TRAVEL
1843-1844; _aet._ 24-25
... I have been
In dangers of the sea and land, unscared;
And from the narrow gates of childbed oft
Have issued, bearing high my perilous prize
(The germ of angel-hood, from chaos rescued),
With steadfast hope and courage....
J. W. H.
In the forties it was no uncommon thing for a sister or friend of the
bride to form one of the wedding party when a journey was to be taken;
accordingly Annie Ward went with the Howes and shared the pleasures of a
notable year. She was at this time seventeen; it was said of her that
"she looked so like a lily-of-the-valley that one expected to see two
long green leaves spring up beside her as she walked."
Horace Mann and his bride (Mary Peabody, sister of Mrs. Nathaniel
Hawthorne) sailed on the same steamer; the friends met afterward in
London and elsewhere.
The first days at sea were rough and uncomfortable. Julia writes to her
sister Louisa:--
"I have had two days of extreme suffering, and look like the Chevalier's
grandmother. To-day I am on deck, able to eat soup and herring, with
grog in small doses. Husband very kind, takes good care of me. I am good
for nothing, but try to be courageous. Mr. and Mrs. Mann are very
loving; she wears a monstrous sunbonnet; he lies down in his
overcoat.... Brandy and water are consoling; Dr. won't give us much,
though.... I could not get off my boots until last night, I was so ill;
I slept all the time, and forgot that Annie was on board.... When you do
get married, don't leave in four days for Europe.... Don't forget cake
for my orphans.... Mrs. Mann wrote to me yesterday, and recommended
lemonade. I wrote back to her, and recommended leeks and onions...."
And again, several days later:--
"Although the ship is very tipsy, and makes my head and hand unsteady, I
am anxious to write to you that you may see what a brave sailor I am
become, for to write at sea one must be quite well. I am ashamed to have
written you so sea-sick a letter near Halifax, but I was then just out
of my berth, and very miserable. Since that time, I have not once laid
by--we have had some rough days, but I have always held up my head, and
eaten my dinner, 'helping myself _sang-froidy_' to all manner of good
things. At first, I could not do without brandy and water, but in a
little while I ceased to require it; now I go tumbling about all over
the ship, singing at the top of my voice, teasing Chevalier, and
comforting the sea-sick.... I live on deck, rain or shine. Annie stays
too much in the cabin, which is strewn with sick ladies, and grannies of
the other sex, and which ever resounds with cries of 'Mrs. Bean! Mrs.
Bean! soda water! Mrs. Bean, soup! Mrs. Bean, gruel with brandy in it!
Mrs. Bean, hold my head! Mrs. Bean, wag my jaws!' Mrs. Bean is the
stewardess, and an angel....
"_Saturday morning._ We are now in sight of land, and in smooth
water.... Annie and I were getting very much used to the ship, and are
just in fine trim for a long voyage. I even miss the rolling and
pitching which we have had until to-day, and which made it necessary to
walk with great circumspection. You would have laughed to have seen us,
going about like tipsy witches. I have had various tumbles. I confess
that when the ship rolled and I felt myself going, I generally made for
the stoutest man in sight, and pitched into him, the result being
various apologies on both sides, and great merriment on the part of the
spectators--a little of the old mischief left, you see. The old cow
began to smell the land yesterday, she reared and bellowed, and butted
at the butcher when he went to milk her. This is her third voyage. I
cannot tell you how good my husband is, how kind, how devoted...."
Arriving in London, they took lodgings in upper Baker Street.
This first visit to London was one which our mother always loved to
recall. Not only had the pair brought letters to many notabilities, but
Dr. Howe's reputation had preceded him, and every reader of Dickens's
"American Notes" was eager to meet the man who had brought a soul out of
prison.
Julia writes to her sister Louisa (June 17):--
"I have said something,--I can hardly say enough, of the kindness we
have received here. London seems already a home to us, and one
surrounded by dear friends. Morpeth and his family, Rogers, Basil
Montagu, and Sir R. H. Inglis have been our best friends. Sydney Smith
also has been kind to us; he calls Howe 'Prometheus,' and says that he
gave a soul to an inanimate body. For four mornings, we have not once
breakfasted at home. Milnes gave us one very nice breakfast; among the
guests was Charles Buller, celebrated here for his wit and various
endowments. The two handsomest women I have seen are Mrs. Norton and the
Duchess of Sutherland--the former of these rather a haughty beauty, with
flashing eye and swelling lip, and dress too low for our notions of
propriety--this is common enough here...."
The Doctor was lame (the result of an accident on shipboard), and the
Reverend Sydney Smith, one of their earliest visitors, insisted on
lending him his own crutches. The Doctor demurred; he was tall, while
Canon Smith was short and stout. The crutches were sent, nevertheless.
They could not be used, and were returned with thanks; not so soon,
however, but that the kind and witty Canon made of the incident a peg on
which to hang a jest. He had lost money by American investments; in a
letter published in a London paper, after reflecting severely upon the
failure of some of the Western States to pay their debts, he added: "And
now an American doctor has deprived me of my last means of support!"
Sydney Smith proved genuinely kind and solicitous. He writes to the
Doctor:--
"You know as well as I do, or better, that nature charges one hundred
per cent for a bad leg used before the proper time, and that if you use
it a day sooner than you ought, it may molest you for a month longer
than you expect. This being; [_sic_] if your ladies will trust
themselves to me any day, I shall have great pleasure in escorting them
in their sight-seeing, and will call upon them with my carriage, if that
be possible."
He did take them about a great deal; they dined with him, and passed
more than one delightful evening at his house.
Another of their early visitors was Charles Dickens. Not only did he
invite them to dine, but he took them to all manner of places unfamiliar
to the ordinary tourist: to prisons, workhouses, and asylums, more
interesting to the Chevalier than theatre or picture-gallery.
There were even expeditions to darker places, when Julia and Annie must
stay at home. Dr. Howe's affair was with all sorts and conditions of
men, and the creator of Joe and Oliver Twist, the child of the
Marshalsea, could show him things that no one else could. The following
note, in Dickens's unmistakable handwriting, shows how these expeditions
were managed, and how he enjoyed them:--
MY DEAR HOWE,--Drive to-night to St. Giles's Church. Be there at
half-past 11--and wait. One of Tracey's people will put his head into
the coach after a Venetian and mysterious fashion, and breathe your
name. Follow that man. Trust him to the death.
So no more at present from
THE MASK.
Ninth June, 1843.
Horace Mann was of the party on most of these investigations.
Beside dinners and evening parties, there were breakfasts, with Richard
Monckton Milnes (afterward Lord Houghton), with Samuel Rogers,--who gave
them plovers' eggs,--and with jovial Sir Robert Harry Inglis, who cut
the loaf at either end, giving the guests "a slice or a hunch" at their
desire.
This meal, our mother notes, was not "a luncheon in disguise," but a
genuine breakfast, at ten or even half-past nine o'clock.
She writes to her sister Louisa:--
"People have been very kind to us--we have one or two engagements for
every day this week, and had three dinners for one day, two of which we
were, of course, forced to decline. We had a pleasant dinner at
Dickens's, on Saturday--a very handsome entertainment, consisting of all
manner of good things. Dickens led me in to dinner--waxed quite genial
over his wine, and was more natural than I ever saw him--after dinner we
had coffee, conversation and music, to which I lent my little wee voice!
We did not get home until half-past eleven.... Annie has doubtless told
you how we went to see Carlyle, and Mrs. was out, and I poured tea for
him, and he handed me the preserves with: 'I do not know what thae
little things are, perhaps you can eat them--I never touch them mysel'.'
This naturally made me laugh--we had a strange but pleasant evening with
him--he is about forty, looks young for that, drinks powerful tea, and
then goes it strong upon all subjects, but without extravagance--he has
a fine head, an earnest face, a glowing eye.... Furthermore, we have
walked into the affections of the Hon. Basil Montagu, and Mrs.
Basil--furthermore, Annie and I did went alone to a rout at Mrs. Sydney
Smith's, and were announced, 'Mrs. 'Owe hand Miss Vord'--did not know a
soul, Annie frightened, I bored--got hold of some good people--made
friends, drank execrable tea, finished the evening by a crack with Sir
Sydney himself, and came off victorious, that is to say alive. Sir S.
very like old Mrs. Prime, three chins, and such a corporosity!...
"_Saturday, June 2nd._ We have been too busy to write. We dined on
Wednesday with Kenyon--present Dickens's wife, Fellows, Milnes and some
others--Milnes a pert little prig, but pleasant. _À propos_, when he
came to call upon us, our girl announced him as 'Mr. Miller'--our
conversation ran upon literature, and I had the exquisite discrimination
to tell him that except Wordsworth, there were no great poets in England
now. Fortunately he soon took his departure, and thus prevented me from
expressing the light estimation in which I hold his poetry. On Thursday
Morpeth gave us a beautiful dinner--thirteen servants in the hall,
powdered heads, Lady Carlisle very like Morpeth--Lady Mary Howard not
pretty; Duchess of Sutherland, beautiful, but like Lizzie Hogg. They
gave us strawberries, the first we have tasted, green peas, pines,
peaches, apricots, grapes--all very expensive. We stayed until nearly
twelve--they were very gracious--Annie and I are little people here--we
are too young(?) to be noticed--we are very demure, and have learned
humility. Chev receives a great deal of attention, ladies press forward
to look at him, roll up their eyes, and exclaim, 'Oh! he is such a
wonner!' I do not like that the pretty women should pay him so many
compliments--it will turn his little head! He is now almost well, and so
handsome! the wrinkles are almost gone--Yesterday, Sir Robert Inglis gin
us a treat in the shape of a breakfast--it was very pleasant, albeit Sir
R. is very pious, and a Tory to boot. We had afterward a charming visit
from Carlyle--in the evening we went to Landsdowne House, to a concert
given by the Marquis--heard Grisi, Lablache, Mario, Standigl, were much
pleased--I was astonished, though, to find that our little trio at home
was not bad, even in comparison with these stars. They have, of course,
infinitely better voices, but hang me if they sing with half the
enthusiasm and fire of our old Sam and Cousi, or even of poor Dudy.
Grisi's voice is beautifully clear and flute-like--Mario sings
_si-be-mol_ and natural with perfect ease. I was most interested in the
German Standigl, who sang the '_Wanderer_' with wonderful pathos.
Lablache thundered away--I must see them on the stage before I shall be
able to judge of them. After music we had supper. Willie Wad[21] was
indefatigable in our service. 'Go, and bring us a great deal more
lemonade!' these were our oft-repeated orders, and the good Geneseo
trotted to the table for us, till, as he expressed it, 'he was ashamed
to go any more.' Lansdowne is a devilish good fellow! ho! ho! He wears a
blue belt across his diaphragm, and a silver star on his left breast--he
jigs up and down the room, and makes himself at home in his own house.
He is about sixty, with Marchioness to match; side dishes, I presume,
but did not inquire. I have just been breakfasting at the Duke of
Sutherland's superb palace. I will tell you next time about it. Lady
Carlisle says I am nice and pretty, oh! how I love her!..."
[21] William Wadsworth, of Geneseo.
In another letter she says:--
"I take some interest in everything I see--especially in all that throws
light upon human prog. The Everetts[22] have given us a beautiful and
most agreeable dinner: Dickens, Mrs. Norton, Moore, Landseer, and one or
two others. Rogers says: 'I have three pleasures in the day: the first
is, when I get up in the morning, and scratch myself with my hair
mittens; the second is when I dress for dinner, and scratch myself with
my hair mittens; the third is when I undress at night, and scratch
myself with my hair mittens.'..."
[22] Edward Everett was at that time American Minister to England.
Beside this feast of hospitality, there was the theatre, with Macready
and Helen Faucit in the "Lady of Lyons," and the opera, with Grisi and
Mario, Alboni and Persiani. Julia, who had been forbidden the theatre
since her seventh year, enjoyed to the full both music and drama, but
"the crowning ecstasy of all" she found in the ballet, of which Fanny
Elssler and Cerito were the stars. The former was beginning to wane; the
dancing which to Emerson and Margaret Fuller seemed "poetry and
religion" had lost, perhaps, something of its magic; the latter was
still in her early bloom and grace.
Years later, our mother suggested to Theodore Parker that "the best
stage dancing gives the _classic, in a fluent form_, with the
illumination of life and personality." She recalled nothing sensual or
even sensuous in the dances she saw that season, only "the very ecstasy
and embodiment of grace." (But the Doctor thought Cerito ought to be
sent to the House of Correction!)
Among the English friends, the one to whom our parents became most
warmly attached was Lord Morpeth, afterwards Earl of Carlisle. This
gentleman proved a devoted friend. Not only did he show the travellers
every possible attention in London, but finding that they were planning
a tour through Wales, Ireland, and Scotland, he made out with great care
an itinerary for them, giving the roads by which they should travel and
the points of interest they should visit.
Very reluctantly they left the London of so many delights, and started
on the prescribed tour, following in the main the lines laid down by
their kind friend.
_To her sister Louisa_
Sunday, July 2.
... We are in Dublin, among the Paddies, and funny enough they are.
There are many beggars--you cannot get into the carriage without being
surrounded with ragged women holding out their dirty hands, and
clamouring for ha'pence--we have just returned from Edgeworthtown; on
our way, we walked into some of the peasants' huts. I will tell you
about one--it was thatched, built very miserably, had no floor except
the native mud; there was a peat fire, which filled the house with
smoke--before the fire lay the pig, grunting in concert with the
chickens, who were picking up scraps of the dinner, which consisted of
potatoes and salt--three families live in it. Two sets of little
ragamuffins are sitting in the dirt. Ch. bestows some pence: "God kape
your honour--God save ye, wherever ye go, and sure and it's a nice,
comfortable looking young woman you have got with you, an uncommon
pretty girl" (that is me). Don't they understand the matter, eh? We
passed three delightful hours with Miss Edgeworth, in the library in
which she wrote all her works--she was surrounded by a numerous and
charming family, among others, the last of her father's four wives, whom
she calls mother, although the lady must be some ten years her junior.
She is herself a most vivacious little lady, about seventy-five years
old, but gay and bright as a young girl--she seemed quite delighted with
Ch., and conversed with him on many topics in a very animated manner.
She has very clear and sound views of things, and takes the liveliest
interest in all that goes on around her, and in the world. One of her
younger brothers (with a nice Spanish wife) has a nest of very young
children, in whom she delights as much as if she had not helped to bring
up three sets of brothers and sisters. She said to me: "It is not only
for Laura Bridgman that I wanted to see Dr. Howe, but I admire the
spirit of all his writings." She gave him some engravings, and wrote her
name at the bottom.... At one o'clock, we went to luncheon which was
very nice, consisting of meat, potatoes, and preserves.... She made us
laugh, and laughed herself. They were saying that American lard was
quite superseding whale oil. "Yes," said she, "and in consequence, the
whale cannot bear the sight of a pig." Her little nephew made a real
bull. He was showing me his rat trap, "and," said he, "I shall kill the
rat before I let him out, eh?"...
_Dublin, Tuesday._ Went to the Repeal meeting at the Corn Exchange. It
was held in a small room in the third or fourth story. "A shilling,
sir," said the man at the door to my husband.--"What!" replied he, "do
ladies pay?"--"Not unless they'd like to become repealers." We passed
up--the gentlemen went on to the floor of the room--we went to the
ladies' gallery, a close confined place at one end--we were early, and
had good seats, for a time at least--we separated, not anticipating the
trouble we should have in finding each other again--for the ladies,
comprising orangewomen, washerwomen, and I fear, all manner of women,
poured in, without much regard to order, decency, and the rights of
prior possession--and when O'Connell came in, which was in about three
quarters of an hour, they pressed, and pushed, and squeezed, and
scolded, as only Irishwomen can do.... The current of female patriotism
bore down upon me in a most painful manner--a sort of triangular
pressure seemed applied to my poor body which threatened to destroy, not
only my centre of gravity, but my very personal identity. I was obliged,
I regret to say, to defend myself as I have sometimes done in a
quadrille or waltzing circle in New York--I was forced to push in my
turn, though as moderately as I could. This was not my only trouble--in
the crowd, I had scraped acquaintance with a respectable Irishwoman,
who, after various questions, discovered that I was an American, and
imagined me at once to be a good Catholic and repealer--so when
O'Connell made some allusions to the Americans, she said so as to be
heard by several people, who immediately began to look at me with
curious eyes--"You shouldn't disturb her, she's an American," and they
would for a time cease to molest me.... O'Connell was not great on this
occasion--his remarks were rambling and superficial, distinguished
chiefly by their familiarity, and by the extreme ingenuity with which
the cunning orator disguises the tendencies of the sentiments he
vindicates, and talks treason, yet so that the law cannot lay a finger
upon him. He had begun his speech when Steele, a brother repealer,
entered. He stopped at once, held out his hand to him, saying in a loud
tone, "Tom Steele, how d'ye do?" which drew forth bursts of applause.
"And is he a good man?" I asked of a lady repealer (whether apple-woman
or seller of ginger beer, I know not). "Oh, Ma'am, he is the best
_cratur_, the most charitable, the most virtuous, the most religious
man--sure, he goes to the communion every Sunday, and never says no to
no one."
The visit to Scotland was all too hasty, the notes are mere brief
jottings; at the end she "remembered but one thing, the grave of Scott.
In return for all the delight he had given me, I had nothing to give him
but my silent tears."
The end of July found the party once more in England. The following
letter tells of the unlucky visit to Wordsworth which our mother (after
forty-six years) describes from memory in her "Reminiscences" in
slightly different terms.
_To her sister Louisa_
July 29.
... I am very glad to be out of Ireland and Scotland, where we had
incessant rains--even the beautiful Loch Katrine would not show herself
to us in sunshine. We crossed in an open boat, and had a pony ride of
five miles, all in as abominable a drizzle as you would wish to see. The
Cumberland Lakes, among which we sought the shrine of Wordsworth, were
almost as unaccommodating--in driving to Windermere we got wetted to the
skin, and dashed down the steep mountain road in a thick mist, with a
pair of horses, so unruly that I supposed the miseries of wet garments
would soon be cancelled by that of a broken neck. I prayed to Saint
Crispin, Saint Nicholas, and the three kings of Köln, and got through
the danger--in the evening we visited Wordsworth, a crabbed old sinner,
who gave us a very indifferent muffin, and talked repudiation with Chev.
As he had just lost a great deal of money by Mississippi bonds, you may
imagine that he felt particularly disposed to be cordial to
Americans--and not knowing, probably, that New York is not in the heart
of Louisiana, he was inclined no doubt to cast part of the odium upon
us. Accordingly Mrs. Wordsworth and her daughter sat at one end of the
room, Annie and I at the other. Incensed at this unusual neglect, I made
several interjections in a low tone for Annie's benefit (my husband
allows me to swear once a week)--at length, good Townsend-on-Mesmerism
came to my relief, and kindly talked with me for an hour or more--he is
a charming person, and rides other people's horses as well as his own
hobby. He dislikes England, and lives principally in Germany. Kind
Heaven, at the termination of the evening, sent me an opportunity of
imparting a small portion of the internal pepper and mustard which had
been ripening in my heart during the whole evening. The mother and
daughter beginning to whine to me about their losses, I told them that
where one Englishman had suffered, twenty Americans were perhaps ruined.
They replied, it was hard they should suffer for the misfortunes of
another country. "And why," quoth I, "must you needs speculate in
foreign stocks? Why did you not keep your money at home? It was safe
enough in England--you knew there was risk in investing it so far from
you--if we should speculate in yours, we should no doubt be ruined
also." This explosion, from my meek self, took the company somewhat by
surprise--they held their tongues, and we departed....
From England the travellers had meant to go to Berlin, but the King of
Prussia, who eleven years before had kept Dr. Howe in prison _au secret_
for five weeks for carrying (at the request of General Lafayette) succor
to certain Polish refugees, still regarded him as a dangerous person,
and Prussia was closed to him and his. This greatly amused Horace Mann,
who wrote to the Doctor, "I understand the King of Prussia has about
200,000 men constantly under arms, and if necessary he can increase his
force to two millions. This shows the estimation in which he holds your
single self!"
Years later, the King sent Dr. Howe a gold medal in consideration of his
work for the blind: by a singular coincidence, its money value was found
to equal the sum which the Doctor had been forced to pay for board and
lodging in the prison of Berlin.
Making a détour, the party journeyed through Switzerland and the
Austrian Tyrol, spent some weeks in Vienna, and a month in Milan, where
they met Count Gonfalonieri, one of the prisoners of Spielberg. Julia
had known two of these sufferers, Foresti and Albinola, in New York,
where they lived for many years, beloved and respected. Hearing the talk
of these men, and seeing Italy bound hand and foot in temporal and
spiritual fetters, she was deeply impressed by the apparent hopelessness
of the outlook for the Italian patriots. By what miracle, she asked
herself long afterward, was the great structure overthrown? She adds,
"The remembrance of this miracle forbids me to despair of any great
deliverance, desired and delayed. He who maketh the wrath of men to
serve Him, can make liberty blossom out of the very rod that the tyrant
[wields]."
Southward still they journeyed, by _vettura_, in the old leisurely
fashion, and came at last to Rome.
The thrill of wonder that Julia felt at the first sight of St. Peter's
dome across the Campagna was one of the abiding impressions of her life;
Rome was to be one of the cities of her heart; the charm was cast upon
her in that first moment. Yet she says of that Rome of 1843, "A great
gloom and silence hung over it."
The houses were cold, and there were few conveniences; but Christmas
found the Howes established in the Via San Niccolo da Tolentino, as
comfortably as might be. Here they were joined by Louisa Ward, and here
they soon gathered round them a delightful circle of friends. Most of
the _forestieri_ of Rome in those days were artists; among those who
came often to the house were Thomas Crawford, Luther Terry, Freeman the
painter and his wife, and Törmer, who painted a portrait of Julia. The
winter passed like a dream. There were balls as gorgeous as those of
London, with the beautiful Princess Torlonia in place of the Duchess of
Sutherland; musical parties, at which Diva sang to the admiration of
all. There were visits to the galleries, where George Combe was of the
party, and where he and the Chevalier studied the heads of statues and
busts from the point of view of phrenology, a theory in which both were
deeply interested. They were presented to the Pope, Gregory XVI, who
wished to hear about Laura Bridgman. The Chevalier visited all the
"public institutions, misnamed charitable,"[23] and the schools, whose
masters were amazed to find that he was an American, and asked how in
that case it happened that he was not black!
[23] S. G. H. to Charles Sumner.
In her "Reminiscences" our mother records many vivid impressions of
these Roman days. She had forgotten, or did not care to recall, a
certain languor and depression of spirits which in some measure dimmed
for her the brightness of the picture, but which were to give place to
the highest joy she had yet known. On March 12, her first child was
born, and was christened Julia Romana.
There are neither journals nor letters of this period; the only record
of it--from her hand--lies in two slender manuscript books of verse,
marked respectively "1843" and "1844." In these volumes we trace her
movements, sometimes by the title of a poem, as "Sailing," "The Ladies
of Llangollen," "The Roman Beggar Boy," etc., sometimes by a single word
written after the poem, "Berne," "Milan."
From these poems we learn that she did not expect to survive the birth
of her child; yet with that birth a new world opened before her.
He gave the Mother's chastened heart,
He gave the Mother's watchful eye,
He bids me live but where thou art,
And look with earnest prayer on high.
* * * * *
Then spake the angel of Mothers
To me in gentle tone:
"Be kind to the children of others
And thus deserve thine own!"
When, in the spring of 1844, she left Rome with husband, sister, and
baby, it seemed, she says, "like returning to the living world after a
long separation from it."
Journeying by way of Naples, Marseilles, Avignon, they came at length to
Paris.
Here Julia first saw Rachel, and Taglioni, the greatest of all dancers;
here, too, she tried to persuade the Chevalier to wear his Greek
decorations to Guizot's reception, but tried in vain, he considering
such ornaments unfitting a republican.
The autumn found them again in England, this time to learn the delights
of country visiting. Their first visit was to Atherstone, the seat of
Charles Nolte Bracebridge, a descendant of Lady Godiva, a most
cultivated and delightful man. He and his charming wife made the party
welcome, and showed them everything of interest except the family ghost,
which remained invisible.
Another interesting visit was to the Nightingales of Embley. Florence
Nightingale was at this time a young woman of twenty-four. A warm
friendship sprang up between her and our parents, and she felt moved to
consult the Doctor on the matter which then chiefly occupied her
thoughts. Would it, she asked, be unsuitable or unbecoming for a young
Englishwoman to devote herself to works of charity, in hospitals and
elsewhere, as the Catholic Sisters did?
The Doctor replied: "My dear Miss Florence, it would be unusual, and in
England whatever is unusual is apt to be thought unsuitable; but I say
to you, go forward, if you have a vocation for that way of life; act up
to your inspiration, and you will find that there is never anything
unbecoming or unladylike in doing your duty for the good of others.
Choose your path, go on with it, wherever it may lead you, and God be
with you!"
Among the people they met in the autumn of 1844 was Professor Fowler,
the phrenologist. This gentleman examined Julia's head, and made the
following pronunciamento:--
"You're a deep one! it takes a Yankee to find you out. The intellectual
temperament predominates in your character. You will be a central
character like Henry Clay and Silas Wright, and people will group
themselves around you."
Now Julia could not abide Professor Fowler.
"Oh, yes!" she snapped out angrily. "They've always been my models!"
"The best things you do," he went on, "will be done on the spur of the
moment. You have enough love of order to enjoy it, but you will not take
the trouble to produce it. You have more religion than morality. You
have genius, but no music in you by nature."
Fifty years later these words were fresh in her memory.
"I disliked Mr. Fowler extremely," she said, "and believed nothing of
what he said; nevertheless, most of his predictions were verified. I had
at the time no leading in any of the directions he indicated. I had been
much shut up in personal and family life; was a person rather of
antipathies than sympathies. His remarks made _no impression_. Yet," she
added, "I always had a sense of _relation to the public_, but thought
the connection would come through writing."
Apropos of Mr. Fowler's "more religion than morality," she said:
"Morality is a thing of the will; we may think differently of such
matters at different times. What he said may have been true."
Then the twinkle came into her eyes: "When Mr. William Astor heard of my
engagement, he said, 'Why, Miss Julia, I am surprised! I thought you
were too intellectual to marry!'"
Another acquaintance of this autumn was the late Arthur Mills, who was
through life one of our parents' most valued friends. He came to America
with them; in his honor, during the voyage, Julia composed "The
Milsiad," scribbling the lines day by day in a little note-book, still
carefully preserved in the Mills family.
The first and last stanzas give an idea of this poem, which, though
never printed, was always a favorite with its author.
My heart fills
With the bare thought of the illustrious Mills:
That man of eyes and nose,
Of legs and arms, of fingers and of toes.
* * * * *
To lands devoid of tax
Goeth he not, armed with axe?
Trees shall he cut down,
And forests ever?
Tame cataracts with a frown?
Grin all the fish from Mississippi River?
(My style is grandiose,
Quite in the tone of Mills's nose.)
* * * * *
Harp of the West, through wind and foggy weather
We've sung our passage to our native land,
Now I have reached the terminus of tether,
And I must lay thee trembling from my hand.
That hand must ply the ignominious needle,
This mind brood o'er the salutary dish,
I must grow sober as a parish beadle,
And having fish to fry, must fry my fish.
Some happier muse than mine shall wake thy spell,
Harp of the West, oh Gemini! farewell!