ambition, his firm and mild prudence repressed the discontents and
preserved the honour of the army, as well as the peace, and, probably,
the future liberties of his country. It was the triumph of patriotic
wisdom over the sense of injury, over misapplied genius and eloquence,
over chivalrous, but ill-directed feeling. The opinions and the
arguments of Washington, expressed in his orders and in the address
delivered by him to his officers, calmed the minds of the army and
brought them at once to a sense of submissive duty; not solely from
the weight of moral truth and noble sentiment, great as that was, but
because they came from a person whom the army had long accustomed to
love, to revere and to obey; the purity of whose views, the soundness
of whose judgment and the sincerity of whose friendship, no man could
dream of questioning. Shortly after, the army disbanded itself. The
veterans laid down their swords in peace, trusting to the faith and
gratitude of their country, leaving the honour of the “Continental
Army” unstained and the holy cause of liberty unsullied by any one
act of rebellious, or ambitious, or selfish insubordination. They
fulfilled the prophetic language of their chief, when, in the closing
words of his address on this memorable occasion, he expressed his sure
confidence that their patient virtue, rising superior to the pressure
of the most complicated sufferings, would enable “posterity to say,
when speaking of the glorious example they had exhibited to mankind,
had this day been wanting, the world had never seen the last stage of
perfection to which human nature is capable of attaining.”
Why should we dilate here on the particulars of this transaction?
They form the brightest page in our history, the noblest theme of our
orators; but no eloquence can increase the interest and dignity of the
narrative, as told in the plain language of Marshall and in the orders
and address of Washington himself.
Let it suffice for us to fulfil faithfully the humbler task of the
local antiquary, which we have here undertaken to perform. When any
of our readers visit this scene, they will feel grateful to us for
informing them that it was in the little northeastern room of the “old
stone house” at Newburgh, that Washington meditated on this momentous
question and prepared the general orders to the army and the address
which he read with such happy effect to the military convention that
assembled on his invitation, on the 15th of October, 1783, at a large
barrack or storehouse, then called “the new building,” in the immediate
neighbourhood.
It was but a few days after this, that, upon the lawn before the house,
Washington finally parted with that portion of his army which did
not accompany him to take possession of New York. He parted with his
faithful comrades with a deep emotion that contrasted strongly with the
cold and calm serenity of manner which had distinguished him throughout
the whole seven years of the war.
THE TABERNACLE, SALT LAKE CITY
LADY HARDY
There are few passengers on board the train as we steam through the
suburban districts of Mormonland. The magnificent chain of the Wahsatch
Mountains rising in the east and the great Salt Lake stretching away
towards the west, the rest of the scene made up of fertile lands, green
meadows, fields of yellow corn and purple clover, form an enchanting
panorama as we fly past them; we are full of an undefined curiosity and
anxious to see this City of the Saints of which we have heard so much.
We reach the City of the Saints at last, and find it as fair and
beautiful as we had expected. It is in truth an oasis in a desert, a
blooming garden in a wilderness of green. We can scarcely conceive how
this flowery world has lifted itself from the heart of desolation;
it is only one more proof that the intellect and industry of man
can master the mysteries of nature, and force her in her most harsh
uncompromising moods to bring forth fair fruits. It lies in a deep
wide valley, bounded on the east by the mighty range of the Wahsatch
Mountains, which lift their rugged stony feet stretching away and
reaching towards the west, where the great Salt Lake unrolls its dark
waters, and widens and wanders away until it is lost in the distance.
The streets are wide, the houses of all sorts and sizes, some one-story
high, some two or even three, all built in different styles, or no
style of architecture; each man having built his dwelling in accordance
with his own taste, or convenience. The streets are all arranged in
long straight rows, and stretch away till they seem to crawl up the
mountain-sides and then are lost. On either side of the roadways
are magnificent forest-trees, which in summer-time must form a most
delightful shade, though now it is autumn and the leaves are falling
fast. Streams of water with their pleasant gurgling music flow on
either side, through a deep cutting (which we should irreverently call
the gutter), rushing along as though they were in a hurry to reach
some everlasting sea. The women come out with their buckets and help
themselves, while the children sail their toy boats, clapping their
hands gleefully as the tiny craft is tossed and tumbled and borne
along on the face of the bubbling water. Street-cars come crawling
along the straight streets, crossing and re-crossing each other at
different points; but a private cab or carriage is rarely to be seen.
Every house, be it only composed of a single room, is surrounded by a
plot of garden ground, where fruits, flowers and vegetables all grow
together in loving companionship. Everything seems flourishing, and
everybody seems well-to-do; there are no signs of poverty anywhere;
no bare-footed whining beggars fill the streets; tramps there may
be, passing from one part of the State to another, but these are all
decently dressed and well fed, for at whatever door they knock, they
are sure to find food and shelter, charity to those in need being a
part of the reigning religion.
[Illustration: THE TABERNACLE, SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH]
The far-famed tabernacle strikes one as a huge monstrosity, a tumour of
bricks and mortar rising on the face of the earth. It is a perfectly
plain egg-shaped building, studded with heavy entrance doors all
around; there is not the slightest attempt at ornamentation of any
kind; it is a mass of ugliness; the inside is vast, dreary, and strikes
one with a chill, as though entering a vault; it is 250 feet long and
80 feet high; its acoustic properties are wonderful--the voice of him
who occupies the rostrum can be distinctly heard in the remotest corner
of the building. If you whisper at one end your words are repeated
aloud at the other, without being caught up and hunted through every
crevice by ghostly mocking echoes. A gallery runs all around, supported
by rows of thin, helpless-looking pillars. The seats in the body of the
building are raised on sloping ground, like the pit of a theatre,--a
wide expanse of empty benches, dreary and depressing to the wandering
eye, which finds no pleasant spot to dwell upon. In the centre stands
a fountain with four plaster-of-Paris lions _couchant_, poor,
mangy-looking beasts at best. From the white plastered ceiling or dome,
being concave perhaps it may be called so, hangs a gigantic star, hung
round with artificial flowers and evergreen pendants, something like
a monstrous jack-in-the-green turned upside down. The whole interior
is gloomy and dark; I doubt if people could ever see to read their
prayers. At one end of this huge barn-like building hangs an immense
blue banner emblazoned with a golden beehive, which flaunts over the
heads of the faithful. At the other end stands an organ, the largest
in the world they say, and it may be so, for it is certainly immense.
They are justly proud of it, for it is of home manufacture entirely,
and was built precisely where it stands, under the supervision of an
English convert named Ridges, and contains upwards of a thousand pipes,
some of such a circumference you feel as though you could wander up and
down them, and be lost in a world of music. Notwithstanding its immense
size, it has not a single harsh or metallic sound; on the contrary, it
is marvellously soft-toned; from the low flute-like wailing voice of
the _vox humana_ to the deep bass roll which stirs the air like a
wave of melodious thunder, it has all the delicacy of the Æolian harp,
with the strength and power of its thousand brazen voices. The case
is of polished pine of elegant and simple design. All wood, metal and
other material used was brought from the forest or mines of Utah.
Sloping down from the organ towards the auditorium are semicircular
rows of seats, for the elders and dignitaries of the Church. In the
centre is a desk with a shabby blue sofa behind it; this was used by
Brigham Young and his two chief councillors. Below this are the seats
for the twelve apostles and for the choir and benches where the elders
may congregate to consult together. In front of all this combination
stands a long narrow table, an altar perhaps it may be called, covered
with a red cloth, whereon is arranged a gorgeous array of silver
cups, of all shapes and sizes, as though prepared for an unlimited
christening party or an everlasting service libation to some heathen
deity rather than to a Christian God.
Passing out from the tabernacle, we glanced at the Endowment House,
where many of their religious ceremonies are performed, and where,
if rumour speaks truly, gross licentiousness is carried on under the
sanction of the Church--where some ugly secrets and mysteries lie
hidden, of which no one can speak and live. Across the road stands
the president’s office, and next to that the “Beehive House” of
Brigham Young notoriety. It is a long low-roofed, adobe building,
railed in, a desolate-looking place where, in old days, some dozens
of his wives were domiciled; it is now occupied by his wives--some of
them. A high stone wall filled in with adobe encloses the president’s
residence and many other buildings, with arched gateways and heavy
wooden gates; there is a double archway leading to some factories and
stables, surmounted by a beehive in the grip of a monstrous eagle--an
illustration of the Mormon faith in the cruel clutch of the Stars and
Stripes. Close by is the school-house, first erected for the sole
education of Brigham Young’s family, which was large enough to fill
it; it is now devoted to the benefit of the masses. The whole of these
buildings are crowded together, and are generally surrounded by a high
wall, which gives them a gloomy appearance, suggestive of an Eastern
harem.
THE NATIONAL WASHINGTON MONUMENT
JOSEPH B. VARNUM
“Yonder shaft,
Which States and peoples piled the stones
That from its top the very winds might waft upon,
To distant shores, the name of Washington.”
The most interesting fact connected with the Monument is, that it
stands on the site where Washington supposed he was to be commemorated.
In 1783, Congress passed resolutions directing the Minister at
Versailles to secure the services of the best artist in Europe, for
the preparation of a statue of Washington, “to be erected at the place
where the residence of Congress shall be established.”
[Illustration: THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT
WASHINGTON, D. C.]
The Commissioners who planned the Federal City, set apart the place
where the Monument now stands, as the site for this statue; and their
report with this provision, was communicated by Washington to Congress.
It has been said that the statue by Houdon, in Virginia, was from the
cast which Jefferson, then Minister to France, procured, with reference
to fulfilling this resolution of Congress; but the statue never appears
to have been ordered, probably for want of funds. Like many other acts
of the Continental Congress, it was probably delayed in its execution
by the uncertainty which existed about a Seat of Government, as well
as the embarrassments incident to a government just emerging from a
war, and dependent for all its resources on the action of the States.
In 1799, Congress directed President Adams to correspond with Mrs.
Washington, and ask her consent to the interment of the remains of
her illustrious husband, under a monument to be erected by the United
States in the Capitol at the City of Washington. Mrs. Washington gave
her assent in the following letter:
“Taught by the great example I have so long had before me never to
oppose my private wishes to the public will, I must consent to the
request of Congress which you have had the goodness to transmit to
me; and, in doing this, I need not, I cannot, say what a sacrifice of
individual feeling I make to a sense of public duty.”
But the monument was not erected, and the remains, therefore, were not
removed from _Mount Vernon_.
In 1816, the subject was revived in a report by Mr. Huger, of South
Carolina, from a joint committee for a public monument and the removal
of the remains, but nothing was done. In February of the same year the
legislature of Virginia authorized Governor Nicholas to apply to Judge
Bushrod Washington, then proprietor of _Mount Vernon_, for leave
to remove the remains of General and Mrs. Washington from _Mount
Vernon_ to Richmond, to be placed under the monument proposed to be
erected to the honour of Washington, at the capital of the State. Judge
Washington declined, and, among other reasons stated the following:
“But obligations more sacred than anything which concerns
myself--obligations with which I cannot dispense--command me to retain
the mortal remains of my venerated uncle in the family vault where
they are deposited. _It is his own will, and that will is to me a
law which I dare not disobey._ He has himself directed his body
should be placed there, and I cannot separate it from those of his near
relatives, by which it is surrounded.”
Mr. John A. Washington declined on a similar ground, a proposition
made by Congress in 1832, to remove the remains of General and Mrs.
Washington to a vault under the rotunda of the Capitol.
On the 26th of September, 1833, a number of citizens of Washington
digested a plan for the erection of a monument which, in the language
subsequently used by Mr. Winthrop, should “bespeak the gratitude, not
only of the State, or of cities, or of Governments, not of separate
communities, or of official bodies; but of the people, the whole people
of the nation: a national monument erected by the citizens of the
United States of America.”
At first the plan was to raise the funds by dollar subscriptions;
but the whole collection amounted to only $28,000, when, owing to
the financial embarrassments of the country, the collections were
suspended. But the amount on hand was invested, and the interest
regularly re-invested, so that it had increased to $40,000 when the new
collection was begun in 1846.
As to the design, it is not easy to say what would have suited the
public at large, and satisfied to a reasonable degree the critics. For
our own part we should have thought that something might have been
designed more particularly expressive of its object and more American
in its details, less of a mere imitation of the ancients, something
which would have embodied in it the trees and products peculiar to
our country, something a little less like a second edition of Bunker
Hill Monument, and which could present internal as well as outward
attractions.
The obelisk presents some decided advantages--
First: It is of all monuments the strongest and most enduring, next
to that of the pyramid. In 1800, when the question in Congress was
between adopting the statue of 1783, or a mausoleum in pyramidal
form, it was stated in debate, without any concert whatever, a
remarkable concurrence had taken place between West, Trumbull and
other respectable artists, who gave an unequivocal preference to a
mausoleum. A mausoleum would last for ages, and would present the same
imperishable appearance two thousand years hence that it would now;
whereas a statue would only remain until some civil convulsion, or
foreign invasion, or flagitious conqueror, or lawless mob should dash
it into atoms, or until some invading barbarian should transport it as
a trophy of his guilt to a foreign shore. Besides, a statue was minute,
trivial, perishable. It was a monument erected to all that crowd of
estimable but subordinate personages that soar in a region elevated
indeed above common characters, but which was infinitely below that of
Washington. At that session, after a long discussion, a bill passed one
House for the erection of a “mausoleum of American granite and marble
in a pyramidal form, 100 feet square at the base and of a proportional
height.”
Secondly: It is like the Government and character of Washington,
simple and majestic, with no attempt at ornament. It cannot well be
spoiled in building, or by bad sculpture. We could not hope to rival
the magnificent productions of the Old World in structure, however
creditable the works of our artists may have been in one or two
instances.
Thirdly: It excels all others in one respect, that of height.
NOTE.--The work was begun in 1858 and finished in 1885.
The original designs were by Robert Mills and the total cost
reached the sum of $1,187,710.31. In 1878, it was noticed that
the foundations were not secure, and deep excavations were made
around the base to strengthen the obelisk which had by that
time reached the height of 156 feet. The area of the foundation
was enlarged from 6,400 to 16,000 feet. The National Washington
Monument has a total height of 555 feet 5⅓ inches, higher than
St. Paul’s, London (404 feet), St. Peter’s, Rome (434¾ feet),
the Strasburg Cathedral (495 feet) and the Cologne Cathedral
(514 feet). It is 231 feet higher than Bartholdi Statue of
Liberty in the harbour of New York.--E. S.
THE CLARKE-HANCOCK HOUSE, LEXINGTON
In 1778, the City of Boston placed a tablet on the walls of Christ
Church, Boston, which reads: “The signal lanterns of Paul Revere
displayed in the steeples of this church, April 18, 1775, warned the
country of the march of the British troops to Lexington and Concord.”
Important as the “midnight ride of Paul Revere” was, it owes its chief
fame to Longfellow, who made it the subject of a story in _The Tales
of a Wayside Inn_, written in 1863. The Landlord begins:
“Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere
In the Eighteenth of April, Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
“He said to his friend, ‘If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,--
One, if by land, and two, if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm.’
Then he said ‘Good-night!’ and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.
* * * * *
“Meanwhile his friend, through alley and street,
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.
* * * * *
“Meanwhile impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight,
A second lamp in the belfry burns!
“A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight
Kindled the land into fame with its heat.
* * * * *
“It was one by the village clock
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.
* * * * *
“So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,--
A cry of defiance and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.”
[Illustration: CLARKE-HANCOCK HOUSE, LEXINGTON, MASS.]
Closely associated with this ride is the old house known as the
Clarke-Hancock House and now owned by the Lexington Historical Society.
On the night of Paul Revere’s ride, two of the leaders of the American
cause were sleeping quietly there,--John Hancock and Samuel Adams,
upon whose heads a price had been set. They were attending the daily
sessions of the Provincial Congress in Concord and returned every
night to Lexington where they lodged in the home of the Rev. Jonas
Clarke, who had married a niece of Hancock’s. Another inmate of the
house at this time was Hancock’s betrothed bride, Dorothy Quincy, whom
he married in the following year. It was very important that Hancock
and Adams should be kept informed of the progress of events in Boston,
and Paul Revere, then a man of forty, was a regularly employed and
paid messenger from the patriots of Boston to them Revere, an engraver
and silversmith, was one of the “Sons of Liberty,” a society composed
largely of artisans and workmen; and, moreover, he was one of a company
who patrolled the streets of Boston to watch the movements of British
soldiers and Tories.
Revere’s own account of this ride, written about 1783 and published
in an early number of the _Massachusetts Historical Society’s_
publications, reads:
“About ten o’clock, Dr. Warren sent in great haste for me, and begged
that I would immediately set off for Lexington, where Messrs. Hancock
and Adams were, and acquaint them of the movement, and that it was
thought they were the objects. When I got to Dr. Warren’s house, I
found he had sent an express by land to Lexington--a Mr. William Dawes.
The Sunday before, by desire of Dr. Warren, I had been to Lexington,
to Messrs. Hancock and Adams, who were at the Rev. Mr. Clarke’s. I
returned at night through Charlestown; there I agreed with a Colonel
Conant and some other gentlemen, that if the British went out by water,
we would show two lanthorns in the North Church steeple; and if by
land, one as a signal; for we were apprehensive it would be difficult
to cross the Charles River, or get over Boston Neck. I left Dr. Warren,
called upon a friend, and desired him to make the signals. I then went
home, took my boots and surtout, went to the north part of the town,
where I kept a boat; two friends rowed me across Charles River a little
to the eastward, where the _Somerset_ man-of-war lay. It was then
young flood, the ship was winding and the moon rising. They landed me
on the Charlestown side. When I got into town, I met Colonel Conant and
several others; they said they had seen our signals. I told them what
was acting, and went to get me a horse; I got a horse of Deacon Larkin.”
Revere went directly to the Clarke house. His narrative continues: