CHAPTER XXIV.

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.

A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.

VOL. III.--MAY, 1859.--NO. XIX.

THE GYMNASIUM.

Two distinct yet harmonious branches of study claimed the early

attention of the youth of ancient Greece. Education was comprised in

the two words, Music and Gymnastics. Plato includes it all under these

divisions:--"That having reference to the body is gymnastics, but to the

cultivation of the mind, music."

Grammar was sometimes distinguished from the other branches classed

under the term, Music; and comprehended, besides a knowledge of

language, something of poetry, eloquence, and history. Music embraced

all the arts and sciences over which the Muses presided.

Grammar, Music, and Gymnastics, then, comprised the whole _curriculum_

of study which was prescribed to the Athenian boy. There were not

separate and distinct learned professions, or faculties, to so great

an extent as in modern times. The compass of knowledge was far less

defined, and the studies and attainments of the individual more

miscellaneous. Some of the arts rose to an unparalleled perfection.

Architecture and sculpture attained an excellence which no subsequent

civilization has reached. But the practical application of the sciences

to daily use was almost entirely neglected; and inventions and mechanics

languished until the far later uprising of the Saxon mind.

Yet the whole system of education among the Greeks was peculiarly

calculated for the development of the powers of the mind and of the body

in common. And it is from this point of view that we wish to consider

it, and to show the nature and preeminence of gymnastics in their times

as compared with our own.

Doubtless Grecian Art owed its superiority, in some degree, to the

gymnasium. Living models of manliness, grace, and beauty were daily

before the artist's eye. The _stadium_ furnished its fleet runners,

nimble as the wing-footed Mercury,--fit types for his light and airy

conceptions; while the arena of the athletes offered marvellous

opportunities for the study of muscle and posture, to show its results

in the burly limbs of Hercules or the starting sinews of Laocoön. Many

of the most lifelike groups of marble which remain to us from that time

are but copies of the living statues who wrestled or threw the quoit in

the public gymnasium.

It is worthy of remark, in corroboration of this view, that the

department of the fine arts which depended on outline surpassed

that which derived its power from coloring and perspective. The

sculptors far excelled the painters. The statue was the natural result

of the imitative faculty surveying the nude human figure in every

posture of activity or repose. Pictures came later, from more educated

senses, and from minds which had first learned outward nature through

the medium of the simpler arts.

The ancient gymnasium, apart from its baths and philosophic groves,

was far from being, as with us, a mere appendage of the school. Modern

instructors advertise, that, in addition to teachers of every tongue and

art, "a gymnasium is attached" to their educational institutions. In old

times, the gymnasium was the school,--the public games and festivals its

"annual exhibitions."

The word _gymnasium_ has reference in its derivation to the nude or

semi-nude condition of those who exercised there. But in their proper

classical interpretation the public gymnasia were, to a great extent,

places set apart for physical education and training. Gymnastics,

indeed, in the broadest sense of the word, have been cultivated in all

ages. The spontaneous exercises and mimic contests of the boys of all

countries, the friendly emulation of robust youth in trials of speed and

strength, and the discipline and training of the military recruit have

in them much of the true gymnastic element. In Attica and Ionia they

were first adapted to their noblest ends.

The hardy Spartans, who valued most the qualities of bravery, endurance,

and self-denial, used the gymnasia only as schools of training for the

more sanguinary contests of war. So, too, the martial Roman despised

those who practised gymnastics with any other object than as fitting

them to be better soldiers. Yet to so great a degree were these

exercises cultivated, even by the latter nation, that the Roman private

of the line did his fifteen or twenty miles' daily march under a weight

of camp-equipage and weapons which would have foundered some of the

best-drilled modern warriors, and concluded his day's labors by digging

the trenches of his camp at night. The ponderous _pilum_, and the heavy,

straight sword of the infantry were exchanged in the barrack-yard for

drill-weapons of twice their weight; and so perfectly were the detail

and regularity of actual service carried out in their daily discipline,

that, as an ancient writer has remarked, their sham-fights and reviews

differed only in bloodshed from real battles. The soldier of the early

Republic was hence taught gymnastics only as a means of increasing his

efficiency; the lax praetorian and the corrupt populace of the Empire

turned gladly from the gymnasium to the circus and the amphitheatre.

In the same manner were these exercises regarded by the Dorians and the

people of some other of the Grecian States. The inhabitants of Attica

and of Ionia, on opposite shores of the Aegean, as more cultivated

races, viewed them in a more correct physiological light. But it was at

Athens that the gymnasium was held in highest repute.

We read that Solon, the Athenian lawgiver, first established particular

regulations for its government. Attic legends, however, gratefully

refer the earliest rules of the gymnasium to Theseus, as to one of the

mightiest of the mythical heroes,--the emulator of Hercules, slayer of

the Minotaur, and conqueror of the Amazons. Hermes was the presiding

deity, which may appear strange to us, as he was as noted for an

unworthy cunning as for his dexterity. Generous emulation and

magnanimity were regarded as the noblest qualities called forth in

gymnastic exercises; and Mercury seems a fitter tutelar divinity of the

wary boxer and of the race-course than of the whole gymnasium.

Probably no Greek town of any importance was destitute of one of

these schools of exercise. Athens boasted three public gymnasia,--the

Cynosarges, the Lyceum, and the Academy. These were the daily resort

of young and old alike, though certain penal laws forbade them from

exercising together at the same hour.

The school-boy frequented them as part of his daily task; the young man

of leisure, as an agreeable lounging-place; the scholar, to listen

to the master in philosophy; the sedentary, for their customary

_constitutional_ on the foot-course; and the invalid and the aged, to

court the return of health, or to retain somewhat of the vigor of their

earlier years. The Athenians wisely held that there could be no health

of the mind, unless the body were cared for,--and viewed exercise also

as a powerful remedial agent in disease. Such a variety of useful

purposes were thus subserved by the gymnasia, that it will be proper

to look briefly at their internal arrangements. We shall follow the

description which has been left us by Vitruvius.

The ancient gymnasium was generally situated in the suburbs, and was

often as large as a _stadium_ (six hundred and twenty-five feet)

square. Its principal entrance faced the east. A quadrangular inclosure

comprehended two principal courts, divided by a party-wall. The eastern

court was called the _peristylium,_ from the rows of columns which

surrounded it; the western also was bordered by porticos, but for it

we have no distinct name. The peristyle must have been from one to two

hundred feet square. It was sometimes termed the _palaestra_, though

this name was afterwards restricted to the training-school of the

athletes proper, who made gymnastics the business of their lives. It was

also styled the _sphaeristerium,_ or ball-ground, to which the nearest

approach in modern times is the tennis-court. The chief western

inclosure was planted with plane-trees in regular order, with walls

between them and seats of the so-called _signine_ work, and was about

one half larger than the peristyle. The space between the columns of the

latter and the outer walls allowed sufficient room for rows of chambers,

halls, and corridors, whose uses we will next designate.

The first room on the right, as one entered the east gate, was the

_loutron_, or room for washing, distinct from the regular baths. Next,

in the northeast corner, was the _conisterium_, where sand was kept for

sprinkling the wrestlers after they had been anointed for the struggle.

West of this lay the _coryceum_, a hall for exercising with a sack of

sand suspended from the roof. It seems plausible to suppose that this

exercise corresponded with that more recently practised by Mr. Thomas

Hyer, previously to his fight with Yankee Sullivan. A bag of sand, equal

in weight to his adversary, was daily pommelled by the champion of

America until he could make it swing and recoil satisfactorily.

Adjoining this room were two small apartments called the _ephebeum_ and

the _elaeothesium_ respectively. The former was devoted to preparatory

exercise, probably by way of warming up for severer efforts; the latter

was used for anointing, and was connected with the baths, which followed

next in order. These were the _frigidarium_, the _caldarium_, the

_sudatorium_, and the _tepidarium_, for the cold, the hot, the sweating

or vapor, and the warm baths. They did not possess the magnitude and

ornament of the Roman _thermae_. They were used in connection with and

after exercising, and were enough for all practical purposes. Bathing

was not then the business of hours every day, as it was later in the

Roman Empire, when the luxurious subjects of Caracalla indulged several

times in the twenty-four hours in such a variety of ablutions as would

have satisfied a Sandwich-Islander.

We have now arrived at a point nearly opposite our entrance at the east,

and, continuing round the southwest, south, and southeast sides of the

peristyle, find a large number of consecutive chambers devoted mainly to

the philosophers, as lecture-rooms and auditories for their classes

and followers. On the north side of the peristyle is a double portico

containing the _exedrae_, or seats of the sophists, where each most

cunning rhetorician delivered his opinions _ex cathedrâ_, and lay in

wait for any passer whom he could insnare into an argument. The groves

of the great western court were probably used by the lounger, the

contemplative, and the studious, if we may judge by numerous seats and

benches, at convenient intervals. On the south side of these was again a

double portico; and on the north, outside the pillars, the _xystus_,

or covered porch, where the athletes exercised in winter and in bad

weather. The arena was twelve feet wide, and sunk a foot and a half

below a marginal path of ten feet, where spectators could walk. On the

north and south sides of the whole building were wings, of less width,

extending nearly its entire length. That on the north contained

the _stadium_, or foot-race course, which was, however, sometimes

disconnected from the gymnasium. The south wing was of like dimensions,

and adorned with plane-trees and walks, forming a more private retreat.

It will be readily conceived that this vast area was not devoted

exclusively to physical exercises. Logic, rhetoric, and metaphysics

claimed their place in this common focus of the city's life, and were

the delight of the subtile Greeks. The Socratic reasoning and the

syllogisms of Aristotle met here on common ground. The Stoics, with

their stern fatalism, derived their name from the _stoae_, or porticos;

the Peripatetics imparted their ambulatory instructions under the

plane-trees of the Lyceum--and Plato reasoned in the Academy, which he

held with his school, and into which no ungeometrical mind was to enter.

And though some dog of a Cynic might despise the union of the ornamental

with the useful, and claim austerity as the rule of life, yet to the

great body of the social Greek people the gymnasium offered all those

attractions which _boulevards_, _cafés_, and _jardins-chantants_ do

now to the Gallic nation. There is more than one point of resemblance

between the two countries; but while the Athenian had the same mercurial

qualities, which fitted him for outdoor life, he had even a less

comfortable domestic establishment to retain him at home than the modern

Parisian.

We must turn, however, rather to the physical view of the gymnasium. All

the sports of the gymnasia were either games, or special exercises for

the contests of the public festivals. And here a distinction must be

made between amateur and professional gymnasts. The former were

styled _agonistae_, and exercised in the public gymnasium; the latter

_athletae_, and were trained fighters, whose school was the _palaestra_.

At first frequenting the same, they afterwards became divided between

two institutions. Some of the harsher sports of the prize-fighters were

not thought genteel for well-nurtured youths to indulge in. Among the

simpler games were the ball, played in various ways, and the top, which

was as popular with juveniles then as now. The sport called _skaperda_

can be seen in any gymnasium of to-day, and consisted in two boys

drawing each other up and down by the ends of a rope passing over a

pulley. Familiar still is also a game of dexterity played with five

stones thrown from the upper part of the hand and caught in the palm.

Various other gentle exercises might be mentioned.

The training for the public games was comprised in the _pentathlon_, or

five exercises,--which were running, leaping, throwing the _discus_,

wrestling, boxing. The first four were practised also by amateurs, and

by most persons who frequented the gymnasium for health.

The race, run upon the foot-race course, was between fixed boundaries,

about a _stadium_ apart. The distances run were from one to twenty

_stadia_, or from one-eighth of a mile to two and a half miles, and

sometimes more. This exercise was much followed. Horses were sometimes

introduced, but then the hippodrome was the course. They ran without

riders, as at the Roman carnival, or with chariots. Horse-racing was

most popular in the Roman circus, whose ruins still show its massiveness

and great size.

Leaping was performed also within fixed limits,--generally with metallic

weights in the hands, but sometimes attached to the head or shoulders.

The quoit, or _discus_, was made of stone or metal, of a circular form,

and thrown by means of a thong passing through the centre. It was three

inches thick and ten or twelve in diameter. He who threw farthest, won.

It is a modern game also, and is imitated in the Old-Country custom of

pitching the bar.

Wrestling has been a favorite contest in all times. Milo of Crotona

was the prince of wrestlers. He who threw his adversary three times

conquered. The wrestlers were naked, anointed, and covered with sand,

that they might take firm hold. Striking was not allowed. Elegance was

studied in the attack, as well as force. There was a distinction between

upright and prostrate wrestling. In the former the one thrown was

allowed to get up; in the latter the struggle was continued on the

ground. The vanquished held up his finger when he acknowledged himself

beaten.

Boxing was a severer sport, and not much followed except by gentlemen of

the "profession." It was practised with the clenched fists, either naked

or armed with the deadly _cestus_. The "science" of the game was to

parry the blows of the antagonist, as it is in the "noble and manly" art

of self-defence now. The exercise was violent and dangerous, and the

combatants often lost their lives, as they do at the present day. The

_cestus_, like our "brass-knuckle," was a thong of hide, loaded with

lead, and bound over the hand. At first used to add weight to the blow,

it was afterwards continued up the fore-arm, and formed also a weapon

of defence. Mr. Morrissey, or any other "shoulder-hitter," would hardly

need more than a few rounds to settle his opponent, if his sinewy arm

were garnished with the _cestus_.

We read that the late contest for the "American belt," though short, was

unusually fierce, and afforded intense delight to the spectators,--in

proportion, probably, to its ferocity. By all means let the "profession"

take the _cestus_ from the hands of the highwayman and adopt it

themselves. It would be one step nearer the glorious days of the

gladiators, and would render their combats more bloody and more

exciting. Or, better still, let us revive the ancient mode of sparring

called the _klimax_, where both parties "faced the music" _without

warding_ blows at all. We scarcely think the ancients were up to

"countering," as it is understood now; but they fully appreciated the

facetious practice of falling backwards to avoid a blow, and letting the

adversary waste his strength on the air. The deceased Mr. Sullivan

would hardly recognize his favorite dodge under its classic name of

_hyptiasmos_, or be aware that it was in use by his very respectable

predecessor, Sostratus of Sicyon, who was noted for such tricks.

The _pankration_, again, was a mode of battle which the modern

prize-ring is yet too magnanimous to adopt, and which excelled in

brutality the so-called "getting one's nob in chancery,"--the most

stirring episode of our pugilistic encounters. The Greek custom alluded

to was so named because it called all the powers of the fighter into

action. It was a union of boxing and wrestling. It began by trying to

get one's antagonist into the unfavorable position of facing the sun.

Then the sport commenced with either wrestling or sparring. As soon as

one party was thrown or knocked down, the other kept him so until he had

pommelled him into submission; and when he arose, at last, to receive

the plaudits of the assembly, it was often from the corpse of his

adversary.

Beginning as the most promising pupils of the gymnasium, and becoming

victors in the public games, certain gymnasts gradually grew into

a distinct class of prize-runners, wrestlers, and fighters, called

Athletes. They then devoted their lives to attaining excellence in these

exercises, and withdrew to the _palaestra_, or training-school. Those who

quitted the profession became instructors in the public gymnasium. To

attain great bodily strength, they submitted to many rigid rules. By

frequent anointing, rubbing, and bathing, they rendered their bodies

very supple. The trainer, or teacher in the _palaestra_, was termed

_xystarch_. He was himself the Nestor of the "ring." The food of the

athlete was mainly beef and pork. The latter, we believe, is excluded

from the diet-list of the modern prize-fighter. Of their particular

rules of living and "getting into condition" we know but little. Before

being allowed to contend, they were subjected to a strict examination by

the judges. In so high estimation were the victors held, that they were

rewarded with a public proclamation of their names, the laudations

of the poet, statues, banquets, and other privileges. The immediate

material gain was not the winning of the stakes, but a simple crown or

garland of laurel, olive, pine, or parsley, according to the festival at

which they fought. Pindar has embalmed the names of many victors in his

Olympic, Pythian, and other odes.

But let us leave the athletes for something more inviting. The

_lampadephoria_, or torch-race, must have been a singular spectacle.

There were five celebrations of this game at Athens, of which the most

noted was at the Panathenaea, where horsemen often contended. The text

describing it has been a puzzle to commentators;--the most rational

and accepted interpretation seems to be, that it was a contest between

opposite parties, and not between individuals. Lighted lamps, protected

by a shield, were passed from runner to runner along the lines of

players, to a certain goal. They who succeeded in carrying their lights

from boundary to boundary unextinguished were declared the victors. This

game will at once recall the _moccoletti_, which close the carnival at

Rome.

Dancing to the sound of the _cithara_, flute, and pipe, was a favorite

amusement with all classes. The grizzly veterans and the younger

soldiers all joined in martial dances. The dance and the game of ball

were often connected. The Romaïc dance, peculiar to the modern Greeks,

is an inheritance from their ancestors. Dancing by youths and maidens

formed part of the entertainment of guests. Tumblers threw somersets

and leaped amid sharp knives, somewhat after the manner of the Chinese

jugglers. Music was also usually associated with either poetry or

dancing.

Incitements to the various gymnastic exercises which have been mentioned

could be found only in public emulation, for which abundant opportunity

was offered in the national games or festivals. These were a part of

the religious customs of the Greeks, and were originally established

in honor of the gods. It was their effect to bring into nearer contact

people from the several parts of Greece, and to stimulate and publicly

reward talent, as well as bodily vigor. They afforded orators, poets,

and historians the best opportunities of rehearsing their productions.

Herodotus is said to have read his History, and Isocrates to have

recited his Panegyric at the Olympic games. The four sacred games were

the Olympic, Pythian, Isthmian, and Nemean; and to these should be added

the Panathenaea, or festival of Minerva. The five exercises before

mentioned, together with music, in its classic sense, formed the

programme. In the lesser Panathenaea occurred, first, the torch-race;

next, the gymnastic exercises; thirdly, a musical contention, instituted

by Pericles; and lastly, a competition of the poets in four plays.

Numerous other observances, of a religious nature, were varied with the

different festivals. It may be doubted whether subsequent times have

seen any gatherings of equal magnitude for similar objects.

So rigid was the discipline of the ancient gymnasium, and so important

was it considered that confidence should be undoubting there, that

thefts, exceeding ten _drachmae_ in amount, committed within its

precincts, were punished with death.

The _Gymnasiarch_, or presiding magistrate, clothed in a purple cloak,

with white shoes, possessed almost unlimited authority. He had the

superintendence of the building, and could remove the teachers and

under-officers at his pleasure. The exercises practised were ordained

by law, subject to regulations and animated by the commendation of

the masters. Instructions were given by the _gymnastae_ and the

_paedotribae_, two classes of officers. The former gave practical

lessons, and were expected to know the physiological effect of the

different exercises, and to adapt them to the constitution and needs of

the youth. The latter possessed a knowledge of all the games, and taught

them in all their variety. Nor were the morals of the young less cared

for by the _sophronistae_, a set of officials appointed for that

purpose.

The plan and scope of Grecian education were more adapted to the common

purposes of the community, and less to the individual aim of the pupil.

Beside the public teachings of philosophers and sophists, common schools

were established at Athens by Solon. Government provided for their

management, and strict discipline was enforced. Here the boy was

instructed in music and grammar. Until the age of sixteen, he pursued

these two branches in connection with gymnastics. Some authorities

assert, that, even at this period of his life, as much time was devoted

to the latter as to the other two together. At sixteen, he left the

school, and, until he was eighteen years of age, frequented the

gymnasium alone; probably devoting most of his time to physical

training, though enjoying opportunities of listening to the masters

in philosophy. The period of adolescence past, and his growing frame

expanded and well knit by exercise, he either continued to follow

athletic sports, or began a military or other career. If a young man

of leisure, he probably needed all the virtue imparted by his moral

teachers to restrain him from dice, quail-fights, and fine horses, and

all his physical vigor to resist the dissipations of Athens or Corinth,

and the potations of the _symposia_.

So far the male rising generation was well cared for. What became of the

girls?

In accordance with the freer manners, but not less virtuous habits of

Lacedemon, maidens were there admitted as spectators and sharers of the

gymnastic sports. Though clad only in the Spartan _chiton_, they took

vigorous part in dancing and probably wrestling. The Athenian maid could

not air even her modest garments in public with the consent of popular

opinion. The girls were educated and the women stayed at home. The

_gynaekeion_, or female apartment, was nearly as secluded as the

_seraglio_. The females were under direct, though not slavish submission

to the men. Modesty forbade their appearance in the gymnasium. Domestic

occupations, the rearing of children, spinning, light work, and

household cares filled up their time. We are told that an Athenian

mother once ventured in male attire to mingle among the spectators of

the Olympic games. Her cry of joy at the triumph of her son betrayed

her. Because she was the mother of many victors, she was spared from

infamy; and her services to the state, in rearing men, alone saved her

from the consequences of an act which maternal solicitude could not have

excused.

Too much license in the intermingling of the sexes formed part of the

arguments of many distinguished Romans against the gymnasium. Habits of

idle lounging and waste of time, together with even graver vices, were

imputed to its influence. Some said it favored _polysarkia_, or obesity,

and unfitted for military or other active life. The Romans were too

utilitarian to see its higher aims. Though there was some justice, it

must be confessed, in these accusations, yet they applied with more

force to the _palaestra_ than to the gymnasium,--to the trained

fighters, who devoted their lives to exercise, than to the mass of the

Greeks, who cultivated it for nobler purposes.

The ancients valued gymnastics highly as curative agents in disease.

Some of the gymnasia were dedicated to Apollo, god of physicians. The

officers of these establishments passed for doctors, and were so called,

on account of the skill which long experience had given them. The

directors regulated the diet of the youth, the _gymnastae_ prescribed

for their diseases, and the inferiors dressed wounds and fractures. Not

only was the general idea entertained that bodily exercise is good for

the health, but different kinds of exertion were selected as adapted to

particular maladies. Upright wrestling was thought most beneficial to

the upper portion of the body, and the cure of dropsy was believed to be

peculiarly promoted by gymnastic sports. Hippocrates had some faith in

the "motor cure." In some cases he advises common wrestling; in others,

wrestling with the hands only. The practice with the _corycus_, or

hanging-bag of sand, and a regular motion of the upper limbs, resembling

the manual exercise of the soldier, were also esteemed by him. Galen

inveighs against the more violent exercises, but recommends moderate

ones as part of the physician's art. Asclepiades, in the time of Pompey

the Great, called exercises the common aids of physic, and got great

glory--and money, it is to be hoped--by various mechanical contrivances

for the sick.

The ancients probably esteemed gymnastics too much, as the moderns do

too little, for medical or sanative purposes. The Greeks, with a very

limited knowledge of physiology and pathology, would be more apt to

treat symptoms than to trace the causes of disease; and no doubt they

sometimes prescribed exercises which were injudicious or positively

injurious. We still trust too much, perhaps, to medication, and do not

keep in view the great helps which Nature spreads around us. Truth lies

between the two extremes; and we are beginning to recognize the fact,

which experience daily teaches us, that light, air, and motion are more

potent than drugs,--and that iron will not redden the cheeks, nor bark

restring the nerves, so safely and so surely as moderate daily exercise

out of doors.

In the flourishing days of Attica, the gymnasium was in its perfection.

It degenerated with the license of later times. It was absorbed and sunk

in the fashions and vices of imperial Rome. Though Nero built a

public gymnasium, and Roman gentlemen attached private ones to their

country-seats, it gradually fell into disuse, or existed only for

ignoble purposes. The gladiator succeeded naturally to the athlete, the

circus to the stadium, and the sanguinary scenes of the amphitheatre

brutalized the pure tastes of earlier years. Then came the barbarians,

and the rough, graceless strength of Goths and Vandals supplanted the

supple vigor of the gymnast. The rude, migratory life of the Dark Ages

needed not the gymnasium as a means of physical culture, and was too

changeable and evanescent to establish permanent institutions. Chivalry

afforded some exception. The profession of knighthood and the calling

of the men-at-arms gave ample scope to warlike exercises, reduced to

something like a science in armor, horses, and modes of combat. The

tournament recalled somewhat the generous emulation of the gymnasium;

but bodily exercise for physiological ends was lost sight of in the

midst of advancing civilization, until its culture was resumed in

Sweden, in the latter half of the last century.

The reviver of gymnastics was PETER HENRY LING. Born of humble

parentage, and contending in his earlier years with the extremest

poverty, he completed a theological education, became a tutor,

volunteered in the Danish navy, travelled in France and England, and

began his career of gymnast as a fencing-master in Stockholm. He died

a professor, a knight, and a member of the Swedish Academy, and was

posthumously honored as a benefactor of his country.

While fencing, he was struck with the wholesome effects which may

be produced on the body by a rational system of movements, and this

suggested the idea which he developed by practice and precept through

his entire life. It was, that "an harmonious organic development of the

body and of its powers and capabilities by exercises ought to constitute

an essential part in the general education of a people." Ling thought

not of merely imitating the gymnastics of the ancients, but he aimed at

their reformation and improvement. Wishing to put gymnastics in harmony

with Nature, he studied anatomy, physiology, and the natural sciences.

Of their value in directing rational exercise he says: "Anatomy, that

sacred genesis, which shows us the masterpiece of the Creator, and which

teaches us how little and how great man is, ought to form the constant

study of the gymnast. But we ought not to consider the organs of the

body as the lifeless forms of a mechanical mass, but as the living,

active instruments of the soul." And even this is not sufficient; "for

the gymnast, the ultimate aim of whose art is the _beau idéal_ of

humanity, must know what effects applied movements produce upon the

corporeal and psychical condition of man; a knowledge which can be

obtained only from the most careful and untiring examination."

It has been asserted, that, in pursuance of this plan, Ling invented a

separate movement or exercise for every muscle in the body. This is not

strictly true, for it is practically impossible. Few muscles act alone,

and such as do are developed symmetrically, and are antagonized by those

of the opposite side. Most movements are performed by groups of muscles.

The cripple, swinging on his crutches, develops the broad sheet of

muscular fibres which enfolds the back and loins, and approaches in

form the simian tribe, the business of whose life is climbing. The

sledge-hammer brings out the _biceps_ of the blacksmith, and striking

out from the shoulder the _triceps_ of the pugilist. The calves of the

ballet-dancer are noted for the abrupt line which marks the transition

from muscle to tendon; and other instances might be cited. As a general

rule, however, numerous muscles act in concert. Trades stamp their

impress on special groups; and the power of co-ordination, which is

supposed to derive its impulse from the cerebellum, varies in different

persons, and marks them as clumsy or dexterous, sure-footed or the

reverse. Ling aimed only at the regulation of associated, or the equal

development of antagonistic groups. For, as the Supreme Medical Board of

Russia say in their report on his system, made to the Emperor in 1850,

"empirical gymnastics develop the muscular strength sometimes to a

wonderful degree, and teach the execution of movements combined with

an extraordinary effort of the muscles; by these means, instead of

fortifying the whole body equally and generally, they often contribute

to the development of the most dangerous diseases, since they do not

teach the evil which the injudicious use of movements may produce." It

was the harmonious and equable increase of all the voluntary and some of

the involuntary muscles which the Swedish system sought to attain.

The authority just quoted, in continuation, says:--"Notwithstanding

bodily exercises under the name of _Turnen_ were generally known and

practised in Germany at the beginning of the present century, and many

of its enlightened professional writers tried to give to them a proper

direction by combining them with anatomy and physiology, Ling must be

considered as the founder of the rational system of movements." We have

all seen deformed gymnasts, with square shoulders and lank loins, or

with some particular group of muscles projecting in ugly prominences

from the violated outlines of nature. All this the followers of Ling

claim that he avoided or overcame. His gymnastics were introduced years

ago, not only into all the military academies of Sweden, but into all

town-schools, colleges, and universities, and even orphan-asylums and

country-schools. Three objects are asserted to be obtained by his

disciples: development of muscular fibre, increased arterialization,

and improved innervation. Increase of function promotes the growth and

capability of organic structures, and causes an augmented afflux of

arterial blood and nervous influence to the part.

The ambitious reformer of the gymnasium did not pause here; but,

pursuing a still bolder course, undertook "to make gymnastics not only a

branch of education for healthy persons, but to demonstrate them to be

a remedy for disease." The new science was called _Kinesipathy_, or the

"motor-cure." The curative movements were first practised in 1813,

while Ling remained at Stockholm. A motor-hospital was established in

connection with the gymnasium; and to accommodate the invalid and the

feeble, new exercises, called "passive movements," were devised. These

were executed by an external agent upon the patient,--that agent being

usually the hand of the physician. The sick man, too weak for violent,

voluntary effort, was stretched and champooed, the muscles of his trunk

and limbs alternately flexed and extended by another person, until he

gradually acquired strength to use active movements. As he gained power,

he increased the voluntary resistance which he made to the operator, and

thus, at the same time, the amount of his own muscular exertion. It is

claimed that volition is thus called forth to neglected parts, and their

innervation and vascularity increased; and that so at length the normal

fulness of life and function is restored. This system confines itself

mostly to chronic diseases. In the paralysis of the young, in defective

volition from hysteria, in impaired local nutrition, in local

deformities dependent on muscular contraction, and in lateral curvature

of the spine, it unquestionably often produces the best results. Its

advocates claim for it much more. On its further benefits we are unable

to decide. Like all things else, it is susceptible of abuse.

Russia and Prussia have adopted, to a limited extent, the Ling system

of corporeal training and the "motor-cure." In London there exists an

institution of this kind, and more recently one has been established

by the Doctors Taylor in New York. In a still less degree the Swedish

gymnastics are used in some educational institutions here.

Ling died in 1839, in his seventy-third year. Even on his death-bed he

spoke till the last hour, and gave instructions in his favorite science.

His life is a remarkable instance of purity, energy, and devotion to a

single end.

Meanwhile, what have modern nations done to atone for the neglect of the

ancient gymnasium? Germany, to some extent, has supplied its place with

the _Turnverein_. _Turnkunst_, or the gymnastic art, is cultivated by

a limited number of youth. As we see the public exhibitions of the

_Turners_ in this country, they are as noted for their libations to

Bacchus, and their sacrifices to the god of tobacco,--a deity still

wanting in the Pantheon,--as for their culture and superiority in

athletic sports. Still they exert a wide, and, for the most part, a good

influence. Other continental nations of Europe furnish a large portion

of their young men with the gymnastic element in the shape of military

discipline and drill. As affording the best examples of martial

training, Prussia and France are to be signalized,--the former for the

universality, the latter for the kind of its instructions.

All young Prussians are liable to a call to actual service in the army

for three years. After this, if they do not continue members of the

regular standing army, they remain until a certain age in that portion

of the active force which is mustered and drilled every year. Past the

age referred to, they fall into the corps of reserve, a sort of National

Guard of veterans, summoned to the field only in emergencies. Young men

who have the means to purchase an immunity can obtain one for only two

years. One year they must serve, parade, drill, march, and mount guard,

though they are not required to live in the barracks. Occasional cases

of hardship or injustice occur. We know of a poor, but promising

pianist whose studies were cut short and his fingers stiffened by the

three-years' service. Leaving out of view exceptional facts, the system

works well. All the youth of the country acquire health, strength, an

upright carriage, and habits of punctuality and cleanliness. The clumsy

rustic is soon licked into shape, and leaves his barrack, to return to

the fields, a soldier and a more self-reliant man. Prussia, too, secures

the services of an army, in time of need, commensurate in numbers with

the adult male population.

The French conscript, if he draws the unlucky number, can buy a

substitute. All are not enrolled as recruits; and all those so enrolled

are not obliged to serve. The only sons of widows, and some other

persons, are always exempt. Once in "the line," however, the young man

is engaged for five or seven years, and receives a training in matters

gymnastic and military which turns out the best soldiers in Europe.

Little would one imagine, as he passes the groups of dainty and

scrupulously neat French officers upon the _boulevards_, looking the

laziest persons in the world, that these seeming carpet-knights are out

upon the _Champ de Mars_ at three o'clock in the morning, and

often drill until nine or ten in the forenoon,--or that the little

_toulourou_, as he is nicknamed, or private of the _ligne_, in his

brick-colored trowsers and clean gaiters, whose voice is the gayest and

whose legs are the nimblest in the barrier-ball, has done a day's work

of parade and gymnastics which equals the toil of an _ouvrier_. Running,

swimming, climbing, and fencing with the bayonet, are often but the

preludes of long marches on duty, or equally long walks to reach the

parade-ground, or to fetch the daily rations of the "mess." Then, too,

during several months of summer, camp-life is led on a grand scale. Vast

encampments, which for size, regularity, and order vie with the old

Roman _castra_, are formed at convenient spots. And here all the details

of actual service are imitated; cavalry and infantry are disciplined in

equally arduous labors; nor does the artillery escape the fatigue of

mock-sieges, sham-fights, and reviews.

The _Chasseurs de Vincennes_, or rifle-corps, are the pride of the army.

Their training is still more severe. They are all athletic men, taught

to march almost upon the run, and to go through evolutions with the

rapidity of bush-fighters. There are few more stirring sights than a

French regiment upon the march. Advancing in loose order, and with a

long, swinging gait, their guns at an angle of forty-five degrees,

lightly carried upon the shoulder, they impart an idea of alertness and

efficiency which no other soldiers present to the same degree.

Gymnasia are somewhat patronized by the civilians. The art of fencing is

a national accomplishment, and few gentlemen complete their education

without the instructions of the _maître d'escrime_. The _savate_ is a

rude exercise in vogue among rowdies, and consists in kicking with

the peasant's wooden shoe. The French are a tough, but not a large or

powerful race. The same amount of training dispensed among as large a

proportion of the youth of this country would show much greater results.

The British soldier has long been considered by his own nation as a

model of manliness. He owes his long limbs and round chest to his

ancestors and his mode of life before enlisting. While on the

home-service, he does not yet exercise enough to harden him or to ward

off disease. Recent returns show a higher comparative rate of mortality

in the British army from consumption than among other Englishmen. His

close barracks, unvarying diet, and listless life explain it all. His

countrymen and countrywomen, however, who have the time and means,

largely cultivate athletic sports. The English lady is noted for her

long walks in the open air, and for the preservation of her youthful

bloom,--the English gentleman for his red face, broad shoulders, and

happy digestion.

How do we compare with them in vigor and attention to gymnastics and

health-giving exercises? Better than we did ten years ago, but still not

very favorably.

The Western Border-States are noted for the production of a large and

hardy race. New Hampshire and Vermont contribute a good share of the

tall and well-developed men who yearly recruit the population of

our Eastern cities. Let a generation pass, however, and we find the

offspring of such sires with equally capacious frames, but far less

muscular power. The skeleton is laid of a man mighty in strength, but

the filling-in is wanting. Broad-jointed bones swing listlessly in their

sockets, the head projects, and the shoulders bend, under the influence

of a sedentary life. The laboring and mechanical classes bring certain

groups of muscles to perfection in development and dexterity, but

present few instances of an harmonious organization. Commercial and

professional men do not accomplish even a limited muscular development.

For the other sex, Nature seems to have provided a certain immunity from

the necessity of active exercise for the rounding and completion of

their bodies. The lack of fresh air, however, soon tells with them a

fatal story of fading complexions and departing bloom. That ethereal

beauty which peculiarly marks the American woman is also the earliest to

decay. As they are the prettiest, so are they the soonest _passées_ of

any Northern nation. Could they but realize that exercise in the open

air is Nature's great and only cosmetic, the reproach of early old age

would cease. Nothing will give that peach-bloom to the cheek and that

peculiar sweetness to the eye which a long walk through the fields, of a

clear October day, bestows unbought.

One evil breeds another. The brain fed only with thin blood gives rise

to morbid thoughts. Activity, sharpness, and quickness of perception

are but poor compensations for the want of the milder and more generous

attributes of the mind. Dyspepsia spawns a moody literature. Broad,

manly views and hopeful thoughts of life exist less here, we think, than

in England. The cities are supplied year by year with people from the

country; yet the latter, the source of all this supply, does not produce

so healthy mothers as the city; and were it not for the increasing study

of physiology and its vital truths, we fear that we should awaken too

late to a knowledge of our physical degeneration.

Now what means are in use among us to furnish the needed stimulant of

exercise? It is paradoxical to say that the average of people take more

exercise in the city than in the country; yet we believe it to be true.

That exercise is only of one form, to be sure, namely, walking. The

common calls of business, and the mere daily locomotion from point to

point of an extended city, necessitate a large amount of this simplest

exercise. Other sources of health, as sunlight and the vivifying

influence of trees and grass upon the air, exist more in the real

country. Yet as many girls attain a vigorous development in town as out

of it; for in our smaller New England villages indoor cares and labors

confine the females excessively and prevent their using much exercise in

the open air.

Our militia system, including the exercises of volunteer companies,

supplies but to a very limited extent the want of real gymnastics. The

common militia meet too infrequently and drill too little to gain much

sanative benefit. The old-fashioned "training-day" was always a day of

drunkenness and subsequent sickness. The "going into camp" now adopted

is even worse; for here youths taken from the sheltered counting-room

and furnace-heated house are exposed to the inclemencies of the weather

not long enough to harden them, but long enough to lay the foundation of

disease. Volunteer companies parade and are reviewed oftener, and

drill more constantly; but the good effects of the manual exercise are

rendered nugatory by its being conducted in confined armories and a bad

atmosphere.

The frequency of conflagrations and the emulation of rival volunteer

corps render the fire-companies an active school of exercise. But the

benefits of this are neutralized by the violence and irregularity of

their exertions. Quitting the workshop half-clad, and running long

distances, the fireman arrives panting at the fire, to breathe in, with

lungs congested by the unusual effort, the rarefied and smoky atmosphere

of the burning buildings. We should naturally suppose this a fertile

source of pulmonary complaints. Besides, were it the most healthy of

exercises, it is followed only by the mechanic and the laborer, who use

their muscles enough without it.

The "prize-ring" and the professed athlete still exist among us.

Unfortunately, their habits brutalize the mind. A limited knowledge

of sparring, and a full vocabulary of the slang of the pugilist, are

fashionable among many youths. Few young men, however, can cultivate the

one, or frequent the society of the other, without the risk of becoming

rowdies or bullies, if nothing worse.

The revival of the Old-Country games of cricket and base-ball affords

some of the best examples of a growing desire for athletic sports.

They have many things to recommend them, and, as we conceive, no

objectionable features.

The suicidal war waged against trees and birds alike by the early

settlers has left but little inducement to follow in this country the

field-sports so fashionable in England. Riding on horseback, however, is

now more popular than it has been since our carriage-roads were first

laid out. This exercise is peculiarly beneficial to the feeble in body.

Accelerated inspiration of pure air and a gentle succussion of all the

internal organs are blended with that consciousness of power and that

self-dependence which the good horseman always feels in the saddle.

Hardly less do we value the intimate acquaintance into which it brings

us with the noble animal who bears us, establishing a sympathy which no

amount of driving can awaken to its full extent.

Our rivers, lakes, and bays spread around us a vast and inviting field

for the cultivation of summer or winter sports. Boating and sailing are

adapted, from their gentleness of motion, even to the most delicate

organizations. Rowing is equally suited to the young and strong.

Boat-clubs are quite popular in our colleges, and we hope they will ere

long become so in our academies and minor schools. Few exercises bring

more muscles into play than the steady stroke of the oar. Few are more

exhilarating and pleasant to those who have tried them. Give us the

strong pull through an open bay before all boating on placid lakes or

rivers. The long, well-timed stroke becomes a mere mechanical effort,

leaving the mind at liberty to enjoy the sense of freedom, the tonic

salt-breeze, and the enlivening scenes of the sea.

When the boats are beached, and the wharf-logs grow, with successive

layers congealed from every tide, into huge spindles of ice, the same

element offers its glassy surface to the skater. That skating has

actually become fashionable among the gentler sex we regard as the

strongest indication of an awakening national taste for exercise. But

there is need of caution. Most persons skate with too heavy clothes.

The quick movements of the limbs in the changing evolutions of this

pastime--though the practised skater is unconscious of much muscular

effort--quicken the circulation enough to increase palpably the

animal heat and produce a very sensible perspiration. In this exposed

condition, the quiet walk home is taken without additional covering, and

is the origin of many colds.

Returning to "first principles," we find one useful exercise more or

less within reach of all, without preparation or expense. We mean

walking. The flexors and extensors of the legs, the broad muscles of the

back and abdomen, and the slender and intricate bundles of fibres which

support and steady the spine, are all gently exercised in locomotion.

The respiration and circulation are moderately increased, and the blood

aërated with fresh air. And all this can be had by simply stepping out

of doors and setting in motion the muscular machinery, which moves so

automatically that we soon become unconscious of its exertions. This,

like all other exercise, should be taken at seasonable hours. We enter

our protest against long walks before breakfast. To any but the robust

they are positively injurious. The early riser and walker, unless long

habituated and naturally vigorous, returns from his exercise draggled,

faint, and exhausted, to begin the digestive labors of the day, and take

his food with hunger rather than appetite. Abstinence has blunted the

nicer perceptions of taste, and the jaded organs lose the power not

only of discriminating flavors, but of knowing when to cry, "Enough!"

"Brushing away the morning dew," like "love in a cottage," is very

pretty in a book, but needs a solid basis in the stomach or in the

larder.

Running is a very healthy and an equally neglected exercise. Few

vocations call upon us to fully expand the chest once a month. Running

improves the wind, it is said. We give the name of long-winded to those

who have a reserve of breathing capacity which they do not use in

ordinary exertions, but which lies ready to carry them through

extraordinary efforts without distress or exhaustion. Such persons

breathe quietly and deeply. Running forms part of the training of the

prize-fighter. It should be begun and ended at a moderate pace, as

a knowing jockey drives a fast horse; otherwise, panting, and even

dangerous congestion, may arise from the too sudden afflux of blood to

the lungs.

Nothing so pleasantly combines mental occupation with bodily labor as

a pursuit of some one of the natural sciences, particularly zoölogy

or botany. If our means allow a microscope to be added to our natural

resources, the field of exercise and pleasure is boundlessly enlarged.

To the labor of collecting specimens is joined the exhilaration of

discovery; and he who has once opened the outer gate of the sanctuary of

Nature finds in the study of her _arcana_ a pastime which will be a joy

forever.

Our larger towns and cities still support gymnasia of greater or

less size and perfectness. But the modern gymnasium has two great

deficiencies: the lack of open air, and of the emulation arising from

publicity. The first is a very grave objection. Not a tithe of the

benefits of exercise can be obtained within-doors. The sallow mechanic

and the ruddy farmer are the two points of comparison. The one may work

as hard and be as strong as the other, and yet we cannot call him as

healthy. Nothing short of Nature's own sweet air will supply the highest

physical needs of the human frame. As our gymnasia are usually private,

and only moderately frequented, the gymnast is not stimulated to those

exertions which society and competition would arouse. _Ennui_ often mars

his enjoyment. We have seen men methodically pursuing, day after day,

the same exercises, with all the listless drudgery of a hack-horse.

Geniality and generous emulation are among the great benefits of the

true gymnasium.

"But how shall I find time to follow out even one of these exercises?"

objects the victim of American social life. It is true, he cannot. We

live so fast that we have no time to live. Nevertheless, gymnastics

have one advantage adapted to our hurried habits. They afford the most

exercise in the shortest time. In no other way, so easily accessible,

can as much powerful motion be used in so brief a space.

The tired clerk or merchant comes home late, with feverish brain and

weary legs. His chest and arms have had no exercise proportional to the

rest of his system. What shall he do to restore the balance? If he can,

let him erect in some upper room, away from furnace-heat, instead of a

billiard-table, a private shrine to Apollo or Mercury. He will need but

little apparatus. A set of weights and pulleys, a pair of parallel bars,

two suspended rings, and a leaping-pole are all the necessary permanent

fixtures. Other articles, as the dumb-bells, the Indian club,

boxing-gloves, foils, or single-sticks, take up no room, and can be

added as his growing taste for their use demands. We would single out

the parallel bars and the weights as the most generally useful. The

former develop particularly the chest, stretch the pectoral muscles, and

lengthen the collar-bones. The latter increase the volume and power

of the extensors of the shoulder, arm, and forearm, and are to be

sedulously practised, because we have fewer common and daily movements

of these muscles than of their antagonists, the flexors, and they are

consequently weaker in most persons. The windows should be widely

opened, and the room warmed by the sun alone.

Though, after the first few trials, the whole body will ache, and the

astonished muscles tremble with soreness, a week's perseverance will

overcome these earlier drawbacks. The gymnast will be surprised at the

new feeling of vigor in the back and shoulders, and to find the upright,

military posture as natural as it was before difficult to maintain.

Temper and digestion undergo a parallel improvement, and it will require

much to make him forego the luxury of exercise which he at first thought

so painful.

Many persons become discouraged by beginning too violently. Alarmed at

the fatigue and suffering at first induced, they shrink from further

efforts. Gymnastics are, to be sure, an injudicious mode of exercise

for some. Children get a good many sprains, and sometimes permanent

deformity, from their use. The growing period requires care to avoid

injuring the articulations; yet it is the most favorable time to spread

the shoulders and deepen the chest. The young grow most in height and

can best gain an harmonious development by frequenting the GYMNASIUM.

* * * * *

WHY DID THE GOVERNESS FAINT?

We were all sitting together in the evening, and my sister Fanny had

been reading aloud from the newspaper. For my father's benefit, she had

read all the political articles, and all about business, till he had

said he had heard enough, and there was nothing in the papers, and then

had left the room. So Fanny looked over the marriages and deaths, and

read about the weather in New York and Chicago, and some other things

that she thought would interest us while we were sewing. Suddenly I

looked up, towards where Miss Agnes was sitting, far away at the other

end of the room. She was leaning back in her chair, and, all in a

moment, I thought she looked white, as though she had fainted. I did not

say a word, but got up and went quietly towards her. I found she had

fainted quite away, and her lips were pale, and her eyes shut. I opened

the window by her; for the night was cool, and all the windows were

closed. There came in a little breeze of fresh air, and then I ran to

fetch a glass of water. When I returned, I found Miss Agnes reviving a

little. The air and the water served to refresh her, and very gradually

she came back to herself. As she opened her eyes, she looked at me

wonderingly, then round the room,--then a shudder came over her, as if

with a sudden painful memory.

"I'm better,--thank you for the water," she said; and then she rose up

and went to the window, and leaned against the casement. I had a glimpse

of her face; so sad a face I had never seen before.

For Miss Agnes was not often sad, though she was quiet in her ways and

manners. She could be gay, when it was the time to be gay. She was our

governess,--that is, she taught Mary and Sophy and me. Fanny was too old

to be taught by her, and had an Italian master and a French teacher;

but she practised duets for the piano with Miss Agnes, and read with

her,--and she made visits with her, for Miss Agnes was a favorite

everywhere. She had a kind word for everybody, and listened kindly

to all that was said to her. She talked to everybody at the sewing

societies, had something to say to every one, and when she came home she

had always something to tell that was entertaining. I often wished I

could be one-quarter as amusing, but I never could succeed in making my

little experiences at all agreeable in the way Miss Agnes did. I have

tried it often since, but I always fail. Only the other day, I quite

prided myself that I had found out all about Mrs. Endicott's going to

Europe, and came home delighted with my piece of news. She was going

with her husband; two of the children she was to leave behind, and take

the baby with her; they were to be gone six months; and I even knew

the vessel they were going in, and the day they were to sail. My

intelligence was very quickly told;--Miss Agnes and many others would

have made a great deal more of it. I had no sooner come to the end than

Fanny said, "Who is going to take care of the children she leaves at

home?" I had never thought to ask! I was disappointed;--my news was

quite imperfect; I might as well not have tried to bring any news. But

it was never so with Miss Agnes. I believe it was because she was really

interested in what concerned others, that they always told her willingly

about themselves; and though she never was inquisitive about others'

affairs, yet she knew very well all that was going on.

So she was a most valuable member of our home-circle, and was welcome

also among our friends. And we thought her beautiful, too. She was very

tall and slender, and her light-brown eyes were of the color of her

light-brown hair. We liked to see her come into the room,--her smile and

face made sunshine there; and she was more to us than a governess,--she

was our dear friend.

But now she looked round at me, pale and sad. She suddenly saw that I

looked astonished at her, and she said, "I am not well, Jeanie, but we

will not say anything about it. I am going to my room; to-morrow I shall

be better." She held her hand to her head, and I thought there must be

some heavy pain there, she still looked so sad and pale. She bade us all

good night and went away.

I did not tell the others what had happened,--partly because, as I have

said, I was not in the way of telling things, and partly because they

were all talking and had not observed what had been going on. But I

found the paper Fanny had been reading, and wondered if there were

anything in what she had read that could have moved Miss Agnes so much.

I had not been paying much attention to the reading, but I knew upon

which side of the paper to look. Fanny told me it was time for me to go

to bed, however, and I left my search before I could find anything that

seemed to concern Miss Agnes. I stopped at her door, and bade her good

night again; and she came out to me, and kissed me, and said,--I was a

good child, and I must not trouble myself about her.

The next day she seemed quiet, yet the same as ever. Though I said

nothing to anybody else about her fainting, I could not help telling my

friend Jessie of it;--for I always told Jessie everything. Fanny called

us the two Jays, we chattered so when we were together. I knew she would

not tell anybody, so I could not help sharing my wonder with her,--what

could have made Miss Agnes faint so suddenly? She thought it must have

been something in the newspaper,--perhaps the death of some friend, or

the marriage of some other. I was willing to look again, and this time

remembered three things that Fanny had just been reading when I had

looked up at Miss Agnes. One was about Mr. Paul Shattuck;--in descending

from a haycart, he had fallen upon a pitchfork, and had seriously

wounded his thigh. Another was the marriage of Mr. Abraham Black to

Miss Susan Whitcomb, and Fanny had wondered if she were related to the

Whitcombs of Hadley. Then she had read a singular advertisement for a

lost ring, a seal ring, with some Arabic letters engraved upon it. I

was of opinion that Miss Agnes was somehow connected with this

signet-ring,--that it had some influence over her fate. Jessie thought

that Miss Agnes must have been formerly engaged to Mr. Abraham Black,

and that when she heard of his marriage----but I interrupted her in

this suggestion. In the first place, she could never have been engaged

to a Mr. Abraham Black; and then, nobody who could marry Miss Agnes

would think of taking up with a Susan Whitcomb. So Jessie fell back upon

Paul Shattuck, and, to tell the truth, we had some warm discussions on

the subject.

Time passed on, and it was June. One lovely afternoon, we had quite a

frolic with the hay, the grass having been cut on the lawn in front of

the house. Miss Agnes had been with us. We had made nests in the hay,

and had buried each other in deep mounds of it, and had all played till

we were quite tired. I went into the house in search of Miss Agnes,

after she had gone in, and found her sitting at one of the side windows.

I came near, then wished to draw back again, for I saw there were tears

in her eyes. But when I found she had seen me, I tried to speak as if I

had seen nothing.

"How high the cat has to step, to walk over the grass!" I said, as I

looked out of the window.

Miss Agnes put her arms about me. "You wonder, because you see me

crying," she said, and looked into my face.

"I never before saw anybody cry that was grown up," said I.

Miss Agnes smiled and said, "They tell children it is naughty to cry;

but sometimes you can't help crying, can you?" And her tears came

dropping down.

"Oh, Miss Agnes," I said, "I wish I could help your crying! It is too

bad!--it is too bad!"

"Yes, it is very bad," she said, as she held me in her arms, "it is very

bad; but you do help me. You shall be my little friend."

That was all. She did not tell me anything;--yet I felt as if she had

said a great deal, and I did not speak of this to Jessie.

A few days after, as I was passing the door of the parlor, I fancied I

heard a little cry, and it sounded to me as if I had heard the voice

of Miss Agnes. I hurried in. A stranger had just entered the room. But

before me stood Miss Agnes, pale, erect, her lips quivering. She held

fast a chair, which she had drawn up in front of her, as one would

place a shield between one's self and some wild animal. How slender and

defenceless she looked! I followed the terrified glance of her eyes.

There, in the middle of the room, stood a stranger,--not so terrible to

look upon, for he was young, and it seemed to me I had never seen so

handsome a man. His black hair and eyes quite pictured the hero of my

romance. He was strongly built, and directly showed his strength by

seizing a large marble table that stood near the centre of the room, and

wheeling it between himself and Miss Agnes.

"If you are afraid of me," he said, "I will build up a barrier between

us. Poor lamb, you would like to be free from the clutches of the wolf!"

"I am afraid of you," said Miss Agnes, slowly,--and the color came into

her cheeks. "You know your power over me. I begged you, if you loved me,

not to come to me."

"And all for that foolish ring! And the spirits of mischief betrayed its

loss to you; it was none of my work that published it in the papers. Can

you let a fancy, an old story in a ring, disturb your faith in me?"

"If the faith is disturbed," answered Miss Agnes, "what use in asking

what has disturbed it? Ernest, as you stand there, you cannot say you

love me as you once professed to love me!"

"I can say that you are my guiding star,--that, if you fail me, I fall

away into ruin."

"Can my little light keep you from ruin?" said Miss Agnes, shuddering.

"Do not talk to me so! Alas, you know how weak I am!"

"I know that you are an angel, and that I am too low a wretch to dare

to speak to you. I came here to tell you I was worthy of your deepest

hatred. But, Agnes, when you speak to me of my power over you, it tempts

me to wield it a little longer, before I fall below your contempt."

He walked up and down the room, and presently saw me standing there.

"A listener!" he exclaimed; "you are afraid to be alone with me!"

I was about to leave the room, but he called me back.

"Stay, child!" he said; "if I can speak in _her_ presence, it makes

little difference that any one else should hear me. Agnes, little Agnes,

you would not like to be quite alone;--let the child stay. Yet you know

already that I am faithless to you. You know what I am going to tell

you. I love you, passionately, as I have always loved you. But there are

other passions hold me tighter. Money, and position,--I need them,--I

cannot live without them. The first I have lost already, and the claims

I have to reputation will follow soon. I am mad. I am flinging away

happiness for the sake of its mask. Next week I marry riches,--a

fortune. With the golden lady, I go to Europe. I forsake home,--my

better self. I leave you, Agnes;--and you may thank God that I do leave

you; I am not worthy of you."

She lifted herself from the chair on which she was leaning, and walked

towards him. She laid her hand upon his shoulder, and, white and pale,

looked in his face.

"Do not go, Ernest!" she said. "You are mine. A promise cannot be

broken;--you are promised to me.--Stay,--do not go away!"

"My beautiful Agnes!" he said, "do you come to lay your pure self down

in the scale against my follies and all my passions? You stand before

me too fair, too lovely for me. It is only in your presence that I can

appear noble enough for you. Even here, by your side, I see the life I

must lead with you, the struggle that you must share. In that life you

would only see me fail. I am weak; I can never be strong. Let me go

down the current. Your heart will not break;--I am not worth such a

sacrifice."

"You are desperate," said she. "You say these cold, bitter words, and

you must know that each word cuts me. Oh, Ernest, you are false, indeed,

if you come to taunt me with your faithlessness!"

"I needed to see you once more," he said, imperiously,--"I needed it.

But you were right, Agnes,--the ring was a true talisman. It seemed to

me that its letters had changed color. I carried it to an old Eastern

scholar. He declared that the letters could never have formed the word

'Faith,'--that the word was some black word that meant death. I left it

with him, that he might study it. When I saw him again, he declared he

had lost it, and had advertised it. You see you can trust your talisman

sooner than you can trust me."

At this moment the outer door opened, and presently Fanny came in,

with one of her friends. Miss Agnes looked bewildered, but her visitor

recovered his composure directly.

"Miss Fanny, I believe;--I have met you before. I have just been bidding

good-bye to Miss Agnes, before leaving for Europe. Can I be of service

to you?"

Before we had time to think, he had said something to each one of us,

and had left the house. Fanny turned to speak to Miss Agnes, but she had

fallen to the ground before we could reach her.

She was ill, very ill, for a long time. She had the brain fever,--so the

doctor said. They let me stay with her,--she liked to have me with her.

I was glad to sit in the darkened room all the long day. I never was a

"handy" child, but I learned to be useful to her. I waited on all her

wants. I held her hand when she reached it out as if to meet some kindly

touch.

In the quiet of her room, I had not heard the great piece of news,--of

the terrible railroad accident: that Mr. Carr, the Ernest who had been

to see Miss Agnes, was among those who were suddenly killed,--the very

day he left our house! I had not heard it; so I was not able to warn

Fanny, when she came into the sick room of Miss Agnes, the first day she

was able to talk,--I could not warn Fanny that she must not speak of it.

But she did. How could she be so thoughtless? Miss Agnes, it is true,

looked almost well, as she was lying on her couch, a soft color in her

cheeks. But then Fanny need not have told her anything so painful. Miss

Agnes looked quite wild, and turned to me as if to know whether it were

true. I could not say anything to her, but knelt by her,--and she seemed

almost calm, as she asked to know all that was known, all the terrible

particulars that Fanny knew so well.

She was worse after that. We thought she would die, one night. But she

did not die. Either she was too weak or too strong to die of a broken

heart. Perhaps she was not strong enough to love so earnestly such a one

as Mr. Carr, or else she had such strength as could bear the trial that

was given her to bear. She lived, but life seemed very feeble in her for

a long time.

One day she began to talk with me.

"You would like to know, Jeanie, the story of that ring," she said.

I told her I was afraid to have her talk about it, but she went on:--

"It is an old heirloom, and all our family history is full of stories of

this ring. There are so many tales connected with it, that every one of

us has looked upon it with a sort of superstition, and cherished it as

a talisman connected with our lives. It was always a test of constancy,

and the stories of those occasions when it has detected falsehood have

always been remembered. I suppose there are many when it has been

quietly worn, undisturbed, that have been forgotten. It has told many a

sad tale in my own family. It came back, broken, to my brother Arthur,

and he died of a broken heart. My sister Eveline gave it to her young

cousin, to whom she engaged herself. But afterwards, when she went to

live with a gay and heartless aunt of mine, she broke her promise to him

for the sake of a richer match. The day that she was married, our cousin

far away saw the black letters turn red upon the signet-ring."

"Oh, Miss Agnes!" I exclaimed.

"And why should not letters change?" she asked, abruptly; and I saw her

eyes look out dreamily, as if at something I did not see. "The letter

clothes the spirit; and the spirit gives life to the form. A face grows

lovely or unlovely with the spirit that lies behind it. I cannot say if

there be a spirit in such things. Yet what we have worn we give a value

to. It has an expression in our eyes. Do we give it all that expression,

or has it some life of its own?"

She interrupted herself, and went on:--

"I had known that Ernest was not true to me. I had known it by the words

he wrote to me. They did not have the ring of pure silver; there was a

clang to them. When Fanny read aloud the loss of that ring, it spoke to

a suspicion that was lying in the depth of my heart, and roused it into

life. My little Jeanie, I was very sad then.

"You do not know how deeply I loved Ernest Carr. You do not know how I

might have loved your brother George,--yes, the noble, upright George.

He loved me, and treated me most tenderly; he found this home for me.

I did not banish him from it,--he would have stayed all these years in

Calcutta, if it had not been for me,--so he said. You cannot understand

how it was that Ernest Carr, whom I had known before, should have

impressed me more. You do not know, yet, that we cannot command our

love,--that it does not always follow where our admiration leads. I

loved Ernest for his very faults. The fascinations that made the world,

its prizes, its money, its fame, so attractive to him, won me as I saw

them in him. It is terrible to think of my last meeting with him; but

his fate seems to me not so awful as the fate towards which he was

hurrying,--the life which could never have satisfied him."

She left off speaking, and dreamed on, her eyes and thoughts far away.

And I, too, dreamed. I fancied my brother George coming home, and that

he would meet with that ring somehow. I knew it must come back to her.

And it did; and he came with it.

TWO YEARS AFTER.

Oh, I forgot that, long ago!

It was very fine at the time, no doubt,--

Remembering is so hard, you know;--

Well, you will one day find it out.

I love the life of the happy flowers,

But I hate the brown and crumbling leaves;

You cannot with spices embalm the hours,

Nor gather the sunshine into sheaves.

We are older now, and wiser, too.

Only two summers ago, you say,

Two autumns, two winters, two springs, since you----

Will you hold for a moment my bouquet?

Yes,--take that sprig of mignonette;

It will wither with you as it would with me:

Freshness and sweetness a half-hour yet,

Then a toss of the hand, and one is free.

Why will you talk of such silly things?--

What a pretty bride! Do you like her hair?

See Madam there, with her twenty rings.

Ogling the youth with the foreign air!--

The moon was bright and the winds were low,

The lilies bent listening to what we said?

I did not make your lilies grow;

Will they bloom for me now they are dead?

You hate the rooms and the heartless hum,

The thick perfumes and the studied smile?

'Tis the air I love to breathe,--yet come,

I will watch the stars with you awhile;

But you won't talk nonsense, you promise me?

Tear from the book the page we read;

We are friends,--dear friends. You must come and see

My new home, and soon.--What was it you said?

Heartsick, and weary, and sad, and strange,--

Ashes and dust where swept the fire?

I am sorry for you, but I cannot change.--

Did you see that star fall from the Lyre?

A moment's gleam, and a deeper night

Closing around its wandering way:

But then there are other orbs as bright;

Let your incense burn to them, I pray.

Oh, conjure your mighty manhood up!

Let it blaze its best in your flashing eyes!

Can it stare my womanhood down, or hope

To scorch my pride till it droops and dies?--

There, do not be angry;--take my hand;

Forgive me;--I meant not anything:

I am foolish, and cannot understand

Why you throw life out for one dumb string.

Sweeter its music than all the rest?

It may be so, though I cannot tell;

But take the good when you lose the best,

And school yourself till it seems as well.

Love may pass by, but here is fame,

And wealth, and power;--when these are gone,

God is left,--and the altar-flame

May, brightening ever, burn on and on.

And yet to my heart at times there come

Tidings of lands I shall never see,

Sweet odors, and wooing winds, and hum

Of bees in the fields that are far from me,--

Far fields, and skies that are always fair;

And I dream the old dreams of heaven, and you.--

But here comes the youth of the foreign air.

I will dance and forget,--and you must, too.

A BUNDLE OF OLD LETTERS.

To struggle painfully for years, spending all of life's energies for

others, and then to be forgotten by those for whom all was hazarded and

consumed, is a lot demanding the most unselfish aims. Yet this befell

many a suffering patriot in our Revolutionary struggle. The names of

those who were the leaders in battle and in council, men whose

position in the field or whose words in Congress gave them a country's

immortality, have remained bright in our memory. But others there were

who cheerfully surrendered eminence in their private walks and happiness

in social life to endure the hardships of a protracted contest till life

was spent, and who, from the very nature of the services they rendered,

have remained in obscurity. They would not themselves repine at this;

for they gave their strength, not for their country's applause, but

their country's good. They sought, not our remembrance, but our freedom.

In many an old garret, or treasured up in some old man's safest nook,

are worn-out, faded letters, telling of struggles and hopes in that long

contest, that would make their writers' names bright on the nation's

record, were not the number of those who rendered that our golden age

so countless. Pious is the task of tracing the services of some revered

ancestor, who gave whatever he had to give, when his country called, but

whose name is not now remembered. Those days are fast becoming to our

younger race almost mythical, so that every living word from the actors

in them is of use in vivifying scenes that else would seem dim fable.

From a somewhat bulky bundle of yellow, tattered letters, long cherished

with fond and filial care, a few are selected to interest the readers of

the "Atlantic," who, it is supposed, will first be glad to know a little

about their writer.

Dr. Isaac Foster was born in Charlestown, Massachusetts, on the 28th of

August, 1740. His father, in early life a sea-captain, making frequent

voyages between Boston and Europe, was for many years a prominent

citizen of Charlestown, participating largely in the measures that

preceded and led to the Revolution. At the age of eighteen, Dr. Foster

graduated at Harvard, in the class of 1758. He then studied medicine

under Dr. Lloyd of Boston, and afterwards completed his studies in

England. He married, as his first wife, Martha, daughter of Thaddeus

Mason of Cambridge, and at her death, some years later, Mary, daughter

of Richard Russell of Charlestown. In his profession he achieved a

considerable reputation, acquired a large practice, and numbered among

his pupils Doctors Bartlett, Welch, and Eustis.

But while he was working his way to position and influence, more

exciting themes began to attract his attention. With the earliest signs

of coming conflict he took a determined stand on the Colonial side. In

the town-meetings of the day he seems to have been prominent, and his

name appears on most of the important committees appointed by the town

in reference to public affairs. Thus, when, as early as November, 1772,

the Committee of Correspondence in Boston called upon the other towns

"to stand firm as one man," his name is found upon a committee appointed

to answer this letter and prepare instructions to the representative of

the town in the General Court.[A]

[Footnote A: FROTHINGHAM'S _History of Charlestown_, p. 286.]

He was also one of a committee appointed to consult with the committees

of other towns concerning the expected importation of a quantity of

tea. This was November 24th. On the 22d of December of the same year, a

petition numerously signed was presented to the selectmen, asking that a

meeting might be called to take some effectual measures to prevent the

consumption of tea. Among the signatures is Dr. Foster's.[B]

[Footnote B: FROTHINGHAM'S _History of Charlestown_, p. 293.]

He was elected a delegate to the Convention in the County of Middlesex,

in August, 1774, and a member of the first Provincial Congress of

Massachusetts, in October of the same year. Early in 1775, he was

appointed a surgeon, and was, for some months, at the head of the

military medical department, while General Ward commanded at Cambridge.

The day after the battle of Concord, at the urgent request of General

Ward and Dr. Warren, he gave up his private practice, then very large,

to attend the wounded. On the 18th of June, he was appointed by the

Committee of Safety to attend the men wounded on the previous day at

the battle of Bunker's Hill. He was soon after appointed Surgeon of

the State Hospital, and by General Washington, on the discovery of the

treachery of Dr. Church, in October, Director-General, _pro tem._, of

the American Hospital Department. Congress soon nominated to this post

Dr. John Morgan of Philadelphia, Dr. Foster remaining as the oldest

surgeon in the hospital.

It seemed necessary, before selecting some of Dr. Foster's letters, to

give this account of his earlier life, to show that he was no soldier of

fortune or eleventh-hour laborer, but that his sympathies were enlisted

and his aid given among the earliest of the friends of a then doubtful

cause,--and that he ventured influence, wealth, and professional fame,

and abandoned home and ease, at what seemed to him the call of his

country.

The first extracts shall be from a letter to his wife, dated

"_New York, Sunday, P.M.,

"June 2, 1776_.

"MY DEAR POLLY,

"I received your kind letter of the 27th last, and thank you for your

ready acceptance of my invitation to come to me. Indeed, my dear, you

could not have given a stronger proof of your affection for me. Heaven

only knows what dangers and difficulties you may be exposed to in this

undertaking; but it shall be my constant endeavor to keep you out of the

way of danger, and procure the best accommodation for you this country

affords. If mother will add to her former kindness by taking the charge

of our children, it will greatly ease my mind; and as our enemies have,

by their wanton barbarity, from being inhabitants of Charlestown, made

us citizens of the United Colonies at large, I believe you will be as

safe and happy with or near me as anywhere....

"The night before last, the city was much alarmed. A signal had been

made from one of the islands of the arrival of a ship to join the small

fleet at the Hook. Some one raised this to a large number of transports

with the expected German forces; some of the Tories here had the

impudence to affirm they had seen eleven sail. When I came from the

hospital to my lodging, in the evening, I found the neighborhood in

confusion, the women talking of and preparing for flight. I thought it

my duty to wait on General Putnam, who at present commands here; in my

way, I met Major Webb, who acquainted me with the truth of the matter.

Upon this occasion, I could not help thinking I should go to my post

with much more alacrity, if I might have the pleasure of seeing you

again first....

"Your affectionate husband,

"ISAAC FOSTER."

* * * * *

The next is a short extract from a letter to his father, bearing date

June 6th, 1776. Speaking of his wife, he says:--

"I wish she may have a pleasant journey, and arrive here in season to

see the city before our enemies attack us. We are in daily expectation

of them, and tolerably prepared to receive them. I am under no

apprehension of their being able to get footing here; but if they behave

with spirit, the city must suffer in the contest."

The next is also to his father.

"_New York, July 7th, 1776_.

"HONORED SIR,

"It is with the greatest pleasure I embrace this opportunity of

congratulating you on the most important event that has happened

since the commencement of hostilities. On Tuesday, the 2nd inst., the

Honorable the Continental Congress declared the Thirteen United Colonies

free and independent States. This Declaration is to be published at

Philadelphia to-morrow, with all the pomp and solemnity proper on such

an occasion; and before the week is out, we hope to have the pleasure of

proclaiming it to the British fleet, now riding at anchor in full

view between this city and Staten Island, by a _feu de joie_ from our

musketry, and a general discharge of the cannon on our works. This step,

whatever some lukewarm would-be-thought friends or concealed enemies

may think, the cruel oppression, the wanton, insatiable revenge of the

British Administration, the venality of its Parliament and Electors, and

the unaccountable inattention of the people of Great Britain in general

to their true interest and the importance of the contest with their

late Colonies, had rendered absolutely necessary for our own

preservation,--and has given great spirits to the army, as, by shutting

the door against any reconciliation in the least degree connected with

dependence on Great Britain, they know for what they are fighting, and

are freed from the apprehension of being duped by Commissioners, after

having risked their lives in the service of their country, and to secure

the enjoyment of liberty to their posterity."

* * * * *

The next letters of public import are addressed to his father, and

relate mainly to the expected attack upon New York.

"_New York, July 22nd, 1776_.

"HONORED SIR,

"I received your kind favor of the 15th inst. I am glad to hear our

friends are all well. I congratulate you on the spirited behavior and

glorious success of our army under General Lee. It is generally thought

to have been a decisive action, at least for this summer, as the two

fifty-gun ships are never like to get to sea again. I hope by the next

post you will hear some of our exploits, if the enemy have courage

enough to attack us. It is my week at the hospital; and if anything

happens, I hope to give you the particulars. Polly has got much better;

she joins me in duty to mother and love to the children. There has been

another flag from the fleet; the Adjutant-General of the British troops

has been on shore to wait on his Excellency. He endeavored, but in vain,

to persuade him to accept the letter which had been twice refused. In

conversation he related its contents, much the same as those to the late

Governor. He was answered, (as I am told from good authority,) that it

could not be expected people who were sensible of having committed

no offence should ask pardon,--that, as the American States owed no

allegiance, so they were not accountable, to any earthly prince. He

tarried about half an hour, and seemed pleased with the politeness of

his reception."

"_July 23d, P.M._

"I write to congratulate you on advice received this day from Virginia,

an agreeable supplement to the paper I sent yesterday. On the 9th

instant, Lord Dunmore with his slavish mercenaries and stolen negroes

were driven from their post on Gwin Island in Virginia, and the

piratical fleet from their station near it, with the loss of one ship,

two tenders or armed vessels burnt by themselves, three armed vessels

taken by our people, and Lord Dunmore wounded; on our side not a man

lost. I would be more particular, but, as I had only time to read the

Philadelphia paper of yesterday which contains the account, and Mr. Mayo

is just setting out, it is not in my power."

"_New York, Aug. 12, 1776_

"Polly is still here with me, and we are both very well, but

disappointed in not hearing oftener from our friends at Boston. For news

in general I must refer to the inclosed paper. I was in company the

evening they came to this city with the two gentlemen who came from

England in the packet. They say the British force on Staten Island

is from twelve to fifteen thousand, of which about one thousand are

Hessians; that Lord and General Howe speak very respectfully of our

worthy commander-in-chief, at their tables and in conversation giving

him the title of General; that many of the officers affect to hold our

army in contempt, calling it no more than a mob; that they envy us our

markets, and depend much on having their winter-quarters in this city,

out of which they are confident of driving us, and pretend only to dread

our destroying of it; that the officers' baggage was embarked, a number

of flat-bottom boats prepared, and every disposition made for an attack,

which we may hourly expect. On our side, we have not been wanting; our

army has for several nights lain on their arms, occasioned by several

ships of war and upwards of thirty transports going out at the Narrows

and anchoring at that part of Long Island best calculated for their

making a descent, and where they received, by means of flat-bottom

boats, a large detachment from the army on Staten Island. But this fleet

went to sea yesterday, where bound we know not; some think, to go round

the east end of Long Island, come down the Sound, and land on our backs,

in order to cut off any retreat, and oblige us to surrender ourselves

and the city into their hands: but if they are so infatuated as to

venture themselves into a broken, woody country, between us and the

New England governments, I trust they will have cause to repent their

rashness. Generals Heath, Spencer, Greene, and Sullivan are promoted by

the Honorable Congress to the rank of Major-Generals; and the

Colonels Reed, Nixon, Parsons, Clinton, Sinclair, and McDougall to be

Brigadier-Generals. We have removed all our superfluous clothing, and

whatever is not necessary for present use, to Rye, whither General

Putnam's lady has retired. Miss Putnam is yet in town, and the chaise is

in readiness for her and Polly to remove at a minute's warning."

* * * * *

The following copy of an "Order from Head-Quarters" was found among the

papers, directed apparently to his father; and as Washington's Orderly

Books have never been published, with the exception of a few orders

chiefly relating to court-martials, it has been thought that it would

be interesting. Though dated on successive days, it seems to have been

issued as one order. A note by Dr. Foster, at the close, says,--"This

copy was made in a hurry by one of the mates. Some sentences are

omitted. Imperfect as it is, I thought it would be agreeable. The

principal omission is the order for having three days' provisions

ready-dressed, and that all who do not appear at their posts upon the

signal are to be deemed cowards, and prosecuted as such."

_Head-Quarters, August_ 14, 1776.

"The enemy's whole reinforcement is now arrived, so that an attack must

and soon will be made. The General, therefore, again repeats his

earnest request, that every officer and soldier will have his arms and

ammunition in good order, keep within their quarters and encampment as

much as possible, to be ready for action at a moment's call,--and when

called upon, to remember that liberty, property, and honor are all at

stake, that upon their courage and conduct rest the hopes of their

bleeding and insulted country, that their wives, children, and parents

expect safety from them only, and that we have every reason to expect

that Heaven will crown us with success in so just a cause.

"The enemy will endeavor to intimidate us by show and appearance; but

remember how they have been repulsed on these occasions by a few brave

Americans. Their cause is bad, their men are conscious of it, and,

if opposed with firmness and coolness at their first onset, with our

advantages of works and knowledge of the ground, the victory is most

assuredly ours. Every good soldier will be silent and attentive,

wait for orders, and reserve his fire till he is sure of its doing

execution;--the officers to be particularly careful of this. The

colonels and commanding officers of regiments are to see their

supernumerary officers so posted as to keep their men to their duty; and

it may not be amiss for the troops to know, that, if any infamous rascal

shall attempt to skulk, hide himself, or retreat from the enemy without

the orders of his commanding officers, he will instantly be shot down

as an example of cowardice. On the other hand, the General solemnly

promises that he will reward those who shall distinguish themselves by

brave and noble actions; and he desires every officer to be attentive to

this particular, that such men may be afterwards suitably noticed."

"_Head-Quarters, August 15, 1776_.

"The General also flatters himself that every man's mind and arms are

now prepared for the glorious contest upon which so much depends.

"The time is too precious, nor does the General think it necessary, to

spend it in exhorting his brave countrymen and fellow-soldiers to behave

like men fighting for everything that can be dear to free-men. We must

resolve to conquer or die. With this resolution, victory and success

certainly will attend us. There will then be a glorious issue to this

campaign, and the General will reward his brave soldiers with every

indulgence in his power."

"_New York, August 16, 1776_.

"HONORED SIR,

"It is now past ten o'clock, and Mr. Adams, who favors me by carrying

this, sets out by five o'clock to-morrow morning, so that I have only

time to acknowledge the favors received by Dr. Welch. If I survive the

grand attack hourly expected, or if it is delayed until then, I will

write again by next post. Polly has her things packed up; the chaise can

be ready at a minute's warning; if the wind favors our enemies, it is

probable she will breakfast out of the way of danger. To-morrow is

watched for by our army in general with eager expectation of confirming

the independence of the American States. All the Ministerial force from

every part of America except Canada, with the mercenaries from Europe,

being collected for this attempt, God only knows the event. To His

protection I commend myself, earnestly praying that in this glorious

contest I may not disgrace the place of my nativity, nor, after it is

over, be ashamed to see my wife, my children, and my parents again. To

the care of Providence, and, under that, to you, honored Sir, with our

other friends, I commend all that is near and dear to me, and am, with

duty to mother, love to the children, &c., &c.,

"YOUR DUTIFUL SON."

"P.S. Our troops are in good spirits, and, relying on the justice of

their cause and favor of Heaven, assured of victory."

* * * * *

The next four months were, of course, spent amid the hardships of camps

and removals. The frequent letters sent to his father and other friends

are all of interest to those who claim descent from him, but the general

reader can be concerned in but a few of more public import, and, in most

cases, only in extracts from these.

"_Bethlehem, State of Penn.,

"Dec. 24, 1776_.

"HONORED SIR,

"I returned from General Washington's head-quarters last evening, and

had the pleasure of finding Polly well and as agreeably situated as I

could expect. Were I to attempt writing all I wish to communicate, a

week's time and a quire of paper would hardly suffice. I fancy I shall

be no gainer by lending my furniture to the General Court;--General

Washington would have paid me for the use of it before I left Cambridge,

but, for the credit of Massachusetts, I declined it."

_"Fishkill, State of N. York,

"Jan_. 20, 1777.

"HONORED SIR,

"After spending the winter hitherto in Pennsylvania and the Jerseys,

with frequent removals, some loss, much expense and fatigue, we are once

more on the east side of Hudson's River. We arrived at this place last

Friday, in good health, after a journey of more than one hundred miles,

in severe weather, through the upper part of New Jersey, a new-settled,

uncultivated country. The sight of a boarded house or glass window was a

great rarity; a cordial welcome to any connected with the American army

still greater. Although they are fully sensible of the value of money,

and we offered cash for all we wanted, yet I believe we were not a

little obliged to their fears for what civility we met with, except only

from one family. But I must defer a particular account until I have the

happiness to see you.

"I have nothing of news to write but what you must hear sooner

in another way. General Heath and the militia are besieging Fort

Independence; if they can carry that, they will attempt New York. It is

not improbable I shall join him in a few days."

* * * * *

The office of Deputy Director-General of Hospitals was established by

ordinance, April 7th, 1777; and four days later, Dr. Foster was chosen

by Congress to this office, having charge of the Eastern Department. His

subsequent residence was mainly at Danbury, Connecticut.

* * * * *

Of Tryon's expedition against Danbury we have the following account,

differing in some respects from the common version:--

"_Danbury, May_ 1, 1777.

"You have doubtless heard of the enemy's expedition to this place, and

been anxious for us. This is the first moment of leisure I have had,

and, if not interrupted, I will endeavor to give you a particular

account.

"On Saturday morning, about three o'clock, an express from Fairfield

brought advice, that a large body, three or four thousand British

troops, had landed from upwards of twenty transports, under cover of

some ships of war near that place, and that it was probable their design

was against the provision and other stores collected in this town;

another express soon after sunrise informed us of their being on the

march. The militia were mustered, and a few Continental troops that

were here on their way to Peekskill prepared to receive them; but their

number was so inconsiderable, and that of the enemy so large, with a

formidable train of artillery, I had no hope of the place being saved.

"I had, upon the first alarm, ordered all the stores in my charge to

be packed up, ready for removal at a minute's warning. Upon the second

express, I persuaded Polly, with what money was in my hands, to quit the

town: she was unwilling, but I insisted on it. We were so much put to it

for teams to remove the medicines and bedding, that I determined rather

to lose my own baggage than put it on any cart intended for that

purpose; and had not a gentleman's team, already loaded with his own

goods, taken it up, I must have lost it. As the enemy entered the room

at one end, after our troops had retreated to the heights, I went out at

the other, not without some apprehension (as I was to cross the route of

their flank-guard) of being intercepted by the light horse.

"After having seen the medicines, all of them that were worth moving,

safe at New Milford, I returned to town the next morning, and went with

our forces in pursuit of the enemy. About noon the action began in their

rear, and continued with some intermission until night; the running

fight was renewed next morning, and lasted until the enemy got under

cover of their ships. We have lost some brave officers and men. Their

loss is unknown, as they buried some of their dead, and carried off

others; but, from the dead bodies they were forced to leave on the

field, it must have greatly exceeded ours. General Wooster was wounded

early in the action; he is in the same house with me, and I fear will

not live till morning.

"Our loss in provisions, &c., is between two and three thousand barrels

of pork, a quantity of flour, some wheat, and some bedding."

* * * * *

In this bundle are many letters from Mrs. Foster. They are interesting

for their true-hearted patriotism and domestic love; but there is

room for only a brief extract from a letter referring to this same

expedition.

"_Danbury, May 13, 1777_.

"DEAR MADAM,

"I received yours and father's by Messrs. Russell and Gorham. Doctor had

not the pleasure of seeing either of the gentlemen, as he was gone to

Fishkill to oversee the inoculation of the troops, which was a very

great disappointment.

"I expected last Monday to have been with you by this time, as I was

driven from here by the enemy (tho' very unexpected, as this place was

thought to be very secure). I removed to New Milford, from whence I

intended to have set out for Boston. On Sunday, the Doctor took his

leave, and left me to take care of the wounded. Monday morning,

everything was got ready for me to set out at twelve o'clock, when I

received a note from the Doctor, desiring I would tarry a little longer.

I have now returned to my old lodgings at Danbury, where the Doctor

thinks of building a hospital. He joins me in duty and love.

"Your affectionate daughter,

"MARY FOSTER."

* * * * *

Much of Dr. Foster's time was necessarily spent in journeyings to the

several divisions of the army and various military stations. On such

journeys his letters to his wife were very frequent. We extract a part

of one.

"_Palmer, Thursday even'g,

"July 31, 1777_.

"DEAR POLLY,

"I arrived here, which is eighty-three miles from Boston, about sunset

this evening, in good health. The enemy's fleet has sailed from New

York, and was seen standing to eastward. Some suppose them bound for

Boston; but I cannot think so, as General Washington, who, I presume,

has the best intelligence, is moving towards Philadelphia. Before you

receive this, it will be made certain with you. Should they attack

Boston, I would have you get as many of our effects as possible removed

out of their way, and inform me by the post where you remove to. Should

such an event take place, it will become my duty, after visiting

Danbury, to return to the scene of action. To your own prudence and the

care of Heaven I leave all, and am, with love to the children, ever

yours."

* * * * *

In the lapse of years, many letters have, without doubt, been lost.

Thus, but two remain bearing date of 1778. Neither of these contains

matter of public import. In May, he speaks of intending a journey to

Yorktown, and says, "if anything extraordinary happens between the two

armies," he shall be on the spot. In a letter addressed to his father,

dated November 27, 1778, he says,--

* * * * *

"Public business calls me to Philadelphia; but the state of your health,

and my own, which is much impaired, determine me to visit Boston first.

I expect a visit from the Marquis La Fayette next week, on his way to

Boston, and shall set out with him."

* * * * *

May 11th, 1779, he writes,--

"To-morrow all the gentlemen of the department at this post [Danbury]

dine with me, and the next morning I begin my journey to Head-Quarters.

I mean to take Newark in my way.

"General Silliman was taken prisoner last week, and carried to Long

Island."

* * * * *

In the two following letters to his wife he speaks of this visit.

"_Philadelphia, June_ 5, 1779.

"My business is almost completed, and to my mind. I now wait for nothing

but the money which the Medical Committee recommended I should be

furnished with; I expect to receive it the beginning of next week, when

I shall set out immediately. Mr. Samuel Adams travels with me; indeed,

the time seems tedious until get away. Give my duty to our parents,

love to the children, &c., and believe me to be, with the sincerest

affection, my dearest Polly,

"Ever yours."

* * * * *

_Philadelphia, June_ 9, 1779.

"MY DEAR POLLY,

"Another post has arrived, and no letter from Boston. It is now a month,

and near five weeks, since I have heard from you. If I thought you had

neglected writing, it would make me very unhappy; but, from your usual

goodness, I cannot think that is the case, but am confident your letters

must have miscarried. I have wanted nothing but hearing from you to make

my time here perfectly agreeable. I have been received with the greatest

politeness and friendship, and every attention paid to me, by men I

most esteem, I could wish for; at the same time my business has gone

perfectly to my mind. I have leave to reside in Boston for the future,

and shall be under no necessity of attending the camp, nor be obliged

to visit Philadelphia oftener than once a year. I am to have a mode of

settling my accounts pointed out to me, that will be easy, simple, and

much to my mind. I now wait for nothing but money to begin my journey.

The Treasury Board this morning passed a resolve recommending it to

Congress to furnish me with $150,000. I expect to receive the warrant

to-morrow, and as soon as I get the money shall set out, which I expect

will be about next Monday, until which time I am engaged for almost

every day. I dine this day with Mr. Adams; tomorrow with Dr. Shippen, in

company with the New England delegation; Thursday and Friday I expect

to spend with Dr. Craigie in visiting Red Bank, Mud Island, and other

principal scenes of action while the enemy were here. We have an account

that the enemy are in motion up the North River; but of them you will

hear sooner than I can inform you. General Lincoln has actually defeated

the enemy in Carolina, and is like to take them all prisoners. The

express is on the road, and expected in town to-morrow, when there will

be great rejoicing."

* * * * *

The following letter describes one of Dr. Foster's frequent journeys on

business of his department.

"_Windsor, October_ 7, 1779.

"MY DEAR POLLY,

"As I am waiting for Mr. De Lamater to come up, I will endeavor to give

you an account of our journey. The evening we left Boston Dr. Warren

rode with us as far as Jamaica Plains; after he left us we proceeded

to Dedham, where we arrived about dark, and were exceedingly well

entertained: we had a brace of partridges for supper. Colonel Trumbull

spent the evening with us. The next morning we proceeded nine miles to

Heading's to breakfast, and from thence seven miles to Mann's, where

we fed our horses, and dined at Daggett's, nine miles further; that

afternoon we arrived at Providence, and put up at our old friend

Olney's. The next day we dined with Adams and Townshend at their

quarters; the General honored us with his company; the same evening

supped with the General. Sunday, dined with the General, in company with

some of the principal ladies of the place; here I also saw your old

acquaintance, General Stark; he drank tea at my quarters one afternoon,

and inquired after you. Having finished my business much to my mind, I

continued my journey on Monday morning; the General, Colonel Armstrong,

and Dr. Brown were so polite as to ride out four miles with us. After

they left us, we proceeded to Angell's, twelve miles from Providence,

where we dined,--not on the fat of the land. After dinner we rode to

Dorrence's, an Irishman, but beyond all comparison the best house on the

road; here we were exceedingly well entertained, and, as it looked like

a storm, intended staying there, but, it growing lighter towards noon,

we set out, but had not rode far before the rain came on; however, as

we had begun, we determined to go through with it, and rode a very

uncomfortable ten miles to Canterbury, where we dined, poorly enough, at

one Backus's. Not liking our quarters, we proceeded, notwithstanding the

rain, to Windham, eight miles further, where we were well entertained at

one Cary's. As the storm looked likely to continue, and I was so near

Windsor, I was determined, if I must lie by for it, to lie by in a place

where I could do some business. I accordingly proceeded fifteen miles in

the forenoon to Andover, where I dined at one White's, and fifteen miles

in the afternoon to Bissell's at East Windsor, where I lodged. I was

thoroughly soaked, but do not find that I have got any cold. Indeed, I

find my health considerably better than when I left Boston. This morning

it has cleared off very pleasant, and I crossed from East Windsor to

this place. I have just returned from visiting Mr. Hooker's and Dr.

Johonnot's stores. I find everything in such excellent order as to do

credit to the department. Mr. De Lamater is not yet come up; as soon as

he arrives we shall visit Springfield. I shall not close this letter

until I meet the post; if anything worth notice occurs, I shall mention

it. Adieu, my love.

"_October_ 8.--Mr. De Lamater arrived last night. Altho' it is very

raw and uncomfortable, I shall proceed immediately after dinner to

Springfield. We have certain advice that the Count D'Estaing has been

at Georgia, and taken all the British ships there; it is reported, and

believed by many, that he is arrived off Long Island. You see, my dear

Polly, I have set you the example of a very long letter. I hope, as you

have leisure enough, you will follow it, as nothing can give me greater

pleasure."

* * * * *

"_Fishkill, October_ 21, 1779.

"MY DEAR POLLY,

"I returned from Head-Quarters this forenoon. We went down yesterday

morning, and dined with General Heath, who was so good as to lend us

his barge to carry us to Head-Quarters. His Excellency received us as I

could wish. He invited us to dine with him this day. Upon my excusing

myself, as being in haste to finish my journey, he accepted the excuse,

and invited us to breakfast with him, which we did. We returned last

night to Robinson's house, and slept with our friend Eustis. General

Heath favored us again with his barge to carry us to Head-Quarters,

and after breakfast his Excellency ordered his own to convey us to

our horses, which we had ordered four or five miles up the river. One

principal reason of my declining the General's invitation to dinner was

my impatience to return to Fishkill, that I might receive a letter from

you. Judge, then, what was my disappointment to find the post arrived

and no letter. I shall cross the North River to-morrow morning to

proceed on my journey to Philadelphia. If the nature of the service will

allow it, General Heath and his suit propose returning with me to spend

the winter in Boston. Eustis desires you would look out some suitable

object of his attentions, while in Boston. He pretends it is only with a

view to keep him alert and properly attentive to the ladies in general;

but I suspect he designs to become the domestic man."

* * * * *

"_Morristown, Oct. 26th, 1779_.

"MY DEAR POLLY,

"I wrote you from Fishkill the day before I left it, and shall put this

into the office here for the post to take as he comes along. On Friday,

towards evening, we left Fishkill. It was dark and squally when we got

to the landing, and we had nine horses in the boat, which made us a

little uneasy, as a few days before a boat had been overset and some

people drowned; however, we got safe over, and lay that night at Colonel

Hawsbrook's, where you spent two or three days on your return from

Bethlehem. The next morning we breakfasted with Dr. Craik at Murderer's

Creek, and then proceeded through the Clove, a most disagreeable place,

and horrid road. In the evening we got to Ringwood. Upon our arrival

there, we were informed there was no public house in the place, and it

was after dark. Colonel Biddle had favored me with an order on all his

magazines to supply me with forage; he has one in this place. I waited

on his deputy and presented the order; he went out of the room, and in a

few minutes returned with a Mr. Erskine, who is surveyor-general of the

roads; he gave me a polite invitation to spend the night at his house,

where we were entertained in the most genteel, hospitable, and friendly

manner. A shower of rain yesterday morning prevented our proceeding,

but, as it cleared up about noon, we came on thirty-four miles to this

place. I expect to reach Philadelphia the day after tomorrow. I have

been from home almost a month, and have received but one letter, but

hope to find several waiting for me at Philadelphia, as I cannot think

you would miss a post. The enemy last Thursday left their posts at Stony

Point and Verplanck's Point, and retired to New York."

* * * * *

"_Bristol, October 27, 1779_.

"MY DEAR POLLY,

"I wrote you from Morristown, which it is probable you will receive by

this post. Lest that should miscarry, this will inform you that I am at

length arrived within twenty miles of Philadelphia, where I expect

to dine this day. A few days will determine how long I am like to be

detained there;--I think it upon every account best to finish all my

business. The gentlemen have bound themselves to each other by an

engagement upon honor, if nothing is done for our department by New

Year's day, all to resign, and have informed Congress of it: I have

joined in the engagement. If I find I am like to be detained here any

time, it is not improbable I may put my accounts in the hands of the

Commissioners, and, if I can get fresh horses, proceed with Mr. Lee on a

visit to Mrs. Washington at Mount Pleasant in Virginia. Mr. Lee desires

his compliments. Adieu, my love. I am, with the sincerest affection,

"Ever yours."

* * * * *

"_Danbury, December 8, 1779_.

"MY DEAR POLLY,

"I am once more returned to dear Danbury, on my way to Boston. I arrived

here about an hour since, and never had a more fatiguing, disagreeable

journey in my life than from Philadelphia here. I expected to have been

in Boston by this time; but two severe storms, and one day waiting for

his Excellency at Morristown, have made me twelve days performing a

journey which according to my usual way of travelling I should have

performed in four. I have, however, no reason to repent my undertaking

this journey.

"If sickness or very bad weather does not prevent, I shall certainly be

home by Christmas, and wish to have all our friends together;--I promise

myself a great deal of happiness, and hope I shall not be disappointed.

Adieu, my love."

* * * * *

September 30th, 1780, the Hospital Department was newly organized, and

the office of Deputy Director-General was abolished, and of course the

incumbents of that office were no longer in the hospital service.

Dr. Foster's health was irreparably injured by the fatigues and

exposures he had undergone, and he lingered but a few months longer,

dying on the 27th of February, 1781, in his forty-second year.

One sentence in his will deserves record, as in harmony with the

disinterestedness of his life. After desiring that all debts due him

should be collected as soon as possible after his decease, he adds this

clause: "But I would not have any industrious and really poor persons

distressed for this purpose."

The writer of these letters needs no additional eulogy. He sacrificed

all the prospects of his life to give his services in our struggle for

freedom. He, too, was but one of that innumerable multitude who, in

more exalted or in humbler stations, freely gave their exertions, their

wealth, their comfort, and their lives for freedom and right. It is

possible so to linger by the grave of the past as to forget the living

present; but the grateful memory of those who have in their times

contended for truth with self-denial should be ever animating to those

now laboring in the holy warfare, to which, in every age, whether the

outward signs be of peace or strife, God calls the noble of mankind.

"Therefore bring violets! Yet, if we,

self-balked,

Stand still a-strewing violets all the while,

These had as well not moved, ourselves not

talked

Of these."

* * * * *

IN THE PINES.

If I were a crow, or, at least, had the faculty of flying with that

swift directness which is proverbially attributed to the corvine tribe,

and were to wing a southwesterly course from the truck of the flag-staff

which rises from the Battery at New York, I should find myself, within a

very short time, about fifty miles from the turbulent city, and hovering

over a region of country as little like the civilized emporium just

quitted as it is well possible to conceive. Not being a crow, however,

nor fitted up with an apparatus for flying,--destitute even of a

balloon,--I am compelled to adopt the means of locomotion which the

bounty of God or the ingenuity of man affords me, and to spend a

somewhat longer time in transit to my destination.

Over the New Jersey Railroad, then, I rattled, one fine, sunshiny autumn

morning, in the year that has recently taken leave of us, as far as

Bordentown, a distance of some fifty-seven miles, on my way to a

locality the very existence of which is scarcely dreamed of by thousands

in the metropolis, who can tell you how many square miles of malaria

there are in the Roman Campagna, and who have got the topography of

Caffre Land at their fingers' ends. It is a region aboriginal in

savagery, grand in the aspects of untrammelled Nature; where forests

extend in uninterrupted lines over scores of miles; where we may wander

a good day's journey without meeting half-a-dozen human faces; where

stately deer will bound across our path, and bears dispute our passage

through the cedar-brakes; where, in a word, we may enjoy the undiluted

essence, the perfect wildness, of woodland life. Deep and far "under the

shade of melancholy boughs" we shall be taken, if together we visit the

ancient Pines of New Jersey.

In order to do so, we must make at Bordentown the acquaintance of Mr.

Cox, and take our seats in his stage for a jolt, twelve miles long, to

the village of New Egypt, on the frontier of the Pines. Although the

forest is accessible from many points, and may be entered by a number of

distinct approaches, I, the writer hereof, selected that _viâ_ New Egypt

as the most convenient to a comer from New York, and as, perhaps, the

least fatiguing to accomplish.

But, oh! the horrors of those New Jersey roads! Mud? 'Tis as if all the

rains of heaven had been concentrated upon all the marls and clays of

earth, and all the sticky stratum plastered down in a wiggling line

of unascertainable length and breadth! Holes? As if a legion of

sharpshooters had been detailed for the defence of Sandy Hook, and had

excavated for themselves innumerable rifle-pits or caverns for the

discomfiture of unhappy passengers! Up hill and down dale,--with

merciless ruts and savage ridges,--now, a slough, to all appearance

destitute of bottom, and, next, a treacherous stretch of sand, into

which the wheels sink deeper and deeper at every revolution, as if the

vehicle were France, and the road disorder,--such is a faint adumbration

of the state of affairs in the benighted interior of our petulant little

whiskey-drinking sister State!

But all earthly things come to an end, and so, accordingly, did our

three-hours' drive. The stage pompously rolled into the huddled street

of its terminus, and deposited me, in the neighborhood of noon, on the

stoop of the only tavern supported in the deadly-lively place. No long

sojourn, however, was in store for me. Presently--ere I had grown tired

of watching the couple of clodhoppers, well-bespattered as to boots and

undergarments with Jersey mud, who, leaning against a fence in true

agricultural laziness, deliberately eyed, or rather, gloated over the

inoffensive traveller, as though he were that "daily stranger,"

for whom, as is well known, every Jerseyman offers up matutinal

supplications--a buggy appeared in the distance, and I was shortly asked

for. It was the vehicle in which I was to seek my destination in the

Pines; and my back was speedily turned upon the queer little

village with the curiously chosen name. My driver, an intelligent,

sharp-featured old man, soon informs me that he was born and has lived

for fifty years in the forest. A curious, old-world mortal,--our

father's "serving-man," to the very life! The Pines are to him what

Banks and City Halls and Cooper Institutes and Astor Houses are to a

poor _cittadini_; every tree is individualized; and I doubt not he could

find his way by night from one end to the other of the forest.

We had driven no great distance, when my companion lifted his whip, and,

pointing to a long, dark, indistinct line which crossed the road in the

distance, blocking the prospect ahead and on either side, as far as the

eye could reach, exclaimed: "Them's the Pines!" As we approached the

forest, a change, theatrical in its suddenness, took place in the

scenery through which our course was taken. The rich and smiling

pasture-lands, interspersed with fields of luxuriant corn, were left

behind, the red clay of the road was exchanged for a gritty sand, and

the road itself dwindled to a mere pathway through a clearing. The

locality looked like a plagiarism from the Ohio backwoods. On both sides

of our path spread the graceful undergrowth, waving in an ocean of

green, and hiding the stumps with which the plain was covered, while far

away, to right and left, the prospect was bounded by forest walls, and

gloomy bulwarks and parapets of pines arose in front, as if designed, in

their perfect denseness, to exclude the world from some bosky Garden

of Paradise beyond. Not so, however; for our pathway squeezes itself

between two melancholy sentinel-pines, tracing its white scroll into the

forest farther than the eye can follow, and in a few moments we leave

the clearing behind, and pass into the shadow of the endless avenue,

and bow beneath the trailing branches of the silent, stern, immovable

warders at the gate. We were fairly in the Pines; and a drive of

somewhat more than three miles lay before us still.

The immense forest region I had thus entered covers an extensive portion

of Burlington County, and nearly the whole of Ocean, beside parts

of Monmouth, Camden, Atlantic, Gloucester, and other counties. The

prevailing soils of this great area--some sixty miles in length by ten

in breadth, and reaching from the river Delaware to the very shore of

the Atlantic--are marls and sands of different qualities, of which the

most common is a fine, white, angular sand, of the kind so much in

request for building-purposes and the manufacture of glass. In such an

arid soil the _coniferae_ alone could flourish, and accordingly we find

that the wide-spreading region is overgrown almost entirely with white

and yellow pine, hemlock, and cedar. Hence its distinctive appellation.

It was a most lovely afternoon, warm and serene as only an American

autumn afternoon knows how to be; and while we hurried past the mute,

monotonous, yet ever-shifting array of pines and cedars, the very rays

of the sun seemed to be perfumed with the aroma of the fragrant twigs,

about which humming-birds now and then whirred and fluttered as we

startled them, scarcely more brilliant in color than the gorgeous maples

which grew in one or two dry and open spots. For three-quarters of an

hour our drive continued, until at length a slight undulation broke the

level of the sand, and a fence, inclosing a patch of Indian corn, from

which the forest had been driven back, betokened for the first time the

proximity of some habitation. In fact, having reached the summit of the

slope, I found myself in the centre of an irregular range of dwellings,

scattered here and there in picturesque disregard of order, and

next moment my hand was grasped by my friend B. I had reached my

destination,--Hanover Iron-Works,--and was soon walking up, past the

white gateway, to the Big House.

Somewhat less than eighty years ago, Mr. Benjamin Jones, a merchant of

Philadelphia, invested a portion of his fortune in the purchase of one

hundred thousand acres of land in the then unbroken forest of the Pines.

The site of the present hamlet of Hanover struck him as admirably

adapted for the establishment of a smelting-furnace, and he accordingly

projected a settlement on this spot. The Rancocus River forms here a

broad embayment, the damming of which was easily accomplished, and one

of the best of water-privileges was thus obtained. On the north of this

bay or pond, moreover, there rises a sloping bluff, which was covered,

at the period of its purchase, with ancient trees, but upon which a

large and commodious mansion was soon erected. Here Mr. Jones planted

himself, and quickly drew around him a settlement which rose in number

to some four hundred souls; and here he commenced the manufacture of

iron. At frequent intervals in the Pines were found surface-deposits

of ore, the precipitate from waters holding iron in solution, which

frequently covered an area of many acres, and reached a depth of

from two or three inches to as many feet. The ore thus existing in

surface-deposits was smelted in the iron-works, and the metal thence

obtained was at once molten and moulded in the adjoining foundry. Here,

in the midst of these spreading forests, many a ponderous casting,

many a fiery rush of tons of molten metal, has been seen. Here,

five-and-forty years ago, the celebrated Decatur superintended, during

many weeks, the casting of twenty-four pounders, to be used in the

famous contest with the Algerine pirates whom he humbled; and the echoes

of the forest were awakened with strange thunders then. As the great

guns were raised from the pits in which they had been cast, and were

declared ready for proof, Decatur ordered each one to be loaded with

repeated charges of powder and ball, and pointed into the woods. Then,

for miles between the grazed and quivering boles, crashed the missiles

of destruction, startling bear and deer and squirrel and raccoon, and

leaving traces of their passage which are even still occasionally

discovered. The cannon-balls themselves are now and then found imbedded

in the sand of the forest. In this manner the guns were tried which were

to thunder the challenge of America against the dens of Mediterranean

pirates.

Hanover, too, in its day of pride, furnished many a city with its iron

tubes for water and for gas, many a factory and workshop with its

castings, many a farmer with his tools, but the glow of the furnace is

quenched forever now. The slowly gathering ferruginous deposits have

been exhausted, and three years have elapsed since the furnace-fires

were lighted. The blackened shell of the building stands in cold

decrepitude, a melancholy vestige of usefulness outlived. In consequence

of the stoppage of the works, Hanover has lost seven-eighths of its

population, and only about fifty inhabitants remain in the white

cottages grouped about the Big House, who are employed in agricultural

labors and occupations connected with the forest. Yet in this solitary

nook the elegances and the tastes of the most cultivated society are to

be found. The Big House, surrounded by its well-trimmed gardens sloping

down to the broad Rancocus, with its comfortable apartments, and the

diversified prospect which it commands, offers a resting-place which,

although deep in the genuine forest, combines urban refinement with the

quiet and seclusion of country-life.

Bright and early on the morning after my arrival, Friend B. was at my

door; and after a savory, if hasty breakfast, we sounded _boute-selle_.

Outside the gate a couple of forest-ponies were waiting,--stout, lively,

five-year-olds, equal, if not to a two-forty heat, yet to twenty miles

of steady trot without distress,--brown and sleek as you please, with

the knowingest eyes, and intelligence expressed in the impatient stamp

of the fore-foot, and good-humor in the twitching of the ear. Into the

saddle and off, with the cheery breeze to bathe us in exhilaration,

as it went humming around us laden with aromatic odors and mysterious

whisperings of the pine-trees to the sea,--through the dew-diamonded

grass of the little lawn at the top of the hill,--past the great elm

with its glistening foliage, and its carolling crew of just-awakened

birds,--then a canter down the sandy slope to the edge of the forest,

and again the pines are around us.

Before us lay a four-mile ride over a devious track among trees which my

companion knows by heart. Paths diverge into the forest on either side,

running north and south, east and west, straight and crooked, narrow

and broad; but B. follows unerringly the right, though undistinguished

trail. This knowledge of woodcraft,--how it appalls and wonder-strikes

the unlearned metropolitan, accustomed as he is to numbered houses and

name-boarded streets! No omnibus-driver threading the confusion of a

great thoroughfare could shape his course with greater assurance and

lack of hesitation than does B. through these endless avenues of

heavy-foliaged pines, broken only now and then by some tangled,

impenetrable brake of cedars, or by a charred and blackened clearing,

where the coaler has been at work. I gradually grew to believe that he

could call every tree by its name, as generals have been said to know

every soldier in their armies.

At length we reached a clearing of one or two acres in extent, the site

of Cranberry Lodge, and the terminus of our ride. In the centre of the

lone expanse two unusually tall pines were left standing, at the base of

which a curious structure nestled, which had been for several weeks the

occasional hermitage of my companion. It was built entirely with his own

hands, of cedar rails and white-pine planks, which he had cut and sawed

from trees that his own hands had felled. A queer little cabin, some

nine feet in length by five or six in breadth, standing all alone in the

forest, with not a neighbor within a distance of at least four miles!

Dismounting, we fastened our horses to a couple of saplings, and I was

introduced to the interior of Cranberry Lodge, which was tenanted only

by the "hired man," who, in the absence of Mr. B., reigned supreme in

the clearing. The dwelling I found no less primitive in internal than

in its external appearance. Three persons, moderately doubled up and

squeezed, could find room in the interior, which was furnished with a

bench for the safe-keeping of sundry pots, pans, and other culinary

necessaries, and with a shelf on which some blankets were laid,

constituting my companion's bedstead and bed, when he slept in Cranberry

Lodge. Beneath the "bunk" a small hole scooped in the sand stood in

lieu of a cellar, and contained a stock of provisions of Mr. B.'s own

cooking.

Such a backwoodish dwelling as Cranberry Lodge, existing in the year

1858, within seventy miles of New York, requires some explanation.

Its foundation is--pies! Cape Cod, the great emporium of the

cranberry-trade, has been running short for the last few years; in other

words, its supply is unequal to the demand. The heavy Britishers

have awakened to the fact, since 1851, that, of all condiments and

delicacies, cranberry-sauce and cranberry-pie are best in their way;

and John Bull takes many a barrel clean out of our market now. It so

happened that in the Pines of New Jersey cranberries superior to those

of Cape Cod have grown unheeded for centuries,--grew red and purple

and white and pink when Columbus was unthought of, as well as when

Washington passed through the Pines,--and for sixty or seventy years

have furnished a certain class of gypsies--of whom more anon--with

merchandise which sold well in the neighboring villages and cities.

No one thought of cultivating cranberries; no one, but the gypsies

aforesaid, of gathering them for sale. But it came to pass that a

certain farmer of Hanover was, like many another, unsuccessful during

several years. As a last resource, he purchased of the owner of the Big

House a cranberry-bog,--that is to say, one of the many marshy spots

which are interspersed in the forest,--for which he paid five dollars

the acre. There were a little more than one hundred acres in the bog. At

a cost of some six hundred dollars Mr. F. fenced in his bog, and spent

three months in watching the cranberries as they ripened, to protect

them from depredation. To his intense astonishment, he found, in

October, that the yield was between two and three hundred bushels to the

acre, and that his land and fencing were paid for, with a balance left

over for next year. In consequence of this success, a little mania

for cranberry-farming seized upon the denizens of the Pines, and bogs

acquired a value they had never borne before. This was in 1857. Early in

1858, one of these plots of land, with an adjoining piece of forest, was

rented by Mr. B., who, like a right-down Yankee, determined to cultivate

it himself. So, with the aid of one hired man, a clearing was made in

his forest-patch, a hut built, four miles from the nearest habitation,

and the trees cut down were converted into rails, wherewith to fence in

the cranberry-land. At the time of my visit, the crop was just beginning

to think of getting ripe, and the great lazy vines, each one creeping

for several feet along the ground, were severally loaded with dozens of

delicately-tinted berries, plump and fair as British beauties, which

silently drew to themselves and absorbed the rays of the sun, turning

them to color and succulent subacidulousness. A most glorious sight that

same hundred-acre bog must have been a couple of weeks later, when the

berries had ripened, and a carpet of rosy redness blushed upwards to

the waning sun! Yet 1858 (the even year) was a bad season for

cranberries,--the yield was _only_ sufficient to pay for the land and

fencing, with a modicum over to begin 1859 with!

So cranberries grew to be institutions in the Pines, and all the bogs

for miles around the site of the first experiment were hired by sanguine

farmers. But the cranberry-cultivator has one enemy, which is neither

bird, nor worm, nor blight, but biped,--a Rat, two-legged, erect, or

moderately so, talking, even, in audible and intelligible speech,--the

Pine Rat, namely. Few but New Jerseymen, and of them chiefly those who

dwell about the forest, have heard of this human species; it has not

yet had its Agassiz nor its Wyman,--yet there it flourishes and repeats

itself!

My friend, Mr. B., considerately undertook to initiate me into some

of the mysteries of this race, which has proved minatory, though not

destructive, to his blushing crop,--and accordingly led me through brake

and brier, past wild and gloomy cedar-swamps, over brooks insecurely

bridged with fallen logs, or, perchance, with stepping-blocks of

pine-stumps, far into the silent forest, and to a little dell or

dingle,--a natural clearing,--where a couple of tents were pitched, and

the smoke of a struggling fire told infallibly of human neighborhood.

The barking of a splenetic little terrier brought from one of the tents

a man of some fifty years, lank and gaunt of visage, with matted hair,

and wild, uncivilized eyes, dressed in a ragged jacket and what had once

been a pair of trousers. His face wore no expression of intelligence;

but a look of intense, though animal cunning lurked in his eyes. While I

was gazing on this individual, who stood in silence by his tent, there

emerged from the other an ancient female, who might have been eighty

years of age, but who hobbled towards us with much briskness.

"Good evening, Hannah Butler," said Mr. B.; "I've brought you some

tomatoes from the Big House. This is my friend, Mr. Smith of York."

Mr. Smith of York (grimly repressing a smile, as his mischievous memory

whispered something about Brooks of Sheffield) bowed gravely to Mrs.

Butler. Mr. B. whispers,--"That's the Queen of the Pine Rats!" Hannah

meanwhile mumbles over one of the fleshy tomatoes.

The man whom we had first seen held in his hand a tattered shawl, with

which he now began patching a portion of his tent, saying at the same

time that there was a storm a-brewing.

"Ay, is there!" said Mrs. Butler; "and a storm like the one when I seed

Leeds's devil"--

"Hush!" interrupted her ragged companion, with a look of terror. "What's

the good o' namin' him, and allus talkin' about him, when yer don't

never know as he ar'n't byside ye?"

"I'll devil yer!" shrieked the crone, through a half-eaten tomato.

"Finish mendin' up yer cover, yer mean cranberry-thief!"

The spiteful terrier, which had meanwhile evinced an unpleasant interest

in the thickness of my pantaloons, added his yelping to the clamor, and

Mr. B., pointing to the clouds, thought we had better hasten homewards.

So we bade farewell to Hannah and her nephew, as I learned that the

unfortunate vessel of her wrath in reality was, and dived into the

gloomy recesses of the Pines again.

Long ere we got back to Cranberry Lodge, all doubts of an impending

tempest had disappeared. The eastern sky, cloudless an hour before,

was now overhung with a livid bank of ash-gray clouds, which were

incessantly riven by broad and terrible flashes of silent lightning. A

slight westerly breeze was blowing, and evidently impeded the progress

of the storm, which was beating up from seaward against the wind.

Plunging through prickly thickets and dashing through the turbid brooks,

we hastened toward the clearing, committed Cranberry Lodge to the

custody of the "hired man," and untied our horses from the saplings to

which they were made fast. In another moment we were on the back trail.

Scarcely, however, was the clearing shut out of view when a little

hesitating puff of wind from the east blew chill upon us; the breeze had

veered, and the tempest was at hand. In the twinkling of an eye, the

western horizon was overhung with the same ghastly storm-bank that

threatened in the east, while a monitory gust rustled through the

sighing pines, wildly twisting and tossing the undergrowth,--overspread

with a quivering pallor as it bent before the breeze,--and bade us be

prepared. Next moment, a clap of thunder, rattling like the artillery of

ten thousand sieges, or like millions of bars of iron dashed furiously

together, broke upon the forest. It was the most awful sound, terrible

even in its expected suddenness, that I ever heard. Simultaneously a

flash of purple lightning fell from the zenith to the horizon, splitting

the clouds asunder, and with it there descended rain in a cataract

rather than in torrents, so that in the twinkling of an eye the thirsty

sand was saturated, and bubbling pools of water pattered in the deluged

path. Crash after crash, each clap more terrific than the one preceding,

came the awful thunder; blinding flashes of lightning darted around

us;--but still our phlegmatic ponies galloped on, and only once started

violently, when a peal which really seemed as if its shock must burst

the heavens asunder dazed us momentarily with its almost unendurable

sound. The gloomy canopy above us, meanwhile, was overrun by incessant

streams of purple lightning, and the deluge of rain still fell. At

length we reached the Big House, (somewhat ostentatiously reducing the

speed of our horses to a walk as we came within sight of its embowered

windows,) and were soon dripping in the kitchen. A change of apparel,

calling into requisition Mexican _ponchos_ and other picturesque

garments, with a smoke beside a roaring fire, completely obviated

all dangerous consequences; nor was it without feelings of great

satisfaction that B. and myself watched tranquilly from our comfortable

ensconcement the beatings of the storm on the encircling forest.

The Big House, I found, was full of legends of the Pine Rats. This

extraordinary race of beings are lineal descendants of the New Jersey

Tories, who, during the Revolution, made the Pines their refuge, whence

they sallied in perpetual forays against the farms and dwellings of the

partisans of the opposite cause. Several hundreds of these fanatical

desperadoes made the forest their home, and laid waste the surrounding

townships by their sudden raids. Most barbarous cruelties were practised

on both sides, in the contests which continually took place between

Whigs and Tories, and the unnatural seven-years' war possessed nowhere

darker features than in the neighborhood of the New Jersey Pines.

Remains of these forest-freebooters are still discovered from time to

time, in the process of clearing the woods, and unmistakable relics are

occasionally met with in the denser portions of the forest, which must

have been comparatively open eighty years ago.

The degraded descendants of these Tories constitute the principal

difficulty with which a proprietor in this region has to contend.

Completely besotted and brutish in their ignorance, they are incapable

of obtaining an honest living, and have supported themselves, from a

time which may be called immemorial, by practising petty larceny on

an organized plan. The Pine Rat steals wood, steals game, steals

cranberries, steals anything, in fact, that his hand can be laid upon;

and woe to the property of the man who dares attempt to restrain him! A

few weeks may, perhaps, elapse, after the tattered savage has received a

warning or a reprimand, and then a column of smoke will be seen stealing

up from some quarter in the forest;--he has set the woods on fire!

Conflagrations of this kind will sometimes sweep away many hundreds of

acres of the most valuable timber; while accidental fires are also of

frequent occurrence. When indications of a fire are noticed, every

available hand--men, women, and children alike--is hurried to the spot

for the purpose of "fighting" it. Getting to leeward of the flames, the

"fighters" kindle a counter-conflagration, which is drawn or sucked

against the wind to the part already burning, and in this manner a

vacant space is secured, which proves a barrier to the flames. Dexterity

in fighting fires is a prime requisite in a forest overseer or workman.

"And now, something about Leeds's devil!" I said to my friend, after

satisfactory definition of the Pine Rat; "what fiend may he be, if you

please?"

"I will answer,--I will tell you," replies Mr. B. "There lived, in the

year 1735, in the township of Burlington, a woman. Her name was Leeds,

and she was shrewdly suspected of a little amateur witchcraft. Be that

as it may, it is well established, that, one stormy, gusty night, when

the wind was howling in turret and tree, Mother Leeds gave birth to a

son, whose father could have been no other than the Prince of Darkness.

No sooner did he see the light than he assumed the form of a fiend, with

a horse's head, wings of bat, and a serpent's tail. The first thought of

the newborn Caliban was to fall foul of his mother, whom he scratched

and bepommelled soundly, and then flew through the window out into the

village, where he played the mischief generally. Little children he

devoured, maidens he abused, young men he mauled and battered; and it

was many days before a holy man succeeded in repeating the enchantment

of Prospero. At length, however, Leeds's devil was laid,--but only for

one hundred years.

"During an entire century, the memory of that awful monster was

preserved, and, as 1835 drew nigh, the denizens of Burlington and the

Pines looked tremblingly for his rising. Strange to say, however, no one

but Hannah Butler has had a personal interview with the fiend; though,

since 1835, he has frequently been heard howling and screaming in the

forest at night, to the terror of the Rats in their lonely encampments.

Hannah Butler saw the devil, one stormy night, long ago; though some

skeptical individuals affirm, that very possibly she may have been led,

under the influence of liquid Jersey lightning, to invest a pine-stump,

or, possibly, a belated bear, with diabolical attributes and a Satanic

voice. However that may be, you cannot induce a Rat to leave his hut

after dark,--nor, indeed, will you find many Jerseymen, though of a

higher order of intelligence, who will brave the supernatural terrors of

the gloomy forest at night, unless secure in the strength of numbers."

The Pine Rat, in his vocation as a picker-up of every unconsidered

trifle, is an adept at charcoal-burning, on the sly. The business of

legitimate charcoal-manufacture is also largely practised in the Pines,

although the growing value of wood interferes sadly with the coalers.

Here and there, however, a few acres are marked out every year for

charring, and the coal-pits are established in the clearing made by

felling the trees. The "coaling," as it is technically termed, is an

assemblage of "pits," or piles of wood, conical in form, and about ten

feet in height by twenty in diameter. The wood is cut in equal lengths,

and is piled three or four tiers high, each log resting on the end of

that below it, and inclining slightly inwards. An opening is left in the

centre of the pile, serving as a chimney; and the exterior is overlaid

with strips of turf, called "floats," which form an almost air-tight

covering. When the pile is overlaid, fire is set at various small

apertures in the sides, and when the whole "pit" is fairly burning, the

chimney is closed, in order to prevent too rapid combustion, and the

whole pile is slowly converted into charcoal. The application of the

term "pit" to these piles is worthy of remark. It is due, of course,

to the fact, that for centuries it was customary to burn charcoal in

excavated pits, until it was discovered that gradual combustion could be

as well secured by another and less tedious method.

The Pine Rat glories in his surreptitious coal-pits. In secluded

portions of the forest, he may continually be discovered pottering over

a "coaling," for which he has stolen the wood. This, indeed, is his only

handicraft,--the single labor to which he condescends or is equal. Two

or three men sometimes band together and build themselves huts after

the curious fashion peculiar to the Rat, namely, by piling sticks or

branches in a slope on each side of some tall pine, so that a wigwam,

with the trunk of the tree in the centre, is constructed. Inside this

triangular shelter--the idea of which was probably borrowed from the

Indians--the Pine Rat ensconces himself with his whiskey-bottle at

night, crouching in dread of the darkness, or of Leeds's devil,

aforesaid. In this respect he singularly resembles the Bohemian

charcoal-burner, who trembles at the thought of Rübezahl, that malicious

goblin, who has an army of mountain-dwarfs and gnomes at his command. So

long as the sunlight inspires our Rat with confidence, however, he will

work at his coal-pit, while one comrade is away in the forest, snaring

game, and another has, perhaps, been dispatched to the precincts of

civilization with his wagon-load of coal. Yes! the Pine Rat sometimes

treads the streets of cities,--nay, even extends his wanderings to the

banks of the Delaware and the Hudson, to Philadelphia and Trenton,

to Jersey City and New York. Then, who so sharp as the grimy

tatterdemalion, who passes from street to street and from house to

house, with his swart and rickety wagon, and his jangling bell, the

discordant clangor of which, when we hear it, calls up horrible

recollections of the bells that froze our hearts in plague-stricken

cities of other lands, when doomed galley-slaves and _forçats_ wheeled

awful vehicles of putrefaction through the streets, clashing and

clinking their clamorous bells for more and still more corpses, and

foully jesting over the Death which they knew was already upon them! But

the long-drawn, monotonous, nasal cry of the charcoal-vender--who has

not heard it?--"Cha-r-coa'! Cha-r-coa'!"--is more cheerful than the

demoniac laughter of the desperate galley-slaves, and his bell sounds

musically when we hear it and think of theirs. Sometimes a couple of

these peregrinants may be seen to encounter each other in the streets,

and straightway there is an adjournment to the nearest bar-room, where

the most scientific method of "springing the arch" is discussed over a

glass of whiskey, at three cents the quart. Springing the arch, though

few may be able to interpret the phrase, is a trick by which every

housewife has suffered. It is the secret of piling the coal into the

measure in such a manner as to make the smaller quantity pass for the

larger, or, in other words, to make three pecks go for a bushel. So the

Pine Rat vindicates his claim to a common humanity with all the rest

of us men and women; for have not we all our secret and most approved

method of springing the arch,--of palming off our three short pecks for

a full and bounteous imperial bushel? Ah, yes! brothers and sisters,

whisper it, if you will, below your breath, but we all can do the Pine

Rat's trick!

We shall not suffer his company much longer in this world,--poor,

neglected, pitiable, darkened soul that he is, this fellow-citizen

of ours. He must move on; for civilization, like a stern, prosaic

policeman, will have no idlers in the path. There must be no vagrants,

not even in the forest, the once free and merry greenwood, our

policeman-civilization says; nay, the forest, even, must keep a-moving!

We must have farms here, and happy homesteads, and orchards heavy with

promise of cider, and wheat golden as hope, instead of silent aisles and

avenues of mournful pine-trees, sheltering such forlorn miscreations as

our poor cranberry-stealing friends! Railways are piercing the Pines;

surveyors are marking them out in imaginary squares; market-gardeners

are engaging land; and farmers are clearing it. The Rat is driven from

point to point, from one means of subsistence to another; and shortly,

he will have to make the bitter choice between regulated labor and

starvation clean off from the face of the earth. There is no room for

a gypsy in all our wide America! The Rat must follow the Indian,--must

fade like breath from a window-pane in winter!

In fact, the forest, left so long in its aboriginal savagery, is about

to be regenerated. A railroad is to be constructed, this year, which

will place Hanover and the centre of the forest within one hour's travel

of Philadelphia; and it is scarcely too much to anticipate, that, within

five years, thousands of acres, now dense with pines and cedars of a

hundred rings, will be laid out in blooming market-gardens and in fields

of generous corn. Such little cultivation as has hitherto been attempted

has been attended by the most astonishing results; and persons have

actually returned from the West and South, in order to occupy farms in the

neighborhood of Hanover.

In one respect _c'est dommage_; one is grieved to part with the game

that is now so plentiful in the Pines. Owing to the beneficent provision

of the laws of New Jersey, which stringently forbid every description of

hunting in the State during alternate periods of five years, game of

all kinds has an opportunity to multiply; and at the termination of the

season of rest, in October, 1858, there was some noble hunting in the

neighborhood of Hanover. Five years hence, bears and deer will be a

tradition, panthers and raccoons a myth, partridges and quails a vain

and melancholy recollection, in what shall then be known as what was

once the Pines.

* * * * *

THE LAST BIRD.

Little Bird that singest

Far atop, this warm December day,

Heaven bestead thee, that thou wingest,

Ere the welcome song is done, thy way

To more certain weather,

Where, built high and solemnly, the skies,

Shaken by no storm together,

Fixed in vaults of steadfast sapphire rise!

There, the smile that mocks us

Answers with its warm serenity;

There, the prison-ice that locks us

Melts forgotten in a purple sea.

There, thy tuneful brothers,

In the palm's green plumage waiting long,

Mate them with the myriad others,

Like a broken rainbow bound with song.

Winter scarce is hidden,

Veiled within this fair, deceitful sky;

Fly, ere, from his ambush bidden,

He descend in ruin swift and nigh!

By the Summer stately,

Truant, thou wast fondly reared and bred:

Dost thou linger here so lately,

Knowing not thy beauteous friend is dead,--

Like to hearts that, clinging

Fervent where their first delight was fed,

Move us with untimely singing

Of the hopes whose blossom-time is sped?

Beauties have their hour,

Safely perched on the Spring-budding tree;

For the ripened soul is trust and power,

And, beyond, the calm eternity.

* * * * *

THE UTAH EXPEDITION:

ITS CAUSES AND CONSEQUENCES.

[Concluded.]

On the 3d of July, the Commissioners started on their return to the

States. During their stay at Salt Lake City, the doubt which they had

been led to entertain of the wisdom of the policy which they were the

agents to carry out, had ripened into a firm conviction.

The people who were congregated on the eastern shore of Lake Utah did

not begin to repair to their homes until the army had marched thirty or

forty miles away from the city; and even then there was a secrecy

about their movements which was as needless as it was mysterious. They

returned in divisions of from twenty to a hundred families each. Their

trains, approaching the city during the afternoon, would encamp on some

creek in its vicinity until midnight, when, if intended for the northern

settlements, they would pass rapidly through the streets, or else make

a circuit around the city-wall. August arrived before the return was

completed.

Morning after morning, one square after another was seen stripped of the

board barricades which had sheltered windows and doors from intrusion.

In front of every gateway wagons were emptying their loads of household

furniture. The streets soon lost their deserted aspect, though for many

days the only wayfarers were men,--not a woman being visible, except, by

chance, to the profane eyes of the invaders. It was near the end of July

before a single house was rented except to the intimate associates of

the Governor. Up to that time, those Gentiles who did not follow the

army to its permanent camp bivouacked on the public squares. By a Church

edict, all Mormons were forbidden to enter into business transactions

with persons outside their sect without consulting Brigham Young, whose

office was beset daily by a throng of clients beseeching indulgences

and instruction. Immediately after his return to the city, however,

he secluded himself from public observation, never appearing in the

streets, nor on the balconies of his mansion-house. He even encompassed

his residence with an armed guard.

Gradually, nevertheless, the necessities of the people induced a

modification of this system of non-intercourse. The Gentile merchants,

who were present with great wagon-trains containing all those articles

indispensable to the comfort of life, of which the Mormons stood so much

in need, refused to open a single box or bale until they could hire

storehouses. The permission was at length accorded, and immediately the

absolute external reserve of the people began to wear away. Both sexes

thronged to the stores, eager to supply themselves with groceries and

garments; but there they experienced a wholesome rebuff, for which some

of them were not entirely unprepared. The merchants refused to receive

the paper of the Deseret Currency Association with which the Territory

was flooded; and its notes were depreciated instantly by more than

fifty per cent. Many of the people were driven to barter cattle and

farm-produce for the articles they needed; and for the first time since

the establishment of the Church in Utah an audible murmur arose among

its adherents against its exactions. The sight of their neglected

farms was also calculated to bring the poorer agriculturists to sober

reflection. They perceived that the army, which they had been taught to

believe would commit every conceivable outrage, was, on the contrary,

demeaning itself with extreme forbearance and even kindness toward them,

and was supplying an ampler market for the sale of their produce than

they had enjoyed since the years when the overland emigration to

California culminated. Nevertheless, their regrets, if entertained at

all, found no public and concerted utterance. The authority of the

Church exacted a sullen demeanor toward all Gentiles.

The 24th of July, the great Mormon anniversary, was suffered to pass

without celebration; but its recurrence must have suggested anxious

thoughts and bitter recollections to a great part of the population.

When they remembered their enthusiastic declaration of independence

only one year before, the warlike demonstrations which followed it, the

prophecies of Young that the Lord would smite the army as he smote the

hosts of Sennacherib, the fever of hate and apprehension into which they

had been worked, and contrasted that period of excitement with their

present condition, they must, indeed, have found abundant material for

meditation. By the emigration southward they had lost at least four

months of the most valuable time of the year. Their families had been

subjected to every variety of exposure and hardship. Their ready money

had been extorted from them by the Currency Association, or consumed in

the expenses of transporting their movables to Lake Utah. And more than

all, the fields had so suffered by their absence, that the crops were

diminished to at least one-half the yield of an ordinary year. To a

community the mass of which lives from hand to mouth, this was a most

serious loss.

Almost all agriculture in Utah is carried on by the aid of irrigation.

From April till October hardly a shower falls upon the soil, which

parches and cracks in the hot sunshine. The settlements are all at the

base of the mountains, where they can take advantage of the brooks that

leap down through the cañons. They are, therefore, necessarily scattered

along the line of the main Wahsatch range, from the Roseaux River, which

flows into the Salt Lake from the north, to the Vegas of the Santa

Clara,--a distance of nearly four hundred miles. The labor expended in

ditching has been immense, but it has been confined wholly to tapping

the smaller streams.

By damming the Jordan in Salt Lake Valley and the Sevier in Parawan

Valley, and distributing their water over the broad bottom-lands, on

which the only vegetation now is wild sage and greasewood, the area of

arable ground might be quintupled; and any considerable increase of

population will render such an undertaking indispensable; for the narrow

strip which is fertilized by the mountain-brooks yields scarcely more

than enough to supply the present number of inhabitants. Nowhere does it

exceed two or three miles in breadth, except along the eastern shore of

Lake Utah, where it extends from the base of the mountains to the verge

of the lake.

Almost all cereals and vegetables attain the utmost perfection,

rivalling the most luxuriant productions of California. Within the last

few years the cultivation of the Chinese sugar-cane has been introduced,

and has proved successful. In Salt Lake City considerable attention is

paid to horticulture. Peaches, apples, and grapes grow to great size, at

the same time retaining excellent flavor. The grape which is most common

is that of the vineyards of Los Angeles. In the vicinity of Provo an

attempt has been made to cultivate the tea-plant; and on the Santa Clara

several hundred acres have been devoted to the culture of cotton,

but with imperfect success. Flax, however, is raised in considerable

quantity. The fields are rarely fenced with rails, and almost never with

stones. The dirt-walls by which they are usually surrounded are built by

driving four posts into the ground, which support a case, ten or twelve

feet in length, made of boards. This is packed full of mud, which dries

rapidly in the intense heat of a summer noon. When it is sufficiently

dry to stand without crumbling, the posts are moved farther along and

the same operation is repeated.

The country is not dotted with farmhouses, like the agricultural

districts of the East. The inhabitants all live in towns, or "forts," as

they are more commonly called, each of which is governed by a Bishop.

These are invariably laid out in a square, which is surrounded by a

lofty wall of mere dirt, or else of adobe. In the smaller forts there

are no streets, all the dwellings backing upon the wall, and inclosing

a quadrangular area, which is covered with heaps of rubbish, and alive

with pigs, chickens, and children. The same stream which irrigates the

fields in the vicinity supplies the people with water for domestic

purposes. There are few wells, even in the cities. Except in Salt Lake

City and Provo, no barns are to be seen. The wheat is usually stored

in the garrets of the houses; the hay is stacked; and the animals are

herded during the winter in sheltered pastures on the low lands.

All the people of the smaller towns are agriculturists. In none of them

is there a single shop. In Provo there are several small manufacturing

establishments, for which the abundant water-power of the Timpanogas

River, that tumbles down the neighboring cañon, furnishes great

facilities. The principal manufacturing enterprise ever undertaken in

the Territory--that for the production of beet-sugar--proved a complete

failure. A capital advanced by Englishmen, to the amount of more

than one hundred thousand dollars, was totally lost, and the result

discouraged foreigners from all similar investments. Rifles and

revolvers are made in limited number from the iron tires of the numerous

wagons in which goods are brought into the Valley. There are tanneries,

and several distilleries and breweries. In the large towns there are

many thriving mechanics; but elsewhere even the blacksmith's trade

is hardly self-supporting, and the carpenters and shoemakers are all

farmers, practising their trades only during intervals from work in the

fields.

The deficiency of iron, coal, and wood is the chief obstacle to the

material development of Utah. No iron-mines have been discovered, except

in the extreme southern portion of the Territory; and the quality of the

ore is so inferior, that it is available only for the manufacture of the

commonest household utensils, such as andirons. The principal coal-beds

hitherto found are in the immediate vicinity of Green River. There are

several sawmills, all run by water-power, scattered among the more

densely-wooded cañons; but they supply hardly lumber enough to meet the

demand,--even the sugar-boxes and boot-cases which are thrown aside at

the merchants' stores being eagerly sought after and appropriated. The

most ordinary articles of wooden furniture command extravagant prices.

Nowhere is the absence of trees, the utter desolation of the scenery,

more impressive than in a view from the southern shore of the Great Salt

Lake. The broad plain which intervenes between its margin and the

foot of the Wahsatch Range is almost entirely lost sight of; the

mountain-slopes, their summits flecked with snow, seem to descend into

water on every side except the northern, on which the blue line of the

horizon is interrupted only by Antelope Island. The prospect in that

direction is apparently as illimitable as from the shore of an ocean.

The sky is almost invariably clear, and the water intensely blue, except

where it dashes over fragments of rock that have fallen from some

adjacent cliff, or where a wave, more aspiring than its fellows,

overreaches itself and breaks into a thin line of foam. Through a gap in

the ranges on the west, the line of the Great Desert is dimly visible.

The beach of the lake is marked by a broad belt of fine sand, the grains

of which are all globular. Along its upper margin is a rank growth of

reeds and salt grass. Swarms of tiny flies cover the surface of every

half-evaporated pool, and a few white sea-gulls are drifting on the

swells. Nowhere is there a sign of refreshing verdure except on the

distant mountainsides, where patches of green grass glow in the sunlight

among the vast fields of sage.

The buildings throughout the entire Territory are, almost without

exception, of adobe. The brick is of a uniform drab color, more pleasing

to the eye than the reddish hue of the adobes of New Mexico or the buff

tinge of many of those in California. In size it is about double that

commonly used in the States. The clay, also, is of very superior

quality. The principal stone building in the Territory is the Capitol,

at Fillmore, one hundred and fifty miles south of Salt Lake City. The

design of the architect is for a very magnificent edifice in the shape

of a Greek cross, with a rotunda sixty feet in diameter. Only one wing

has been completed, but this is spacious enough to furnish all needful

accommodation. The material is rough-hammered sandstone, of an intense

red.

The plan of Salt Lake City is an index to that of all the principal

towns. It is divided into squares, each side of which is forty rods

in length. The streets are more than a hundred feet wide, and are all

unpaved. There is not a single sidewalk of brick, stone, or plank. The

situation is well chosen, being directly at the foot of the southern

slope of a spur which juts out from the main Wahsatch range. Less than

twenty miles from the city, almost overshadowing it, are peaks which

rise to the altitude of nearly twelve thousand feet, from which the snow

of course never disappears. But during the summer months, when scarcely

a shower falls upon the valley, its drifts become dun-colored with dust

from the friable soil below, and present an aspect similar to that of

the Pyrenees at the same season. During most of the year, the rest of

the mountains which encircle the Valley are also capped with snow. The

residences of Young and Kimball are situated on almost the highest

ground within the city-limits, and the land slopes gradually down from

them to the south, east, and west. This inclination suggested the mode

of supplying the city with water. A mountain-brook, pure and cold,

bubbling from under snow-drifts, is guided from this highland down

the gently sloping streets in gutters adjoining both the sidewalks. A

municipal ordinance imposes severe penalties on any one who fouls it.

Young's buildings and gardens occupy an entire square, ten acres in

extent, as do also Kimball's. They consist, first, of the Mansion, a

spacious two-storied building, in the style of the Yankee-Grecian villas

which infest New England towns, with piazzas supported by Doric columns,

and a cupola which is surmounted by a beehive, the peculiar emblem of

the Mormons, although there is not a single honey-bee in the Territory.

This, like all its companions, is of adobe, but it is coated with

plaster, and painted white. Next to it is a small building, used

formerly as an office, in which the temporal business of the Governor

was transacted. By its side stands another office, on the same model,

but on a larger scale, devoted to the business of the President of the

Church. These are connected by passage-ways both with the Mansion and

with the Lion-House, which is the most westerly of the group, and is the

finest building in the Territory, having cost nearly eighty thousand

dollars. Like both the offices, it stands with a gable toward the

street, and the plaster with which it is covered has a light buff tinge.

The architecture is Elizabethan. Above a porch in front is the figure

of a recumbent lion, hewn in sandstone. On each of the sides, which

overlook the gardens, ten little windows project from the roof

just above the eaves. The whole square is surrounded by a wall of

cobblestones and mortar, ten or twelve feet in height, strengthened by

buttresses at intervals of forty or fifty feet. Massive plank gates bar

the entrances. In one corner is the Tithing-Office, where the faithful

render their reluctant tribute to the Lord. Only the swift city-creek

intervenes between this square and Kimball's, which is encompassed by a

similar wall. His buildings have no pretensions to architectural merit,

being merely rough piles of adobe scattered irregularly all over the

grounds.

The Temple Square is in the immediate neighborhood, and is of the same

size. It is inclosed by a wall even more massive than the others,

plastered and divided into panels. Near its southwestern corner stands

the Tabernacle, a long, one-storied building, with an immense roof,

containing a hall which will hold three thousand people. There the

Mormon religious services are conducted during the winter months; but

throughout the summer the usual place of gathering to listen to the

sermons is in "boweries," so called, which are constructed by planting

posts in the ground and weaving over them a flat roof of willow-twigs.

An excavation near the centre of the square, partially filled with dirt

previously to the exodus to Provo, marks the spot where the Temple is

to rise. It is intended that this edifice shall infinitely surpass in

magnificence its predecessor at Nauvoo. The design purports to be a

revelation from heaven, and, if so, must have emanated from some one

of the Gothic architects of the Middle Ages whose taste had become

bewildered by his residence among the spheres; for the turrets are to be

surmounted by figures of sun, moon, and stars, and the whole building

bedecked with such celestial emblems. Only part of the foundation-wall

has yet been laid, but it sinks thirty feet deep and is eight feet broad

at the surface of the ground. Its length, according to the heavenly

plan, is to be two hundred and twenty feet, and its width one hundred

and fifty feet. Beside the Tabernacle and the incipient Temple, the only

considerable building within the square is the Endowment-House, where

those rites are celebrated which bind a member to fidelity to the Church

under penalty of death, and admit him to the privilege of polygamy.

The other principal buildings within the city are the Council-House,

a square pile of sandstone, once used as the Capitol,--and the County

Court-House, yet unfinished, above which rises a cupola covered with

tin. Most of the houses in the immediate vicinity of Young's are two

stories high, for that is the aristocratic quarter of the town. In

the outskirts, however, they never exceed one story, and resemble in

dimensions the innumerable cobblers'-shops of Eastern Massachusetts.

None of the streets have names, except those which bound the Temple

Square and are known as North, South, East, and West Temple Streets, and

also the broad avenue which receives the road from Emigration Cañon and

is called Emigration Street. Except on East Temple or Main Street, which

is the business street of the city, the houses are all built at least

twenty feet back from the sidewalk, and to each one is attached a

considerable plot of ground. There is no provision for lighting the

streets at night. The cotton-wood trees along the borders of the gutters

have attained a considerable growth during the eight or nine years since

they were planted, and afford an agreeable shade to all the sidewalks.

Around a great portion of the city stretches a mud wall with embrasures

and loopholes for musketry, which was built under Young's direction in

1853, ostensibly to guard against Indian attacks, but really to keep

the people busy and prevent their murmuring. To the east of this runs a

narrow canal, which was dug by the voluntary labor of the Saints, nearly

fifteen miles to Cottonwood Creek, for the transportation of stone to be

used in building the Temple.

Just outside the city-limits, near the northeastern corner of the wall,

lies the Cemetery, on a piece of undulating ground traversed by deep

gullies, and unadorned even by a solitary tree,--the only vegetation

sprouting out of its parched soil being a melancholy crop of weeds

interspersed with languid sunflowers. The disproportion between the

deaths of adults and those of children, which has been a subject for

comment by every writer on Mormonism, is peculiarly noticeable there.

Most of the graves are indicated only by rough boards, on which are

scrawled rudely, with pencil or paint, the names and ages of the dead,

and usually also verses from the Bible and scraps of poetry; but among

all the inscriptions it is remarkable that there is not a single

quotation from the "Book of Mormon." The graves are totally neglected

after the bodies are consigned to them. Nowhere has a shrub or a flower

been planted by any affectionate hand, except in one little corner of

the inclosure which is assigned to the Gentiles, between whose dust and

that of the Mormons there seems to exist a distinction like that which

prevails in Catholic countries between the ashes of heretics and those

of faithful churchmen. The mode of burial is singularly careless. A

funeral procession is rarely seen; and such instances are mentioned by

travellers as that of a father bearing to the grave the coffin of his

own child upon his shoulder.

The interiors of the houses are as neat as could be expected,

considering the extent of the families. Very often, three wives, one

husband, and half-a-dozen children will be huddled together in a

hovel containing only two habitable rooms,--an arrangement of course

subversive of decency. Few people are able to purchase carpets, and

their furniture is of the coarsest and commonest kind. There are few, if

any, families which maintain servants. In that of Brigham Young, each

woman has a room assigned her, for the neatness of which she is herself

responsible;--Young's own chamber is in the rear of the office of the

President of the Church, upon the ground floor. The precise number

of the female inmates can often be computed from the exterior of the

houses. These being frequently divided into compartments, each with its

own entrance from the yard, and its own chimney, and being generally

only one story in height, the number of doors is an exact index to that

of residents.

The domestic habits of the people vary greatly according to their

nativity. Of the forty-five thousand inhabitants of the Territory, at

least one-half are immigrants from England and Wales,--the scum of the

manufacturing towns and mining districts, so superstitious as to have

been capable of imbibing the Mormon faith,--though between what is

preached in Great Britain and what is practised in America there exists

a wide difference,--and so destitute in circumstances as to have been

incapable of deteriorating their fortunes by emigration. Possibly

one-fifth are Danes, Swedes, and Norwegians. This allows a remainder of

three-tenths for the native American element. An Irishman or a German is

rarely found. Of the Americans, by far the greater proportion were born

in the Northeastern States; and the three principal characters in the

history of the Church--Smith, Young, and Kimball--all originated in

Vermont, but were reared in Western New York, a region which has been

the hot-bed of American _isms_ from the discovery of the Golden Bible to

the outbreak of the Rochester rappings. This American element maintains,

in all affairs of the Church, its natural political ascendency. Of the

twelve Apostles only one is a foreigner, and among the rest of the

ecclesiastical dignitaries the proportion is not very different.

The Scandinavian Mormons are very clannish in their disposition. They

occupy some settlements exclusively, and in Salt Lake City there is one

quarter tenanted wholly by them, and nicknamed "Denmark," just as that

portion of Cincinnati monopolized by Germans is known as "over the

Rhine." Like their English and Welsh associates, they belonged to the

lowest classes of the mechanics and peasantry of their native countries.

They are all clownish and brutal. Their women work in the fields.

In their houses and gardens there is no symptom of taste, or of the

recollection of former and more innocent days; while in every cottage

owned by Americans there is visible, at least, a clock, or a pair of

China vases, or a rude picture, which once held a similar position in

some farm-house in New England.

It is not intended to discuss here the cardinal points of the Mormon

faith, for the subject is too extensive for the limits of this article.

A great misapprehension, however, prevails concerning polygamy, that it

was one of the original doctrines of the Church. On the contrary, it was

expressly prohibited in the Book of Mormon, which declares:--

"Behold, David and Solomon truly had many wives and concubines, which

thing was abominable before me, saith the Lord. ... Wherefore hearken to

the word of the Lord: There shall not any man among you have save it

be one wife, and concubines he shall have none; for I, the Lord God,

delight in the chastity of women."--p. 118.

Up to this date, there have been four eras in the history of polygamy

among the Mormons: the first, from about 1833 to 1843, during which it

was practised stealthily only by those Church leaders to whom it was

considered prudent to impart the secret; the second, from 1843 to 1852,

during which its existence was known to the Church, but denied to the

world; the third, from 1852 to 1856, during which it was left to the

discretion of individuals whether to adopt its practice or not; and the

fourth, since 1856, when its acceptance was inculcated as essential to

happiness in this world and salvation in the next. It was the inevitable

tendency of Mormonism, like every other religious delusion, from the

advent of John of Leyden to that of the Spiritualists, to disturb the

natural relation of the sexes under the Christian dispensation. The

mystery surrounding the subject constituted the most attractive charm of

the religion, both to the initiated and to those who were seeking to be

admitted to the secrets of the Endowment,--for the Endowed alone possess

the privilege of a plurality of wives. But until the community had

become firmly fixed in Utah, no one dared to justify or even to proclaim

the doctrine. At the time of the passage of the Organic Act of the

Territory, in the autumn of 1850, and repeatedly during the next

two years, prominent Mormons at Washington and New York denied its

existence, with the most solemn asseverations. It was on Sunday, August

29th, 1852, that it was openly avowed at Salt Lake City,--Brigham Young

on that day producing the copy of a revelation, pretended to have

been received by Smith on the 12th of July, 1843, which annulled

the monogamic injunctions of the Book of Mormon, and stating, that,

"although the doctrine of polygamy has not been preached by the elders,

the people have believed in it for years." Upon the same occasion,

another doctrine was urged,--that human beings upon earth propagate

merely bodies, the souls which inhabit them being begotten by spirits in

heaven.

The number of the wives of many of the principal Mormons has been

greatly exaggerated. Attached to Young's establishment in Salt Lake

City, there are only sixteen. His first wife occupies the Mansion-House

exclusively, while the others are quartered in the Lion-House. Besides

these, he has probably fifty or sixty more, scattered all over the

Territory, and in the principal cities of the United States and of Great

Britain. His living children do not exceed thirty in number. Kimball's

wives, resident in Salt Lake City, are quite as numerous as Young's, and

his children even more so. Both of them aim to reproduce the domestic

life of the Biblical patriarchs; and within the squares which they

occupy their descendants dwell also, with their wives and progeny, all

of them acknowledging the control of the head of the family. The harems

of very few of the Church dignitaries approach these in magnitude. The

extent of the practice of polygamy cannot be determined by a residence

in Salt Lake City alone, for it is there that those Church officers

congregate whose wealth enables them to maintain large families. As

the traveller journeys northward or southward, he finds the instances

diminish in almost exact proportion to his remoteness from the central

ecclesiastical influence. There is even a sect of Mormons, called

Gladdenites, after their founder, one Gladden Bishop, who deny the

right of Young to supreme authority over the Church, and discountenance

polygamy. No computation of their number can be made, for few of them

dare avow their heresy, on account of the persecution which is the

invariable result. The leaders of this sect maintain that a majority of

the married men in Utah have but one wife each, and their assertion has

never been controverted.

One of the most monstrous results of the practice is the indifference

with which an incestuous connection is tolerated. The cohabitation, with

the same man, of a mother, and her daughter by a previous marriage, is

not unfrequent; and there are other instances even more disgusting. One

or two of them will exemplify the character of the whole. One George D.

Watt, an Englishman, residing at Salt Lake City, has for his fourth

wife his own half-sister, who had been previously divorced from Brigham

Young; and one Aaron Johnson, the Bishop of the town of Springville,

on Lake Utah, has seven wives, four of whom are sisters, and his own

nieces. Young himself has declared in print, that he looks forward to

the time when his son by one wife shall marry his daughter by another.

Marriages also are effected with girls who are mere children. Accustomed

from their cradles to sights and sounds calculated to impart precocious

development, they mature rapidly, and few of them remain single after

attaining the age of sixteen. They look around for husbands, and

understand, that, if they marry young men and become first wives, in

course of time other wives will be associated with them; and they

conclude, therefore, that it is as well for themselves to unite with

some Bishop or High-Priest, with perhaps half-a-dozen wives already, who

is able to feed his family well and clothe them decently; so they plunge

into polygamy at once. Another result of the practice is universal

obscenity of language among both sexes. The published sermons of the

Mormon leaders are utterly vile in this respect, although they are

somewhat expurgated before being printed. They consider no language

profane from which the name of the Deity is exempted.

There is, unquestionably, much unhappiness in families where polygamy

prevails,--daily bickering, jealousies, and heart-burnings,--but it

is carefully concealed from the knowledge of the public. If domestic

troubles become so aggravated as to be unendurable, recourse is usually

had to Brigham Young for a divorce. There are women in Salt Lake City

who have been married and divorced half-a-dozen times within a year. The

first wife maintains a supremacy over all the others. On the occasion

of her marriage, a civil magistrate usually officiates, and the rite of

"sealing" is afterwards administered by Young. By the civil process,

in the cant language of the Mormons, she is bound to her husband "for

time," and by the ecclesiastical solemnization "for eternity." Every

wife taken after the first is called a "spiritual," and is "sealed"

ecclesiastically only, not civilly. It follows, as a legitimate

consequence, that the first wife of one man "for time" may be the

"spiritual" wife of another man "for eternity." The power of sealing and

unsealing is vested in the Head of the Church, which, however, he may

and does assign, with certain limitations, to deputies. The ceremony is

performed in a room in the Mansion-House within Brigham's square, which

is furnished with an altar and kneelng-benches. In every instance of

divorce, the woman is supplied with a printed certificate of the fact,

for which a fee of ten or eleven dollars is exacted. When a polygamist

dies, it becomes the duty of his "next friend" to care for his wives.

Thus, when Young became the President of the Church, he succeeded to all

the widows of Joseph Smith.

Every year some modification of the system is effected, which tends to

increase still further the confusion in the relations of the sexes. The

latest is the doctrine, (which, like polygamy in its earlier stages, is

believed, but not avowed,) that absence is temporary death, so far as

concerns the transference of wives. This is intended to apply to the two

or three hundred missionaries who are dispatched yearly to all parts

of the globe, from Stockholm to Macao. It is astonishing that these

missionary efforts, which have been pursued with unremitting zeal for

the last twenty years, should not have ingrafted upon Mormonism some

degree of that refinement which is supposed to result from travel. On

the contrary, they seem to have elaborated the natural brutality of the

Anglo-Saxon character; and especially with regard to polygamy, their

effect has been to acquaint the people of Utah with the grossest

features of its practice in foreign lands, and encourage them to

imitation. Every Mormon, prominent in the Church, however illiterate

in other respects, is thoroughly acquainted with the extent and

characteristics of polygamy in Asiatic countries, and prepared to defend

his own domestic habits, in argument, by historical and geographical

references. Not one of their missionaries has ever been admitted to

intercourse with the higher classes of European society. Their sphere

of labor and acquaintance has been entirely among those whom they would

term the lowly, but who might also be called the credulous and vulgar.

The abuse of a knowledge of the machinery of the Masonic order--from

which they have been formally excluded--is one of the least evil of

their practices, not only abroad, but at home. Of the Endowment, one

apostate Mormon has declared that "its signs, tokens, marks, and ideas

are plagiarized from Masonry"; and it was a notorious fact, that every

one of the Mormon prisoners at the camp at Fort Bridger was accustomed

to endeavor to influence the sentinels at the guard-tents by means of

the Masonic signs.

This cursory review of the domestic condition of the Mormons would not

be complete without some allusion to the Indians who infest the whole

country. In the North, having their principal village at the foot of the

Wind River Mountains, in the southeastern corner of Oregon, is the tribe

of Mountain Snakes or Shoshonees, and the kindred tribe of Bannocks.

Throughout all the valleys south of Salt Lake City are the numerous

bands of the great tribe of Utahs. Still farther south are the Pyides.

The Snakes are superior in condition to any of the others; for, during

a portion of the year, they have access to the buffalo, which have not

crossed the Wahsatch Range into the Great Basin, within the recollection

of the oldest trapper. The only wild animals common in the country of

the Utahs are the hare, or "jackass-rabbit," the wild-cat, the wolf, and

the grizzly bear. There are few antelope or elk. Trout abound in the

mountain-brooks and in Lake Utah. In the Salt Lake, as in the Dead Sea,

there are no fish. Before the advent of the Mormons, the habits of all

the Utah bands were very degraded. No agency had been established among

them. They had few guns and blankets. For several years they were

engaged in constant hostilities with the people of the young and feeble

settlements,--their own method and implements of warfare improving

steadily all the while. Ultimately, however, the Mormons inaugurated a

system of Indian policy, which was highly successful. They propagated

their religion among the Utahs, baptized some of the most prominent

chiefs into the Church, fed and clothed them, and thereby acquired an

ascendency over most of the bands, which they attempted to use to the

detriment of the army during the winter of 1857-8, but without success.

Brigham Young, being vested with the superintendence of Indian affairs,

during his entire term of service as Governor, abused the functions of

that office. He taught the tribe, that there was a distinction between

"Americans" and "Mormons,"--and that the latter were their friends,

while they were free to commit any depredations on the former which

they might see fit. These infamous teachings were counteracted with

considerable success by Dr. Hurt, the Indian Agent, to whom allusion has

frequently been made; but it was impossible wholly to neutralize their

effect. Some of the Mormons even took squaws for spiritual wives; and in

all the settlements, from Provo to the Santa Clara, there are scores of

half-breed children, acknowledging half-a-dozen mothers, some white,

some red. The Utahs, though a beggarly, are a docile tribe. Several

Government farms have now been established among them, and they display

more than ordinary aptitude for work. But they require to be spurred to

regular labor. None of the charges which have been preferred against

the Mormons, of direct participation in the murder of Americans by

the Indians in the southern portion of the Territory, have ever been

substantiated by legal evidence; but no person can become familiar with

the relations which they sustain to those tribes, without attaching

to them some degree of credibility. The most noted instances were the

slaughter of Captain Gunnison and his exploring party, near Lake Sevier,

in October, 1853; and the horrible massacre of more than a hundred

emigrants on their way to California, at the Mountain Meadows, still

farther south, in September, 1857, from which only those children were

spared who were too young to speak.

The history of events in Utah since the encamping of the army in Cedar

Valley and the return of the Mormons to the northern settlements is too

recent to need to be recounted. It has been established by satisfactory

experiments, that law is powerless in the Territory when it conflicts

with the Church. No Gentile, whose property was confiscated during the

rebellion, has yet obtained redress. The legislature refuses to provide

for the expenses of the District Courts while enforcing the Territorial

laws. The grand juries refuse to find indictments. The traverse juries

refuse to convict Mormons. The witnesses perjure themselves without

scruple and without exception. The unruly crowd of camp-followers, which

is the inseparable attendant of an army, has concentrated in Salt

Lake City, and is in constant contact and conflict with the Mormon

population. An apprehension prevails, day after day, that the presence

of the army may be demanded there to prevent mob-law and bloodshed.

The Governor is alien in his disposition to most of the other Federal

officers; and the Judges are probably already on their way to the

States, prepared to resign their commissions. The whole condition of

affairs justifies a prediction made by Brigham Young, June 17th, 1855,

in a sermon, in which he declared:--

"Though I may not be Governor here, my power will not be diminished. No

man they can send here will have much influence with this community,

unless he be the man of their choice. Let them send whom they will, it

does not diminish my influence one particle."

The consequences of the Expedition, therefore, have not corresponded

to the original expectation of its projectors. So far as the political

condition of the Territory is concerned, the result, filtered down,

amounts simply to a demonstration of the impolicy of applying the

doctrine of Squatter Sovereignty as a rule for its government. The

administration of President Polk was an epoch in the history of

the continent. By the annexation of Texas a system of territorial

aggrandizement was inaugurated; and the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, by

which California, Utah, and New Mexico were acquired, was a legitimate

result. Every child knows that the tendency is toward the acquisition of

all North America. But the statesmen who originated a policy so

grand did not stop to establish a system of Territorial government

correspondent to its necessities. The character of such a Territorial

policy is now the principal subject upon which the great parties of

the nation are divided; and its development will constitute the chief

political achievement of the generation. On one side, it is proposed to

leave each community to work out its own destiny, trusting to Providence

for the result. On the other, it is contended, that the only safe

doctrine is, that supreme authority over the Territories resides in

Congress, which it is its duty to assign to such hands and in such

degrees as it may deem expedient, with a view to create homogeneous

States; that the same influences which moulded Minnesota into a State

homogeneous to Massachusetts might operate on Cuba, or Sonora and

Chihuahua, without avail; and that to various districts the various

methods should be applied which a father would employ to secure the

obedience and welfare of his children.

At the very outset, the Territory of Utah now presents itself as a

subject for the application of the one system or the other. To all

intents and purposes, the Mormons are proved to be a people more foreign

to the population of the States than the inhabitants of Cuba or Mexico.

Alien in great part by birth, and entirely alien in religion, there

never can occur in the history of the country an instance of a community

harder to govern, with a view to adapt it to harmonious association

with the States on the Atlantic and the Pacific. It is undeniably

demonstrated that it is unsafe to trust it to administer a government in

accordance with republican ideas; for it acknowledges a higher law than

even the human conscience, in the will of a person whom it professes

to believe a vicegerent of Divinity, and in obedience to whom perjury,

robbery, incest, and even murder, may be justifiable,--for his commands

are those of Heaven. It is obvious that it is fruitless to anticipate

fair dealing from a people professing such doctrines; and the result has

shown, that, in transactions with Mormons, even under oath, no one who

does not acknowledge a standard of religious belief similar to their own

can count upon justice any farther than they may think it politic

to accord it. The army is, indeed, placed in a position to suppress

instantaneously another forcible outbreak; but everybody is aware that

there are means of annulling the operation of law quite as effectually

as by an uprising in arms. Recent proceedings in the courts of the

extreme Southern States have caused this fact to be keenly appreciated.

The pirates who sailed the slavers "Echo" and "Wanderer" yet remain to

be punished. So far as South Carolina and Georgia are concerned, the law

declaring the slave-trade piracy is a dead letter; and the sentiment

which prevails toward it in Charleston and Savannah is an imperfect

index of that which is manifested at Salt Lake City toward all national

authority.

The legislation of Utah has been conducted with a view to precisely the

condition of affairs which now exists, and the Territorial statute-book

shows that the transfer of executive power from Brigham Young had long

been anticipated. It is impracticable to adduce, in this place, proof of

the fact _in extenso_; but a brief enumeration of some of the principal

statutes will indicate the character of the entire code. An act exists

incorporating the Mormon Church with power to hold property, both real

and personal, to an indefinite extent, exempt from taxation, coupled

with authority to establish laws and criteria for its safety,

government, comfort, and control, and for the punishment of all offences

relating to fellowship, according to its covenants. By this act the

Church is invested with absolute and perpetual sovereignty. Under it

the whole system of polygamy is conducted, for plural marriages are

sanctioned by the covenants; the Danite organization is authorized, for

it is instituted for the comfort and control of the Church, and the

punishment of offences relative to fellowship; the burden of the taxes

is thrown in a yearly increasing ratio upon Gentiles, for the Church

property exempted from taxation amounts already to several millions

of dollars, and increases every day; and the treasonable rites of the

Endowment are celebrated, and the inferior members of the Church tithed

and pillaged, for the benefit of the First Presidency and the Twelve

Apostles. Acts also exist legalizing negro and Indian slavery. There are

within the Territory at the present time not more than fifty or sixty

negroes, but there are several hundred Indians, held in servitude.

These are mostly Pyides, into whose country some of the Utah bands make

periodical forays, capturing their young women and children, whom they

sell to the Navajoes in New Mexico, as well as to the Mormons. There are

other acts, which rob the United States judges of their jurisdiction,

civil, criminal, and in equity, and confer it on the Probate Courts;

which forbid the citation of any reports, even those of the Supreme

Court of the United States, during any trial; which regulate the descent

of property so as to include the issue of polygamic marriages among the

legal heirs; which withdraw from exemption from attachment the entire

property of persons suspected of an intention to leave the Territory;

which authorize the invasion of domiciles for purposes of search, upon

the simple order of any judicial officer; which legalize the rendition

of verdicts in civil cases upon the concurrence of two-thirds of the

jurors; which command attorneys to present in court, under penalty

of fine and imprisonment, in all cases, every fact of which they are

cognizant, "whether calculated to make against their clients or not";

which restrict the institution of proceedings against adulterers to the

husband or the wife of one of the guilty parties; which levy duties

on all goods imported into the Territory for sale; which abolish

the freedom of the ballot-box, by providing that each vote shall be

numbered, and a record kept of the names of the electors with the

numbers attached, which, together with the ballots, shall be preserved

for reference; and which empower the county courts to impose taxes to

an indefinite amount on whomsoever they may please, for the erection

of fortifications within their respective jurisdictions. But the most

extraordinary and unconstitutional series of acts--no less than sixty

in number--exists with regard to the primary disposal of the soil, with

which the Territorial legislature is expressly forbidden by the Organic

Act to interfere. These pretend to confer upon Church dignitaries, and

especially on Brigham Young and his family, tracts of land probably

amounting in the aggregate to more than ten thousand square miles, as

well as the exclusive right to establish bridges and ferries over the

principal rivers in the Territory,--together with the exclusive use of

those streams flowing down from the Wahsatch Mountains which are most

valuable for irrigating and manufacturing purposes. The virtual control

of the settlement of the eastern portion of Utah is thus vested in

the Church; for these grants include almost all the lands which are

immediately valuable for occupation. After a glance at a list of them,

it is not hard to understand the causes of the great disparity in the

distribution of wealth among the Mormons. They have been so allotted as

to benefit a very few at the expense of the whole people; and they are

protected by a terrorism which no one dares to confront in order to

challenge their validity. The majority of the population are ignorant

of their rights,--and too pusillanimous to maintain them against the

hierarchy, if they were not. They therefore contribute to its coffers

not merely their tithing, but heavy exactions also for grazing their

cattle on pastures to which they themselves have just as much title as

the nominal proprietors, and for grinding their grain and purchasing

their lumber at mills on streams which are of right common to all the

settlers on their banks.

From the Utah Expedition, then, it has become patent to the world, if

it is not to ourselves, that the Mormons are unwilling to administer a

republican form of government, if not incapable of doing so. The author

of the letter recently addressed by "A Man of the Latin Race" to the

Emperor Napoleon, on the subject of French influence in America,

comments especially upon this fact as symptomatic of the disintegration

of this republic; and allusion is made to it in every other foreign

review of our political condition. It is obviously inconsistent with our

national dignity that a remedy should not be immediately applied; but

when we seek for such, only two courses of action are discernible, in

the maze of political quibbles and constitutional scruples that at once

suggest themselves. One is, to repeal the Organic Act and place the

Territory under military control; the other is, to buy the Mormons out

of Utah, offering them a reasonable compensation for the improvements

they have made there, as also transportation to whatever foreign region

they may select for a future abode.

The embarrassments which might result from the adoption of the former

course are obvious. It would be attended with immense expense, and would

embitter the Mormons still more against the National Government; and

it would also deter Gentiles from emigrating to a region where three

thousand Federal bayonets would constitute the sole guaranty of the

security of their persons and property.

The other course is not only practicable, but humane and expedient.

During his whole career, Brigham Young committed no greater mistake than

when he settled in Utah a community whose recruits are almost without

exception drawn from foreign lands; for, since the removal from

Illinois, every attempt to propagate Mormonism in the American States

has been a failure. Every avenue of communication with Utah is

necessarily obstructed. No railroad penetrates to within eleven hundred

miles of Salt Lake Valley. There is no watercourse within four hundred

miles, on which navigation is practicable. Neither the Columbia nor the

Colorado empties into seas bordered by nations from which the Mormons

derive accessions; and the length of a voyage up the Mississippi,

Missouri, and Yellowstone forbids any expectation that their channels

will ever become a pathway to the centre of the continent. The road to

Utah must always lead overland, and travel upon it is the more expensive

from the fact that no great passenger-transportation companies exist at

either of the termini. Each family of emigrants must provide its own

outfit of provisions, wagons, and oxen, or mules. Through the agency of

what is called the Perpetual Emigration Fund of the Church, the capital

of which amounts to several millions of dollars,--which was instituted

professedly to befriend, but really to fleece the foreign converts,--few

Englishmen arrive at Salt Lake City without having exhausted their own

means and incurred an amount of debt which it requires the labor of many

years to discharge. The physical sufferings of the journey, also, are

severe and often fatal. The bleak cemetery at Salt Lake City contains

but a small proportion of the Mormon dead. Along the thousand miles of

road from the Missouri River to the Great Lake, there stand, thicker

than milestones, memorials of those who failed on the way. A rough

board, a pile of stones, a grave ransacked by wolves, crown many a swell

of the bottom-lands along the Platte; and across the broad belt of

mountains there is no spot so desolate as to be unmarked by one of these

monuments of the march of Mormonism.

As these difficulties of transit subside under the surge of population

toward the new State of Oregon, or to the gold-diggings on the

head-waters of the South Fork of the Platte, an element must permeate

Utah which would be fatal to the supremacy of the Church. That depends,

as has been so often repeated, upon isolation. Already the presence of

the army with its crowd of unruly dependents has begun to disturb it.

In the trail of the troops, like sparks shed from a rocket, a legion

of mail-stations and trading-posts have sprung up, which materially

facilitate communication with the East. A horseman, starting now from

Fort Leavenworth, with a good animal, can ride to Salt Lake City,

sleeping under cover every night; while in July, 1857, when the army

commenced its march from the frontier, there were stretches of more than

three hundred miles without a single white inhabitant. On the west,

under the shadow of the Sierra Nevada, there is a settlement of several

thousand Gentiles in Carson Valley, who, though nominally under the same

Territorial government with the Mormons, have no real connection with

them, politically, socially, or commercially, and are petitioning

Congress for a Territorial organisation of their own. A telegraphic wire

has already wound its way over the sierra among them, and will soon

palpitate through Salt Lake City in its progress toward the Atlantic.

Brigham Young perceives this inevitable advance of Christian

civilization toward his stronghold, as clearly as the most unprejudiced

spectator. No one is better aware than himself, that, if the great

industrial conception of the age, the Pacific Railroad, shall ever begin

to be realized, the first shovelful of dirt thrown on its embankments

will be the commencement of the grave of his religion and authority.

Among the projects with which his brain is busy is that of yet another

exodus; and it must be undertaken speedily, if at all,--for a generation

is growing up in the Church with an attachment for the land in which it

was reared. The pioneers of the faith, who were buffeted from Ohio to

Missouri, from Missouri to Illinois, and from Illinois to the Rocky

Mountains, are dwindling every year. Their migrations have been so

various, that no local sentiment would influence them against another

removal. Such a sentiment, if it exists at all among them, is not for

Utah, but for Missouri, where they believe that the capital will be

founded of that kingdom in which the Church in the progress of ages will

unite the world. They dropped upon the shores of the Salt Lake in 1847,

like birds spent upon the wing, only because they could not fly farther.

Two regions have been suggested for the ultimate resort of the Mormons:

one, the Mosquito Coast in Central America; the other, the Island of

Papua or New Guinea, among the East Indies. During the winter, while

the army lay encamped at Fort Bridger, Colonel Kinney, the colonizing

adventurer, endeavored to communicate from the East to Brigham Young an

offer to sell to the Church several millions of acres of land on the

Mosquito Coast, of which he purports to be the proprietor. His agent,

however, reached no farther than Green River. But during the spring of

1858, other agents, dispatched from California, were more successful in

reaching Salt Lake Valley. They were hospitably received by the Mormons,

but Young declined to enter into the negotiation. The other scheme--that

for an emigration to Papua--originated at Washington during the same

winter. It was eagerly seized upon by Captain Walter Gibson, the same

who was once imprisoned by the Dutch in Java. He put himself into

communication on the subject with Mr. Bernhisel, the Mormon delegate

to Congress, who appeared to regard the plan with favor. After it

was developed, as a step preliminary to transmitting it to Utah for

consideration, Mr. Bernhisel waited upon the President of the United

States in order to ascertain whether the cooperation of the National

Government in the undertaking could be expected. The reply of Mr.

Buchanan was fatal to the project, which he discountenanced as a vague

and wild dream.

Nevertheless, it may well be considered whether the movement toward Utah

appeared any less Quixotic in 1846 than does the idea of an emigration

to Papua now. On that island the Mormons would encounter no such

obstacles to material prosperity as their indomitable industry has

already conquered in Utah. They would find a fertile soil, a propitious

climate, and a native population which could be trained to docility.

Transplanted thither, they would cease to be a nuisance to America, and

would become benefactors to the world by opening to commerce a region

now valueless to Christendom, but of as great natural capacities as any

portion of the globe. The expense of their migration need not exceed

the amount already expended upon the Army of Utah, together with that

necessary to maintain it in its present position for the next five

years. Into the seats which they would relinquish on the border of

the Salt Lake a sturdy population would pour from the Valley of the

Mississippi, and develop an intelligent, Christian, and Republican

State. That portion of the Mormons which would not follow the fortunes

of the Church beyond the seas would soon become submerged, and the last

vestige of its religion and peculiar domestic life would disappear

speedily and forever from the continent.

For that consummation, every genuine Christian must fervently pray. If

the Message in the Book of Mormon be, as one of its own Apostles has

asserted, indeed "such, that, if false, none who persist in believing it

can be saved," the sooner this nation washes its hands of responsibility

for its toleration, the better for its credit in history. The

Constitution, to be sure, denies to Congress the power to pass laws

prohibiting the free exercise of religion; but it is the most monstrous

nonsense to argue that the Federal Government is bound thereby to

connive at polygamy, perjury, incest, and murder. There are principles

of social order which constitute the political basis of every state in

Christendom, that are violated by the practices of the Mormon Church,

and which this Republic is bound to maintain without regard to any

pretence that their transgressors act in pursuance of religious belief.

Thirty years ago, no other doctrine would have occurred to the mind

of an American statesman. It is only the special-pleadings and

constitutional hair-splittings by which Slavery has been forced under

national protection, that now impede Congressional intervention in the

affairs of Utah. The Christian Church of the United States, also, has a

duty to perform toward the Mormons, which has long been neglected. While

its missionaries have been shipped by the score to India and China, it

has been blind to the growth, upon the threshold of its own temple, of a

pagan religion more corrupt than that of the Brahmin. Never once has a

Christian preacher opened his lips in the valleys of Utah; and yet the

surplice of a Christian priest would be a sight more portentous to the

Mormon, on his own soil, than the bayonet of the Federal soldier.

BULLS AND BEARS.

[Continued.]

CHAPTER XXIV.

The next day, Monroe went with the artist to good Mr. Holworthy,

and proposed to undertake the task of instructing a school. The

preliminaries were speedily arranged: he was to receive a small weekly

stipend, enough, with prudence, to meet his household expenses, and

was to commence at once. Both of the gentlemen accompanied him to the

quarter where his labor was to begin. A large room was hired in a

rickety and forlorn-looking house; the benches for the scholars and a

small desk and chair were the only furniture. And such scholars!--far

different from the delicate, curled darlings of the private schools. The

new teacher found his labor sufficiently discouraging. It was nothing

less than the civilization of a troop of savages. Everything was to be

done; manners, speech, moral instincts, were all equally depraved. They

were to be taught neatness, respect, truth-telling, as well as the usual

branches of knowledge. It was like the task of the pioneer settler in

the wilderness, who must uproot trees, drain swamps, burn briers and

brambles, exterminate hurtful beasts, and prepare the soil for the

reception of the seeds that are to produce the future harvest. We leave

him with his charge, while we attend to other personages of our story.

Mr. Sandford and his sister, upon leaving their house, took lodgings,

and then began to cast about them for the means of support. The money on

which he had relied was gone. His credit was utterly destroyed, and he

had no hope of being reinstated in his former position. The only way

he could possibly be useful in the street was by becoming a curbstone

broker, a go-between, trusted by neither borrower nor lender, and

earning a precarious livelihood by commissions. Even in that position

he felt that he should labor under disadvantages, for he knew that his

course had been universally condemned. It was a matter of every-day

experience for him to meet old acquaintances who looked over him, or

across the street, or in at shop-windows, to avoid recognition. And the

half-patronizing, half-contemptuous nods he did receive were far worse

to bear than downright cuts.

To a man out of employment, proscribed, marked, there is nothing so

terrible as the _impenetrability_ of the close ranks of society around

him. Every busy man seems to have found his place; each locks step with

his neighbor, and the vast procession moves on. Once out of the serried

order, the unhappy wretch can never resume his position. He finds

himself the fifth wheel of a coach; there is nothing for him to do,--no

place for him at the bountiful board where others are fed. He may starve

or drown himself, as he likes; the world has no use for him, and will

not miss him. What Sandford felt, as he walked along the streets, may

well be imagined. If he had not been supported by the indomitable

courage and assurance of his sister, he would have sunk to the level of

a pauper.

One day, as he was passing a church, his eye was caught by a placard at

the door, inviting, in bold letters, "friend, stranger, or traveller

to enter, if but for a few minutes." It was a "business-men's

prayer-meeting." The novelty of the idea struck him; he was at leisure;

he had no notes to pay; anybody might fail, for aught he cared. He went

in, and, to his surprise, saw, among the worshippers, scores of his old

friends, engaged in devotion. Like himself, they had, many of them,

failed, and, after the loss of all temporal wealth, had turned their

attention to the "more durable riches." He fell into a profound

meditation, from which he did not recover until the meeting ended.

The next day he returned, and the day following, also,--taking a seat

each time a little nearer the desk, until at last he reached the front

row of benches, where he was to be seen at every service. It is not

necessary to speculate upon his motives, or to conjecture how far

he deceived himself in his professions,--if, indeed, there was any

deception in the case. Let him have the benefit of whatever doubt there

may be. The leading religious men _hoped_, without feeling any great

confidence; the world, especially the business world, mocked and

derided.

But piety, in itself, however heartfelt, does not clothe or feed its

possessor, and Mr. Sandford, even with that priceless gift, must find

some means of supplying his temporal wants. His new friends had plenty

of advice for him, and some of them would have been glad to furnish

him with employment; but none of them were so well satisfied with the

sincerity of his conversion as to trust him far. It was not to be

wondered, after his exploits on the day of his failure, that there

should be a reasonable shyness on the part of those who had money which

they could not afford or did not choose to give away. It was quite

remarkable to see the change produced when the subject was introduced.

Faces, that a few minutes before had shone with tearful joy or rapturous

aspirations, full of brotherly affection, would suddenly cool, and

contract, and grow severe, when Sandford broached the one topic that was

nearest to him. He found that there was no way of escaping from the

law of compensation by appropriating the results of other men's

labors,--that religion (very much to his disappointment) gave him no

warrant to live in idleness; therefore he was fain to do what he could

for himself. He tried to act as a curb-stone broker, as an insurance

agent, as an adjuster of marine losses and averages, as an itinerant

solicitor for a life-insurance company, as an accountant, and in various

other situations. All in vain. He was shunned like an escaped convict;

the motley suit itself would hardly have added to his disgrace. No one

put faith in him or gave him employment,--save in a few instances, for

charity's sake. Few men can brave a city; and Sandford, certainly, was

not the man to do it. The scowling, or suspicious, or contemptuous,

pitying glances he encountered smote him as with fiery swords. He

quailed; he cowered; he dropped his eyes; he acquired a stooping,

shambling gait. The man who _feels_ that he is looked down upon grows

more diminutive in his own estimation, until he shrinks into the place

which the world assigns him. So Sandford shrunk, until he crept through

the streets where once he had walked erect, and earned a support as

meagre and precarious as the more brazen-faced and ragged of the great

family of mendicants, to which he was gravitating.

Mendicants,--an exceeding great army! They do not all knock at

area-doors for old clothes and broken victual, nor hold out hats at

street-crossings, nor expose sharp-faced babies to win pity, nor send

their infant tatterdemalions to torture the ears of the wealthy with

scratchy fiddles and wheezing accordions. No, these plagues of society

are only the extreme left wing; the right wing is a very respectable

class in the community. The party-leader who makes his name and

influence serve him in obtaining loans which he never intends to

pay,--shall we call him a beggar? It is an ugly word. The parasite

who makes himself agreeable to dinner-givers, who calculates upon his

accomplishments as a stock in trade, intending that his brains shall

feed his stomach,--what is he, pray? It is ungracious to stigmatize

such a jolly dog. The woman whose fingers are hooped with rings won

in wagers which gallantry or folly could not decline, who is ready by

_philopaena_, or even by more direct suggestions, to lay every beau or

acquaintance under contribution,--is she a beggar, too? It is a long

way, to be sure, from the girl with scanty and draggled petticoat and

tangled hair, picking out lumps of coal from ash-heaps, or carrying home

refuse from the tables of the rich,--a long way from that squalid object

to the richly-cloaked, furred, bonneted, jewelled, flaunting lady, whose

friends are all _so_ kind.

But the most charitable must feel a certain degree of pity, if not of

scorn, for those who, like Mr. and Miss Sandford, contrive to wear the

outward semblance of respectability, boarding with fashionable people

and wearing garments _à la mode_, while they have neither fortune nor

visible occupation. Miss Sandford, to be sure, had a few pupils in

music,--young friends, who, as she averred, "insisted upon practising

with her, although she did not profess to give lessons," not she. Still

her toilet was as elegant as ever. The first appearance of a new style

of cloak, a new pattern of silk or embroidery, new ribbons, laces,

jewelry, might be observed, as she took her morning promenade. The

dealers in rich goods, elegant trifles, costly nothings, all knew her

well. Whatever satisfied her artistic taste she purchased. To see was to

desire, and, in some way, all she coveted tended by a magical attraction

to her rooms. "Society" frowned upon her; she went to no receptions in

the higher circles, but she had no lack of associates for all that.

At concerts and other public assemblages, her brilliant figure and

irreproachable costume were always to be seen,--the admiration of men,

the envy of women. Nor was she without gallants. Gentlemen flocked about

her, and seemed only too happy in her smiles; but it never happened that

their wives or sisters joined in their attentions. On fine days, as she

came out for a walk, she was sure to be accompanied by some person whose

dress and manners marked him as belonging to the wealthy classes; and

at such times it generally happened,--according to the scandal-loving

shopkeepers,--that the last new book, the little "love" of a ring, or

the engraved scent-bottle was purchased.

An odd affair is Society. At its outposts are flaming swords for women,

though invisible to other eyes; men can venture without the lines, if

they only return at roll-call. Let a woman receive or visit one of the

_demi-monde_, (the technical use of the word is happily inapplicable

here,) and she might as well earn her living by her own labor, or do

any other disreputable thing; but her brother may pay court to the most

doubtful, and mothers will only shake their heads and say, "He _must_

sow his wild oats; he'll get over all that by-and-by."

So the beauty was still queen in her circle, and found admirers in

plenty. Perhaps she even enjoyed the freedom; for, to a woman of spirit,

the constraints of _taboo_ must be irksome at times. Not the Brahmin,

who fears to tread upon sole-leather from the sacred cow, and dares

not even think of the flavor of her forbidden beef, who keeps himself

haughtily aloof from the soldier and the trader, and walks sunward from

the pariah, lest the polluting shadow fall on his holy person, has a

more difficult and engrossing occupation than the woman of fashion, in

a country where the distinctions of rank are so purely factitious as in

ours. Miss Sandford's time was now her own; she was accountable to no

supervisor. Her brother was a cipher. He did not venture to intrude upon

her, except at seasons when she was at leisure, and in a humor to be

bored by him. Perhaps she looked back regretfully, but, as far as could

be told by her manner, she carried herself proudly, with the air of one

who says,--

"Better reign in hell than serve in heaven."

The observant reader has doubtless wondered before this, that Mr.

Sandford did not, in his emergency, apply to his old clerk, Fletcher,

for the money in exchange for the peculiar obligation of which mention

has been made. It is presuming too much upon Mr. Sandford's stupidity

to suppose that the idea had not frequently occurred to him. But he was

satisfied that Fletcher was one of the few who were making money in this

time of general distress, and that with every day's acquisition the

paper became more valuable; therefore, as it was his last trump, he

preferred to play it when it would sweep the board; and he was willing

to live in any way until the proper time came. Not so easy was Fletcher.

Several times he attempted to pay the claim, so that he could once more

hold his head erect as a free man. But Sandford smiled blandly; "he was

in no hurry," he said; "Mr. Fletcher evidently had money, and was good

for the amount." Poor Fletcher!--walking about with a rope around his

neck,--a long rope now, and slack,--but held by a man who knows not what

pity means!