayette. I went to him and told him 
the story. He was very much aflfected, and went with me to see Mr. 
Morse. He took him in his arms and kissed him, and wept over him, 


rainbow of beauty such as New England alone can 

I have seen many pnblic festiyitiea and ceiemoni- 
ala, bnt never one, taken all together, of more general 
interest than this. Every thing was fortunate : all 
were gratified; but the address was that which 
seemed uppermost in all minds and hearts. Mr. 
Webster was in the very zenith of his &me and of 
his powers. I have looked on many mighty men — 
King George, the ''first gentleman in England;" 
Sir Astley Cooper, the Apollo of his generation; 
Peele, O'Connell, Palmerston, Lyndhurst — ^all nature's 
noblemen ; I have seen Cuvier, Guizot, Arago, 
Lamartine— marked in their persons by the genius 
which have carried their names over the world ; I 
have seen Clay, and Calhoun, and Pinkney, and 
King, and Dwight, and Daggett, who stand as high 
3xamples of personal endowment, in our annals, and 
fei not one of these approached Mr. Webster in the 
jommanding power of their personal presence. There 

s if he had been hia own child. Nothing could be more soothing 
ban this affectionute sympatiiy. 

In Mr. Webster's dinconrse, which I have been noticing, there wan 
passage addressed to Lafayette, which, I believe, is slightly altered in 
le present printed copy. It was told as an anecdote, some years ago, 
lat he composed the discourse while fishing for cod off Nantasket 
each. It would seem that as he came to the point of addressing La- 
yette, he had a vigorous bite, and from habit, more than attention 
' the business in hand, began to haul in. Just as the fish emerged 
om the water, Mr. Webster went on thus — " Fortunate man ! the rep- 
sentative of two hemispheres — welcome to these shores I" — whero- 
>on the huge fish was safely jerked into the boat. I can not vonch 
r the aathentidty of the story, but I tell it as too good to be lott. 


was a grandeur in his form, an intelligence in his deep 
dark eye, a loftiness in his expansive brow, a signifi- 
cance in his arched lip, altogether beyond those of 
any other human being I ever saw. And these, on 
the occasion to which I allude, had their full ex- 
pression and interpretation. 

In general, the oration was serious, full of weighty- 
thought and deep reflection. Occasionally there 
were flashes of fine imagination, and several passages 
of deep, overwhelming emotion.* I was near the 
speaker, and not only heard every word, but I saw 
every movement of his countenance. When he came 
to address the few scarred and time-worn veterans — 
some forty in number — who had shared in the bloody 
scene which all had now gathered to commemorate, he 
paused a moment, and, as he uttered the words "Ven- 
erable men," his voice trembled, and I could see a 
cloud pass over the sea of faces that turned upon the 
speaker. When at last, alluding to the death of 
Warren, he said — 

* One iDcident, which occurred on this occasion, is worth mention- 
ing. I pat near two old men, farmers I should judge, who remained 
with their mouths open fh)m the beginning to the end of the oration. 
Not a sentence escaped them. I could see reflected in their counte- 
nances the whole march of the discourse. When it was over, they rose 
up, and having drawn a long breath, one said to the other — ** Well, that 
was good; every ioord seemed to ipeigh a pound P^ While Mr. Webster 
was in Europe in 1839, I wrote a series of anccdotical t^ketches of him, 
published in the National Intelligencer, and among other thingt^, reci- 
ted this incident. It found its way to Englimd, acd the London Times, 
in describing Mr. Webster's manner in the speech he made at the Ox- 
ford Cattle Show, repeated this anecdote as particularly descriptive of 
his massive and weighty eloquence. 

snroRKUL, AHanxmoAL, no. 413 

■"But ah, Him 1- — tho first great martyr of this 
great caase. Him, the patriotic viotim of his own 
Belf-devoting heart. Him, cm off by Providence in 
the hour of overwhelming anxiety and thick gloom: 
falliiig ere he saw the star of hia country rise — how 
shall I struggle with the emotions that stifle the nt- 
teranca of thy name !" Here the eyes of the vet- 
erans around, little accustomed to tears, were filled 
to the brim, and some of them " sobbed aioud in their 
fullness of heart." The orator went on : 

"Our poor work may perish, but thine shall en- 
dure: this monument may molrler away, the solid 
ground it rests upon may sink down to the level ot 
the sea ; but thy memory shall not feU. Wherever 
among men a heart shall be found th&t beats to the 
transports of patriotism and liberty, its aspirations 
shall claim kindred with thy spirit 1" 

I have uever seen euch an effect, from a single pas- 
sage : a moment before, every bosom bent, every 
brow was clouded, every eye was dim. LiAed as 
by inspiration, every breast seemed now to expand, 
every gaze to turn above, every face to beam with a 
holy yet exulting enthusiasm. It was the omnipo- 
tence of eloquence, which, like the agitated sea, car- 
ries a host upon its waves, sinking and swelling with 
its irresiritible undulations. 

It was some yeara subsequent to this that I be- 
came personally acquainted with Mr. Webster. From 
1856, to the time of his death, I saw him freqaently, 


sometimes in public and sometimes in private. I 
have heard some of his great speeches, as well at 
Washington as elsewhere, but I must say that his 
conversation impressed me quite as strongly as his 
public addresses. I once traveled with him from 
Washington to Baltimore. During a ride of two 
hours, he spoke of a great variety of subjects — ^agri- 
culture, horticulture, physical geography, geology — 
with a perfectness of knowledge, from the minutest 
details to the highest philosophy, which amazed me. 
One thing I particularly remarked, he had no half 
conceptions, no uncertain knowledge. What he knew, 
he was sure of. His recollection seemed absolutely 
perfect. His mind grasped the smallest as well as 
the greatest things. He spoke of experiments he 
had made at Marshfield in protecting trees, recently 
planted, by interposing boards between them and the 
prevailing winds, observing that these grew nearly 
twice as rapidly as those which were exposed to the 
full sweep of the blasts. He spoke of the recent 
discoveries of geology — which had converted the 
rocky lamina of the earth, hidden from the begin- 
ning, into leaves of a book, in which we could trace 
the footprints of the Creator — with perfect knowl- 
edge of the subject, and a full appreciation of the 
sublimity of its revelations. 

At Baltimore, while sitting at table after tea, the 
conversation continued, taking in a great variety ot 
subjects. One of the ladies of our company asked 

HBIOBIOAL) AlfXODanOALy sia 415 

Mr. Webster if he choee Marahfidd for a randenoe 
because it was near the sea. 

" Yes, madam," was the reply. 

*' And do jou love the seashore ?^ 

" Yes, I love it, jet not perhaps as others do. I 
can not pick up shells and pebbles along the shore. 
I can never forget the presence of the sea. It seems 
to speak to me, and beckon to me. When I see the 
surf come rolling in, like a horse foaming fix>m the 
battle, I can not stoop down and pick up pebbles. 
The sea nnquestionablj presents more grand and 
exciting pictures and conceptions to the mind, ^han 
any other portion of the earth, partly because it is 
always new to us, and partly, too, because of the 
majestic movement of its great mass of waters. The 
mystery of its depths, the history of its devastations, 
crowd the mind with lofty images. 

** ^ The armamentB which thnnderstrike the walls 
Of rock-bnilt cities, bidding nations qnake, 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals — 
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
Their clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee and arbiter of war ; 
These are thy toys, and as the snowy flake, 
They melt into the yeast of waves, which mar 

Alike the Armada^s pride or spoils of Traficdgar. 

" * Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
Glasses itself in tempests : in all time, 
Calm or convulsed — in breeze or gale or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime, 

416 i:;ETrEB8 — ^biogbaphioal, 

Dark-heaying : boundless, endless, and sublime* 
The image of Eternity — ^the throne 
Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made : each zone 
Obeys thee - thon goest forth dread, fiEitbomless, alone I' 

I know of few descriptions of nature equal in sub- 
limity to that." 

It is impossible to give any impression of the effect 
of this passage, recited in low, solemn tones like the 
bass of an organ, the brow of the speaker seeming to 
reflect the very scenes it described. 

Yet Mr. Webster was not always serious. In the 
circle of intimate friends he was generally cheerful 
and sometimes playful, not only relishing wit and 
repartee, but contributing to it his proper share. I 
have heard of one occasion in which he kept a full 
table in a roar for half an hour with his sallies. 
Many years ago there was a contested election in 
Mississippi — the seats of two sitting members being 
claimed by a Mr. Word and the famous orator, S. S. 
Prentiss.* The two claimants came to Washington, 

* B. S. Prentiss was a native of Maine, but removed to Mississippi, 
whore he soon distinguished himself as a brilliant orator. In the Har- 
rison Camp^gn of 1840, *^ he took the stump/* and made a series of most 
effective speeches, crowds gathering from many miles around, to hear 
him. One day he met with a caravan of wild beast**, and it was suggested 
that lie should speak from the top of one of the wagons. He mounted 
that of the liyenas, and as he was lame, and carried a strong cane, ocoa- 
fiionally he poked this through a hole in the top and stirred up the hyenas 
within. Prentiss had scathing powers of denunciation, and he was 
unsparing in \m sarcasms upon the administration of Jackson and his 
•Qocespor Van Buren, which, as he insisted, had caused the ruin then 


and argued their case before the Hotiae, but it was 
dismissed, and they were sent back for a new eleo* 
tion. Prentiss, however, had sustained himself with 
so much ability, that before his departure a few of 
his whig firiends concluded to give him a dinner. 
This was private, though some thirty persons were 
present Late in the evening, when all were wanned 
with the cheer, Preston, of South Carolina, rose and 
proposed this sentiment : 

'* Daniel Webster — a Northern man with Southern 
principles !" 

Mr. Webster, after a moment's hesitation, said : 
" Mr. Chairman, I rise in obedience to the flattering 
call of my good friend from South Carolina : Daniel 
Webster — a Northern man with Southern principles I 
Well, sir, I was bom in New Hampshire, and there- 
fore I am a northern man. There is no doubt of that. 
And if what the people say of us be true, it is 
equally certain that I am a man of southern princi- 
ples. Sir, do I ever leave a heel-tap in my glass ? 
Do I ever pay my debts? Don't I always prefer 

de»olatiD(|f tho country' ; but when to his blasting sentences were added 
the howIinfTH of the livcniw, judicioui^ly put in at the climaxes, it was 
something more tlian wordrt — it was *' action, action, action !" 

I remcinbor once to have heard this famous orator, the name season, 
at a whijf meetintf in Fancuil Hall, Edward Everett presiding. I hardly 
knew wliich most to admire — tlie polished elffiranco, npiccd with grace- 
ful and pertinent wit, of Everett, or the dashing splendor of Prentiaa. 
The one seemed like the fountain of Velino pluyingamid (Jrecian aculp- 
tare ; the other, a cataract of the Far West, fed fh^m inexhaustible 
fountains, and lightinur whole furesttt with its crystals and its foam. 

Mr. I'rentifls died in 1S50, greatly lamented, at the eariy age of ibiiy 



challenging a man who won't fight?" And thus he 
went on in a manner more suitable to the occasion 
than to these pages — until at last, amid roars of laugh- 
ter and shouts of applause, he sat down. 

.The countenance of Mr. Webster was generally 
solemn, and even severe, especially when he was ab- 
sorbed in thought : yet when relaxed with agreeable 
emotions, it was irresistibly winning. I have heard 
an anecdote which furnishes a pleasing illustration of 
this. At the time Mr. Wirt was Attorney-general, 
Mr. Webster, having some business with him, went 
to his oflBice. Mr. Wirt was engaged for a few mo- 
ments at his desk, and asked Mr. Webster to sit down 
a short time, when he would come to him. Mr. Web- 
ster did as requested, and for some moments sat look- 
ing moodily into the fire. At length one of Mr. 
Wirt's children — a girl of six or eight years old — 
came in, and thinking it was her father, went to Mr. 
Webster, and putting her elbows on his knee, looked 
up in his face. In an instant she started back, 
shocked at her mistake, and appalled by the dark, 
moody countenance before her. At the same mo- 
ment Mr. Webster became aware of her presence. 
His whole face changed in an instant : a smile came 
over his face ; he put out his hand, and all was so 
winning, that the child, after hesitating a moment, 
also smiled, and went back and resumed her confiding 
position, as if it had indeed been her father. 

That Mr. Webster had his faults, we all know ; 

'ranOKOAI, iBBGDOTiOAt, MtO. 419 

but the general soundness of his heart and character, 
as well as the soundness of his intellect, are demon- i 

strated by his works. These are an indestructible I 

monument, attesting alike his greatness and his good- 
ness. Among all these volumes, ao ful! of thought, 
so pregnant with instruction, so abounding in knowl- < 

edge, there ie not an impure suggestion, not a mean ■, 

sentiment, not a malicious sentence. All is patriotic, j| 

virtuous, ennobling. And the truths he thus uttered . 

— how are they beautified, adorned, and commended Jj 
by the purity of the style and the elegance of the die- jj 

turn I Id tbifl respect there is a remarkable diffioenoa 
between him and his great rivals, Claj and Calhaan, 
Mr .Webster's works abound in passc^;es which convey 
beautiful sentiments in beautiful language* — gems of 

* Itvoald be eu; to 111 voIddih with puugea of tbia Boit: tin 
fbllowing, taken at random trDm Hr. Webatai'a pobllahad worka, will 
illostnte what I have iwd : 

"Joiitice, air, ia the g;reat Interest of man OD earth. It ia the lig^ 
mant which hold) civilized tieiDgB andciviliied natioDS toother. When 
ber temple standi, and so long as It Is dulj henored, there ia a foanda- 
tion far aocial seciiritj', general happineaa, aod the improvement and 
profrees of oar race." 

"0ns ma; live aa a eonqaeror, a king, or a magiatrate, bnt he mtut 
die as a man. The bed of death brings ever; human being to his pnra 
Individ nalit; ; to the iatense conlemplatioa of that deepest and most 
■otemn of all relations, the relation between the Creator and the cre- 

"Beat goodnoaadoea not attach itaelf merely to this life; It points 
tfl another world." 

"BeligloD is the tie that eonneeta man with his Creator, and holds 
him to his throne. If that tie be all soodered, all broken, he floats 
■wa;, a worthleaa at«m in the aaiverse — its proper attraotions all gone, 
its destiny thwarted, and itK whole fatore notliiug bnt darknesa, dea- 
olation, and deatli." 

BpeaUng at Valle; Forge of the aolbringa of the Amerioan armr 


thought set in golden sentences, fitting them to be- 
come the adornments of gifted and tasteful minds, 
for all future time. With these other orators it is 
not so : there is an earnest, direct, vigorous logic in 
Calhoun, which, however, can spare not a sentence 
to any subsidiary thought ; there is a warm, glowing, 
hearty current of persuasion in Clay, yet he is too 
ardent in the pursuit of his main design, to pause for 

there, under Washing^ton, in the winter of 1777-8, he described them 
as '^ deHtJtate of clothing, destitute of provisions, destitute of every 
thing but their faith in God and their immortal leader." 

** The slightest glance must convince us that mechanical power and 
mechanical skill, as they are now exhibited in Europe and America, 
mark an epoch in human history worthy of all admiration. Machinoi^ 
is made to perform what has formerly been the toil of human hands, 
to an extent that astonishes the most sanguine, with a degree of power 
to which no number of human arms is equal, and with such precision 
and exactness as almost to suggest the notion of reason and intelligence 
in the machines themselves. Every natural agent ie put unrelentingly 
to the task. The winds work, the waters work, the elasticity of metals 
works ; gravity is solicited into a thousand new forms of action ; levers 
are multiplied upon levers ; wheels revolve on the peripheries of other 
wheels ; the saw and the plane are tortured into an accommodation to 
new uses, and last of all, with inimitable power, and * with whirlwind 
sound,' comes the potent agency of steam.'' 

** Steam is found in triumphant operation on the seas ; and under the 
influence of its strong propulsion, the gallant ship, 

* Against tbe wind, against the tide, 
Bull ttaadiei with an upright keel' 

It is on the rivers, and the boatman may repose on his oars ; it is on 
highways, and begins to exert itself along the courses of land convey- 
ance ; it is at the bottom of mines, a thousand feet below the earth's 
surface ; it is in the mill, and in the worksiiops of the trades. It rows, 
it pumps, it excavates, it carries, it draws, it lifts, it hammers, it spins, 
it weaves, it prints." 

** Whether it be consciousness, or the result of his reasoning facul- 
ties, man soon learns that he must die. And of all sentient beings, he 
alone, as £Eir as we can judge, attains to this knowledge. His Maker 
has made him capable of learning this. Before he knows his origin 


a moment to gatber or scatter flowers hj the wayside. 
In all the works of these two great men, it is not 
easy to select a page which may challenge admiration 
on account of its artistic beauty, or because it en- 
shrines general truth and philosophy, so happily 
expressed as to enforce them upon the worship of the 
Of Mr. Webster's magnanimity, there are abundant 

•nd destiny, he knows thmt he is to die. Then oomes that most urgent 
and solemn demand fi>r li^ht that ever proceeded, or oan proceed, from 
the profound and anjdons broodings of the hnman soal. It is stated, 
with wonderfol force and beauty, in that incomparable composition, the 
book of Job : * For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will 
sproat again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease ; that, 
through the ncent of water, it will bud, and bring forth boughs like a 
plant. But {fa man die^ •haU he Uv€ again T And that question noth- 
ing but God, and the religion of Ood, can solve. Religion does solve it, 
and teuches every man that he is to live again, and that the duties of 
thin life have reference to. the life which is to come. And hence, since 
the introduction of Christianity, it has been the duty, as it 1ms been 
the effort, of the great and the good, to sanctify human knowledge, to 
bring it to the fount, and to baptize learning into ChriHtianity ; to gath- 
er up all its productions, its earliest and its latest, its blossoms and its 
fhiits, and lay them all upon the altar of religion and virtue." 

*' I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts ; she needs none. 
Tliere she is. Behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is her his- 
tory ; the world knows it by heart. The post, at least, is secure. There 
is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill ; and there 
they will remain forever. The bones of her sons, falling in the great 
struggle for Independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every State, 
ftx>m New England to Georgia ; and there they will lie forever. Aiwl, 
sir, where American Liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth 
was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its 
manhood and full of its original spirit. If discord ond disunion sliuU 
wound it, if party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it, 
if folly and madness, if uneasiness under salutary and necessurj* re- 
straint, shall succe«d in separating it from that Union by which alone 
its existence is mo'.le sure, it will st^ud, in tlie end, by the side of that 
cradle in which its infancy was rocked ; it will stretch fortli its ann, with 
whatever of vigor it may still retain, over the friends who gather roaud 


evidences. His whole course in the House as well as in 
the Senate evinced it He never displayed, because he 
never felt that littleness of soul, which signalizes itself 
in envy, and malice, and uncharitableness. Nothing 
can be finer than the uniform dignity of his con- 
duct through a congressional period of more than 
twenty years. But there are two instances of his 
greatness of soul, which have appeared to me re- 
markable, and especially worthy of being recorded, 
because they refer to those individuals, Clay and Cal- 
houn, who of all others he might have been sup- 
posed to regard with feelings of aversion, if not of 

It is well remembered by all those who are con- 
versant with the history of the times, that Mr. Web- 
ster, then acting as Secretary of State in the Tyler 
Cabinet, thought fit to continue in his place, when the 

it ; and it will fall at last, if fall it maat, amid the proudest monaments 
of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin." 

It is known that some of these fine passages were suddenly atrnck 
out in the heat of debate ; others no doubt were polished and perfected 
with care. On a certain occasion, Mr. Webster startled the Senate by 
a beautiful and striking remark in relation to the extent of the British 
empire, as follows : " She has dotted the surface of the whole globe with 
her possessions and military posts, whose morning drum-beat, follow^ 
ing the sun and keeping company with the hours, circle the earth dully 
with one continuous and unbroken strain of the martial airs of England.'* 

On going out of the Senate, one of the members complimented Mr. 
Webi4ter upon this, saying that he was all the more struck with it as it 
was evidently impromptu. ** You are mistaken," said Mr. Webster 
** the idea occurred to me when I was on the ramparts of Quebec, some 
months since. I wrote it down, and re-wrote it, and after several trials, 
got it to suit me, and laid it by for ase. The time came to-day, and to 
I put it in." 


other members resigned. This condact drew upon 
him attacks fi^m various quarters, and especiallj 
irom those who were known to take counsel of Mr. 
Clay. It was manifest, as well from the bitterness as 
the persistence of the onslaught, that the purpose was 
to effect Mr. Webster's destruction as a public man. 
This object was not accomplished, for it soon ap- 
peared to the world that he had been governed by 
the highest motives of patriotism, in the course he 
had adopted, and that he had indeed made it the 
means of accomplishing a great national benefit — ^the 
settling of the irritating and threatening question of 
the " Maine boundary." In fact, Mr. Webster rather 
gained than lost in the confidence of men whose opin- 
ions are of value, in spite of this conspiracy which 
sought to overwhelm him. 

In the spring of 1844, Mr. Clay, having been on 
a trip to the South, came to Washington. He was 
already indicated by public opinion as the whig can- 
didate for the presidency, and it seemed highly prob- 
able that the time had now come for the realization 
of his known and cherished aspirations, in respect to 
that high position. He was himself sanguine of suc- 
cess. On the 1st of May he was nominated at Bal- 
timore, by a whig convention, for the office in ques- 
tion, and the next day there was to be a grand rally 
of young men, to ratify the nomination. It was sug- 
gested to Mr. Clay that it was eminently desirable 
^hat Mr. Webster should add his influence in behalf 


of the nomination ; but he is said to have felt that 
he neither needed nor desired it. His friends, however, 
thought otherwise, and a message was dispatched to 
Mr. Webster, begging him to come on to the conven- 
tion, already gathering at Baltimore. This reached 
him while he was dining at the Astor House, in New- 
York. He immediately left the table, and after a 
brief communion with himself, departed, and arrived 
in time to join his voice in a powerful speech, to the 
enthusiasm of the occasion. 

A very short period after this, the clouds began 
to thicken in the political horizon. Mr. Polk had 
been nominated, and the important State of Penn- 
sylvania was seen to be in danger of giving him her 
vote. In this emergency, Mr. Webster was besought 
to go there and address the people at Philadelphia, 
and in the mining districts, where large masses were 
congregated. Perfectly well knowing Mr. Clay's 
sentiments and conduct toward him, he still went, 
and made a series of addresses, among the most elo- 
quent that he ever uttered. In the course of these, 
he had occasion to speak of Mr. Clay. It was a 
delicate task, therefore, to do justice to his position, 
as an advocate of Mr. Clay's candidacy, while at the 
same time Mr. Clay's treatment of him was fresh in 
the public mind. Yet with a tact, which does infi- 
nite credit to his good taste, and a magnanimity which 
equally honors his heart, he spoke of Mr. Clay in the 
following words : 


" There are two candidates in the field, Mr. Clay of Kentncky, 
and Mr. Polk of Tennessee. I shall speak of them both with 
the respect to which their character and position entitle them ; 
and at the same time with that freedom and candor which 
ought to be observed in discussing the merits of public men, 
especially those who are candidates for the highest office in the 
gift of the people. 

" Mr. Clay has been before the country for a long period, 
nearly tbrty years. Over thirty years he has taken a leading 
and higlily important part in the public affairs of this country. 
He is acknowledged to be a man of singular and almost univer- 
sal talent. He has had great experience in the administration 
of our public affairs in various departments. He has served 
for many years with wonderful judgment and ability, in both 
houses of Congress, of one of which he performed the arduous 
and difficult duties of its presiding officer, with unexampled skill 
and success. He has rendered most important services to his 
country of a diplomatic character, as the representative of this 
government in Europe, at one of the most trying periods of our 
hb^tory, and ably assisted to conduct to a satisfactory conclusion 
a very delicate and important negotiation. lie has performed 
tlie duties of the department of State with ability and fidelity. 
He is a man of frankness and honor, of uncjuestioned talent and 
ability, and of a noble and generous bearing. 

" Mr. Polk is a nmch younger man than Mr. Clay. He is a 
very respectable gentleman in private life; he has been in Con- 
gress ; was once Speaker of the House of Kepresentatives of the 
United States, and once Governor of the State of Tennessee." 

We may not only refer to this pcO-ssage as evidence 
Df Mr. Webster's magnanimity of soul, but as a high 
3xample of gentlemanly dignity — in the very heat of 
in animated party discussion, not forgetting to render 
ustice even to an adversary. 


In respect to Mr. Calhoun, Mr. Webster displayed 
similar elevation of mind. It is matter of history 
that, in the earlier periods of their congressional life, 
these two men were drawn together by mutual ad- 
miration. But party exigences have no respect for 
private feelings, and accordingly Mr. Calhoun joined 
the conspiracy, which, in 1832, was formed to crush 
Mr. Webster ; a measure which it was hoped to accom- 
plish through the eloquence of Mr. Hayne, assisted 
by the united talent of the democratic party, at that 
time powerfully represented in the Senate. That he 
escaped, was owing to his own matchless abilities* — 
for there is hardly an instance on record in which a 
man, single-handed, has withstood and baffled and 
punished so formidable a combination. For several 
years immediately following, Mr. Webster was called 
into an almost perpetual conflict with Mr. Calhoun — 
fro;n this point his stern, unflinching adversary. By 
general consent, others stood aloof, almost in awe 
of the conflict between these two champions. The 
struggle furnishes some of the most remarkable pas- 
sages in our political history. But an event at last 

* The *' great debate" here alluded to, took place in the Senate, in 
Jananr\', 1830. Colonel Hayne had attacked Mr. Webster with great 
power, fortified as he was by facts, arguments, and suggestions, fbr- 
nir*hed by democratic members from all parts of the Union, and going 
over Mr. Webster's whole political life. The reply was triumphant and 
overwhelming, and is justly considered the greatest forensic effort which 
our history supplies. There is, indeed, so far as I know, no speech 
wliich equnls it, if we regard the variety of its topics, the vast scope 
of its leading considerations, the beauty and felicity of many of its pas- 
sages, and its completeneas as a whole. 


arrived which was to put an end to the strife. Mr. 
Calhoun, who had gradually been sinking under a 
decay of health and constitution, expired at Washing- 
ton on the 31st of March, 1850. It was then that 
Mr. Webster rose in the Senate and pronounced upon 
him a eulogium, in which all his merits were beauti 
fully set forth, without one of the many shadows 
which truth might have furnished. 

" Sir," said Mr. Webster, " the eloquence of Mr. Calhoun, or 
the manner of his exhibition of his sentiments in public bodies, 
was part of his intellectual character. It grew out of the quali- 
ties of his mind. It was plain, strong, terse, condensed, concise ; 
sometimes impassioned, still always severe. Rejecting ornament, 
QOt often seeking far for illustration, his power consisted in the 
plainness of his propositions, in the closeness of his logic, and in 
he earnestness and energy of his manner. These are the qual- 
ties, as I think, which have enabled liim through such a long 
ourse of years to speak often, and yet always command atten- 
ion. His demeanor as a Senator is known to us all — is appre- 
iated, venerated by us all. No man was more respectful to 
thers ; no man carried himself witli greater decorum, no man 
ith superior dignity. 

" Sir, I have not in public or in private life known a more 

siduous person in the discharge of his appro[)riate duties. He 

emed to have no recreation but the plea*^ure of conversation 

ith his friends. Out of the chambers of Congress, he was 

her devoting himself to the acquisition of knowledge pertain- 

r to the iinine<riate subject of the duty before Iiim, or else he 

us indulging in some social interviews in which he so much 

ighted. His colloquial talents were certainly singular and 

inent. There was a charm in his ctmversatiou not often 

nd. lie delighted especially in conversation and intercourse 

h young men. I suppose that there has been no man among 


ns who had more winning manners, in snch an interooarse and 
such conversation, with men comparatively yonng, than Mr. 
Calhoun. I helieve one great power of his character, in general, 
was his conversational talent I helieve it is that, as well as a 
consciousness of his high integrity, and the greatest reverence 
for his talents and ahility, that has made him so endeared an 
ohject to the people of the State to which he belonged. 

" Mr. President, he had the basis, the indispensable basia, of 
all high character — and that was, unspotted integrity, unim- 
peached honor and character. If he had aspirations, they were 
high, and honorable, and noble. There was nothing groveling, 
or low, or meanly selfish, that came near the head or the heart 
of Mr. Calhoun. Firm in his purpose, perfectly patriotic and 
honest, as I am sure he was, in the principles that he espoused 
and iu the measures that he defended, aside from tliat large re- 
gard for that species of distinction that conducted him to enii> 
nent stations for the benefit of the Republic, I do not believe he 
had a selfish motive or selfish feeling. However, sir, he may 
have differed from others of us in his poHtical opinions or his 
political principles, those principles and those opinions will now 
descend to posterity under the sanction of a great name. He 
has lived long enough, he has done enough, and he has done it 
so well, so successfully, so honorably, as to connect himself for 
all time with the records of his country. He is now an historical 
character. Those of us who have known him here will find that 
he has left upon our minds and our hearts a strong and lasting 
impression of his person, his character, and his public perform- 
ances, which while we live will never be obliterated. We shall 
hereafter, I am sure, indulge in it as a grateful recollection, that 
we have lived in his age, that we have been his contemporaries, 
that we have seen him, and heard him, and known him. We 
shall delight to speak of him to those who are rising uj) to fill 
our places. And, when the time shall come that we ourselves 
shall go, one after another, to our graves, we shall carry with us 
a deep sense of his genius and character, his honor and integrity. 


hii aamable dep<Hrtiiieiit in priT»te life, and the poritj of ]M 
exalted patriotism." 

Was there not something grand and at the same 

time affecting in a scene like this — a great man — all 
selfish thought rebuked, all passed bitterness forgot 
— ^uttering words like these, over the now prostrate 
competitor with whom it had been his lot to yo'estle 
through long years of the bitterest party conflict ? 

Bat I must draw this chapter to a close ; yet my 
memory is, indeed, full of the images of other men 
of mark whom I have seen upon the great stage of 
action at Washington. Among them was William 
Wirt, an able lawyer, an elegant writer, an accom- 
plished gentleman — and, at the time I knew him. 
Attorney-general of the United States ; Mr. Forsyth, 
Gen. Jackson's accomplished Secretary of State, at 
whose house I remember once to have dined when 
Mr. Benton, Isaac Hill, John M. Niles,* and others 

* John M. Niles woa a native of WindBor, Connecticut. Ho studied 

law, and settled at Hartford, devoting liiinself, however, to politics. 

He was of small, awkward, and iusij^nificunt personal appearance, and 

for tliis reai^on, probably, was for many yearri treated and regarded with 

lome degree of contempt, especially by the federalists, to whom he was 

x>liti(»Iiy opposed. I knew him well, and early learned to appreciate 

he logical force of his undcr^itimding. He was associated in the Times 

lewspaper, and was probably, more than any other single person, the 

nstrument of overturning the federal party in the State, in 1817. He 

low rose to various eminent public stations, at last becoming a Senator 

f the United States, and for a short time Postmaster-general under Mr. 

*olk. He had strong common sense, and clo.-«e reasoning powers, which 

peratcd with the precision of cog-wheels. Mr. Webster regarded his 

peech upon the tariff, while he was in the Senate, as one of the very 

blest ever delivered upon that subject. 

I most give a sketch of a scene in Mr. Forsyth^s parlor, on the oooasiou 


were present ; "John Taylor of Caroline," an able Vir- 
ginian statesman, and ^he very personification of old- 
fashioned dignity and courtesy; Albert Gallatin, a 
dark, swarthy man, with an eye that seemed to pene- 
trate the souls of all who approached him ; Henry R. 
Storrs,* a native of Connecticut, but a representative 
from New York — one of the ablest debaters of his 
day ; Hayne of South Carolina, the gallant but unsuc- 
cessful j ouster with Mr. Webster ; Burgess of Rhode 

above alluded to, as it presents a tableaux of three marked men. The 
dinner had been finished for some time, but several of the gentlemen 
lingered at the table. The ladies had retired, and made a considerable 
semicircle around the fire in the parlor. Mr. Forsyth was in the middle 
of this room, receiving the gentlemen as they came from the dining- 
hall, and who, ailer a little conversation with him, bowed to the ladies 
and took their leave. 

At la^t Messrs. Benton, Hill, and Niles came fh>m the dining-room 
together, and stopped to converse with Mr. Forsyth. Mr. Hill, who was 
very lame, said good-night to his host and went straight to the door, 
witliout taking the slightest notice of the bright circle around the fire- 
side. Benton came next ; but he is an old courtier, and therefore paid 
his addresses to the ladies, beginning with Mrs. Meigs — Mrs. Forsyth^s 
mother — and bowing gracefully to each, was about to take his leave. 
Nilcs came next. His first idea evidently was to follow the example of 
Ihaac Hill, but as Benton was actually performing his courtesies, he felt 
it impossible wholly to disregard such a pattern. Setting out first for 
the door, he soon diverged toward the fireside ; when near the ladies, 
ho was suddenly seized w^ith panic, and pulling out a red bandanna 
handkerchief from his pocket, gave a loud blast upon his nose, shot out 
of the door, and thus safely efiected his retreat. 

Mr. Niles died at Hartford in 1856, aged sixty-nine. 

* Mr. Siorrs was a native of Middlctown, Connecticut, and brother of 
the present Judge Storrs of that State. He was educated at Yale, and 
was there considered a dull scholar, yet he early became eminent as a 
lawyer and a statesman. lie first settled at Utica, but aflerward re- 
moved to the city of New York, where he died in 1837, aged forty-nine. 
He was distinguished for various acquirements, grcut powers of dij*- 
uriminution, remarkable logical exactness, aud a ready and powerful 


Island — a man of prodigious powers of sarcasm, and 
who made even John Randolph quail ; Silas Wright 
of New York, ever coarteous, ever smiling — a giant 
in strength, conquering bia antagonists with such an 
air of good-humor as to reconcile them to defeat: 
these, and still others among the departed, live in my 
memory, and were there time and occasion, would 
furnish interesting themes of description and com- 
ment. Of those among the living — Crittenden, noted 
for his close argument and polished sarcasm ; Benton 
of Missouri, who has fought his way through many 
prejudices, till he has attained the reputation of ua- 
■ivaled industry, vast acquisitions, and an enlarged 
statesmanship; Bell of Tennessee, always dignified 
ind commanding respect — these linger in my memory 
B connected with the senate-chamber, where indeed 
heir chief laurels have been won. In the other house, 
have often seen and heard Winthiop, Gushing, Wise, 
'. Marshall — all brilliant orators, and accustomed to 
bring down the House," when the spirit moved. 
In the White House, I have seen Monroe and Ad- 
as, and Jackson and Van Buren, and Harrison and 
yler, and Taylor and Fillmore. How many memo- 
es rise up at the mention of these names — associated 
they are in my mind with the brilliant throngs I 
kve seen at their levees, or with the public events 
nnected with their names, or the whirlpools of 
rty strife which I have seen fretting and foaming 
the periods of their election I 


But I must forbear. A single domestic event 
claims to be recorded here, and I shall then take 
leave of Washington. I have told you that I had 
come hither with my family. Among them was one 
to whom existence had hitherto been only a bright, 
unbroken spring. Gifted, beautiful, health^, happy 
—loving all and loved by all — he never suggested by 
his appearance, an idea but of life, and enjoyment, 
and success, and prosperity. Yet he was suddenly 
taken from us. We mourned, though remembrances 
were mingled with our grief which softened, if they 
could not wholly remove it. His simple virtues, 
faintly recorded in the following stanzas, are still 
more indelibly written on our hearts : 


Oh, tell me not that Eden^s fall 

Has left alike its blight on all — 

For one I knew from very birth, 

'Who scarcely bore the stains of earth. 

No wondrous bump of skull had he — 

No mark of startling prodigy ; 

His ways were gentle, tranquil, mild — 

Such as befit a happy child — 

With thoughtful face, though bland and fair-^ 

Of hazel eye and auburn hair. 

When with his mates in mirthful glee — 
A simple, joyous boy was he, 
Whose harmless wit, or gentle joke, 
A laughing echo often woke. 


He gdfy Joined the ardent ohaae, 
And often won the bentering race. 
Hk Bled, endowed with aewning ddDi 
ilew awifteet down the anowy hill; 
And o'er the kke his flooding akatea 
Left ikr behind hia panting matea. 
Yet Hnid the atrife the gentle boj 
Oanglit onl J hlieB| and no aUoy. 
The Tnlgar oath^^th' oflboaiTe word— 
The He, the jeer, the aoofl; he heardt— 
Yet none of theee e'er aoikd hia tongoe^ 
Or o'er hia breast their shadow flnng; 
Ko hidden Tioe, no larking aln, 
Told on hia brow a curse within; 
And sti]], as years flew lightly o'er, 
The stamp of truth and peace he bore. 

If thns he loved the sportive mood. 
Still more be loved alone to brood 
AloDg tlie winding river^s brim, 
Tbrongb arching forests hoar and dim; 
Beside tlie ocean's shelly shore, 
And where the snrly cataracts poor. 
Yet not an idle dreamer be, 
Who wasted life in reverie ; 
For ocean, forest, fall, and brook — 
Each was to liiin a speaking book : 
And thus, untaught, he gained a store 
Of curious art and wondrous lore. 
I oft have seen him in the wood, 
"Wrapt in a meditative mood — 
Now gazing at the forest high, 
Now searching flowers with heedfbl eye. 
Now watcliing with inquiring view, 
Each featliered craftsman as he flew— 


Now stadying deep the spider^s thread, 
With woDdrons oonning twined and spread- 
Now tracing oat the beetle^s den, 
Where sturdy insects work like men ; 
Now on his knees o^er ant-hill bent, 
Upon the bostling town intent ; 
Now snatching with a skillfhl swoop. 
From oat the brook, a wriggling troop 
Of tadpole, frog, and nameless wight, 
O V which he pored in strange delight. 
And thos, all nature's varied lore 
He loved to ponder o'er and o'er — 
To watch alike, with studious gaze, 
The insects and their wondrous ways ; 
The forest, with its flush of flowers — 
The landscape, with its bloom of bowers— 
The river, winding far away — 
The ocean, in its ceaseless play — 
The trembling stars, tliat seem to trace 
God's footsteps o'er the depths of space! 

And as in years he older grew. 
Still sterner science won his view : 
From books he gathered liidden lore. 
Though none saw how lie gained his store. 
Yet most he loved to break tlie seal 
Of nature's secrets, and reveal 
The wondrous springs that hidden lie 
Within her deep philosophy — 
In pulley, axle, wedge, and beam — 
In trembling air and flowing stream. 
His mind, with slirewd invention fraught. 
His hand, with re.'uly ])raolice wrought — 
Oonstrncting engines, sped by steam, 
That flew o'er mimic rail and stream ! 

HsmxEiaALy A2isoDoviaai, Kia 4SA 

Meanwhile Mi room a shop becamar 
With lathe and bellowa, forge and flame; 
And in the midst, as eaoh conld see. 
Mechanic — chemist — all was he. 

And thus with knowledge he was fraught, 
Not by an instinct, bat by thought — 
Patient and tranqnil — ^bent with care— 
O'er many a book — a student rare. 
And while he thus the useful knew, 
He still was just and truthful too : 
He loved the good, the dutiful — 
The tasteful, and the beautifhl ; 
Still modest — simple — was his air; 
Still found he pleasure everywhere ; 
Still found he friends on every hand : 
The humble loved, for he was bland ; 
The high admired, for all retinod. 
His look and munnor matched liis mind. 
No envy broke his bosom's rest — 
No pride disturbed his tranquil breast— 
No praise he heeded, for he knew 
To judge himself by standards true ; 
And words to him wore vain and waste. 
If still unsatisfied Ids taste. 

With rapid hand liis pencil drew 
Light sketches of the scenes he knew, 
Wliich told how well his studious eye 
Had traced the hues of earth and sky— 
The playful change of light and shade 
O'er rippling wave or spreading glade. 
And music from his fingers swept 
So sweet — so deep— the listener wept. 
The tutored and untutored round, 
In trembling trance, aUke were bound ; 


For not alone with hand and heart, 

He mastered aU the gems of art, 

Bat bade the soft piano^s key 

Reveal unwritten melody — 

A flowing fount of playful feeling, 

OW which a plaintive tone was stealing — 

As twilight oft is seen to throw 

Its saddening shade oW sunset*s glow. 

^Tis said, alas I that those who love 

Sad melodies, go soon above ; 

And that fair youth — that gentle boy — 

So full of light, and love, and joy — 

Sixteen bright summers o^er his head — 

He sleeps, companion of the dead I 

How vain are tears I but memory *s art. 

While yet it wrings, still soothes the heart ; 

For if it bring the lost to sight, 

He comes in some fond robe of light. 

Of all his sports in life's fair day. 

He loved the best down yonder bay 

To speed his boat with shivering sail. 

Or glide before the whispering gale ; 

For in the presence of the sea 

He found a quiet ecstasy. 

As if it came with mystic lore. 

And beckoned to some happier shore. 

And when his last sad hour was nigh. 

And clouds were gathering o'er his eye. 

His mother asked, " How now, my boy !" 

He answered, with a beam of joy — 

"Fm in my boat I" and thus he passed — 

These simple, meaning words — ^his last! 

marroKioAL, ambcdotioal, ma 487 


London and Paris compared — Paris thirty years ago — Louis XVIII. — 
Tht Parisians — Garden of the TuiUries — Washington Irving— Mr. 
Warden^ the American Ofnsul—SiKiieti Philomatiqiu — Baron Larrey 
— Geoffrey St. IfUaire — The Institute — Arago — Lamarck — Gay-Lussac 
— Cuvier — Lacroix — Laplace — La^nnec — Dupuytren — Thlma — Mad&- 
moiselle Mars. 

My dear C ***** * 

About the middle of April, 1851, I arrived in 
Paris, and soon after took charge of the Consulate 
there. As you know, I have frequently been in this 
gay city, and I now propose to gather up my recol- 
lections of it, and select therefrom a few items which 
may fill up the blank that yet remains in my story, 
and in some degree contribute to your amusement. 

I first visited Paris in January, 1824, as I have told 
you. I had spent a month in London, which is always 
a rather gloomy place to a stranger, and in winter is 
peculiarly depressing. The people who have houses 
there, burrow into them, and lighting their coal fires, 
make themselves happy ; but the wanderer from his 
country, shut out from these cheerful scenes, and 
forced into the streets, grimed with dirt and drizzle 
below and incumbered with bituminous fogs above, 
feels that he is in a dreary wilderness, where man 
and nature conspire to make him miserable and 
melancholy. In most great cities, there is something 


to cheer the new-comer : it is precisely the reverse 
with London, and particularly at this dismal season. 
Its finest streets, its most sumptuous squares, even 
its noble monuments, which are not few, have al- 
ways a rather dull aspect, and in the pitchy atmo- 
sphere of winter, they seem to be in mourning, and 
communicate their gloom to all around. St. Paul's, 
incrusted with soot and dripping with an inky de- 
posit from the persistent fogs ; Nelson's monument, 
black with coal-smoke, and clammy with the chill 
death-damp of the season, — all these things — the very 
ornaments and glories of the city — are positively 
depressing, and especially to an American, accus- 
tomed to the transparent skies, the white snow-drifts, 
the bracing, cheering atmosphere of his own winter 

Paris is the very opposite of London. The latter 
is an ordinary city, impressed by no distinctive char- 
acteristics, except its gloom and its vast extent It is 
little more than twenty Liverpools, crowded together, 
and forming the most populous city in the world. 
Paris, on the contrary, is marked with prominent and 
peculiar traits, noticed at once by the most careless ob- 
server. On entering the streets, you are struck with 
the air of ornament and decoration which belongs 
to the architecture, the effect of which is heightened 
by the light color of the freestone, the universal 
building material. The sky is bright, and the peo- 
ple seem to reflect its cheerfulness. The public gar- 


dens and squares, surrounded with monuments of art 
and teeming with men, women, and children, inclu- 
ding abundance of rosy nurses and plump babies, all 
apparently bent on pleasure, and this, too, in mid- 
winter — are peculiar and striking features of this gay 
metropolis. To an American who has just left Lon- 
don, his heart heavy with hypochondria, Paris is in- 
deed delightful, and soon restores him to his wonted 

At the time I first arrived here, this city was, how- 
ever, very different from what it now is. Louis 
XVIII. was upon the throne, and had occupied it for 
nine years. During this period he had done almost 
nothing to repair the state of waste and dilapidation 
in which the allies had left it. These had taken down 
the statue of Napoleon on the column of the Place 
Vendome, and left its pedestal vacant ; the king had 
followed up the reform and erased the offensive name 
of the exiled emperor from the public monuments, 
and put his own, Louis XVIIL, in their place; he had 
caused a few churches to be repaired, and some pic- 
tures of the Virgin to be painted and placed in their 
oiches. But ghastly mounds of rubbish — the wrecks 
Df demolished edifices — scattered heaps of stones at 
;he foot of half-built walls of buildings, destined 
lever to be completed, — these and other unsightly 
)bjects were visible on every hand, marking the re- 
ient history of Napoleon, overthrown in the midst 
)f his mighty projects, and leaving his name and his 


works to be desecrated alike by a foreign foe and a 
more bitter domestic adversary. 

The king, Louis XVIIL, was a man of good sense 
and liberal mind, for one of his race ; but he was 
wholly unfit to administer the government. He was 
a sort of monster of obesity, and, at the time I speak 
o^ having lost the use of his lower limbs, he could 
not walk, and was trundled about the palace of the 
Tuileries in a cripple's go-cart. I have often seen 
him let down in this, through the arch in the south- 
eastern angle of the palace, into his coach, and re- 
turning firom his ride, again taken up, and jill this 
more like a helpless barrel of beef than a sovereign. 
Had the allies intended to make legitimacy at once 
odious and ridiculous, they could not better have 
contrived it than by squatting down this obese, im- 
becile extinguisher upon the throne of France, as the 
successor of Napoleon ! 

The Parisians are, however, a philosophic race : as 
they could not help themselves, they did not spend 
their lives like children, in profitless poutings. They 
had their jokes, and among these, they were accus- 
tomed to call Louis Dix-huit, Louis des huUres — a tol- 
erable pun, which was equivalent to giving him the 
familiar title of Old Oyster Louis. Deeming it their 
birthright to have three or four hours of pleasure 
every day — whoever may be in power — they still fre- 
quented the promenades, the Boulevards, and the 
theaters. When, therefore, I first visited the gardens 



of the Ttdleries of a bright Sunday afternoon^ and im- 
mediately after quitting the " dull fuliginous abyaa" 
of London, the Bcene seemed to me like enchant- 
ment I find my impressions thus chronicled in my 

^ Weather fine, bright, and mild ; some shrubs still 
green, and many flowers yet in bloom ; jets of fount* 
ains playing in the sunshine ; too early in the day fi>r 
a great throng, yet a great many people here; all have 
a quiet, sauntering look; hundreds of tidy nurses, 
with bare arms and neat caps on their heads, the 
children they carry about being richly dressed, their 
little rosy cheeks imbedded in lace ; the ladies taste- 
fully attired, and walking with a peculiar air of grace 
—very sentimental and modest in their countenances 
— never look at you, as they do in London ; very 
provoking. There is no Sunday air in the scene, 
but rather that of a calm pleasure-day ; children are 
rolling hoops ; one boy making a dirt pie ; two dogs, 
which have probably been shut up for a week, hav- 
ing a glorious scamper; wild-pigeons cooing above in 
the tree-tops ; sparrows hopping about on the green 
sod at the foot of the statues of Flora and Diana, 
and picking up crumbs of bread thrown to them by 
the children ; a number of old men in the sunshine, 
sheltered by a northern wall, reading newspapers ; 
several nurses there, sunning their babies ; palace of 
the Tuilcries of an architecture never seen in America, 

but still imposing ; the Kue de Bivoli on the north, 



superb ; the Place Louis Quinze,* fine ; the mint and 
other edifices along the opposite bank of the Seine, 
beautiful. Wonderful place, this Paris; different 
from any thing I have seen. It seems devised, in 
its sky, its edifices, its decorations, its ornaments, 
for a tasteful and pleasure-loving people. Even I, a 
wanderer, feel no sense of solitude, of isolation, here. 
London is repulsive, and seems continually to fix)wn 
upon the stranger as an outcast ; Paris smiles upon 
him and welcomes him, and makes him feel at home. 
The genial spirit of the French nation speaks in this, 
its capital : just as the temper and spirit of John Bull 
seem to be built into the brick and mortar of the 
streets of London." 

I can not, perhaps, do better than to give you a 
few more passages from the hasty jottings I made at 
the time. 

" February 6 — Washington Irving returned our 
call. Strikingly mild and amiable; dress — claret 
coat, rather more pigeon-tailed than the fashion at 
New York ; light waistcoat ; tights ; ribbed, flesh- 
colored silk stockings ; shoes, polished very bright. 
This a fashionable dress here. He spoke of many 

♦ Tliis is now tlio Place de la Concorde, and i8 one of the most beau- 
tiful sqtiarcft in the world. In the center is the fumoiis obelisk of Lux- 
or : from this point four superb works of architecture are Hcen at the 
four curdinul points — to the west, through the avenue of the Champs 
Elihdes, i« the Arc do Triomphe de TEtoile ; to the north, the Church of 
the Mudolcino ; to the east, the Palace of the Tuileries ; to the south, the 
Chamber of Deputies. 


tUngi^ all in a quiet maimer, evidently with a ftmd 
of feeling beneath. 

" February 14 — ^Went with Mr. Warden* to a meet- 
ing of the ' Soci6t6 PhUomatiqae,' composed of mem* 
bera of the Institute ; saw Fourier, the fionouB geo- 
metrician and physician ; he accompanied Napoleon 
to Egypt ; wears a great brown wig; a dull, dumsy 
speaker : Th^nard^ a iiEunous chemist, associated with 
Oay-Lussac ; looks about forty : Larrey ; has long 
black hair parted on the forehead, with an air of 
gravity and solidity, mingled with simplicity ; spoke 
slowly, but with great clearness. Bonaparte said he 
was the most honest man he ever knew. He ac- 
companied the expedition to Egypt; is still a dis- 
tinguished surgeon, and in full practice. Poisson, 
one of the first mathematicians in Europe ; he has a 
very fine head and splendid eye — seems about forty- 
eight : Geoffrey St. Hilaire, a zoologist, second only 
to Cuvier ; a bustling, smiling man, of very demon- 
strative manner ; he had two huge fish-bones, which 
he used for the purpose of illustrating his observa- 
tions. He was also in the Egyptian expedition, and 
contributed largely to its scientific results. He seem- 
ed about forty-eight, and was listened to with great 

♦ Mr. David Builio Wnrden, who hod been Secretary of Legation when 
Qon. ArnriHtroni;? was Minister to Holland, was at tliis time Consnlof the 
United States at Vur'w, lie was a native of Ireland, but had beoome an 
American citizen. He was a correi^ponding member of the Institute, 
•nd was a man of considerable scientific and literary acquirements. He 
wrote a clever History of the United States. He died at Paris in 1846, 


attention. Bosc, a celebrated agricnltarist^ botanist, 
Ac, old, respectable, gentlemanly. 

" The proceedings were conducted with order and 
simplicity, forming a striking contrast to the pomp 
ous declamation I heard in London, in the Academy 
of Arts, upon hatching eggs. 

" February 16 — Went with Mr. Warden to a meet- 
ing of the Institute, held in the Hotel Mazarin : one 
hundred and fifty members present Arago, presi- 
dent ; he is tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing in 
appearance, with a dark, swarthy complexion, and a 
black, piercing eye. Lamarck, the famous writer on 
natural history — old, infirm, blind — was led in by 
another member — a distinguished entomologist, whose 
name I have forgotten ; Fontaine, the architect — tall, 
homely, and aged : Gay-Lussac, a renowned chemist, 
under forty, active, fiery in debate : Cuvier, rather a 
large man, red face, eyes small, very near-sighted ; 
eyes near together and oddly appearing and dis- 
appearing ; features acute, hair gray, long, and care- 
less; he spoke several times, and with great perti- 
nency and effect: Lacroix, the mathematician, old, 
and looks like a 76er : Laplace, the most famous 
living astronomer, tall, thin, and sharp-featured — re- 
minded me of the portraits of Voltaire ; he is about 
seventy -five, feeble, yet has all his mental faculties. 

" The principal discussion related to gasometers, 
the police of Paris having asked the opinion of the 
Institute as to the safety of certain new kinds, lately 


introduced. The siibject excited great interest, and 

the debate was quite animated, Thenard, Gay-Lua- 

sac, Girard, Laplace, Cuvier, and others, engaged in 

the debate. Nearly all expressed themselves with 

great ease and even volubility. They were occaAioii- 

ally vehement, and when excited, several spoke ttl 

once, and the {jrcsidcat was obU^'ed often tc ring his 

Ml to prMQTTe Older. ' 

" It waa Strang uA striking to see ao mtaj old 

men, jnrt cm the borders of the grave, BtQl retaiiuiig 

sach ardor for science as to appear at a club like tbi^ 

and eater with passion into all the questiona that 

came np. Sucb a spectacle is not to be seen elad- 

where, on the earth. The charms of scieuce gen- 

srally &de to the eye of threescore and ten ; few 

3as8ioQS except piety and avarice survive threescore. 

[t is evident, in studying this association, that the 

lighest and most ardent exercises of the mind are 

lere stimulated by the desire of glory, which is the 

eward of success. One thing struck me forcibly in 

hia assembly, and that was the utter absence of all 

i'rench foppery in dress, among the members. Their 

ttire was plain black, and generally as simple ad 

hat of so many New England clergymen. 

" In the evening, went to the Theatre Frangais, to 

» Talma in the celebrated tragedy of Sylla, by Joiiy. 

'id not well understand the French, but could see 

lat the acting was very masterly. Had expected a 

reat deal of rant, but was agreeably disappointed. In 


the more passionate parts there was a display of vigor, 
but at other times the performance was quiet and nat- 
ural — without any of the stage-exaggeration I am ac- 
customed to. Most of the scenes were such as might 
actually take place, under the circumstances indicated 
in the play. Talma is said to resemble Napoleon in 
person ; he certainly looked very much like his por- 
traits. His hair was evidently arranged to fevor the 
idea of resemblance to the emperor. He is a very 
handsome man, and comes up to my idea of a great 

" February 20th — ^Went to see a new comedy by 
Casimir Delavigne, " L'Ecole des Vieillards." Talma 
and Mademoiselle Mars played the two principal parts. 
The piece consisted of a succession of rather long dia- 
logues, without an}- change of scenery. The whole 
theater had somewhat the quiet elegance of a parlor. 
There were no noisy disturbers ; there was no vul- 
garity — no boisterous applause. The actors appeared 
like groups of genteel people, conversing, as we se-e 
them in actual life. There was nothing very exciting 
in the situations, nothing highly romantic in the plot 
or denouement The interest of the play consisted in 
playful wit, sparkling repartee, and light satire upon 
life and society — represented by the most beautiful 
acting I have ever seen. Talma is inimitable in the 
character of a refined but somewhat imbecile man, 
who has passed the prime of life ; and Mademoiselle 
Mars is, beyond comparison, the most graceful and 

mnuBiQiLL, AHmxynoALy xro. M7 

pleamng of actresses. I am straok with the strict 
propriety, tbe refinement even of the manners of the 
audience. The whole entertainment seems, indeed, 
to be founded upon a very different idea from that of 
the English stage, which is largely adapted to delight 
the coarse tastes of the pit Here the pit— called the 
parterre — ^is filled with people of refinement. 

"February 2l8t— Went to the Hospital of La Cha- 
rity Saw Laennec, with his pupils, visiting the pa- 
tients. He makes great use of the stethoscope, which 
IS a wooden tube applied to the body, and put to the 
ear : by the sound, the state of the lungs and the vital 
Drgans is ascertained. It is like a telescope, by which 
the interior of the body is perceived, only that the ear 
s used instead of the eye. It is deemed a great im- 
Drovement Laennec is the inventor, and has high 
^putation in the treatment of diseases of the chest 
le has learned to ascertain the condition of the lungs 
)y thumping on the breast and back of the patient, 
,nd putting the ear to the body at the same time. 
le is a little man, five feet three inches high, and 
bin as a shadow. However, he has acute features, 
nd a manner which bespeaks energy and conscious- 
ess of power. 

"The whole hospital was neat and clean; bed- 
teads of iron. French medical practice very light ; 
5W medicines given ; nursing is a great part of the 
reatment. Laennec's pupils followed him from pa- 
ent to patient. He conversed with them in Latin. 


One of the patients was a handsome, black-eyed girl, 
not very sick. All the young men must apply the 
stethoscope to her chest ; she smiled, and seemed to 
think it all right. 

" Same day, went to the Hotel Dieu, a medical and 
surgical hospital. Saw Dupuytren and his pupils, 
visiting the patients. He is a rather large man, of a 
fine Bonapartean head, but sour, contumelious looks. 
He holds the very first rank as a surgeon. His op- 
erations are surprisingly bold and skillful. Edward 

C , of Philadelphia, who is here studying medicine, 

told me a good anecdote of him. He has a notion that 
he can instantly detect hydrocephalus in a patient, 
from the manner in which he carries his head. One 
day, while he was in the midst of his scholars at the 
hospital, he saw a common sort of man standing at a 
distance, nmoug several persons who had come for 
medical advice. Dupuvtreu^s eye fell upon him, and 
he said to his pupils — * Do you see yonder, that fellow 
that lias his hand to his face, and carries his head al- 
most on his shoulder? Now, take notice: that man 
has hydrocephalus. Come here, my good fellow!' 

*' The man thus called, came up. * Well,' said Du- 
puytren — *I know what ails you; but come, tell us 
jibout it yourself. What is the matter with you?' 

*' 'I've got the toothache!' Wius the reply. 

" * Take that' — said Dupuytren, giving him a box 
on the ear — * and go to the proper department and 
have it pulled out !' " 



ieaih of Louis XVIII.— Charles X.—The " Three Glorious Days'^— Louis 
Philippe — The Btoolution of Fthruary^ 1848. 

[y DEAK c****** 

I was again in Paris in the summer of 1832. 
rreat changes had taken place since 1824 : Louis 
[^VIII. was dead ; Charles X. had succeeded, and 
fter a brief reign had been driven away by the rev- 
lution of the ** Three Glorious Days." Louis Phi- 
ippe was now on the throne. On the 29th of July, 
nd the two following da3\s, we saw the celebration 
f the event whicli had thus chan^-ed the dvnastv of 
^rance. It consisted of a grand fete, in the Champs 
^lysees, closed by a most imposing military spectacle, 
:i which eighty thousand tr(;o])s, extending from the 
^rc de Triomphe to the Place Vendome, marched bc- 
3re the admiring throng. Louis Philippe was him- 
clf on horseback as commander-in-chief, and such 
ras his po})ularity among the masses that, in niar^y 
^stances, 1 saw men in blouses rush up and grasp 
is hand, and insist upon shaking it. Sixteen years 
fter, I saw him hustled into a cal), and flying from 
he mob for liis life — his family scattered, and he l.>nt 
JO happy to get sale to England in the disguise of a 
ailor ! 
As I have told you, I established my family in 


Paris in 1846 ; that winter and the following I was 
also there. I remember that on a certain Monday in 
February, 1848, I went up to see our countrywoman, 
the Miircliioness Lavalette, to arrange with her about 
an introduction she had promised me to Guizot. She 
was not at home, but as I was coming down the hill 
from the Place St. George, I met her in her carriage. 
She asked me to walk back to her house, and I did 
so. I observed that she was much agitated, and 
asked her the cause. "We are going to have 
trouble 1" said she. " I have just been to the Cham- 
bers : the ministry have determined to stop the meet- 
ing of the liberals to-morrow; the proclamation is 
already being printed." 

" Well, and what then ?" said I. 

** Another * Three Glorious Days 1' " 

To this I replied that I conceived her fears ground- 
less ; that Louis Philippe appeared to me strong in 
the confidence of the people ; that he was noted for 
his prudence and sagacity; that Guizot, his prime 
minister, was a man of great ability ; that the whole 
cabinet, indeed, were distinguished for their judg- 
ment and capacity. The lady shook her head, and 
rejoined — 

" I know Paris better than you do. We are on 
the eve of an earthquake 1" 

Soon after this I took my leave. What speedily 
ensued, may best be told in a letter I addressed to a 
friend in Boston, and which was as follows : 


Favp, lUnh 14t]^ 1848. 

A« it bao been my fbrtime to be in Paris, and an obeerrer of 
oaiiy of the most stirring and striking ocoorrenoes dnring the 
ite rerohition, I propose to give yon a brief eonsecotire narra- 
Ive of what I saw and heard, embracing a sketch of other kad- 
Bg events. My purpose will be to take yon with me, and make 
on a partidpator, as iSiff as possible, in the scenes witnessed and 
motions experienced by one who was on the spot 
Belbre I beg^ it may be well to state a few particulars as to 
[ie political condition of Fhmoe at the moment of the revolt 
ft is wen known that Louis Philippe accepted the crown at the 
ands of Lafayette, after the struggle of July, 1880, the hitter 
lying, as he presented the king and charter to the people^ 
We give you the best of monarchies — the best of republics I" 
he circumstances, all considered, pledged Louis Philippe to a 
beral government, in which the good of the people should be 
le supreme object, and the popular will the predominating 

He commenced his career under fair auspices, and for a time 
rery thing promised a happy fulfillment of what seemed his 
ity and his destiny. But by degrees a great change came over 
le monarch ; tlie possession of power seduced his heart, and 
imed his head ; and forgetting his pledges, and blind to his 
ue interest, he set himself to building up a dynasty that should 
md down his name and fame to posterity. 
It seemed, at a superficial glance, that he might realize his 
•eam. Ue had acquired the reputation of being the most'saga- 
ous monarch of his time. He had improved and embellished 
le capital ; on all sides his " image and superscription" were 
en in connection with statues, fountiiins, edifices, and works 
* beauty and utility. France was happier than the adjacent 
»untries. The famine and the pestilence, that had recently 
related neighboring states, had trod more lightly here. The 
ng was blessed with a large family. Tliese had all reached 
aturity, and were allied to kings and queens, princes and prin- 


cesses. The upholders of the crown in the parliament, were 
men whose names alone were a tower of strength. Peace 
reigned at liome, and the army abroad had jnst succeeded in 
achieving a signal triumph over an enemy that had baffled them 
for seventeen years.* 

JSucli was the outward seeming of affairs; but there were 
threatening fires within, which might at any moment produce a 
conflagration. Many thinking iHJople were profoundly di>gusted 
with tlie retrograde tendency of the government, with the cor- 
ruption of its officers, the gradual subsidizing of the legislatare 
by the crown, and the concentration of all the powers of the 
state in the hands of one man, who was now Ui^ing them for 
family aggrandizement. Although the march of despotism had 
been cautious and stealthy, the plainest mind could see, and in- 
deed the j)e<>ple generally began to feel, many galling evidences 
of the tyranny to which they had become actually subjected. 

Among tliese grievances, were the constant increase of the 
national debt, and cunse<|uent increase of taxation, with the 
restraints put upon the liberty of the press and of speech. By 
a law of some years' standing, tlie people were prohibited from 
holding stated meetings of more than twenty persons, without 
license; and rcfarm hairqueta^ or meetings for the discus^ion of 
public alfairs — of which about seventy had been held, in differ- 
ent parts of the kingdom, within the last year — were now pro- 
nounced illegal by the ministry. Finally, a determination to sup- 
press one of them, about to be held in tlie twelfth word of Paris, 
was solemnly announced by them in the Chamber of Deputies. 

It is material to bear in mind, that there are always in this 
metropolis at least one hundred thousand workmen, who live 
from (lay to day upon their labor, and who, upon the slightest 
c;ho<k t«) trade, are jdungod into poverty, it' not starvation. At 
the moment ot' which we are speaking, this immense body of 

* Al)(l-el-Ka*lir, who liad been the indomitable lender of the Arabs 
of tlic Desert, nptiinst the French, who hnd conquered Algiers, surren- 
dered to Gcu. Lamoriciere, December 22d, 1847. 


ten, with their families, were suffering sorely from the stagna- 

on of hastiness in the capital. There were not less than two 

mdred thousand persons who, for the space of three months, 

id hardly heen ahle to obtain sufficient food to appease the 

'avings of hunger. How easy to stir up these people to rebel- 

>n ! — ^how natural for them to turn their indignation against 

le king and his government I The opi)osition members seized 

le occasion now afforde<l them, to excite these discontented 

asses against the ministry; and it may be added that the 

tter, by their rashness, did more than their enemies to prepare 

e mine and set tlie match to the train. 

The crisis was now at hand. The opposition deputies declared 

eir intention to attend the proposed meeting ; and in spite of 

6 threats of the ministry', the preparations for the banquet 

ent vigorously on. A place was selected in the Cliamps Ely- 

es, and a building was in progress of erection for the celcbra- 

)n. The prograniino of tlie siiino was announced, the loast for 

e occasion was published, the orator, O. Barrot, selected. The 

ly was fixed — an ominous day for tyranny — an auspicious one 

r human freedom. It was the 22d of February, the birthday 

Wjibhington I Whether it has received a new title to its place 

the calendar of liberty, mu^t be left for the decision of time. 

The eveniiif^ of the 21st came, and then proclamations were 

•ued by the co-ojieration of the mini-itry and the i>olice, i)rohib- 

ng the ban<|uet. This act, thouf!:h it had been threatened, still 

1 Uke a thunderbolt upon the people. It was known that an 

imense military force had been quietly assembled in Paris and 

e vicinity — eighty thousiind troops, with artillery and ample 

unitions — and that the garrisons around the Tuileries had 

en victualed as if for a siege. But it had n(>t been believed 

at an attempt to stifle the voice of the i)eople, so bold as this, 

3uld really be made. Yet su(th was the fact. The leaders of 

e opposition receded from their i^round, and it was announced, 

the i)apers of the 22d, that the banquet, being forbidden by 

e government, would not take place ! 


The morning of this day was dirk and drizdy. I had antiei- 
pated some manifoetation of nneasiness, and at half-past nine 
o^clook went forth. Groups of people were reading the prool*- 
mations posted up at the oomers of the streets, hot all was 
tranquil. I walked along the Boulevards for a mile, yet saw no 
symptoms of the ooming storm. 

The designated place of meeting for the banquet was the 
square of the Madeleine. This is at the western extremity of 
the Boulevards, and near the great oentral square, oaUed the 
Plaoe de la Concorde — a point communicating directly with the 
Chamber of Deputies, the Champs Elysees, the gardens of the 
Tuileries, &c At eleven o^dook, ▲. ic, a dark mass was seen 
moving along the Boulevards, toward the proposed place of 
meeting. This consisted of thousands of workmen from the 
fiiubourgs. In a few moments the entire square of the Madeleine 
was filled with these persons, dressed almost exclusively in their 
charaoteristio costume, which consists of a blue tunic, called 
blouse — a garment which is made very much in the Cushion of 
our farmers' frocks. 

The opening scene of the drama had now begun. The mass 
rushed and eddied around the Madeleine, which, by the way, 
is the finest church and the finest edifice in Paris. Such was 
the threatening aspect of the scene, that the shops were all sud- 
denly shut, and the people around began to supply themselves 
with bread and other food, for ^^ three days.'' In a few moments, 
the avalanche took its course down the Rue Royale, swept 
across the Place de la Concorde, traversed the bridge over the 
Seine, and collected in swelling and heaving masses in the Place, 
or square, before the Chamber of Deputies. This building is 
defended in fix)nt by a high iron railing. The gate of this was 
soon forced, and some hundreds of the people rushed up the long 
flight of steps, and pausing beneath the portico, struck up the 
song of the MarseiUaiBe — a song, by the way, interdicted by law 
on account of its exciting character. The crowd here rapidly 
increased ; shouts, songs, cries, filled the air. East and west, 

HWTlHitmT . j MMMfODanOALj STO. 4S5 

?img the qoaya, and through the streets hehia the Ohainber, 
Mmeloog fines of stodeiitB from the yarioiieaohoole. Standing 
ipon one of the pillars of the hrldge^ I commanded a view of 
he whole soenei It was one to fin the heart with the UTeliest 
Biotlons. A hundred thonsand people were now oolleo te d, 
earning fike an agitated sea, and sending fixrth a murmnr resem- 
Sng the Toioe of many waters. From the sontbem gate of the 
Meries now issued two bodies .of troops-— one, on horsebadc, 
ondng along the northern quay. These were the Municipal 
loaidf a magnificent corps, richly caparisoned, and nobly 
MMUited. Being picked men, and weQ paid, they were the 
tdef reliance of the government, and for that rery reason were 
■ted by the people. The other body of troops were in&ntry 
r the line, and crossing the Pont Royal, came along the south- 
n bank of the river. Both detachments approached the mul- 
tnde, and crowding upon them with a slow advance, succeeded 
; last in clearing the space before the duonber. 
The greater part of the throng reorossed the bridge, and 
»read themselves over the Place de la Concorde. This square, 
rhaps the most beautiful in the world, is about five acres in ex- 
nt. In the center is the far-famed obelisk of Luxor ; on either 
le of this is a splendid fountain, which was in Aill action du- 
ng the scenes we describe. To the east is the garden of the 
lileriee ; to the west are the Champs Elys^es. This vast area, 
associated with art, and luxury, and beauty, was now crowd- 
with an excited populace, mainly of the working classes, 
leir number constantly augmented, and bodies of troops, toot 
d horse, arrived from various quarters, till the square was 
erally covered. The number of persons here collected in one 
iss was over one hundred thousand. 

At the commencement, the mob amused themselves with 
Qgs, shouts, and pasquinades; but in clearing the space before 
9 Chamber, and driving the people across the bridge, the 
ards had displayed great rudeness. They pressed upon the 
isses, and one woman was crushed to death beneath the hoofii 


of the horses. Pebbles now began to be hurled at tiie troops 
from the square. Dashing in among the people, sword in hand, 
the cavalry drove them away; hot as they cleared one ^>ot, 
another was immediately filled. The effect of this was to chafe 
and irritate the mob, who now began to seize sticks and stooea 
and hurl them in good earnest at their assailants. 

While this petty war was going on, some thousands of the 
rioters dispersed themselves through the Champs Elys^ea, and 
began to build barricades across the main avenue. The chairs, 
amounting to many hundreds, were immediately disposed in 
three lines across the street. Benches, treUises, boxes, fences — 
every movable thing within reach — were soon added to these 
barricades. An omnibus passing by was captured, detached 
from the horses, and tumbled into one of the lines. The flag 
was taken from the Panorama near by, and a vast procession 
paraded through the grounds, singing the Marseillaise, the Pari- 
siennc, and other patriotic airs. 

Meuiiwliilc, a small detachment of footguards advanced to 
the scene of action; but they were X)elted with stones, and took 
shelter in their guard-house. This was assailed with a shower 
of missiles, which rattled like hail upon its roof. The windows 
were dashed in, and a heap of brush near by was laid to the 
wall and set on fire. A body of horse-guards soon arrived and 
dispersed the rioters ; but the latter cri>s»sed to the northern side 
of the Clianips Elysees, attacked another guard-house, and set it 
on fire. A company of the Hue came to the spot, but the mob 
cheered iheui, and they remained inactive. The revel proceeded, 
and, in the face of the soldiers, the people fed the fire with fuel 
from tlie surrounding trees and fences, sang their songs, cracked 
their jokes, and cried, **I)own with GuizotI" — "Vive la Re- 
forme !'' &c. In these scenes the boys took the lead — perform- 
ing the most desperate fcjits, and inspiring the rest by their 
intrepidity. A remarkable air of fun and froDc chai*acterized 
the mob — wit flew as freely on all sides as stones and sticks; 
every missile seemed winged with a joke. 


Bach was the conrse of events the first day, so far as they felk 
ider my own observution. It appears from the papers that 
Hilar proceed iugs, though m some cases of a more serioos 
aracter, took pkce elsewhere. Great masses of people gath- 
ed at various points. They made hostile demonstrations he- 
ro the office of Foreign Afiairs, crying out, "Down with 
lizot!^^ Some person called for the minister. "He b not 
r^^^ said one ; " he is with the Oonntess Lieven" — a remark 
lich the habitues of Paris will understand as conveying a 
3n satire. At other points, a spirit of insubordination was 
nifedted. Bakers* shops were broken open, armories forced^ 
1 barricades begun. Everywhere the hymn of the Marseil- 
le, and Dumas* touching death-song of the Girondins, were 
ig — often by hundreds of voices, and with thrilling effect. 
9 rapi>el, for calling out the National Guard, was beaten 
several quarters. As niglit closed in, heavy masses of 
liery, horse and foot, with trains of artillery, were seen at 
ious points. Tlie riuce du Carrousel woa full of troops, and 
evening they were there reviewed by the king, and the Dukes 
Semours and Montpeusier. Six thousand soldiers were dis- 
ii\ along the Boulevards, from the Madeleine to the Porte 
Martin. Patrols were seen in ditferent quarters during the 
)le night. About twelve, tran(|uinity reigned over the city, 
urbed only in a lew remote and obscure places by the build- 
of barricades, the arrest of rioters, and one or two combats, 
hich sevt^ral persons were killed. Such was the first day's 
k — ilie prchide to the mighty drama about to follow, 
'ednesday, the 23d, was lair, with diushes of rain at intervals, 
!i our April. I was early abroad, and soon noticed that 
panics of National (iuards were on duty. Only regular 
ps had been called out the day before — a fact which showed 
distrust entertained by the king of the National Guards, 
was remarked bv the latter, and was doubtless one of the 
es which liastcned tiie destruction of the government. 
!; nine o'clock, 1 passed up the Boulevards. Most of tho 


shops were shut, and an air of uneasiness prevailed among the 
people. At the Porte St. Denis, there was a great throng, and 
a considerable mass of troops. Barricades were soon after 
erected in the streets of St. Denis, Clery, St. Eustache, Cadran, 
&c. Several fosilades took place between the people at these 
points and the soldiers, and a number of persons were killed. 

Some contests occurred in other quarters during the morning. 
At two o'clock, the Boulevards, the Rues St. Denfe, St. Martin, 
Montmartre, St. Honor6 — in short, all the great thoronghiares 
— were literally crammed with people. Bodies of horse and 
foot, either stationary or patrolling, were everywhere to be 
seen. It was about this time that some officers of the National 
Guard ordered their men to fire, but they refused. In one in- 
stance, four hundred National Guards were seen marching, in 
uniform, but without arms. It became evident that the soldiers 
generally were taking part with the people. This news was 
c»arricd to the Palace, and Count Mole was called in to form a 
new ministry. He undertook the task, and orders were imme- 
diately given to spread the intelligence of this through the city. 

Meanwhile the riot and revel went on in various quarters. 
The police were active, and hundreds of pei-sons were arrested 
and lodged in prison. Skirmishes took place, here and there, 
between the soldiers and the people; long processions were 
seen, attended by persons who sang choruses, and shouted, 
" Down with Guizot !" — " Vive la reforme I" 

About four o'clock, the news of the downfall of the Guizot 
ministry was spread along the Boulevards. The joyful intelli- 
gence ran over the city with the speed of light. It was every- 
where received with acclamations. The peoi)le and the troops, 
a short time before looking at each other in deadly hostility^ 
were seen shaking hands, and expressing congratulations. An 
immense population — men, women, and children — poured into 
the Boulevards, to share in the jubilation. Large parties of the 
National Guard paraded tlie streets, the otlicers and men shout, 
mg, "Vive la reforme I" and the crowd cheering loudly. Bands 

HnrxonoAi:., AvwDonoAL, ma 489 

of fiT6 hundred to fifteod Inmdred men and boyi wwt about 
making noisy demonstxntiona of Joy. On being met by the 
troope^ they divided to let them paaa, and immediately reeomed 
their cries and their songs. 

Toward half-past six o'olook in the evening, an iilnmination 

iraa spoken of^ and many persons lighted np spontaneondy. 

Ibe illamination soon became more general, and the popolaoe^ 

n large numbers, went through the streets, calling, *^ light up!" 

S'umerous bands, alone, or following detachments of the Na- 

kmal Guards, went about, shouting, *^ Vive le roi I" — " Vive la 

eftmnel" and singing the Marseillaise. At many points, where 

larricades had been erected, and the people were resisting the 

roope, they ceased when they heard the news of the resigna- 

ions, and the troops retired. *^ It is all over!" wAs the general 

ry, and a feeling of relief seemed to pervade every bosouL 

There can be no doubt that, but for a fatal occurrence which 

K>n after took place, the further progress of the revolt might 

ave been stayed. Many wise people now say, indeerl, that the 

evolution was all planned beforehand ; they had foreseen and 

redicted it ; and from the beginning of the outbreak every thing 

;nded to this point. The fact is unquestionably otherwise. 

he ** Oi^position,'* with their various clubs and societies dis- 

ibuted through all classes in Paris, and holding constant com- 

unication witli the workmen, or blousemen, no doubt stood 

ady to take advantage of any violence on the part of the gov- 

nment which might justify resistance; but they had not anti- 

pated sucli a contingency on the present occasion. It is not 

obable tliat the Mol^ ministry, had it been consummated, 

3uld have satisfied the people; but the king had yielded; 

lizot, the special object of hatred, had fallen, and it was sup- 

sed that further concessions would be made, as concession 

d been begun. But accident, which often rules the &te of 

ipires and dynasties, now stepped in to govern the course of 

ents, and give them a character which should astonish the 



In the conree of the evening, a large mass of people had col- 
lected on the Boulevard, in the region of Gnizot^s office— the 
H6tel des Affaires Etrang^res. The troops here had unfortu- 
nately threatened the people, by rushing at them with fixed 
bayonets, after the announcement of the resignation of the min- 
istry, and when a good feeling prevailed among all classes. This 
irritated the mob, and was partly, no doubt, tlie occasion of the 
large gathering m this quarter. For some reason, not well ex- 
plained, a great many troops had also assembled here and in the 
vicinity. At ten o^clock, the street from the Madeleine to the 
Hue de la Paix, was thronged with soldiers and people. There 
was, however, no riot, and no symptom of disorder. 

At this moment, a collection of persons, mostly young men, 
about sixty in number, came along the Boulevard, on the side 
opposite to the soldiers and the Foreign Office. It is said that 
the colonel anticipated some attack, though notlilng of the kind 
was tlireatoned. It appears that the soldiers stood ready to fire, 
when one of their muskets went off,* and wounded the oominand- 
er's Iiorse in the leg. Ho mistook this for a shot from the crowd, 
and gave instant orders to fire. A fusilade immediately followed. 
Twenty persons fell dead, and tbrty were wounded. The scene 
whicli ensued baflles description. The immense masses dispersed 
in terror, and carried panic in all directions. The groans of the 
dying and the screams of the wounded tilled the air. Shops 
and liouses around were turned into hospitals. '' We are be- 
trayed I we are betrayed 1" — *' Revenge! revenge!" was the 
cry of the masses. 

From this moment the doom of the monarchy was sealed. 
Tlie leaders of the clubs, no doubt, took their measures for 
revolution. An immense wagon was soon brought to the scene 
of the massacre ; the dead bodies were laid on it-, and flaring 
torches were lighted over it. The ghastly si)ectacle was para- 

* It has siucc boon said, nnd ia generally believed, that a revolution- 
ist by tlie name of Lagrange fired this hhot witli a pUtol, having ex- 
pected and designed the events which immediately followed. 


cled through the streetis and the mnte lips of the oorpeei donht- 
leBS vpoke more effeetively than those of the living. Large 
niasBes of people, pale with excitement, and utt«*ing ezecra- 
tiuns npon the marderers, followed in the train of the wagon, 
as it paased tiirongh tlie more popnloos streets of the city, and 
especially in those quarters inhabited by the lower classes. The 
efleet was snch as might have been anticipated. At midnight, 
the barricades were began, and at sunrise, the streets of Paris 
displayed a net-woric of fortifications from the place 8t George 
to the church of Notre Dame, which set the troops at defiance. 
More than a thonsand barricades, some of them ten feet fai 
hdght, were thrown up during that memorable night ; yet snch 
were the snddennees and sQence of the or orations, that most ot 
the inhabitants of the city slept in srcurity, fondly dreaming 
that the tempest had passed, and that the morning would greet 
them in peace. 

On Thursday, tlie decisive day, the weather was still mild, 
and without rain, though the 8ky was dimmed with clouds. 
At eleven in the morning, I sallied forth. I can not express my 
astonishment at the scene. The whole l^oulevord was a speo- 
tacle of desolation. From the Rue de la Paix to the Rue Mont- 
martre — tlie finest part of Paris, the glory of the city^very 
tree was cut down, all tlie public monuments reduced to heap^ 
of ruins, the pavements torn up, and the entire wreck tumbled 
into a succession of barricades. Every street leading into this 
portion of Uie Boulevard was strongly barricaded. Such giant 
operations 8ceme<l like the work of enchantment. 

But my wonder had only begun. At the point where the 
Hue Montmartre crosses the Boulevard, tlie entire pavement 
was torn up, and soinetliing like a square breastwork w&s fonn- 
ed, in wjiicli a cannon was planted. Tlie whole space around 
was crowdeii wiih tlio populace. As I stood for a moment, 
surveying the scene, a young man, about twenty, passed through 
the crowd, and stepping upon the carriage of the cannon, cried 
out, ^^Down with Louis Philippe!" The energy with which 

462 LLTTKita — bioosapbkui:, 

this was ?p>>lKa ^qI a tlirill Uiroii^ ovetj boioni; nod the 
rernarkiiMv »;'f«amni^ U The routh fftve oOditionnl efleot to 
liU wiinl^. lie seeiiir<3 ihe vcrf daman of reculnciaii. lis wm 
^ort. liniH'i->)i'>iilile'r»l, snU ftiH-ohMted. B'm face was iwle, 
bis ciieek tjiuMii] will) biootl. uid hti boul, witliout hat or uip, 
triis btiiind uirli n li!ii>'lk>?rcIiMf His fbAtores w«re b««]), otiU 
bis iler!>-»ipi pyt- w.isiit with a epaA Gait seemed borrowed fraui 
a tis«r, .\« he K'ft ilio ihron^, be came near me, «nd I raid, in- 
qiiirinsly, - I'"wn with lAinis n^^ipe?" "Yw!" w»s i.b n- 
fiy.. ■■ Ami AvLi: tln-nr' s^d I. "A repabiic!" was hU nn- 
swen anlltc |i;i'--i,'(! "ii, giving the watchword uf "I>owii with 
I-i'lii* I'iiilii'in'l" ii' ihf luAiwes lie onoonntered. This was tLe 
itrvt ifxTiiD'i' in » liii'l I liiMrd Ui» ov»rthrotr uf tbe king, ftuil 
llie aJi'i'lii'ii 1'1'n rei'Hl ii' propqsed. 

Tni>ilr->iihi: tnj »(i[ki notloed that th« popnlalioii w«ra now 
ill'UlT'ltiMlT-.liri'itnl ivirli weapiHiB. Oa the twii firel day* Ui^ 
Vere uitnniit^'l : l>iil "tViT the slaiighl^r at tbe Fanngn Offlca, 
lli.'vu,'-t ■ i\ 'I..' lr"i-i-- nud demaade'l wca(ioii«. Th^ww^re 


that over the whole scene there was an au* of good-breeding, 
which seemed a guaranty against insult or violence. I may also 
remark here, that during the whole three days, I did not ob- 
serve a scuflie or wrangle among the people; I did not hear an 
insulting word, nor did I see a menace offered — save in conflicts 
between the soldiers and the populace. 1 can add, that I did 
not see a drunken person during the whole period, with the 
single exception which I shall hereafter mention. 

I took a wide circuit in the region of the Rne Montmartre, 
the Bourse, the Rue Vivienne, St. Honors, and the Palais Roya\. 
Everywhere there were enormous barricades and crowds of 
armed people. Soon after — that is, about twelve o^clock — 
I passed the southern quadrangle of the Palais Royal, which 
—lately the residence of the brother of the King of Naples — 
was now attacked and taken by the populace. The beautiful 
suit of rooms were richly furnished, and decorated with costly 
pictures, statues, bronzes, and other specimens of art. These 
were unsparingly tumbled into the square and the street, and 
consigned to the flames.* At tlie distance of one hundred and 
firty feet from the front of the Palais Royal, was the Cha- 
teau d'Eau, a nuissive stone building occupied as a barrack, 
and at this moment garrisuned by one hundred and eighty 
municipal guards. In most parts of the city, seeing that 
the troops fraternized Aviih the people, the government had 
given them orders not to fire. These guards, however, attacked 
tlie insurgents in and about the Irakis Royal. Their fire was 
returned, and a desperate confiict ensued. The battle lasted for 
more than an hour, tlie people rusliing in the very face of the 

* Mniiy occurrences, during tlie revolution, served to display, on the 
part ol' tin.' people, connnonly, but injuriously, culled the frnth^ nenti- 
nients not iiit'eri«)r in Ix.-auty and elevation to those handed down for 
centurich in t!ie iiistoricd of ancient Greece and Konie. During? the 
sackintr of the Talais Koyal, the iiisuru'ents found an ivory crucifix. In 
the very heat of their fury against tyranny, they reverently paused, and 
taking the sacred emblem of their faith, bore it to the old church of St. 
Roch, where it was safely denosited. 


muskets of the goard, as they blazed from the grated windows. 
At lost the barrack was set on fire, and the guard yielded, thongh 
not till many of their nnmber had &llen, and the rest were near- 
ly dead with sofTocation. The Ch&teau d'Eao is now a mere 
ruin, its mottled walls giving evidence of the shower of bullets 
that had been poured upon it.* 

No sooner had the Chateau d'Eau surrendered, than the 
flushed victors took their course towanl the Tuileries, which was 
near at hand ; shouting, singing, roaring, they came like a surge, 
bearing all before them. The Place du Carrousel was filled with 
troops, but not a sword was unsheathed — ^not a bayonet point- 
ed — not a musket or a cannon fired. There stood, idle and mo- 
tionless, the mighty armament which the king had appointed 
for his defense. How vain had his calculations proved I for, 
alas ! they were founded in a radical error ! The soldiers would 
not massacre their brethren, to sustain a throne which they 
now despised I 

But we must now enter the Tnileries. For several days pre- 
vious to the events we have described, some anxiety had been 
entertained by persons in and about tlie palaoe. The king, how- 
ever, had no foars. He api)eared in unusual spirits, and if any 
intimation of danger was given, he turned it aside with a sneer 
or a joke. Even so late as Wednesday, after he had called upon 
Count M0I6 to form a new ministry, ho remarked, that he was 
so " firmly seated in the saddle, that nothing could throw him 

M0I6 soon found it impossible, with the materials at hand, to 
construct a ministry. Thiers was then called in, and after a 
long course of higgling and cliaffering on the part of the kinp, 
it was agreed tliat he and Rarrot sliould undert^ike to rarry on 

* In the recent improvements in Parifj, the ruins ofthe rhatoan d'lvni 
have been removed, and a Hquare lias been opened np<»n their site fmni 
the Pnhiia Royul to the new portions of the Louvre. Tlie.^e and oilier 
alterations have rendered this one of the most beautifnl quarters of the 
city. The Louvre and the Tnileries have been united, and now form 
one of the most magnificent palaces in Europe. 


the government. This was announced by them in person, as 
they rode through the streets on Thursday morning. These 
concessions, however, came too late: The cry for a republic 
was bursting from the lips of the million. The abdication of 
the king was decreed, and a raging multitude were demanding 
tliis at the very gates of the i)alace. Overborne by the crisis, 
the king agreed to abdicate in favor of the Duke de Nemoure. 
Some better tidings were brought him, and he retracted what 
he had just done. A moment after, it became certain that the 
insurgents would shortly burst into the palace. In great trepi- 
dation, the king agreed to resign the crown in favor of his 
grandson, the young Count de Paris — yet, still clinging to hope, 
he shutflecl and hesitated before he would put his name to the 
act of abdication. This, however, was at last done, and the 
king and queen, dre^ksed in black, and accompanied by a few 
individuals who remained faithful in tliis trying moment, pa««cd 
from the Tuileries to the Place de la Concorde, through tlie sub- 
terranean paK<jigo constructed many years previously for the 
walks of the infant king of Rome. They here entered a small 
one-horse vehicle, and after a rapid and successful flight, landed 
safely at Dover, in England.* 

Mejinwliile, the mob had seized the royal carriages, fourteen 
in number, and made a bonfire of them, near the celebrated 
arch in the Place du Carrousel. J^oon after, they forced the 
railing at several points, and came rushing across the square to- 
ward the palace. Scarcely had the various members of the 
royal family time to escai)e on one side of the building, when 
the mob broke in at the other. 

1 have not time to follow the adventures of tliase several in- 
dividiijils. We can not but sympathize with them in their mis- 
fortunes : but we may remark, that the fall of the Orleans dy- 

*■ TliG various ineinber>^ of the royal fainlly, havini^ escaped to Eiig- 
iaiid, established themselves at Olaremont, near London, whore they 
have continued till th's time. Loui:* Philippe died there tlie 22d of 
August, 1S50. 



nasty was not broken by a single act of courage or dignitj on 
tlic part of any one of the family. Their flight seemed a vulgar 
scramble for mere life. Even the king was reduced to the most 
cummon-place disguises — the shaving of hb whi^kei'H, the 
change of Iiis dress, the adopting an ^^ alias!" I may add here, 
that they have all escaped ; and while everybody seems glad of 
this, there is no one behind who mourns their loss. None are 
more loud in denouncing the besotted oonfldence of the king, 
than his two hundred and twenty-five purchased deputies, who 
were so loyal in the days of prosperity. 

We mu8t now turn our attention toward another scene — the 
Chamber of Deputies. This body met on Tuesday, at the 
usual hour — twelve o^clock. While the riotous scenes we have 
described were transpiring during that day, in full view of the 
place where they had assembled, the deputies, as if in mockery 
of the agitation without, were occupied in a languid discussion 
upon the aflairs of a broken country bank. Toward the close 
of the sitting, Odillon Harrot read from the tribune a solemn 
act of iinpeachment of the ministers. The next day, Wedneiw 
day, the Chamber again met, and Guizot in the afternoon an- 
nouncod tliat Count Mole was attempting to fonn a new min- 
istry, it does not api>ear that Guizot or his colleagues were 
afterward seen in the Chamber. It is said that they met nt the 
house of Diichatel on Thursday morning, and after consultation 
adopted the signiticant motto of Napoleon after the battle of 
Waterloo—" Saute qui pent r — Save himself who can. I am 
happy to add that the fugitives seem to have made good their 
retreat. It is said that Soult, disdaining to lly, remains at hi? 
house. I need not say that he will not be molested, for there is 
no sanguinary feeling toward any one, and Xai)oleon*s old fa- 
vorite, the victor in so many battles, would more readily tind 
a l^arisian poj)ulace to protect thun injure him. 

A short time after the king and queen had pa^^sed the Place 
de la Concorde, I chanced to bo there. In a few moments Odil- 
lon Barrot appeared from the gate of the ' 'uileries, and, follow- 

HjviOKiUAL, AKaaDanoAL, Bia 467 

ed bj a long train of penoiUi prooeeded to the Ohambar of 
Defnities. It was now nndantood that the king had abdioated, 
and that Thiers and Bairot were to propose the Ooont de Fluii 
as Icing, under tlie regency of his mother, the Doehess of Or^ 
leans. The most profound emotion seemed to oconpy the im- 
mense moltitnde. All were hashed into sUenoo by the rapid 
sQcoession of astonishing events. After a short space, the Dnoh- 
ess of Orleans, with her two sons, the Ckmnt de Paris and the 
Doke de Chartres, were seen on foot coming toward the Oham- 
ber, encircled by a strong escort She was dressed in deep 
mourning^ her &ce bent to the ground. She moved across the 
bridge, and passing to the rear of the boilding, entered it throngh 
the gardens. Shortly after this, the Doke de Nemoors, attended 
by several gentlemen on horseback, rode np, and also entered 
the building. 

The scene that ensued within, is said to have presented an 
extraordinary mixture of the solemn and the ludicrous. The 
duchess being present, O. Barrot proceeded to state the abdica- 
tion of the king, and to propose the regency. It was then that 
Lamartine seemed to shake off the poet and philosopher, and 
suddenly to become a man of action. Seizing the critical mo- 
ment, he dei^ared his conviction that the days of monarchy 
were numbered, that the proposed regency was not suited to 
the crisis, and that a republic alone would meet the emergency 
and the wishes of France. These opinions, happily expressed 
and strenuously enforced, became decisive in their effect. 

Several other speeches were made, and a scene of great con- 
fusion followed. A considerable number of the mob had broken 
into tlie room, and occupied the galleries and the floor. One ot 
them brought his firelock to his shoulder, and took aim at M. 
Sauzet, the president. Entirely losing his self-possession, he 
abdicated with great 8|>eed, and disappeared. In the midst of 
the hubbub, a provisional government was announced, and the 
leading members were named. Some of the more obnoxious 
deputies were aimed at bv the muskets of the mob, and skulk- 


iDg behind benches and pillars, they oozed out at back doora 
and windows. A blonseman came up to the Duke do Ne- 
mours, who drew hb sword. The man took it from him, broke 
it over his knee, and counseled his highness to depart. This he 
did forthwith, having borrowed a coat and hat for the purpose 
of disguise. A call was made for the members of the provi- 
sional government to proceed to tlie Hotel de Ville. The assem- 
bly broke up, and the curtain fell upon the last sitting of the 
Chamber of Deputies — the closing scene of Louis Philippe's gov- 

It was about three o^clock in the afternoon, that I retraced 
my steps toward the Tuileries. The Plaoe de la Concorde was 
crowded with soldiers, and fifty cannon were ranged in front of 
the gardens. Yet this mighty force seemed struck with paraly- 
sis. Long lines of infantry stood mute and motionless, and 
heavy masses of cavalry seemed converted into so many statues. 
Immediately before the eyes of these soldiers was the palace of 
the Tuileries in full possession of the mob, but not a muscle 
moved for their expulsion I 

Passing into the gardens, I noticed that thousands of per- 
sons were spread over tlieir surface, and a rattling discharge of 
fire-arms was lieard on all sides. Looking about for the cause 
of this, I perceived that hundreds of men and boys were amu- 
sing themselves with shooting si)arrows and pigeons, which 
had hitlierto found a secure resting-place in this favorite resort 
of leisure and luxury. Others were discharging their muskets 
for tlio mere fun of making a noise. Proceeding through the 
gardens, 1 came at last to the palace. It had now been, for 
more than an hour, in full possession of the insurgents. All de- 
scription fails to depict a scene like this. The wliole front of 
the Tuileries, one-eighth of a mile in length, seemed gushing at 
doors, windows, balconies, and galleries, with living multitudes 
— a mighty beehive of men, in the very act of swarming. A 
confused hubbub filled the air and bewildered the senses with 
ts chaotic sounds. 


HBIOBIOAL, AHSCnxyilOAZ., Via 460 

At the moment I arriTed, the thnme of the king mm borne 
ftwt7 by A Jubilant band of revekn ; and after being paraded 
through the streets, was bamed at the Place de la BastiUe—a 
(rignificant episode in this tale of wonders. The ookssal statne 
of SpartaooB, whioh faces the nuun door of the palace, toward 
the gardens, was now decorated with a piece of gilt doth torn 
from the throne and wreathed Uke a torban around his head. 
In his hand was a gorgeoos bonquet of artificial flowers. It 
seemed as if the frowning (Radiator had suddenly canght the 
spirit of the revel, and was abont to descend frt>m his pedestal 
and mingle in tlie masquerade. 

I entered the palace, and passed throu^ the long suites of 
apartments devoted to occasions of ceremony. A year before, 
I had seen these gorgeous halls filled with the finsh and the 
&ir, kings, princes, and nobles, gathered to thb focal point of 
Injury, refinement, and taste, from every quarter of the world. 
How little did Lonis Philippe, at that moment, dream of *^ com- 
ing events I" How little did the stately queen — a proud obelisk 
of sili^ and lace, and diamonds — foresee the change tliat wus at 
hand I I recollected well the etfect of this scene upon my own 
mind, and felt the full force of tlie contrast which the present 
moment offered. In the very room where I had seen the 
Tensive and pensile Princess de Joinville and the Duchess do 
ifontpensier — the latter then fresh from the hymeneal altar, 
ler raven hair studded with diamonds like evening stars — ^whirl- 
Dg in tlio mazy dance, I now beheld a band of creatures like 
Calibans, gamboling to the song of the Marseillaise ! 
On every side my eye fell upon scenes of destruction. Pass- 
ig to the other end of the palace, I beheld a mob in the cham- 
ers of the princesses. Some rolled themselves in the luscious 
dds, others anointed their shaggy heads with choice pomatum, 
iclaiming, " Dieu I how sweet it smells I'' One of the gaming, 
imed with gunpowder, blood, and dirt, seized a tooth-brush, 
id placing himself before a mirror, seemed delighted at the 
anifest improvement which he produced upon his ivory. 


On leaving the palace, I saw nnmbera of the men drinking wino 
from bottles taken from the well-stocked cellars. None of them 
were i)osi lively drunk. To use the words of Tarn O'Shanter, 
'• Tliey were na fou, but just had plenty" — ^perhaps a little more. 
They lIourishe<l their guns and pistols, brandished their swords, 
and ])erfornied various antics, but they offered no insult to any 
one. They seemed in excellent humor, and made more than an 
ordinary display of French politesse. They complimented the 
women, of whom there was no lack, and one of them, resem- 
bling a figure of Pan, seized a maiden by the waist, and both 
rigadooned merrily over the floor. 

Leaving this scene of wreck, confusion, and uproar, I pro- 
ceeded toward the gate of the gardens leading into the Rue de 
Kivoli. 1 was surprised to find here a couple of ruthless-looking 
blousemcn, armed with pistols, keeping guard. On inquiry, I 
found that the mob themselves had instituted a sort of g\)vern- 
meut. One fellow, in the midst of the devastation in the pal- 
ace, seeing a man put something into his pocket, wrote on the 
wall, '' Death to the thief!" The Draconian code was imme- 
diately adopted by the people, and became the law of Paris. 
Five per<;ona, taken in acts of robbery, were shot down by the 
people, and their bodies exjwsed in the street**, with the label 
of '* Thieves" on their breast. Thus order and law seemed to 
spring up from the instincts of society, in the midst of uproar 
and confusion, as crystals are seen shooting from the chaos of 
the elements. 

Tln-ee days had now passed, and the revolution was accom- 
I)li>hed. The j)eople soon returned to their wonted habits — the 
I)rovi>i()nal government proceeded in its duties— the barricades 
disai»peared, and in a single week the more obtrusive traces of 
the storm that had passed had vanished from the streets and 
scpiares of Paris. A mighty shock has. liowever, been given to 
society, which still swells and undulates like the sea after a 
storm. The adjacent countries seem to feel the movement, and 
all Europe is in a state of agitation. What must be the final re- 


nmoBioix., AHaaDonoAii, kto. 471 

iolt, can not now be Ibraseen; but I fesr that, ere the sky be 
deered, still fhrtlior tempests most sweep over France and the 
sorronndiDg nations. The day of reckoning for long years of 
^jrranny and oormption has come, and the san of liberty can 
hardly be expected to shine fhll on the scene, till a night of fear, 
and agitation, and team has been passed. 


JWnit wkitk immidiat^/oUawed tJU Stvolution—Soenti id iAi ttrnU qf 
PiMrit — Anxiety of Sirang^rt — Proceedings of the Amerieane—Addrese 
io the ProHeional Government — Beply of M. Arago — Proeeeeion in the 
etrnte — Inavguration of the Jiepublie — Funeral qf the Vietime — Preeen- 
teUion of Flags — (hnepiracy qf the I5th <f May — Ineurreetion of June 
— Adoption of the OcmetUution — Louie Napoleon President, 

Mt DEAB C****** 

It is quite impossible to give you any adequate 
idea of the state of things in Paris, immediately after 
the revolution described in my preceding letter. The 
Provisional Government, at the Hotel de Ville, con- 
sisting of persons who had seized the reins of author- 
ity which had suddenly fallen from the hands of the 
DOW prostrate monarchy, was as yet without real 
power. Every thing was in a state of paralysis, or 
iisorganization. There was no effective police, no 
7isible authority, no actual government ; every man 
lid what seemed good in his own eyes. Boys and 
blackguards paraded the streets with swords at their 
dde, muskets in their hands, and sashes around their 


waists. Enormous processions of men, sometimes 
mingled with women, moved along the thorough- 
fares, singing the Marseillaise and "Mourir pour la 
Patrie." It was a general jubilee — and, strange to 
say, without riot, without violence, without fear. I 
walked freely abroad in the streets, taking my wife 
and children with me; we were constantly saluted by 
men and women offering us tricolored rosettes, which 
they pinned upon our breasts with the utmost good- 
huinor, expecting, of course, a few sous in return. 
This state of things continued for some weeks — the 
people being a law unto themselves, and refraining 
alike from turbulence, from outrage, and from pil- 
lage. It is probable that in no other great city of 
the world could the masses be let loose from the 
restraints of government and law, and yet keep them- 
selves within the bounds of order and propriety, as 
did the Parisians during this remarkable era. 

Of c(^ni*se, there was a general feeling of anxiety 
among all reflecting people in Paris, and especially 
those whose minds reverted to the first French revo- 
lution. This disquietude extended particularly to all 
foreigners, and they naturally cast about for the 
means of safetv. It was difficult to leave Paris, for 
some of tlie railroads were broken up, and all the 
modes of conveyance were derani2:e(l. It was almost 
inij)oysiblo to get money for the purposes of travel, 
and even if one couhl escaj^c from Paris, more danger- 
ous agitation might exist in the country. The lead 

wwwmTnAT^ AHBODOnOALy VtO. 478 

ing Americans took counsel together on this subject) 
and finally concluded to proceed, in procession, to 
■the Provisional Government^ and congratulate them 
upon the revolution.* A message was sent to inquire 
if this would be acceptable ; the answer was favora- 
ble, and, indeed, they were desired to hasten the 
proceeding, as it was thought such a demonstration 
might contribute to give support to the trembling 
authority of the self-elected rulers. 

In the preliminary meeting for bringing about the 
proposed address, I was chosen to preside, and was 
also selected as chairman of the committee to draw 
up the address itself. I had some curious counsel 
given me by my countrymen, while I was preparing 
this document. The Americans looked upon the 
revolution, not only as the overthrow of monarchy, 
but as the birth of that liberty which we are taught 
to cherish as one of the greatest boons of existence. 
The example of Paris extended like an electric shock 
to the adjacent countries. Italy, Austria, Prussia, 
seemed on the point of emancipating themselves from 
the yoke which had bound them for ages. Witli a 
generous sympathy, our countrymen wished success 
to these eflforts. The formation of a republican gov- 
Bmment seems to us so easy, so obvious a work, that 

* Mr. Kunhy who wus then our ninbai*hndor to France, proceede«i iu 
iiff official capacity to tlio Hotel de Ville, three or four days after the 
xmipleUon of the revolution, and recognized the government, congrutu- 
•ting them upon a change which had resulted in the estAblishmeut of 
• repahlio. 


we suppose every nation which undertakes the task, 
will of course accomplish it. It was natural, there- 
fore, for an American in Paris to believe that the 
good time had actually come, and that the people 
had only to inaugurate and establish it. I had 
several plans of addresses sent to me founded upon 
this idea ; one a declaration of principles, of seven 
foolscap pages, drawn up pretty much after the man- 
ner of our Declaration of Independence. Conceiving 
it, however, no time to be magniloquent, I prepared 
the following brief address, which was adopted: 

" Gentlemen, members of the Provisional Grovemment of the 
French Peoi)le — As citizens of the United States of America, and 
ppeotatoi*s of recent events in Paris, we come to offer you our 
congrntnlations. A grateful recollection of the past, and the ties 
of uniity wliich have existed between your country and ours, 
pnmipt us to be among the first to testify to you, and to the 
pe<>i)le of France, the sympatliy, the respect, and the admiration 
wliicli tlio^c events inspire. Acknowledging tlie right of every 
nation to form its own government, w^e may still be i)eri!iitted 
to felicitate France upon the choice of a system which recognizes 
as its basis the great principles of rational liberty and political 

" In the progress of the recent struggle here, wc have admired 
the magnanimity of the French people, their self-command in the 
hour of triumph, and their speedy return to order and law, after 
the tumult and confusicm of revolution. We see in these circnin- 
stances, happy omens of good to France and to mankind — ^assu- 
rances that what has been so nobly begun will be consummated 
in the permanent establishment of a just and liberal government, 
and the consequent enjoyment of liberty, peace, and jirosperity, 
among the citizens of tliis great country. Accept this testimo- 


Dial of the sentimeots which fill our hearts at the present mo- 
ment, and bo assured that the news of the revolution which you 
lave just achieved, will be hailed by our countrymen on the 
)ther side of the Atlantic, with no other emotions than those of 
lope and joy for France and for the world." 

All things being duly prepared, the Americans, 
bout two hundred and fifty in number, marched in 
rocession to the Hotel de Ville, the striped bunting 
ad the tricolor waving together in harmony over 
ar heads. The citizens of Paris looked upon us 
ith welcome, and frequently the cry arose — ** Vive 
Republique Americainc!"* 

The Hotel de Ville is one of the most sumf)tuous 

laces in Europe; and here, in tlic magnificent 

artment called the Hall of Reception, we were 

;eived by the Provisional Government — all dressed 

their uniform of blue, ornamented with gold lace, 

i rich sashes around the waist. Lamartinc was ill, 

1 was not present ; Arago presided. I began to 

d the address, in English, when a tipsy French- 

n, who had squeezed into the hall with the pro- 

Fhe committee on the aildress, besides myself, were Messrs. Corbiii, 

irjETinia, Siiimniiu, of IJoston, and the lute Henry Coleman, well 

rn for his ajjrricultiirul writin<;s, as well as his travels in England 


e president on the occasion was Hon. G. W. Krviiitr, formerly min- 

of tlie United Siattts to Madritl. 

3 ehii-f niMr^hnl \\ix> WriL'lit Hawk(!<, I'Nq.? '^'^* ^'<*^^' York, as>iisfed 

diert WicklitlV, Jr., of Kenrn<;ky, V.. ('. (\>Wv'n;n, of LIo-«ton, tV:c. 

* tt carious fact, that the American** in the i)roce«i>ion wi^re several 

i taller than the averaire of Frenchmen — a circumstance which ut- 

1 general attention in Paris at the time. 


cession, came forward and insisted that it should be 
read in French. He was pacified by being told that 
it would be read in that language after I had con- 
cluded. When the address was finished, M. Arago 
re})licd on behalf of the government, in appropriate 
terms. M. Poussin* then seized the two flags, and 
waving them together, pronounced an ai imated dis- 
course, in which he acknowledged with g atitude the 
sympathy of the Americans in the recent revolution, 
and expressed the hope that France had now entered 
upon the long-hoped-for millennial era of equality, 
fraternity, and liberty. 

It is not my design to give you a detailed history of 
ihe revolution, but I may sketch a few of the promi- 
nent events which followed. For this purpose, I make 
an extract from an account I have elsewhere given : 

For several weeks and months, Paris was a scene of extraordi- 
nary excitement. The Provi:>ional Government had announced 
tliat lliey would i)rovido the people with labor. Consequently, 
deputations of tailors, hatters, engravers, musicians, paviors, 
cabinet-makers, seamstresses, and a multitude of other trades 

* M. ft uilliiutnc Tell Poussin came to tlie United States many years «?o, 
nnJ wus euiployed an cuffincer for a long time. After his return 
to France, he wrote an able statistical work on this* country, in wliich ho 
hiirlily pniirteil our ingtitutions. When the French UepuMic was or»run- 
izc.l, he was sent as minister to Wii<iliiii::t<»n. Mr. (Mayton, Sccretarv ot 
St.ito niider (ien. Tu>h)r, took cxeoplion to certain expri-^ions ux^mI bv 
M. l'<'ii>>in in his corre-ij'onJeiioe with the th'partuient, an«l aCv-oruinHv 
l:e « .mischI to repn't*ent iiis country Iiere. M. Poussin is, liowuvtr, .i 
Fincorc republican, and a trrcat admirer of the United Stiites ; and though 
his principle^ are well known, pueh is the rcHpt»ct entertained for liim, 
that the HUHpicion of the French jjfovernment, even under the empire 
has naver subjected him to constraint or annoyance. 

BBioBKUL, ▲noDanoAL, SIC 477 

ind YOOfttioDs, flocked in long linies to the Hotel de Ville, to 
idUcit tlie favor of the govenunent. Vast crowds of people 
Mrp^ually haunted this pUce, and, in one instance, a raging 
Doltitade- came thundering at the doors, demanding that the 
Jood^red flag of the former revolution should be the banner of 
he new republic! It was on this occasion that Lamartine ad- 
rMsed the people, and with such eloquence as to allay the 
tonn which threatened again to deluge France in blood. The 
lembers of the government were so besieged and pressed bj 
naftess, that fi>r several weeks they slept in the Hotel de Ville. 
hey proceeded with a bold hand to announce and establish the 
public. In order to moke a favorable impression upon the 
wple, they decreed a gorgeous ceremony at the foot of the col- 
on of July, on Sunday, February 27th, by which they solemnly 
ftugurated the new republic. All the members of the Provis- 
lal Government were present on horseback ; there were sixty 
ousand troops and two hundred thousand people to witness 
3 spectacle. 

Another still more imposing celebration took place on the 4th 
March. This was called the ^^ Funeral of the Victims." After 
igious ceremonies at the Madeleine, the members of tlie gov- 
iment, with a long train of public officers, and an immense 
lege of military, proceeded to the July column, conducting a 
»erb funeral-car drawn by eight cream-colored horses. This 
ttained most of tlie bodies of tliose slain in the revolution — 
»ut two hundred and lifty. These were deposite<l in the vault 
he colunni, with the victims of the revolution of 1830. 
Nothing can adequatiily portray tliis 8{)ectac]e. A tricolored 
was stretched on each side of the Boulevards, from tlie Ma- 
ine to the July column — a distance of tliree miles. As this 
sisted of three strips of cloth, the length of the wliole was 
teen miles ! Tlie solemn movement of the funeral procession, 
dirge-like music, tlic march of nearly a hundred thousand sol- 
B, and the symputliizing ])rescnce of three hundred thousand 
s, rendered it a scene never surpassed and rarely equaled, 


either by the magDificence of the panorama, or the Bolemn and 

tonchiiig sentiments excited. 

Still other spectacles succeeded, and in the sammer fonr hun- 
dred thousand people assembled in the Cliamps Elys^es to wit- 
ness the Presentation of Flags to the assembled 'National Goards 
— eighty thousand being present Snch scenes can only be wit- 
nessed in Paris. 

Events proceeded with strange rapidity. A Gonstitnent As- 
sembly was called by the Provisional Government, to form a 
constitution. The members were elected by ballot, the suffrage 
being universal — that is, open to all Frenchmen over twenty-one. 
The election took place in April, and on the 4th of May the first 
session was held, being officially announced to the assembled 
people from the steps of the Chamber of Deputies. On the 16th 
of May a conspiracy was disclosed, tho leaders of which weru 
Raspail, Barbds, Sobrier, Caussidi^re, Blanqui, Flotte, Albert, 
and Louis Blanc* — the two last having been members of the 
Provisional Government. Caussidi^re was prefect of police. 

The Assembly proceeded in the work of framing a constitution, 
administering the government in the mean time. On the 24th of 
June, a terrilic insurrection broke out, promoted by the leaders 
of various factions, all desiring the overthrow of the republic 
whicli had been inaugurated. Cavaignac, who was minister of 
war, was appointed dictator, and Paris was declared in a state 
of siege. The insurgents confined their operations chiefly to the 
faubourgs St. Jacques and St. Antoine. They got possession of 
these, and formed skillful and able plans of operation, which had 
for their ultimate object the surrounding of the city and getting 
I)()ssossion of certain important points, including the Chamber — 
thus securing the government in their own hands. 

* Tliese men wore Socialists, «ud jiiiiied ut a destrnclion of the gov- 
ernment. 80 that they miirlit brinjjr into efteot their pcculiur eichemes. 
They were shortly afterward tried at Bonrgcs, an<l Hcnteuced to lon^ 
imprisonment or banitsliment. Louis Blanc and Caussidiere escaped to 
En^^land. The former remains in London ; tlie latter is now a wino- 
nierchant in New York. 


Cavaignac proceeded to attack the barricades, thus clearing 
the streets one by one. The fighting was terrible. For four 
days the battle continued, the sound of cannon frequently filling 
the ears of the people all over the city. Night and day the in- 
habitants were shut up in tlieir houses — ignorant of all, save 
that the conflict was raging. The women found employment in 
scraping lint for the wounded. All Paris was a camp. The 
windows were closed; the soldiers and sentinels passed their 
watchwords; litters, carrying the dead and wounded, were seen 
along the streets ; the tramp of marching columns and the thun- 
der of rushing cavalry broke upon the ear ! 

At hat the conflict was over ; the insurgents were beaten — 
Cavaignuc triumphed. But the victory was dearly purchased. 
Between two and three thousand i)ersons were killed — and among 
them, no le^s than seven general ofiicers hud fallen. The insur- 
gents fouglit like tigers. Many women were in the ranks, using 
the musket, carrying the banners, rearing barricades, and cheer- 
ing the light. Boys and girls mingled in the eontlict. The 
National (jiiards who combated tliem, had e<iual rourage and 
superior discipline. One of the Garde Mobile — llyacinthe Mar- 
tin, a youth of fourteen — took four standards from tlie tops of 
the barricades. His gallantry excited great interest, and Ca- 
vaignuc decorated him with tiie cross of the Legion of Honor. 
He became a hero of the day, but, sad to relate, being invited to 
fi&tes, banquets, and rei)asts, his head was turned, and he was 
soon a ruined profligate. 

Tlie leaders in this terrific insurrection were never detected. 
It is certain that the movement was headed by able men, and 
directed by skillful engineers. The masses who fought were 
ronsed to fury by i)()verty and di.stress, by disappointment at 
finding the national workshops discontinued, and by stimulating 
excitements furni>hed by socialist clubs and newspajjers. It is 
computed that forty thousand insurgents were in arms, and eighty 
thousand government soldiers were brought against them. It 
may be considered that this struggle was the remote but inevita- 


ble result of the couree of the ProTisional Grovemment in adopting 
the doctrine of obligation, on the part of the State, to supply 
work and wages to the people, and in establishing national 
workshops in pursuance of tliis idea. Still, it may be said, on 
the other hand, that nothing but such a step could have enabled 
the Provisional Government to maintain itself during three 
months, and give being to an organized Assembly from wluch 
a legitimate government could proceed. 

The constitution was finished in the autumn, and promolgated 
on the 19th of November, 1848. On the 10th of December fol- 
lowing, the election of President took place, and it api)eared 
that Louis Napoleon had five million out of seven milUon Totes. 
He was duly inaugurated about a week after the election, and 
entered upon the high duties which thus devolved upon him. 


The Duties of a Q>nsul — Pursuit of a missing Family — Paying Jar 


My dkar C ***♦*♦ 

Let us now come to the period of 1851, when I 
entered upon tlie consulate. Of the space during 
which 1 was permitted to hold this office, I have no 
very remarkable personal incidents to relate. The 
ceriitying of invoices, and the legalizing of deeds 
and powers of attorney, are the chief technical duties 
of the American Consul at Paris.* If he desires to 

* Paris is not a KCtiport, oikI therefore tlic nnmerous consular duties 
eoniieclcd with shippinK »i»*»J never required here. On the other hand, 
it is iho lileniry metropolis of Fnince ; and as French consulh are re- 
quired to eojlect and furnish geographical, hiatorioal, commercial, and 
statistical information, I found myaelf conAtuntly applied to bj editors 


enlarge the circle of his operations, however, he can 
find various ways of doing it, as for instance, in sup- 
plying the wants of distressed Poles, Hungarians, Ital- 
ians, and others, who are martyrs to liberty, and sup- 
308e the American heart and purse always open to 
.hose who are thus aiQicted : in answering questions 
rom notaries, merchants, lawyers, as to the laws of the 
liffercnt American States upon marriage, inheritance, 

f papers, uuthoni, baukciv. merchantA, jBrovernmcnt officials, forpartio- 
lar facts in regard to the United States. I waH exceedingly ntruck with 
iQ fifeneral ignorance of all classeS} a.H to our country, ita institutions, 
BOgraphy, population, liistory, <fec. I therefore prepared a work, which, 
ith the kind af^Hitttnnce of M. Delbriick, wan put into French, and pub- 
Oied — it being an octavo volume of about three hundred and aeventy- 
ire pagCH, entitled Les Etat*- Uni« (T Amenqut. I had the gratification of 
leing it well received on all BidcK, even by the inomberH of the govem- 
cnt, from whom I had complimentary acknowledgments. There ia, in- 
Hid, a great and growing interest in our country all over Europe, and 
seems to l>c the duty of American officials abroad to take advantage of 
eir opportunitio> to satisfy and gratify this curiosity by furnishing, in 
correct and accessible form, the kind of information that is desired. 
The number of Americans in Paris, residents and travelers, varies from 
e to tliree thousand. If the Consul is understood to b.^r out hia coun- 
rmen, he may see very few of them ; if, on the contrary, he is willing 
make himself useful in a neighborly way, many of them will call upon 
n to take liis advice as to schools, physicians, routes of tnivel, and 
■i like. When tlier»> is diliioully, the Consul is the natural resr)ur<* '^f 
s countrymen, e>pe'.-ially for those who are without acquaintance. iQ 
Ki of the deatli of an Amirioan, if there is no friend or relative pres- 
t U|»on whom the duty devolves, the Consul gives directions as to the 
leral, arwl takes charge of the elfeots of the deceased. 
. have already alluded to French physicians and surgeons, and ex- 
jhsi'd the oi>inion that ours, in Am(;rii!i, are quite as good. There ia, 
doubt, great (*cience in the medical and surgical professions of Paris ; 
; there are two things to be sugirested to those who t'o there for ad- 
e. In t}je lirst place, these practitioners are very darinj; in their treat- 
nt of stning'-rs, and in the next, their charges to fon jgners are usu- 
• about dou'ole the (ordinary rates. 

Vhile I was in Paris, a very wealthy and rather aged gentleman from 
giuia consulted an eminent surgeon there, as to hydrocele. An op- 
Vou II.— 21 


and the like ; in advising emigrants whether to settle 
in Iowa, or Illinois, or Missouri, or Texas ; in listening 
to inquiries made by deserted wives as to where their 
errant husbands may be found, who left France ten or 
twenty or thirty years ago, and went to America, by 
which is generally understood St. Domingo or Mar- 
tinique. A considerable business may be done in lend- 
ing money to foreigners, who pretend to have been 
naturalized in the United States, and are therefore en- 
titled to consideration and sympathy, it being of course 
well understood that money lent to such persons will 
never be repaid. Some time and cash may also be 
invested in listening to the stories and contribu- 
ting to the wants of promising young American art- 
ists, who are striving to get to Italy, to pursue their 
studies — such persons usually being graduates of the 
London school of artful dodgers. Some waste lei- 
sure and a good deal of postage may be disposed of 
in correspondence with ingenious Americans — invent- 
ors and discoverers — as for iustance, with a man in 
Arkansas or Minnesota, who informs you that he has 

oration wa« recommended and pcrtbrmed, entirely against the advico of 
a Virginia phyrtician who chanced to be in Paris*, and was ooDsuited. 
In thirty days the gentleman died, lie had intranted his affairs to me, 
and 1 paid hin bills. The charge of the surgeon was five thousaod francs I 
The bills of the nurses, hotels, attendants, <&c., were of a similar char- 
acter. A >oung pliysician, wlio had been employed fourteen days aa 
nurse, estimated his services at fitleen hundred francs ! 1 make thesis 
remarks, that my countrymen going to Paris for medical or surgioal ad- 
vice, may be duly warned against placing themselves in the hands of 
rash and un}>rincipled practitioners. A great name in Paris is hy no 
means a guarantee of that care, prudence, and conscieutioQSDess, which 
biLog to the physician at home. 


contrived a new and infallible method of heating and 
ventilating European cities, and wishes it brought to 
the notice of the authorities there, it being deemed 
the duty of the American Consul to give attention to 
such matters. These monotonies are occasionally di- 
versified by a letter from some unfortunate fellow- 
countryman who is detained at Mazas or Clichy, and 
begs to be extricated ; or some couple who wish to be 
put under the bonds of wedlock, or some enterprising 
wife, all the way from Tennessee, in chase of a run- 
away husband, or some inexperienced but indignant 
youth who has been fleeced by his landlord. 

Mixed up with these amusements, there sometimes 
comes an order from the government at home, to ob- 
tain a certain document, or to give information as to 
some institution, or perhaps to make some investiga- 
tion. The following copy of a letter to the State De- 
partment at Washington describes an instance of the 
latter : 

Pabis, February 10, 1858. 
To Hon. Edward Everbtt, Secretory of State. 

Sir — Your letter of the 30th December, inclosing one from 
Elon. Jeremiah Clemens, asking information as to the family of 
indre Ileutz, was duly received. 

Soon after its receipt, I proceeded to No. 9, Rue St. Appoline, 
i^aris, the last known residence of Madame Hentz, but 1 could 
)btaln no traces of her or her family. I then wrote to the Mayor 
)f Conlians St. Ilonorine, where she once lived, and received a 
•eply which directed me to make inquiry at the neighboring vU- 
age of Grenelle. Thither 1 proceeded, and applied us advised, 
o No. 5 Rue Fondry. Here I failed, but was led to suppose 


that I might get a clew at No. 116 Rue Yieille dn Temple, 
Paris. I returned thither, and on application at tlie place in- 
dicated, was told that no i>er6on hj the name of Hentz had ever 
lived there. On going ont, I observed that the nnmbering over 
the door was freshly painted, and soon discovered that the 
whole nnmbering of the street had recently been changed. I 
now songht the old No. 115, and was here informed that I 
might perhaiw find the person 1 was looking after at No. 6 Rne 
Thorigny. I proceeded thither, but was informed that M. Hentx 
was not there, bnt perhaps might be found at No. 4. Finally, 
at No. 4, on the fifth story, I found Henry Hentz and his 
mother, in rather hnmble but very neat apartments, and appa- 
rently in comfortable circumstances. 1 told them the object of 
my visit, and they promised immediately to write to Mr. Andre 
Hentz, of whom they had lost all trace, and of whom they were 
rejoiced to receive intelligence. 

I write these particulars, supposing they may be interesting 
to Mr. Clemens^s client. 

I am, with great respect, yours, &c., 


Another incident may amuse you. I one day re- 
ceived a number of a Journal published in Paris, en- 
titled " Archives des Hommes du Jour," that is, 
Memoirs of Men of the Time, accompanied by a 
polite note saying that the editors would be happy to 
insert in their pages a biographical memoir of myself. 
They had taken the liberty to sketch the beginning 
of the desired article, but the particular facts of my 
life they politely begged me to supply. 

Supposing this to be one of those applications 
which are by no means uncommon, I handed to my 
friend, M. Jules Delbriick, the letter, with two or 

maroRicAL, anecdotioal, etc. 485 

three American books, which contained notices of 
myoclf, and asked him to write the memoir as de- 
sired. This he did, and it was duly sent to the edit- 
ors of the Hommes du Jour. In due time a proof 
was sent, and at the same time one of the editors, a 
very smiling gentleman, came and desired to know 
how many copies of this memoir of myself I should 
desire I I replied, very innocently, that I should 
like one or two. The gentleman lifted his eyebrows, 
and said suggestively — 

" Five hundred is the usual number I" 

I now for the first time began to suspect a trap, 
and replied — 

" You expect me to take five hundred copies ?" 

" Every gentleman takes at least that ; sometimes 
a thousand." 

" And you expect me to pay for them ?" 

" Oui, monsieur I" 

" Well, how much do you expect for five hundred 
copies ?" 

" A franc each is the usual price ; but we will say 
three hundred and fifty francs for the whole." 

" I undoi-stand you now : I furnished the article in 
question at your request ; it was for your benefit, not 
mine. It is of no advantage to me. If you expected 
to be paid for it, you should have told me so ; you 
would then have been saved the trouble of pursuing 
the matter any further." 

The stranger remonstrated, but I firmly refused to 


give him an order for any copies of the publication 
in question, and supposed I had got rid of the appli- 
cation. A few days afterward, however, I received 
a long letter from the editors, to which, after some 
reflection, I sent the following answer : 

Pabu, Febmaiy 7, 1858. 
To the Kditora of the " ArohiYes des Hommes da Joar.** 

OentleTMu — ^I have received, besides several other kttOB from 
yon, one of the 8d instant, which seems to demand an answer. 

Some weeks since, yon addressed me a complimentary nota, 
saying that yon proposed to insert in the Archives des Hommes 
du Jour, a biographical sketdi of myself, and desired me to fill 
np with facts an outline which you sent me. 

You gave me no intimation that yon expected me to pay for 
the proposed insertion. Nothing in the specimen of the Journal 
you sent, led me to suspect tliat there was any larking signifi- 
cation boneatli your polite proposal. I judged of tlie matter by 
my own experience, and very innocently supposing that I was 
merely fulfilling a comity due to men of letters, I complied with 
your request by getting a fi*iend to furnish the facts you desired. 

I have since learned that my experience in the United States 
has liot instructed mo in all the customs of Paris. 

When the article in question was in proo^ a gentleman, pro- 
fessing to be your representative, called on me, and proposed to 
furuisli me with five hundred copies of the sketch, ** at the ex- 
ceedingly low price of three hundred and fifty francs I" I replied 
that I did not require nor desire any copies of the work ; that 
while I appreciated the politeness of tlie eilitors of the Journal, 
I had not sought the insertion of the biography, and knew of 
noeartlily interest of mine that could be promoted by it. I fur- 
ther stated that my sense of propriety would be shocked at the 
idea of rendering pecuniary compensation for a eulogistic notice 
of myself. For all these reasons I declined accepting the propo- 


rition, and the more eraphaticaUy, as it was yery strongly nrged 
upon me. 

All this was of conrse communicated to yon : neyertheless, in 
the letter referred to, yoa insist upon my paying for the inser- 
tion, and for five hundred extra copies, printed hy yon, after I 
had positively refused to take them. 

Your claim is nrged on two grounds : first, that yon have 
expended money, and conferred on me a henefit ; and, second, 
that what you ask is sanctioned hy high example, and the prao> 
tice of years, and has therefore the force of an agreement be- 
tween von and me. 

To this I beg to reply, of course judging from my point of 
view, that I can not admit that yon have done me a service. It 
seems to me rather an occasion of humiliation to see one's self 
praise<l in a journal, which must be regarded as a collection of 
eulogistic biographic;*, i)Hid for by the parties eulogized. What- 
ever may be the rank of the names, by the side of mine, the im- 
pression upon my mind is that of degradation. 

In reply to your argument tliat I am bound by usage, permit 
me to siiy tiiat in order to make your logic elfoctive, you should 
show that the usago referred to is public and not secret, and 
furthermore tliat it is a commendable usage. 

Now, in this case, the ])raotioe of your journal is not stated, nor 
intimated, eitlicr in the title-page or preface, or upon the cover, 
nor did you state any thing of the kind in your note to mo. My 
literary experience has never furnished me with an example of 
a work conducted on these princii)les. 

Perhaps it would l>e inconvenient to label your work accord- 
ing to its true character, and that may be a reastm with you 
for concealing it, but at the same time it excludes all idea of 
mutnality of understanding betwe<^'n you and me, and puts an 
en<l to your claim iVmnded upon imj)lied agreement. The con- 
sent of both j)arties is essential to a compact: in this case, yon 
Lave only the consent of yourselves. 

As to the character of the usage you adopts I am aware that 


you cite high authority. Yoa amnre me Uiat the " Emperor of 
France," the " Queen of Spain," " Our holy Father the Pope," 
^^ Ministers of religion, Marshals of the empire, Councillors ot 
State, with others down to the pettiest Consul," have all com- 
plied with your custom, and paid for their eulogies which appear 
in your ten annual volumes of the " Archives des IIommeH du 
Jour !" Had you not asserted this as a matter of tuit, I should 
have denied it as impossible, as a shame to literature, a scandal 
against great names, a defiEunation of sodety and civilization in 
France and in Europe. As you afi&rm it, however, I pronounce 
no harsh judgment, and content myself by saying that while I 
allow others to form standards of conduct for themselves, I must 
claim and exercise the same privilege for myself. 

The custom you insist upon, therefore, can form no rule for 
me. I can not consent to pay for the insertion of the memoir, 
as done in my behalf; certainly not for any extra copies of the 
article itself. I inclose to you, however, one hundred and fifty 
franc3 as penance for my ignorance and simplicity in this trans- 
action, with the request that, if convenient, my name ina^' be 
altogether obliterated from your journal. 

I beg you to observe that in all this, 1 do not seek to impugn 
your principles or your conduct : I simply state my own opinions, 
and explain myself by reference to these, without insisting that 
from your point of view you may not be as correct as I am, 
from mine. Men^s principles may differ, yet there is no neces- 
sity that irritation should follow. 

I am sorry that any occasion should arise for so long and so 
formal a letter as this: I trust, however, that it will prove sau 
isfactory, and I am, very respectfully, yours, 

8. G. Goodrich. 



ChartuiUr of ths French BepubUe—IU Oontnut with ths American Jiepub- 
lic— Aspect of the Chvernment in F/unce— Louie Napoleon' e ambitious 
Deeigne^He Flattere the Army—Spreade Bumore of Soeialiet PUde— 
Divieione in the NiUional A»eembly—A Lewe at the Elyeie—The Obup 
d'Etat — Character of ihie Act^ Napoleon's Govemnunt— Feelings of the 

Mt dear C****** 

From the memoranda furnished in my prece- 
ding letter, you will comprehend the duties which 
devolve upon the American Consul at Paris, and will 
have glimpses of some of the particular incidents 
which befell me while I was there in that capacity. 
I must now give you a rapid sketch of certain public 
events which transpired at that period, and which 
will ever be regarded as among the most remarkable 
in modern history. 

I have told you how Louis Napoleon, in conse- 
quence of the Revolution of 184S, became President 
of the Republic. When I arrived in Paris, in April, 
1851, he was officiating in that capacity, his residence 
being the little ])ahic^ of the Elysee Bourbon, situated 
between the Faubourg St. Honore and the Champs 
Elysees. The National Assembly, consisting of sev- 
3n hundred and fifty members, held their sessions at 
the building called the Chamber of Deputies.* The 

* The Nutioiial Assembly held its Hcss-ions in a temporary building 
irectcd in tho courtyard of the Chamber of Deputies, proper. This 


■ y 

called a Constituent h 

})c)sc by the people : th 

and ratified by them ; ; 

i'- of the executive and 1 

•;■ been elected by genera 

V 1 therefore, rested upon 

ereignty, but still, it w 
balances belonging to < 
^ attribute its success. ( 

i a union of States, each 

"i sovereign power, save < 

j which are given over t 

I Government. This cam 

the great bulwark of oi 
?' ing in the French Const 

government — legislative 
tire kingdom, were centr 
no safeguards interposed 
checked authority, and 








ernmcnt may attempt usurpation, but it will imme- 
diately he arrested by the State governments ; our 
general government may go to pieces, but the fabric 
of State government remains to shelter the people 
fix)m anarchy. Our legislative department is further- 
more divided into two bodies — ^the House and the 
Senate, and these operate as checks upon each other. 
Unhappily, the French system had neither of these 
provisions, and as the republic had swallowed up 
despotism, so des{>otism in turn speedily devoured 
the republic. 

To the casual observer, the external aspect of things 
was not very different from what it had been under 
the monarchy of Louis Philippe. It is true that the 
palace of the Tuilcries was vacant ; no royal coaches 
were seen dashing through the avenues ; no image 
and superscrij)tion of majesty frowned upon you from 
the public monuments, which, on the contrary, every- 
where proclaimed " liberty, equality, fraternity." But 
still, the streets were filled with soldiers as before. 
Armed sentinels were stationed at the entrances of 
all the public buildings. The barracks were as usual 
swarming with soldiers, and large masses of horse 
and foot were frequently trained at the Champ de 
Mai's and at Satorv. Martial reviews and exercises 
wrre, indeed, the chief amusement of the metropolis. 
The President's house was a ])alace, and all around it 
was bristliiiir with bavonets. It was obvious that what- 

■ . • • 

3ver name the government might bear, military force 


lay at tlie bottom of it, and if to-day this might be 
its defense, to-morrow it might also be its overthrow. 

It is now ascertained that Louis Napoleon, from 
the beginning, had his mind fixed upon the restora- 
tion of the empire. In accepting the presidency of 
the republic, and even in swearing fidelity to the 
Constitution, he considered himself only as mount- 
ing the steps of the imperial throne. The French 
have so long been accustomed to military despotism, 
that they have no idea of government without it. The 
people there have not the habit, so universal with us, 
of obeying the law, through a sense of right ; they 
must always have before them the cannon and the 
bayonet, to enforce obedience. The framers of the 
new Constitution, either having no conception of a 
government unsupported by an army, or having no 
faith that the French nation would observe laws rest- 
ing only upon moral obligation, gave to the chief 
magistrate the actual command of a large body of 
troops. With a view to prepare them to serve him, 
in time of need, the President flattered the officers 
and cajoled the men in various ways, even oniering 
them in one instance to be served with champagne ! 

In order to prepare the nation for the revolution 
which he meditated, Louis Napoleon caused agitating 
and alarming rumors to be circulated, of a terrible plot, 
planned by the democrats, republicans, and sociiUists 
of France, the object of which was to overturn the 
whole fabric of society, to destroy religion, to sweep 


away the obligations of marriage, to strip the rich 
of their property, and make a general distribution of 
it among the masses. Other conspiracies, having sim- 
ilar designs, were said to exist in all the surrounding 
countries of Europe, and the time was now near at 
hand when the fearful explosion would take place. 
The police of France, subject to the control and di- 
rection of the President, were instructed to discover 
evidences of this infernal plot, and they were so suc- 
cessful, that the public mind was filled with a vague 
but anxious apprehension that society was reposing 
upon a volcano, which might soon burst forth and 
overwhelm the whole couctry in chaos. 

The National Assembly conducted in a manner to 

favor these deep, sinister schemes of the President. 

They were divided into four or five factions, and 

spent their time chiefly in angry disputes and selfish 

ntrigues. A portion of them were monarchists, and 

hough they had acquired their scats by pledges of 

levotion to the republic, they were now plotting its 

•verthrow, a part being for the restoration of the 

Weauists and a part for the Bourbons. Another fac- 

on was for Louis Napoleon, and actively promoted 

is schemes. By the Constitution he was ineligible' 

>r a second term, and his friends were seeking the 

leans of overcoming this difTiculty, and giving him 

re-election, by fair means or foul. The liberals 

ere divided into several shades of opinion, some 

dng republicans, after the model of General Ca- 



vaignac; some being demoorats, like Victor Hugo; 
iiiid some socialiBts, after the fashiou of Pierre Ld- ! 
roux. In anch a state of things, there was a vaA 
deal of idlf! debate, while the aubstaotia! interests of i 
the country seemed, if not totally forgotten, at leaat 
secondary to t)ie interests of parties, and the paseions 
and prejudices of individuala. 

Tims, although France was a republic, it was ob- 
vious that the government had fallen into selfish 
bands, and must perish. Louis Napoleon was only 
waiting a favorahle moment to enter upon his schemes 
fur its destruction. His plans rapidly advanced to 
iiiiUiirity. The terror he had excited of a grand so- 
oiiili^t. etinvidsion, naturally prepared the people of 
Illy to lunk with &vor upon any atroiig arm 


room was tolerably full, the company consisting, aa 
is usual in such cases, of diplomats, military officers, 
and court officials, with a sprinkling of citizens in 
black coats — for hitherto the requisition of a court 
uniform had not been imposed. This, you will re- 
member, was under the Eepublic; the rule which 
raised the black coat to a question of state, grew out 
of the Empire. Nevertheless, I was forcibly struck 
by the preponderance of soldiers in the assembly, 
and I said several times to my companions, that it 
jeemed more like a camp than a palace. The whole 
«cne was dull ; the President himself appeared preoc- 
upied, and was not master of his usual urbanity; 
ren, Magnan walked from room to room with a ru- 
linating air, occasionally sending his keen glances 
round, as if searching for something which he could 
ot find. There was no music, no dancing. That 
lyety which almost always pervades a festive party 
Paris, was wholly wanting. There was no ringing 
ughter, no merry hum of conversation. I noticed 
'. this, but I did not suspect the cause. At eleven 
ilock the assembly broke up, and the guests de- 
rted. At twelve, the conspirators, gathered for 
;ir several tasks, commenced their operations. 
About four in the morning, the leading members of 
Assembly were seized in their beds, and hurried 
prison. Troops were distributed at various j)oints, 
as to secure the city. When the light of day 
le, proclamations were posted at the corners of the 

filielter in the . 

a»d Stripes"- 

doemed it nece. 

the occasional I 

ftr nearly baJf 

and the people 

-A-bout four j 

along the Boulc 

*^tt the fragmi 

^"^^ioes, and shi, 

i ^"Ss> especially , 

' ^.*''*-^«*. ^vere thickl 

ciallj around the 

^^^ongh and thro 

^i-'^ts of blood sta 

boulevard ifontma 

^^••\v.s, there were j 

It being evident th. 

i' ;! m iff '"" '"^ ^''^P^ the 

: > 




same point through other avenues of the city. In a 
short time the whole Boulevard, from the Rue de la 
Paix to the Place de la Bastille, an extent of two 
miles, was filled with troops. My office was on the 
Boulevard des Italiens, and was now fronted by a 
dense body of lancers, each man with his cocked 
pistol in his hand. Except the murmur of the horses' 
hoofs, there was a general stillness over the city. The 
sidewalks were filled with people, and though there 
was no visible cause for alarm, there was still a vague 
apprehension which cast pallor and gloom upon the 
faces of all. 

Suddenly a few shots were heard in the direction 

)f the Boulevard Montmartre, and then a confused 

lum, and soon a furious clatter of hoofs. A moment 

ifter, the whole body of horse started into a gallop, 

nd rushed by as if in flight ; presently they halted, 

owever, wheeled slowly, and gradually moved back, 

iking up their former position. The mpn looked 

ccnly at the houses on either side, and pointed 

leir pistols threateningly at all whom they saw at 

le windows. It afterward appeared, that when the 

oops had been drawn out in line and stationecl 

ong the Boulevard, some half dozen shots were 

'cd into them from the tops of buildings and from 

indows; this created a sudden panic; the troops 

n, and crowding upon others, caused the sudden 

Dvemcnt I have described. In a few moments, 

3 heavy, sickening sound of muskets came from 

the V'-'Txe Si. Denis. Tollogt BoMeodad voQe;', and 
after sonuf lime iL'.- j^eople were sd«o tu&lting madl^ 
TiK>ng like juvemeuis of the Boalevard as if to eacspO; 
The giiie uf our Iiotel was now closed, aad at tho 
eanie»t request of the throiig that had gathered for 
shelter in the coxul of the hotel, I put out the " St-irs 
and Sirijiea" — the iiret and last time that I ever it necessarv. The dtiU roar of muskets, with 
iW oecaaii.)u:d boom of oanBon, oontiuued at intervals 
for nrai'ly half fin hour. Silence at last Bucoecded, 
HUil ilif jn'iiplu vi.'ntured into the streets. 

Al "lu Iniv in the afternoon, I walked for a mile 
al'jtii: till.- Cniilcvard. The pavements were strewn 
with i!iL' Inijmonts of shattered windows, broken 


strove to obtain shelter at the entrances of the hotels 
upon the street. It was a sight to sicken the heart, 
especially of an American, who is not trained to 
these scenes of massacre. Toward evening a portion 
of the troops moved away; the rest remained, and 
bivouacked in the streets for the night. At ten 
o'clock, I again visited the scene, and was greatly 
struck with the long line of watch-fires, whose fitful 
lights, reflected by dark groups of armed men, only 
rendered the spectacle more ghastly and gloomy. 

Of the whole number killed in Paris during this, 
the third day of the Coup d'Etat, we have no certain 
account : it is generally estimated at from one thou- 
sand to fifteen hundred. I have told you that the 
press was silenced, save two or three papers, which 
told the whole story so as to justify the conduct of 
Louis Napoleon. These represented that the Na- 
tional Assembly were plotting for his overthrow by 
violent means, and thus would make it appear that 
his conduct was not only justifiable as an act of 
self-preservation, but necessary in view of the public 
good. It is important to state, however, that al- 
though the agents of the usurper seized upon the 
papers of the suspected members at their own houses, 
and at a moment of surprise, no sufiicient proofs have 
yet been adduced of the alleged treason of the Assem- 

Thcso persons thus filaughtered were not rioters, workinjc: ut barriciules ; 
they were mostly gentlemen, and hence it was called the massacre of 
the ** kid f^lovcs." The soldiers had undoubtedly been stimulated by 
liquor to quality them to perform this work of butchery. 


bly. The apologists of the Coup d'Etat have fiirther 
declared that the massacre along the Boulevards 
which I have described, was a measure of stem ne- 
cessity, in order to repress the insurgent socialists. 
The fact seems rather to be that it was a cool and 
calculated slaughter of innocent persons, in order to 
show the power and spirit of the Dictator, and to 
strike with paralyzing fear those who should venture 
to oppose him. 

The morning came, and the triumph of the reign 
of terror was complete. What was enacted in Paris, 
was imitated all over France. Nearly every depart- 
ment was declared in a state of siege; revolt was 
punished with death, and doubt or hesitation with 
imprisonment. Forty thousand persons were hurried 
to the dungeons, without even the form or pretense of 
trial. All over the country the press was silenced, as 
it had been in Paris, save only a few obsequious prints, 
which published what was dictated to them. These 
declared that all this bloodshed and violence were 
the necessary result of the socialist conspiracy, which 
threatened to overturn society ; happily, as they con- 
tended, Louis Napoleon, like a beneficent providence, 
had crushed the monster, and he now asked the 
people to ratify what he had done, by making him 
President for ten years. In the midst of agitation, 
delusion, and panic, the vote was taken, and the 
usurpation was legalized by a vote of eight millions 
of suflFrages I The nominal Republic, but real Dio- 


tatorsliip, thus established, was soon made to give 
way to the Empire ; the ambitious plotter reached the 
imperial throne, and now stands before the world as 
Napoleon III. I 

It is impossible for us Americans to look upon the 
conduct of the chief actor in this startling drama, 
but with reprobation. We regard constitutions, rat- 
ified by the people, as sacred ; we consider oaths to 
support them as pledges of character, faith, honor, 
truth — all that belongs to manhood. We look upon 
blood shed for mere ambition, as murder. The Amer- 
ican people must be totally changed in religion, mor- 
als, feelings, and political associations, before they 
could cast their votes for a ruler whose lips were 
stained with perjury, and whose hands were red 
with the slaughter of their fellow-citizens. But the 
French nation is of a different moral constitution ; 
their tastes, experience, souvenirs, are all different. 
They are accustomed to perfidy on the part of their 
rulers; violence and crime, wrought for ambition, 
have stained the paths of every dynasty that has ruled 
over them for a space of fourteen centuries. France 
is trained to these things, and hence the public taste, 
the prevailing sentiments of society, arc not greatly 
shocked at them. The people there do not reckon 
with a successful usurper as they would with an or- 
dinary man acting in the common business of life; 
when they see him installed in the Tuileries they 
forget his treacheries and his massacres — the means 


by which he attained his power — and cry "Vive 
rEmpereurl" Even the Church now looks upon 
Louis Napoleon's conduct with approbation, and 
burns incense and sings Te Deums in his behalf, as 
the savior of religion, family, society. 

And it must be admitted that, since his acquisi- 
tion of a throne, Louis Napoleon has conducted the 
government with ability, and he has certainly been 
seconded by fortune. He married a lady who, after 
becoming an empress, shed luster upon her high 
position by her gentle virtues and gracious manners. 
He engaged in the Eastern War, and has triumphed. 


He has greatly improved and embellished the capital, 
and made Paris the most charming city in the world ; 
nowhere else does life seem to flow on so cheerfully 
and so tranquilly as here. He has gradually softened 
the rigors of his government — and though some noble 
spirits still pine in exile,* he has taken frequent ad- 

* The number of iDclividaals exiled by the Coup d^EUt amounted to 
pcvond thousaiida — some of the more obnoxious persons being sent to 
rayeiMic, Noukahiva, and Litmbcsna in Algeria. Others were only 
baiiislied tVoin Franco; a purtlon of these have since liad pernuB:sion to 
return. Among those still oxcludr ' i» Victor Hugo, no doubt the mot^t 
eh.Miuent writer and orator now living, lie has continued to make tlio 
island of Jersey his residence. Two other exiles of some note arc 
Lc<iru Kollin and Louis Blanc, members of thu Provisional Qoverument, 
uiid whosse misconduct contributed largely to the overthrow of the re- 
])ul)lio. Therte have remained in England. Lamoricicre, Changarnier, 
ChurniH, and Bedeau, all distinguished officers, are in Belgium or 

Cavaignac, who was imprisoned with other members of the Assem- 
bly, was >ji]>eudiiy released. lie is believed to be u sound republican, 
somewhat according to our American ideas. lie is permitted to reside 
in Franco, but takes no part in public affidn. Lamartiue, a fine poet, 


vantage of opportunity to diminish the number. The 
people of France, at the present time, appear to be 
satisfied with the government, and probably a very 
large majority, could the question be proposed to 
them, would vote for its continuance. 

Beneath this smooth and tranquil surface there 
may be, and no doubt is, a smouldering fire of dis- 
content, and which will seek the first opportunity to 
explode. Louis Napoleon rules only by the vigorous 
and watchful power of despotism, and it is not in the 
nature of the French people to endure this for a long 
period of time. The existing empire can hardly be 
perpetuated beyond the life of him who has created 
it ; indeed, its present strength lies much more in the 
fear of anarchy, which is certain to follow if that be 
removed, than from any love for the system itself, or 
of him who has imposed it upon the country. 

a cnptivatinf? orator, an elegant writer, and withal a man wliosc lieart is 
full of every noble sentiment, escaped the indignity of imprisonment, 
and he too is allowed to live in his native land. But hiH lips are scaled 
as to every political question, and his only communication with his 
countrymen and with mankind is through literature, carefully divested 
of every thought and feeling pertaining to current politics. Every au- 
thor in France, indeed, wears a muzzle which only permits him to 
breathe sach thoughts aa cannot offend the powers that be. 



lifting in Parit to eommtmoraU l/u Dtatk 0/ Oaf md B 
•MtiV.a of my OonMular J)iili»^—CSUiraetir 1^ lit t^mdi Satioii—3%» 
Sltdt-coai Circular. 

A3 this chapter most bring me to the end of my 
residence in P&ria, you will permit me to crowd into 
it a variety of topics, without regard to chronological 
order or continuity of narrative. 

Ill the autumn of 1852, the news came that Daniel 
"Webster was no more. Under any circumstancea, 
tlio ciL'ceasc of such a person would cause a deep and 
pervading emotion, but the manner of Mr. Webster's 
death imparted to it a peculiar degree of interest. 
The closing scene was, in fact, appropriate to his 
character, his noble person, his gigaotic intellect, his 
grt'at fitme. It was remarked by an eminent states- 
man in England, that Mr. "Webster's was the most 
sublime death of modem times. The Eurojxsan pa- 
]X!rs were filled with details of the event. The 
Amcrieanf* in Paris, on hearing the tidings, deemed 
it proper to assemble for the purpose of giving ex- 
pri'ssion to their emotions. As Mr. Clay had died 
only a few months before, it was resolved at the same 
lime to pay due liomage to his memory. 

The mooting, consisting of several hundred ]>ersonit, 
mostly Americans, was held in the splendid salon of 

' J^ 


the Cercle des Deux Mondes, Boulevard Montmartre. 
Mr. Rives, our minister, made an eloquent and touch- 
ing address, delineating the remarkable qualities of 
these two men, and comparing Mr. Clay to the Mis- 
sissippi, which spreads its fertilizing waters over the 
boundless regions of the West, and Mr. Webster to 
the resistless Niagara, emptying seas at a plunge, and 
shaking all around with its echoing thunders. Mr. 
Barnard, our minister to the Court of Berlin, paid a 
full and hearty tribute to the memory of Mr. Webster; 
he was followed by Mr. George Wood, of New York, 
and Franklin Dexter, of Boston, who also made el- 
oquent and feeling addresses. M. Bois Lecompte, 
former minister of France to the United States, and 
well acquainted with the two great men whose death 
we had met to commemorate, closed with a beautiful 
eulogy upon each. 

In the summer of 1853, 1 was politely advised from 
the State Department that President Pierce had ap- 
pointed my successor in the consulate. Thus, having 
held the place a little over two years, on the 1st of 
August, 1853,* I was restored to the privileges of 

* I i*hnll, I trust, be nxcn^ed for insertir;«j' iu a not© tho following, 
which I take from Galij^nariiV Paris Mesncti^iT of December 15tli, 1854: 


Parl^. — The AinerionrjH in Paris lately prei^entcil to Mr. Goodrich a 
merlallion execurcl in Kermeii, by t)ie dihtinguislied artist, Adam-Salo- 
mon, with tlic following inscription encirdinjEr an admirable jwrlrait of 
tlie eonr*ul, in reliof- 

To S. G. G'>odrkh, Consul of thr Unitol State* of America at ParU^ 
prefitnted hy hu countrymen in that Citjfy AuguH \gt^ 1858." 

Vol. II.— 22 



private citizen life. As I had varioas eDgagements 
which forbade me immediately to leave France, I 
hired a small house in Courbevoie, which I made my 
residence till my departure for America in the sum- 
mer of 1855. 

This naturally brings me to the close of my story. 

The follnwing coireBpondeiic*, vhich look plaos between the partie*, 
It croditsble (a ell oancenied; 

" PiMU, ScpUrober 6tb, lS5t. 
"To S. Q. GooDRicn, E«q.— 

'- U ia my vci7 agreeable dnij to pr«8eiit yoa, berewitb, ■ meUal- 
llon, eMcutcJ M the rcquflut of » nambor of jour Aiiwriwu friends at 
Puis. It is Je^tineiJelikeuiKtokenof pcnonnlrvKpeet.and nil cuprca- 
Bioo of the uniioml gnitificaUoa unoiie jour oountiy men at tha uianner 
iu whitrh yuu <ll>(!har||«<I .vour ilntien wliile uansiil of Iho Uniieil Siutra 
hBtn. Kut eoijlcnt with ■ msrislr funniil fulllllniciit of your olllciul otAi- 
galiODs, you inuile your poNitioii euiini^iitly agnwublo and iiivful to your 
coiiiitryiucii, atid at ibe mme titno rcuJercJ it guijr^rvieiit to 1)i« heat 
intsreats of out conitiion country. On thene poiul* lliere is but ouo 
opiuiou ; uihI, tlicrefare, ill uialiiu^ tliin otTcriiig, in beiialr of your iiu- 
nioroua iVieiidM, I nm ibulniclcd to odd their congTatulutiona tbst notli- 
iag ouu deprive you of thu gooil-vill iiiid ipiad opinion lo legiliuiutdy 
obtuDCd. I am, fit, rc^ipeulfuliy yuurr, 


■' Jfy Diar Sir .'—1 have tliia day liad tl 
letter, Willi tho accompany iug testimonial of pi'monal nigurvl and appro- 
boiioti of mj official conduct, prcaunlcd by you in behalf of my .American 
friends in I'liris. I need not aay that 1 receive thcau unazpeotud tckena 
of kindnctw tritli gn^al Mtij'faelion. roiidorcd doubly fcratifyiniE •>? (be 
fact that lliEy conio wlicn ]i)l know that 1 have only the humUe lli'ankl 
of a private citizen to (til's in rctnrn. While 1 thn» aeknon led^ and 
chcriuli (liB eompliraenl my friunda huvu paid me, 1 trrl boiiDrl to "ay 
llut 1 had been airoady coinpcnaated fur any pernoiial Kiurilicen 1 had 
miide lo oblictttions lying beyond the nierH routine of official duty, while 
I lieiii the cDiiHiilato in I'ari*. During that pcrio>l, a tpiica of little over 
tivoycKTi-, mora than Ave hundrail Ictlem of iulr.":iii'iu'ii werv preKciiiod 

msrroBioAL, ANBODoncAL, Era 607 

BO far 03 it relates to France. Were it pertinent to 
my design, I should give jou some sketches of the 
French people— of their character and manners, 
which, in their minuter shadings, are not well ap- 
preciated in the United States. We readily compre- 
hend England and the English people, because their 
language, their institutions, their genius, are similar 
to our own ; but in France we find a different lan- 
guage, a diflerent religion, different institutions — ^in 
short, a different civilization. In England, Sunday 
is a holy day, in France a holiday, and this fact is a 
sort of index to the difference between these two 
countries in regard to opinion, society, life. In Eng- 
land, the future exercises a powerful influence over 
the mind ; in France, it is thought best to enjoy the 
present; England would improve the world, France 
would embellish it ; England founds colonies, plants 
nations, establishes the useful arts; France refines 
manners, diffuses the fine arts, and spreads taste and 
elegance over Christendom. In England the people 
livti in separate buildings, apart from one another, each 
man claiming that his house is his castle ; in France, 

trarVf I was (Jay by day more than rewarded for any services rendered, 
by tlif ii^rrLcabiti iiitcreourbc of perrtorid bo univcnuilly intvlli^ciit, ^o little 
reqiiiriii;^% and so mr^tinctivcly perceiving and ob^crving the proprieties 
of vvory :<ituation in which they wore placed. I take ^reat plciwnre in 
rvcordiiiiT a fact m/ creditable to our countrymen, even though it may 
dejirive nic of ail clainiH to the merits which thu kindnoim of my friends 
ai^si^uti lo my conduct. I liave the honor to be, 

" With great respect, yourit, <fec., 
" Franci* Warden, Esq. " S. G. GOODBICH." 


thev live congregated in hotels, one family abori 
anoilier, like tlie difftjreut layers of honejcomb ii 
a hive. The Englishman finds his chief happiness a) 
his fireside, the Frenchman in the sympathy of con- 
gregated masses. In England, the best points oi 
the people are seen in the domestic circle ; in France, 
in tlie salon. In all these things, English ideua are 
germain to our own, and hence we readily under- 
Btjuid them, enter into them, appreciate them. As to 
Franco, it is otherwise ; words there have a different, things a diiferent use from that we are accus- 
tomed to, and hence, in order to understand the ge- 
nius (if tht! French nation and to do full justice to it, 
it is necessary to consider them from their point of 
view. AAer all that has been said and done, a work 
describing Frencb society, manners, and institutions, 
is still a desideratum. This can not be supplied by 
the hn-sty sketches of racing travelers; it must be the 
work of a laborious and careful student, who unites 
experience and observation to a large and liberal 
philosophy, which on the one hand can resist the 
artifices of taste and the bhutdishnicnts of luxury, 
and (in the other, appreciate good things, even 
though they may not bear the patent-mark of bis 
own jirepo-ssessioiis. Of course, you will not expect 
mo to begin such a work in the closing pages of tbea« 
fugitive letters.* 

■ 1 hud iiileiidod U naj ■ ttw words iu respect to llie la>diii|c lilur 
uj panoui of Fnuoa, U Iha prAiwiit da;, but tn entuini upon tin 


I duly received your letter asking my opinion upon 
the " black-coat question." Mr. Marcy's celebrated 
circular respecting diplomatic and consular costume 
was not issued, or at least did not reach me, till 
after I had ceased to exercise the consular functions ; 
nevertheless, as I had some opportunity to form a 

•nbject I find it too extensive. I muy, however, name in a single par- 
a^rniphf Alexandre Dunioj*, wIioac vereiatilily, fecundity, and capacity 
for liihor are witbont parallel, and wboAc fcenius haH placed him at the 
bend uf living novelii^tH and dramatistB, in spite of bin uotoriouA charla- 
tanry and love of publicity ; Adolpbc Dumas, bin son, whose three plays 
illurttnitivc of the manners of equivocal society and of the life of aban- 
doned women has made him rich at the ago of thirty-one — a fact very 
suggestive as to the state of Parisian 5»ociety ; I^martine, whoso humble 
apartments in the Rue de la Villo I'Eveque are constantly lilled with the 
admiring friends of the impoverished poet and the disowned politician; 
Alphoiise K.irr, whose caustic satires upon vice, folly, and prevalent 
abu.>cs, publislie«] once a week, have made him a vnluable reformer; 
Ainperc, tiic trav«;lcr and lingui^t, whose work upon the United States is 
pcrlmps the most just that has yet been written by a foreicrner ; Eiiiile de 
Giranliii, wlio-^e innovation in editorial writing — consisting ot the cou- 
st:int roeurrcnco of the alinfUy or piirngniph, each one of vi Inch contains a 
distinct proposition, deduced from the previous one and lending directly 
to tliut wliiclj IViliows — was one of the features of the Presse which pro- 
duced its immense popularity; Scribe, tlie indefatigable playwright and 
librettist ; M<'ry, the poet-laureate or court poetaster; Ponsard, whose two 
coTne<lit;H in verso, " L'llonneur et I'Argent" and " La Bourse," are rap- 
idly carryinif him to a chair in the Academy; Beranger« hale and active 
at the age of seventy-six, and the most popular man in France ; Gustave 
Plunchc, the critic and the terror of authors; Jules Janin, the dramatic 
critic, whose long labors have been totally unproductive of good to either 
actor or dramutiet ; Madame de Girardin — recently deceased — whoso 
one aot dranm of " La Joie fait Peur" is the most profound piece of 
psy«iliologi<Ml dissection in existence ; and Madame Dudevant, alias 
(JiorLT*' Santl, whose power of painting the finer and more hidden 
einotioiw of tlio >om1 Is unrivaled. 

1 inn-^t a<l.. u word in rospect to Madame Kistori, the Italian tragedienne 
who ims rcvt-ntlv c'au-e<l ^uch a thrill of excitement in Paris. She is in 
nothing more reuiarkuble than in her contrast to Kachel. The latter is 
the pupil of art, the former of nature. Rachel always plays the same part 
in tile same manner. Every tone, every gesture is studied profoundly, 


jiidgraent of the measure, I ifreely give you my im- 
pressions upon the subject. 

You understand that the State Department, at dif- 
ferent periods, has made certain regulations in re- 
spect to the diploftiatic and consular service, so far 
even as to prescribe their official dress. The main 
body of these rules, as they had existed for many 
years, was drawn up, I believe, by Mr. Livingston, 
while Secretary of State under Gen. Jackson. The 
diplomatic dress consisted of a blue coat 'xnd blue pan- 
taloons decorated with gold embroidery, and a white 
waistcoat. It had a general resemblance to the diplo- 
matic costume of other countries, though it was of 
the simi)lest form. The consular dres? was similar, 
though the naval button of the United States was 
prescribed, and the whole costume had a sort of naval 
air. Diplomats and consuls wore sma^i swords, but 
no epaulets. 

Nevertheless, Mr. Marcy, soon after his accession to 
the State Department, under President Pierce, issued 
a circular requiring consuls to give up these costumes 
altogether; as to diplomats, it was recommended, 
though not enjoined, that they should appear before 

and alwavA comos in at the same time and place. Ristori enters into 
tbt; play with her whole bouI, and acts as her feeling.^ dictate. She is of 
potnowliat light complexion, with hazel eyes and brown hair; she has 
correct featurcH, and olTthe stiigo is of grave, lady-lik'. muitncrs uiid arv- 
peunince. On the stage she seems to work miracles. I have }*ccn her in 
Miirie Stuart, while on her knees at confession, by p slight continued 
movement upward make the audience feel as if she were actually as- 
oending to heaven, personally and before their eyes ! 


foreign courts in simple black. This was urged on 
the ground that plainness of attire was proper to 
the representatives of a republic, and it was to be re- 
gretted that we had ever departed from the simplicity 
adopted by Dr. Franklin in appearing before the 
court of Louis XVI. 

It would seem that these are very narrow grounds 
for a departure from the usages of the civilized 
world, our own government among the number, and 
in which Jefferson and Monroe, Adams and Jay, 
Ellsworth and King, had participated. All these, 
aye and Dr. Franklin* too, notwithstanding the cur 
rent notion that he forced his Quaker clothes upon 
the court of Louis XVI., wore their court costume, 
simply because custom required it. There is no 
doubt that they were more respected, and served 
their country with more effect than they would have 
done, had they insisted upon shocking the public 

♦ It is paid, and I believe truly, that Dr. Franklin's appearance at 
the court of Louis XVI. in a plain suit of drab cloth, and wliich for a 
brief spnce intoxicated the giddy beau monde of Paris*, wa» accidental: 
his court suit not arrivinpr in time, and the king, who waited anxiously 
to receive him. requesting that ho would come as ho was. Whether thia 
WHS so or not, 1 beiiuvu there is no doubt that Dr. Fmiiklin afterward 
adopted a court suit, consisting of a black velvet embroidered coat, and 
black small-clothes, with a small sword. Dr. Franklin was a man of 
too much sense to undertake to shock established tastes by an offensive 
departure I'rotn what was esteemed propriety. All the portraits of him 
taken while he was cur ambassador at the French court, show that he 
was accustomed to dress handsomely. I have a copy of one by Greuze, 
which represents him in a green silk dressing-gown, edged with fur, m 
ligiit-colorcd satin waistcoat, with a frill at the bosom. Such a dress, 
for an elderly gentleman in his etady, would now-a-days be considered 
almost foppish. 


Minister had come to introduce these, his countrywo- 
men, to their imperial majesties, and had claimed the 
privilege of wearing a black coat because simplicity 
belongs to republicans, I imagine that every observer 
would have marked the contrast between the pretense 
and the performance. 

Thus, though we may be republicans, we are in fact 
a sumptuous people, addicted to display, and exceed- 
ingly fond of being in the midst of stars and garters. 
We think the more of these things, doubtless, forlhe 
very reason that they are strange to our manners. 
Every American who goes to London or Paris, wishes 
to be introduced at court, and seems to feel that this 
is his privilege. It is not so with any other nation ; 
no English man or woman, in Paris, asks to be pre- 
sented at the Tuileries, unless it be a person of high 
social or official rank. 

These being characteristics of our people, and per- 
fectly well understood abroad, Mr. Marcy's black- 
coat circular created no little surprise. It was gen- 
erally regarded as a mere appeal to the lower classes 
in America, who might be supposed to entertain the 
sentiments of the sans-culottes, and as such, it was 
treiitud with little respect. Nevertheless, had the gov- 
ernment />re*-m^(/ a black dress, for its diplomats, no 
court in Europe would have made the slightest ob- 
jection. Such a measure would no doubt have sub- 
jected us to criticism, perhaps to ridicule, as a matter 
of taste ; it would have been offensive, inasmuch as it 


> ■ I • 

at our black coa 
ertheless, it is | 
that any governi 
representatives, a 
obligatory upon 
wear black, or wl 
the slightest excej 
by any court in th 
This, however, ^ 
government; they 
prescribe, the black 
isters, charges, and 
J * came extremely aw] 

y * The (h.'sirc of our niir 

ff well a."- to tMk(> udvaiitiure < 

c ) ooiit, mill at the suino tiriiu 

attach to their appourii)^ ii 




















' 1 I clL'vit'OA. Mr. Soiilo a'lopti 

cout anil :*inj»Il-olotlies ol" 
-- . liavt.' h<*on u-»od bv Dr. 1 

ij^ B b!iK- coat, wiiito waistcoat. 


of all countries is transacted between the ambassador 
and the ministers, and wUbn these persons meet, 
there is no ceremony. They come together like mer- 
chants or lawyers, in their ordinary dress. All the 
actual business of a foreign minister may therefore be 
transacted without any particular costume. 

But sovereigns surround themselves with a certain 
etiquette, and they require all who approach them to 
conform to this. When Queen Victoria invites per- 
sons to visit her, it is of course upon condition that 
they adopt the usages of the court. No one, what- 
ever his rank or station, can claim exemption from 
this rule. It must be remembered that on all such 
occasions, the invitation is considered a compliment, 
and hence well-bred persons, who take advantage of 
it, feel constrained, by self-respect and a sense of pro- 
priety, scrupulously to regard and fulfill the condi- 
tions upon which this invitation is bestowed. 

Now, it must be remembered that what is called a 
court costume, is only required of a minister on 
occasions of mere ceremony or festivity, when he 
appears by invitation of the sovereign. If he comes, 
it is not to transact business, but for amusement. He 

ly diplomatic, wears a blue ooat with thirty -one staw, wroujfht in gold, 
on the collar. This is a bcaatiful idea, and might suggest to oar gov- 
ernment a very t^iinple and appropriate consular and diplomatio cos- 
tume. Some costume— distinct and national and perfectly understood 
in all countries — is really important, as well for our consuls as diplo- 
mats. Tiioso who insist upon the black coat, show a total ignorance of 
the duties and position of our public officers abroad, and of the nationA 
among whom they officiate. 


may stay away, and nothing belonging to his diplo- 
matic affairs will suffer. Why, then, if he accepts 
the invitation, should he not conform to the pre- 
scribed usages of the court ? It is generally consid- 
ered evidence of a want of gentlemanly breeding, an 
act of positive vulgarity, for any person to take ad- 
vantage of a polite invitation, and refuse to conform 
to the conditions imposed by the host Above all, 
it would seem that an ambassador, representing a 
nation before a foreign court, should be scrupulous 
to observe the known and established rules of deco- 

It must be remembered that propriety of costume 
— that is, a dress suited to the taste and fashion pre- 
vailing where it is worn, is in all civilized countries 
a matter of decency. It has been so among all re- 
fined nations, and from the earliest ages. One of the 
most solemn of our Saviour's parables is founded 
upon a breach of decorum in regard to costume — the 
appearance of a man at the wedding of the king's son, 
without a wedding garment Similar ideas are just 
as current among us as elsewhere. If a clergyman 
were to go into the pulpit dressed in a military coat, 
it would shock the whole audience, and be considered 
an insult alike to them and to the clerical profession. 
If a lady issues cards of invitation to a ball, and a 
man, who takes advantage of the invitation, comes 
in a sailor's roundabout, he would be held as an ill- 
bred fellow, and as such would be turned out of 


doors. He may plead that he had simply cut off 
the tail of his coat, and as he considered an artificial 
appendage of this kind derogatory to a free-bom 
man, his principles forbade him to wear it. The an 
Bwer is, you are welcome to carry out your principles, 
but if you accept an invitation given to you out of 
politeness, it is expected and required that you con 
form to the known usages and decencies of society. 

Now in monarchical countries long usage has es- 
tablished it in the public mind, that to appear at 
court* without a court costume, would be a species of 
indecency, an offense against the company present, as 
well as the parties giving the invitation. We may 
rail at it as much as we please in this country, yet 
we can not alter the fact I state. 

Taking the matter in this point of view, let us 
consider the situation of our diplomatic representa- 
tives under Mr. Marcy's circular. Had the black 
coat been prescribed, as I have said before, there 
would have been an end of the matter. Our minis- 
ters and charges would have been dressed in black, 
that is, like the servants of a cafe, while all around 

♦ In general, a person who should attempt to enter at a court recep- 
tion, without a proper costume, would bo stopped at the door : if ho 
should, by accident, gain admittance, he would probably be invited to 
leave the room. A professional drcRf*, as that of a soldier, a cler>?y- 
man, Ac, is coni»idcred a proper costume at Paris, and I believe at 
most other courts. If a person is not professional, he must wear either 
the prescribed costume of his own country, or that of the court to which 
he is introduced The British minister will introduce no one at a for- 
eign court, who has not been previously presented to the Queen at 


518 JjETTERB — ^BIOGRAPmO ill) 

them would have appeared in appropriate costumes ; 
and thus, in the midst of an assemblage, consisting 
of the most exalted rank, the highest refinement, the 
most distinguished ability — the representative of the 
United States would either have passed unnoticed as 
a servant, or been remarked upon as an object of 
ridicule, perhaps of contempt. That would have 
been all. 

But this condition of things was not vouchsafed to 
our ministers : if they obeyed the circular, and car- 
ried the black coat to court, it was known to be in 
some degree voluntary, and was so &r the more 
offensive on the part of the individual wearing it. 
Mr. Sanford, our Charge at Paris, acting from a just 
regard to the wishes of his government, tried the ex- 
periment under many advantages. He was a young 
gentleman of good address, and held a respectable 
position in the higher circles of society connected with 
the court. He was admitted to the Tuileries in his 
black suit, but was of course an object of much ob- 
servation and comment. His character — personal 
and official — protected him from indignity, either of 
word or look, but the act was considered ofiensive 
as well in the palace as in the various branches of 
society in connection with it. About this time Louis 
Napoleon was forming his new imperial court, and 
seeking to give it every degree of splendor. He 
had prescribed rich costumes for his officers, niili- 
tary and civil, and had directed that their wiyes 


should appear in their most splendid attire. All 
the persons connected with the court entered into 
this spirit. For the American Charg6 to present 
himself in simple black, at this particular time, 
looked like rebuke, and was, I believe, regarded in 
this light. Had Mr. Sanford continued in his office 
at Paris, and had he persevered, he would, perhaps, 
by his amiable personal character and pleasing ad- 
dress, have removed these difficulties, though it is 
quite as possible that he might have found his situa- 
tion intolerable, not from open affront, but from those 
sly yet galling attacks, which the polished habitues 
of courts know so well how to make, even in the midst 
of smiles and seeming caresses. As it happened, Mr. 
Mason soon after arrived in Paris as fall minister, 
and appreciating the result of Mr. Sanford's experi- 
ment, adopted the usual diplomatic costume. 

For my own part, I can not see the utility of ma- 
king ourselves disagreeable, and at the same time 
jeoparding the real interests of our country, in such 
a matter as that of the dress of our diplomatic repre- 
sentatives. Our policy should be to cultivate peace 
with all the world, but it would seem of late that our 
desire is rather to array all the nations against us. 
Within the last three years we have lost nearly all our 
friends in Europe. The Ostend Congress, with its start- 
ling doctrines, produced a deep and pervading feeling 
of reprehension, and the circulars of " Citizen Saun- 
ders" created still more lively emotions of irritation 


Suoh are, bri, 

■natio circular. 

"""■ek its moli 

lw!n adopted wi 

H'"i tte State 1 

•Jtireia our mini, 

'Miver would ha. 

*» ridicule broug 

"'*■ The present 

our foreign minis,, 

Tbe true ,,Ia„ i, , 

Priate costume, and 

°°»' " to be pMl 


that the responsibility may fall on the government 
and not on him who wears it And one thing more : 
let us be consistent ; if republicanism requires sim- 
plicity, and black is to be our national color, let the 
"fuss and feathers" of the army and navy be dis- 
missed, and the general as well as the private soldier 
appear in " the black coat I" 


Vid^U to Jialy^Flormo0—£ome-^yaplet, 

My dbabO ****** 

In the autumn of 1864 I set out with my family 

for a brief visit to Italy. With all my wanderings I 
had never seen this far-famed land, and as I was not 
likely ever to have another opportunity, I felt it to 
be a kind of duty to avail myself of a few unappro- 
priated weeks, for that object. 

It is not my purpose to give you the details of my 
travels or my observations. A mere outline must 
suffice. Embarking in a steamer at Marseilles, we 
soon reached Genoa. Here we went ashore for a few 
hours, and then returning to our vessel, proceeded on 
to Leghorn. Taking the railroad at this place, we 
wound among the hills, and, having passed Pisa, 
catching a glimpse of its Leaning Tower, arrived at 
Florence. In this journey of five days, we had 
passed from Paris to the center of Italy. 


Florence* is situated in a small but fertile valley, 
oil either side of which rise a great number of precip- 
itous hills ; behind these is a succession of still great- 
er elevations, with rocky summits reaching at last to 
the Apennines on the north, and other ranges on the 
south and west. A narrow stream, poetically called 
the "yellow Arno" or "golden Amo,"'but in honest 
phrase, the muddy Arno, flows nearly through the 
center of the city. This is bordered by stone quays, 
leaving a space of about three hundred feet in width, 
sometimes full and sometimes only a bed of gravel, 
along which winds the stream shrunken into an insig- 
nificant rivulet. The Arno is in fact a sort of mount- 
ain torrent; its source is nearly five thousand feet 
above the level of the sea, yet its whole course is 
but seventy-five miles. The steep acclivities arout:o 
Florence suddenly empty the rains into its channel, 
and it often swells in the course of a few hours to in- 
uiiclation ; it subsides as speedily, and in summer al- 
most disappears amid the furrows of its sandy bed. 

If we were to judge Florence by a modern stand- 
ard, we might pronounce it a dull, dismal-looking 

* Florence lias a population of one hundred and ten thouMind inhab- 
itunlrt, but it i» so compactly built a» to occupy a very small terntorial 
Bpucc. It is surrounded by a wall, partly of brick and partly of stone, 
ami yet so feeble and dilapidated, as to be wholly U!»ele8«, except for the 
purposes of police. It haa »ix pites, duly puardod by military sentries. 
It is ilie capital of Tuscany, wiiicli is called a Grand Duchy, the Grand 
Duke, its I)rc^cnt ruler, Leopold II., being an Austrian prince. The 
government is a rigid despotism, sustained by means of a few thoosand 
Austrian troops, and the moral influence of the authority of Austria 
itdclf, ever ready to rash to the ud of the government. 

msroiaoAL, anbqdotioal, bto. 628 

place, marred by dilapidation, degraded by tyranny, 
and occupied by a degenerate people. But when we 
enter its galleries of art,* when we survey its monu- 
ments of architecture, and when we view all these in 
connection with its history, we speedily discover it 
to be an inexhaustible mine, alike instructive to the 
philosopher and the man of taste. 

I dare not begin upon the curiosities with which 
this city is filled : I must leave them to be described 
by others. The hills around the city are equally 
interesting, studded as they are with edifices, con- 
nected with the names of Michael Angelo, Galileo, 
Dante, Lorenzo de' Medici, and others, all full of his- 
torical associations or recollections of science and art. 
At the distance of about five miles is Fiesole, now an 
insignificant village, situated on the top of a steep hill, 
rising a thousand feet above the bed of the valley. 
This you ascend by a winding road, built with im- 
mense labor, a portion of it cut in the solid rock. 
This place was the cradle of Florence, its history 
reaching back three thousand years, into the thick 
mists of antiquity. 

* The principal f|rallery, tlie Ufizzi, contains the statue of tlio Venus 
de' Medici, tlio group of Niobe, and the mot^t extensive collection of 
paintings and statuary illustrative of the history and progress of art, 
in the world. The collection in the Pitti Puluco, the residence of the 
Ornnd Duke, is less extensive, bat it i« beautit'nlly arranged, and com- 
prises many trems of art, cspt'oially in painting and in^»2iie. Mr. l'(>wcrs 
and Mr. Hart, American sculptors, celebrated for their bunts in marble, 
are establishe*! in this city. Here wo met Buchanan Kead, who had 
just finished his charming i>oem, The New Pastoral ; at tlie same time 
he was acquirln/ liardly less celebrity by his pencil. 


Here are Cyclopean walls, constracted by the early 
inhabitants to protect themselves at a period when 
all Italy was in the possession of bands of brigands 
and robbers, and when every town and village was a 
fortress. From this point you look down upon Flor- 
ence, which almost seems at your feet; you have 
also a commanding view of the whole adjacent coun- 
try. If you inquire the names of places that attract 
your attention, you will be carried back to periods 
anterior to the building of Rome. The guide will 
point you to the track of Hannibal through the 
marshes of the Amo, then a wilderness without in- 
habitants, amid which the Carthaginian general lost 
a number of elephants, and whose tusks are even at 
this day dug up from their deep beds in the soil. 
Allow me to give you a somewhat prosy description 
in rhyme of this wonderful and suggestive place — 
the best in the world to study early Roman geogra- 
phy and history — which I wrote on the spot, and 
which has at least the merit of being brief: 

Tliis is Fiesole — a giant mound, 
With fellow-giants circling phalanx'd round ; 
Hoary with untold centuries they rest, 
Yet to the top with waving olives dressM, 
While far beyond in nigged peaks arise 
The dark-blue Apennines against the skies. 
In this deep vale, with sen tried hills around, 
Set foot to foot, and all with villas crowned, 
Fair Florence lies — its huge Duomo flinging 
E'en to Fiesole its silvery ringing. 


Ah, what a varied page these scenes unfold — 
How mach is written, yet how much untold ! 
Here on this moand, the huge Cyclopean wall — 
Its huUders lost in Timers unheeding thrall — 
Speaks of whole nations, ages, kingdoms, races, 
Of towers and cities, palaces and places — 
Of wars and sieges, marches, hattles, strife. 
The hopes and fears — the agonies of hfe — 
All passed away, their throbbing weal and woe. 
E'er Rome was built, three thousand years ago ! 

On the twenty-second day of February we entered 
Rome, and found the peach-trees in blossom. The 
modern city is in no respect remarkable. Its walls 
are of some strength, but readily yielded to the at- 
tack of the French army in 1849. Its present popu- 
lation is one hundred and seventy-five thousand. 
All the streets are narrow, and even the far-famed 
Corso is not over fifty feet wide. In general, the 
buildings appear to be of modern date, with here and 
there some grand monument of antiquity peering out 
from the midst of more recent structures. On the 
whole, the aspect of this " Queen of the World" is 
eminently sad, degenerate, and disheartening. 

The more imposing relics of antiquity, the Forum, 
the Palace of the Caesars, the Coliseum, the Baths of 
Caracalla, though within the walls, are still on the 
southern side of the city, and beyond the present cen- 
ter of population. All these are gigantic structures, 
but mostly of a barbarous character. They show the 
amazing power and wealth of the emperors who con- 


structed these works, but they also display ihe actual 
povL riy of art, for there is not one of them that can 
furnish a useful suggestion to even a house-carpenter. 
The vain and transitory nature of the ideas and inati- 
tuti<;ns which gave birth to these miracles of labor, 
strik(\s the reflecting mind with a deep and painful 
sense of humiliation. The Coliseum, the most suUime 
monument of accumulated human toil, regarded as to 
its gigantic proportions, was erected for amnaementa 
now held to be alike cruel and revolting ; the batha 
of Caracalla — whole acres covered with mounds of 
brick — were constructed to minister to fiishionaUe 
luxuries, which at the present day would be regarded 
as infhinous. In modern times, the same accommoda- 
tions would be obtained with one-twentieth part of 
the labor expended upon these establishments. The 
vanity, the boasting, the ostentation of conquerors, 
wliic-h gave birth to the triumphal arches, would at this 
day be looked upon with universal contempt The 
temples were erected to gods, which have vanished 
into thin air. The Aqueducts, whose ruins stretch 
across the gloomy Canipagna, looking like long lines 
of inarching niiistodons, were erected in ignoranoe of 
that fiuniliar fact, visible to any one who looks into 
a tcjipot, that water will rise to its level I 

Tlu* great lesson to be learned at Rome is that of 
huniilitv. I know not which is most calculated to 
sink the pride of man, pagan Rome, sublime in the 
grandeur of its tyranny, its vices, and its falsehoodS| 


or Christian Borne, contemptible in its littleness, its 
tricks, and its artifices, which would disgrace the 
commonest juggler. 

I speak not now of the treasures of art,* collected 
to repletion in the public and private galleries of this 
wonderful city. These are endless in extent and va- 
riety. Among them are the finest paintings of Ra- 
phael, and the best sculptures of Michael Angelo, as 
well as the Dying Gladiator and the Apollo Bel videre. 
Here, also, is that rich, gorgeous palace, called St. 
Peter's Church. But still, Rome, on the whole, seems 
to me the most melancholy spot on earth. Here is a 
city which once contained three or four millions of 

Rome i» not only a depository of cxhuustless stores of relics of art, 
nnd curiosities illustrative of history, but it is the great studio of liv- 
ing artists from all parts of Europe. Both paintinjj and sculpture are 
puntued liere with eminent success. The Angel of the Kcsurrection 
in the studio of Tenerani, is tlio most beautiful and sublime piece of 
sculpture I ever beheld. Gibson, an Englishman, takes the load among 
foreigners, his best things consisting of reliefs, which are beautiful in- 
deed, llis Venus is English, but fine. He has tried coloring statuary, 
after the manner of the ancients, but it is not approved. Our Ameri- 
can Crawford ranks very high for invention and poetic expression. He 
has shown a capacity beyond any other American sculptor, for groups 
on a large scale. Bartholomew, of Connecticut, is a man of decided 
genius, and is rapidly attaining fame. Ives, Mosier, Rogers — all our 
countrymen — are acquiring celebrity. 

Among the foreign painters, the most celebrated is Overbeck, a Ger- 
man. He chooses religious subjects, and is a little pre-Raphaelitish in 
his stylo. Page, Terry, Chapman, are all highly appreciated, both at 
home and abroad. I here met the landscape painter, George L. Brown, 
whom I employed twenty years ago, for a twelvemonth, vm a wood- 
engraver. Ho bus studied laboriously of late, and his pictures are 
beautiful. When he was a boy, he painted a picture, the first he ever 
finished. Isaac P. Davis, of Boston, a well-known amateur, called to 
see it, and asked the price. Brown meant to say fifty cents, but in his 
confusion said fifty dollars. It was taken by Mr. Davis at this pric« : 
BO the wood-cutter became a landscape painter I 


inhabitants, now shrunk and wasted to a population 
of less than two hundred thousand, and these living 
upon the mere ruins of the past. The Christian 
Church is but little better than a collection of bats 
and owls, nestling in the ruinous structures erected 
for the gods and goddesses of heathen antiquity. 

Nor is this the most appalling fact here presented 
to the traveler. Around this place is a belt of un- 
dulating land called the Campagna, eight or ten 
miles in width, fertile by nature, and once cov- 
ered with a busy population ; this has become deso- 
late, and is now tenanted only by sheep and cattle. 
Tlie air is poisoned, and man breathes it at his periL 
To sleep in it is death. And this change has come 
over it while it claims to be the very seat and center 
of Christianity, the residence of the Successor of the 
Apostles, the Head of the Catholic Church, the Kep- 
res(mtative of Christ on earth, the Spiritual Father of 
a liundred and fifty millions of souls ! Is not this 
mysterious, fearful ? 

We reached Naples about the first of April. Here 
the character of the climate and of the people be- 
comes thoroughly Italian. The Bay of Naples can 
not be too much praised. Not only do the promi- 
nent objects — the crescent-shaped city, rising terrace 
above terrace on the north; Vesuvius, with its double 
coue in the east, and the islands of Capri and Ischia 
at the south — form a beautiful boundary to the view, 
out the water and the skv and the air have all a live- 


liness, a cheerfulness, which calls upon the heart to 
be gay. The Neapolitan is, in truth, constantly 
preached to by nature, to sing and dance and be 
happy. It is impossible for any one to resist this 
influence of the climate — of the earth and the sea 
and the air — in this region of enchantment. It ap- 
pears that the ancient Bomans felt and yielded to its 
force. In the vicinity was Puzzuoli, a renowned wa- 
tering-place, the hills around being still studded with 
the vestiges of villas once inhabited by the Soman 
patricians ; near by was Cumse, long a seat and center 
of taste and luxury ; close at hand was Baise, the 
Baden Baden of fashion in the time of Cicero — its 
ruins abundantly attesting the luxury as well as the 
licentiousness of those days. In the mouth of the 
bay was Capri, chosen by Tiberius as the scene of 
his imperial orgies, in consideration of its delicious 
climate and picturesque scenery. The whole region 
is indeed covered over with monuments of Home in 
the day of its glory, testifying to the full apprecia- 
tion of the beauties of the sky and the climate, on 
the part of its patrician population. 

As to the city of Naples itself I shall not speak ; 
though its people, its institutions, its repositories of 
art, its Museum of vestiges taken from the buried 
cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum, would furnish 
interesting subjects of description. I have only to 
add that afler a stay of a month, I left it with reluct- 
ance, and returned to Paris. "V\ hen I arrived, tho 

Vol. II.— 28 


Great Exposition was on the eve of being opened. 
I remained till July, and had several opportunities to 
examine this marvelous array of the world's art and 
industry. On the fourth of the same month I de- 
parted for the United States, and arriving in New 
York, found anchorage for myself and £muly in that 


AgrieuUwre^ Manufaeture$j Attronomif^ NMigaUoi^ ikt J kmtHi e ArU— 
AnihraciU Codl—TrawiUng — Painting— Daguerrtoiype* — J%e EUetrie 
Telegraph — Moral Progres9—Jn Foreign OoutUriu : inihs Uniied StaU*, 

My dear C****** 

I have now come to my farewell. Leave-takings 
are in general somewhat melancholy, and it is best to 
make them as brief as possible. Mine shall consist 
of a single train of thought, and that suggestive of 
cheerful rather than mournful feelings. Like a trav- 
eler approaching the end of his journey, I naturally 
cast a look backward, and surveying the monuments 
which rise up in the distance, seek to estimate the 
nature and tendency of the march of events which I 
have witnessed, and in which I have participated. 

One general remark appears to me applicable to 
the half century over which my observation has ex- 
tended, which is, that everywhere there has been im- 
provement. I krow of no department of human 


knowledge, no sphere of human inquiry, no race of 
men, no region of the earth, where there has been re- 
trogradation. On the whole, the age has been alike 
firuitftil in discovery, and the practical, beneficial re- 
sults of discovery. Science has advanced with giant 
strides, and it is the distinguishing characteristic of 
modem science that it is not the mere toy of the phi- 
losopher, nor the hidden mystery of the laboratory, 
but the hard-working servant of the manufactory, the 
workshop, and the kitchen. Geology not only in- 
structs us in the sublime history of the formation of 
the earth, but it teaches us to understand its hidden 
depths, and to trace out and discover its mineral treas- 
ures. Chemistry, the science of atoms, teaching us 
the component parts of matter, as well as the laws of 
affinity and repulsion, has put us in possession of a 
vast range of convenient knowledge now in daily and 
iamiliar use in the domestic arts. We have even ex- 
press treatises upon the "Chemistry of Common Life." 
Astronomy has not only introduced to us new planets 
and the sublime phenomena of the depths hitherto 
beyond our reach, but it has condescended to aid in 
perfecting the art of navigation, and thus contributed 
to make the sea the safe and familiar highway of the 

We can best appreciate the progress of things around 
us, by looking at particular facts. Take anthracite 
coal, for instance, which, when I was a boy, was un- 
known, or only regarded as a black, shining, useless 


stone; now six millions of tons are annuallj dug 
up and distributed. Think of the labor that is per- 
formed by this mass of matter, that had slumbered 
for ages — hidden, senseless, dead, in the bosom of the 
earth I It now not only cooks our food and warms 
our houses so as in winter to give us the climate of 
summer, but the sleeper, waked from its tomb, like a 
giant impatient of the time he has lost, turns the whiz- 
zing wheel of the factory, sends the screaming locomo- 
tive on its way, drives the steamboat foaming through 
the waves. This single mineral now performs, every 
day, the labor of at least a hundred thousand men I 

On every hand are the evidences of improvement 
What advances have been made in agriculture — in 
the analysis of soils, the preparation of manures, the 
improvement of implements, from the spade to the 
steam-reaper; in the manufacture of textile fabrics 
by the inventions of Jacquard and others in weaving, 
and innumerable devices in spinning ; in the working 
of iron — cutting, melting, molding, rolling, shaping 
it like dough, whereby it is applied to a thousand 
new uses ; in commerce and navigation, by improved 
models of ships, improved chronometers, barometers, 
and quadrants — in chain-pumps and wheel-rudders; 
in printing, by the use of the power- press, throwing oflf 
a hundred thousand impressions instead of two thou- 
sand in a day ; in the taking of likenesses by the da- 
guerreotype, making the Sun himself the painter of 
miniatures ; in microscopes, which have revealed new 


worlds in the infinity of littleness, as well as in tele 
scopes which have unfolded immeasurable depths o^ 
space before hidden from the view How has travel- 
ing been changed, from jolting along at the rate of six 
miles an hour over rough roads in a stage-coach, to 
the putting one's self comfortably to bed in a steam- 
boat and going fifteen miles an hour; or sitting down 
in a railroad car at New York to read a novel, and 
before you have finished, to find yourself at Boston 1 
The whole standard of life and comfort has been 
changed, especially in the cities. The miracles of 
antiquity are between each thumb and finger now ; a 
fHction-match gives us fire and light, the turn of a 
cock brings us water, bright as from Castalia. We 
have summer in our houses, even through the rigors 
of winter. We light our streets by gas, and turn 
night into day. Steam brings to the temperate zone 
the fresh fruits of the tropics ; ether mitigates the ir- 
onies of surgical operations ; ice converts even the 
fires of Sinus into sources of luxury. 

These are marvels, yet not the greatest of marvels. 
Think — instead of dispatching a letter iu a mail-bag, 
with the hope of getting an answer in a month — of 
sending yr>ur thoughts alive along a wire winged with 
electricity, to New Orleans or Canada, to Charleston or 
St. Louis, and getting a reply in the course of a few 
hours I This is the miracle of human inventions, the 
crowning glory of art, at once the most ingenious, the 
most gratifying, the most startling of discovtries. I 


world above! Having achieved so much, who 
shall dare to set limits to the power of human in- 
vention ? 

And in the moral world, the last fifty years appear 
to me to have shown an improvement, if not as 
marked, yet as certain and positive, as in the material 
world. Everywhere, as I believe, the standard of 
humanity is more elevated than before. About a 
century ago, an eminent New England divine, after- 
ward president of Yale College, sent a barrel of rum 
to Africa by a Bhode Island captain, and got in re- 
turn a negro boy, whom he held as a slave, and this 
was not an offence. I know of a distinguished D. D. 
who was a distiller of New England rum half a cen- 
tury ago, and with no loss of reputation. The rules 
by which we try candidates for office are much more 
rigid than formerly. Church discipline among all 
sects is more severe, while sectarian charity is greatly 
enlarged. Christian missions are among the estab- 
lished institutions of society; education is every- 
where improved and extended. Kin some things, 
with the increase of wealth and luxury, we have de- 
generated, on the whole there has been an immense 

'* What hath God wrought?'' It was indeed a natural and beautiful 
idea, at the moment that man had opened a new and startling develop- 
ment of the works of the Almighty. The means of instantly transmit- 
ting intelligence through space, seems to illustrate not only the omnipo- 
tence, but the omniscience and omnipresence of God. 

Thus the telegraph was estublishcd, and though Mr. Morse has en- 
countered opposition, rivalry, and almost fatal competition, he is gen- 
erally admitted throughout the world to be tlio true inventor of this 
greatmt marvel of art, the electrio telegraph. 


advance, as well in technical morals as in those large 
humanities which aim at the good of all mankind. 

K we cast our eyes over foreign lands, we shall see 
a similar if not an equal progress in all that belongs 
to the comforts and the charities of life. Despotism 
still reigns over a large part of the world, but its 
spirit is mitigated, its heart softened. Dungeons and 
chains are not now the great instruments of govern- 
ment. There is everywhere — more especially in all 
parts of Christendom — a feeling of responsibility on 
the part of even kings and princes, to the universal 
principles of justice and humanity. There is a moral 
sense, a moral law among mankind, which tyrants 
dare not set at defiance I 

Such has been the tendency of things within the 
half century which has passed under my observation. 
If, then, I am an optimist, it is as much from reason 
and reflection as from sentiment. In looking at the 
political condition of our country, there are no doubt 
threatening clouds in the sky, and mutterings of 
ominous thunders in the distance. I have, however, 
known such things before ; I have seen the country 
shaken to its center by the fierce collisions of parties, 
and the open assaults of the spirit of disunion. But 
these dangers passed away. Within my memory, the 
States of the Union have been doubled in number, and 
the territory of the Union has been trebled in extent ! 
This I have seen ; and as such has been the past, so 
may be, and so I trust will be, the future. Farewell 1 


List of Works o/tDhieh 8. 0. Goodrich is the Editor or Author, 

My experience, as an author, hai* been not a little KinKular, in one re- 
apect. Wliile on the other aide of the Atlantic my name liaa been largely 
used, aa a pa/^sport to the public, for b<.>ok8 I never wrote — attempta have 
been made in this country to deprive me of the authorship of at leant a 
hundred volumes which 1 did write. It requires some patience to reflect 
upon this with equanimity ; to see myself, falsely, saddled with the pa- 
ternity of things which are either stupid, or vulgar, or immoral— -orj^ev^ 
haps all together ; and then to be deprived, also by falscHWIfJof the 
means of effectually throwing them off by appealing to genuine works — 
which have obtained general favor — tlirough a suspicion cast into the 
public mind, that 1 am a mere pretender, and that the real authorship 
of these works belongs to another person. 

This, however, has Vicen, and perhaps is my position, at least with 
some portion of the public. I have thought it worth while, therefore, 
to print a catalogue of my genuine works, and also a list of the false 
ones, issued under my name, with such notes as seem necessary to set 
the whole matter clearly before the pubHc. 

The following list comprises all my works to the best of my recol- 


DaUoT Ntti 
pubiieatioa. Tola. 

Tbe Token — ^A New Year's and Christmas Present .... 1828. . .14 

[The first yolame was issued In 1S8S, and it was oonUDued, 
yearly, till 1842—1.5 years. 18mo. and 12ino. Edited 
by me, except that in 1829 it was edited by N. P. Wil- 
lis. Among the contributors to Uiis work were, B. Ev- 
erett, Bishop Doane, A. H. Everett, J. Q. Adams, H. 
W. Longfellow, I. McLellan, Jr., N. Hawthorne, Ml« 
Sedgwick, Mrs. Sigoomey, Willis Gaylord Clark, N. P. 
Willis, J. Neale, Orenville Mellen, Oeo. Lant, John 
Plerpont, Caleb Cii.<i*:{ng, H. Pickering, Miss r..eftlle, T. 
H. Oallaadet, Mrs. Child, F. W. P. Greenwood, Rev. T. 
Flint, H. P. Gould, W. L Stone, H. T. Tuckerman, Ma- 
dame Caldcrun de la Barca, O. W. llolmets Mrsi 8eba 
Smith, Mrs. Osgood, Mrs. Lee, J. In man, Horace Gree- 
ley, I. C. Pray. Orville Dewey. O. W. B. Peabody, 
James Hail, Mrs. Hale, Mrs. UofBand, J. T. Fields, 
Miss M. A. Browne, R C. Waterston, Nath. Greene, 
H. H. Weld, G. 0. Verplanck, T. S. Fay, J. O. 
well, Charles Spragne, etc.] 


DtttooT N*. 

A History of All Natiooi^ from the Earliest Period to 

the Present Time — ^la which the History of every 

Nation, Ancient and Modern, is separately given. 

Large 8to., 1200 pp. 1849. . . .1 

[In the compilstion of this work I bad the aaslstanoe of 
Ber. Sojnftl BobbioA, of Berlin, Conn., B«t. W. 8. J«nk% 
and Mr. 8. Kettell, of Boston, and F. B. Goodrich, of 
New York.] 

A Pictorial Geography of the World. Large 8tou, 

1000 pp. 1840.... 1 

[The flnt edition of this work was pabHshed in 1831, but 
bf ing foond tmperfaet, was revised and remodeled at 
this datSL In the original work I had the anistaaoe of 
J. O. Sargent and 8. P. Holbrook, Eaqa, and Mr. & Kei- 
vfU : the new edition was malnlj prepsred \>j T. A. 
Bradford, Esq.] 

Sow Well and Reap Well, or Fireside Edacation. 12ma 1888. • . .1 

A Pictorial History of America. 8va 1845.... 1 

Winter Wreath of Summer Flowers. 8vo. Colored 

Engravings 1868 1 

The Outcast, and other Poems. 12mo 1841 ... .1 

Sketches from a Student's Window. 12mo. 1886. . . .1 

Poems. 12mo 1861.... 1 

Ireland and the Irish. 12mo 1842. . . .1 

Five Letters to my Neighbor Smith 1889. ... 1 

Les Etats Unis d'Amdrique. 8vo 1862. . . .1 

[This was published in Parla.] 

The Gem Book of British Poetry. Sq. 8vo 1864 1 

Recollections of a Lifetime : or, Men and Things I have 
Seen. In a series of Familiar Letters — ^Historical, 
Biographical, Anecdotical, and Descriptive : address- 
ed to a Friend. 1 2mo. (In press.) 1867 .... 2 

The Picture Play-Book 1866 1 


Ancient History, from the Creation to the Fall of 

Rome. 12mo 1846. ...1 

Modern History, from the Fall of Rome to the present 

time. 12mo 1847.... 1 

HiRtory of North America — Or, The United States and 

adjacent Countries. 18mo 1846.... 1 

History of South America and the Weat Indies. 18ma 1848. . . .1 

APPENDIX — N0TR8. 539 

Date or N«. 
pabUeadoB. vols. 

History of Europe. 18mo 1848.... 1 

History of Afiia. 18mo 1848.... 1 

History of Africa. I81110 1860. ...1 

[In the rompUstion of the preceding six rolnmes, ezcla- 
ding North AmerioSi I lisd Urge aasisUnoe from Mr. B. 

A. Comprehensive Geography and History, Ancient and 

Modern. 4to 1849.... 1 

Ibe National Geography. 4to 1849. ... 1 

A Primer of History, for Beginners at Home and 

School 24mo 1860....1 

A Primer of Geography, for Home and School — With 

Maps. 1860. . . .1 

A Pictorial History of the United Stotea 12mo 1846 1 

A Pictorial History of England. 12mo 1846 1 

A Pictorial History of France. 12mo 1846.... 1 

A Pictorial History of Greece. 12mo 1846. . . .1 

A Pictorial History of Rome. 12mo 1848.... 1 

[In the preparstion of the preceding five Tolames, I had ss- 
slsUnce from Dr. Alcott, Mr. J. Lowell, Jbc I was large- 
ly assisted in the preparation of Rome hj Mr. 8. Kettell] 

A Pictorial Natural History. 12mo. 1842. . . .1 

The Toong American : Or, A Book of Government and 

Law. 12mo 1842. . . .1 

The Malte-Brnn School Geography. 16mo 1880. . . .1 

Maps for the same. 4to 1880. . . ,1 

The Cliild's Own Book of Geography ; or the Western 

Hemisphere—With Maps. Sq. 12mo. (Out of print) 1884 1 

The Child's Own Book of Geography ; or the Eastern 

Hemisphere — With Maps. Square 12mo. (Out of 

print) 1884.... 1 

Goodrich's First Reader. 18mo 1846. . . .1 

Goodrich's Second Reader. 18mo 1846. . . .1 

Goodrich's Third Reader. 18mo 1846 1 

Goodrich's Fourth Reader. 12mo 1846. . . .1 

Goodrich's Fifth Reader. 12mo 1846 1 


Hie Tales of Peter Parley about America. Square 16mo. 1827 .... 1 

Da do. Europe. do 1828. .. .1 

Peter Parley's Winter-Evening Talet. do 1829. . . .1 

DateoT Ma. 


PeUr Parley's JuYenile Tales. Square 16ino 1 880. ... 1 

The Talea of Peter Parley about Africa. Square Idmo. 1880. . . .1 

Da da Asia. da 1880.... 1 

Peter Parley's Tales about the Sun, Moon, and Stan. 

Square 16mo. 1880. . • .1 

Peter Parley's Tales of the Sea. Square 1 6mo. 1831 1 

Peter Parley's Tales about the Islands in the Pacific 

Ocean. Square 16mo 1881. ...1 

Peter Parley's Method of Telling about Oeography. 

Square 16mo 1880. • . .1 

[This work was remodeled and reprodooad in 18H under 
the name of "Parley's Oeography for Beginners, at 
Home and School*' Two millions of copies of it ware 
sold : the publisher paid me three hondred dollars for 
the copyright, and made his ftMrtone by it] 

Peter Parley's Tales about the World. Square IBma 

(Out of print) 1881.... 1 

Peter Parley's Tales about New York. Square ]6mo. 

(Out of print). 1882 1 

Peter Parley's Tales about Great Britain — Including 

England, Scotland, and Ireland. Square 16mo. 

(Out of print) 1884 1 

Parley's Picture Book. Square 16mo 1884 1 

Parley's Short Stories for Long Nights. Square 16mo. 1884. . . .1 

Peter Parley's Book of Anecdotea do 18S6. ... 1 

Parley's Tales about Animals. 1 2mo 1881 ... .1 

Persevere and Prosper : Or, The Siberian Sable>Hunter. 

18mo 1848 1 

Make the Best of It: Or, Cheerful Cherry, and other 

Tales. ISmo 1848 I 

Wit Bought: Or, The Adventures of Robert Merry. 

18mo 1844 I 

What to do, and How to do it : Or, Morals and Man- 
ners. ISmo 1844 1 

A Home in the Sea: Or, The Adventures of Philip 

Brusque. 18mo 1846.... 1 

Right is Might, and other Sketches. 18mo 1846 .... 1 

A Tale of the Revolution, and other Sketches. ISmo. . 1846. . . ,1 
Dick Boldhero, or the Wonders of South AmericiL 

18mo 1848 1 

Truth-Finder : Or, Inquisitive Jack. 18mo 1846. ... 1 


Bauer no, 

pvblieation. roll. 

Take Care of No. 1 : Or, The Adyentures of Jacob Earl 

18mo 1860....1 

Tales of Sea and Land 1846.... 1 

Every-Daj Book. Sq. 16mo. (Out of print) 18S6 ... .1 

Parley's Present for All Seasons. 12mo 186S. . . .1 

Parley's Wanderers by Sea and Land. 12mo^ 1854. . . .1 

Parley's Fagots for the Fireside. 12mo 1864. ...1 

Parley 8 Balloon Travels of Robert Merry and his Tonng 

Friends in various parts of Europe. 12mo 1866. . . .1 

Parley's Adventures of Gilbert Goahead. 1 2ma 1866 ... .1 

Parley's Adventures of Billy Bump, all the way from 

Sundown to California. (In press.) 1867 .... 1 

Parley's Balloon Travels of Robert Merry and his Toung 

Friends in the Holy Land and other parts of Asia. 

12ma (In press.) 1867....! 


Peter Parley's Universal History on the basis of Geog- 
raphy. Large sq. 16mo 1887. . . .2 

Peter Parley's Common School History. 12mo 1887. . . .1 

The First Book of History for Children and Youth. 

Large sq. 12mo 1831. ...1 

The Second Book of History — Designed as a Sequel to 

the First Book of History. Largo sq. 12mo 1882. . . .1 

The Third Book of History — Designed as a Sequel to 

the First and Second Books of History. Sq. 12mo. . 1888. . . .1 

fThe two preceding volamee were compiled under mj di- 
rectlon, and were then remodeled hj me, bnt were not 
publlslied, nor were they intended to appear, as bj Pe- 
ter Parley ; they have, howeyer, passed under that name 
for several years.] 

Parley's Tales about Ancient Rome, with some account 

of Modem Italy. Sq. 16mo 1882.... 1 

Parley's Tales about Ancient and Modem Greece. Sq. 

16mo 1888 1 

Histoire des Etat^-Unis d'Ara^rique. Published in Paris 

and the United States. 12mo 1868. . . .1 

Petite Histoire Universelle. Published in Paris and the 

United States. 12mo 1868. . . .1 

p!n the preparation of some of these, I had the aid of N. 
Hawthorne, and J. O. Sargent, Esqs,, 4o.] 

I • • 

1 . 

■ ■ -ll 



^' AjghtB and Shadow. «/ a 

: ii Art, Hi,to Jd ^' "•* <^"<*t 


Date of Na. 
pablieatien. vote. 

O^ographie EL^mentaire. 8to. 1864. . . .1 

[PnbUflhed at Ptfis.] 

Elementary Geography. 8vo. With Mapa 1864.... 1 

[Published in London.] 

Parley's Present Small 24mo. (Out of print) 1886. .. .1 

Pai ley's Dictionaries — Of Botany, of Astronomy, of the 

Bible, of Bible Geography, of History, of Commerce. 

Six volflL, large sq. 16mo 1884. . . .6 

Three Months at Sea (an English book, with additions 

and modifications). Sq. 16mo. 1882.... 

The Captive of Nootka Sound. Sq. 16mo. 1882. . . . 

The Story of Capt Riley. do. 1882 

The Story of La Peyrouse. do 1882.... 

The Story of Alexander Selkirk, do. 1888 

Bible Stories (a London book, with additions). Sq. 16mo 1888 .... 

Parley's Magazine. Began 1882. Large sq. 12ma. . . . 1888. . . . 

[This work was planned and estsbltohed by me; bat after 
abont a jear I was obliged to relinqnisb it, from ill 
health and an affection of my eyes. It was oondaeted, 
withoat any Interest or participation on my part, for 
abont twelve year«, when ii ceased.] 

Merry's Museum and Parley's Magazine. Large sq. 

12mo. Commenced 1841 1841... 28 

[This work wan begnn and established by me, under the 
title of Merry's Mosenm, bnt after the disoontinnanoe 
of Parley's Magazine, ibe latter title was added. The 
work oontinned under my exdusiTe editorship until I 
left Ibr Europe in 1850 ; from that time, while I had a 
general charge of the work, Rer. 8. T. Allen was the 
home editor. At the close of the fourteenth year (the 
twenty-eighth semi-annual volume, 1864X my connec- 
tion with the work entirely ceased.] 


I thns stand before the public as the author and editor of about 
one hundred and seventy volumes— one hundred and sixteen bear- 
ing the name of Peter Parley. Of all these, about seven millions of 
volumes have been sold : about three hundred thousand volumes 
are now sold annually. 

A recent writer in the Boston Courier, has affirmed that the late 
Mr. & Eettell was the *' VeriiabU Peter Parle/* — thereby asserting^ 
in effect^ and conveying the impression, that he being the author of 


the Parley Books, I, who have daimed them, am an impoetor. He 
ba!>, moreover, claimed for him, in precise terms, the actual aothor- 
ship of various works which have appeared onder mj own proper 
name. Fur reasons wliich will appear hereafter, I deem it neces- 
sary to expose thJA impudent attempt at imposture — absurd and 
prei^>o8terous as it appears, upon its very face. 

Furst, as to the Parley Books — it will probably be sufficient for 
me to make the following statement In respect to the thirty-aiz 
volumes of ParUift Tale», in the preceding list, the earlier numbers 
of which began and gave currency to the entire Parley series, no 
person except myself ever wrote a Hngle sentence. 

As to Parleys Historical Compends — some nine or ten volumes — 
I had the assistance of N. Hawthorne, and J. O. Sargent, Esqa, and 
others ; InU Mr. Kettell never wrote a line of any one of them I 

As to Pariey*s Miscellanies — about fifty volumes — I had some 
assistance from several persons in about a dozen of theou Mr. 
Kt'ttell wrote a few sketches for five or six volumes of the Cabinet 
Library, wliich I adapted to my purpose, and inserted : this is tlu 
whole extent of his participation in the entire Parley series — one hun- 
dred and sixteen volumat I 

^^^ He never urote, planned, conceived^ or pretended to be the au- 
thor^ of a single volume^ bearing Parleys name. The pretence thus 
set up for him, since his death, is as preposterous a» it is impudent 
and false. It would be^ indeed, about as reasonable to clahn for him 
the authorship of Don Quixote, or Oil Bias, or Pilgrim's Progress, 
as thus to give him the title of the " Veritable Peter Parley." 

The writer above noticed also claims for Mr. Kettell the chief au- 
thorBhip of Merry^s Museum, extending to about thirty volumes — 
large octavo. This claim is disposed of by the following letter from 
Rev. S. T. Allen — better qualified than any other person to be a 
witness in the case. 

Nzw York, Jan. 28, 1856. 
B. G. Goodrich, Esq : 

Dear Sir — I have read the several articles in the Boston Courier, sign- 
ed *' Veritas," claiming for the late Mr. Kettell the authorship of Peter 
Parley 8 Tales, Mfrrys Mtuteum, <fec. As you request fVom me a state- 
m^nt, as to my knowledire on the subject, 1 cheerfully give it, which 
you can publisli if you please. 

I pureiiused, with an associate, the entire Merry's Museum in 1843 or 
1849, from the beginning iu 1841, and have been its publisher until Oc- 
tober last ; that is, over six years. I have nearly, fVom that time to the 
present, been its editor, wholly or in part. During this period, Mr. Kettell 


has never written any thing for the work. It is within my knowledge 
that he wrote 8ome articles in the earlier volames, probably in all not ez- 
ceediog one hundred and eighty to two hundred pages. His principal 
articles were the " Travels of Thomas Trotter" and ** Michael Kastoff;" 
these possessed no particular merit, and did not aid or advance the rep* 
ntalion of the work. 

The articles by you, extending through fifteen volumes, nearly all of 
which have since been separately published as Peter Parley's Tales, gave 
life, circulation, and character to the work. I have had large opportu- 
nity to judge of this matter, as I have been, for more than six years, in 
constant communication with the subscribers (ten or twelve thousand 
in number), and I say, unhesitatingly, that your articles in the Museum 
have fully sustained your reputation as the ablest, best known, and most 
popular writer for youth in this country. 

1 may say, furthermore, that I have lately been in Europe, and it is 
within my knowledge that Parley's works have been published there, 
in various languages, and are highly esteemed. 

I further state that I have read your reply to the Boston Courier and 
<* Veritas" of January 18th, and so far as my knowledge extends, and 
especially in respect to Merry's Museum, it is strictly correct. 

I need hardly say, in conclusion, therefore, that I consider these claims 
of the Boston Courier and ** Veritas," in favor of Mr. Kettell, as wholly 
without foundation. All thai can properly be said m, that out of Jive or 
six thoueand pagee of Merry* » Museum^ he contributed about two hun- 
dred pagee^ marked with no particular excellence. The only qualifica- 
tion that need be made is, that I have understood that Mr. Kettell lu-d 
some general superintendence of the work for about six months, whne 
you were absent in Europe ; that is, from September, 1847, to March, 
1848. Even during this period, Mr. Kettcll's labors seem to have been 
nonfined to writing a few small articles, and reading the proofs. 

Yours respectfully, Stephen T. Allen. 

Here, then, are eight and twenty volumes of Merrt^M Museum, 
in addition to eighty-eight volumes of Parlexfs works, rescued from 
the claims of this wholesale literary burglar. 

Another claim in behalf of Mr. Kettell is, that he was the author 
of various valuable and important school-books, such as the Picto- 
rial History of the L'nited States, a Pictorial History of Greece, Ac, 
Ac, Ac The subjoined letter from Mr. George Savage, of the late 
firm of Huntington A Savage, and now associated with Mr. J. H. 
Oolton A Co., Map and Geography Publishera in New York, will 
settle this claim, also. 


Tliete daiixM, urged after Mr. Kettell's death, and by a person totallj 
iireeponaible, seem hardly to merit Berioas consideration, bat as they 
have been pressed in a spirit of evident hostility and malice, it may be 
"well for me to state what I know npon the subject 

For the last ten years I have been fiimiliar with my fiither^s literary 
labors. I have seen the greater part of the mannsoripts sent to the 
printing-office, and have read the greater part of the prooft retnmed, 
and can bear witness to the accuracy of the statements made in this 
eonnection, in my fkther'B letter, published in the New York Times of 
the 81st December. Having suffered severely from weak eyes for the 
past twenty-five years, he has been obliged to use the services of others 
in consulting authorities, and sometimes in blocking out work to be after- 
ward systematized and reduced to order by him. In this, Mr. Kettell 
was his principal assistant. He wrote always, as I understood it, as an 
assistant, and in no sense as an author, ffis manuseripts toere ntverfinr- 
ished to as to heJU for the prett. Their publication^ at they «w«, wovHd 
hate been fatal to the reputation qf any man who should have taken the 
rttponeibUUy of them. It was my father's task, after having planned 
these works, to^read and remodel the rough drafts of Mr. Kettell, to 
suit them to his own views, and to prepare them for the public eye. 
This was, in some cases, a more serious and fatiguing labor than it 
would have been to write the work from the beginning. I may add 
that at one period Mr. KettelPs manuscripts were referred to me for ex- 
amination, and that I was empowered to accept or reject them. Some- 
what later I had, for a time, occasion to remodel, adapt, and partiy to re- 
write such portions as were accepted. 

I have, naturally, no wish to detract from the merits of Mr. KettelL 
But in regard to the Hietory of AU NationSy a work attributed by ** Ver- 
itas" to the ** graceful and flowing pen of Mr. Kettell," I must state that 
five persons (Mr. Kettell, Rev. Mr. Bobbins, of Berlin, Conn., Bev. Mr. 
Jenks, of Boston, myself, and my father) were engaged upon it ; the 
heaviest share — the plan, the fitting, the refining, the systematixing, 
and the general views — falling upon the latter. Perhaps ^' Veritas" will 
pardon me if I claim for myself the entire authorship of seventy-five 
pages, so confidently attributed by him to the " graceful and flowing 
pen of Mr. Kettell." 

Take notice^ Mr. Editor ^ thai I append my real name to this communion- 
tion. In eonlrovereiea of this kindy where honor, truth, and the mainte- 
nance of a good name are involved, anonymous correspondence is held 
by the community to argue in its author — meanness, treachery, and cow- 
ardice. 1 think Mr. Kettell, were he living, would be the fir^it to disavow 
this eager service in his behalf, by his irresponsible advocate. 

I am yours respectfully, F. B. Goodrich. 

I believe I may now leave this matter to the judgment of the 
public, with a few brief obseryatiooflL 


The onormons dmimi in behmlf of Mr. Eettell, set up by the Bos- 
ton Conner and its anonymous correspondent " Veritas," haye beeii. 
disposed of as follows : 

1. Mr. Kettell never wrote a line of the thirty-six Tolumes of Por- 
ley»* Tales ; never a line of the ten volumes of ParUj/'s Hittorieal 
CompentUj expressly and repeatedly claimed for him ; and of the fifty 
volumes of Parle}/'* Mi^ceUanie*^ he only wrote a few sketches in 
half a dozen of them. To pretend, therefore, that he is the ** Veri' 
tabie Peter Parley" is as gross an imposture, as to call him the 
" Veritable Author^ of Pickwick, or Guy Mannering, or the Speo* 

2. Hie claim for Mr. Kettell, of the authorship of Merrtf* liuBeum^ 
— thirty volumes — is reduced to the writing of about two hundred 
pages of indifferent matter, as a correspondent 

3. His claim to the authorship of the Hitiory of Chreece, Hi$tary 
of the United States, Parley's Geography, the Primer of Geography, 
National Geography, Comprehensive Geography and History — posi- 
tively asserted by " Veritas" — ^is shown to be false, in the beginning; 
the middle, and the end. 

4. Tlie audacious claim of the entire authorship of the History of 
All Nations^ comes to this, that Mr. Kettell was one of four persons 
who assisted me in the compilation of that work. 

5. It appears, inasmuch as my eyes were weak for a series of twen- 
ty-five years, rendering it sometimes impossible for me to consult 
books, that I employed Mr. Kettell to block out several works, 
according to plans — minutely and carefully prescribed by me — and 
that the materials thus furnished, were reduced to method, style, 
and mrtniier by me, so ss to suit my own taste ; and that the works 
were published, as thus remodeled, and not as they were written by 
him. It appears, furthermore, that all this was done, with Mr. Ket- 
tell's full consent, upon written and explicit agreements, and that 
he never did plan, devise, contrive, or finally prepare any book pub- 
lished under my name, nor was he, nor did he ever claim to be, the 
author of any book thus published. 

6. It is material to state, distinctly, that while ** Veritas'* claims 
for Mr. Kettell the entire authorship of over one hundred and twen- 
ty volumes of my works, he (Mr. Kettell) never sssisted me, in any 
way or in any degree, in more than twenty volumes, and these 
only in the manner above indicated — that is, in blocking out works^ 
mostly historical, under my direction, and to be finished by me. 

7. I do not mean by this to depreciate Mr. Ketteirs abilities ; but 
inasmuch as these audacious claims^ in his behalf hare been perti- 


naciously and impudently urged, it is proper for me, in ibis formal 
manner, to reduce them to their troe dimensions. 

8. While I thus acknowledge the assistance rendered me by Mr. 
Kettell in my historical compilations, it is proper to state that I had 
the aid of other persons— 4ome of them of higher name and fame 
than he. Among my assistants were N. Hawthorne, £. Sargent^ 
J. O. Sargent, S. P. Holbrook, Esqs., Rev. Royal Robbins, Rev. E. G. 
Smith, Rev. W. S. Jenks, and others. The claims of ** Veritas," if 
admitted, would not only rob me of the authorship of a hundred 
volumes, which I wrote, but would transfer to Mr. Kettell about 
twenty volumefl^ to which several other authors contributed, with 
greater ability than he. 

9. I think it may be safely assumed, that in the history of liteni> 
tnre, there is not a more impudent attempt at imposture than this, 
which originated in the Boston Courier. It is easy to comprehend 
why the author has not dared to give his name to the public, but 
has continued to make his attacks behind the mask of an anonymous 
title. That I deem myself called upon thus to notice him, arises from 
the fact that he derived a certain color of authority from the Editor of 
the Courier, and from publishing papers and documents belonging to 
Mr. Kettell's heirs — though these contributed, in no degree, either 
to refute the statements here made, or to substantiate any portion 
of the claims here referred to. 

10. Literary history is full of instances in which littleness, al- 
lied to malignity, has signalized itself by seeking to deprive au- 
thors of their just claims — and while thus doing wrong to their 
literary labors, attempting also to degrade them in the eyes of the 
world, as guilty of ai)propriating to themselves honors which are not 
legitimately theirs. It is also a vice of base minds to believe imputa- 
tions of this sort, without evidence, or even against evidence, when 
once they have been suggested. I do not think it best, therefore, to 
leave my name to be thus dealt with by future pretenders^ who may 
desire to emulate this Boston adventurer. 



In the United States, the name of Parley has been applied to 
several works of which I am not the author, though for the most 
part, from mistake and not from fraudulent designs. The following 
are among the number : 



SNOUBH oouirmFxm and ncpoftinoNs. 

prhe London pnbllaben and anthora h«v« made a laifa 
ba8in«M of praparlng and publishing Parley booka. 
Some of theee are repnblicattona, witboat change, from 
the gennine American editions— to which I make no 
objection ; tome are the genuine worki, more or lees al* 
tared ; and many others are coanterlMts, ererj means 
being uaed to peas them off apon the pablle as by the 
original author of Parley^ Talee. Among the moot 
Botorloiis of these are the following : 

Data of 

Pet€r Parley's Anniud — ^A Christmas and New Tear's 

Preaent. Published bj DarUm d Co 1841.. 

[This la a large 16ma, with colored eagrarings, and has 
been eontinued from 1841 to 1860—14 rolomes.] 

Peter Parley's Royal Viotoria Game of the Kings and 

Queens of England. 18mo. Dartan dt Co, 1884. . 

Parley's Book of Gymnastics. Sq. 16mo. Darton dt Co, 1840. . 

Parley's Parting GifL da do. ... . 1846. . 

Parley's Book of Industry. da do 1866.. 

Parley's Book of Poetry. do. da ... . 1848. . 

Parley's Ireland. da do. .... 1848.. 
Parley's Wonders of Earth, Sea, and Skj. 

Square lOma do 1868.. 

Parley's Odds and Ends. Square 16mo. da .... 1840. . 

Parley's Peeps at Paris. do. da . . . . 1848.. 

Parley's Prize Book. do. da 1848.. 

Parley's School Atlaa. do. da ... . 1842. . 

Parley's Canada. do. do 1889.. 

Parley's China and the Chinese, do. da ... . 1844. . 

Parley's Child's Own Atlas. Square. do 1868. . 

Parley's Life and Journey of St. PauL Square 16mo. 

Simpkint 1846. . 

Peter Parley's Lives of the Twelve Apostles. Sq. 16ma 

Boffue 1844. . 

Peter Parley's Visit to London during the Coronation. 

Sq. 16mo. Bogue 1888.. 

Peter Parley's Tales of England, Scotland, and Ireland. 

Sq. 16mo. Tegg. 1842. . 

Peter Parley's Mythology of Greece and Rome. Sq. 

16mo. Tegg 1841. . 

Peter Parley's Tales of Greece, Aneient and Modem. 

Square 16ma Tegg 1842.. 




ftcter to the position, strength, and value of the literature of the 
country at the present day. 

''During 1852, unavoidably including many Veally published in 
the preceding six months, we find there were 966 new books and 
new editions; 812 of which were reprints of English books, and 66 
translations from other countries. 

"During 1858, 879 new books and new editions, including 298 
reprints of English books, and 87 translations. 

"During 1854, 765 new books and new editions, of which 277 
were reprints of English books, and 41 translationa 

"During 1855, 1,092 new books and new editions, including 260 
reprints of English books, and 88 translations. 

"During the six months to July, 1856, 751 new books and new 
editions, of which but 102 were reprints of English books, and 26 

This statement, made with great care from published catalogues, 
notices, and titles of books, coincides in a remarkable degree with the 
Conclusions at which 1 had arrived, as will be seen at page 389, vol. ii 
According to this catalogue of the Messrs. Low, the proportion of 
British books in our book production is now about twenty to twenty- 
five per cent It is to be remarked, however, that a great many new 
editions of school-books, and popular works of constant and largo 
sale, are produced, of which no public notice is given, and which, 
therefore, are not included in their estimate, above quoted. If we 
allow for these editions, we shall see that my estimate of twenty per 
cent, for the proportion of British literature in our publications at 
the present time, is fully sustained. The rapid relative increase of 
American over British mind in our literature, is equally manifest 
from both statements. 

NOTE m. 

•* Old Humphreyy'* or George Mogridge^ the first Counter- 
feiter of the Parley Boohs, 

I have just met with a book recently issued by the London Reli* 
giouM Tract Society^ entitled " Memoirs of Old Humphrey," that is, 
the late George Mogridge, a well-known writer of religious books 
and essays, especially for the young, for the last thirty years. By 

Vol. II.— 24 


ABD-XI/-KADIB, ii. 452. 
Abeboboxbib, Dr. JobD, ii. 882. 
Adams, John, i. 119 ; ii. 92, 510. 
Adams, J. Q., L 274; ii. 18, 80, 185, 

400, 408, 404, 408. 
Adams, Samael, i. 162. 
Albkbt, Priuce, ii. 840. 
Albion, Ship, ii. 161. 
Alfbed, King, i. 94. 
Allen, Ethan, ii. 99. 
Allem, Ira, ii. 99. 
Allen, John, i. 851. 
Allen, J. W., i. 862. 
Alsop, Richard, ii. 123. 
Ames, Fisher, ii. 88. 
AMPkBE, author, ii. 509. 
Andbe, i. 518. 
Annuals, The, ii. 259. 
Appleton, D. & Co., ii. 254, 888. 
Appleton, Wm., ii. 278. 
Abaoo, Astronomer, ii. 444, 475. 
Abnold, Benedict, i. 469. 
AsBUBT, Bev. Francis, i. 205. 
Asububton, Lord, i. 508. 
AsTOB, John Jacob, ii. 71. 
AusTiif Familt, i. 870. 

^Babcock, Eliflba, ii. 28. 
Baoon, Dr. Leonard, i. 876. 
Bacon, Kev. Mr., ii. 118. 
Baook, Kev. Dr. Leonard, iL 118. 
Bailet, Mrs. i. 478. 

Bahibbidob, C!om., L 454. 
Baibd, Dr., ii. 192. 
Bakbr, Dr., i. 522. 
Baldwin, Granther, i. 82, 284, 522. 
Ballanttnb, James, ii. 186. 
Baltimore Riot, i. 489. 
Banoboit, George, ii. 252. 
Bangs, ii. 881. 
Barley- wood, ii. 168. 
Bablow, Joel, i. 274 ; iL 18. 
Babnabd, Henry, i. 541 ; ii. 881. 
Babbot, Odillon, ii. 458, 466, 467. 
Babtlett, Rev. J., L 181, 540. 
Batabd, J. A., i. 128. 
Batabd, W., ii. 70. 
Baylies, Hodijah, ii. 42. 
Beddoes, Dr., i. 877. 
Beecheb, Catherine, ii. 94. 
Beecheb, Edward, ii. 94. 
Beeoheb, Henry Ward, iL 94. 
Beecheb, Lyman, ii. 98. 
Benedict, Aunt Delight, i. 84, 224. 
Benedict, Deacon John, L 148, 228, 

Benedict, Noah B., i. 878. 
Benedict, Rev. Noah, L 878. 
Benton, Thomas H., iL 480, 481. 
^SBANOEB, Author, ii. 509. 
Berlin, Conn., ii. 68. 
Berlin, Decree of, i. 446. 
Bethel Rock, Legend of, i. 881. 
BiDDLE, Com., i. 488. 
Bigelow, Timothy, iL 41. 
Bishop, Abraham, i. 122. 
Bishop, Deacon Samuel, i. 122. 
Buhop, Sarah, UermitMs, i. 292. 



CoRBiN, Mr. P. n. ii. 475. 
Cotton, History of, i. 866. 
Courant, Connecticut, i. 411. 
Courbevoic, i. 418. 
Courier, Boston, ii. 2S4, 548. 
CowDEN, E. C, ii. 475. 
Craio, Sir J. H., ii. 14. 
Cranbtoun, Mr., ii. 178. 
Crawford, W. H., ii. 400. 
Crittenden, J. J., ii. 481. 
CuLLEN, Dr. "William, i. 877. 
Cubbing, Caleb, ii. 41, 275. 
Cutting, Col. Jonatt, ii. 60. 
CirvxEB, Zoologist, ii. 444. 


Dallas, George M., ii. 614. 
Dana, R. H., ii. 252. 
Danbury, i. 828, 827, 896. 
Dane, Nathan, ii. 41. 
Darton & Co., ii. 286, 296, 807, 551. 
Davis, John, ii. 849. 
Dearborn, Gen., i. 455. 
Decatur, Com., i. 457, 487. 
Desat, Com., i. 874. 
DsLBRUCK, M., ii. 481, 484. 
Delight, Aunt, i. 84, 224. 
Demagogism, i. 120. 
Demmino, H. C, i. 898. 
Democratic Clul», i. 117. 
Dewet, Orville, ii. 275. 
Dexter, Franklin, ii. 505. 
Dickens, Charles, ii. 855, 859, 878. 
Dickinson, D. S., ii. 94. 
Domingo, St., ii. 61. 
Dow, Lorenzo, i. 200, 206, 206. 
Dow, Peggy, i. 208. 
DowNiE, Com., i. 497. 
Duciiatel, Min., ii. 466. 
DucHE, Dr., i. 1C2, 192. 
Duck Uland, i. 42. 
DuDEVANT, Madame, ii. 509. 
Dumas, Alexandre, ii. 509. 
Dumas, Adolphe, ii. 509. 
Duncan, G. B., ii. 828. 
DupuTTRSN, Surgeon, ii. 448. 
Durham, i. 868. 

DuTTON, Henry, ii. 04. 

DwiQHT, Dr. Timothy, i. 94, 179, 

191, 847. 
DwioHT Family, i. 850. 
DwiouT Theodore, i. 435, 454 


Echo, Poems, ii. 128. 
Eclipse of the sun, 1806, i. 267. 
Edoeworth, Miss, ii. 199. 
Edinburgh, ii. 170. 
Edinburgh Review, ii. 170. 
Edwards, Pierpont, i. 186. 
Elliot, Rev. Mr., i. 179. 
Ellsworth, H. L., ii. 9. 
Ellsworth, Mrs., i. 48. 
Ellsworth, Oliver, i. 94, 586; ii. 

Elt, Col. John, i. 16, 466, 688. 
Elt, Grandmother, i. 88. 
Embargo, i. 446, 499. 
Emmett, Thomas Addis, ii. 72. 
England, Scenery of, ii. 212. 
Episcopacy, i. 189. 
Erie, Lake, victory of, i. 456. 
Erving, G. W., U. 475. 
Everett, A. H., ii. 848, 846. 
Everett, Edward, ii. 262, 278, 849, 

417, 483. 
Etbb. Col., L 469. 


Famine in New England, ii. 78. 
Fat, T. S., ii. 275. 
Fields, J. T., ii. 275, 278. 
Fillmore, Millard, ii. 882. 
Fisher, A. W., ii. 162. 
Fisher, Rev. Mr., i. 179. 
Fontaine, Architect, ii. 444. 
FoasTTU, Secretary of State, ii. 429, 

Fourier, Geometrician, ii. 448. 
Franklin, Benjamin, i. 94, 414 ; ii. 

Fruit Festival, New York, ii. 277. 
FuLTOK, Robert, i. 288. 




GallatiN) Albert, L 448, 510. 
Gallaudst, Thomas R., i. 202 ; ii. 

GAT-LuasAO, ii. 444. 
Genet, French Minister, i. 117. 
Geoffrot St. Hilaibe, ii. 448. 
George IV., ii. 228, 288. 
Ghent, treaty of, L 601 ; iL 59. 
Giant's Caaaeway, ii. 168. 
GiBBs, Col. George, i. 860. 
Gillies, Judge, ii. 175. 
GiRARDiN, Emile, ii. 509. 
Girardin, Madame, ii. 509. 
Glass, Eev. John, i. 898. 
GoDDARD, Calvin, il. 26, 46. 
Goodrich Family, i. 870. 
Goodrich, Elizar, D.D., i. 628. 
Goodrich, Chauncey, i. 16, 417, 626 ; 

ii. 32, 44. 
Goodrich, Eliznr, LL.D., i. 16, 

122, 530. 
GooDiiicii, Rev. Samuel, i. 16, 17, 

516, 531. 
Goodrich, C. C, i. 588. 
Goodrich, Professor C. A., i. 48 ; ii. 

Goodrich, Charles A., L 151, 688 ; 

ii. 112. 
Goodrich, Elizur, Jr., i. 48. 
Goodridoe, Major, ii. 10. 
Goodwis, George, i. 410. 
Goodwin, J. M., ii. 68. 
Gospellers, i. 195. 
Gould, George, ii. 94. 
Gould, James, ii. 98. 
Gracie, Archibald, ii. 70, 71. 
Graham's Magazine, ii. 882. 
Grattan, T. C, ii. 842. 
Greenfield Ilill, i. 49. 
Greenwood, F. W. P., ii. 273. 
Greoouy, Molly, i. 72. 
Grkllet, Peter, i. 256. 
Grwwold, Dr. Kufus W., ii. 262, 

Grbwokl, Fort, i. 468. 
Griswold, Eoger, i. 461. 

Groton, village, L 466. 

GuixoT, Minister, iL 450, 457, 466. 


Hals, Nathan, ii. 258. 

Hale, S. J., ii. 280. 

Halleck, F., ii. 156. 

Haiolton, Alexander, L 875. 

Hand, Dr., ii. 80. 

HAifsoN, Alexander, i. 441. 

Hardt, Com., i. 457, 469. 

IIarpxr, James, ii. 254. 

IIarpeb & Bbothkbs, ii. 254, 883. 

Harrison, Gen., i. 455. 

Hartford, City of, i. 486. 

Hartford Convention, i. 450. il. 9. 

Hatch, Moeoii, i. 881. 

Haven, Franklin, ii. 886. 

Hawes, Dr. Joel, ii. 884. 

Hawes, Miss, ii. 885. 

HAvrxxs, W., ii. 475. 

Hawmsy, Deacon Elisha, i. 72, 225, 

Hawlet, Irad, i. 521. 
Hawlet, Rev. Thomas, 1. 188, 616. 
Hawlet, Elijah, i. 187 
Hawlet, Stiles, i. 521 . 
Hawlet, William, i. 519. 
Hawthorne, N., iL 269. 
Hatne, Col., L 611 ; iL 426. 
Hazard, Benjamin, ii. 42. 
Hennsn, Alfred, ii. 825. 
Henrt IIL, King, ii. 866. 
Henrt, John, ii. 14. 
Hentz, Andre, ii. 488. 
Herald, New York, ii. 882. 
Hildrsth, Historian, i. 128, 451. 
Hill, Isaac, iL 429, 480. 
Hillhouse, James, ii. 44. 
HiNiiAN, R. R., ii. 83. 
HoLBRooK, Josiah, i. 541. 
IloLLET, G. W., ii. 94. 
Holmes, O. W., ii. 275. 
Hood, Thomas, ii. 802, 857. 
Hopkins, Lemuel, L 485 ; ii. 114. 
Hopkucbon, Francia, L 288. 
Hubaasd, S. D., L 874. 



HuDflON A QooDwaty i. 410. 
Hull, Com., i. 454. 
Hull, Gen., i. 458. 
Humphries, David, i. 404; ii. 116. 
HuMPURiEs, H., D.D., i. 589. 
Hunter, William, il. 898. 
Huntinoton, J. W., iL 98. 
Huntington, S. H., ii. 109. 


Inoerboll, Bey. Jonathan, L 249, 

Inoeraoll, Jared, i. 518. 
Ingersoll, Jonatlian, Judge, i. 254. 
Inoersoll, Joseph, i. 250. 
Ingekaoll, Moss, i. 250. 
Ingersoll, Grace, i. 255. 
Ingersoll, R. I., i. 254. 
Ingersoll, C. J., ii. 81, 56. 
International CopyrijBrht, ii. 855. 
Irving, Rev. Edward, ii. 240. 
Irving, Washington, ii. 442. 
Izard, Gen., 1. 496. 


Jackson, Gen., i. 502 ; ii. 400, 408. 

Jackson, Jud^o, Charles, ii. 15. 

Jaooer, Beyrgar, i. 60. 

Jat, John, ii. 511. 

Jefferson, Tliomas, i. 68, 108, 115, 

273; ii. 13. 
Jeffrey, Francis, ii, 174, 178. 
Jenner, Dr., i. 42. 
Jennings, Hotel -keeper, ii. 70. 
Jesup, Gen., ii. 52, 54. 
Johnson, Cnpt. N., i. 464. 
Johnson, Dr. S., i. 272. 
Joinville, Princess de, iL 469. 
Jones, Com., i. 454, 4S8. 
Jones, Paul, ii. 203. 
JouY, Author, ii. 445. 


Kalcwala, Poem of, i. 50. 
KxELEB, 'Squire Timothy,!. 20, 622. 

Kent, Judge, ii. 72. 

Eettell, Samuel, iL 284. 

Key, F. S., i. 490. 

King, Charles, ii. 70. 

King, Family, of, i. 517. 

King, Gen. Joshua, i. 120, 289, 617. 

Klng, Bufns H., i. 147, 247 ; iL 898. 

Knatchball, Sir £., ii. 250. 

Knickerbocker Magazine, iL 882, 

Knox, Gen., L 586. 


Laoey, Bookseller, ii. 285. 
Lacroiz, Matliematician, iL 444. 
Lady of the Lake, ii. 169. 
Laennig, Physician, ii. 447. 
Lafayette, Gen., ii. 451. 
Lamabck, Naturalist, ii. 444. 
Lamartine, ii. 467, 502, 509. 
Lamb, Lady Caroline, iL 189. 
Laplace, Antronomer, ii. 444. 
Larrey, Baron, ii. 448. 
Larroque, Baron, Physician, ii. 281. 
Law, Jonathan, ii. 109. 
Lawrence, Abbott, L 94, 542. 
Lawrence, Amos, i. 542. 
Lawrence, Capt., L 456. 
Lawrence, William, i. 542. 
Lecompte, Bois, ii. 505. 
Ledyard, Col., i. 468. 
Lee, Dr. S. H. P., i. 485. 
Lee, Gov. Henry, i. 442, 
Leopard, British ship, i. 275. 
Lewis, Rev. Dr., i. 176, 589. 
Lewis and Clarke's Expedition, L 

L^Herionixr, Dr., ii. 281. 
LiHo-Luio, King, ii. 289. 
Ling AN, Gen., i. 442. 
Livingston, Chancellor, L 404. 
Livingston, Edward, ii. 510. 
Loch Katrine, ii. 169, 209. 
Locke, John, ii. 164. 
LocKHART, J. G., ii. 178, 190, 196, 

LoGXHABT, Mn., iL 197. 


LocKwooD, H. N.| i. 888. 
LoDdon, Progress of, ii. 222. 


Maodonouoh, Cora., i. 497. 

Macxkkzix, Judge, ii. 175. 

Mackintosh, Sir J., ii. 281. 

Maooicb, 6en., i. 497. 

Mact, Capt., ii. 161. 

McGex, Messn., i. 205. 

Maodon, James, i. 448, 498 ; iL 14, 

Mann, Horace, ii. 881. 
Manton, Edward, ii. 42. 
Maple sugar, i. 68. 
Marct, WUIiam H., U. 509, 518. 
Mabs, Mademoiselle, ii. 446. 
Mabsh, Rev. Dr., i. 221, 258. 
Marshall, Judge, ii. 827, 894. 
Marshall, T., ii. 481. 
Mabtin, riyacinthe, ii. 479. 
Martin, Peter Parley, ii. 285, 298. 
Mason, J. M., ii. 74, 118. 
Mason, Lowell, ii. 381. 
Mead, Jerry, i. 116. 
MsAD, Bev. Mr., i. 18. 
Mead, Whitman, ii. 25. 
Mkllen, Grenvillc, ii. 274. 
Merchants' Magazine, ii. 882. 
Mercury, American, ii, 80. 
Merino sheep, i. 404. 
MfcRY, Author, ii. 509. 
Meteor of 1807, i. 277. 
Methodism, i. 195. 
Milan Decree, i. 446. 
Miller, John, ii. 187. 
Mirror, Connecticut, ii. 121, 148. 
MrrcuKLL, Rev. Mr., i. 179, 589. 
Mol£, Count, ii. 458, 466. 
MoNORiEF, Sir H., ii. 178. 
Monroe, Mrt*., ii. 402. 
Monroe, President, ii. 127, 401, 402, 

Montpensier, Duchcsa of, ii. 469. 
Moors, Thoinan, ii. 189. 
More, Hannah, i. 172; ii. 168, 168, 


MoBOAN, CapL, ii. 50. 
Mosoan, Lady, i. 118. 
MoBss, S. F., ii. 584. 
Morton, Lord, ii. 191. 
Morton, Marcus, ii. 849. 
Moselt, Charles, i. 464. 
Murray, Rev. John, u 189. 


Napoleon, Emperor, i. 112. 
Nafolxon, Louis, i. 118 : U. 489, 

Nbal, John, it 276, 857, 875. 
NxALB, Joseph C, ii. 859. 
Nkmoubs, Duke of, iL 457, 466, 467. 
Newark, i. 455. 
New Bedford, iL 849. 
New Haven, i. 889. 
New Orleans, iL 824. 
New Orleans, battle of, i. 602. 
NiLES, J. M., ii. 429. 
Non-importation Act, i. 446. 
Norfolk, i. 444. 

North American Review, ii. 252. 
Notes, Rev. Mr., i 178. 
Nullification, iL 58. 


O^CoNNELL, D., ii. 158. 
Ohio, Emigration to, ii. 79. 
OucBTEAD, Deacon N., L 114, 228, 

Olmstead, Lewis, L 88. 
OufSTKAD, Matthew, i. 265. 
Olmstead, Stephen, i. 88. 
Olmbtkd, David, i. 27. 
Opie, Mrs., ii. 255. 
Orleans, Duchess of, ii. 467. 
Osgood, Mrs., iL 274. 
Ons, H. G., ii. 15, 26, 27, 87, 898. 


Packxnham, Gen., i. 602. 
Pains, Thomas, L 117,118. 
PALicnnoir, Lord, iS. 284. 

Faiuuu MinloD, U. SM. 

PariB,Cit;Dr, ii.MS. 
Pum, Coaat do, ii. 4IT. 

PtKX, UllDgO, i. STG. 
f aibii.N", JiiJrc, Theoptara, U. 88. 
l-.TTBliaoN SI]-,, i. 1. 
PiCUsi BosirABTi:, i. Il3. 
PinoH, Bev, Eilnnu-i], ii. 79. 
Peace, i. 49fi, SOI. 
PiKL, Ijir Robert, ii. S34. 
Pekcital, J. U., ii. ISO. 
PlBUMs, Kav. Dr., i. 358. 
Pnuum, Tliomu H., i. Ui; ii. 

PiRKiKS, Jacob, Ii. S25, 9S6, £81. 
PaiiKT. llr 3..W2. 
I KRKir'a victory i- 4SS. 
f inroKT, J. , it. S5, 178. 
PloEEBurn, JoEiD, ii. 2T1. 
PiHEHEr, William, ii. SS8. 
pLUHDt, Wiiliam, il. 16. 
PvenuK, UilliFmiitiFmn, ii.MS. 
PoLi. J. K., Prwidont, ii. tU. 
PoP« Pina VII,, i. 113. 
PuNUBD, Author, ii. COS. 
PvHMB, Jaue, ii. KM. 
Pounra, Q. T., iL 17E. 
I'BiNTW, B.S., ii. lie. 

im, ii. IS, 4 

Pbimi, Niitl 


i. 881. 

RAcntL, AclrcM, ii. 501. 
lUdicaU, i. lie. 
Rahbat, Allan, ii. £11. 
BAKDOLni, Jolin, i. 440, 448; ii.45, 

S9S, 39T, 431. 
Reete, Tapping, Judge, i. GBO; ii. 

Relit, laaao, ii. AS. 
RipuT, Rev. Dr., i. 149, 178. 
Bbkki, Madame, ii. S08. 
Ri^Es, WUliimO., ii. SOB. 
RoBBi»t,Rev.1i. i. 141, 14S. 

BoBERnD!f,JudBC,ll. 176. 

KociwELL,J 0„ii. M7. 
RoaxRa, John, 1. G7. 
Roland, Uaduma, ii. 144. 
Kr)i.Li« U(lrw,Ji.M8. 
H..«iLv>, Rtiv Dr-.ii. T8. 
Roes, Gen., i. 4B0. 
Rush, Richard, iu 4TS. 
Kdbbeu., Hra., u. 178. 
RnaaiLL, WiUiam, i. 641. 


Sakd, Uadame Qeorgo, ii. SOS 
Sandakah, Robert, i. 89B. 
SaNrou), Ezeklel, I. 141. 
Santobd, H. S., u. 513. 
Saboext, E. and J., Ii. S7S. 
Saihtdebs, Qeorfe, ii. SI 9. 
Dopuly, ii. 487. 
_'harks, ii. 198. 
SooTT, Sir Walter, ii. 100, 107, 176, 

i, EOS. 

8iABDBt, BJKhop, i. 132, HO. 
((HiLDON, George, i. 410 ; Ii. 7S. 
Shiriian, R«)Cer, 1. 91. 
Shirhah, Rotrer M., ii. !6, 4T. 
r, Mrs., ii. 1S5, S74. 

i. 82«. 

ina'iB, J. J, 

, Horace, Ii. 101. 
, J. L., ii. BO. 

i. 867. 


a, Jobn Cotton, i. 89,461, 689; 
Sunn, UeateDant, i. SI, 161, (71, 


BxiTBi Nathan, i. 898; ii. 157. 

Smith, Nathaniel, i. 878, 888 ; iL 46. 

Smith, Bev. Mr., i. 181. 

Bmith, Sydney, ii. 110. 

Smith, Truman, i. 892. 

Smithsonian Institute, ii. 871. 

Skkluno, J., ii. 265. 

SouLt, Pierre, ii. 514. 

SouLT, Marahal, ii. 466. 

South Carolina, Nullification, i. 511. 

Southern Literary Messenger, iL 

SocTHET, Bob., i. 196 ; ii. 101, 800. 
Sparks, Jared, ii. 252. 
Spotted fever, i. 876. 
St. Albans, ii. 889. 
Star-spangled Banner, i. 490. 
Stationers* Company, ii. 278. 
Stebbins, Samuel, i. 140, 523. 
Stoni, Wm. L., ii. 9Q, 186. 
Stobrs, Henry W., ii. 480. 
Stobt Judge, ii. 827. 
Stowe, Mrs., ii. 94, 8S5. 
Strong, Dr. Nathan, ii. 52, 116. 
SuMMKRLT, Felix, ii. 812. 
Sumner, Charles, ii. 278. 
Sussex, Duke of, ii. 226. 
Swan, Rev. Mr., i. 177, 509. 
Swirr, Zephanioh, ii. 18, 46. 


Talma, Actor, ii. 445. 
Talmadoe, F. a., ii. 94. 
Tameuamaha, King, ii. 28S. 
Taylor, Bayard, ii. 861. 
Taylor, Jeremy, ii. 247. 
Tecumseh, i. 455. 
Teoo, Thomas, ii. 292. 
Terry, Gen. Nathaniel, ii. 28, 46, 61. 
TiiACHER, B. B., ii. 274. 
Th^nard, Chemist, iL 448. 
Thiers, ii. 467. 
Thomas, Joshua, ii. 41. 
TicKNOR, ProfcHSor, ii. 198. 
Tileston, Mr., ii. 382. 
Times, Loudon, 
Times, New York DaUy, ii. 882. 

Tbdali, Elkaaah, IL 111. 
ToDD, Dr., i. 876. 
Toleration, iL 84. 

ToMPKnfs,Vice-PreBident,iL 56, 894. 
TouoKT, Isaac, iL 109. 
Tbact, Uriah, ii. 18, 98. 
Trxauwill, John, L 114; iL 45. 
Tribune, New York, ii. 882. 
Tbubnkb <& Co., London, IL 887, 

Tbumbull, CoU John., iL 115, 184. 
Tbumbull, John, L 485; iL 111, 115. 
Tstom, Qen., L 886. 


UnitarianiBin, L 188. 


Valux, Count, ii. 61. 
Van Bubxn, Martin, iL 848, 481. 
Vermont, ii. 99. 
Verplakck, O. C, ii. 275. 
Victoria, Queen, iL 840, 515. 
Vincent, Sir F., ii. 889. 


Wadswobth, Daniel, ii. 128. 
Wadswobth Family, i. 870. 
Wadswobth, Jeremiah, ii. 128. 
Wainwrioht, J. M., iL 109. 
Waite, T. B., L 541. 
Waldo, Daniel, ii. 41. 
Walker, Saranel, ii. 188. 
War of 1812, L 488. 
Ward, Samuel, ii. 42. 
Warden, D. B., Consul, iL 448. 
Warden, Francis, ii. 506. 
Warner, Miss, ii. 885. 
Washinoton, President, i. 106, 118. 
Waterman, Bev. Mr.,L 181. 
Webster, Daniel, i. 94, 95, 508, 510 ; 

ii 10, 222, 827, 848, 400, 405,409, 

414, 504. 
Websteb, Noah, L 868; iL 18, 67, 

189, 881. 



WxLLiNOTOx, Duke of, ii. 224, S89. 
Wells, Dr. S., i. 376. 
Wells, John, ii. 70. 
West, BcnjaniiD, ii. 42. 
Whipple, E. P., ii. 892. 
White, Ebenezcr, i. 402. 
Whit.siit, Eli, i. 864. 
WiinriER, J. G., ii. 145. 
WioKUFFE, R., Jr., ii. 476. 
WiLDEHFORCS, William, ii. 166. 
Wilde, S. S., iL 41. 
WiLEY, Charles, ii. 185. 
WiLEixsoN, Gen., i. 455, 496. 
WiLLARD, Mrt*. Emma, ii. 25. 
William IV., Kioflr, ii. 889. 
WiLUAKs, Rof^er, i. 187. 
WiLLB, N. P., ii. 256, 264. 
Winchester, Gen., i. 445. 

WiNTHROP, K. C, ii. 278. 

Wirt, William, ii. 418, 429. 

Wise, Henry, ii. 404. 

Wolcott, Frederick, ii. 91. 

WoLCoTT, M. A., ii. 91. 

Wolcott, Oliver, i. 118; ii. 18, 69, 

70. 87, 88. 
Wood, George, ii. 505. 
WOODBRIDOE, W. C, ii 118. 
Woodbury, Town of, i. 828. 
WoosTER, Calvin, i. 206. 
WoosTER, Gen., i. 827, 898. 
Wright Silas, ii. 481. 


YABAoom, Mrs., i. 60. 
York, Duke of, ii. 228. 


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